#mando fanfic

[thepascalofus]

Supply Run - Receipt (part one)

AO3

PART TWO

Pairing: Mando/Din Djarin x afab!Reader

Word Count: 4.6k

Summary: You’ve been Mando’s crew partner for a year now. Throughout that year Mando has warmed up to you and given you signs that your heart throbbing crush on him is reciprocated. There’s one thing making you hesitate. The condoms he bought on the most recent supply run.

Content Warnings: MDNI, 18+ only! Post season 2, the Crest lives, strangers to friends to lovers, soft!Mando, helmet loopholes, pining, idiots in love, jealous!reader, mentions of sex work (sex work is work!), eventual SMUT (making out, grinding, f!receiving fingering, f!receiving oral sex, p in v, PRAISE kink, dirty talk), FLUFF, cuddling, happy ending guaranteed!

The ramp of the Crest lowered, revealing the bright sun and arid atmosphere of the random planet Mando chose for a pitstop. In the distance were jagged mountains, the colors of orange, red, and brown coming together to paint streaks across the rocky range. Sparse populations of trees littered the distant landscape. Large–but tiny from a distance–birds flew from tree top to tree top, wings fanned outwards to catch the air currents beneath their wings.

To your left was Mando. His silver beskar armor glinted in the light as he shifted his weight from one foot to another. Broad shoulders blocked a sizable proportion of your peripheral vision. Observing the new planet, he stood like a statue.

Tall. Solid. Strong. Capable. Protective.

Biting your lip, your gaze traveled up and down Mando, head to toe. He certainly had an idea of how intimidating he looked. Yet, he had no idea how that intimidation made him look so good.

People always snuck glances at you and Mando when the pair of you were in public. Whispers could be picked up on as well. Rumors about his Creed. The state of the planet of Mandalore. How dangerous Mando was.

The danger he possessed only made your feelings for him deepen. You knew what he was capable of, but you also knew he would never use his capabilities on you. Not that you didn’t want him to…

Maybe he could lift you up. Carry you across the hull. Place you on the bed in his bunk. His large, gloveless hands smoothing up and down your sides. 

Mando could pin both of your hands above your head while he–.

Ok. Stop. That’s enough.

You cleared your throat, hoping to snap Mando out of his observational state, and you out of yours. “Alright, so we need five things: bacta, medkits, rations, a new flight suit, andddd soap?” You listed as you turned to him. Feet shifting, he turned his helmet to look at you. Shoulders that donned beskar pauldrons followed suit. The classic Mandalorian T shape of the visor burned into your pupils.

He paused, as if he was looking over his own checklist. “That should be it,” he confirmed with a nod. You returned his nod and added a small smile.

“Ok see ya!” You threw over your shoulder as you quickly bounded down the ramp of the Crest.

“Dank farrik, hold on, hold on,” Mando’s modulator gritted out as he clicked a button on his vambrace to close the Crest, running to get caught up to you. He rarely let you stray too far, especially when on new planets like this one. But, the Mandalorian read about the planet–and the quarry on it–before landing. 

“This planet is under the jurisdiction of the New Republic, so crime rates are low,” his modulated voice filled your ears once he caught up to you, “You’ll be on your own for this supply run.”

Stopping dead in your tracks, your shoes crunched against the brown substrate underneath them as you turned to face the man, “Really?” You asked, eyebrows shooting towards your hairline.

Mando responded with a hesitant nod. “I have some business to take care of, business that your presence isn’t required for,” the beskar pauldrons lifted and lowered in a shrug, “I figured you would enjoy having free range over the market.”

“Are you sure?” You replied.

He crossed his arms, the muscles in them appearing larger when pressed together. Mando’s helmet cocked to the side and his hip jutted out. The chin of his helmet lifted slightly as it motioned towards the market. “Go before I change my mind.”

Smile spread across your face, you did a hop of excitement in place and continued towards the market.

Trudging along to explore the unfamiliar marketplace, you recalled the previous supply run at a more populated planet.

—

Mando’s finger was perpetually hooked through one of your belt loops as he dragged you from stall to stall with him.

“Mando, I’m not a child,” you told him. Your eyes rolled as he tugged you along, your hips jerking along with the movement of his arm. Sometimes your hands wound up on Mando’s arm to maintain your balance. The muscles underneath your hands hardened and flexed as he maneuvered through the crowd.

“I never said you were,” he stated as his gaze remained focused on the crowd. His eyes constantly scanned the marketplace. Beings of different cultures and origins milled through the alleyway lined with stalls. The crowd of the market was average sized–no hustle and bustle but also no empty stalls. The occasional sound of credits clinking rang throughout the dry air as someone dug into their pocket to pay for their purchase.

You scanned the market just as Mando did, following his metal gaze to try and catch a glimpse at what he was seeing. “Are we in danger?” Your voice dropped to a whisper, uncertain about what’s going on inside that beskar helmet. 

Deadpanning you once again, he responded, “Not that I am aware of.” The T-shape constantly spun on an axis, and the grip of his finger tightened on the fabric of your belt loop.

Brows furrowing, you finally turned your head fully towards him, “Then why are you doing all this?” You gestured with one of your hands up and down his body. His hand jerked to tug you along, your hip following in response.

A large inhale and exhale made his beskar-plated chest rise and fall, “I want to make sure yo-,” he paused, then quickly continued, “Just want to make sure we’re safe.” He nods. The one he gives you when he's confirming something you said. Like his approval of the items you listed to get on a supply run.

Which brings you back to now. Receiving that same nod made a series of connections go off in you. For the past week you’ve been thinking about what he said. His finger tugged your hips with him, his verbal slip-up found its way onto the center stage of your thoughts every night cycle on the Crest.

“I want to make sure yo-.”

It felt like a confirmation.

—

You started as an assistant, helping Mando with whatever he needed. Marketplace runs? Check. Bounty information? Check. Small ship repairs? Check. But, calling someone an assistant sounded…weird to Mando. He didn’t enjoy the air of subordinacy the word possessed. The Mandalorian thought back to his days with his fellow Mandalorians. The covert worked as a team, with no hierarchy. Sure, some people were assigned roles, but no one was above anyone else. Everyone was part of one unit.

You worked on a small, galactically insignificant planet at a small-items repair shop. Mando entered one day with a scope for one of his blasters. Impressed with your knowledge and efficiency–the scope being repaired in less than ten minutes–the Mandalorian inquired about the chances of hiring you. “Partner,” he said with a nod, when he offered you the job, “You’ll be my partner.”

You both met at a cantina after your shift. Mando explained job responsibilities, pay, and the lifestyle that the job required. Sitting across from the man covered in beskar was intimidating. But near the end of your conversation you realized he was just soft spoken. He was also all business. Any conversation was focused on logistics of the job. He didn’t ask you weird personal questions. He respected your skills and your opinions. There were definitely worse bosses to have, you figured. Eager to explore the galaxy and leave behind the little planet, you loaded the Crest with your personal belongings the following week. 

Living in the Razor Crest with Mando was awkward at first. Mando would keep his interactions with you to a minimum. You noticed that he only left the cockpit when he knew you were occupied, asleep, or off of the ship. If he had to be in the same space as you, he would leave at least a meter of distance between your bodies. Like you were two magnets of the same polarity, refusing to go closer to the other.

All business.

But that didn’t stop you from being friendly. Whenever you did see Mando you would offer him a, “How are you?” Or a, “How was your day?” His responses were consistently short and to the point. 

“Fine.”

“Busy.”

“Awful.”

Dinner was when you typically saw him. He would come down to grab a ration pack and scurry back into the cockpit. You also saw him when he returned from hunts, dragging the bounty behind his beskar frame. His grunts echoed throughout the Crest’s hull as he pulled the quarry up and froze him into carbonite. You claimed a small section of the hull as your living quarters, so you had no choice but to watch.

Trying to break the tension, you asked, “How was your day?”

Mando huffed, his broad shoulders covered in beskar lifted and fell, “Nothing you want to hear about,” he deadpanned to you. If he did offer any emotion, it was cut out of his voice by his helmet’s modulator.

“Try me,” you crossed your arms and raised your eyebrows. Leaning back on the cold wall of the hull, your chest thrummed with nervous energy as you waited for his response. Was that too much? Were you just going to push him away?

“Quarry tried to escape and they ran. Would have been back four hours ago,” the modulator gritted out, “Not too fun.” His helmet tilted to the side and he squeezed his hands together that were clasped in front of him.

The Mandalorian’s wide frame took up the majority of the door frame that separates the carbonite room from the hull. Large gloved hands remained clasped together while he shifted in place, eventually settling on leaning against the frame.

You stood still in shock for a couple seconds. If you listened closely you could have heard the hearts beating in the hull. That was the most that Mando has ever said to you at once. “Oh, I’m sorry,” you started.

“You don’t have to be sorry,” he brushed past you towards the ladder going up to the cockpit, “It’s my job.”

You turned towards him, which halted his ascent, “That doesn’t mean it sucks any less,” your eyes widened and you tried to backtrack, “sorry, I probably shouldn’t have said that your job sucks,” you blurted out in an attempt to save face.

Mando met your gaze with the T of his visor and replied, “My job does suck.”

Did he just try to be funny? A giggle bubbled out from your chest. His silver helmet shook slightly from side to side and he turned back to climb the ladder. But not before he also let out a small chuckle.

His attitude slowly and steadily transformed after that night. 

Mando lingered in the hull longer in the mornings and in the evenings. The mornings were when you asked, “What’re the plans for today?” And the evenings came with your, “How was your day?”

At one point he started making you a cup of caf every morning when he was awake first, and he usually was. He knew you favored the drink in the mornings so he began to regularly purchase it, and he built up a sizable stash in the Crest.

His preferred distance from you shrunk and shrunk. The broad Mandalorian opted to stand next to you in the mornings, helping you make breakfast as well as he could. Ever-so-subtle brushes as you passed each other on the Crest became more frequent. Sometimes he would touch a hand to your waist as he passed, or on the small of your back if you weren’t facing him.

The beskar warrior spoke more too. He taught you a few words in Mando’a, which consisted of a couple basic words and some insults. 

“Di’kutla,” he spat out as he struggled to repair a part on one of his blasters.

“What’s that one mean?” You asked over your shoulder, looking up from the article you were reading on your Holopad.

Mando huffed in frustration and gritted out, “worthless…stupid,” as he continued to try and force the part off of the blaster.

Chuckling, you repeated the word in your mind and watched as Mando continued to struggle. You stored all of the words he shared with you deep in your brain, not wanting to forget this special part of himself that Mando shared with you.

One of your evening chats came to an end and the broad beskar man was drifting back to this bunk. For the first time, he paused and looked at you. You knew his gaze underneath the helmet met yours. No proof, but you knew.

“Goodnight,” the word gently flowed through his helmet’s modulator. 

He’s said it every night he’s been on the ship since then. Sometimes his gaze lingered on yours too long. A couple times you swore you saw the center of his chest rise, as if he was about to say something, but it stopped mid-exhale and Mando retreated into his bunk.

You found yourself to be increasingly longing for the sound of the ramp descending, signaling his return from a hunt. He trudged up the ramp, quarry in tow. Freezing the person in carbonite was always fast. Usually small pleasantries were exchanged before he used the fresher to clean off. 

If your mind were to venture towards more perverse thoughts, your favorite part was after he used the fresher.

He always emerged in a pair of black pants, a black t-shirt, and of course, his helmet.

No armor. No gloves. Not even the usual long-sleeved layer underneath his t-shirt.

When he turned to toss his clothes into a small hamper, you swore small tufts of dark brown hair peaked out from beneath his helmet. Nevertheless, a combination of factors had you in awe. Watching as Mando hauled the quarry into carbonite like it was nothing. You saw the toned muscles in his arms, developed from decades of finely tuned combat. The broad expanse of his back, rippling underneath his t-shirt. His calloused, capable hands are composed of thick fingers. You were in awe at his physique, his presence, the things he did to provide for the both of you.

And it hit you like a cold, ocean wave just how unafraid of him you were.

As if your fondness towards the Mandalorian couldn’t grow any more, he started returning from supply runs with gifts for you. Although he rarely let you go on runs alone, he did have the decency to give you space during pit stops. You would wander near him while looking at all of the different crafts the stalls had to offer.

One day you were peering at a set of comfortable lounge pants. You managed to whittle your wardrobe down to one set after damaging pair after pair when repairing the Razor Crest. Shoulders slumped, you thought about how comfy the pants would be when sleeping in your makeshift bed on the floor of the Crest. You knew you didn’t have enough credits, so you moved along to purchase the items the pair of you actually needed.

Milling about the market weren’t many people, which was most likely why you were alone on this shopping trip. The brown sands of the marketplace intruded upon the surroundings, leaving dunes of sand curving up and into the stalls. Sun rays blared down from the cloudless sky. Heat already seeped through your airy shirt and throughout your skin, conjuring up a layer of sweat. After visiting four stalls you purchased all of the necessary items. 

Bacta. Soap. Rations. Spare parts. You confirmed each purchase on the receipts from the market. A step you always took to make sure nothing was forgotten.

You met Mando back at the Razor Crest and started unloading your bags. Item after item piled on the center of the ship's floor. Rations. Bacta. Medkits. Sweatpants. Ammo. Ra-.

Sweatpants?

The sweatpants were identical to the ones you stopped and looked at while shopping. Your hands reached for the sweatpants and marveled in their softness. Pausing, your gaze lifted to meet Mando’s T-shaped visor. “Did you buy sweatpants?” Confusion oozed from your voice.

His gaze remained on yours and he replied with a slight nod of his head, “Yes. They’re for you.” 

“Mando, you didn’t ha-”

“Take it. Please. I feel bad enough making you sleep on the floor,” he insisted. His gloved hand gestured to the sleeping pad, pillow, and blanket neatly stored in a corner of the hull. 

“Honestly it hasn’t been that bad. The sleeping pad you got is pretty comfy.” You shrugged and told him the truth. Sleeping on that plush pad was infinitely better than the hull’s cold, metal floor.

“You have to set it up every night. You at least deserve a permanent bed,” his modulator made his words sound like churning gravel.

You stared into the black T covering his face. His shoulders drooped, like he gave up on trying to convince you. The gesture was a silent plea to just accept the gift.

“Thank you,” you said to him softly, “it means a lot.” 

It was his turn to shrug, “That’s why I do it.”

—

Today marks a year since the two of you became “partners”.

For you, that marked a year since you’ve met the man you had a heart throbbing crush on. 

You knew Mando wasn’t much of the sentimental type. Everything he kept was for a purpose. Any sentimental things had extreme meaning to him. If you were reading the situation correctly, you had a burning suspicion that the beskar covered man liked you back. So suggesting you two get matching bracelets at the market wouldn’t be completely farfetched. Even if he didn’t like you back you could just play it off as a gag gift…right?

After trudging across the brown landscape for twenty minutes, Mando at your tail, you arrived at the market. 

“We meet at that stall,” you heard from over your shoulder. Your eyes followed Mando’s finger to a bright red food vendor stall, “in 2 hours. Understood?”

A smile plastered itself onto your face and you gave him a sarcastic salute, “Understood.”

A breathy chuckle passed through Mando’s modulator. He shook his head softly and motioned for you to get a move on. You turned on your heel and walked to your first destination.

—

Bacta? Check. Rations? Check. Soap? Check. Medkits? Check.

The only thing left was a new flight suit for Mando.

As you walked towards the clothing section of the market you stopped at a men’s clothing stall to purchase an extra large black flight suit. Once your transaction was completed you walked further into the alleyway lined with stalls selling dresses, flight gear, loungewear, jewelry, bracelets. Bracelets. 

Your eyes landed on a stall with various fabrics on display. The front tables of the vendor were packed with different colored bracelets. Bracelet materials ranged from metal, leather, twine, thick cord, beads, and some materials you’ve never seen before.

The stall became even more enchanting as you got closer. Signs displayed prices, sizes, and ongoing sales. Immediately your eyes landed on a vast array of multicolored bracelets. You were thinking of getting something green since Mando told you that Grogu is green. 

A couple months ago he told you about how he had to give Grogu to a Jedi to train, since Grogu could use the force. Your heart sank. Mando often turned the metal knob of the thruster–a silver ball–over and over in his hand. He only told you recently that it was Grogu’s favorite thing to steal from him.

Your eyes danced over the section of green bracelets. Some were too dark, some too vibrant, others were just ugly. Finally, your gaze landed on the bracelet.

A fine, light green thread, you assumed somewhat close to Grogu’s color, was intertwined with thicker silver and brown threads. Light green and silver streaked across the rough brown surface of the bracelet. It reminded you of light streaking across the windshield of the Crest while in hyperspace.

This was the one.

Sifting through the different sizes you picked out one in your size and one you guessed would fit Mando. The bracelets were adjustable and hopefully that would help if you got Mando the wrong size. Setting the bracelets down to sift through your pockets for credits, you looked up at a weathered sign displaying the prices.

PRICES

1 bracelet = 15 credits

2 = 30 credits

3 = 45 credits

4 = 60 credits

As you reached into your pockets and retrieved your last credits you realized you didn’t have enough. Only twenty five credits sat in your palm. Not in the mood to haggle with the vendor about the price, your shoulders dropped and you returned the bracelets to their original places.

You checked your watch. One hour left until you met back up with Mando. Making it from one end of the market to the other took forty five minutes, so you figured you could take the scenic route back to the meet up point. Getting to see the new sights could cheer you up after not being able to afford the gift you wanted to get for Mando.

Walking up on a familiar intersection, you opted to take a right this time instead of a left. The path on the right was much more…interesting…than the path on the left. One vendor sold exotic pets. The next sold potions that promised to give the consumer various effects. The next stall was not a stall, it was a large establishment.

The establishment stood tall amongst the surrounding stalls. Solid brick walls were painted a dull gray. A sign with old, faded letters was centered on the front wall between two windows. The tall windows of the building were heavily tinted. Shadows of different figures danced across the glass. Some bodies were indistinguishable from the ones they were next to. Music blared from inside, but it barely covered the sounds of moans and the slapping of skin on skin.

Looking up, front and center on the building reads: BROTHEL

Brothels weren’t a common occurrence on the supply runs you’ve been on, but you suppose the service was in demand. You shrugged and walked past the gray building. The moving bodies in the windows almost allowed your vision to gloss over him.

Tall. Broad. Covered in beskar. A black T shaped visor gazing down at a man.

At first you froze in shock. Was this the business Mando had to attend to? The one that, “didn’t require your presence”? You never pictured the Mandalorian to be a man that required services like these, but he is a man nonetheless.

A soft breeze sent goosebumps down your arms towards your fingertips. Realizing you’re out in the open, you ducked into an empty market stall. A gap in the wood planks making up the stall’s sides gave you a clear view of Mando’s encounter with the mystery man.

The man was in all black with a silver name tag on his chest. By Mando’s serious demeanor you could tell that the conversation was strictly business. The Mandalorian’s helmet tilted in question at the man and Mando pulled out a pen and pad to write on. From the man’s stance and close position to the building you could tell he was the bouncer, plus the presence of a name tag. 

The bouncer pulled out an identical pad and began to speak. You couldn’t hear a word they exchanged, but you could tell Mando was writing down a list. A finger on the bouncer’s hand came up everytime he stated something else from his list. Mando jotted down a few things, closed his pad, and returned it to a pocket in his suit.

Then he reached into a different pocket, pulled out a sizable amount of credits, and handed them to the bouncer.

Did he just buy a night at the brothel?

Your heart dropped to your stomach. Blood rushed towards your head and your vision slightly blurred. You felt stupid. You fell for a guy, pretty much your boss, you don’t even know what he looks like, and he didn’t like you back. You were even going to buy you and him matching bracelets. Breaths exited your mouth in stutters. The realization of how naive you were radiated throughout your being. Mando was just being nice to you. He managed to warm up to you. That’s it. 

But you were also so confused. What were the fleeting touches in the Crest? The gifts he gave you after trips to the market? The early morning and late evening conversations? Feelings bubbled up from your stomach and started to seep out of your body in the form of tears. 

You spent a year getting to know this man. Kriff, it took you a couple months before he started replying to you in full sentences. No one else has experienced Mando like this. You didn’t want anyone else to see his ungloved hands, the rolling muscles of his back in just a t-shirt, the way the helmet softly shook from side to side when he heard a bad joke. Those small, “Goodnight”s, are yours. The modulated chuckles are yours. The way he makes a cup of caf for you on most mornings. That’s yours.

Of course Mando wasn’t yours, but jealousy managed to seep into your bones regardless. 

Zoning back into the situation, you realized Mando started walking back in the direction towards the meet up point. Scrambling to get to your feet, you jumped over the wall of the empty stall and made your way back

—

Upon seeing the size of the bag you carried, Mando slipped it from your grasp and into his. He stuffed a small piece of paper, a receipt, into the bag before swinging it onto his shoulder. 

The walk back to the Razor Crest lacked conversation. Sounds of crunching ground underneath your shoes echoed in your ears. Mando followed your lead and kept the trek speechless.

The Razor Crest steadily became larger and larger on the horizon. Once orange, brown, and red mountain ranges were now painted in hues of pink and purple. Colors of the rocky formations reflected off of the Razor Crest.

You bounded up the ramp as soon as it was lowered. Mando followed suit and began to empty the bag of its contents. Each item fell onto the middle of the hull’s floor.

Bacta. Medkits. Flight suit. Soap. Rations.

The beskar man dug around in the bag for a second more and retrieved a handful of receipts. 

“Here,” he said as he handed them to you, “I know you like to look them over.”

Your stomach flipped at the thoughtfulness. Reaching your hand out, his gloveless fingers brushed yours in the handing off of the receipts. After they were straightened out you began to look through them.

First receipt, bacta and medkits.

Second receipt, rations and soap.

Third receipt, flight suit.

Fourth receipt.

Wait. Fourth receipt?

Your eyes scanned the lines of the flimsy paper. The date was from today, so it wasn’t old. But you didn’t visit the vendor listed on the receipt. Pupils skipping a few lines, you read the items purchased.

ITEMS PURCHASED (1)

CONDOM - 12 PACK

For the second time today you froze. Blood rushed up towards your head as your vision blurred. 

He really just bought a night with a worker at the brothel.

From the little details you had, you tried to make sense of the scene you stumbled across earlier in the night. Mando talked to the bouncer, probably asked who was working that night, wrote down the workers he was interested in, and paid for a night with one of them. I mean, what else could you possibly be talking with a brothel bouncer about? The weather?

Good thing you didn’t buy those bracelets.

PART TWO

#pedro pascal #din djarin fanfic #din djarin #din djarin fic #din djarin fluff #din djarin smut #din djarin x f!reader #din djarin x you #din x reader #mando fanfic #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian fanfiction #mando x reader #mando smut #mando fluff #supply run #thepascalofus #thepascalofus fic

[theywhowriteandknowthings]

Need | Din Djarin x Cobb Vanth

This blog is a 18+ space, Minors, do not engage. If you are under the age of 18 you are not welcome here. Please heed these warnings and the warnings put in place on each individual fic and chapter.

Warnings:  Porn with Feelings; Porn With Plot; Anal Sex; Anal Fingering; Anal; Anal Play; Blow Jobs; Prostate Massage; Oral Sex; Lube; Cobb Vanth deserves his own warning; Din Djarin being an anxious idiots; Idiots in Love; Pet Names; mesh'la used liberally; uncut Cobb; Helmetless Din Djarin; the helmet doesn't stay on; set between s2-3; Yearning; Pining; a splash of angst.

Summary: Set post-S2 but pre-BOBF Din can't stop thinking about Cobb, it burns a hole in his chest brighter and hotter than a Supernova. He just needs a taste of intimacy, just a small taste. That'll be enough, right? My first proper M/M fic and I'm so nervous, I hope you enjoy it! Dedicated to my dude @immarocketman, I love you so much <3 Thank you @for-a-longlongtime and @angelofsmalldeath-codeine for beta'ing for me <3 Wordcount: 5.5k Read on AO3

Take it off, or I will.

The words had slipped out of the Mandalorian’s mouth without thought. But the way the marshal’s eyebrows twitched up, followed by the swipe of his tongue over his bottom lip made Din’s insides churn. He’d repeated them the night of the Krayt Dragon’s slaying, when Cobb was naked but for his briefs perched atop Din’s naked form as he lay back on Cobb’s bed. The helmet stayed on that night, but all Din could think about was doing the unthinkable.

He wanted to put his mouth on every inch of the marshal’s body, he wanted it more than anything in the galaxy.

~*~

It’s been over a year since the incident with the Krayt Dragon, and all Din can think about is Cobb. He’s alone in one of the bunks Peli keeps spare for him. His cock is achingly hard as he lays naked, sheets crumpled at the foot of the bed. Peli knows not to disturb him. Ever since he landed on Tatooine with Shand and Fett, he’s been in a slump. Without Grogu things have felt off, wrong, lonely.

Loneliness is not something Din is used to feeling, he hates it with a burning rage that violence can’t seem to quell. Loneliness is something Mandalorians of The Watch steel themselves against, it’s a distraction, a flaw. Wandering alone in the galaxy, providing for the Covert, taking on some of the most dangerous cretins in the universe. None of it leaves room for loneliness.

Loneliness gets you killed.

Take it off, or I will.

The words rattle around Din’s mind as he finally relents, his thick fingers wrapping around his length as he slowly jerks his cock. Cobb’s smug grin is burned behind his eyelids as his hand becomes slick with precome. He squeezes his shaft harder as he imagines Cobb’s lips wrapped around his cock instead of his hand.

He remembers the hot, wet, heat of Cobb’s mouth, the brush of his beard against Din’s thigh. He fixates on the memory of trying to pull out before he came.Cobb instead gripped his ass and held the heft of Din’s cock on his tongue as he erupted into the marshal’s mouth.

“Kriff,” Din hisses into the silence of his room.

His orgasm hits him like a blaster bolt, he comes with a strangled groan that echoes off the walls of the small guest room. His balls tighten and throb as he feels the spike of pleasure burst from his core and up his spine. His breath comes in jagged gasps as white splatters of come coat the dark curls at the base of his cock. His spend leaks down his length, pooling hot against his abdomen as the oppressive heat of Tatooine holds the moment in obscene stasis.

Din lies there for some time, letting the haze of post-orgasm euphoria roll through his body. He doesn’t know what he expected, but the loneliness persists. It gnaws at him as he tries to find the energy to get up and clean off.

~*~

Even in the low light of dusk, the buzz of the thoroughfare speaks to the change in the small town of Mos Pelgo as Din makes his way to the cantina. He slips in, making his way to the back of the bar. He doesn’t want to draw attention, but he needs to see him. Even if it’s just a glimpse. He tells himself that it’ll be enough. It’s a lie, but a convenient one.

It doesn’t take long for Cobb to saunter in, checking in with the bartender. It’s a brief conversation, punctuated with a nod in Din’s direction from the barkeep. Din’s blood runs hot then cold as Cobb makes his way to his table. He has a bottle of something golden in one hand and two short cups in the other.

“Fancy seeing you here,” Cobb says with a smirk as he stops just short of Din’s table, “This seat taken?”

Din grunts in assent, not finding the courage to speak as he nods to the chair on the other side of the table. He’s sweating through his flight suit, and it has nothing to do with the desert planet’s atmosphere. Din knows fear, he knows how to manage something as abstract a concept as fear. But what he feels right now is dread. Dread is a weight on his chest that anchors him in place, trapping him without a means to escape.

He should never have come.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t my favourite Mandalorian. How’ve you been?” Cobb asks as he eases himself down onto the seat opposite. He eyes Mando up and down as he notices the way Din shifts in his chair.  

Cobb pours two measures of the spirit before raising his cup in toast. He expects Mando to decline, as always, but his eyes widen as he watches his friend lift the cup. In a slow, purposeful motion Mando pitches his head back in the gloom of the bar. His free hand shifts his helmet up and he brings the drink to his lips, tipping back the liquid in one swift flick of his wrist. In the low lighting Cobb can’t see anything but the act in itself unsettles the marshal.

“Been better,” Mando answers as he reseats his helmet, “You?”

“Things are fine here, thriving since you last visited, we’re working with the Tuskens more and more, it’s a mutually beneficial arrangement,” Cobb says with a guarded expression, he’s trying to figure out what’s eating at his sometimes-friend, sometimes-lover.

“Good,” Din nods, his visor flashing in the low light, “That’s good.”

“Want to tell me what’s on your mind?” Cobb presses as he pours another measure in both their glasses. Mando doesn’t drink this time, instead holding the small container between his thumb and forefinger.

“Nothing,” Din grunts before swirling the liquid around his glass, his helmet dipped low as he avoids the topic. They sit together in silence for some time, Din’s gaze is fixed on Cobb’s face.

He takes in the way Cobb’s beard is fuller than before. His forehead bears deeper lines, crow’s feet crease at the corners of his eyes. It’s been just over a standard year, but the harsh binary suns of Tatooine have taken their toll. However, Cobb’s eyes are brighter than ever, his swirling light brown irises still sparkle with the fire of arrogance but hold a softer glow. Contentment, a wealth that cannot be measured in credits, but in fulfilment.

“As riveting as this is,” Cobb sighs as he stands up, “I’m going to head home, it’s nice to see you Mando, bottles on me.”

“Wait,” Din grabs Cobb’s wrist with lightning speed, his thick gloved fingers firm on the other man’s arm.

“You ready to tell me why you’re really here?” Cobb’s eyes sparkle with challenge, he knows why, he just wants Din to admit it.

“I came to see you,” Din says softly, his voice only just picking up on the vocoder in his helmet, “I missed you.”

“You missed me?” Cobb purrs and Mando’s stomach twists as he feels something like shame flood his system.

“Forget it,” Din snaps as he pulls his hand away, already on his feet, “Enjoy your evening, marshal.”

But Cobb squares up to him, blocking his path out of the cantina, he pushes him back against the wall. Din’s breath hitches in his throat as he watches Cobb’s broad hand flatten against his chest plate. Din’s hands hang limply at his sides as he finds himself startled for the first time in a very long time.

“You missed me, Mando?” Cobb’s voice drops a register as he repeats his question, a sly smile twitching at the corner of his full lips.

“Yes,” Din breathes as he watches Cobb’s eyes drift down to the growing bulge in Din’s flight suit. He can’t help but hold his breath as the other man steps closer, his lips but a hair’s breadth away from the Mandalorian’s helmet.

“Didn’t think you were allowed to miss people like me, Mando,” Cobb says as he looks up into the inky blackness of Din’s visor, “Does it help to know I missed you too?”

Din’s jaw goes slack as he feels the tight knot of negative emotions in his chest unravels. It’s like he’s broken free of a garotte, he feels lightheaded, dizzy, and so very aware of how close Cobb is to him now.

“Cobb,” Din says softly as he scans the room, conscious of any prying eyes to what has turned into such an intimate moment.

“Come home with me,” Cobb says softly as he steps back, giving the Mandalorian some space, “Unless you think you can’t live up to last time.”

“Are you sure?” Din asks as he practically vibrates as he holds himself back. His fingertips itch with the need to touch Cobb’s bare skin again.

“Never been surer of anythin’ in my life, now come on, we’ve got lost time to make up for.”

The pair exit the cantina together, close enough that their fingertips brush as they walk. Pinky fingers touching every few steps. It’s like a silent exchange of intent, flirting wordlessly as electricity sparks between them with every caress of bare skin against textured leather.

Din angles his helmet subtly, letting himself drink in the slight form of the marshal. Cobb unknowingly mirrors the action and his lips curve into a wide smile as he catches the Mandalorian checking him out. Neither say a word until the door to Cobb’s home hisses shut behind them.

There’s a shift in the air between them as Cobb brushes past Din, his hips swaying as he enters the central room in the small hut. Din watches him go, salivating at the deliberate change in the marshal’s gait. His dick strains against the tight flight suit as he tries to control himself. He doesn’t want to spoil this, not with eagerness, not with mindless pleasure.

He wants to do this right.

“Do you want a drink?” Cobb calls over his shoulder as he reaches the far side of the room, reaching up to grab earthenware cups from a high shelf. Din treads lightly as he comes up behind Cobb, his Beskar barely making a sound as he moves. There’s a thrill in this, moving soundlessly in Beskar is no easy feat, it’s something usually reserved for quarry.

“No,” Din says softly as Cobb yelps, Din’s firm hands find purchase on Cobb’s hips.

“I see, right down to business, never struck me as the desperate type Mando,” Cobb laughs but Din growls in response as he grinds his clothed cock against Cobb’s ass, pinning him to the counter.

“I don’t want a drink,” he rumbles as one hand snakes up to grip Cobb’s neck from the front, thick fingers framing Cobb’s jaw, pulling him back against Din’s armoured form, “I want to taste you.”

“I like this side of you, Mando, so bold,” Cobb purrs as he abandons his quest for mugs, he turns in Din’s grip, “How do you propose going about tasting me?” He asks as he leans forward, Din’s thick fingers are still wrapped around Cobb’s neck and the marshal leans into the pressure as he rests his forehead against the cool Beskar of Din’s helmet.

“Going to put my mouth here,” Din glides his hand up over Cobb’s jaw, gloved thumb brushing over his lower lip, “and here,” he trails his fingertip back down his chin, lower, lingering over Cobb’s sternum, “and here,” Din growls and his cock aches at the intake of breath from the marshal.

“Wish I could see you,” Cobb breathes, and he flinches, the words are out of his mouth before he can stop them. Cobb is about to say something, anything to walk back from his slip up. Din smirks beneath his helmet, it’s a twisted grimace turned smile as he realises there’s no point holding back any longer.

“Take it off,” Din commands as he hooks his fingers into the waistband of Cobb’s pants, “Take it off, or I will.”

“Mando, what are you-?”

“Take it off, or I will.”

There’s a charged silence as Cobb tries to move, his body is frozen in place as he fights against the voice in the back of his mind. He knows this is forbidden, he knows it’s a big kriffing deal, but that makes it all the more enticing. His dick twitches in anticipation.

“Are you sure?” Cobb’s breathing hitches as Din’s free hand cups his face, gloved thumb rubbing through his thick, silvered beard.

“Please.”

It’s a plea brimming with desperation, filled with an unspoken need. It’s exactly what Cobb needs to hear.

“Seein’ as you asked so nice,” Cobb smirks with bared teeth and Din’s stomach twists as he feels the flutter of anxiety gnaw at him. He drops his hand from Cobb’s face, both hands move to Cobb’s waist and Din holds himself steady.

Cobb brings both hands up to cup the concave cheeks of Din’s helmet, fingers splayed across the angular Beskar as he holds the object of Din’s Creed in the palms of his hands.

“Close your eyes,” Cobb says softly as he presses his forehead to the Beskar in front of him, “Trust me.”

Din does as instructed, his eyes clamp shut as he tightens his grip on Cobb’s waist. The hiss-click of his helmet depressurising has him shuddering, there’s no going back now.

“Keep ‘em shut,” Cobb coos as Din feels the helmet lift away, the thick, humid air of the evening hitting his skin like a smothering blanket. He gasps as he forces his eyes to stay closed. Tension twists through his whole body as he hears his helmet being set down somewhere to his right.

“You’re beautiful, Mando,” Cobb’s voice is breathless, awestruck and filled with deep reverence that makes Din’s lips part in desire.

“Kiss me,” Din commands and he cringes as he hears Cobb chuckle.

“So needy,” Cobb whispers as he places his hands on Din’s face, just like on his helmet, he spreads his fingertips under Din’s jaw, thumbs pressed into his cheekbones as he takes him in. He studies the neatly trimmed facial hair, with clear patches where it refuses to grow. He salivates at Din’s plush lips, plump and so full. His eyes are still closed, his brow furrowed, and Cobb wants nothing more than to see those eyes open.

“Cobb, please-,”

Din groans as Cobb’s lips brush over his own. Cobb smiles at the guttural sound as he takes Din’s top lip between his own, pulling on it lightly before bumping his nose against the strong plane of the Mandalorian’s own. He releases his lip gently, their short breaths mingling in the space between them as both men pant from the brief exchange.

“Wanted to do that since the moment I saw you, Mando,” Cobb whispers, lips brushing over one another once more as he speaks, “Didn’t care what you looked like under here, just knew I needed this.”

Din’s grip is unwavering on Cobb’s pants as he leans forward and presses their foreheads together. Slowly, Din opens his eyes and groans as he sees Cobb’s flush cheeks, plump lips, and striking brown eyes for the first time without a helmet on.

“Stars, you’re gorgeous,” Din growls as he leans back, looking up into the marshal’s hooded eyes. There’s a moment of charged silence where neither is sure who will make the next move.

“You sure this is ok?” Cobb asks as he looks down, abashed at finally being shown Din’s face. It’s Din’s turn to cup the other man’s face.

“I wouldn’t have come if I wasn’t sure,” he promises as he tilts the marshal’s head up to look at him once more, “I’ll explain everything later, but for now?” Din asks as he presses his lips to the corner of Cobb’s mouth, lips brushing his silvered moustache as he speaks, “Let me taste you, all of you.”

It’s Cobb’s turn to moan as he turns his head to kiss Din once more. This time there’s an urgent hunger to it, their lips crash together, mouths ceding to tongues as they waste no time in consuming each other. Din’s tongue dips into Cobb’s mouth as he backs him towards the bedroom. His hands are on the marshal’s shirt, pulling at it with thick, eager fingers.

The back of Cobb’s knees hit the bed and he flops backwards, pulling the Beskar-clad man down on top of him. Din plants his hands either side of Cobb’s head as he lands, softening the blow of his heavy, armoured form from crushing the marshal.

“That was reckless,” Din growls, but his face is alight with desire as he sees his lover’s face flushed and needy beneath him.

“You make me reckless,” Cobb responds with a wink and Din fists the bedsheets with both hands as he drops his head low, nudging the other man’s head to the side with his nose. His lips brush against the thatch of silver hair that lines Cobb’s jaw, and Din smiles in triumph as the marshal arches up against him.

“I want you to strip for me, can you do that?” Din whispers as he grinds his cock down onto the other man’s equally hard bulge. The friction from Cobb’s pants and Din’s flight suit makes both men groan, Din’s breathy and desperate, Cobb’s low and thick with desire.

“Sure thing, handsome,” Cobb groans as he watches the Mandalorian retreat a few steps, hands already making quick work of his armour as his dark brown eyes never leave the marshal’s. Cobb kneels on the bed, removing the stained red bandana from his neck as Din drops his cape. The pair can’t stop smiling as they undress.

Cobb removes his overshirt, off comes Din’s pauldrons, his chest plate. Cobb kicks off his boots and Din’s vambraces are placed in a pile of ever-growing Beskar. Belts come off in unison and the rumbling chuckle around the small room is infectious.

“This is a lot slower than last time, Mando,” Cobb quips as he works at his pants, shoving them down as Din removes the last piece of his armour. He sets the boots to the side, clad only in his dark flight suit now.

“Please, Cobb,” Din says as he unzips the top half of the suit, “Call me Din.”

“Din,” Cobb says as he kicks off his pants, discarding them as he sits in just his tight black briefs, “I like it, punchy.”

Din shakes his head, his cheeks burning from how hard he’s smiling at the flirtatious man before him.

“Did you talk this much last time?” Din growls affectionately as he shrugs off the top half of his suit, baring his tan skin, adorned with tattoos that range from dark inky blue to luminous icy tones. Cobb licks his lips as he maps the inked, scarred, tapestry before him.

“Last time I didn’t get much time to talk, I recall my mouth was otherwise occupied,” Cobb flutters his eyelashes playfully up and Din and the Mandalorian shakes his head in disbelief.

“Well, that won’t be a problem this time,” Din says with a wolfish grin as he strips the last half of his flight suit off, “On your back, briefs down marshal.”

“So bossy, where’s the romance, the wooing Mando?”

“Din,” he corrects Cobb as he frees his cock from his briefs, kicking them off with the flight suit, “And if you wanted to be wooed, you wouldn’t have let me fuck your pretty little mouth so easily last time.”

“You’ve got me there,” Cobb says as his cheeks flush bright red before he pulls his briefs down. Din groans, palming his cock as he strides over to the bed. Cobb leans forward, eager to touch Din again but he’s reprimanded with a gentle shove to the sternum and a tsk from Din.

“On your back, mesh’la,” he says as he gets on his knees in front of Cobb, “Let me return the favour.”

Cobb does as he’s told, but he props himself up on his elbows, he doesn’t want to miss a single second of Din’s handsome face now he’s had a glimpse. Din parts his lover’s legs slowly, palms flat, fingers digging into the firmness of his muscular thighs. He places soft kisses to the inside of Cobb’s left knee, chaste, teasing brushes of his plush lips and stubble that make Cobb tremble beneath him. There’s a soft tang of sweat on Din’s lips as he makes his way up the inside of Cobb’s thigh, he laves soft swirls of his tongue over his lover’s skin as he makes his way up to the apex of Cobb’s thighs.

“Such a gorgeous cock,” Din mutters, almost to himself as he settles his torso between Cobb’s legs, keeping him open wide. His one hand cups Cobb’s balls, the other wraps gently around the base of his dick. Din’s own cock throbs at the way precome beads pearlescent at the tip as he pulls Cobb’s foreskin back a little to reveal the ruddy head.

Din eases his lips around Cobb’s cock, flattening his tongue as he hollows his cheeks to accommodate the marshal’s length. The bitter, musky taste of precome coats Din’s mouth as he groans around the thick weight of Cobb’s cock in his mouth. He eases himself down to the base, the telltale tightness in his throat from the panicked thrill of being so full, so close to gagging, has Din leaking over his own shaft.

“Kriff,” Cobb lets out a soft, breathy cry as Din worships him.

Din eases back as he runs the tip of his tongue over the ruddy head, suckling gently as Cobb shudders and whines beneath him.

“I could listen to you all night, mesh’la,” Din hums softly as he runs his tongue down the underside of Cobb’s shaft.

“Din, please,” Cobb whines as Din slots his mouth over one of his lover’s balls, rolling his tongue over it as he hums.

“Said I wanted to taste you,” Din says as he dips his tongue lower, his palms pushing on the backs of Cobb’s thighs as he angles his ass off the bed, “I’m taking my time.”

“Patience isn’t one of my virtues, Din,” Cobb says, voice light and breathy.

“Hmmm, then what do you want from me?” Din asks, hoping beyond hope it’s what he’s been thinking about since he fucked his fist only last night.

“I want you to fuck me,” Cobb says through gritted teeth as Din dips his head lower, his hot tongue inching lower to Cobb’s taint, teasing just shy of his asshole.

“Kriff,” Din groans against the soft weight of Cobb’s balls, “You want me to fuck this tight hole with my cock, marshal?”

Din brings his middle finger to his mouth, soaking it with his saliva before he slides his hand underneath Cobb. He teases his slick finger over Cobb’s exposed asshole as his balls reast heavy in Din’s palm. Cobb groans and bucks his hips up at the sensation, a soft series of pants follow as Din presses the pad of his fingertip to the puckered ring. Din licks a slow stripe up Cobb’s shaft before flicking his tongue against the head of Cobb’s cock.

“Quit with the teasing,” Cobb hisses as Din refuses to breach his hole, the wet heat of the Mandalorian’s mouth on his tip only drives the pitch of his voice higher.

“Not doing this without lube. You do have lube, right?”

“I’m not some inexperienced pup,” Cobb huffs indignantly as Din looks up at him from between his knees. The Mandalorian’s dark eyes are addled with lust as he wraps his lips around Cobb’s cock before sinking down to the base, “It’s in my nightstand,” Cobb’s head falls back at the way Din sucks his cock, mouth tight and tongue unrelenting as it massages the underside of his shaft.  

Din bobs his head up and down torturously slow as he savours the weight of the cock in his mouth. He finally releases it with a wet pop before sitting back on his heels, watching how the strong man before him twitches and pants for him. He knows Cobb is close, and as much as he wants to know what it’s like to have the marshal finish inside his mouth, he has other plans.

“On all fours, facing the headboard.”

The command is curt and without fanfare, Din’s own restraint is running thin. He wants to bury himself inside Cobb, carve a space out inside the other man that no-one else can fill. He wants to lay claim to his body and soul, the way Cobb – knowingly or not – has already claimed his own.

Cobb watches Din over his shoulder as he makes his way to the nightstand. Din rifles through the drawers to find an assortment of plugs and dildos nestled amongst different containers of lube. One large black dildo catches Din’s eye, and he relishes in the challenge of meeting the marshal’s expectations.  

“Adventurous,” Din says absently as he looks over his shoulder to see Cobb grinning wolfishly at him.

“This isn’t my first rodeo, handsome.”

The pet name stirs something in Din’s lower belly, a tight twist of desire that has his balls throbbing and his dick twitching. He says nothing, grabbing the open container of lube from the drawer before squirting a few pumps into his hand.

Din glides the liquid over his cock and shudders at the way it feels. It’s wet, sensual, filled with promise as he kneels on the bed behind Cobb. He bites his lip as he runs his free hand over the swell of Cobb’s ass, cupping and kneading the firm skin. His fingertips brush over Cobb’s asshole and Din can’t help but smirk at the way his lover’s body reacts.

Din squirts some lube onto his fingers, making sure some of the liquid drips over the puckered hole before easing his middle finger inside Cobb. The lube lets Din slide in with little resistance, the tight heat of Cobb’s asshole is divine as Din gently feels for his prostate.

“Dank Farrik!” Cobb cries out, his body stutters and Din wraps a supportive arm around his waist, holding him up as he nips at the curve of Cobb’s ass.

“There it is,” Din purrs as he varies the pressure on Cobb’s prostate, “Want me to fuck you here, nice and deep?”

“Din, please, I’m so close, please just fuck me,” the marshal begs and Din smiles as he feels heat stirring at the base of his cock, he knows he’s going to blow his load in seconds the moment he’s inside Cobb.

“Alright,” Din growls as he eases his finger out, “Tell me if it’s too much, ok? Didn’t give me much time to work you open,” Din says, without a trace of humour in his voice as he squirts some fresh lube over Cobb’s needy little hole. It gapes ever so slightly from Din’s thick finger and the sight makes Din squeeze the base of his cock to try and calm down.

“I’m a big boy, Din, I can handle-,” Cobb starts but a deep snarl catches in his throat as Din lines up the tip of his cock at Cobb’s tight hole before he can finish his sentence.

“Relax, mesh’la,” Din says softly as he grips Cobb’s hips lightly, his thumbs soothe over his lover’s skin as he holds him steady, “I’m going to take care of you, ok?”

Cobb’s face is pressed into the bed now, his arms giving out on him as Din eases the tip inside him. He still manages to convey a muffled “Mhm!”.

“Kriff,” Din groans as he lets the lube do the work, he eases into Cobb at a painfully slow pace, but Din promised Cobb – and himself – he wouldn’t rush this.

Cobb writhes as Din presses deeper, his skin slick and his whole body consumed by the feeling of being split open. It doesn’t take long before din is fully sheathed inside Cobb, his brow furrowed and his mouth agape as he feels the way Cobb’s walls clamp around his cock. It’s heaven to be buried so deep, to be so close to his lover, but it’s not enough.

“Din,” Cobb tilts his head to the side, cheek pressed into the mattress as he looks sideways at the Mandalorian, “You’re gonna have to move, I’m desperate here.”

“I can’t say no to that,” Din grunts as he slowly eases back out, the tightness of Cobb’s ass is like a vice. It makes Din feel lightheaded as he starts to ease back in, the tightness is blinding as he fills Cobb over and over.

Din rolls his hips forward with every thrust into Cobb’s tight ass, grinding against his prostate as he drops a hand to fist Cobb’s cock. There’s no more burn or stretch for Cobb, the only thing he feels is the tightness in his balls as he feels the sudden rush of his orgasm approaching. The slow, firm pumps of his cock driving him to the edge as he feels so utterly consumed by Din.

“Din,” Cobb mewls as the sound of skin slapping skin fills the air.

“I’ve got you,” Din breathes as he leans back on his thighs, pulling the marshal back against his chest, cock buried deep inside him as he changes the angle, “Come for me, mesh’la, let me see you come undone,” he presses his nose into the sensitive skin behind Cobb’s ear as he pants against his jaw from behind.

“Maker,” Cobb groans as he leans back on Din, he’s so full.

Cobb feels his dick twitch as Din’s cock fucks up into him, nudging his prostate with every upwards snap of the Mandalorian’s hips. Cobb comes with a cry as Din thumbs the head of his cock while rolling his hips up, grinding up into his ass. Hot spurts of come explode from Cobb’s cock, covering his abdomen, coating Din’s fingers as he shudders through overstimulated aftershocks as Din picks up the pace.

“There you go,” Din snarls as he takes the marshal’s lobe between his teeth, nipping at the skin as he feels the coil of pressure in his abdomen snap. He falls forward, pushing Cobb back down on all fours as he fucks down into Cobb’s ass with fervour. He manages another few hurried, stuttered thrusts before he’s coming hard.

His vision blurs at the edges as he empties himself inside Cobb’s ass. He lets out a soft groan as his fingertips dig into Cobb’s hips. He stills finally as he rests his forehead between Cobb’s shoulder blades.

Din’s thighs are weak, and his grip is slipping as the only sound in the small bedroom is the heavy panting coming from both men as they come down from their high. Din eases out of Cobb slowly, making sure not to pull out too quickly. Din’s breath hitches at the sight of his come leaking out of Cobb’s tight asshole. The viscous, pearly spend dribbles down the marshal’s balls, Din has to fight the urge to lean down and lap it up.

“Come on,” Din wheezes as he struggles to keep the marshal from falling into the come soaked sheets, “’Fresher.”

“Yessir,” Cobb slurs happily as he lets Din manhandle him upright.

“How was that for you?” Din asks with worry tinging his voice as he regains clarity, concerned he had gone too hard.

“You kidding?” Cobb laughs, his voice sounding less floaty by the minute, “That was the best fuck I’ve ever had Mand- Din,” He corrects himself as he stumbles over to the toilet to relief himself. He flops down onto the toilet seat and grins up at Din. Din feels like the sound of Cobb relieving himself should make him feel bashful, but there’s something oddly comforting about it. It feels domestic and familiar, like they’ve done it a thousand times before.

“I’m glad,” Din says, still in awe at the sight of Cobb’s face, he reaches out and cups his lover’s cheek gently, “Thank you.”

“Thank me?” Cobb scoffs as he stands, cupping Din’s jaw in a perfect mirror as he really looks at him “Thank you,” Cobb says softly as he presses his forehead to Din’s, “Thank you for coming back.”

Din pauses, unsure what to say as emotion overwhelms him, tears pool in the corners of his eyes as he leans forward to kiss Cobb. It’s a slow, gentle series of lips sliding over one another, with no intended goal, no meaning or fanfare.

A stolen moment, an unspoken admission, a silent promise.

“Now clean up and get your ass to bed,” Cobb murmurs against Din’s lips, “I’m beat.”

Din laughs as Cobb grabs his ass affectionately before slipping out of the Refresher.

The Mandalorian crawls into bed minutes later, nestling into Cobb’s side as he loops a strong thigh over the other man’s waist.

“Promise not to wait so long next time?” Cobb asks, already falling asleep, his lips pressed to the crown of Din’s head as he speaks.

“Promise.”

Din lets his eyes fall shut as he finally feels the knot in his chest unravel, leaving only one thought in his mind.

Home.

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[absurdthirst]

Simply Din Djarin {Mando x F!Reader}

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 6k

Warnings: Nudity, skinny dipping, beskar-less Din, lying, first kisses, oral sex (male receiving), vaginal sex, angst

Comments: Din decides to spend a week on a remote planet, sans armor to swim in the waters and come to terms with what he needs to do. Meeting you when you come to your swimming hole, things become intimate and you have no idea the handsome naked man in front of you is a Mandalorian. He's simply Din Djarin.

✨Who's excited for Season 3 of The Mandalorian? WE ARE!!!! ✨

A/N: This entire story is based of this NSFW GIF. What can we say? We're thots.

Co-written with @storiesofthefandomlovers

**Follow @absurdthirst-writes and turn on notifications to stay up to date on all new fics.

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Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.

It’s a gorgeous sunny day on Bellassa, the lakes shine and with Grogu safe with the other young ones of the town, Din felt secure enough to seek out the lake. It’s deserted, no one is around, so he methodically strips off his beskar, removes his flight suit and allows this one and only moment so far in his life to let the sun hit every part of his body. 

Completely naked, he sighs in bliss, and after hiding his helmet and armor, he walks towards the shore. The cool water hits his feet, then his calves, then his thighs, until he’s waist deep. He’s never felt so free. The sun warms him and he tilts his head back, enjoying this moment without the galaxy on his beskar-clad shoulders. Dipping beneath the water, he starts to swim and revels in the feel of the cool water and the absolute silence. It’s paradise and Din knows he will be doing this again before he leaves Bellassa. 

When he breaks the surface, he inhales deeply and his eyes widen when he sees you walking towards the shore, also naked, and fuck, you’re gorgeous. He knows he should dip under the water, try to get out of sight before you see him without his beskar, but then he imagines meeting someone as plain Din Djarin. He often wonders who he would’ve been if the Mandalorians didn’t take him in. Would he have been a tradesman? Maybe he would’ve been a Rebel? Would he have a family? It makes his head spin sometimes and ultimately, he decides to pretend to be plain Din Djarin, not Mando. 

“Oh Maker!” You shriek when you see his face and you rush to cover yourself up under the water. 

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t see you there.” Din apologizes in a rush and you shiver at the cold water, 

“I haven’t seen anyone here…ever. I- I didn’t know that anyone else knew about this place. Sorry. You- you scared me.”

“I just arrived last night.” Din confesses, motioning towards the forest where his Starfighter is hidden. Grogu is still sleeping there and he shakes his head.” “I’m sorry again.” He murmurs softly. “The water was too tempting.” 

“It’s- it’s okay.” You swim back a few feet, putting some distance between you and the strange, handsome man. “I understand, I wanted to swim as well.” You introduce yourself and tilt your head at the man, finding his bashful expression to be charming. He didn’t seem like he posed a threat. “What is your name?”

He hesitates for just a second, knowing he shouldn’t give his name but you don’t seem like a threat. ��Din Djarin.” He answers and you hum, repeating his name. Hearing you say it, so innocently and sweet, has his stomach twisting. “You are from Bellassa?” He asks and you nod.

“I’ve never left. I like it here. It’s peaceful. Warm and safe. What more could a girl ask for?” You tease softly, waving your arms through the water, and Din nods, a soft smile on his face. You seem so untouched by the horrors of the galaxy. 

“Not much more, I suppose. Does your family live here? Your - your partner?” He asks, a little out of practice with small talk. Most of the time he lets his fists do the talking and he grunts or has a one word answer. 

“My family lives here. My parents, my brothers and sisters. I - I don’t have a partner.” You tell him bashfully.

Din knows that his face gives away every little thought that he’s feeling. Surprise rides across it now. You are gorgeous, why wouldn’t you have a partner? “I’m here with my- my son.” He offers. “He’s like my son.” He clarifies as he realizes it sounds like he is married. “I don’t have a partner either.”

You frown, certain that a man like him would have a significant other. “Well, that’s not necessarily a bad thing that neither of us have a partner because we’d have to explain why we are both swimming naked in a lake.” You giggle, loving how you can see every micro expression on his face. So many people keep their face impassive but his brown eyes show everything.

Din nods seriously, seeing how that could be a problem. “Do you swim here a lot?” He asks curiously, encouraged by the fact that you haven’t left or tried to move away from him. He’s not drifted closer, content with floating in his own area and enjoying the water engulfing him.

You nod, “every day if I can. I love how peaceful it is. It’s nice to escape and just be left to my own thoughts.” 

Din sputters, “oh I’m so sorry. I’ll go.” 

You shake your head, shifting a little closer to him, “no. No. You can stay. It’s nice to talk to someone. Tell me, what do you do, Din?” You ask him, certain he will say he’s a Rebel. He has that look about him.

“I- I’m a moisture farmer.” He thinks of Quill and nods. “On Tatooine. Supplying water to Mos Eisley.” It’s a lie, but it feels good not to have you freeze up at the knowledge that he’s a bounty hunter. Most people either want to fight him or run from him.

You sense a hesitation but you are innocent to the terrors of the galaxy. Safe on your small planet that seemed untouched by the Empire. Maybe they didn’t think it was significant enough. You’ve heard of Tatooine and know it’s a desert planet. “Wow. You- you must have seen a lot of the galaxy.” You shift closer again, curious about him. “Tell me the best place you’ve been to. I - I haven’t left the planet so I need to live through you.”

Din admires the whimsical smile on your face and wishes he could be so carefree, so unjaded by this life. “Naboo.” He murmurs softly, remembering the lush green and blue planet. The waters remind him of this lake. “Although this is a close second.” He bites his lip and flusters when he realizes how you can interpret that. It’s so much easier to think these things and stay silent behind the helmet.

You grin, liking that he has enjoyed your planet so far. “I wouldn’t mind visiting Tatooine one day.” You admit and tilt your head up towards the sun, the water rippling as you kick your legs out to float. You are uncaring of your nudity, knowing that a man as well traveled as Din should have been a variety of figures. You are here to relax, wanting to forget about your troubles.

“It’s all sand.” Din’s mouth is as dry as the Dune Sea, watching your nude body float on the water. Your nipples are perked up and he imagines sucking on them. His cock starts to harden, making him reach down and cup himself to try to make his reaction to you go away. You want to enjoy yourself, not be gawked at. “It wouldn’t be as refreshing as this.”

You close your eyes, enjoying the peace and unaware of the Mandalorian's struggle. You sigh when you open your eyes to see the sun shifting towards the horizon. "I should be heading home. My parents worry even though I am old enough to join the Rebellion." You joke and shift to head back to shore. Again, you care little for your nudity as you reach for your towel, aware of those dark eyes watching you. "Your son shall be awaiting your return too, I imagine?" You hum, drying off your body.

Din scoffs. “Little gremlin sleeps nearly all the time.” He huffs fondly, knowing that he will be hungry when he wakes up. That and will be ready to cause trouble. His eyes flirt over your body and he looks away, aware that if he keeps staring, he will get hard again. He doesn’t come out of the water completely, just to his chest and he glances back at you again. “It - it was nice to meet you.” He offers, frowning slightly at how ridiculous he sounds when he’s not hidden behind his armor.

You giggle at his expression, sliding your feet into your sandals. “You too, Din Djarin.” You wink and know he wants privacy to get out, so unlike the openness of your home planet. You make your way home, thinking of the handsome traveler. 

****

When Din returns to Grogu, the little gremlin is awake and eating the hidden box of crackers Din had stowed for snack emergencies with the kid. “I know. I lost track of time.” Din sighs, now dressed in his beskar. Grogu coos, tilting his head at Din.

The cracker in his claw, Grogu toddles over to where Din is standing and holds onto his boot until he bends down and picks him up. He shoves the cracker in his mouth and reaches out and touches the helmet and coos again, making Din sigh as he thinks about today.

**** 

You spend all day thinking about Din and decide to go back to the lake for your daily swim. You smile when you see him in the water already. “Hello Din. Long time no see.” You tease, working on stripping off to get into the water.

“Yes, such a long time.” Din can’t hide the smirk that he has as he watches you strip. You obviously have no issue baring your body and he’s curious as to why. “Is everyone on your planet like you?” He asks, tilting his head curiously.

You nod, knowing what he means. “We believe that the body should be admired. It is our true blessing. We are alive, we are here and that itself is a blessing. No one is ashamed of their body as every day is a gift. Our culture is not one of constant nudity but we are proud of our bodies, no matter how they look.” You explain, kicking aside your pants and you quickly walk towards the shore to step into the water. “Are Tatooians not happy to bare themselves?” You question him, wondering if his culture is more conservative than yours.

“This is the first time someone has seen me bare since-“ he shakes his head. “Since I was a child.” He admits quietly. “Tatooine has two suns, your skin would be dry and burnt under the fiery suns. Staying covered keeps you protected.” He explains, although he doesn’t tell you that no one has seen his face beyond when he had become an apostate because he is Mandalorian. Broken his creed. He has to put the helmet back on and redeem himself in the waters of Mandalore, but for now, it’s pleasant having you look at his face.

Your eyes widen, “no one has seen you? Not even a lover?” You ask him, surprised that no one has caressed every inch of his body. “Surely you have had lovers caress your body?” You ask with curiosity and confusion.

“No one.” He’s not celibate, he’s had sex. Normally in the back of a cantina or some dusty alleyway. Only baring his cock and taking them from behind. No one had touched his skin until Grogu had when he was leaving with the Jedi.

Your eyebrows raise, “no one?” You’re shocked. He’s so handsome and you’re certain that any lover he chooses would be lucky to have him, you know you’d want him to want you again. Biting your lip, you shift closer. “Can I- can I touch you?” You ask softly and he hesitates, you see it in his eyes until he nods once. You shift even closer until you’re standing in front of him, the water covering your chests but you reach up to caress his cheek. His eyes close and you feel him shudder. There’s nothing but the sound of the waves and the breeze as your hand trails down to caress his neck, featherlight touches to his skin while you slowly move your hand down to his clavicle where you see the scars. “You were in fights?” You question him, tracing a scar.

“Some.” He reminds himself that you don’t know about the beskar that is hidden in a bundle surrounded by his cape in the cave. You don’t know that most tremble and scatter like rats when he walks through the towns he arrives in. You just see a man in front of you, one that you are obviously attracted to. He knows that look in someone’s eyes. He groans when you fingers brush over a nipple delicately, his cock twitching in interest. 

You smile softly when he groans, adding your other hand to the effort of caressing him. You trail your hands along his chest, pressing your palms onto it so you can feel his rapid heartbeat. “Can I kiss you?” You ask softly, meeting his eye and he inhales sharply. He has never been kissed before. He doesn’t know if you’ll be happy with his kiss but he nods and you carefully lean in to brush your lips against his.

Din shudders, inhaling as your lips caress his and his hand comes to hover around the back of your neck before he touches you. Groaning when your kiss firms up, and his eyes flutter closed, just absorbing the almost overwhelming sensation of your lips on his. The idea that his lips might be dry has him sliding his tongue out to wet them and gasping when your tongue touches his. 

He seems so hesitant and you enjoy how he exhales into your mouth when you become bolder, sliding your tongue into his mouth. Your hands slide up to wrap your arms around his neck. You kiss languidly, in no rush to move things along. You like how sloppy he is, making you feel in control, and you tangle your fingers in his hair, tugging on it.

The moan Din lets out is pathetic, nearly a whimper but you seem to know that he loved it. Pulling on his hair again and moving closer to him. His cock is rock hard, poking you in the stomach as you press against him. Making him blush as he pulls away, “sorry.” He rasps out, hating that he can’t control himself.

“It’s okay. It’s okay.” You promise, “I like it. I like that I’ve affected you so much.” You press yourself against him, trapping his cock between you. Loving how big he feels against your tummy. “Tell me what you want, Din.” You murmur, pressing kisses along his jaw.

Din’s lashes flutter and he moans, his cock pulsing against the soft skin of your belly. “I want-“ he starts, panting when you nibble on his ear. “Dank ferik.” He hisses. “I want to- to let you touch me. To touch you.” He’s touched people before but it’s always been through the layer of his glove. “Fuck you.”

You smile against his skin, able to read him like a book but you love hearing him say he wants to fuck you. "I want you to fuck me." You confess, kissing along his neck and you reach between you to wrap your fingers around his cock, squeezing him. "You can touch me wherever you want." You tell him breathily, desperate to feel his hands on you.

Din hisses, barely able to keep from thrusting into your grip. “Fuck, fuck.” He feels you wrap your legs around his waist and he loves the way your skin slides against his. Turning to sluice through the water to shore, he ducks his head and starts kissing any part of you his lips can touch. Carefree in a way Din has never been before, able to just feel and prioritize pleasure over everything else. It’s freeing, you’re freeing.

He lays you down on the sand and you caress his back as he kisses along your chest, down to your breasts. He’s sloppy and eager, making you gasp his name as he takes your nipple into his mouth. You can tell he’s fumbling but his enthusiasm makes up for it. “Maker.” You pant, arching your back into his mouth and his cock twitches against your thigh.

Din has never tasted anything like the taste of your skin, covered in the fresh water and sand. It’s musky and salty, making his moan as his tongue flicks over the hard peak of your breast. Your response spurs him on and he wants to keep suckling at you until you push him away.

You push at his chest and shift so he lays down. He follows your silent request, pliable and eyes full of awe. It makes you feel powerful and wanted. You shift to straddle him, bending over to kiss along his chest. “Din. You are so beautiful.” You lick along the various scars and blemishes covering his skin until you are kneeling between his thighs. You wrap your hand around his impressive cock, fingers not able to touch with how girthy he is, and you lean in to wrap your lips around the head of his cock.

“Dank ferik!” Din whines, eyes blown wide and entire body jolting in pleasure. Without the armor on, he’s stripped of all his defenses and unable to stop himself from talking. “Fuck, oh fuck.” He pants, digging his fingers into the sand under him to keep from grabbing you. Your breasts rub against his thighs and he swears that you are a sorcerer, just like the Jedi, as you lap at his cock. He’s never trusted someone to suck his cock, it made him too vulnerable, but you think he’s just a man and he can’t believe this is what he’s been missing.

You love how wrecked he looks and you haven't even started. Deciding to take him deeper, you widen your jaw and look up to meet his dark gaze, his mouth open as he pants out harsh breaths. It's gorgeous and you want him to remember this moment forever. You want to sear this into his memory. You can sense he's holding back so you lift off of his cock, "you can touch me," you tell him and resume your attempts to take him deeper down your throat.

His hand shoots down to cradle your jaw, cupping it and pressing his fingers to the hinge of your jaw. Making you open your mouth so he can see his cock. “Fuuuuuuck.” He hisses, overwhelmed by how good you look like that. “Are you enjoying sucking my cock?” He groans out.

You hum around him, letting him know you do. You usually don't do this. Your last boyfriend was - Maker knows how long ago. You aren't one for casual but Din seems to bring something out inside of you. You whimper when he grabs the back of your neck and pushes you further down his cock. You choke but try to breathe through your nose to swallow around him.

“Fuck- I - I never -I never had someone do this.” He growls out the confession, eyes burning into yours. You seem to make him want to confess everything, to bare himself even more. “So good.” He pants. “I want to try.” He promises you. “After- after I fuck you.”

You moan around his cock, looking forward to touching you. You’re dripping wet and aching for his touch. His hands are surprisingly soft, making you think he wears gloves. “Fuck. I- I don’t want to cum down your throat.” He admits, knowing he won’t last long if you keep sucking him like that. You reluctantly pull off of him, not wanting this to end too soon, and you kiss up his stomach, loving the slight belly he has, and you eventually press your lips to his. Straddling him so his cock is pressed between you.

He isn’t a virgin, but there is something that about the way you notch his cock at your entrance and start to stink down on him has his toes curling into the sand. His fingers dig into your hips and he groans your name as his voice breaks. It’s hot and tight and wet, probably more so because he can feel everything. Nothing is hidden behind the layers.

You moan, sinking down onto him until he’s fully inside of you. Your walls flutter around him, and you whimper his name. Your hands caress his chest, admiring the tattoo he has etched into his skin. “Feel so good.” You pant and lift your hips, starting a slow pace to ride his cock.

The view is different without that display from his helmet. The colors are more brilliant and without any of the information coming up on the screen. He just…watches. You’re gorgeous as you gallop on his cock, using him for your own pleasure and giving him more than he ever dreamed possible. Making him try to move with you, chasing the heat of your cunt when you lift off of him.

You love how his fingers will leave bruises, how you’ll know he was inside of you tomorrow with every move you make. “Oh Maker. You- you feel so good.” You pant and rock your hips, leaning forward to press your chest against his, your lips seeking his with an eagerness you’ve never felt.

Din jerks his head back on instinct and then lunges forward to kiss you. Most often someone coming towards his face was either trying to remove his helmet or head butt him. Not with you though. Your tongue slides into his mouth again and he twitches deep inside you. Moaning into your mouth as he sloppily tries to copy the flicks of your tongue.

You don’t care that he seems inexperienced, you love being able to take control, to show him what to do. His tongue flicks against yours and you grind back onto him. “Fuck.” You pant into his mouth when the new angle has his pelvis grinding into your clit and his cock angled against that spot inside of you that makes you cry out against his mouth.

The second that Din feels you clench around him, he knows that this is the angle that is going to make you cum. Grabbing the back of your neck, he angles his hips to keep pressure on your clit, loving how you grind down on him. You’re more enthusiastic and responsive than any other person he’s fucked. Making him want to make you scream his name. A memory he can take with him when he leaves.

You squeal, letting him position you, and you frantically grind back onto him. You’re so close. You pant, eyes squeezed shut, until you’re crying out against his jaw. “Fuck!” You wail, clamping down on his cock, thighs shaking and you can’t seem to move anymore, your body freezing as you clamp down on his cock and soak him.

“Dank ferik!” Din wraps his arms around you, thankful that the water had hard packed the sand right where he is laying. Letting him thrust up into you when you seem incapable of moving. Loving how your moans pitch up in octave every time he fills you to the hilt. Every nerve ending in his body alight with need as he chases his own release.

“I- I have an implant. Cum inside of me. Please. Cum inside of me.” You plead, letting him use your body and extend your orgasm. “Please Din.” You ramble, pressing your lips to his, loving how he’s holding you close.

“Fuck, Mesh’la.” Din gasps against your lips and his hips work even harder, pistoning up as hard as he can. Tightening his hold on you while the loud squelch of your cunt is all he can hear along with the roaring thunder starting to build in his blood. “Gonna- fuck, gonna fill you uuuuuuup!” He cries out, body tightening as he pulls you down in his cock one last time and stays buried inside you, pumping you full of his cum.

You collapse against him, head pressed against his as his cock pulses inside of you, and you sigh against his chin. “Fuck.” You pant, out of breath, and when his cock finally stops pulsing, you kiss his jaw. You’re exhausted and boneless but in an incredible way. “Maker. That was - wow.” You giggle, amazed that he made you cum so hard. No other lover has made you feel like this.

Din hums, closing his eyes and panting as he tries to catch his breath. Stroking your back lazily because he’s unable to stop touching you. “Very…wow.” He agrees, more relaxed than he’s ever been in his life. The water laps at his feet gently and the breeze cools his heated skin. It’s paradise and he’s reluctant to move from this spot.

You kiss him softly, glad he enjoyed himself as much as you did, and you are about to slide your tongue into his mouth when you hear a coo. You pull back, looking up to see a small creature with big eyes and even bigger ears staring at you and Din. “Maker!” You shriek, shifting off of Din and you grab your towel to cover yourself up.

“Grogu.” Din had rolled over, about to face whatever danger was coming bare assed, only to be faced with his son. He drops his head slightly as the baby starts toddling over. “This is- this is my son.” Din explains. “I care for him.” Reaching out as soon as the baby toddles close enough, he snatches him up. Watching as the large black eyes get even wider and he coos as he reaches a three fingered claw out to touch Din’s face. “Sorry, he was still asleep.” He tells you. “You know you’re supposed to stay with the ship.” He scolds Grogu lightly, aware the child does what he wants.

You step closer now you know it’s his son. “He looks just like you.” You tease and Din snorts. You reach out to gently caress his ear and he coos at you, reaching up to press his claw to your face, his other hand still pressed to Din’s. You feel a surge of electricity run through you and you gasp, your eyes meeting Din’s. “What was that?” You ask, eyes wide and Din sets Grogu down to grab a towel. 

“Nothing.” Din rushes out and you are confused by his change in demeanor. 

“I will see you tomorrow?” You ask and he nods, picking Grogu up again. “Okay. I’ll see you soon. Bye.” You wave at the child who coos and offers you a toothy smile.

“You can’t do that.” Din scolds as he walks back to the cave where his armor is hidden. “Your Jedi powers shouldn’t be used on everyone.” Grogu coos up at him and Din sighs, knowing the child is hungry “yes, we’ll get you something to eat.” He tells him, wondering if he will see you tomorrow. 

****

“Dank ferik.” Din moans, sitting up this time with you in his lap, his cock buried inside you as he bites along your shoulder. “So fucking good, don’t want to leave.”

“Don’t.” You beg breathlessly, rocking your hips and your hands grip his shoulders, “don’t leave. I don’t want you to go.” You confess, pressing your lips to his, sliding your tongue into his mouth. Your hips rock against his, nails scratching his skin.

He doesn’t want to go, he wants to stay here with you, but the Darksaber is in his possession. He was the leader of Mandalore. He needed to unite his people and more importantly, he needed to redeem himself in the Living Waters of Mandalore. “Have to.” He gasps when the kiss is broken. “Have to- to move on.”

You hate that he has to go. Certain you could love him. You’ve talked, in the aftermath of your lovemaking, you talk about the galaxy and your family, and he tells you what he can but you can sense he’s holding back. “Stay.” You plead, wishing you could convince him even though you can tell he has to go. You cup his cheeks, pressing your lips to his, and his hands slide down to squeeze your ass.

Din groans, wishing that he could, leaning in and kissing you harshly. Biting your bottom lip and then soothing it with his tongue as he rocks his hips up. “I would.” He gasps out. “If-if things were different. I would stay.” He imagines it, staying and raising Grogu here and marrying you. Having children with you and raising them without his helmet.

You feel tears sting in your eyes, knowing that this man will be leaving tomorrow. It makes your heart break. You have fallen for him and you know it’s going to hurt you to watch him go when you could so easily picture spending the rest of your life with him. You don’t say another word as you focus on how he feels inside of you, wanting to memorize the smallest detail, down to his breathing and the way he smells, his scars and the way his hands caress your skin. “Oh Maker.” You pant, feeling yourself getting close and you whimper, not wanting to cum because when you do, he will and you know he will leave you.

There’s a desperation in the way you move together. The week spent swimming and fucking meaning more to him that he could ever explain. Feeling closer to you than anyone, ever. Din holds you close, rocking his hips up and mumbling words into your skin. Praises, words in Mando'a. Telling you how he feels without voicing the words. His grip bruising and his kisses desperate.

You don’t recognize what he is murmuring into your skin, words like “mesh’la” and “cyar’ika” and “riduur.” You don’t know what they mean but the way he says them has you clinging to him. “Oh fuck. Din. Im going to -” You grind down on top of him and stop, not wanting to cum just yet. 

“Come on baby.” He murmurs, grabbing your ass to help you move and you let him drag you down and lift you on his cock. 

“Oh fuck. Oh fuck. Fu-” You choke, burying your face in his neck as you clamp down on his cock.

Din groans out your name, cumming right behind you. Holding you tight as he rolls his hips up and empties himself into you. Loving how you take every drop of his cum and whine as his seed coats your walls. Holding onto you and wrapping himself around you as both ride out your high.

You wrap your arms around him, holding him close, and you feel his heart beating as fast as yours. You don’t say a word, just breathe him in, and you savor these last moments you’ll have with him before you return him. You’re not sure you could ever come to this beach again to swim after he leaves, he will haunt you here.

“This has been the best time of my life, mesh’la.” Din murmurs softly, his hands splayed across your back as he holds you against him. Not wanting to break the contact because it will be the last time he touches you like this. Skin to skin. He pulls back and stares into your eyes. “I’ll never forget it.” He can’t promise to come back, he doesn’t know what will happen, and he doesn’t want you to wait for a ghost.

You kiss him, soft and sweet, and you delay his departure back to his ship for as long as possible, memorizing those dark brown eyes, tracing his tattoo and the way he smiles when you run your finger along his nose. When the breeze turns cold, you shiver and he lifts you off of his lap, “come on, cyar'ika. Let’s get dressed.” He grunts as he stands up, reaching for your clothes, and you slowly dress. 

Once you’re dressed, you reach up to cup his cheek, “goodbye Din. May the force be with you.” You murmur, recognizing the force in Grogu and you haven’t asked him any questions but you assume that his son is part of the reason he has to leave.

“May…the force be with you.” Din murmurs, trying to school his face so the shock isn’t obvious. Reaching for you one last time, he pulls you close and kisses you tenderly, not a kiss of passion but one of love. “Take care of yourself, cyar'ika.” He begs softly, letting you go and turning around so he can walk to the caves to get dressed for the last time on this planet.

****

It’s been a restless night, tossing and turning when you think of Din leaving you in the morning and you know you can’t let him go. You’ll follow him across the galaxy, no questions asked. You wake up as the sun rises, rushing to get ready and gather a pack full of things. You say goodbye to your family, acting like it’s another day, and rush to the place you know his ship is parked. “Din! Din!” You shout, rushing up to the only ship in the clearing and you pant to try and catch your breath. A few months later, a man clad in armor appears and your heart stops, making you backup a little. “I- I’m looking for Din Djarin.”

Underneath the mask, Din had broken out into a smile before he appeared in front of you. Happy to hear your voice and hoping that you were going to tell him that you would come with him. That you wanted to be with him wherever he had to go. Until he steps out and your face changes. He sees the fear fill your eyes and you step back from him, wary of the man in front of you. Mando. The same reaction he gets from most. Instead of removing his helmet, Din shakes his head, lowering his voice through the modulator. “He left.” He tells you curtly, heart aching because he knows that he loves you. It’s for the best though, you are scared of the beskar, scared of who he really is. Din Djarin is just an illusion.

Your heart breaks at the news that Din has already left. The Mandalorian looks like he could snap you in two and you know he won’t want you sobbing in front of him. “Oh, uh, okay. If - if you happen to see him, can you tell him I wanted to come with him? If you see him…tell him I love him.” You tell the Mandalorian even though you know he would likely never see Din, you felt like you had to tell someone. Even if it was the imposing beskar clad Mando.

He doesn’t trust himself to answer, instead he just nods once. Watching you and memorizing your face. It’s different through the HUD and he doesn’t like it as much as looking up at your face without the separation. The news that you loved him fills his heart with joy and sorrow, hating that he can’t have what he wants. After staring for a long minute, Din turns around and starts to finish closing up the panels on the star fighter to get it ready for take off.

You stand there, watching the star fighter engines start and you swallow as the tears start to stream down your cheeks, mourning the future you could’ve had with Din. You’re not sure why you watch the Mandalorian go but just as he lifts up from the ground, your eyes widen. “Grogu?” You gasp, seeing Din’s son pop up in the back seat and you glance back at the Mando, putting two and two together. “Wait! Wait!” You shout as the starfighter lifts higher. “Din! Stop!” You scream, begging him to hear you but the engines are too loud and he doesn’t look down at you. You’re helpless, unable to do anything except watch him disappear into the sky and off into the galaxy. 

“Goodbye Din Djarin.” You sob, sinking down to the ground to cry your heart out. You’ll never forget him, the man known to the rest of the galaxy as a bounty hunter, a Mandalorian, the Mand’alor. To you, he was simply Din Djarin.

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[corazondebeskar-reads]

live to rise - chapter eight

live to rise series

eight: ashes of another life (final chapter)

series masterlist | prev chapter

gladiator!Din Djarin x f!reader

word count: 4.5k

summary: your journey at the arena comes to an end.

chapter warnings: CREATOR CHOSE NOT TO USE WARNINGS. This chapter contains many very dark themes. I have omitted them as they are all spoilers. Please feel free to DM me.

Thank you all so much for joining me on this journey.

also on ao3

dividers by @saradika-graphics

When morning comes, it brings no mercy. 

Instead, it brings the trumpet of an all hands assembly as the suns rise. 

You and Eli have both survived the night and are awakened by the sounds as the full force of the arena staff and prisoners are gathered for the second consecutive day in the arena. It’s practically unheard of. 

It turns your stomach, and a tiny, resolute part of you wonders if it will bring you death. 

But once again, you’re reminded that Gideon will not show you that kindness. 

He has something else to show you, instead. 

Eli figures it out first. “Oh, maker. Don’t look,” he hisses urgently. “Don’t watch, don’t watch.”

But you do. 

You watch as the troopers line them up. Eighteen servants. Eighteen very familiar faces. 

Stellus. Hali. Sessa. The entire barracks staff—each caretaker and attendant on their knees with their hands behind their head. 

“Don’t,” Eli whispers. 

But you have to. 

There’s no showmanship. Gideon doesn’t ignite the saber. There are no cameras and no theatrics. 

Just a standard execution. The quick, sharp chirp of blasters and the thump of bodies on the sands. 

Eighteen lost souls whose only crimes were association. For sleeping in the same room, for sharing the same meals. 

It was no loss to the facility; they’d ship in new prisoners to fill the spaces left behind. And Gideon would sleep easy knowing the threat of anyone who might have dared to conspire or be inspired by either of you had been eliminated. 

Silence fills the arena when the firing ceases. It echoes in your ears. No one dares move or speak. 

“There will be no fights today. All staff are to return to their barracks under lockdown,” a Commander announces after Gideon has swept off. “Regular schedules resume tomorrow.”

An execution and a lockdown. Your mind races. Eighteen lost souls, and no meals or medical or anything for those who survived. 

You turn to Eli to share your distress and are startled to see a dangerous smile on his face. 

“What’s wrong with you?” You hiss. 

“He’s scared,” Eli says, his voice low and rough, nothing you’ve seen before. “Much more scared than he’d be if it were just the Mandalorian’s escape. That means something is happening out there.”

The hope from his revelation is undercut when you realize everyone has left the arena. 

The weight of the full lockdown sets in. They aren’t sending a cleanup crew. 

They’re going to leave you there with the bodies. 

Eli makes you turn around after a while but it doesn’t make a difference. The vacant eyes of your friends and comrades burn worse than the darksaber’s scars. 

He slumps more and more as the day creeps forward. The pain from his leg is wearing down his resolve but he still spares energy to try and bring you comfort. 

“This wasn’t because of you,” he says. “This is on me.”

You know he means well. But you find it doesn’t matter in the end. They’re dead, and your actions, direct or indirect, led them there. 

The next morning, the arena returns to life. The corpses are removed and burned, the sands are swept, and the fights return. It’s easier to look away down here than it was from the box. Easier to just turn enough that you can’t see. 

Eli stays awake less and less as the day drags on. You wait and wait for the same to come over you, for your body to pull you gently to the depths and let the current take you. You don’t want to watch him die, too, so you pray again for mercy.

It doesn’t come, but something else does.

In the silence of the third night, you think it’s a hallucination. After the oppressive heat of the long days, the high summer sun holding neither kindness nor cruelty but just by her nature scalding your skin, bodies withering without water, she comes. 

You blink slowly, the light of the twin moons making her armor spark and glare. It’s the strangest Mandalorian armor you’ve ever seen—which doesn’t mean much, since you’ve only seen the two kits. But it’s undeniably Mandalorian. 

It doesn’t matter. You lurch back away as they cut the bars with a laser and ease the metal quietly to the ground. 

They offer a hand, and you stare at it. 

“Look, I’m here for the saber, but I promised I’d try to free you. You can go wherever you’d like. If you don’t impede my mission, I’ll give you a ride—” She stops and assesses Eli for a moment, who hasn’t woken at the commotion—“But I’ll leave without you if I have to.”

“Where’s your ship?” you say. 

“Just follow me.”

“What about the rest of his armor?” 

“We’re not risking getting captured for that,” she says, starting to walk away.

“He’d rather have the armor than the saber.”

She sighs and turns back to give you the location of her ship. “If you’re not there when I leave—“

“I know,” you say. 

It hurts like hell to get up and even more to rouse Eli and loop his arm around your neck. The chances of getting him safely there are slim, but you’re fairly sure the guards will shoot to kill if they catch you, so there’s not really a bad option. 

Either path is better than shriveling up and wasting away in the cage. 

You leave him against a wall near the exit closest to her ship, and he tries to stop you before the pain overtakes him again. Dread fills you at the thought of finding him already gone when you return, but you have to do this.

It turns out, though, that you didn’t. The New Mandalorian is already there when you reach the lounge.

“You were right,” she sighs. “It’s one or the other.”

She ends up hauling most of the armor, which is good because you hadn’t thought about how you’d manage with one hand. She also dispatches the guards you encounter without breaking a sweat. 

On the ship, you try not to act surprised when she takes her helmet off. 

“Bo-Katan Kryze,” she says with an extended hand. 

The way she says it makes you think you’re supposed to know who she is. 

“I’m going straight back, and we’ll get him healed up enough for a new assignment. But we can try to arrange transport elsewhere for you once we’ve landed,” she tells you. 

“I’m retiring,” Eli groans from where she’s secured him to a row of dropseats.

“Unlikely,” she says. 

You sit with your hands folded in your lap. It’s not really set in that you’ve made it out. You have nothing to your name but the torn rags that hang loose and limp with singed edges that scrape against your skin. 

You can’t go home. You’ll be lucky if they haven’t killed or captured your family as it is, for the sin of knowing you. 

All you ever wanted was to protect them. That’s why you had paid their tariffs instead of your own. That’s why you consigned yourself to five years of slavery, of suffering the loss of life and loved ones daily for four kriffing years. 

And you risked it all for one man. 

And yet, it feels like more. It always had. You risked it for Din, yes, but also for his son and the green Mandalorian and the woman in front of you now, who risked her life to restore his reign, and you think of the hundreds of beings that gave everything in the name of this one man . 

And you’d do it again. He had confessed one night that he didn’t find himself deserving of the loyalty sworn to him, but you see it, she sees it, everyone sees it. 

The karking Rebel Alliance sees it. 

The galaxy needs the Mandalorians. Without them, the Empire will never fall.  And the Mandalorians need their king, their leader who would have sacrificed himself a thousand times over for them to survive. 

So you clench your jaw and square your shoulders and think of how to live. 

You feel the heat of her gaze before you see it, but when you look up, the woman is unabashedly watching you with a raised eyebrow. 

She looks you over, now that she has your attention. “Shand will be glad to know you survived,” she says, almost lazily. 

“Oh?” you say, forcing down the trace of disappointment. Yes, you had assumed Din was the one who wanted you freed. But any kindness is enough. 

“Yes, she said she grew quite fond of you.”

“Hmm,” is all you can reply. Fondness was not really how you had grown to feel, though the last two days had thrown you off track. 

Before that, though, you don’t think you could feel fond of someone who would own a being like that. 

But you don’t play her game. You don’t dance around the subject. “How is he?”

“He didn’t come back for you, and you’re concerned?”

“It would have been the stupidest move in the karking galaxy, and if you all are such skilled and legendary warriors, you should understand that.”

Silence falls in the cockpit. And then she laughs. “I didn’t expect you to have any bite.”

You don’t say a thing, but you do scowl.

“Well, I didn’t. He calls you kar’talyc. ”

“So?” 

“Do you even know what it means?”

“Of course I don’t, I’m not Mandalorian.”

“That didn’t stop your little message.”

Your head snaps back to her. “You saw that? Did…”

“Did he show an uncharacteristic lack of composure when you used a secret Mandalorian code to apologize to him for being tortured on live holo? Yes.” 

She succeeds in shocking you into silence. You sit and turn it over in your head.

“It wasn’t for that. It was for breaking.”

She rolls her eyes—like, actually rolls her eyes at you while you relive the absolute worst moments of your life in your head. “Everyone breaks,” she says. You didn’t know enough for it to matter.”

You can read between the lines. You didn’t know enough to matter. To her, anyway. Your feelings aren’t hurt, though. 

“It means you’re a bleeding heart. A sap,” she says, pulling you back into the previous conversation.

You sit for a moment with the new knowledge. “I’m going to take that as a compliment,” you say. 

She shakes her head with a hint of a smirk. “He certainly means it as one,” she says in the way of having known someone too well for too long. 

It’s near chaos when you land but you manage to go unnoticed. Bo-Katan is talking to three different people as soon as the ramp lowers, and you direct the medic team to Eli with your good hand, hanging back in the shadows. 

The feeling of hyperspace hasn’t left your bones. You’re adrift in the great cold darkness. Your skin feels cool to the touch, even in the blistering expanse of sand and suns. 

The docking bay is makeshift. Cobbled together from sandstone that’s already cracking under the weight of the ships and scrapyard rejects. 

The ebb and flow of bodies is endless. Humanoids, aliens, and Beskar blend together and no one pays attention to the lost little girl that you feel like, now. It’s like you’re stuck on the other side of a laser gate—all the cacophony blending into an overbearing hum and the movements all blurring and crackling beyond your reach. 

In the end, you sit at the top of the ramp and just watch. Maybe Bo-Katan will come back. Maybe not. But here, you’re out of the way. 

She finds you, in the end. Shand. You suppose you’re glad for a familiar face, especially now that the twin suns are drifting toward the horizon and a strange chill has taken over the desert. Not that you noticed. You’ve been shivering all day anyway.

She doesn’t say anything at first; just leans against the post at the end of the ramp and raises an eyebrow. 

“Hi,” you say cautiously.

“C’mon,” is all she says, jerking her head behind her and turning to walk away. 

You follow her without another word between you. The throngs of bodies part for her despite her small stature, which makes it easy for you to stick close. 

You’re surprised to end up in the medbay. You open your mouth to protest, and she gives you the most reproachful look you’ve ever withered under.

“The entire galaxy watched you get fileted, and you’ve clearly got an infection,” she says.

“I don’t want to waste—”

“Fett has a bacta tank. Don’t be foolish,” she says before turning you over to an equally strict looking Aqualish who doesn’t care to hear what you have to say, either.

Din’s there, somewhere, but you don’t see him. Well. You think he’s there. They mention him in a way that sounds like he’s just down the hall or around the corner, but you don’t actually ask. 

It seems better that way. Safer. Truthfully, you have little time to think of him anyway. 

But there are signs. 

The palace, which you learn belongs to the man called Fett, is massive. And it seems to contain half of the Rebellion, including the Mandalorian survivors who have been absorbed into the movement whether they like it or not. But still, you can go through countless halls without seeing a soul. 

You get put in a room by yourself on one of the upper floors. You know they’ve been converting the lower suites into bunk rooms. That those rooms are even considered more desireable, since being underground protects them better from the heat. 

But when you question it, the tall bald man who escorted you to your room just laughs and says, “I was told you were to never be stuck underground again.” 

“I don’t even know if I’m staying,” you protest to no one when he leaves. Or you think it’s to no one, but you jump out of your skin a moment later when Shand says, “You’re staying,” from behind you.

“I don’t know…” 

“I volunteered you for the medbay but they’d be happy to have you anywhere. The kitchens, the creche, the cleaning crew. You’ve got enough skills to have your choice.” 

“You have a lot of faith in me for being the person who just poured your drinks,” you say wryly.

She snorts. “And managed a barrack and took care of an ornery Mandalorian.” 

“I don’t know,” you say again.

“Just think about it. You’ve more than earned a place here,” she says as she leaves.

You sit on the edge of the bed for a long time. It’s too soft, too endless. You think if you lay in it, you’ll sink in and drown. 

So you sit and force yourself to accept the way the sheets feel beneath your palms and the mattress dips beneath your weight and how the ground grinds beneath your shoes that you wear, now, for the first time in four years. 

You thought they’d feel safer, but they’re more like a cage. 

Everything is wrong. Your hand is healed, the bones settled back like nothing happened. The cuts and bruises and raw, flayed flesh are the same as the day you were born. The bacta erased almost everything.

Your mind doesn’t seem to have been blessed by the bath. It still ticks and clicks all wrong, stuttering over things that used to be effortless. You jump and twitch and stop your breath for any reason, for no reason. 

And you can’t stand droids. 

The first time a protocol droid speaks to you, you find yourself in a storage room two floors up. You don’t know how you got there and you don’t know how long you were gone. Its voice isn’t even the same, but something in you is irrevocably broken. The astromechs are worse. The whirring of their motors doesn’t send you fleeing. 

No. You just fall apart.

It’ll get better, you tell yourself. It has to. You can’t avoid droids, but you can certainly try.

One time, when you’re pulling yourself together after an unfortunately literal run-in with a probe droid, you find yourself in the lower levels of the sprawling complex. But you’re not alone. 

There’s someone running past the door as you exit whatever empty meeting room you have found yourself in. They trip and fall just as they pass.

“Hey kiddo, you okay?” you say, crouching down to the small child.

The little green toddler pushes back up to their feet, though, looks up at you with wide brown eyes, and squeals something unintelligible. 

“Oh, I see. You’re a tough one, huh? Good. Great job.” You hold your hand out for a high five, but they just gently press their tiny palm against yours. 

“That works too,” you assure them.

“C’mon, buddy,” an exasperated, foreignly familiar voice says from behind you. “I know you don’t—”

The little one, who, as your stomach sinks, you realize must be Grogu, babbles excitedly and grabs your hand to show you his father. 

You stand and let him, though you need no introductions. 

The Mandalorian stands before you in all his silver glory. You know that Din is the armor and the armor is Din, but it’s startling to see him this way. He’s not soft or dimpled or warm, now. 

But he’s still Din. You can feel it. 

Inexplicably, you’re being dragged back by an invisible hand, your worries manifesting into something with more control over your body than your hopes. 

You take a step back, leaning your weight on your heel for another. 

“Wait,” he says through the unfamiliar crackle of the modulator.

And then he does the last thing you expect in this moment.

He takes the helmet off. 

You stand, caught in his orbit, your mouth parted just so as you take in the face of the man you thought you’d never see again, one way or another. 

You blink a few times, uncertain.

“I haven’t been avoiding you,” he says in a rush. “Every time I try to find you, I’m too late.”

“You’ve been trying to find me?” Your breath catches noisily in your chest, interrupting yourself. 

“I… of course,” he says, brows furrowed. 

The way he says it is so blunt, so assured, so Din that you can’t believe you ever doubted. Of course. Even if it wasn’t for the things you shared, that’s just who he was. Of course he’d want to find you, to see with his own eyes that you were alive. 

Of course. 

You’re not sure who moves first. It doesn’t matter. The embrace knocks the wind out of you after you fail to account for the solid wall of beskar between your bodies, but you barely notice. His hands, while gloved, are clutching you to him, and he’s kissing you and everything is clicking back into place and tiny hands are… tiny hands are grabbing at your tunic? 

Grogu uses the leverage of your clothes to launch himself up. Din catches him easily, unsurprised by the tiny child’s dexterity. 

It should be strange, you think. This larger-than-life man and this tiny green baby. But seeing his son in his arms completes the portrait of Din that lives in your head. It can’t be strange, could never be. 

Din looks at you with those big, sad baby bantha eyes, and his softness seeps away. “Let me get the womp rat back to the creche. Then we should talk.” 

You don’t know what to expect, but he takes you to his chambers. The door slides shut behind you, and you blink against the heavy dark of the room.

“I’m sorry,” he says sharply, suddenly, but softens. “I’m sorry. Your parents. They’re gone.”

You close your eyes and take a deep breath. You knew, really. You hadn’t wanted to, but you knew. 

“We sent someone,” he adds quietly. “It was too late.”

“Thank you,” you say, staring out the window for a moment, taking in the way the hazy orange sunset blends with the sands. Nothing like the divide of the wind and sea. “Do you know what happened? Or… when?”

He hesitates. 

You turn to him. “I can handle it.”

He grimaces and sighs. “You don’t have to.”

“Don’t,” you say sharply, and his shoulders slump.

“Troopers shot them,” he starts, hesitating to let you back out. When you say nothing, he gives in. “After the broadcast.”

It hurts more than you thought. “What are the chances—”

“I’m sorry.”

You can’t quite swallow it. “You were right. I shouldn’t have asked.”

Somehow, as always, he knows. “You would have wondered. And I didn’t want to lie to you, anyway.” He stands up and approaches you, drawing you in by your shoulders even though you don’t want to be held. 

But he knows. He always knows. And you fold, because you don’t want to, but you need to. 

And it’s easier. Easier to let him envelope you, to fill yourself with the soft slopes of his muscles and lose yourself in his musk. To forget, just for now, not for always, but for a moment. To steady yourself with having one person back from the list of the lost. 

You don’t have him, really, you know this. Can’t have him properly. Not the way you’d like. But you let him have you. 

Oh, and he does.

He has you sprawled on the chaise lounge before you register the movement, lowering you down as he kisses you, and you just following the press of his body. He doesn’t stay above you long, his mind far more focused on lifting up your skirt and helping himself to your cunt. 

He feasts and you fall. His lips and tongue taste every part of you. The difference this time is that he talks. In the stilted silence of the cell, neither of you had sweet or sultry sentiments but now, oh, now he never stops. Murmurs that fill your cunt, endearments kissed onto your clit, and growls sucked into your thighs, blossoming bruises that seep into your bones. 

You can’t hear much of it, but your breath hitches with each word you can snatch from the air. Sweet, he calls you as he speaks of his need and ache. You fall apart on his tongue when he calls you my brave girl. 

His. 

You hold onto that, rewind and replay on the lonely nights to come. Neither of you speak of it, of course, but he said it, he meant it, you heard it, you kept it. 

That night, though he doesn’t say it again, you believe it. He makes you believe it. With each kiss and caress and bite and bruise. He takes and you give and give and give. 

He doesn’t stop worshipping your cunt on his knees after you come. It’s not enough; he can’t be satiated. He drinks from you twice more before he can wait no longer, climbing above you and knocking your legs apart with his knee. He can’t be bothered to strip you of your clothes or him of his. Can’t be bothered to waste another second before he’s plunging the full length of him into your soft folds and gasping as if he’s nearly drowned. 

Maybe he has. Maybe he’s submersed himself so deeply within you that he can’t breathe. You can’t, so you’d believe it. 

He fucks into you somehow sweetly, though the pace he sets is unforgiving. His hands cradle you, though, and his lips find purchase along your neck. 

Din doesn’t say it again, doesn’t call you his , but he leaves his mark on every inch of flesh he can reach. 

He makes sure you lose yourself in two more orgasms before he pulls out to spill against your slit, rubbing the head of his cock against your puffy outer lips and clit. 

“Stay,” he pleads. 

So you do.

An hour later, you realize he hadn’t taken your clothes off not because he couldn’t be bothered, but because he was waiting for you. He was perceptive and kind as always, waiting for you to expose your scars. 

Not even the bacta could erase Gideon’s “art.” 

Din wouldn’t take that from you, wouldn’t make you, but you do it anyway. You bare yourself to him and he takes the offering with as much aplomb as you would have guessed. 

Nothing is said, but he pulls you down after, once you’ve fucked yourself full of him, to lay against his own bare body, and his fingers trace the lines with reverence.

He doesn’t say it again, but you hear it. My brave girl, his fingertips whisper. 

And you finally cry. 

When you’ve run out of tears, he holds you still, doesn’t let go just because the need is gone. 

Neither of you sleep that night. You can’t stop your hands and mouths and hearts from following the beat of each other. Like the quiet taps in the darkness of the cell, your bodies speak to one another and you can’t help but to listen, to answer the call. 

It’s nearly morning when you ask. He hadn’t wanted you to, if only because he didn’t like the answer. 

But he gives it to you anyway. 

Two days. He’ll be leaving in just two days. 

You knew he couldn’t be bound here, couldn’t be nestled in the safety of the palace while there was a war to wage. Knew he would never keep to the background, would never shy away from standing beside his people and doing what needed to be done.

He has a question of his own for you and this time, you have an answer. You couldn’t promise Shand that you’d stay, but it falls from your lips for Din like nothing. 

Where would you go anyway?

But stay, he pleads, so stay you will. Here, where he can find you. Here, where his son will be, for this is not the time for foundlings to flourish. No, there is far too much that will be lost in this final hour. And you know now that there’s not much you wouldn’t do when Din is the one to ask.

So you stay.

In the darkness of the early morning, the three of you stand in the hangar. It’s unsettlingly empty in a way that can only be intentional. Din removes his helmet and tucks it under his arm, tugging one glove off to cup your cheek in his broad palm. 

His soft lips find first your forehead and then your lips. It’s saccharine and short; a proper farewell. He hugs his son and kisses his little wrinkled head before placing him into your arms. 

The helmet goes back on, and the Mand’alor only hesitates once at the bottom of the ramp, nodding his head once. You hold his heart in your hands in every way that matters, and the two of you watch until the tiny dot of his ship disappears.

You think I remember you, so you are eternal, and hope it’s not all you’ll have left of him to hold onto. 

so long, and thanks for all the fish!

*title from "45" by Shinedown.

#din djarin x reader #the mandalorian x reader #mando x reader #din djarin x you #the mandalorian x you #mando x you #din djarin x f!reader #the mandalorian x f!reader #mando x f!reader #gladiator!din djarin #fic: live to rise #the mandalorian fanfic #mando fanfic

[psychedelic-ink]

— watch.

pairing: din djarin x fem!reader

genre: ex lovers reuniting, hurt/comfort , smut, minors dni

word count: 4.3k

summary: You're one the brink of dying. Your stomach restless with hunger as you come back to Nevarro after months to find a job but instead finding a warm meal, you have a run in with your ex: Din. Oh joy.

warnings: reader almost starving due to lack of credit, reader being insecure about whether or not din had feelings for her in the past, arguing about why they (din/reader) broke up, vaginal fingering, possessive din, fingers in mouth, rough s.ex, dirty talking, piv, creampie, oral (receiving), mentions of aftercare

a/n: first of all a special thanks to @inklore who beta-read this for me, thank you so much again loves! <33 also this takes place after the season 2 finale but in an au where nothing happened to the razor crest-- I loved that ship so much damn you gideon

The dust of Nevarro settles in your lungs. Grains of sand sticking to your throat and choking you out. You never would’ve thought of coming back here again. Too many memories. But as you began to live from hand to mouth, you had no other choice to seek out the guild and ask, or beg, for a bounty to hunt. Even now your stomach rumbles, body low on fuel. A sigh breaks away from your lips. A little bit more and you’ll be reaching the city. You shake your head, trying to remember the last time you’d been here. A familiar silhouette of a shiny helmet flashes in your mind. Mando. Din. Your heart sinks further in your chest, lips parting as the city grows closer. 

Maybe coming back here isn’t the best idea after all but you’re certain that you’ll die of starvation if you didn’t pick up some kind of job. 

As soon as you enter the city everything feels different but also the same. The air that circulated the grimy, yet bright, city feels…cleaner. You look around, eyes skimming across the buildings. The people seem happier, children of all species laughing and running about. You raise an eyebrow. This certainly isn’t the Nevarro you expected to come back to. By memory your legs head for the guild, still slightly in awe as you walk past the people. 

Nothing could’ve prepared you to see a twenty-something number of children being taught by a droid when you slam the all too familiar door of the guild wide open. 

Your mouth hangs wide when fearful, young eyes turn to you and you quickly slam the door back shut, heart pounding loudly in your chest. Where the hell is the guild? Panic courses through your veins and you take two steps back, normally you would’ve been happy but the fear of not being able to find work was all you can think about. You groan when your stomach rumbles again. You feel faint. Head starting to spin. Nevarro was your last hope. If the guild was gone– 

A kid bumps into you and you stagger back, almost falling. The world spins. Stomach rumbles again. Death looms over you, you can feel it, taste it thick against your tongue. Perspiration coats your skin in a thin layer, you feel a tiny hand on your thigh and you look down. You’d forgotten about the kid. 

“Are you okay?” 

Such a simple question yet it makes you want to bawl your eyes out. Nodding, you move away from the kid and head further into the city, Karga had to be somewhere around here right? Dank farrik. 

Ears ringing and eyes blind, you fail to see the person in front of you. This time you’re the kid as you bump into the taller figure. Hard metal clashes with your face, a pain filled groan echoing from your lips as you jump back. Your hands immediately cover the part that hurts the most, which is your nose. Between squinted eyes, you look up, shiny armor the only thing you can see. Your face falls, eyes going wide as a meek whine escapes your lips. 

The Mandalorian. 

You’re not sure he remembers you. He only looks at you and tilts his head, face unreadable thanks to his helmet. Shit, your nose really hurts. 

He says your name, it’s silent, silent enough that it might’ve disappeared with a sturdy gust of wind but you manage to hear it. You perk up immediately. You try not to look too excited but fail miserably. 

“Are you alright?” 

“Yeah,” 

“You sure?” 

He doesn’t believe you. You know he doesn’t. Your nose still throbs within your palms, luckily you can’t feel any blood. He stands still, the prolonging silence uncomfortable between the two of you. Words attempt to make their way out of your lips but the words die on your tongue. You’ve really missed him these past couple of months. You missed his intimidating looks, his husky voice– Every part of him basically. You swallow and bite your bottom lip, you need to get yourself together. 

“Well,” he breaks the silence, his tone uncertain of what he’s about to say. “I’ll see you around then,” 

God, you didn’t want him to leave. 

Just as his shoulder brushes against yours you turn and grab his wrist. You feel him tense at your touch, his instincts kicking in as he reminds himself that you’re not the enemy. He doesn’t turn to face you and you’re glad for it. 

“Do you know where the guild is?” you ask, voice desperate. “I–I need a job,” 

Your hand still holding his wrist, he turns to you. In that moment you realize this is the first time he’s actually looking at you since your run in. You imagine his eyes moving across your body; Observing your hollowed cheeks and parched lips. The thought alone makes you avert your eyes with shame, the hand that clutches his wrist slightly trembling. 

“The guild is gone,” 

You let go of him, fear of the future striking your heart as you stare at him wide-eyed. A short moment passes and the fear is replaced with anger.

“Great, just great,” you kick the ground, ignoring how you hurt yourself instead. “What am I supposed to do now?” 

For a while you forget that Din is there, you continue to mutter curses and rub your palm across your face. This is the worst, the absolute worst. 

“You can come with me if you want, I have a bit of food on the ship,” 

Great charity from an ex lover, just what you need for your pride. You angrily shake your head. 

Of course your stomach decides to be a dirty snitch and growls at the same time. You ignore the chuckle that echoes from within his helmet. 

“Fine, let’s go.” 

You accept the familiarity of the Razor Crest with open arms. It’s good to know that some things never change; the sound of machinery whirring away, the scent, the thick smell of fuel that lays heavy in the air. You take a seat and Din disappears for a while, you thought it would be awkward coming here again but you feel completely at ease, which might be a problem on its own. Din hadn’t said a word on your journey here, and you doubt he’ll say anything. You expect him to feed you and send you on your merry way. 

The feelings of the past clutches at your heart, squeezing it softly as you look down to your hands. You have so much you want to say to him but you know you can’t. Maybe that was the problem. The constant bottling of emotions on both of your parts. Din was used to keeping everything inside, his beskar reminding you the coldest of weathers. And you…well you were a mess to begin with, emotionally hungry and in constant need to feast. He was bad at showing emotions, you had little self worth. A very bad combination indeed. 

Soon, Din returns with a bowl of chowder. He places the luke-warm bowl onto your lap and sits across from you. Your hand trembles as you dig in, mouth watering at the smell of it. The thick meal coats your tongue, normally it doesn’t taste like much but to you, at this time, it tastes like a five course meal. Your hand stills after the first bite, your eyes go wide and you just bring the rim of the bowl to your lips, downing the rest in maniacal hunger. A bit of it slips from the corner of your lips but you’re too occupied to care. You finish the meal in five minutes at most, your eyes flutter closed as a sigh parts your lips. 

“Thank you,” you manage to say, placing the bowl on the metal floor. “I appreciate it,” 

“Your welcome,” 

Leaning back, you open your eyes, staring at him. Embarrassment starts to settle in your now full gut. You don’t know whether to leave or say something, he just sits there, helmet on, unreadable. Averting your gaze, you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand. Maybe talking wouldn’t be so bad, it could provide some type of closure for the both of you. You aggressively start to chew on the inside of your cheek and take a breath. 

“So…how have you been?” 

“Good.” 

Smooth. 

“How’s the child?”  

“I handed him over to his people, he should be happy now,” 

Your lips tighten and form a thin line as you attempt a smile. He’s definitely not making this easy for you. The damn modulated voice not offering even a sliver of emotion. 

“That’s good. I…” the questions you want to ask die on your tongue. With a broken sigh, you bring your hand to your face and pinch the bridge of your nose. “Why do you always have to make everything so difficult Din?” 

You fail to see how he jolts upon hearing his name, he tilts his head to the side. 

“I’m not doing anything?” 

“Yeah that’s the problem,” you snap, hand falling back to your lap. “You find me at the brink of starvation after months and say nothing, did…did I mean that little to you? I know we weren’t the best together but I just assumed you cared, even a little– I guess I was wrong,” 

“That’s not–” 

You cut him off by getting up, your foot accidentally hits the bowl and makes it tumble to the side, the voice echoes. 

“Thank you for feeding me, I’ll be on my way now,” 

As soon as you turn you feel his iron grip clasping around your wrist. Pain shoots out from where he holds, a hiss leaving your lips as you turn, eyes furious. 

“Let me go!” 

“No,” 

Your eyes widen, he actually sounds angry. A shiver climbs up your spine, it feels like nails raking across your skin: Unsettling. 

“You don’t get to accuse me of not feeling and just leave without waiting for me to rebuttal. If you’re so scared to hear the answer then don’t say anything at all,” 

His grip tightens around your wrist, your gaze follows, eyes glued to his gloved hand. A forceful puff of hair leaves your lips, heart thudding madly in your chest. 

“Fine,” you try to convey annoyance in your voice but you fear it sounds more meek rather than angry. “What are you going to say then? Come on, spit it out.” 

“I–” his anger seems to fade, now sounding more lost than ever. “I do care for you. I’ve never stopped since you left, but why would I try to stop you when you’ve already made up your mind back then? Was I supposed to lock you up?” 

“You were supposed to ask me to stay,” 

“So what was that? A test? You’re telling me you sacrificed what we had because of your ego? It seems like I was the one who meant little to you,” he raises his voice. “You act like you have everything figured out but you’re the one who ran off as soon as things got tough,” 

“That’s…” you whimper, averting your eyes. “That’s not true,” 

Your breathing quickens, chest raising up and down similar to a sick child’s. You do want to run. You want to run as far as you can from this conversation. It wasn’t a question of ego, you just wanted affirmation. You wanted to know that he would burn the world for you just so you would stay and when he didn’t…you left. You begin to shake your head, you didn’t want to think about it. You didn’t want to feel the same pain. You try to pry your wrist away but his grip is the same material of the armor he always wears. When he doesn’t let go your emotions collide like thunder clouds, lightning striking your core in the form of anger, hurt and desperation. 

“I just needed some proof that you wanted me around,” you hiss, voice dripping with venom. “You made me feel like I was just around because you were stuck with me rather than it being a choice. I wasn’t trying to flatter my ego, I was trying to see if you cared!” 

Shit you’re crying– 

“Just let go of me please,” you try to blink them away but it only speeds up the process of the salty tears streaming down your face. “I get it alright, it was all my fault, you made your point.” 

Suddenly your world spins and you find your back flushed against his chest, strong beskar covered arms wrapped around your waist. He breathes heavily, you can hear it. Your head falls against his shoulder, sniffling as you close your eyes and let the tears flow down the apples of your cheeks. His one hand slides up your chest, gripping your chin in a firm yet gentle way. 

“Seeing you today was about the best and worst thing. You could’ve died if you hadn’t bumped into me. Do you realize how terrifying that was? To see you again after so long only to find you about to faint from hunger, I didn’t mean to blame you for anything. I’m not angry with you. I’m angry with myself.” 

“You should be angry at me,” you take a sharp breath. “You’re right, I’m the one who let this spiral. I accuse you of not talking about emotions but I did the same, I should’ve opened up– I should’ve–” 

“And I should’ve stopped you from leaving,” 

The other hand that lays on your stomach snakes down, palm resting right above your pelvis. His thumb starts to draw slow, languid circles around your clothed skin, your breath hitches. 

“We both made mistakes. I’m just glad I found you when I did instead of later,” 

His fingers begin to rub between your clothed folds, you press further against him, your head spinning from the mere touch. Legs trembling, your hand slides down his arm and covers his hand. You feel the way his fingers tense under the gloves whenever he strokes you, a moan vibrates in your throat, you’ve missed him. Din presses his helmet against the side of your face, the coolness of metal providing the perfect contrast with your burning skin. He swallows. 

“Can I?” 

You nod and with one swift motion he tugs your pants down, the fabric pooling at your feet right before you kick them away. You shiver when you feel the coolness of beskar against the back of your thighs, he gives you little time to think about it as his fingers dip under the thin fabric of your underwear. Gloved fingers immediately finding your clit, you sigh happily, parting your legs further without even noticing. His fingers gather the moisture and you’re positive your slick seeps through the fabric. 

“You’re already so wet,” he purrs, you can almost hear the smugness in his voice. “I barely touched you, did the argument turn you on?” 

“N–No,” Lie. But you would rather die than admit your impure thoughts about your heated debate. “It’s just been a while,” 

“How long?” 

His covered fingers continue to stroke you, more slick dripping down your thighs as you begin to slowly rock your hips into his touch. The heel of his palm presses against your aching clit, a moan ripping from your throat in the form of a gasp. Your thoughts are scattered. 

“Tell me when was the last time you’ve been touched,” he growls. “Tell me who it is so I can rip their hands off,” 

Shit. Fuck. You think you’re about to cum from his words alone. His grip on your chin becomes tighter, his fingers now moving slower as they begin to trace the rim of your entrance. Your breathing is heavy. Your entire body trembling as images of what brutality Din could possess against another overtakes you. Swallowing, you move your hips faster, whines falling from your lips when his fingers stop moving completely. You don’t want to tell him that the only person who’s been touching you was yourself. You want him to simmer in his jealousy, in his rage. But you also can’t afford him to stop, especially not after being reminded of how good he feels. 

“No one,” you blurt out, a bit more desperately than you anticipated. “I couldn’t bare the idea of someone else touching me so if you’re adamant on breaking hands I guess you’ll have to break mine,” 

Din takes in a sharp breath, his chest heaving as he pulls his fingers away. He takes a hold of your hand, fingers sticky. Meanwhile the fingers that were grasping your chin slides up, pushing two fingers between your already parted lips. You moan around the digits, tasting the leather as he presses them against your tongue.

“Maybe I should,” he keens, squeezing your hand enough to send a mild jolt of pain. “You should know better than to touch things that belong to me,” 

A rush of happiness surges through you. Despite wanting to be his once more, you want to fight it. You want to be snarky and say that you belong to no one. But instead your body trembles, pussy clenching around nothing as you hump the air. He takes notice of this. A chuckle rumbling throughout his chest, his hand slides around yours and gently pushes your hand down beneath your underwear. You gasp when he moves your fingers as he pleases. Like a puppeteer, he makes you touch yourself. The tip of your fingers slowly rubbing your clit with his guide, a moan echoes from your throat. When you push your ass back against him you feel the outline of his cock, your mouth waters. He pulls his fingers away from your mouth, a bit of saliva trailing after the digits. 

“Din…” 

“Did you think of me?” he breathes out. “Did you imagine me fucking you as you cum around your fingers?” 

Since when did he have such a filthy mouth? 

“Did you?” you ask back with a moment of clarity. 

“Nearly everyday,” his breath stutters. “I imagined the way your pussy used to tighten around my cock when you came, the little desperate whimpers of my name falling from your lips. I bet you imagined the same. My cock– Stretching you out– or maybe you thought about my tongue buried deep inside? Which one is it?” 

Your brain is completely numb, skin tingling. Devoid of any kind of thought. You just nod, mouth hanging loose. 

“That doesn’t answer my question,” 

He presses your fingers between your folds and you cry out, upper body lunging forward as you start to grind against both yours and Din’s hands. 

“I imagined it all,” you moan out. “I’ll do anything you ask for– Just please– I’m– I want to cum!” 

“And do you think you deserve that?” 

“Yes,” you’re not even thinking at this point. “Yes, I deserve it. Please, please– I’ve missed you so much. I can’t take it,” 

You feel joy radiating off of him but you’re not sure why he’s so happy about your admission. His hands leave your body, you feel cold without his presence and whimper. But instead of leaving you, he takes your hand and leads you to his sleep chamber. 

“Get on your hands and knees,” 

Without missing a beat you do as you’re told, pressing your face into the pillows, you groan at his scent overflowing your nostrils. He gets behind you, hands kneading the flesh of your ass. You wait with anticipation for his cock and nearly faint when you feel a pair of chapped lips, facial hair tickles your skin as he drags them across your backside. 

The feeling is such a shock to you that you almost get up, face hovering only an inch above the pillows before a firm hand pushes you back down. 

“Don’t look,” he groans, nibbling your flesh. “Be a good girl and stay just like that,” 

His mouth presses greedily against you as his tongue slides between your folds, the sweet taste of your slick coating his tongue. His strong hands parts your cheeks, burying the soft muscle further inside so that the tip reaches your throbbing clit. You shudder, his tongue feels like velvet across your tender heat. Mouth agape, you breathe heavily, a trail of spit dribbling down your chin and wetting the pillow. He eats you out like a delicate cuisine; Slow and savoring every bite. He groans into your cunt, the vibrations making you see stars. You’re whimpering his name over and over again just like he said, his tongue delves in deeper. 

“What’s wrong baby? Tell me what you need,” 

His tone is mocking but you’re too far gone to actually care, you just moan out his name, begging him for release. Din flattens his tongue against your folds, giving you one last lick before pulling back. A string of saliva follows his lips, his eyes are glued to your quivering body and suddenly you just look so small to him, so afraid, his cock throbs with excitement. His, now bare, hands slides against your back, nails raking across your skin as his cock pressed against the curve of your ass. 

“Tell me, come on now. What do you need from me?” 

Every nerve is electrified by his mere presence, tears prick the corners of your eyes, you just can’t take it anymore.

“I want to kiss you– I want you to hold me while you fuck me– I want to feel you everywhere,”  

Your sudden reply takes you both by surprise, his eyes widening. Your cheeks heat up with embarrassment as you begin to shift uncomfortably, the bed creaking under your weight, despite not seeing him you can feel his gaze burning your skin. You bite your tongue, you shouldn’t have said anything. The silence is deafening and it lasts until he shuffles behind you, you expect him to tell you to leave but instead a click echoes. The doors close and all you can see is pitch black. 

He turns you over so you’re laying on your back and crashes his lips against yours. He tastes exactly as you remember, sweet with your essence on his tongue. Din licks the inside of your mouth, tongues moving alongside each other as he grinds his cock against your dripping cunt. Moaning into his mouth, your hips shudder, your skin tingling as he cups your breast.  

He grinds his hips, “You just  keep saying all the right things, you’re making it hard to be upset with you,” 

“You can be upset with me later,” you moan, pussy dripping. “Right now all I need is you,” 

Din’s lips find yours once more, drowning out your whimpers as he fills you up inch by inch, the amount of slickness makes it easy. You froan into his mouth, cunt fluttering around his length. His tongue explores every inch of your mouth as he starts to move his hips, his pacing slow yet fierce. Every time he languidly moves out and pushes back in, your eyes roll back. He makes you feel every curve and crevice of his cock, making you moan into his mouth. 

Din’s hand slides up your torso, gripping your chin and keeping it wide open as he breaks the kiss. He’s only an inch away, mouth agape, your breaths mingle with one another. You can feel the ghost of his lips, yearning for his tongue to be pressed against yours once more. Waves of pleasure wash over you as heat builds between your legs. His pace becomes quicker, harder. Every snap of his hips makes you cry out his name. Din’s head falls into the crook of your neck, nipping the sensitive skin as his hips move relentlessly. 

“Can I cum inside?” he groans, hips beginning to stutter. “Please, please say yes– Fuck,” 

You pull at his hair, legs pressing against his hips as a silent affirmation. He shakes his head, lips still pressed against your damp skin. 

“No– I need to hear you say it– Say you want me to cum inside– Say. It.” 

“Cum inside–” you finally cave. “I-I want you to,” 

Before he does, however, his hand slides between your writhing bodies, his fingers find your clit and start to play with it. Your eyes go wide but all you see is his darkness, your mouth parts wide, inaudible groans ripping from your throat as he twirls the sensitive nub between his fingers. The coil that’s been tightening in your stomach for a good while finally snaps, body going still and then shaking furiously while you cum, cunt gushing around his cock. He moans at the way your insides squeeze around him, tongue lapping your skin when he thrusts once– twice–  

Din bites into your skin as he comes, thick ropes of cum filing you to the brim as his hips twitch uncontrollably. Your body echoes with pleasure, mind completely incapable of thinking anything else except for the fact Din is above you, continuing to fuck his cum deeper inside by grinding his hips. He peels his face away from your neck and plants a soft kiss against your lips, when he moves away you chase after him into the darkness. 

“Needy,” he hums, “How are you feeling?” 

“I’m…” you let out a deep breath, still unable to form a thought. His cock begins to soften inside you and he pulls out, you whimper when cum drips down your thighs. “I’m a bit dazed to say the least,” 

“You should rest,” the bed creaks as he moves away. You hear the familiar sound of a helmet being placed back upon his head, a soft hiss echoing in the tiny room. “I’ll bring you water and some more food,” then he adds. “And a washcloth,” 

“Don’t we need to talk about this?” you call out, a slight tremble in your voice. 

“We have all the time now that you’re here,” the doors slide open and he hops out. “And this time, no matter what you do, I’m going to tell you to stay.” 

A/N: to be notified of future work follow @burnthoneymintsathenaeum and turn on notifications✨

#din djarin x you #din djarin x reader #din djarin #din djarin x f!reader #din djarin x female reader #din djarin x y/n #mando x you #mando fanfic #din djarin/reader #mando x f!reader #mando x female reader #mando x y/n #mando x reader #the mandalorian x f!reader #the mandalorian fic #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian x y/n #din djarin fanfic

[eashn]

You’re an Idiot, Darling

Rating: Explicit (18+ only) 

Series word count: 17.7k | Pairing: Mando x Mechanic!reader 

Summary: The Mandalorian needed you to fix the Crest, but then, he went and got stabbed. Now, he needs you to fix him up, too. 

 AO3 Link

WARNINGS: Violence, Hurt/Comfort, fairly graphic depictions of wounds + wound care, blood, death of minor antagonists, speaking Mando’a, Din’s Helmet Stays On!, fluff sprinkled minutely throughout, explicit smut (marked in chapter with asterisk), swearing, sarcasm. 

Chapter-specific warnings precede each installment. 

Chapter 1

Chapter 2 

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6 *

Chapter 7

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian fanfiction #star wars #the mandalorian x reader #mando smut #mando x you #din djarin #din djarin x you #pedro pascal #the mandalorian smut #mando fanfic #din djarin fanfic #din djarin x f!reader #star wars smut #star wars fanfic

[the-kittylorian-writes]

"All The Little Foundlings"

Rating: General Audiences Type: One-shot Word Count: 6.5k+ Summary:

After Ragnar’s harrowing experience which sent his father Paz and a rescue party to come after him, the boy grew more fears and lost his confidence. The clan of two decide to help him in their own ways— but how will Ragnar take it?

Set after events of s03ep04 or Chapter 20 “The Foundling.”

Spoilers for s03ep04

Read on AO3 or here:

Trigger Warning: Discussion of phobias, exposure therapy, a scene of kids bullying each other

"All The Little Foundlings" 

“Ragnar?”

Ragnar Vizsla burrowed himself deeper into his blankets. He’d shot the fabric over his head until it tented all over him and he was cocooned. He let the light of his antiquated datapad shine on his visor as he ignored his father’s call for the fourth time today. It was not even noon.

“Ragnar!” Paz’s bounding steps drew closer to their shared quarters as well as his booming voice, but the call wasn’t forceful or cruel.

“I’m studying, Dad!” was Ragnar’s brief reply. He’d yelled it once, certain that the thick blankets would muffle the words out.

He hated how his voice quivered. He’d skipped classes for a day as the Covert’s baar’ur suggested it after giving him a thorough once-over. Ragnar had suffered minor gashes and scrapes, but the real wounds which the baar’ur saw weren’t on the surface, Ragnar figured. He remembered how he’d respond seconds late to all the questions the good-natured medic had asked him; some questions Paz had to answer himself as Ragnar remained silent and uncooperative. 

“He’s still in a state of shock,” Ragnar heard the medic tell his father, as if he weren’t in the examination room with them. “An entire day’s rest would do him good.”

Ragnar couldn’t sleep that night. The medic had given Paz something to administer to Ragnar should the boy be unable to get any restful slumber before the daylight hour struck. Whatever it was, it tasted like taffy. It made him drowsy but his mind raced and his insides trembled. His father had been by his side throughout the ordeal. Before he knew it, Ragnar had awoken from sleep he never knew overtook him. The flickering chrono on his datapad showed he’d only dozed for two hours.

The child would rather stay awake, in all honesty. When he shut his eyes, he’d feel the world tilt around him. He dreamt that the water had bubbled with all sorts of misshapen monsters, and the sky swirled and from a vortex of blood-red clouds spewed out another host of even more misshapen creatures. He’d wake up sobbing, but his father had been there at the foot of his cot. He was there when he awoke from that nightmare, and Ragnar had flung his arms around his father and wouldn’t let go. Paz had allowed it, but not right after the hulking Mandalorian was shaken awake himself by the abrupt weight thrown at him which was his son in frantic need of comfort.

He’d sleep and wake and sleep in a maddening cycle of instability within a span of a day and a half. Ragnar avoided the sleep-inducing taffy and snuck in some caf from the grown-ups’ table at first meal. One sip was enough to keep the child on edge, but Ragnar would rather endure small jitters than the dark dreams of being helplessly trapped within the raptor’s food pouch, stuck between throat and belly. It was sticky and disgustingly humid, with just enough air to sustain him without getting delirious. The pouch’s thick mucosa had kept him from thrashing no matter how hard Ragnar tried. He’d cried for long hours. It was the first time he’d heard himself wail piteously underneath the helm. He sounded like a disembodied soul.

Then, Ragnar knew he’d heard his father’s voice a few moments before the beast decided to cough him out into the open to feed its young. 

It was his indeed father, and in a riotous burst of euphoria and then utter fright, Ragnar had thought he’d seen the last of himself and his beloved dad.

“Ragnar,” Paz called once more, pulling Ragnar back to the present. His father’s gruff voice encompassed the room. 

Ragnar didn’t budge. He knew his father stood in front of him, but with the bundle of blanket all over his person, he also knew he was but a grey and shapeless mound in the eyes of one of the Covert’s best fighters.

“I’m studying Mando’a, Dad,” Ragnar insisted underneath his cocoon. The words on his datapad began to blur; he’d been staring at the same page mindlessly as the minutes ticked by. “I missed yesterday’s lessons.”

Paz released a chest-deep sigh. “You’re excused from lessons for now, ad’ika. Baar’ur would like to see you again. Would that be all right?”

The boy froze. Despite his general misgivings, he couldn’t exactly refuse his father. Paz had sacrificed so much to get to him and rescue him. The silver Mandalorian and the Nite Owl whose names escaped Ragnar had been with his father during that rescue along with a squad of others. It was the silver Mandalorian who’d brought him back to the safety of Paz’s arms. The ship which brought them home belonged to the Nite Owl.

Ragnar couldn’t look at both of them in the eye, so to speak. He’d run straight to the baar’ur as soon as he’d clasped arms with his fellow foundlings in a joyous greeting party. He’d never as much veered out of his way to chance upon the two Mandalorians since then. He avoided the little green foundling, too.

Ragnar sulked for a second. With a resigned frown, he unbundled himself from the blanket pile. 

Paz was just a mere foot away; the giant of a warrior had taken a low wooden seat in a posture which spelled patience. His father may have been calling him multiple times, but his body language exuded a great degree of understanding.

The child marveled at how wonderfully gentle and relieved his father’s voice sounded. “Come on. Off we go.”

-*-*-

The baar’ur was a woman with deep orange and dark crimson armor. She had Ragnar hold both his arms out for a few seconds; she studied his posture.

“Are you still feeling unwell, Ragnar?” asked the medic matter-of-factly. For a split-second, the boy turned to Paz who stood a few paces behind him on the examination table. His father gave him a small nod of assurance.

“I guess I feel much better now,” replied the boy. 

The lie caught up with him quickly. Ragnar felt disappointment in his gut when he saw what made the baar’ur seem dissatisfied with his answer. His arms held aloft were quaking of their own accord. Ragnar couldn’t believe it at first; he’s always had great control over his body after long months of training—his arms betrayed him. He suddenly felt cold and his hands grew clammy. 

“Hm,” said the medic thoughtfully after instructing him to take it easy. Impulsively, Ragnar crossed his arms around him; his mind went blank. The medic had set Paz aside and confided in him for what seemed like a stretch of hours.

Ragnar hated himself at the moment. He didn’t mean to be a handful. He didn’t mean to seem so weak, when he’d been told time and again that the Mandalorians valued strength. But above all, as the Armorer had drilled into their lessons: survival was their strength. As far as Ragnar knew, he’d been the first foundling who’d been successfully retrieved from the literal jaws of death. The others hadn’t been so lucky.

The baar’ur was speaking to him again before Ragnar realized that his mind had drifted off. 

“What is that you’re most afraid of now, Ragnar?” she asked. 

Ragnar flinched. “W-what?” When he turned to Paz for guidance once more, a chill struck him to the core when he saw that his father had stepped out of the room. The medic must have noticed that he boy kept relying on Paz’s approval for every move he made or every word he spoke. 

Ragnar needed to be honest.

“I hate the water,” spat the boy at last. “I hate the sky. I hate… I hate this planet!”

He couldn’t reel himself in for the last one. He did feel a colossal wave of relief after admitting to those fears; it had taken a huge weight off his shoulders. An infernal ball of shame that overcame him trickled in seconds after.

“I—I didn’t mean…”

The medic gently motioned him to silence. 

“It’s all right, Ragnar,” she said soothingly. It flowed like clotted cream from her vocoder. “We know this planet has brought us great challenge, but that was why we had chosen it. Trials and adversities sharpen us like tools. As for those fears—I believe we can get to the root of that. Every warrior has their fears, and we’d like to defeat those fears, yes?”

Ragnar’s voice was lodged in his throat. With a mute nod, he acceded.

The medic’s voice sounded hopeful. “Very well.”

Ragnar wasn’t sure if he was indeed amenable to the implications of those words.

-*-*-

“ STOP!! STOP IT!!”

Two other foundlings much older than Ragnar held him fast on either side as they slowly dragged him out into the open, straight to the embankment. The suns overhead were suddenly a blight over his skin, despite being covered from head to toe. The world was tilting around him again and the droll laughter of the two helmed teenagers gripping his arms, keeping him from breaking free suddenly felt like a shroud licking at his consciousness.

Ragnar shouldn’t have told them what he was up to. 

The baar’ur had called it “exposure therapy.” His father had agreed to it as much as Ragnar believed he did so himself—he wanted to get better. Exposure therapy was gradual, but these two truants hadn’t taken him seriously. Ragnar had the spotlight for only one morning, on the day he returned in one piece with the rescue party. They’d showered him with praises: how brave he was, how steadfast his spirit was for weathering the night close to the belly of a raptor beast. There were pats on the back, clasps on the arm, warm head-butts and warmer cheers.

The novelty of it quickly eroded away. Now, he was just Ragnar the scaredy-Tooka.

“Little Vizsla can’t get near the water without wetting his underpants,” one of the older boys jeered.

“His dad’s gonna disown him ‘coz he’s nuna poodoo!” hollered the other.

Children can be cruel. Ragnar had always known this. He’d played with them and fought with them long enough to recognize power play among the foundlings. The more scathing the teasing, the better. He’d tried his hand in it himself, and with a heavy heart, he realized that he didn’t possess a knack for overly brutish insults. 

“LET ME GO!” cried Ragnar as he planted himself heavily on the sand to weigh the teenagers down. 

He began to tremble like a feeble newborn pup. The sky was so vast around him. He could hear the lapping of the shore nearby. 

No adult Mandalorians were within earshot, it seemed. It was foolish for Ragnar to try to take the medic’s advice without proper protocol. From now on, Ragnar felt doomed to always learn the hard way. It seemed as though he’d become wired towards his own downfall. 

Under the helm, Ragnar shut his eyes tight. An unbidden sob escaped his throat. The teenagers were prevailing over his strength. He thought he felt the weight of water jab at his boots…

Then he heard the shocked and vexed screams of his persecutors—they’d suddenly released him and to his own shock, Ragnar saw them fly out on either direction as if they’d been taken out by an unseen grenade blast.

They trailed forcefully over the sand, leaving jagged marks amidst a puff of golden yellow grains. They swore and coughed, and swore some more. “What the hell?!”

Ragnar felt bare, but his senses had suddenly become sharp as he’d been trained to, when he could be in real danger. He’d become more attentive now, especially after mistakenly letting his guard down which had allowed the raptor to snatch him up.

He’d turned to the source of an angry string of babbles.

There, standing under the shadow of a crest of sandstone was the little green foundling, both of his tiny clawed hands upright. He was wearing a very determined look on his crumpled little face.

“What the—“ The two teenagers seemed to have caught the drift of things. Even through their visors, Ragnar could feel raging disbelief emanate from the two older boys. Dusting themselves up, pinning the little green child with their helmed gazes for a second, they began bolting for the sanctuary of the cave.

“Yeah, that’s right!” roared Ragnar shrilly at the two. “Touch me again and you’ll get what’s coming to you!”

There were no replies of retaliation. Ragnar was panting from the adrenaline surge of his earlier panic. He calmed his heart down, and when all was quiet, he turned to the green baby.

He felt heat course over his cheeks. He’d had a bit of contempt towards this child before. Rumor had it that this kid was special, other than the fact that he was of a different, rare sort of species.

“Th-thanks,” Ragnar finally told the green baby after a lengthy standstill of him and the kid just staring at each other in uncertainty.

The kid’s face was suddenly alight. Ragnar was mystified. The child was grinning, baring his tiny sharp teeth and pink tongue. Then, he giggled and waved in glee.

The baby didn’t toddle away. Ragnar didn’t know how else to continue this interaction, but he couldn’t linger out in the open. When he took a few steps forward, the child waddled awkwardly to the same direction, his beige robe hampering his steps. Ragnar took a few steps to another direction; the baby followed.

Where’s the kid’s dad? Ragnar wondered.

The suns were beating down on him again, and once more Ragnar felt his pulse race.

The baby seemed to understand his inner dilemma. The green child’s head tilted and made a sound of inquiry. “Baaah?” 

Ragnar was dumbfounded. This kid’s dad was right—he didn’t know how to speak. Without words Ragnar could understand, he was at loss.

“Grogu!”

Ragnar gasped; the green baby squealed in delight in reaction to the voice. 

Out from a rocky bend emerged the silver Mandalorian. “Grogu,” the man called again, and said child immediately broke into an even more gawky run towards his father.

Ragnar hardly moved a muscle as the silver Mandalorian took notice of him. 

Grogu, Ragnar thought, memorizing the kid’s name.

The Mandalorian had picked his boy up, and Grogu settled easily on the crook of his father’s arm. The man regarded Ragnar for a while. 

“You alone out here, kid?” inquired of the silver Mandalorian.

Ragnar shrugged, pretending nonchalance. “Wasn’t. Roarke and Joff tried to bully me but—“ Ragnar talked fast and was out of breath when he pointed at Grogu. “He saved me. How does he do that? Does he have powers?”

The words came out the moment Ragnar thought them. He’d become too excited and flustered. Maybe that’s why they’d told him the kid was special. He’d been told that Grogu once trained with sorcerers. Did that make Grogu a baby sorcerer? That would be… wizard.

The silver Mandalorian didn’t beat around the bush. “He does.”

“That’s so wizard!” Ragnar remarked aloud. He didn’t mean to sound as though he choked in his own fascination. “So what else can he do?”

Grogu made a sound of what seemed like a squeak of protest. The kid’s father chuckled in response.

“You’ll see. Grogu and I were on our way to feeding the raptor hatchlings when he knew you seemed to be in some kind of trouble. We’re going there now. Wanna come with?”

Oh gods, Ragnar thought, breaking in cold sweat. He forgot to mention this to the baar’ur. What else did he fear? 

Those raptors.

He forgot all about the baby raptors. He hated being in storage within their mother’s food pouch. He hated the way he’d been flung about in the clawed hold of the beast at breakneck speed. Now, there were three of its babies the Covert needed to manage and tame. These beasts were too wild and this planet seemed too frontier. They had little experience with such savage creatures.

Exposure therapy, Ragnar also reminded himself, and this time, he was in the presence of a grown-up. Maybe he’ll be okay—and his dad seemed to trust the silver Mandalorian enough.

Ragnar gathered all his courage before he replied.

“Okay.”

-*-*-

The hatchlings’ enclosure had been quickly welded together. It was wide and high but tucked over a large stone outcrop where it would not be too exposed to the elements. The enclosure was reinforced by beskar, it seemed. Ragnar held his breath as he heard the raptors’ little shrieks again, and with their small beaks tried to nibble at the enclosure frame. The frame rattled but held fast.

Ragnar trailed his gaze upwards. A sentry watchtower was positioned nearby where a Mandalorian guard can keep an eye on the hatchlings in shifts.

They were, after all, now part of the Covert as foundlings. Ragnar had scoffed at the thought. Their mother had tried to make her babies eat him, for Maker’s sake! And who knows how many bits of unfortunate foundling made their way to these babies’ bellies? Ragnar grew squeamish.

Ragnar stilled his quivering breaths. He gingerly followed Grogu and his dad, who approached the enclosure in very calm and sure strides.

Grogu uttered a series of melodious babbles that reverberated through the enclosure.

What followed shortly took Ragnar in complete and utter awe.

The hatchlings ceased all their frenetic squawking and flailing. They quieted down as Grogu held out his three-fingered hand over them. 

The raptors eyed Grogu curiously with their beady eyes on their skeletal-hollow features. 

“Easy, Grogu. Remember—easy does it, kid. Like last time. All right?” encouraged his father.

Soon, the raptors were trilling happily after cautious sniffs and attempted bumps of their equally skeletal beaks on Grogu’s hand.

The silver Mandalorian turned to him. 

“Here,” said the man, propping Grogu into Ragnar’s arms with little warning. Grogu giggled and wiggled in his arms. Ragnar hissed nervously; he didn’t want to drop the baby. In that vein, Ragnar was surprised that Grogu weighed no heavier than a Loth-wolf pup of about a week old.

“Sir?” Ragnar didn’t know what else to call Grogu’s dad.

“It’s Din,” the silver Mandalorian told him. “Just call me that. I’ll be back in a jiffy. The raptors’ food should be ready.”

Grogu wriggled some more in Ragnar’s arms. The boy stared at the green baby, then at the raptors, then at the baby again.

“Let me get this straight,” Ragnar said thoughtfully. “So, you’re a kid sorcerer who’s now a foundling who has magic powers, and your dad’s name is ‘Din.’ Did I get that correct?”

“Bwahhh! Baa!” said Grogu.

Ragnar shrugged. “I’ll take that as a ‘yes.’ You really should learn how to speak Basic soon, so you can swear the Creed like me and the other kids, and get a pretty amazing helmet. And soon after that, they’re gonna teach you Mando’a. It’s part of our six tenets so that part sure is coming.”

“Ooooohhhhhh,” bawled Grogu in seeming affirmation. He held a hand again and the raptors had sat on their haunches, behaved, peaceful as peas on a pod. This certainly didn’t escape Ragnar’s attention.

“And I suppose you can—like—I don’t know, tame creatures and make them like you?” 

Ragnar felt a little doltish speaking to a child who can’t communicate normally as other foundlings did. 

“Eh, eh!” replied Grogu with a grin. His huge green ears arched in what Ragnar believed was pride.

Ragnar found himself giggling in spite of himself. His giggle morphed into a more nervous one when he realized that Din hasn’t made his way back yet.

“What’s taking your dad so long, Grogu?”

Abruptly, the three raptor babies shot out in unison, seemingly freed out of their serene mood. Ragnar had been close to yelling in fright, but in embarrassment, he soon spotted Din hauling a large sloshing vat full of dinosaur turtle meat. There had been so many left over from the kill Din himself had done over a fortnight ago. They’ve already been swimming in dinosaur turtle broth and jerky for days. 

The irony was that the monstrous creature had tried turning Ragnar into food then, and these raptor hatchlings’ mother had been outright dinner for another dinosaur turtle in the churning, horrid waters. That was as much Ragnar saw as Din had scooped him out of plunging into sure death. 

Ragnar’s blood turned cold. He couldn’t imagine his father Paz all alone again, mourning for him for Maker knows how long. Other parents were still grieving over the foundlings they’d lost.

“Okay, Grogu. Ragnar,” Din breathed, settling the vat down.

Ragnar’s heart leapt when he heard a familiar grunt of effort not far behind. Sure enough, Paz’s towering form appeared seconds after, the heavy gunner hauling two vats in his wake. 

The boy silently chuckled at how Din seemed to feign disinterest over his father’s feat of strength. The silver Mandalorian was heaving over one vat. Paz barely broke a sweat over two.

“Dad!” Ragnar called happily over the ruckus caused by the hungry hatchlings. Their bony avian wings flailed about in anticipation over a hearty meal.

Paz was spiritedly huffing. “Thought it’d take you a good minute to finally face this sort of fear, Ragnar.” The large man plucked a couple of feeding spikes from the side of the outcrop where implements to care for the hatchlings were stored.

“Dad!” Ragnar protested in annoyance. Not in front of Grogu and Din!

“Now—careful, don’t get too close,” Paz boomed without skipping a beat. “These guys need to be fed twice a day with moderately large feedings. This would be their first meal of the day.”

“We don’t know much yet about these raptors,” Din added. “This species seems native to a couple of systems, but we haven’t encountered one this close before, let alone one adult and three babies.” “I bet,” Ragnar piped up without much thinking. He stiffened when he caught Paz shooting him a look through the visor. The boy quailed a little. Grogu was still buzzing like a bee in his hold.

When feeding proper began, Ragnar didn’t feel too inclined to release Grogu from his hold. The green baby seemed to be expertly keeping the hatchlings at bay. The boy only held his mettle for as long as he did because he’d felt that Grogu was shielding him from danger. However, Din was motioning Ragnar to return Grogu to his hold… the boy hesitated.

“Ragnar,” came Paz’s tone of gentle reprimand.

“Um…” 

Din appeared to consider something. The man turned to Paz in some sort of wordless comprehension. His father gave Din a curt nod.

Din had popped open his vat of hatchling food. Taking a feeding spike, the man drove it through the vat, successfully spearing through three large pieces, arrayed like barbecued steak.

He had such a fearless, devil-may-care stance as he moved ever closer to the hatchlings. Ragnar swallowed hard; Din was no farther than a meter away. He held the feeding spike up, and like famished womp rats, the hatchlings hacked at the meat with their bony beaks. Din held his ground, keeping the spike in place as the babies ravaged their meal. 

The hatchlings were oddly quiet, chomping at the meat in bliss, their eyes half-closed in contentment.

“Ragnar,” began Din, to the boy’s surprise. 

“Yeah?” Ragnar had begun to find comfort in Din’s timbre. It was unlike his father’s, but there was truly something… paternal about it, all the same. A father’s voice held a secret kind of wisdom. Ragnar couldn’t place it; he just knew that such phenomena existed, as evidenced by Paz’s own voice.

The silver Mandalorian’s helm hadn’t turned to him as he spoke, but it was somber and respectful. Ragnar felt oddly peaceful.

“When I was your age, did you know what my biggest fear was?” Din continued.

Ragnar exchanged glances with Grogu, but the green child only stared back at him with the same wide-eyed expression. He fought the urge to turn to Paz and ask for assurance as he would often do in times like these.

“No, um, Din, sir,” replied the boy. He couldn’t just address someone else’s dad at an overly comfortable first-name basis.

“It was droids,” deadpanned Din.

Ragnar was seized with puzzlement, coupled with the curiosity of knowing the rest of Din’s story. “Droids, Din, sir?”

Din spaced out the conversation by taking the spike to the vat once more and provided the hatchlings with their second serving. As the raptor babies munched on, Din’s stance further relaxed.

“I lost my birth parents to battle droids. I was orphaned at a very young age, like you. And like you, the Mandalorians rescued me, welcomed me into the Tribe, gave me a family and a home. But I never forgot the droids. They frightened me, and it didn’t matter if they were battle droids or not. For years, I hated droids.” 

That was when Din slowly turned to him. “I’ve undergone exposure therapy too. It’s never easy, but it had to be done. I struggled, I cried, I threw up.”

Din didn’t seem perturbed over Paz’s small chuckle. Ragnar wondered how far Din and his father heralded back. Did they grow up together? There appeared to be common memory of what Din was relaying to him. There was still so much to know.

“You can’t go into battle half a warrior, kid,” Din went on. “You’ll do fine. You’re handling it better than I ever did.”

To Ragnar’s surprise, and very much to his suppressed delight, it was Paz who punctuated today’s lesson on courage:

“Learn to face the fire that burned you,” Paz said, tone regal and low. 

Oh great, Ragnar thought, however brimming with elation he was over his dad offering him more of his fatherly wisdom. The dads are tag-teaming me about my fears.

The hatchlings were growing restless again after chewing on the last meaty bits scattered all over their makeshift nest. 

Din then handed him the feeding spike. “Now you try.”

Ragnar breathed out a thorough sigh to unravel his nerves. He turned to Grogu again, and the child gripped his arms once, as though giving him a bit of reassurance. 

“Thanks, Grogu,” gulped Ragnar. With another heaving sigh, he exchanged Grogu for the feeding spike from Din’s outstretched hand. 

“Here goes nothing,” muttered Ragnar as he dove the spike into the vat, and the slosh of still-fresh dinosaur turtle meat met his ears.

-*-*-

In three days, Ragnar felt he’d known Grogu all his life. At least, that was the reason he gave himself to justify always keeping the green child by his side. Grogu was indeed like a literal shield. Roarke and Joff had ceased to pester him whenever Grogu was around, and when Grogu wasn’t, they were in training where no one was allowed any form of miscreant behavior. 

Grogu was with him when Ragnar would train closer to the water. He still broke in cold sweat, and he thought he’d even unfortunately developed a temporary stutter, but all it needed was Grogu’s melodious little babble to keep him grounded.

When they’d feed the hatchlings, Grogu would always be there. At least either Din or Paz would supervise them; eventually, Ragnar felt the trail of minuscule disapproval from his father which quite saddened him. He knew Paz wouldn’t shock him with a scolding over not fully facing the fire. Ragnar soon wondered if his “gradually” was “too slow.” He’d been told that everyone healed at their own pace, but what if he were deliberately stunting the journey?

Four days, then five. A full standard week, and nearly not a single waking hour had passed without Ragnar stringing Grogu around. Din couldn’t even get a minute with his own son as Grogu appeared to have become quite comfortable with Ragnar’s company. Another irony, considering that they didn’t exactly start off on the right foot.

One afternoon, as the suns set, Grogu had led Ragnar much closer to the edge of the water. The child motioned Ragnar to sit beside him, upon the wet sand. 

“You sure this is a good idea?”

Grogu patted the space close to him.

“Okay,” Ragnar dubiously complied.

The boy stilled his breaths. He felt his insides turn to ice as the water and the sky beat on him again, and he was a kettledrum, beat until his inner world was bruised. But Grogu was here. He kept his heart rate at a steady pace. One can control one’s inner workings with discipline. Those were one of the many lessons during training. 

Upon the warm sand, Ragnar continued to settle from within as he had settled without.

He felt Grogu’s clawed hand drape over his own. 

Something like a fizzle of unexplainable energy sparked from Grogu’s little hand to his. Ragnar described it afterwards as he reviewed the day before bed that it felt like he’d swallowed a huge mint and now his insides were all… minty. It wasn’t a bad sensation at all. He remembered how calm he’d become, how secure he’d felt even as he sat barely inches away from what was still one of his worst fears.

Ragnar thought he’d imagined rocks dancing all around him. Wow, had I lost my mind or what?

Grogu sputtered out in bursts of laughter as the rocks grew spindly legs. They walked sideways and all-the-ways, but never bumping into each other and flitting over the two children. 

“Crabs?!” Ragnar marveled aloud.

The crabs this time of year had shinier mother-of-pearl shells. They all crawled patiently into the water, and the suns had shone on their bodies. Soon, the water appeared to be filled with a million faceted diamonds, or stars; the water shimmered in glorious colors. His HUD registered it tremendously, and perhaps even enhanced it. He was transfixed. 

Ragnar tried to hide the exhilaration in his voice. “Hey—that’s actually pretty,” he told Grogu simply. He didn’t want to sound that this experience was knocking his equilibrium off-guard as well as strangely stabilizing it, all at the same time. 

This was the longest he’d stayed at the edge of the water as he watched the crabs gradually disappear into the depths. Nary a massive creature shot up from the waters or shot down from the sky. 

When they’d both left the bank, the suns were close to setting. The horizon was a thin veil of rippling orange and purple. 

“Hey, Grogu,” Ragnar nudged at the green child as he walked at the baby’s pace. He’d decided not to hold onto Grogu this time like a shield.

“Bwaaah?” asked the child.

“They’re totally right. You are magical.”

Grogu giggled.

-*-*-

By the end of another standard week, even the Armorer was impressed. 

So far, Ragnar and Grogu were the only two foundlings who had begun to feed the hatchlings by hand. The rest of the kids still hung on to their feeding spikes as though those tools, in turn, were their shields. 

Judge had vocalized the very words which the adults had wanted to convey: 

“It can take months to be able to feed wild creatures by hand. It takes endless patience. That’s a very viable sign that a wild beast has been tamed—when they can finally eat from your hand with no sign of aggression.”

Ragnar and Grogu, this time, claimed the spotlight in tandem. Ragnar knew that such glories were fleeting, as he’d witnessed before. But soon the rest of the foundlings were a gaggle around him and the green child. The smaller ones who hadn’t sworn the Creed yet looked up to them like he and Grogu were the embodiment of Kad Ha’rangir themselves, whom they learned in school was the ancient Mandalorian god of destruction and rebirth. 

“A little extreme,” Ragnar had commented to Grogu, “but yeah, we’ll take it.”

Grogu agreed.

-*-*-

The hatchlings were soon tame enough to be let out of their enclosure. The Armorer had forged for each of the three juvenile raptors a collar which identified the creatures. They were all young males but still looked fairly identical. The little mythosaur-embossed collars were draped on the creatures by none other than Ragnar and Grogu. Their respective fathers had the honor as well of adjusting the collars to each raptor’s size, until they were comfortably custom-fit but left enough room for growth, before adjustments would commence again.

“One day, we’re gonna ride these guys,” Ragnar had suggested to Grogu. Grogu made huge motions with his stubby arms.

“I’m not sure what you just said, honestly,” Ragnar admitted, “but if you said you’re claiming Lotho, nope, too bad—I’ll be riding Lotho! You can ride Argo or Buck!”

Lotho, to Ragnar’s eyes, was the handsomest of the raptor brothers—considering how skeletal and sharp and leathery they all looked. They were starting to grow the tough hide of their mother. 

On one feeding session, Ragnar hardly believed his own ears when he’d specifically apologized to Lotho over having their mother killed. 

“I’m sorry, Lotho. It was either me or your mom. I don’t think I’m sorry that I ended up alive, but I’m sorry all the same that you lost your mom. I think she was a good mom, all things considered.” Ragnar shuddered at the memory; there were still vestiges he knew would not leave him for a longer time. “I hope you’d forgive the Mandalorians for that.”

He also remembered how silly he’d become, confiding in non-sentient creatures which only acted according to their respective natures. When Ragnar was kidnapped to be turned into raptor dinner, he’d made peace with the fact that it was nothing personal. He was visible prey and was taken because he’d let his defenses down, crushed by his defeat to Grogu at the time.  

Lotho had bumped its beak over Ragnar’s outstretched hand.

Grogu had been at a farther end with Din, and they had been adjusting Buck’s collar. The raptors’ names weren’t their idea, moreover. He giggled at the thought of the Nite Owl, whom he now knew whose name was Bo-Katan, had provided the monickers to the raptors.

“I’m just naming them after the Corellian hounds my dad had when I was little. They were seven, but I’ve named them after my best three.”

There was warmth to her voice which Ragnar had grown accustomed to, as well.

-*-*-

A standard month had passed. The Covert was abuzz with all sorts of news but Ragnar and Grogu had their own affairs. They were prepping another of the foundlings, Alia, to swear the Creed. 

On the other hand, Ragnar and little Alia were trying to make Grogu repeat some words after them, parts and parcels of what Ragnar remembered was the Creed he needed to declare during his own verd’goten.

Grogu wasn’t repeating words. He repeated inflections, but he continued to babble and buzz. He sounded like intermittent com-link static sometimes. 

“You’ll learn to speak Basic eventually,” Ragnar insisted. “There’s no way I’d grow up and maybe start a family and all that, and your dad’s grown much older, and you don’t have your helmet yet!”

Something struck Ragnar after a while. Alia had skipped to her parents in further preparation as  the Covert had gathered close to the water once again, just as they had when Ragnar had earned his helmet, to never take it off again in front of any living being. 

The boy bent over to Grogu, and with a kind whisper, asked the child—

“Grogu… is speaking Basic one of your worst fears?”

The green baby looked very hesitant. Grogu fidgeted; he shot his wide-eyed gaze everywhere save on Ragnar. 

Ragnar instantly felt regret of bringing it up. He tenderly laid a hand on Grogu’s fuzzy head. 

“Don’t sweat it for now,” he advised his friend. As an afterthought, Ragnar added with a sagacity he’d siphoned from his father, Paz Vizsla: “One day, you’ll learn to face the fire that burned you.”

That afternoon, it was Grogu who’d insisted on staying in Ragnar’s arms instead of Din’s during Alia’s verd’goten. Even Lotho, Argo, and Buck were there, charmingly obedient by Bo-Katan’s side. Ragnar gave out a wide smile at the sight, certain that no one would see that stupid grin on his face underneath the helmet.

Close to the water and under the sky, Alia repeated the Creed after the Armorer, and nary a beast shot out of the ocean’s depths or shot down from the burning bright horizon. 

“This is the Way,” Ragnar recited in unison with the Covert, when Alia’s helmet had been secured in place. Grogu recited in his own vibrant stream of inflections. 

Ragnar smiled wide again and held Grogu Djarin tightly.

-*-*-*-

Paz had come to Din one morning as the latter was making maintenance repairs on his N-1 starfighter. 

The hulking Mandalorian knew Din sensed his unmoving, towering shadow over him as Din needed all the daylight he could get whilst in the middle of his tinkering—and Paz was blocking the glare.

“You know, you can talk whenever you want,” Din had told him, and said no more. He buried himself back into his work, allowing Paz to take his time as he’d conveyed.

Paz heaved a sigh, then chuckled. 

“You and your son have done so much for Ragnar and me than we can ever repay,” Paz spoke at last. “We are eternally in your debt, my brother.”

Din seemed to hardly believe what Paz had proclaimed. He popped his gleaming head out from under the N-1 for a second before drifting back to his repairs. 

“This is the Way,” replied Din at length.

Paz leaned on his haunches so that Din had his daylight back and Paz had sight of Din, in respect towards his brother to be at his eye level as best as he could. 

Before Paz could utter another word, it was Din who broke the silence.

“Where did you learn that?”

Paz blinked under the helm. “Learn what?”

“That… proverb. Or whatever that was.” Din let out his own chuckle. “Learn to face the fire that burned you.”

It was Paz’s turn to be confused. “Din—that’s odd. You haven’t heard of it before?”

Din had fully slid himself out from under the N-1, his silver armor losing some of its sheen from engine grime. “I don’t think I ever have, Paz.”

Paz mused for a moment. 

“Your adoptive father told me that.”

When Din couldn’t reply, as though suddenly his life before the loss of his own Mandalorian father flashed before his eyes, Paz felt a wave of compassion flow through him.

“I’m glad, Din,” Paz finally said, his gruff voice breaking with the rare emotion he displayed through cadence.

Din’s helm settled upon Paz. “Glad of what?”

Paz chuckled with an easy air as he lifted himself up and began to stride away casually. 

“That you became our foundling. This is the Way.”

Din sat there as Paz walked back to the training grounds, readying the equipment and laying out the barricade which separated the glistening, dark ocean from the children. 

From afar, Din heard the joyful squeals of children at play. Ragnar and Grogu were at their fifth round of training darts outside of Judge’s jurisdiction. Din sighed. The kids could be well covered in those bright green paintball splotches from head to toe after all that racket.

“This is the Way,” he said softly.

******

Mando'a words: *baar’ur - medic *ad’ika - little one; a term of endearment for a son, daughter, or a young person *verd’goten - lit: “warrior birth;” a coming-of-age Mandalorian ceremony

Authors Notes: I’ve been gathering info on how Ragnar could’ve survived in the raptor’s “belly” overnight as the raptor had to regurgitate Ragnar out to feed her babies, but Ragnar wasn’t only whole, he was still alive. Turns out that they may be based on real world avian species which do have a “food pouch” (an enlarged part of their esophagus) to store their prey (perhaps relatively unharmed). I just added some details to make it more harrowing for our poor Vizsla child. x’D

Grogu’s fear was a random idea I entertained, considering a few factors that Grogu seemed to not want to speak Basic even though it looks like he can clearly understand it. Let’s pretend he’d witnessed something bad in relation to learning Basic which made him reluctant about it. ;_;

P.S. Forgive this little slice of life. Seems like reclaiming Mandalore and/or finding the Mythosaur has been momentarily delayed. ^^;;

*****

Read more stories on Clan Vizsla's own clan of two: Paz and Ragnar 💙:

"A Future Yet Unknown" (also on AO3)

"Only One Creed" (also on AO3)

"From The Ashes" (also on AO3)

#the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian season 3 #mando season 3 spoilers #star wars fanfics #star wars fanfiction #mando fanfic #the mandalorian #brotherly bonding #father and son relationship #paz vizsla #ragnar vizsla #din djarin #grogu #space dads club #ragnar and grogu become besties #foundlings are the future #my fics #my writing

[hunnythebee]

Stow Away

Chapter 3: Hiding in Plain Sight

A tense day on Nevarro followed by an evening with a different kind of tension. Is she crossing a line or is he?

Warnings: NSFW, NSFT, mentions of trauma, PTSD, crying, cursing, voyeurism, masturbation

Chapter 2 | Chapter 4 | Masterlist

A/N: So I changed up a few things in this chapter. First, it explores third person omniscient territory, giving us a glimpse into our Mando's thoughts as well as the MC. From here on out I intend to include more glimpses into his mind and emotions as well.

Second, finally diving into some smut. I'm excited for that, but I am also a complete plot-whore so it's definitely going to be plot with porn.

And last but not least, I have officially given the MC a name. I hadn't intended on naming her, but I couldn't help it, it just kind of happened.

Hope you enjoy and I look for to seeing you all next week for chapter 4!

It had been awhile since he left. He took the kid with him so she has the whole ship to herself. She searched around for a good hiding spot, which there really weren’t any. Then she had a brilliant idea. She rooted around in her sack and pulled out her hooded cowl and engineer goggles.

Perfect.

She removed a panel on the outside of the Crest and began to do idle busy work. She tucked her hair completely into the hood and pulled the mask up, with the goggles covering the remaining exposed portion of her face no distinguishable features were left visible. She was deep in the panel when two bounty hunters approached the ship.

“What’re you doing here?” The taller one asked, resting a hand on his blaster.

“Workin',” she kept her words short. “You?”

He laughed gruffly, “Workin’”

The two men boarded the Crest. Her hand was violently shaking, but she hid it by throwing them back into work. The two reappeared a minute later, with the carbonite slabs floating gracefully between them. 

“Enjoy your 'work' little lady,” the other said, his voice making her skin crawl.

She swallowed hard and nodded to them. The nod made a small strand of hair peek out from the hood. Her hair was truly her most recognizable feature, it was colored to look like a nabooian sunset, a gradient from purple to orange. The small strand was a blaring siren, begging to be noticed, but lucky for her they’re backs were already turned to her. She quickly tucked the strand back in and shoved her head into the ship compartment. Once their gravelly footsteps receded, she hustled back onto the ship and closed the ramp behind her. Her heart was hammering in her chest, and she crumpled to the cold floor, allowing her emotions to pour out. A sob echoed through the quiet hull. She let her tears flow. Mando didn’t remind her of him. But those men, those hunters did. After the tears slowed she took a few deep breaths. Just in time too, because the gangplank lowered, and the Mandalorian boarded the ship. She wiped away at her eyes, hoping her breakdown wasn’t too apparent on her face.

It was.

Mando noticed immediately. Her nose was pink, her eyes were swollen and red. Her cheeks still had faint tear stains on them. He felt a protectiveness come over him. He wanted to ask who had done this to her. He wanted to make them pay. More than anything he wanted to pull her in and make her feel okay. All of this ran through his head as he simply stood there, staring at her.

She can never know. He warned himself.

“H–How’d it go?” She asked, wanting to break the silence.

“The usual.” His voice sounded so distant. Realistically, he was just lost in thought.

“The…usual?” she questioned.

“Got my payment. Got more bounties.”

“Ah. The usual. Got it.” She began to walk towards her cot, but he stopped her in her tracks with his next words.

“I brought food.”

“You… brought food?” She echoed.

He silently held up a satchel, burstin with assorted produce and meats.

“You brought food.” She said once more, feeling a sense of safety nudge at her heart.

He handed her the satchel, and she examined it closely.

“Hmm… I know exactly what to make from this,” and she left for the galley. He remained cemented to the spot. Silently swearing to himself to learn why she had been crying and to never let it happen again.

A few hours later, they were in orbit of Nevarro and she was putting the finishing touches on a roast. They hadn’t spoken since he had given her the food, she had plunged herself into cooking. It was mostly an attempt to recover from the flashbacks of earlier, and it mostly worked. 

She shouted out of the galley up at the cockpit, “Food’s ready! Come get it while it’s hot!” 

She fixed the three of them plates, and set one plate down at the spot he usually sat in. She and Grogu took the seat that they had been in before, their backs to the seat he would take. Grogu was already finished by the time she heard Mando’s boots hit the floor. She had, unwittingly, waited for him to start eating. She heard his helmet depressurize and she started to eat her meal with him. She nearly choked when she heard a sound from where the Mandalorian sat. He had taken a bite and moaned. He kriffing moaned, and it made her freeze completely. She couldn’t see it, but he had frozen too. Shocked by his own involuntary noise. He knew she had heard it, because he heard her gag on her food. Heat crossed his face and he was never more thankful for the Creed than in that moment.

They ate the remainder of the food in complete silence. He collected the plates when they were finished, and she put the now sleeping child to bed. She was closing the crib when he reappeared. His visor was fixed on her and it sent a shiver through her body.

“I liked it.” He spoke abruptly.

“Hmm?” She asked as she slumped back down into her seat.

“The food. I liked it.”

“I bet.” The tease slipped out before she could process what she was saying. Her whole body tensed.

“What was that?” He asked, taking a step toward her.

She stood and moved backward, “N–nothing. I’m glad you liked it.” The nerves caused her voice to quiver slightly.

He stalked closer. “That’s not what you said.”

She tried to turn, wanting to hide in the 'fresher, but his hand snatched her wrist and pulled her to the wall. Pinning her between him and the cool durasteel. Her heart was thundering in her ears. She should have felt scared but this was different. Less threatening. Probably because he wasn’t holding a blaster to her this time.

“What. Did. You. Say.” He was impossibly close now. He smelled like her blanket.

No… she thought, the blanket smells like him.

She steadied herself for a moment and committed to the teasing.

“I said, ‘I bet.’ As in I bet you liked my cooking. At least it sure sounded like you were enjoying it.”

He hovered for a moment. He was contemplating something. She assumed he was debating whether to smack her for taunting him or not. In reality he was contemplating her. Her body. Her face. How good she would feel when he– 

Stop!

His internal voice screamed. And he finally released her, quickly leaving for his bunk. The door hissed shut behind him before she even had a chance to move. She slid to the floor. She was dazed and confused by the bizarre interaction that had just occured between her and the Mandalorian. He didn't seem angry. In fact he had seemed... Excited. A heat settled low in her body, which she elected to ignore.

That's absurd. No way was that what had been happening.

She shook the thoughts out of her head and finally stood up from the floor. She still wanted to shower before bed. The scent of ash and smoke was clinging to her hair and she craved the scent of the soap. She didn't take long, focusing mainly on her hair. She stepped out into the hull and the quiet was deafening. All she could hear was the soft breathing of the child on the other side and... She froze.

She heard a moan. Before tonight she wouldn't have been able to place it but now she knew exactly what she was hearing. She was planted to the spot. Not moving. Not breathing.

Another moan ripped through the quiet.

Her eyes found his door, lit dimly by the light of the refresher. The warmth she had felt earlier returned, this time it was less bearable. Her body moved without her willing it to, and she found herself in front of his door. She wasn't sure what she was doing there. This was a private moment. An intimate moment she wasn't supposed to bear witness to, yet she couldn't keep herself from listening. She chewed her lip for a moment and wrestled with herself internally.

After a moment of contemplation, she pressed her ear to the door. She wanted to hear more. His moans were hot and it had been so long since she had been a part of anyone's pleasure, so she indulged.

The moaning was expected, as were the whispered curses. What she hadn't expected was what he groaned out as his orgasm slammed into him.

"Jomira..."

She stumbled back. That was her name. He was moaning her name. Her heart raced as she rushed back to her cot and quickly climbed under the covers. His voice echoed in her mind.

Impossible. I just imagined it. That's all. Still...

She pressed her thighs together. Her arousal had reached a fever pitch and it was becoming a problem. She reached over and shut the child's crib. Then she slipped her hand below her waist band. She was soaked. Her pussy. Her thighs. Imagined or not, he had an effect on her that she could not deny.

She pressed her middle finger to her swollen bundle, working it in slow, precise circles. She whimpered quietly and covered her mouth quickly with her free hand. She continued working herself closer to release. She could feel it, she was on the precipice. Just as it poured over her the door to the Mandalorian's bunk slid open. She jumped, throwing the hand that had been covering her mouth over her eyes, burying her face in her elbow. The hand that had been working so desperately for her release was trapped between her legs. Her orgasm made her throb against her fingers, the ruined release causing her cunt to clench and spasm.

Neither she nor Mando moved. She took a deep, slow breath, feigning sleep. She prayed to the Maker that he hadn't seen her, that he would just assume she was asleep and leave. After another beat, she heard his boots move. They ascended the ladder, followed by the cockpit door hissing open and then shut.

She let out a sigh and removed her arm from her eyes and her hand from her pants. Her heart rate slowed finally, and her eyes began to feel heavy. Sleep fell heavy onto her body and she knocked out quickly. She dreamt of him that night.

Chapter 2 | Chapter 4 | Masterlist

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian fanfic #the mandalorian x oc #the mandalorian x original character #the mandalorian x ofc #the mandalorian x original female character #the mandalorian smut #din djarin #din dijarin fanfiction #din djarin fanfic #din djarin x oc #din djarin x ofc #din djarin x original female character #din djarin x original character #din djarin smut #mando smut #mando fanfiction #mando fanfic #mando x oc #mando x ofc #mando x original female character #mando x original character #stow away #hunnythebee

[shortmage]

BobaDin AU Bingo: Paranormal [Haunted Din]

the concept for this fic has been in my head for so stinking long, the doc is actually a year old, but the au bingo (@bobadinweek) helped give me the impetus to finish. hope you all enjoy!

and with this fic, here is the state of my bingo card (below the cut) at this time! only a little bit longer to go but im gonna do my damnedest to get that bingo!

#bobadin #mando fanfic #tbobf fanfic #haunted din #mage writing #bobadin au bingo

[thepascalofus]

Supply Run - Exchange (part three)

AO3

Part Two

Pairing: Mando/Din Djarin x afab!Reader

Summary: You’ve been Mando’s crew partner for a year now. Throughout that year Mando has warmed up to you and given you signs that your heart throbbing crush on him is reciprocated. There’s one thing making you hesitate. The condoms he bought on the most recent supply run.

Word Count: 19.1k (HAHAHAHAHAAA)

Chapter Summary: Previous feelings for each other are revealed, and then those feelings are explored. An exchange, if you will.

Content Warnings: 18+ only, MDNI, nervous!reader, soft!!!!!!mando, reader loves facial hair, fluff fluff fluff, helmet comes off, cuddling, SMUT: making out, grinding, PRAISE kink, lowkey size kink, big dick mando, consent king mando (consent king mando is the hottest mando, it is law), m and f masturbation, dirty thoughts of reader and of mando, piv, unprotected and protected piv, fingering f receiving, ass grabbing, a lil nipple play, half naked and naked mando, lovey dovey sex hehehehehe, physical descriptions of reader are as neutral as possible but reader has a vagina

A/N: I cannot thank you all enough for your responses on the first two parts. I also cannot thank you all enough for your patience for part three. It is longer than part one and two combined (y’all voted for me to post in one long part, ya get what ya ask for!), so I think it was worth the wait. Also I didn’t proofread this because I was too excited to post it. Will read over it later though! ENJOY!!

THREE MONTHS PRIOR

A thudding sound was produced by Mando’s footsteps up the Crest’s ramp. Looking up from the article you were reading on your Holopad, your eyes were trained on the lowering ramp. You nestled a bit further into your reading nook–a pile of blankets and some pillows stacked against the wall–as you anticipated the outside air hitting you.

Mando entered the Crest covered in mud. His footprints left a trail up the metal of the ramp. That’s another thing to add to the list of chores, you thought. The planet’s surface was half-swamp, so of course he would come back looking like he just rolled in bantha shit. A struggling bounty that Mando was dragging by the cuffs snapped around their wrists only made the mess worse. 

With a grunt and a push, the quarry was frozen in the carbonite cell before Mando could finish the harsh grit of his, “Dank farrick.” His muddy, gloved hand left a mark on his vambrace when he touched it to close the ramp. 

Silence.

A modulated exhale.

He stood with his expansive shoulders slumped and helmet turned downwards a bit. An apologetic tone crackled through the helmet, “I’m really sorry about the mess,” he slowly said as he used his hands to gesture around him.

Yeah, it wasn’t the most fun chore in the galaxy, but the alternative would be sitting and reading an article on your Holopad. Or sitting next to Mando in the cockpit, the streams of light gleaming off of his armor as you two have a sleepy conversation. They do sound like better alternatives, but you wanted to maximize your time with Mando.

You knew that Mando would help you clean up the mess. More time with Mando greatly sweetened the task of scrubbing the hull.

“I’m going to uh,” he glanced down at the muddy ensemble that covered his body, “go rinse off real quick.” He began his path towards the fresher door and stood still in front of the door. The helmet turned towards his right shoulder, like he was lost in thought. You could tell he concluded his reasoning as the helmet turned back to face the fresher door and he reached up to unlatch his armor. 

First the chest plate was placed on the floor.

Tung.

Then the thigh guards.

Tang. Tang.

Vambraces.

Ting. Ting.

Pauldrons.

Dunk. Dunk.

It wasn’t unusual for Mando to remove his armor outside of the thresher. Occasionally the planet he needed to hunt on was sweltering hot, and removing the armor helped him cool down. Other times it was the inverse, the armor was too cold and he needed to heat up. It made sense to you this time as well. His armor was dirty so removing it before stepping into the fresher helped him clean up easier.

You didn’t realize he would apply the same logic to his mud-soaked flight suit.

Reaching up, his gloved fingers fiddled with the buttons at the top of his shirt. Eventually he was successful in undoing them and brought his hands behind his neck. He gripped the collar of his shirt and pulled it up and over the helmet. Off of his torso and onto the floor.

Plap.

The saturated long sleeve clung to his upper body like a surgical exam glove. Every muscle. Every ripple with his movement. They shined in the light of the Crest and displayed every lean curve of the Mandalorian’s body. Once more he reached up, this time undoing the buttons on his long sleeve.

Oh kriff.

Hands gripping the back collar of the shirt, the removal of the wet, black fabric revealed golden tan skin. Scars littered the expanse of his back from the years of combat he’d endured. The muscles that previously rippled underneath black fabric now gleamed under tan skin, coated with a layer of sweat.

Plap.

Oh kriff.

You were behind the nearly beskar-less man. Knowing he couldn’t see you, your jaw dropped.

Mando stepped out of his shoes, which revealed clean black socks. Hopefully his boots were equipped with mechanisms to keep his feet dry. Lastly, he slid off his gloves.

Plap. Plap.

Veiny, golden hands–matching his torso–were ungloved. His fingers were thick with well kept nails. You supposed that longer nails would make hand-to-hand combat difficult. As he opened the fresher door you watched his hand flex around the handle. His biceps bulged in the process of pulling the metal door open.

Once he was inside the fresher, you heard shuffling. After a minute or two, the door opened slightly. A large hand and toned forearm reached out and discarded his pants and underwear on the floor.

Plap.

The water began to run in the fresher and the pattering of liquid hitting the fresher floor filled the Crest. Occasional variations in the pattering occurred when Mando moved his body underneath the stream of water. 

Then the pattering stopped. Mando must have been drying himself off, the slight shuffling sounds made their way to your ears. Those sounds ceased as well.

The Mandalorian cleared his throat and called out your name, “Um. Hey.”

Blinking a few times, you snapped out of your daydream-like state, “Yeah?” You called in response.

A pause. “Would you mind getting me some pants, please?” His voice was tight–possibly in embarrassment.

Your eyes widened and body sat still, “Uh, yeah sure! Where do you keep clean pairs?” You asked.

“Right side of my bunk. First cabinet on the left.” He raised his voice in order to enunciate his words. 

Before you knew it, you were leaning into Mando’s bunk. Your gaze floated around the space in a quick glance. It was clean and organized. After witnessing his wide and tall frame the bed looked almost too small. Or maybe he just looked that large.

Your hand opened the first cabinet on the left and the other hand selected a clean pair of pants off the top of the stack. They were soft, fleece-like. Realizing they were sweatpants you extended your arm to put them back, but then hesitated as your hand hovered over the pile. Mando just came back from a hunt. A swampy, muddy hunt at that. He should get to be comfortable now.

The sweatpants remained in your hand and your footsteps took you to the fresher door. “I got you a pair,” you shyly announced. 

A squeak came from the fresher door’s hinges as the crack in the door allowed Mando’s hand to stick out of the space. His palm was open, waiting for the pants to meet his touch. Your arm reached forward and placed the soft pants into the grasp of his thick fingers.

“Thank you.” The smooth bass of his voice entered your ears and went south. Air moving through his vocal chords produced warm, honey-like vibrations and they made you melt. “I’ll get the rest,” he concluded, and shut the fresher door. 

You stood and studied your bleary reflection on the fresher door in awe at what you’ve experienced. Mando’s actual voice–without the helmet.

Shuffling began and ended abruptly. Lost in the awe, you didn’t realize the Mandalorian opened the door and took a step out. In consequence, his chest collided with your torso and sent you tumbling backwards. Backwards into a small puddle of swamp water and peaty mud.

“Di’kutla,” Mando let out a now modulated grunt.

Useless, worthless in Mando’a. Your heart stung a bit at the word. It’s not like you wanted to be covered in swamp gunk.

“Sorry, I-I didn’t mean to make more of a mess,” you stuttered, nervous at the potential of him being mad at you.

Without a word, he reached down and hauled you to your feet, large hands grasped you at your waist. You became off balance and placed your hands on his chest for leverage. A slight gasp escaped your throat at the sudden movement–and at touching Mando’s bare chest.

His skin was soft, but rough. Thin black hairs littered his sternum and the surrounding skin. A light trail made its way down his soft, yet toned, stomach and disappeared past the waist of his sweatpants. Once you realized where your gaze settled–the soft bulge displayed behind the black fabric–your eyes snapped back up to his visor and your hands returned to your sides. Mando’s hands brushed the insides of your forearms. The skin on his hands was rough and warm, just like the skin on his chest.

The T shape tilted and then shook from side to side, “I’m di’kutla, not you. I’m the one that pushed you over.” 

His head peered downwards and noticed the placement of his hands, he quickly jerked them back to his sides and nodded, “Let’s get cleaning.”

–

The Mandalorian quickly pulled an outfit together, which lacked his usual beskar–the same black sweatpants, a black t-shirt, and a pair of black socks–and you mirrored his actions. Thankfully, he only caused your clothes to get dirty and not the rest of you. Your clean outfit was more revealing, which allowed you to bend and twist to scrub the mud off of the Crest’s interior.

While scrubbing, you would catch Mando out of the corner of your eye as he stole glances at you. An eyebrow of yours raised at his glances. You shot him a quick, “Don’t worry Mando, I’m getting it all,” in a teasing manner.

Looking back at the beskar-less man, he shook his helmet and chuckled, “I’m not worried about you getting it all. You keep the Crest sparkling clean. Was just…seeing if you needed help over there.” His visor returned to focus on the task of removing the mud from the floor of the hull.

–

The cleaning finished after an hour and a half. You were shocked at the efficiency, but you supposed two people cleaning aided in achieving the cleanliness of the Crest. Scrubbing the silver floors and walls tired you out, and Mando certainly felt the same after his hunt and scrubbing.

Sleep permeated throughout the air of the Crest and nestled itself into yours and Mando’s bodies. Fluid motions weaved your bodies past each other throughout the hull. Mando went back to change in his bunk while you used the fresher for your nightly routine. Once you were finished, you closed all the cabinets in the small space, signaling the return of your nightly products to their original places.

Which usually signaled Mando to stand outside of the fresher door.

His footsteps became louder as he strode to his usual spot across from the metal door of the fresher. You weren’t surprised to see Mando leaning against the wall of the hull.

But you were surprised at the bare chest staring back at you. The dark hairs on his chest littered your vision once more. The Mandalorian’s arms were crossed, which displayed every finely tuned muscle in the dim light of the hull.

You wanted to jump his bones. Climb him like a tree. Feel the expanse of his trunk-like arms under your palms.

“Are you all done there?” His modulated bass crackled through your thoughts. Straightening up and snapping out of your daydreams, you stepped to the side and nodded. Mando’s frame became larger as he approached you. Once your bodies were about to pass each other, an ungloved hand settled on your hip and gave you a slight squeeze.

“Thank you,” he said. His visor met your eyes before he closed the door to the fresher. 

You got comfy in your makeshift bed–a nice pillow, a thick sleeping pad, and a cozy blanket–and waited for Mando to finish his nightly routine. You always tried to stay up and say good night to Mando before you drifted off to sleep.

Facing the side of the Crest the fresher was on, your head hit the cushion of your pillow and your thoughts wandered.

Mando looked so fucking good. Deliciously good.

You’ve had thoughts about him before. Perverse thoughts. But they were never this strong. But you’ve also never seen him this bare this many times.

His strong arms could wrap around you and flood your body with his warmth. Broad hands would travel up and down your back, soothing any negative thoughts away. Warm skin against yours could act like a salve for your worries.

You could think of everything vividly. His arms. Hands. Chest. Even his legs.

But the feel and morphology of his lips was blurry in your mind's eye.

Yet, you wanted his lips so bad–wanted him so bad–that you didn’t mind the unfocused image in your brain.

You wanted his lips to chase after yours like they were a bounty with the highest reward he’s seen. You needed to feel the slick of his saliva mixing with yours. The dancing of your two tongues in a battle of lust. Not only did you pine after his kiss, but you sought everything that would accompany it as well.

Mando’s ungloved hands would run up and down the planes of your body. Squeezing and palming your features as he pleased, expressing his want for you. The comfortable weight of him on top of you as your mouths molded together. His shifting muscles underneath your palms as you copied his wandering hands. You’d trail your fingertips over the never-ending expanse of his firm back. The pressure of his hard shaft would grind against your mound.

And the sounds.

The sounds.

You’ve heard him grunt before, in pain, effort, exertion, while he handled his bounties.

But you wanted to cause the sounds instead.

His lips could slide against yours and vibrate as he lets out a soft groan of pleasure. The bare chest on top of yours would rumble, sending shivers of delight up and down your spine. Your fingers would dig into his back in response, which would only increase the intensity of his groans. His breath would hitch as the head of his cock rubbed against the point in your walls that had you reeling.

And finally his voice.

Modulated or not, you hoped he would reciprocate the want you had for him. Your thighs pressed together in an attempt to soothe the ache between them.

“Maker, you feel so good.”

“Need you right now.”

“You like that, baby? Yeah? Good.”

“Fuucckkk, always so good for m-.”

You were cut off by the squeaky hinges of the fresher door, accompanied by Mando’s footsteps. Still shirtless, he came into one side of your vision and slowly walked to the other side. Your face heated up at his presence and the thoughts you just had about him. He stopped in front of his bunk and looked at you. 

The T of his visor became diagonal, “You okay?” He questioned you.

Realizing he caught on, your face heated up even more as you produced a response, “Y-yeah! Yeah. Just…thinking.”

Nice save.

His helmet returned to its natural positioning. “What’re you thinking about?” He questioned once again. His large hands clasped in front of him just below his waist. Maker, he was huge. Mando put the width of the doorframe to shame as he continued to stare at you.

“Just…” You quickly tried to remedy the one sided awkwardness. “Just thinking about a book I’m reading. The plot is getting more complex.” Your shoulders rose and fell in a shrug to make your answer seem nonchalant.

“What book? Is it the cowboy one?” Mando replied. He leaned against the doorframe to get comfortable.

Your heart throbbed at his thoughtfulness. The cowboy-related book was one you brought up to him a couple weeks ago, when he asked what you were reading. Not wanting to lie to him, you shook your head and told the truth, “No, I finished that one a couple days ago. This one is about,” you trailed off, and then lied, “This is a romance book.” Your face became hot once again. At least you weren’t completely lying.

“Romance?” Mando asked, “What’s this book called?” His helmet tilted in interest. You could pick up a teasing tone if you listened closely enough.

“Oh, I don’t think you’d like it,” you returned. He usually asked for book titles when he was interested in reading them as well. 

His bare shoulders shrugged, causing his chest to flex for a moment. “Was just curious what you were reading.” He sounded a bit disappointed. The door frame appeared to widen as he turned to enter his bunk.

Not wanting to leave him hanging, you made up a book title, “Hunter and Prey.” Your eyes widened at the sheer explicitness of the three words that left your lips. Hunter and Prey? Really? It would have been easier just to tell him what you were daydreaming about him railing you. 

Mando’s broad frame filled the entrance to his bunk once again. “Hunter and Prey?” He said in a teasing tone, one much more decipherable. 

You throw his tone right back at him, “Oh c’mon. The book has romance and adventure. Two birds with one stone.” You’ve told him how much you like adventure books, so hopefully your lie stuck.

The beskar helmet slanted in thought. “I guess so,” he settled his playful response and paused. A playful tone arose from his modulator once more, 

“Don’t get too interested in bounty hunters. I think getting caught is only fun in the books.” His chest, dark hairs splaying across the surface, vibrated as he chuckled.

A slight smile spread across your face at his joke, “You never know, some bounty hunters don’t take their job as seriously as you do,” you stuck your tongue out at him in jest. 

Mando shook his head, probably biting back a chuckle, and faced his torso towards you for the final time that night, “Good night.” 

Still smiling, you responded, “Good night.”

The bunk door shut and only a dim light in the hull remained as a light source. Shadows from different cargo boxes cast themselves across the silver wall. It would take too much work to decipher which reflections on the walls belonged to which items. Warm light from a lamp near your living space casted a blanket of relaxation over the area. You couldn’t escape the feeling, and your body slumped into the material of the sleeping pad.

Once you closed your eyes, you realized your body was the only thing that the warm light seemed to calm down. In your mind, one thought took center stage.

Mando.

The way he leaned against the door frame. A broad expanse of dark hair covered his chest and traveled down past his waist, the horizontal and vertical lines of hair mimicking the T of his visor. Crossed arms were decorated with a smooth topography of muscles. His voice, laced with relaxation and ease. How attentiveness was like second nature to him. 

How far did that attentiveness extend?

You thought about how carefully he listened and remembered details from your conversations. Picking up on things you’ve needed without you even realizing they’re necessary. Like the sleeping pad you’re laying on. The warm, cozy blanket he came back with one day. 

Would he do the same in bed?

Your hand traveled down to your mound. Dipping under your waistband, your fingertips found your clit. Slow motions started to stimulate the bundle of nerves, sending waves of pleasure throughout your body. It wasn’t the first time you masturbated on the Crest, you were human after all. But it was the first time you masturbated without assistance–from a book, video, or picture–and were spurred on by thoughts alone. 

He’d probably listen to your breath hitch as his thick, veiny fingers hooked into a spot on your inner walls just right. And he’d continue, hitting that exact spot over and over. With trained precision. Like it was nothing.

Upper teeth bite down on your lower lip as you thought about his fingers inside of you. How thick they are. How skilled he would be with them. Wet seeped from your slit onto your bottoms. The fingertips from your clit reached down to collect your wetness, and you resumed rubbing your clit at a faster pace.

He’d make you cum like it was his duty, as if it was part of his Creed. With confidence. Pride. Mando’s fingers would be soaked, so soaked that he’d raise them to meet your mouth. “Open.” He’d demand.

You knew you’d get that wet for him because you were already that wet for him. One of your hands continued rubbing your bundle while the other dipped into your entrance. A singular finger eased its way into your hole, but you wanted to feel the stretch. The stretch you knew his fingers would easily provide. Bringing another finger against the original one, you prodded at your entrance once more. You pushed into your wetness with two fingers.

That’s it.

Your eyes closed. Jaw dropped. 

Your thoughts wandered to his fingers once more, syncing your thoughts with the way your body felt. 

You’d take his fingers into your mouth and suck your slick from them. Right before they would retract, you coated the two digits in a layer of saliva. He observed his own fingers and understood your silent plea. “You want more, baby?” You nodded. His fingers returned to your wet hole and filled you once again.

Your own two fingers weren’t as thick as Mando’s, so you got used to the feeling of two. You needed more. The circling at your clit kept a constant pace as a third finger joined your other two. Your thoughts jumped to something that wasn’t his fingers.

His cock.

The soft bulge underneath the black fabric of his sweatpants. It was sizable, even when he was soft–you assumed he was soft–so how big would he be when he’s turned on? If his genetics maintained their pattern, he would be big.

He’d lean over you and line his hips up with yours. Each of your legs rested on one of his sides. A large hand would grip your hip to steady you, as he pushed the thick head of his cock into you. Mando would remain attentive. You knew he’d watch your face and listen to your breaths, your moans. His heavy cock found the same spot inside of you that his fingers did.

Your inner walls clenched around your three fingers. The strokes you took were slow and drawn out, savoring the fullness of your warmth.

Once he saw that you were comfortable, he’d pick up his pace. Your moaning increased, littered with, “please,” and, “Mando,” over and over. He’d groan at his name, fucking into you with more strength. Mando put the weight of his body behind his thrusts. Your body shifted up the mattress from the effort he put in. 

A small, wet sound began to echo across the hull, but you were too close to care. The hand at your clit fell into a perfect rhythm with the thrusts of the fingers entering and leaving your soaking hole. You bit your lip as you quieted a moan that threatened to leak from your mouth.

Mando’s broad palm and thick fingers would lace between yours, holding your conjoined hands above your head while he fucked into you. The head of his cock perfectly brushed against a spot deep within your walls. A place that you couldn’t reach by yourself. The Mandalorian’s hot breath fanned across your neck, he panted and groaned from his exertion. 

Another brush against your walls and you squeezed around him. “Fuucckkk,” he’d moan into your neck. He continued his pace and littered your neck in sloppy kisses. “That’s a good fucking girl.”

Both of your hands worked faster. Three fingers fucked into your hole, curled to try and hit the spot deep inside of you. Your other hand increased the pace of the study rub over your throbbing clit. The bottoms you wore felt soaked against your lower hand, yet you couldn’t care less.

Mando’s thrusts would be relentless. Hard. Fast. The weight of his heavy balls slapped against the tighter hole beneath the one he was fucking. 

Plap. Plap. Plap.

Each thrust would be so final. Conclusive. He fucked you like he knew exactly how this would end. His visor hovered over your face. Your jaw was dropped and your eyebrows were furrowed. The horizontal line of his visor filled your vision. His voice was merely a growl, as he demanded, “Cum for me.”

Your body went stiff as euphoria washed over you in waves. Each wave took you apart and brought you back together. The wetness of your hole only became wetter, the sound echoed a bit louder than before. Despite your attention to staying quiet, your orgasm raged on. Every reassembly from each wave of pleasure calmed your being, and your stiff form slumped into your sleeping pad. Your hands kept moving, but at a slower pace. Another wave followed every thrust of your fingers. You savored the warmth your orgasm brought you. Halting your hands, your mind came-to. 

That was the hardest orgasm you’ve ever had.

–

That hunt kriffing sucked, Mando thought.

Cold water ran down Mando’s body as he rinsed himself off in the fresher. Drops of liquid pattered onto the metal floor, pooling at his feet. Everything in his body felt limp, a result of his exhaustion from the hunt. 

The only thing that wasn’t limp was his dick.

Mando was already on the edge of his perverse thoughts. Seeing you, comfortable and cozy, made his heart swell–and his cock. Providing for you was like breathing. After every hunt he looked forward to meeting your gaze and a soft smile spreading across your face. 

Not only did he get to see you comfortable, but he saw you displaying your attraction to him. A display that included dropping your jaw when he took his shirt off.

He caught you gawking at him in the reflection of his chest plate. Your jaw dropped when he removed his final layers, and Maker, it only made his situation worse. Not only was his body dirty, his thoughts were dirty too. 

Before his brain started to spiral, he quickly completed his rinse-off and turned off the shower in the fresher. Stepping out, he realized he didn’t bring any fresh clothes in with him. 

Shit.

You were in the hull and would probably bring him something if he asked for it. But what does he ask for? A full outfit? He at least needed bottoms. He thought of how complicated it would be to explain where multiple things are in his bunk through the metal door of the fresher, so he opted to just ask for one thing–pants.

“Um. Hey. Would you mind getting me some pants, please?” Mando asked. He was a tad embarrassed. He plans hunts meticulously to save the most amount of time, he’s attentive to every detail in combat, and he forgot to bring pants into the fresher with him.

You brought him the pair and the Mandalorian quickly changed. Pausing before he touched the door handle, Mando became nervous. What if your jaw-dropping was one of disgust and not of attraction?

Only one way to find out.

–

Mando laid on the mattress in his bunk and finally let his thoughts wander. They wandered like a desperate quarry. So desperate to find a discreet place to live, but showing themselves at some point in the end.

He thought of the book you were allegedly reading: Hunter and Prey. You were reading a romance novel. About bounty hunters. 

His hardened cock only made his sweatpants tighter. Hips shifting upwards, he sought relief in adjusting his position. The only thing adjusting did was rub the head of his cock against the fabric of his pants. Black fabric created a heart-stopping friction against his tip. 

Dank farrick.

Finally giving in to his perverse thoughts, he let them wander. Just like how he would let an easy bounty wander around town. At any minute, he could capture them and complete his hunt, but sometimes he enjoyed “playing with his food” first.

His imagination put you on center stage. Your hair. Your eyes. The shape of your body and the planes of it he sought to run his hands over. Warm skin would glide underneath his palms and act like a sedative. Calmness washed over his mind. Then he thought of your lips. So delicately crafted. Your lips framed your gorgeous smile, like they were housing an ancient masterpiece in an art gallery.

The smile you gave him whenever he returned from a hunt made his heart melt. You’d be snuggled up reading, bent over the small stove cooking, or hunched over a mechanical issue. No matter the situation, you would look up and find his gaze behind his visor. Something anyone else could rarely accomplish. He finally felt like he had a purpose hunting, besides survival. 

You.

You’d meet him halfway and wrap your arms around his torso. His arms would snake around your torso and hold you in a tight hug. “I missed you,” he’d say. “I missed you too,” your response would vibrate against his chest. His hands would run up and down your back, relishing the feel of your body in his capable arms. 

He groaned at the thought. In frustration of not being able to have you. The simple image of a hug had him reeling, desperate to meld his being with yours. You were so perfect and lived in his damn ship. You spoke with him as if he were just Din, and not Mando. Images of domesticity juxtaposed images of his bounty hunting profession. It was a blessing and a curse. 

The pair of you would retreat to his bunk and turn off the lights. Your bodies would press together as the two of you shared the space of the mattress. He would press his helmet into your hair, smelling the faint scent of you through the metal–and the shampoo you recently bought at a market. He’d use his broad hands and thick arms to bring you closer to him, nearly crushing you via cuddling.

Mando’s face heated up at the thought. Feeling the heat of your body against his was something he would be willing to get on his knees and beg for.

Hands would begin to drift and adventure in a bold manner. His palms would glide up and down your body, stopping occasionally to grasp and rub different areas. He thought of the way your ass would feel in his palms. Soft. A cushion. A spectacle he almost didn’t feel deserving of. His hands would wander north and his fingers would tease your nipples through your shirt. You’d gasp in response and squirm against him.

Maker. He almost forgot. The sounds you would make. The Mandalorian groaned and reached down to palm his cock through his sweatpants. Relief flooded his body like how precum flooded from the head of his cock. Rough palms glided up and down the silky skin of his shaft. Once the friction became too much, he reached into a side compartment and produced a small bottle. Squeezing the plastic sides of the bottle, a small dollop of lube was squirted onto his fingers. He quickly returned to his thoughts and his actions. The lube allowed his large grip to seamlessly run along the length of his shaft.

Shit. Would you be this wet?

After exploring the feel of your body, Mando would pull you to sit in his lap. You’d be in between his legs with your back facing him, your legs resting out in front of you. He’d grip the insides of your knees and encourage you to let your legs fall to either side. Once he was pleased with the positioning he asked, “Is it okay if I take these off?” Rough fingertips pinched at the waistband of your pants and underwear. Getting an enthusiastic nod and a small, raspy ‘yes’ in response, the Mandalorian pulled both articles of clothing off of your lower half. 

He focused his strokes near the tip of his cock. The nerves in the head of his shaft sent electric currents through his body. Normally his self-pleasure sessions weren’t this intense, but you did something to him. You were special. Better than any brothel service. Any piece of pornography. You were gorgeous. Beautiful. Mesh’la. 

He thought of dipping his fingers into your slit. Hopefully, that would pull another gasp from you. Every breathy exhale and pleasured sound only increased his need to hear them more frequently. Starting with one finger, his fingertip would push into your entrance. He’d go slow at first, pumping in and out of your wet sex knuckle by knuckle. Mando would give you some time to adjust to the feeling, and then increase his pace. Moans and gasps fell from your lips much more frequently than before. Your pussy was soaked from just a few fast strokes from his thick finger. If you were comfortable with it, he’d slip another finger alongside the singular one. His pace slowly increased to resume the speed that had your back and shaking legs pressed against his. 

“Ohhh, Ma- Mando-o,” would quietly cry from your throat.

“Fucckkk,” Mando said under his helmet.

Wet sounds emanated from the action of stroking his rough grip up and down his thick shaft. Underneath the helmet, he bit his lip in frustration. He already imagined you could feel heavenly around his fingers, but he needed to feel your slick walls around his cock.

First he would make you cum with his fingers. The orgasm would send you reeling back into his hold. You’d be a shaking and stuttering mess, reaching for one of his broad hands and lacing your fingers between his. An effective way to ground yourself.

“Good girl,” he’d praise.

After you came down from your high, his strong arms would bring you to lay down long ways on the mattress. Parting your legs once more, Mando’s broad hips settled between yours. Glistening folds were presented to him at the center of his vision. You looked delicious. He wished to taste you, but his need to fuck you overtook the pleads from his tastebuds.

His thumb rubbed slow circles on the bundle of nerves between your legs. Your sparkling eyes would meet the gaze behind his visor and your brows would furrow in desperation. He’d do anything you wanted. Anything to please you. 

“What do you want, mesh’la?” His gravelly voice echoed throughout the small bunk.

You’d bite your lip, shyness creeping over your face, but you overcame the feeling. He loved it when you were confident in asking for something from him. “I want you to fuck me,” you requested.

Mando let out a strangled groan at his thought of the words. He loved knowing that you wanted him. He loved when you voiced your desires, sexual or not. Your comfort in his presence was the most potent aphrodisiac Mando could consume. The tip of his cock throbbed at the thought, and his thumb reached up to attempt to sooth the sensation. Bare hips bucked into the air at the touch.

He would line his hips up with yours and prod the wide head of his shaft against your wet entrance. Before pushing in, he reached towards a cabinet to produce his bottle of lube. Mando quickly spread a generous amount over the veiny surface of his cock. As much as he wanted to fuck you, your comfort was his upmost priority. Giving himself a few strokes with his large grip–your eyes trained on his hands–he lowered his hips once more. The T of his helmet stared into your face as he slowly pushed into you. 

Your jaw would drop, just like it did in the reflection on his chest plate. The slick walls of your pussy hugged his thick cock, making his jaw drop in unison.

His wide hand tightened around his hardness. Each stroke had him fucking himself into his grip. Mando’s jaw clenched in concentration, the combination of his hand and thoughts of you were furthering him closer and closer to the edge.

The Mandalorian nearly collapsed on top of you, but he caught himself on his elbows, caging you in his hold. Silver beskar making up his helmet hovered over your face, his eyes trained on yours. A whimper escaped from your throat when the head of his cock brushed against a particular spot. He honed into the point and hit it repeatedly, with precision. 

Your fingers dug into his bare back, most likely leaving crescent marks in their wake. He dropped his helmet into the crook of your neck. The action allowed him to hear every sound you made. Sometimes simple breathy moans, interrupted by his slow, yet strong thrusts. Other times, you’d attempt sentences:

“Ma- Mando. Maker, you feel so good.”

“K-kriff you’re b-big.”

“Mm-mm-mm, don’t, stop.”

A knot coiled in the pit of Mando’s stomach. He threw his head back into a plush pillow and focused his grip towards the tip of his cock. Quiet, slick sounds filled the space of the metal-lined bunk. His breath quickened as his imagination delved deeper.

Mando’s thrusts slowed to a near halt as he raised an arm and propped an elbow to hit a switch on the wall. The space went dark. Everything went silent.

Hiss.

Tunk.

In a hurry, he muttered, “can I kiss you, baby?”

Instead of replying in words, you craned your neck to meld your plush lips with his. Delightful needles ran up and down Mando’s body in pleasure. In disbelief. Feeling your lips on his was something he’s only dreamt of, knowing that completing the action would be a risk to his Creed.

But at this moment, Creed be damned, he craved the motions of your mouth against his. Fighting and expressing a bond that he longed for, slick lips slid against each other in a battle of lust-influenced emotions. Mando pushed his tongue into your mouth, and in the same motion, pushed his cock further into your wet heat.

His mouth swallowed your moans as he rutted the head of his cock against the particularly sensitive spot within your walls. The grip you had on his broad back became stronger. Skin against his hips brushed against the skin of your inner thighs, and your legs captured his body closer to yours. Lips tightened against his, shifting into a portrayal of pleasure, leaving you unable to kiss him properly. In response, the Mandalorian buried his head into the crook of your neck and placed sloppy kisses along your skin.

Almost there. Jaw clenched and teeth gritting, Mando fucked into his fist at a brutal pace. Soft pants accompanied the slick sounds in filling the space of his bunk. Maker, he hoped you were asleep. He didn’t know how much louder he’d get, and more importantly, how much control he had over his volume.

Unable to maintain a steady grip on his back any longer, your grasp traveled to the soft, wavy locks of his hair. The Mandalorian groaned. He didn’t realize how much he craved that simple contact, one many took for granted. Your fingertips massaged his scalp, and it was as if you massaged all of his worrisome, negative thoughts away. 

“Oh, kriff Mando, keep going. F-fuck, you make me feel s-so good.”

A few more firm, yet gentle thrusts of his cock made you squeeze your soaking walls around his shaft. His balls felt heavy against your ass. He knew he was close.

“Mando, oh, oh, Mando, I’m gonna cum,” you whined out, the sound filled his ears as he continued his pace and his languid kisses against your neck.

Mando squeezed his eyes shut. Teeth dug into the thin skin of his lower lip, the hairs of his mustache tickled the skin directly below his lip. Large hands maintained the quick pace along the silky skin of his cock. Just a few more strokes and he was done for.

A knot twisted and turned in the pit of his stomach, and he fucked into your glistening seam with more vigor. Your moans became strangled whines. Each escaping gasp climbed octaves until you finally snapped and clamp your pussy around his cock.

“I’m cumming, oh fuck. Oh, Din!”

The Mandalorian snarled as thick streams of cum erupted from the head of his cock. Translucent, white liquid covered his stomach and chest. His head spun as the waves of pleasure washed over him. The sensations dug themselves deep into his bones and he felt like he was floating. A cloud of ecstasy trapped him and he didn’t want to leave. Seeking to draw his orgasm out longer, he continued fucking his hand until the sensations became too much. Mando’s chest dramatically rose and fell in the aftermath. Panting, he looked down at the mess he made on himself.

That was the strongest orgasm he’d ever had.

Reaching towards a different cabinet, he grabbed a soft towel and began wiping up his mess. Thoughts rushed throughout his mind, in contrast from his usual mindset after masturbating. In the chorus of wandering thoughts that still occupied his mind, one made itself bold and prominent.

Maker, he needs to ask you on a date.

–

Mando stood a meter or two in front of you. His hands hung uselessly by his sides. Posture slightly askew, you could sense he was doubting himself. Thick fingers played with the strings on the bracelet while he waited for your response.

Your jaw went slack, eyes widened. So you weren’t crazy. Everything added up. He made caf for you every morning. The small ‘good nights’ he gave you every night. The even smaller ones with an added word in Mando’a, one he never said around you. The things he told you, about his son, about his feelings, that he never said to anyone else. How he was careful around you, trying not to look intimidating. He tried to make you comfortable at all times.

He cared just like you cared.

You placed one foot in front of the other, giving Mando time to back up if he wanted. He remained in place as he waited for your approach. The armored man stood like a statue in the hull. The beskar and the metal of the Crest became one. If you didn’t focus on him too much, he almost looked like a statue erected in the middle of the hull. As the toes of your boots met the toes of his, you snaked your arms around his waist and pressed your head to his chestplate.

Mando instantly wrapped you up in his solid arms. His helmet was buried into the crook of your neck, the cold metal delightfully stung your skin, and he squeezed you. The Mandalorian’s large hands ran up and down your back as his hold refused to let you go.

You didn’t want to let him go either. Your body sought fusion with his warmth, with his being. All of the comfort he provided. All of the safety that he gave you. It seeped through his body to yours. A sense of peace washed over you.

Mando’s helmet shifted towards your head more, the modulator crackling near your ear, “Is it safe to say we feel the same?” His broad hand continued to rub along your back. The warmth from his palm created the most soothing sensation you’ve experienced. Bringing yourself out of the state of bliss to recognize the question he was asking, your brows furrowed. He almost sounded uncertain of himself, voice tinged with hope.

You leaned backwards to look into his visor. A Mandalorian. The Mandalorian. Sworn to a creed of combat and honor. Mando didn’t have a problem taking down a dozen people at a time, but confessing his feelings to you made him nervous. A small chuckle escaped from your chest at the realization.

The corners of your eyes crinkled from your laughter. His helmet tilted in confusion. “Yes, Mando, we feel the same.” You raised a hand to hold the crook of his neck, rubbing your thumb along the fabric of his cowl.

He pulled you into another hug, this one with more space between the two of you, so he could look down and into your eyes. Your hands rested on his chest plate, and his rested on your waist. A rumbling feeling against your hands made your head tilt in confusion this time. Mando continued to clear his throat. His breaths got slightly quicker.

“I feel like I need to explain th-,” the Mandalorian cleared his throat once again, “I need to explain the condoms.”

Your eyes widened. He doesn’t have to explain himself, but if he wasn’t going to the brothel, why did he need them? Mando only expressed interest in you, as far as you know.

Oh.

Oh.

The beskar-clad man’s chest rose and fell with a deep inhale and exhale, preparing himself for explaining the condoms on the receipt from the market.

“I was going to ask you out on a date. Just something simple,” he shrugged and brought his covered eyes to meet yours, “I bought your favorite snacks, got us some takeout, and I was going to give you the bracelet then. I just wanted to be prepared in case anything…escalated.” 

Cheeks burning, you took Mando’s hands into yours. You smirked and gave him a light chuckle. “You would try to fuck me on the first date, Mando?”

He looked down at the floor of the hull and shook his head. “I’d only do what you’re comfortable with,” he said, giving your hands a squeeze. 

“You also don’t even know if I would have said yes to a date,” you teased him.

A low rumble resonated from his chest, he hooked a finger through one of your belt loops to pull you closer. “I think I might have made a fair assumption.”

Hands glided up Mando’s chest, and you clasped them behind his neck. “You’ll never know unless you ask…” Another rumble came from his chest. A hand snaked its way from your waist to your chin. Mando’s index finger and thumb grabbed your chin and made you look at him face-to-face. 

“Well, would you like to go on a date with me?” The beskar helmet tilted and gleamed in the faint lights of the Crest’s hull. 

“Yes, Mando, of course I do.” Your eyes took after Mando’s helmet and they gleamed with joy. The dull silver of the hull starkly contrasted your excitement. Warmth between the two of you radiated and exploded throughout the space. Your energies seeped into the metal of the Crest just as your feelings seeped into each other's consciousness.

Mando’s large hand returned to rub long lines up and down your back. “I got your favorite snacks, some takeout…” He reminded you as his speech trailed off.

“How soon can we go on the date?” You asked eagerly in response. Snacks, takeout, and Mando sounded like the perfect combination. A perfect way to turn around the anxious thoughts that clouded your mind not even an hour ago.

“We can do it now…?” Mando suggested slowly.

“Yes! Yes please!” You bounced in place and threw your arms around the Mandalorian. He reciprocated your hug with an even tighter squeeze and pulled away from you.

“Let me find a good place to park the Crest,” Mando walked away and climbed the ladder to the cockpit. You went to follow him, but he turned and stopped you at the base of the ladder. “You stay down here, it’s going to be a surprise.” Before you could respond he bounded up the ladder and began takeoff.

–

Mando pressed his vambrace and the ramp slowly revealed the market in the distance. Lights flashed and others were lit in different colors. Rolling hills were lit up by the faint glow. The sun was fully set, which allowed the sky to display an array of stars.

“This is beautiful, Mando.” You turned towards the man in silver and he wasn't looking at the sky. Not looking at the gorgeous colors streaking out from the center of the market, onto the landscape. Not even the different lights and colors that lit the small town.

His gaze was focused on you.

“I was hoping you’d like it.” He took a few steps closer to you with the market bag, a blanket, and two pillows in hand. Stepping in front of you, he laid out the blanket where the hull’s floor meets the ramp. Reaching into the market bag, he took out an assortment of snacks and a takeout meal for each of you.

“Mando, you didn’t have to do all of this,” you chuckled in amazement.

“I didn’t have to, yes. But I wanted to,” he bends down to sit on the blanket and he offers a hand to help you down. You took it and plopped down next to him, your thigh brushed his as you reached for different food items. Mando leaned on his arms placed behind him, watching in amusement as you enjoyed yourself.

The assortment he managed to purchase amazed you. Each item was something you’ve mentioned to him before. A shiny bag of one particular food, a box filled with something else, and a steaming takeout container of another dish. Relishing the diversity of it all, thoughts of Mando’s enjoyment prodded your mind.

You turn to him, “Aren’t you going to eat?” 

His helmet turned towards you and he waited a second. The helmet. No kriff, he can’t eat with you.

“I’m sorry, I for-.” Mando stopped you.

“You know I don’t mind when you eat in front of me,” he started.

He was right. You felt bad in the mornings when you sipped on your caf and indulged in your breakfast. He was probably hungry after a night’s rest. The Mandalorian told you at the time, “I’m used to it. Mandalorians never bonded over food or eating.”

Expecting the same reasoning to leave his mouth and filter through the helmet, you were shocked when he chose a different path.

“I’ve been planning this for a while, mesh’la,” he paused and adjusted his positioning on the ground, “I’ve been thinking of ways to eat with you…” He explained, and then trailed off. 

He’s been thinking of ways to eat with you. To eat. With you. Something he’s never done with you before. In the past, you’ve tried to get him to, even saying you’d wear a blindfold, but he never wanted to take that step.

And what does mesh’la mean?

“You don’t have to, I understand if-.” You began to tell him.

“I think I found a way that I would be comfortable with,” Mando said.

“What is–. Oh, Maker!” You squealed as Mando scooped you up and placed you in his lap. Your back to him and your legs tangled with his. As soon as you settled, the Mandalorian took his takeout container and brought it between your back and his stomach. 

“There’s one rule,” his modulator crackles in your ear as he rests the temple of his helmet against your actual temple, “you can’t turn around.”

“I won’t,” you squeaked, heart beating out of your chest, “I swear to you.” 

The cold feeling of the beskar disappeared from the side of your head. What you didn’t expect was the hiss of the helmet breaking its seal around Mando’s head, even though it was implied. What you definitely didn’t expect was for Mando to place the helmet just enough forward that you could see it in your peripheral as you ate.

You forgot Mando was a human. He had a head and a face. And his face was not the one that peaked at you from the corner of your eye. His face is the one directly behind your head.

The popping sounds of the food container being opened snapped you out of your thoughts. Mando’s utensils clinked against the sides of the container as he gathered food to put into his mouth. 

“Mmmm,” he grunts out, his mouth probably full of food. A few more seconds went by, “that’s really good.”

His voice.

His unmodulated voice.

It was like honey dripped over your body. Soaked through your skin and traveled through your veins. Soothed you. The warmth between you two increased yet again. Not just physical warmth, but the warmth you felt when you discovered new things about each other. When you discover new ways to care and new things to remember.

“What’s on your mind?” His large, calloused hand found the crook of your knee and gave it a light squeeze. His other hand set his empty food container to the side. That was fast, you thought. But you suppose he eats for business, not for pleasure.

“What does mesh’la mean?” You asked him as you marveled at the sight of the market again. His knees pressed into yours and the hand not on your knee snaked around your waist as he pulled you closer to him. 

He tucked his face into the crook of your neck. His breath fanned over your ear and he tightened his arm around you as he spoke, “Mesh’la is Mando’a,” he hummed as he pecked a quick kiss onto your neck, “Mesh’la means beautiful.” 

You smiled, face heating up, and hummed another question, “and what does cyar’ika mean?”

Mando buried his face into the back of your hair and left another quick peck on your head. He pulled away to mutter near your ear, “Cyar’ika roughly translates to sweetheart.”

Your torso vibrated against his, that’s really sweet, you thought, but you wanted to tease him a bit, “First date and you’re already calling me beautiful, huh? And you’ve been calling me cyar’ika for a while now.” A smirk splayed across your face.

The Mandalorian went stiff and asked, “For a while?” Confusion radiated from him and his beskar.

Your smirk morphed into a small smile. “Sometimes I wait up for you when you go on hunts, or I happen to be awake when you come back,” your heartbeat picks up at your confession, but you continued, “I like hearing you say good night to me. It’s…comforting. But then you started tacking ‘cyar’ika’ onto the end of it.” You shrugged like it was nothing.

Mando shifted underneath you, realizing he’d been caught red handed. Then he countered with, “One year of being crew partners and you’re already planning matching bracelets, huh?”

He got you there.

Softly giggling, you reach an arm backwards and bat a hand at his chest, playfully tapping him. A chuckle comes from behind your head. His hold around your waist fastens and he brings his wrist donning the bracelet out in front of you. He wraps his large hand around yours, the one with your bracelet on your wrist. You peer down and admire the identical weavings of thread.

Mando’s throat clears behind you and he speaks softly next to your ear, “I think you have good taste. It matches my armor,” his knee comes up to nudge yours. A moment of silence followed, “The green is for my son, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” meekly comes from your throat. The broad grasp covering your own gave your hand a squeeze. Mando rested his chin on your shoulder and faced the crook of your neck. Soft breaths fanned over your exposed skin.

“Did I get his color right?” You questioned. He previously said Grogu was a light green color, and you hoped the color on the bracelets mimicked his color.

The Mandalorian brought your joined hands up to focus on the color of the light green thread weaving from between the silver and brown. When he spoke, his tone sounded strained, “Yeah, yeah that’s probably it.”

When Mando last spoke to you about his son, he said it’s been a year or so since he gave them to the Jedi. A year without his little one, the bundle of joy that Mando cherished. Then the reason for his uncertain answer and strained voice washed over you.

“You,” an exhale steadied your soft speech, “You can’t remember his color that well, can you?”

A shaking breath made the man’s torso shudder against yours, “No, I can’t,” he admitted in a tight voice. His face pressed deeper into the crook of your neck and he held you close to his chest. You rubbed circles along the back of his hand in comfort. Hesitantly, you brought your other hand behind you and ran your fingers through his hair.

The texture of it made your heart melt. It was longer than you thought it’d be, you assumed he would keep it short so it didn’t bother him within the confines of his helmet. Soft waves brushed through your fingers. Your fingertips lightly scratched at the roots of his hair on his scalp.

You thought your heart melted, but Mando melted exponentially more. The large frame that was his body nearly crushed yours with the tension he released. A soft groan left his throat and vibrated against your neck. Mando’s body loosely wrapped around yours in a protective shell.

“I was hoping that the green on the bracelet would make you think of him. It could make you remember,” you explained to him, continuing the scratches against his scalp.

Then it was silent. Sounds of your exhales and the small rustling sounds of your fingers through his waves of hair were the only ones that traveled to your ear drums. The Mandalorian was heavy against you, boneless, acting as a beskar-weighted blanket. His warmth permeated from his body to yours. It was comforting. He was comforting.

Then a sharp inhale from Mando, “I have to thank you,” he began.

You nearly snapped around to respond, but you kept your gaze trained on the twinkling lights of the market. “For what?” You asked.

“For everything,” he added.

Was Mando really giving you a job review right now? On your first date? “Mando,” you chuckled and shook your head, “I’m just doing my job.”

“I’m not talking about the job, cyar’ika.”

Your eyes widened. Oh. No words exited your mouth.

Mando continued, “I need to thank you for making me feel safe. You’re, you ju–,” he sighed in annoyance with himself. “I’m sorry. I’m not too good at this.” His strong arms gave your waist a squeeze. 

Before you could reply, he resumed his train of thought. “You make me feel emotionally safe. I know I can tell you anything. Share whatever is on my mind. And you’ll be there for me,” a deep inhale interrupted his speech, “and I haven’t had that since I had Grogu.” 

His tone was strained once again and he shook his head while it was nestled near your neck. Gaining composure, he explained, “People look at me and see this bloodthirsty Mandalorian. They’re scared of me. Kriff, I’m sure some have mistaken me for some emotionless droid,” his speech snarled at the word.

You smirked at his distaste for the metal beings, but you didn’t want to interrupt his thoughts with a snide remark.

“But you see me as human. As a man with emotions and thoughts. You talk to me like I’m just a guy that happens to be covered in beskar.”

That was where you butted in, “Because that’s what you are Mando. And you’re not just some guy. You’re a Mandalorian, an actual one, the ones that no one seems to recognize today. Mandalorians are bound to a Creed of honor. Mandalorians stick to their word. They rescue. They protect. They care,” you paused to grasp the hand laying on top of yours, “You’ve told me enough about your Creed for me to realize that very little of it is truly about being solely physically and mentally intelligent. It’s about the combination of those strengths with emotional intelligence. Because what is using your head if you aren’t using your heart too?”

Mando was silent behind you. His body was stiff, no longer relaxed. Shit, did you offend him? You weren’t Mandalorian, should you have been interpreting the Creed?

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be analyzing your Creed like that. I’m not Ma-”

“No,” he stopped your speech, and resumed his, the baritone of his voice being small within his throat, “You got it all right.” Strong arms squeezed you. Mando held onto you as if someone threatened to take you from him. His face returned to its spot by your neck and he whispered, “Maker, you’re perfect.”

The words sent chills down your spine. Before you could fully relish in the implications of his phrase, small kisses were being planted up and down the curve of your neck. Eyelids closed, you bit your lip at the brushes of his lips against your skin. No longer distracted by the visuals of the market lights, your attention focused on the feeling of his face on your neck. Soft lips meticulously placed pecks up your neck. His face slid against your warm skin, leaving a prickling sensation in its wake.

Prickling…your eyes widened and you straightened up, just slightly.

Mando froze in his tracks, voice laced with concern, “you okay?” 

You cleared your throat and let out a small chuckle, “Yeah, yeah, I just,” your body vibrated against his as you chuckled again, “I just realized you have facial hair,” you explained as your face heated up. Half in embarrassment of not realizing earlier, and half in excitement. You loved facial hair.

“Oh. Yeah,” he hesitated, “do you not like it? I can shave if you-.”

You stopped him before he could finish, “No! No, I mean. I like facial hair,” you explained sheepishly.

A smirk grew on Mando’s face, and you didn’t even have to see him to know it was there. Stubble prickled on the skin of your neck once again. This time, the man rubbed his face across the slope in front of him in an attempt to tickle you.

A giggle bubbled out of your chest and you twisted in his hold. The fanning of his breath over your neck created a delicious warmth on your skin. Warmth that soothed the pin pricks from the man’s stubble. Mando’s trunk-like arms caged you in and kept you tight in his grasp. He stopped after only a few seconds, placing soft kisses on the skin that he just scratched.

The kisses down your neck became more intense. Mando would graze his teeth against your skin and tighten his hold around you. The small marks trailed further down your neckline. Receiving the trail of small marks felt like a dream. Each mark gave you a slight pinch, sending your hips rocking backwards to grind against him. 

A soft moan left Mando’s lips and vibrated against the skin of your neck. His grip tightened near your waist and brought your hips closer to his groin. Soft lips returned to your neck, the other side this time, and began placing small hickeys down your skin. One place in particular, where your jawbone meets your neck beneath your ear, sent your ass grinding down into his lap. 

Then you feel him.

And you kind of freak out.

He’s big.

Were you ready for this? Of course you’ve dreamt about it, you kriffing came to the thought of it, but the opportunity overwhelmed you. Your mind raced. You felt like you didn’t consider all of the factors that went into this. 

Sure, you’ve had sex before, but what if you weren’t good enough for Mando? You’re still clothed and he already has you hot and bothered. You haven’t done anything to him yet. You had to do something or else you’re going to be a dead fish in bed. Were you ready to actually do something with him?

Your hips stilled, and of course Mando noticed.

His actions also paused, “You okay, cyar’ika?” He asks softly. Mando’s words make their home in your heart and you melt. You are okay. You’re with him. But being with him made you anxious. Mando didn’t deserve to put up with shitty sex.

“I just,” you paused and shifted in Mando’s lap, “I think I need to lie down,” you lied to him. He quickly reached for his helmet and sealed it back around his head. The pair of you organized the garbage and the remaining snacks, quickly getting ready for bed.

–

You were almost there. You could’ve done it. You dreamt about it for months and yet you chickened out. His hands were right there, and you got up and went to bed. Dank farrick.

Mulling over your thoughts, you laid on your bed and stared at the ceiling of the Crest’s hull. You could masturbate to the thought of him again, sure, but it just wouldn’t compare. The thoughts of Mando’s hands, his broad chest pressed against your back, the warmth of his legs wrapped around yours haunted your consciousness and refused to allow you to fall asleep. 

It was only amplified by the thought Mando put into the date.

“I’ve been planning this for a while.” He said.

How long? He happened to get your favorite snacks, your favorite takeout, he went back to get the bracelets, and he parked the Crest to get an amazing view of the light-filled market. Mando put all this thought into the date and he made some moves on you.

Your heart and clit were beating at the same loud pace. 

In an attempt to focus on something other than the ghost of Mando’s hard-on on your lower back, you opened a side door and exited the Crest. The door opened and closed quietly with your careful treatment of the doorknob.

The market is still it up beautifully, projecting the colored waves of light onto the surrounding hills. You sat just a few feet away from the Crest, knees tucked up towards your chest, your chin resting on your kneecaps. After a couple minutes of sitting outside, you found that the best way to distract yourself was trying to count all of the different vendors you could see. The lights made it difficult to distinguish one stall from another, and it didn’t help that the market was sizable. 

Forty four, forty five, forty six…

“Do you mind if I join you?” The voice came from the exact man you were trying not to think about. But he was also the exact man you wanted.

You looked back towards him and patted the ground beside you. He accepted your silent invitation and plopped his body down next to yours. A breeze swept through the night landscape and left you covered in goosebumps, slightly shivering. Mando must have noticed, since he draped his long, black cape over your shivering frame. His arm followed the embrace of the cape and pulled you closer towards his heat-radiating body. The other arm snaked under your legs and he barely lifted you, so you settled into the shape of his body. Just like Mando’s cape, silence fell over the both of you. His grip around you remained tight while he did his best to warm you up.

“Why are you sitting out here?” He whispered to you. The helmet crinkled his voice, resulting in the crackling of the syllables. Delicacy laced the syllables that flowed into your ears, despite their choppiness. 

Your shoulders rose and fell and you followed it with a sigh, “I was just thinking too much. Couldn’t fall asleep.”

The shoulder leaning against Mando vibrated when he hummed in understanding.

“Do you want to talk about it?” He offered.

Your head fell to his shoulder to rest. The pair of you talked about a good majority of things. Whatever ended up on your or Mando’s mind. You found it to be a great stress reliever and knew that the Mandalorian did as well. If you didn’t get it out, by talking to Mando, the regretful feeling would just ruminate in your brain forever. At this point you highly doubted that this was a conversation topic that could cause Mando’s feelings about you to change.

“I just feel dumb.” You deadpanned.

“Dumb? Why’s that?” He responded immediately.

You paused and considered your choice of words. Being blunt was probably the best course of action. It was Mando after all.

“You wanted to do more with me and I rejected you,” you sighed and pressed your face into his shoulder.

Another quick response followed, “That’s completely okay. You don’t have to do something just because I want to do it. I apologize if I made you uncomfortable earlier. I meant what I said. We’re only going to do what you–.” 

Your head left his shoulder and faced his helmet to look into the depths of the thin black line running horizontally across the beskar. His speech stopped at your action.

“I wanted to do it. I wanted you to do it,” you admit.

Mando’s bones turned to jelly beneath you–you didn’t realize how tense he had gotten–and yet his helmet tilted in confusion.

Before he could ask the question, you answered, “I was nervous. I haven’t done anything like that in a while. Maybe I wasn’t going to be good in bed.” Your face returned to his shoulder to nestle itself into the crook of his neck.

His embrace tightens around you once more. The T shaped gaze dropped to meet yours and he shook his head from side-to-side.

“Cyar’ika,” his chest jumps from a chuckle, “all you have to do to be good in bed is lay on the mattress,” he slowly grits out. His voice is so smooth you’re surprised his speech is still modulated. Still in doubt, the corner of your mouth pinched upward and your brows bunched together.

He noticed the uncertainty of your expression and slowly added, “I also haven’t done anything like this in awhile,” a pause was accompanied by the shaking of his head and a harsh exhale, “and I’m kriffing nervous too.” 

A small smile spread across your face at the confession. It did make you feel better. He was going through the same emotions you were. The somersaults of butterflies that wound your stomach into knots. Lightheadedness that flooded through your bodies at the sight of the other. Your emotions were so strong, these physical responses accompanied them.

The Mandalorian’s actions put you in a state of awe for the trillionth time. He does things that would make you freeze, panic, scream for help, for his help. Physical conflict was like breathing to him. It was involuntary. Completed without thought.

So many nerves bubbled within him. All because of you. All he had to do was confess his feelings to you and his composure shattered into a million pieces.

A million pieces you would pick up and put back together. You would reassemble the puzzle that was Mando over and over again. If it meant spending time with him, you would do it for eternity. Each time finding a new piece, a new feature to treasure and combine with the rest. 

Mando continued to hold your body and your gaze. The combination of him and his cape have warmed you up considerably, and you find yourself being languidly pulled closer into his torso. Your butt settled between his two thick thighs. Both of your thighs settled on top of one of his. The warmth and physical contact was appreciated, and you rested your head on the Mandalorian’s shoulder once more. 

You’re quite literally being cradled by him. One of his toned arms finds its way behind your back to keep your torso against his. The other arm found its way to your knees, holding you closer to him as much as possible. A gloved hand runs up and down your thigh once he’s satisfied with the method of cuddling. 

The friction his leather hand creates on your thigh is delicious. Every bit of heat from the contact is being transported throughout your body. You felt heavy and relaxed. But the heat from his hand turned into a burning need. The strokes up and down your thigh got riskier. His hand made its way farther up your thigh. Thick fingers splayed across your clothed limb, the wide spread covered more surface area, which drove the heat from his touch right to your clit. On some strokes, his thumb would graze the inside of your thigh. Almost there, but not close enough.

Bathing in the warmth of his touch, you didn’t realize your eye contact with Mando was maintained. He must have noticed your expressions morph into ones that you make when deep in thought. His thumb grazed the inside of your thigh once more, and you bit your lip at the tingly sensation on your bundle of nerves.

That’s all he needed to see what was on your mind. Still maintaining eye contact, his hand stopped on your upper thigh. Mando’s grip gently tightened as he spoke. The modulated voice sailed across a smooth sea of honey as he laid out his words.

“Tell me what you want me to do, and I’ll do it. Anything, mesh’la.”

You got your do-over. There’s no way you’d reject him now.

The bone of your teeth grazed your lip. Eyes closed, you took a deep breath and gained some composure. Mando’s helmet filled your vision once you opened your eyes. His chest rose and fell in anticipation.

A small smile made its way onto your face. “Can you pick up where we left off?” You suggested.

Rumbling emanated from his chest, his grips on your back and your thigh tightened in delight. He pulled you closer to him in a hug and buried his modulator near your ear.

“Here or in the Crest?”

“Crest.”

The beskar man helped you onto your feet and led you back inside of the Crest. Once the door was shut and locked, and once Mando triple-checked the security systems, he sauntered over to you. His hands found their way to your waist as he pushed you back in the direction of his bunk. 

His bunk.

Before you could fully process it, you were lying on the long bed watching Mando as he stood, removing his armor from his body piece by piece. Just his flight suit remained on his large frame. He hardly gave you time to admire him before he sat beside you and pulled you into his lap once more. The Mandalorian’s hands–now bare–settled back into their previous positions. 

Feeling more confident than you were before, you leaned into his neck and placed light kisses along the curve. A deep groan rumbled from his chest and his hands ran up and down your body. You playfully bit the skin of his neck and sucked, bringing a hand up to rest on his neck to keep it in place. Your hickey-like kisses trailed upwards towards his jaw. Once you met the juncture where his neck met his jawbone, you sucked on his skin harder and left a light mark. 

He loved that. The grip on your thighs and waist became impossibly tight as he growled. Every noise that escaped from his helmet went straight to your clit. Your hips ground downwards onto his thigh, but to no avail. A look of desire painted your face but a sound of frustration–desperation–left your mouth.

Mando hummed in agreement. The low tone through the modulator questioned you, “Where do you want me to touch you first, mesh’la?”

You turned into a puddle. A horny, wet, puddle.

“I’ll do anything.” He said conclusively. 

Biting your lip, your brows furrowed in delight at the sensation of his grip. The hand on your thigh was higher up your thigh than any time before. Warmth from his palm traveled from the neurons in your quads to the nerves in your clit.

“Rub my clit? Please?” you asked. Desperation leaked from your mouth at the request. If Mando didn’t put his hands down your bottoms in the next thirty seconds, you were sure you were going to explode.

Mando’s chest vibrated as he chuckled, “Mmmm. I like it when you ask nicely. Good girl.”

Oh. Fuck.

You were molten beskar in his hands, at his forge. You trusted him. His skill. His knowledge of you. His perceived obligation to you. And you were ready to be shaped. Molded. Created into something new. With his support. 

His stare remained on your face as his fingertips found your clothed clit. You tensed at the contact and his motions slowed. 

“That alright?” He asked, concern melded to the grit of the voice that left the modulator.

A confirming hum vibrated from your throat. Your nod accompanied the sound.

“Have to hear you say it.” He responded. At first you thought he was teasing you, but the tone he used and the intense stare that was glued to your face said otherwise. 

“I need to and I want to make sure you’re alright every step of the way, yeah?”

You nodded up at him.

“Good,” he reacted to your body language, “then be a good girl and tell me if this is okay. Tell me how it feels.” His voice dropped incredibly low with his demand. It was gentle, but firm.

A shaky exhale escaped from your mouth as you whispered your reply, “I-I want you to keep going. It feels so good.” Wide eyes looked up at Mando and he continued his motions.

The friction of his fingers on your clothed clit was delicious. Each movement sent sparks up and down your limbs. Your head fell to rest on Mando’s shoulder as he maintained his pace. His gaze remained glued to yours. 

Then you realized he was wearing too many clothes. The friction against your clit was amazing, but you wanted as little friction as possible between your bodies. Reaching down, your fingers tugged on the edge of Mando’s shirt.

“Can I take this off?” You asked.

“Of course,” he replied. Thick fingers deftly undid the buttons at the top of his shirt and you aided him in pulling it over his head. The tight long sleeved layer was removed in the same fashion. Mando’s chest, littered with dark hairs, filled your vision. Broad plains of skin rose and fell, making his pecs stand out on his chest. Strong shoulders that framed his chest only made his body look wider.

While you were gawking at him, Mando slid his hands partially under your shirt and around your waist. His fingertips pinched at the hem of your shirt.

“Can I take this off?” He echoed your previous question.

You nodded and muttered, “yes,” in response, helping him pull the fabric over your head. 

His fingers became more confident and he applied more pressure, quickening the strokes of his fingertips over your clothed bundle. Your jaw dropped in response. As you returned Mando’s stare, your eyelids drifted downwards over your eyes, but not all the way. Your breaths were more audible, bordering on being moans.

Mando seemed to love your reactions, the hand you placed on his neck rumbled as he let out a guttural moan. He picked up his pace in response. The clothing between your bundle of nerves and his fingers created the perfect friction. Wetness pooled in your underwear with the increasing speed of the Mandalorian’s thick fingers.

Then his digits left your clit.

You let out a slight whine, disappointed at the loss of his touch. Before you could question him, his fingers dipped just below your waistband. Not enough to really feel anything. Just enough to make a point.

Making eye contact with Mando, his visor tilted in questioning.

“Can I pull these down?” He asked gruffly.

You nod at him, knowing your gaze is burning into his from behind his beskar. 

“Do it,” you half demand, half plead, “it feels so good when you touch me.”

His helmet drops next to your temple in reaction to your words. A crackle escapes the modulator with his harsh exhale. Without hesitation, his hand slid down past your waistband and brought your bottoms with it. Mando threw them to the side and slipped his hand down your underwear. His fingers easily found the pressure point of pleasure past your mound.

You thought the feeling over your clothes was delicious. The feeling of his bare hands on your bare clit was divine. Nothing could replicate the feeling. Nothing came close to the sensations he willed your body to produce. The sensations he produced with just his fingertips.

Mando resumed the slow pace he set previously. He was testing the waters, seeing if the feeling was just as good before. Your hips bucked up into his hand and another exhale left his helmet, this one quicker.

“Mmmm, okay, okay,” the modulator let out a soft understanding.

His fingers sped up to reach the fast pace he had set over your clothed clit. This time, the feeling was a thousand times more potent. The fibers facilitated most of your pleasure before, but now it was all Mando. Rough skin on his fingertips, created by years of pulling triggers and colliding fists, produced amazing friction. A feeling so electrifying you swore you could feel every ridge and valley of his fingerprints.

Your cunt squeezed around nothing and you mewled in desperation. Mando’s helmet still stung your temple with the cool temperature of the metal. His breathing was heavy, arm stiff, making sure your pleasure was maintained.

One circle around your bundle. Then another. And another. The pleasure was phenomenal, which caused your wetness to leak from your hole.

Mando looked down and groaned at the sight.

“Ffuucckk. So wet for me.” He gritted out, continuing the pace of his fingertips around your nub.

Your hips attempted to follow his motions to make more friction, but to no avail. Mando’s fingers were amazing, but his digits just on your clit weren't how you wanted to cum.

The sentence flowed through your brain: “Have to hear you say it.”

Before when you were sitting in Mando’s lap, his fingers inching towards your waistband, you didn’t know if you were ready. You didn’t know if you would be enough. Hesitation blocked your desire and you worried about taking too much and giving too little.

But now you wanted it all. 

Everything you thought about before. His hands. His fingers. His lips. His unmodulated voice. His cock.

You needed it.

It was as if Mando had a switch to turn you off and on. The motions of his fingers wavered your switch off and on, and your confidence flickered on. No more shyness. You had to be direct, and then you would get what you were desperate for.

“Mando…mmmm…M-Mando,” you attempted your request.

His fingers slowed, his attention divided between your speech and your clit. “Yes, cyar’ika?” His grip on your back tightened, indicating that he was listening.

You bit your lip in nervousness, but mustered up the confidence to finally say what you needed, “I want you to f-finger me,” you said between waves of pleasure.

Mando stopped altogether and dipped his fingers lower, edging his reach towards your hole. One finger prodded at your entrance and that feeling alone made you squirm.

More liquid seeped from your seams and your thoughts returned to the ones you had earlier today. You wanted to kiss him. So badly. 

Biting your lip at the thought, you accidentally stuttered out, “I-I w-want.” You realized your request was ridiculous and buried your face in his shoulder, acting as though nothing ever left your lips.

His fingers trailed upwards along your wetness and then back down, hesitating before he began your request. Confused, you brought your head up to look at him.

“What do you want, baby?”

Baby.

Kriff.

You shook your head, “It’s nothing.”

His helmet tilted in a, “I know you’re lying,” type of way. “It isn’t nothing, and we both know it,” he gently reasoned. A large hand ran up and down your back, the other rested on your sex. 

Shaking your head once again, your eyes widened and the corner of your mouth turned up in matter-of-factness, you whispered, “You wouldn’t do it.”

Immediately, “Try me,” he calmly demanded.

Kriff it. The most he would do is reject you.

“I want you to kiss me.” You confessed.

The T of his visor stared at you blankly. In contrast to the steady gaze of his helmet, his chest heaved and lowered at a faster rhythm. 

Then you were on the mattress, Mando was standing up in his bunk, going for the door. Dread hit you like a brick wall. 

“Mando, Mando I’m sorry. I knew it was ridiculous! I-I shouldn’t have even asked,” you pleaded to him.

Then it was dark. And a large pair of hands were on your waist. 

Hissss.

Your brows furrowed in confusion and your eyes remained wide in a pleading expression. 

“Relax.”

The word dripped from Mando’s lips and traveled to your ears. His tone was like thick, warm honey. A soothing bass resonated throughout the room and into your bones. Once the tone reached the marrow within them, they turned to jelly. Your body slumped into Mando’s broad hands.

A dip in the mattress alerted you to his positioning within the bunk. He sat beside you, hands remained around your waist, and he gave you a slight tug as a request to move closer to him. Once you were close enough, Mando slid you into his lap to resume your previous entanglement. 

Your head relaxed on his shoulder and he pulled your torso closer to his with the tree-trunks he had for arms. Instead of his hand slithering down to find the band of your underwear, it traveled up your arm and towards the crook of your neck. The Mandalorian’s thumb rubbed soothing circles on your jaw, just in front of your ear. He shifted a bit, and then you felt warm air fanning over your face.

His helmet was off. The room was dark. Yet you knew that you were looking him right in the eyes. You knew his face was centimeters away from yours. The series of events amazed you. If the lights were on, his Creed would be broken. You didn’t know if the Creed had a clause about being helmetless in the dark, but you knew this situation was risky.

And yet Mando was willing to put his Creed at risk. Just to kiss you.

As if he was reading your mind, his thumb halted its motions. The air that fanned over your face did so with a higher intensity.

The honied voice washed over you again, “I’m going to kiss you now, mesh’la.”

In shock, you could merely nod and whisper, “Please, Mando.”

You daydreamed–and actually dreamed–about this moment for months. Months. Different visions clouded your mind. Soft, supple kisses could be placed on your lips. Feather lip and hesitant in how they approached. Or the kisses could be rough and demanding. Muscles and embouchures would battle in combat motivated by lust.

In reality, Mando was a mix of both. His lips were soft, yet firm. Intention laced the way he moved his mouth against yours. Saliva soon wet both pairs of lips in your entanglement. Your mouths fell into a synchronized rhythms of pecks, tongues, soft bites, and sloppy kisses.

You were so focused on his lips that you didn’t notice the calloused hand making its way down your underwear. His fingers rubbed your clit once more and your hips bucked into his hand. Teeth clashed together as Mando smiled into your kisses.

He placed shorter, close mouthed kisses on your lips and pulled away to speak. Tension from the waistband of your underwear alerted you to Mando’s gesture.

His warm breath fanned over your face, “Can I take these off, baby?”

You nodded vigorously, realizing he couldn’t see you, you stuttered out, “Y-yes, please.”

In haste, the underwear was peeled from your legs and thrown into the darkness of the man’s bunk. Warm, wet lips crashed onto yours once more. You reached up and tangled your fingers into his hair. Soft waves traveled through your hands as they ran through his locks. 

The Mandalorian let out a low groan at the presence of your fingers in his hair. Firm and demanding lips met your mouth, and small bites pinched your lower lip from time to time. You supposed that this was one of the first times someone carded their fingers through his hair. 

Then you felt a rough finger at your soaking entrance. You clenched your walls around nothing in response. His fingers needed to be inside you. Fantasies have filled your mind’s eye about them for months. They’re thick, and you know the digits would stretch your wet hole. Thoughts of the tasty feeling manifested into words.

“Kriff, plea-please Mando. I want your fingers in my pussy,” you pleaded.

He stopped kissing you, but his breath remained close. The motion that was in his lips translated to his finger. One thick, large digit sunk into your wet heat.

From between the clouds of pleasure that fogged your head, you heard Mando’s syrupy voice in your ear, “You’re going to cum like this.”

Your body melted into his. Reaching up, you grabbed where you thought his face was. After a second of wandering in the darkness, your hand cupped his jaw and kept his face in front of yours.

Soft moans and gentle groans emanated from your chest. Each individual knuckle of his finger rubbed along your walls and left its own unique feeling. Mando pumped his middle finger into you slowly. After you were used to the feeling, it was as if his finger was the one pulling moans from your throat.

Mando picked up his pace and you began to pant, moans mingling between your loud exhales. Gripping his jaw and his neck, you anchored yourself to him. His large arms were easily holding you against him, and his torso was solid, but the deft finger in your wet pussy made you feel like you were levitating off of him.

“Maker, baby. I knew your pussy would get fucking soaked,” he gritted into your ear.

Wet sounds of his finger pushing in and out of your heat filled the darkness of his bunk. Your legs were spread wide in his lap, allowing Mando room to curve his wrist to push his finger along the tight walls of your sex. His fingertip traveled and searched, like a hunter after a bounty, and it finally found its reward.

Your hips jumped into his hand at the euphoric feeling. Awe swept over you. You thought Mando was going to be attentive, but attentive was too light of a word for his focus. 

Groaning, he remarked, “Mmmm. That’s it, huh? That’s my girl.”

The Mandalorian was obsessed. His obsession led him to hit the pressure point on your soaking walls over and over again. Mando’s chest rumbled when your pussy clenched around his fingers. Resistance against his fingers only spurred his actions further.

The grasps of your hands tightened around his face and neck. Every muscle in your body clenched. Your face was screwed together from pleasure. Not only was your body taught, your moans were too.

“Nnnghh, oh fuck. M-Mando, yes.”

All because of one of Mando’s fingers.

Your grasp on his jaw shifted when he inquired, “You want another finger, mesh’la?”

Without thought, you moaned in response, “Yes! Oh Maker, please Mando!” 

An empty feeling in your pussy almost made its way to your brain, but then you felt the stretch. Two of his fingers made you see stars, and the delicious stretch created by his thick digits went right to your clit.

His chest vibrated against your shoulder as he let out a deep, rumble, “That’s my good girl.”

A whimper escaped from your throat and your hips ground onto his fingers.

“I- mmf, I thought about this so many times,” you admitted.

Mando growled, “Fuck. Yeah? Tell me what else you thought about.”

His fingers picked up their pace, hitting that soft spot on your walls repeatedly. The Mandalorian made you a whimpering mess in his arms. More wetness weeped from your seams, dripping out past his thick fingers.

“I-, oh, fuck, I th-thought about y-your cock,” you confessed another fantasy that plagued your thoughts.

“Mmmm. What about my cock, cyar’ika?”

The sounds of your wet pussy and both of your moans filled the small space of Mando’s bunk. 

Shhlkt. Shhlkt. Shhlkt.

“H-how you’d st-stretch my pussy w-with it,” you managed between whimpers and shaky exhales.

Fingers fucked into your messy hole faster and faster. “Is that what you want, mesh’la? Need me to stretch your pretty pussy out?”

“Yes, yes. Oh-oh fu-fuck, please,” you begged him. The hand on his jaw brought his lips down to meet yours. Mando’s tongue immediately dove between your lips, wrestling with yours in vigor. Rough, scarred skin was grounding in your hands. Each pump of his fingers tightened your muscles, curling your figure into his strong hold.

“You want my cock next, baby? Hm?” He cooed at you, never faltering the rhythm of his fingers.

Your mouth fell away from his when your jaw dropped. “Mh-mmm-mhm. Yes, please!” You squealed in reaction.

His face leaned down to hover in front of yours, “Then cum on my fingers, pretty baby,” he growled to you.

Shhlkt. Shhlkt. Shhlkt.

A few more pumps and your wet walls clamped down on Mando’s thick fingers. Broken gasps left your mouth as your body stiffened in his strong arms. Your legs shook and you left crescent marks on the man’s back.

Despite your body-shaking orgasm, the man continued his motions until you placed a hand over his to push it away. Your limp body slumped into his, the waves of pleasure left a warm sensation glowing in your skin. 

No amount of dreaming could have predicted the feeling of Mando beckoning an orgasm from you like he swore to do it. The situation you were in wasn’t exactly what you dreamt of, but the reality was so much better.

A strong hand grazed your back, leaving a trail of heat from its up and down motions. Another hand pulled you in closer to him, and the warm air from his breath made its presence known on your face.

The tone he used starkly contrasted the growls from earlier, “How was that? Are you feeling okay, cyar’ika?” A deep tone, covered in honey, was laced with a small amount of concern.

“Mando…holy shit,” you said breathily. 

Silently chuckling at the state you were in, the Mandalorian peppered light, slow kisses on top of your head and over your face. You relished in the feeling. His lips mimicked the sentiments of the kisses he placed on your wrist earlier in the night. 

“This means everything to me.” 

The phrase echoed in your mind. Of course Mando let you know before that. He didn’t have to say it, but it showed in his actions. Every cup of caf. Every conversation. Every inquisitive response he would give after you told a story. Every small intention behind each action built up within you, and you guided Mando’s lips to meet yours.

Your lips moved in sync and in slow motion. Ridges and valleys imprinted on your lips and in your memory. If Mando was dedicated to his Creed, you would be dedicated to the set of lips pressing against yours. The set of lips that made you laugh. The lips that reassured you. The lips you looked forward to hearing produce words everyday.

You didn’t even know what they looked like.

And you couldn’t find it within yourself to care. They were his lips. Mando’s lips. That’s all that mattered.

After a long stint of sloppy kisses and crescendoing moans, Mando removed his lips from yours. He was panting and en route to placing the same sloppy kisses onto your neck. His plump lips traveled down, leaving saliva marks in their wake, and then they trailed back up, settling next to your ear.

The thin skin of his lips tickled the shell of your ear as he spoke, “Still want me to fuck you, baby?”

Baby.

He’s said it before, but the word still made you squirm a small amount in his arms. Your teeth imprinted on your lips before you let out a meek, “Yes, please.” If the lights were on, Mando would see your wide eyes and your scrunched together brows. As if you had to beg him for it.

Kisses between the two of you resume as the Mandalorian shifted both of your positions on the mattress. His strong arms still clutched your figure as he slowly leaned downwards, until the pair of you were lying on the bed. Both of your hands reached up and weaved your fingers into the soft waves on his head. Mando’s thick hands traversed the planes of your body, randomly grabbing onto you and giving you a slight squeeze where his hands were.

“Uhhhgg, fu-fuck,” left his chest and escaped from his throat when you gave his hair a small tug. One of his firm, capable hands reached down and encouraged you to spread your legs. In the same motion, he shifted upwards to settle between them. 

Your locked mouths never broke. Mando’s lips remained on yours as if he were tethered to them, like they were the only thing keeping him in this universe. His groin pressed against yours and your hips bucked upwards at the feeling. Your mouth watered, like it was somehow conditioned to, after sensing the large curve of his cock covered by black fabric.

One of your hands reached downwards and palmed his shaft through the clothing. Mando’s hips ground down into yours in response, and he let out a low growl.

Your fingertips found the elastic waistband of his sweatpants and tugged on it in suggestion. Before you could even ask the question, the Mandalorian sat up, leaving your upper body to feel the cold air of the bunk. 

Shuffling came from in front of you. Then a soft, muted, plop.

The man was back onto you like it pained him to be away. Moans and rumbling exuded from his chest as he kissed you. Firm muscle of his tongue lapped against yours, challenging you to lustful combat. You accepted and the volume of your pleasure joined his. A couple kisses felt like forever, but it was the best eternity that you could be stuck in.

Mando’s body shifted lower to grind his hips against you once more. His thick shaft slid through your folds. A whimper came from your mouth as the head of his cock grazed your clit. Moans from the man only became more gravely, animalistic. The grit of the vibrations could have convinced you that he put the helmet back on–if his mouth wasn’t sealed to yours.

Swollen lips broke the seal from yours and Mando’s head fell into the space between your head and your neck. Heavy breathing flooded the audio in your brain. Rough hands ran up and down your inner thighs, intermittently squeezing the flesh there. 

A chaste kiss met the side of your head, above your ear You could feel the slick on his lips against your ear as he gently demanded, “Tell me what you want.”

Without hesitation you replied in a whining whisper, “Please put your cock in my pussy.”

The side of your head vibrated when he let out a blissful groan into your hair. His broad chest left yours as he sat up and pulled some items from a nearby drawer. Your face heated in anticipation.

Sounds were the only thing available to you to figure out what he retrieved. A crinkling and then a tear echoed through the bunk.

The condom.

Rubber noises made their way to your ears as Mando rolled the condom onto his shaft. Maker, you wish you could see him. Those large hands forming a strong grip. The thick head of his cock leaking before he puts the contraceptive on.

You thought you’d feel him shift back towards you, but then a short pop echoed through the bunk. Like he just opened a bottle of shampoo. 

Silence. 

Then the slick sounds of his large grip stroking his shaft filled the air.

Your heart swelled at his thoughtfulness. You were definitely wet enough, but the consideration for your comfort made liquid seep from your pussy.

The mattress shifted around you as he lowered his torso towards yours. One side dipped much more and the slick head of his cock teased your entrance. A small moan left your throat at the contact.

Mando paused when he was lined up with your wet hole. A wet kiss was placed on your forehead before he asked, voice strained, “Are you ready for me, my cyare?”

“Yes,” breathy and quick, passed through your swollen lips.

Maker. His cock was thick. The feeling of him pushing into you was fucking amazing.

The walls of your pussy wrapped around him. A delightful stretch pricked at your soaking entrance and your eyes rolled into the back of your head. Mando was slow and careful as he pressed his wide shaft into you. Movement ceased once his balls laid flat against the flesh of your ass.

You were so lost in the new sensations that Mando’s heavy breaths suddenly made their way into the foreground of your mind. Warm air fanned against your face and his strangled moans vibrated against your chest. Head heavy, his face found its way to the crook of your neck.

“Oh, f-fuckkk. Kriff, cyar’ika, you put my dreams to shame.”

Your arms weaved around his torso and your fingers ran down his back. His face only pressed further into you, and your walls were straining against the thickness of his cock.

“Mmm-Mando. Please. Fuck me, please.”

Another rumble from his chest vibrated against you. His hips shifted backwards, and the thick head of his cock dragged against your walls. The pair of you moaned in unison, amazed by the feel of the other.

His torso rose up and slipped from your hold and you involuntarily whined. A small, gravely chuckle left Mando’s lips, “You want me back down there, baby?”

Your hands reached into the darkness and collided with the man’s chest. Hairs brushed against your fingers as you attempted a grip to pull him back down. Before you could adjust your hands to pull his shoulders down instead, he lowered himself once more and nestled his head in the space above your shoulder.

“I-I-, nngghhh,” you tried to justify your desire, but the ridges of his cock grazed against the warmth of your pussy just right. But then you tried again. “M-makes me f-feel safe,” you let out a whimper.

“Aghhh, fuck baby.” The speed of his thrusts picked up, but his strokes were still long and languid. “Want you to feel safe with me,” he grunted as his breath fanned over your neck.

You always felt safe with him. Without question. In populated cities with shoulder-to-shoulder crowds. Out in the wilderness, the forest canopy darkening the forest floor. At a run down market with nasty glares being sent your way.

“I always have,” you manage to clearly respond.

Another deep groan resonated in your ear drums. A large, calloused hand found your arm and dragged its grip towards your hand. Thick digits intertwined with yours, and the pace of his hips picked up once more.

The hair above his shaft created mind-numbing friction on your clit. Each stroke sent a shockwave of bliss through your body. The bliss made its way back down to your pussy. Wetness dripped out from around his thick cock. Soft, wet sounds filled the space of Mando’s bunk.

“Kriff, cyar’ika. Maker, you’re fucking soaked for me,” he gritted out into your ear. His mouth found yours and weak, distracted kisses were placed on your lips. 

Fingertips dug into the skin on his back. You reeled into his touch. His thick cock still left a tinge of stretching throughout your walls. Each thrust of his hips soothed and invigorated the sensation in your pussy. You thought back to your fantasies and masturbation sessions. Squeezing three fingers into your soaking hole just to get a taste of how he’d feel. Now you have the real thing. And it’s so much better than your fingers buried deep in your cunt.

“What’re you thinking about, mesh’la?” The smooth baritone filled the air around you.

You bit your lip. How the hell did he know you were thinking? Small gasps left your lips, releasing the skin from the hold of your teeth. You knew he wanted you to say it, but your cheeks became hot in embarrassment.

You probably waited too long, because Mando grunted out, “I can tell you what I’ve been thinking, baby,” a soft grumble came from his chest, “been thinking abou- fuck. About how much of a good girl you are for me.”

Mewling left your throat and you tightened your wet pussy around his hard length. Mando growled and quickened his pace in response. A combination of moans and exhales from your chest were punctuated from each of his thrusts. Thick fingers splayed across the underside of your thigh and shifted your hips slightly upwards.

 He found the spot. The same one his fingers came familiar with.

Brows furrowed and eyes scrunched, you moaned out a whiny, “O-oh-oh, Maker. Mando!” 

“Tell me what you’re thinking about, my cyar’ika,” Mando repeated.

“Y-your cock, oh k-kriff, your cock, Mando,” you let out a shaky breath to conclude, “I’ve been thinking about your cock.”

A low hum came from the man, “What about it, mesh’la?”

You let out a keening noise when Mando reached down and grazed your clit with his thumb, drawing circles on your sensitive nub. Strong fingers splayed across your lower stomach as he rested them there. He listened to your moans and shaky breaths and concentrated on a technique. The Mandalorian figured out your body and had it down to a science. Every movement and sound that resonated from your body was a signal to him. Sound waves from you were like signals, and he replied to your every call.

His hips remained flush against yours as he gave your cunt shallow thrusts, repeatedly brushing the firm head of his cock over the most sensitive point deep within you. The combination of stimulations made your pussy clench around his shaft. A guttural moan emanated from Mando in response.

Your fingertips dug into the broad expanse of his back when you confessed with a whine, “Th-thinking…fuck…you’re so-o bi-ig.”

The thumb rubbing your clit sped up, and Mando’s other hand tightened its grip around yours. You let out a breathy sigh, your cunt only became tighter around him. The Mandalorian’s bunk was filled with the sound of your combined moans, heavy breaths, and light plaps of skin against skin.

Visions of what he looked like fucking you flashed through your mind. His huge shoulders, strong arms, veiny forearms, thick fingers. The delectable tree-thunk thighs accenting his toned waist.

You pictured a man with dark hair, probably brown eyes, with the softest lips your pair have ever met, framed by dark stubble. The man would be focused, brow furrowing in concentration. His eyes rolled back into his head and his jaw fell open when you tightened around him. Just like Mando, he’d growl in response to your wet heat, and bring his jaw back up to tighten it while he focused on you.

His hands. His cock. His voice. His lips. Kriff even the feel of his hair and skin. Each component came together to melt you into a puddle of pleasure. Moans escaped from your throat in higher and higher octaves. Sentences didn’t exist anymore, as you could barely form them.

“Think, oh shit, Ma-Mando. Think I-I’m gonna cum,” your voice sounded desperate as you alerted him.

Harsh breaths blew onto your face from Mando’s focused exertion. Your lip was captured under your teeth for the umpteenth time. Only tight whines left your throat. Pussy squeezing around Mando, your body followed suit. Thighs wrapped around his waist and the embrace of your arms held him close.

The Mandalorian left lazy kisses across your face and muttered endless praises.

“Such a good girl.”

“You’re so perfect, mesh’la.”

“Not going to last long after you, my pretty baby.”

Then his kisses paused from being placed on your face. “Hey,” Mando said to get your attention, “listen to me, cyar’ika.”

You whimpered in acknowledgement, but Mando wasn’t having it, “Have to say yes for me,” he let out between strokes.

“Yes-yes I’m listening,” you quickly blurted. 

Almost lost in your pleasure, you realized you had to actually listen to him. To comprehend and process his words. Not that you weren’t listening to him, but the motions he pressed into you made your mind blur together. Your mind snapped to attention at his words.

Mando spoke in a gentle, yet commanding, tone. The grip sealing your conjoined hands together tightened.

“My name is Din.”

Din.

It was simple and to the point, just like how Mando was. No wasting any time. No frills. No banthashit. Just Din.

Then the tight knot in the pit of your stomach snapped. Sounds that once poured from your body ceased as your figure curled into his. The pleasure was something you couldn’t have fathomed before this. Every cell in your body ignited in a passion filled radiance.

“Din! Din, oh fuckkkk, Diiiin!”

Your wet heat clamped onto Mando’s thick cock, sending him into a frenzy of growls and grunts. His calloused thumb remained on your clit until the spasms of your orgasm fizzled out. Then you were left empty handed, but your body lifted up slightly off of the mattress. The Mandalorian snaked his arms behind your shoulders, his hands under the pillow cushioning your head.

Sloppy kisses met your mouth. Tongues pushed into mouths to wrestle with their counterparts. It was like Mando wanted to memorize every ridge of your lips and tongue. To add them to his Creed. Worship them forever.

His head dropped next to yours and your ears were filled with breathy grunts.

Plap. Plap. Plap.

Softly bounced around the metal walls of the bunk.

“Wanted this for so long, baby.”

“Always thought about you, fuck, I think about you all the time.”

The intensity of his grunts increased and you could feel his cock swelling inside you. Soft lips brushed against the shell of your ear, hastily whispering out, “Where do you want me?”

Digging your fingers into the waves of his soft hair, you eagerly responded, “In the condom, Din.”

“Fuucckkk,” he groaned.

His cock started to twitch within your warm walls. The speed and depth of his thrusts no longer followed a formula. Your head raised slightly when large fists balled the bedsheets into his hands. One of your hands drifted up and down his back, soothing him through his release. He was shaking with every excess thrust he gave your wet heat.

Then his heavy body slumped against yours. Mando’s breath was still heaving, sending strong winds across your neck. Open mouthed kisses were gently placed onto the skin there. Your fingers massaged his scalp and he let out a satisfied sigh. Silence filled the space of the bunk.

What if he regretted this? Was this just a one time thing?

“Mand-,” he cut you off with both his voice and the motions he put the pair of you through.

Suddenly you were on top of him. Your head found the plush meat of his relaxed pecs and you laid your head on them. A firm grip from Mando came to wrap around you. His strong arms held you against him like someone threatened to take you away. Mando’s fingertips traced languid shapes across your back. The tip of his nose dug into your scalp as he pressed a couple soft kisses in your hair.

“Din. Call me Din, cyar’ika.”

Your cheeks rose in temperature at his insistence. Fighting your nerves, you asked, “Is this a one time thing?”

The Mandalorian stiffened underneath you. Here it goes. You’ll have to crawl off his body and resort to the sleeping pad in the hull.

“No. Mesh’la, of course not,” a low baritone soothed your worries. Your head slumped onto his chest even more. Feeling nervous, yet confident–even though you literally just fucked him–you brought a hand up to feel his face.

His hand resumed its drawings of small shapes on your back. Humming came from beneath you when your hand made contact with his stubble. Your thumb grazed the short hairs and your fingers followed the curve of his jaw.

His lips felt as soft as they did when they were on yours. Your fingertips reached upwards a bit more. Longer hairs tickled at your digits and you let out a small giggle.

“Mmf, what, pretty girl?” His tone was laced with sleep and curiosity.

You smiled at him in the dark, “You have a mustache,” you told him in a whisper, as if he didn’t already know. A smile from him creeped up under your touch.

“Mmm. Yes, I do,” he replied matter-of-factly. 

In a teasing tone, you inquired, “Who’s that for?”

A low chuckle from Din’s chest made your head rumble. The hand on your back ceased its movements. His nose dipped down to find yours, aiding him in lining up his mouth to kiss you. A gentle kiss was placed onto your lips, and you were acutely aware of the hairs that made up his mustache.

He sighed in content and murmured, “At first it was for me. I don’t know. I just liked it,” his shoulders went up and down in a shrug, he continued with a hum, “but you like it. So now it’s for you.”

Your face became hot at his words. Slightly embarrassed, you nestled your face into his chest. The thin hairs there wisped at your face. 

Sleep quickly caught up to you and your whole body relaxed against Din’s. His large frame made for a comfortable bed. Muscles, none of them tense, gave you a plush surface to melt into.

Din’s strong arms wrapped around you. He continued to press soft kisses into your hair. Right before you slipped out of consciousness he whispered to you.

“I meant what I said,” he paused to wait for a response. You didn’t register him speaking until it was too late, but he continued his sentence nonetheless.

“I’ll do anything for you.”

Supply Run - Review (part four) (Coming soon)

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[theywhowriteandknowthings]

Red Right Hand Ch3 of Worlds Collide Din Darin x female reader.

General Warnings: 18+, as is the whole of my blog, I will mark anything specific but be aware this is predominantly a smutty blog with plot. DNI if you are a minor. By reading further you have taken the responsibility to do so with the warnings I have given. Warnings:, Sexual Assault, Injury Detail, PTSD, Trauma, gore, scarring, violence against reader, swearing, sexual tension, angst, lots of angst, abusive ex, control, coercion, Axe Woves needs a good talking to, Din is PISSED, Smut at the end, glorious glorious smut. Summary: You head to Coruscant to raid one of your emergency stashes of weapons, credits, and other possessions, but when you and Mando get separated things turn sour.  Author’s Notes: I wasn’t going to get to the smut this quickly initially but the way this chapter panned out I needed to, it’s just *right* to have it here in my mind. Be warned it does get graphic here folks, reader goes through a lot of shit in this chapter but there is a *very* happy amount of Din x Reader in this which is both sweet and smutty <3 

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Coruscant is as grimy as you always remembered it, the throngs of people as oppressive as the close humid air that threatens to stifle you completely as you keep a healthy distance behind Din. Grogu stares up at the bright neon signs as he hovers along at your waist. You smile at his contentment but can’t stay too entranced with the little guy as the seedy underbelly of the planet-city shifts around you at light-speed. 

“You alright back there?” Din’s voice crackles over your earpiece and you try not to recognise the warmth that spreads through you with his voice in your ear. His voice is harsher, business-like and the distortion is different enough from how it sounds through the helmet’s modulator to make you wonder exactly just how he sounded without any modulation at all. 

“All good Mando, just making sure we’re not being followed.” You respond quietly, hoping the archaic microphone would pick up your lowered tone. 

“Same, but I’ve had nothing so far, just your usual lowlifes and gangsters.” Din responds as you see the flash of bright silver Beskar through the crowded promenade as Din dips down a side street. His cape flaps in the wind and you laugh at the almost heroic air to the sight. 

“Send the kid through, I need to keep us out of sight, will explain later.” Din’s tone is curt and you key in the silent affirmative signal on your wrist control, knowing a phosphorus white signal would flash in the corner of Din’s visor. You give the kid a knowing look before keying in the homing command for his transport to follow Din instead of you. 

“Sending co-ordinates through to you, radio silence until we rendezvous there.” You say quietly over the comm, Mando clicks a pattern out with his manual receiver to indicate confirmation. It’s an old comm trick that makes you smile. You shut off all outbound transmissions and weave your way through the crowd. Your shoulder aches and you look back down at the data pad, noting the time and the mental calculation begins unprompted.

Eighteen days, four hours, three minutes, five seconds. 

Your stomach twists as the memory comes, unprovoked to the front of your mind. The searing pain, the sound of your own screams, the taste of blood as you bit down on your tongue. The fear, that’s what gets you the most, fear of losing your arm, of having to resort to cybernetics. 

You crash into a group of angry looking Gran and you apologise profusely as you snap yourself out of the daze. You refocus and slip down a side alley, your heart hammering in your chest as you lean back against the alley wall. It’s slick with the ever-present damp warmth of the lower levels of Coruscant, it brings no relief to your feverish skin, but the grounding of something solid behind you is enough to bring you back to the task at hand. You breathe in through your respirator, the tinny taste of poorly recycled air coats your mouth as you take in the dank gloom of the alley. 

By some miracle, you had ducked down the correct alley, the stash box was only a few feet to your left. You scoff to yourself, praising the maker as you take a precursory look around to check if you had any unwanted company, but the alley was empty. 

You head further into the alley and stop at an inconspicuous looking vent, steam pours out of it as if from the maw of a fire-breathing beast. You take out your vibroknife from your boot and shimmy the grate from its hinges. The holographic illusion breaks as soon as you do so and a small, air-tight compartment hisses open behind it. You hear the soft, muted clink of metal on metal as you reach in to grab the storage container and canvas bag from within. 

You tense up, knife in hand as you spin and launch yourself at the intruder, knife flying to their throat as you pin them back against the far wall. Your blaster is at your hip, pressing into the blued Beskar clad assailant as you look up into the smug face of Axe Woves’ former right hand, Krom Gray. 

His piercing green eyes lock you like a tractor beam, his full, well kept beard framing his strong jaw as you remembered the way it felt scraping on your skin as he bit you hard enough to draw blood. You remember the way those green eyes shone like pools of acid when he would punish you for even the most minor of mistakes. 

“Clever work, I taught you well.” He purrs and the blood in your veins turn to ice. A pattern of clicks sound in your comm, signalling Din wanting to check in, and you narrow your eyes at the Mandalorian before you. You can’t respond to Din, you can’t risk exposing him if Krom didn’t know you were with him. 

“What do you want Krom? Didn’t Axe banish you after what you did to me?” You ask, your voice trembling slightly as you say his name, you can smell him over the grime of Coruscant, the heady cocktail of luxurious scented oils, sweat, and polished metal. It makes you sick how easily you feel yourself submitting. Your body betraying you as you feel your grip on the vibroknife loosening. 

“Oh sweet Orikih, Axe took me back once he heard that you were a filthy liar, a deserter, and that you attempted to take my life.” He croons, using the detestable pet name, Tiny, for you as you feel yourself backing up against the wall. He pulls down the collar of his flight suit to show you the puckered, pink scar you had caused almost a year before the Pyke job, desperate to get away from your tormentor. 

But even now Krom was able to manipulate you just as easily as he had done all those years ago. The truth is you’re as touch starved as Din, having closed off all physical affection with anyone but Fen for almost a year. But the cocktail of fear, adrenaline, and shameful attraction to this despicable man had you wet and wanting release. Your mouth parts slightly as he steps closer.

He didn’t even apply physical pressure, he just looked at you, his handsome face twisted into a cruel smirk, “Look at that, being such a good girl for me already.” He continues as he rips the blaster from your hand, tossing it down into the depths of the alley. You hear the skitter of metal on metal as it disappears from view.

“Krom cut it out, I’m not going back, I don’t care what lies you’ve told them, it doesn’t matter now. I. Am. Not. Going. Back.” You hiss, trying to keep the knife steady but you can feel your resolve slipping. His gloved right hand cups your cheek and you flinch at the touch. It’s familiar, like the coil of a constrictor that never squeezes quite hard enough to kill you. 

“But we’ve retaken Mandalore, I’m helping rebuild our society Orikih, I have power, status, I can give you it all.” His other hand snatches your wrist before slamming it above your head, the impact is hard enough to send the blade clattering to the floor. You yelp in surprise and that only emboldens him.

“See, making all those pretty noises for me, even if you can’t admit it, I still own you.” He breathes and pulls up the sleeve on your right arm, exposing your forearm to him. The scars from his blade, his teeth, the edge of his helmet, still shone offset to your skin, permanent reminders of his abuse. 

“How did you find me?” You hiss, pulling your arm away from him grasp, but that only angers him, pressing his hand to your throat instead. The harsh press of his gauntlet burns at your skin as he rips your tunic down with the other, exposing your shoulders and swell of your breasts as you snarl at him. 

“I’ve got eyes everywhere Orikih, been monitoring your stashes. I got a call as soon as you stepped out of the Spaceport, all alone, so very vulnerable.” He breathes and you feel relief flood through you as you realise he knew nothing about Din or Grogu. You almost smile and that’s a mistake. He sees the flash of emotion in your eyes and his right hand presses into your clothed left breast. 

“Beautiful.” He murmurs as his body presses against you, the harsh angles of his armour digging into your hips, forcing the air out of you as another rapid series of clicks sounds in your ear, Din was getting anxious. You weep as Krom sucks hungrily, without kindness or care, at the skin just above your breast as he grinds his hips against you, the hot tears pooling above the rim of your respirator before dropping to the alley floor. You close your eyes and pray to the Maker it would be over soon.

*

Din paces through the alley, only two streets over from where you were being confronted by Krom, but he had no idea, no clue where you were. He was sweating under his armour, his breath coming in panicked rasps as he clicks out a third pattern across the comms. Nothing. 

“Grogu, I need you to reach out to her, I need you to find her. Can you do that for me?” Din asks as he kneels down to his son’s transport. Grogu coos and nods, shutting his eyes slowly, as he feels for the force sensitivity in the crowd, just like Luke had taught him. Small sparks of light flash in and out of the darkness behind his lids, but none of them were you. 

Grogu grumbles and tightens his eyes as he widens his net, casting through the swampy darkness of the city-planet around him. Then he sees it, a violet-red flash of light from the alley two streets over. 

Grogu, if you can hear me, please help. 

You’re calling out to him, consciously or not, reciting the co-ordinates of the stash, and he hears it. His dark eyes snap open and he brings up his control console in his transport, keying in the co-ordinates of the street. 

“Good job kid, get back to the Gauntlet, defence systems armed until we get back, understood?” Din confirms with him as the shields on his transport go up and the homing device steers the pod automatically back to the ship.

“I’m coming for you, hang tight.” Din vows to the darkness as he stalks his prey. Little did he know the fear he was feeling for you would soon turn to blinding fury. 

*

You fought back, knowing it was what Krom liked, but it also bought you time, but your stalling techniques could only last so long. Your nose was bloodied, your face pressed against the clammy wall of the alley, Krom’s fist knotted in your hair as he holds you in place. 

“Play time’s over, fucking bitch.” Krom’s voice is white hot with arousal and rage in equal parts as the slash across his face bled freely. You had managed to grab for the knife, slashing wildly at him until he struck you hard with his blaster. But you smirked through your bloodied mouth as you saw the damage you had dealt. 

“Getting old Krom,” You sneer, trying desperately to buy any more time, you just hoped Din hadn’t abandoned you, otherwise you were truly fucked, “Your Orikih got your face good didn’t she?” You use his nickname for you against him, trying to provoke more physical violence, for that was better than the alternative. Then you hear it, your name, amplified through a modulator as Din calls out for you. 

“Mando!” You cry out and Krom freezes behind you. You feel the twitch of his hand in your hair as he tries to make a snap decision. 

“What the fuck, you’re travelling with another Mandalorian?” Krom hisses as he releases you, practically throwing you to the wall as he turns and runs, not waiting for your answer, the whirring of a Phoenix jet pack fills your ears as you turn your face up to greet Din. You slide down the moist wall of the alley and despite everything find yourself smiling. 

Another scar to remind him that he doesn’t own me, no one does. 

You think to yourself as Din practically falls to his knees at the sight of you. His hands pull your tunic up over your exposed skin before he scoops you up gently in his arms. He’s murmuring something but you’re coming down from the adrenaline rush and your mind is foggy. But as he sets the controls of his Phoenix you stop him.

“Wait, my things.” You mumble pointing limply to the duffel and metal storage case contained within the vent. Din grabs them both without comment and as soon as you and your baggage are secured he lifts off. The familiar feeling of flight fills you with a small joy, if there was one thing you missed being under Krom’s thumb, it was learning to fly. And yet here you were, flying, without him. 

*

“You need to eat.” Din insists as you sit in the co-pilot chair, freshly patched up, and furious. 

“I’m not hungry.” You respond, playing with the vibroknife in your hands obsessively. Your shoulder burns, your face aches, and worst of all your heart is full of shame. Despite everything Krom had done to you, your body had reacted shamefully, you can still feel the burn of arousal in your core, and it sickens you. 

“Eat.” Din insists as he hands you two pouches of nutrient rich ration packs, you grimace at them but take them, no longer able to ignore the rolling groans of your stomach. Grogu is asleep in his mini bunk at the back of the helm, and Din hasn’t left your side since you boarded the ship. You were still docked on Coruscant, Din refused to do anything until he had patched you up and helped you into the Refresher. You didn’t let him help you wash, you didn’t want anyone to touch your skin, not now, maybe not ever again. 

You gulp down the sickly sweet paste, overly sugared to conceal the vastly unpleasant taste of the synthetic food. Din hands you a canteen of water and takes the empty packets without a word. You nod at him in thanks and sip slowly at the water, trying hard not to gulp it down, you didn’t want to puke up your hastened meal by drinking too quickly. 

Din disposes of the packets and swivels the pilot chair to face you, elbows on his knees as he rests the chin of his helmet on his interlaced fingers. You turn slowly to face him, knowing what was coming you glare at him in warning. 

“What happened?” Din asks you softly, so softly it almost doesn’t pick up on his modulator, but you hear it.

“No.” You growl, still sipping on the cool water as you stare down Mando’s visor. He had seen the bite marks, the aggressive hickeys, he knew.

“Please, I want to help.” He pleads and you scoff arrogantly at him. 

“You saw the evidence, why do you need me to spell it out for you? Do you get off on hearing what happens to women in situations like that?” You snap, you know you’re being unfair, but you’re building your walls up, shutting him out and closing off the incident as best you could in your mind. 

“You know I don’t.” Din says softly, not rising to your all too obvious bait. 

“Do I? Do I know you? Fucking Mandalorians, you’re all the same,” You spit as you wobble to your feet, Din stands to help you but you slap away his hands as you head for the bunks, “Just drop me back off on Nar Shaddaa, I’ll get what I deserve and you can be rid of me.” You don’t wait for a response but he darts past you in a flash, barring your exit as he stares down at you with his faceless visor. 

“So he was Mandalorian?” He says, the same level patience in his voice even after your outburst. Your heart clenches, so unused to kindness you can’t help but want to just sob into his arms, have him smooth your hair, whisper sweet nothings to you as you cried. 

“Yes,” You say, tight lipped as you drop your gaze to your feet, “Can I go?” You ask but Din doesn’t budge. 

“And he knows you… intimately?” Din continues his interrogation and you squirm, but you don’t miss the stutter in his voice, the emotion that he can’t conceal as he finishes his question. 

“Yes, I was his apprentice until I stabbed him in the chest, I thought I’d killed him.” You admit, the shame rolling over you as you know what it means to try to kill your mentor. 

“Why?” The single word hits you like a physical blow, your heart aching at the admission of guilt.

“Because,” You unbutton your tunic, revealing your bare skin, covered only by a spartan compression bra. Din reels at the action, turning his gaze away from your bare skin but you take the chin of his helmet in your fingertips and force him to look, “This is how he taught me.”   

“Maker, how did he get away with that?” Din snarls as he scans your body, he wishes he had gotten his hands on the bastard, he would have ripped him apart, limb by limb. 

“He was good at hiding his cruelty, and Axe Woves is his best friend, it’s not hard to abuse your position if you’re the boss’ favourite.” You shrug, already covering up your bare skin, but there was something about the way you could see the subtle movements in Din’s helmet as he studied your marred skin that made you shudder pleasantly. 

“I’m sorry.” Is all Din can muster before he steps aside, allowing you to pass but you don’t move. 

“I shouldn’t ask this,” You say, your voice no more than a whisper, “But would you stay with me?” You feel the voice of self-preservation wailing in the back of your mind, trying to stop you from making a grave error but you’re too emotionally raw to be alone. 

“I don’t think-“ Din begins to protest but you hold up a hand to silence him. 

“I don’t expect you to get into bed with me, but would you stay in the other bunk, I just need to know you’re there.” You say weakly, knowing the night would be filled with nightmares and night terrors. 

“Of course.” Din agrees to that and you smile up at him before trudging to your bunk, stripping down to your underwear as you slip beneath the sheets. Din turns the lights off and you hear armour hitting the deck as he strips in the dark, you don’t hear his helmet depressurise so you assume he’s kept it on. You hear the bunk above you creak as he settles down. 

“Goodnight Din, thank you.” 

“Goodnight,” He says your name softly. 

*

Din wakes with a start, not realising he had fallen asleep, he had intended to stay awake, on the off chance that you needed him. The sound of your screams in the darkness of the crew quarters has his heart hammering in his chest. He launches himself from his bunk and sees you writhing amongst the sheets, his helmet displays your vitals and you’re clearly in the throes of a night terror. 

“Hey, it’s ok I’m here.” Din tries to soothe you but you only thrash more violently at the sound of his voice. You’re mumbling something he can’t hear and he leans in to try and calm you down but you lash out and strike him hard in the chest with your fist. 

“Calm down, I don’t want to hurt you.” He growls, pain blooming in his chest as he deflects the onslaught of blows that come from your frenzied firsts. Then something in the back of Din’s mind comes up with a solution and he struggles for a moment before making the call. After all, it was dark. 

*

“I’m here, it’s me, Din.” The sound of his voice cuts through your panic, rousing you from the worst nightmare you had in years. There is something different about his voice, there was a depth, a richness to it you didn’t recognise. 

“Din?” You cry, you’re slick with sweat and tears as you speak. 

“I’m here, Cyare.” Din says as you feel him shuffle into the bunk next to you. He doesn’t touch you, he lies just close enough to comfort you with his presence but he doesn’t come any closer, then you realise you’re looking at a outline of messy curls, the curve of an angular jaw, not the harsh lines of his helmet and you turn away from him. You hide your eyes with your pillow and curl up into a ball with your back to him. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t see anything I promise.” You whimper, expecting violence, punishment. 

“I took it off so you could hear me, my voice, no modulation, I thought it would help.” Din says softly as he looks at you with his own eyes, unaltered by his helmet, for the first time. In the darkness he can barely make out the curves of your body from the bundled blankets but for the briefest of moments he saw your eyes and he almost lost himself in them. Your sweet, fragile eyes, eyes he would bet his helmet few people had ever seen. Not like this. You were all hard edges, bitter words, anger in every form, yet not now. Now you were soft, vulnerable. 

“Thank you.” You whisper and you feel his gaze on you, you shift the blankets off you slightly, justifying it to yourself that you are too hot from the adrenaline rush. You’re rewarded for you choice as you hear his breath hitch before he coughs, trying to hide his reaction to the curve of your spine, the slope of your neck. The way your hips peaked out from the sheets. He craves to see you, to see all of you. 

“Any time, I’ll be here until you wake, get some rest.” He murmurs and you hear the rich timbre of his voice, deep and rumbling. You feel the heat rise to your cheeks as his voice washes over you. You’re so pent up, so wired from the way Krom had kissed and sucked your neck. You fantasise about how Din would treat you, how he would be soft, gentle with you. At least that’s what you hoped. 

“Din?” You whisper, regretting it immediately, desperately hoping he’d either fallen asleep or your voice hadn’t carried in the small space. 

“Mmm?” He responds sleepily and your core aches at the sound. You scold yourself for saying anything, for feeling anything for the man who just saved you, for a second, no third time, since you met him. 

“Nothing, nothing.” You mumble and bring a pillow to your face, hoping to bury your shame in the soft fabric. You smell him though, the peppery scent of his soap and the musk of his sweat and Beskar. Even though you’d been the only one to sleep in these sheets recently his essence was all around you.

“No, what?” Din asks, alert now as he’s roused. You feel him shift behind you and you exhale into the pillow, hoping it muffles the soft whine in the back of your throat. The air between you is charged, you try to convince yourself it’s just you, tightly wound and desperate. He wants nothing to do with your temptations, he’s just being a good man, looking after his new hunting partner in her time of need. You’re projecting.

“I was wondering,” You whisper, pulling the pillow away from your face, “If you could hold me?” You ask, willing him to refuse, he’d not offered you intimacy, and had rejected any form of it before now, so he would have to say no, right? It was just the closure you needed to move on, if he said no now that would be it. 

“Are you sure?” His voice is husky with emotion, thick with longing which only makes the ache in your core worse. You curse under your breath, you’d passed the point of no return, and you were dragging him into the depths of your depravity with you. 

“Yes, please.” You whimper as you feel the sheets jostle behind you. 

“Gotta keep your back against me.” Din explains softly as you feel the warmth of his bare chest against your back. The press of his soft skin on yours is deadly, it sets your skin alight with electricity burning through you. 

Maker he’s large. 

You think as his body slots behind you, his hips sliding up to meet your ass, knees tucking in behind your own as he drapes one arm over your stomach, his broad hand flat on the mattress, caging you in. Then he shifts you slightly, snaking his other arm under the pillow, lifting your head slightly with the motion. It’s innocuous, platonic even, he’s not touching you inappropriately he’s just providing comfort. 

“This ok?” He asks softly as you feel him pulling his hips back slightly, no longer flush against your ass and you grumble internally at the loss of contact, but you feel warmth spread through you as the considerate gesture tugs at your heart. 

“More than ok.” You respond, trying to remain still as you feel his large, strong body hemming you in, you feel protected in a way you never had before. Not with Fen, certainly not with Krom. Then you feel the hair on the back of your neck stand up, his nose presses against the crook of your neck and you hear him inhale softly. 

“This ok too?” He asks, his breath ghosting along the skin of your shoulder, he’s breathing heavily, you can feel the need building between you. This was crossing a line, it was too much, yet altogether not enough. 

“Dunno,” You say, your voice breathy as you place your hand on his forearm, you feel thick but soft hair beneath your fingertips as you track your hand down to where his is flat on the mattress, “Is this ok?” You ask, lacing your fingertips through his as you speak. 

“Yes,” Din pants in your ear, his body twitching at the contact, “How is this?” Din scoots closer to you and you feel him press against your ass, not forcefully, but he’s hard enough to really feel him and you whine at the friction between your underwear. 

“Din,” You mewl as you bring his hand up to your exposed breast, the calloused skin scraping blissfully against your hardened peak, “Tell me to stop.” You beg, giving him an out, you were touch starved, reeling from your encounter with Krom. You could sort yourself out, you didn’t need to drag him into your toxic desires.

“Do you want me to stop?” Din asks, stilling behind you, but his palm doesn’t move from your breast, if anything he palms it slowly kneading the flesh absently as he tries to hold back.  

“No.” You admit, your defensive walls in ruins as you feel his hand drop from your chest, wrapping around your waist as he tugs you back against him. You groan at the percussive, but somehow still gentle impact, your hips grind back against his hardening cock and you feel the moan ripple from his chest. 

“Good, because I’ve thought about this for what feels like an eternity.” He growls, his soft, plush lips finding the tender skin on your shoulder. The brush of soft hair against your skin as his lips explore the parts of you he could reach from this position. 

He has facial hair. 

“Maker I’ve touched myself in this bunk to the thought of you Din, in your bed,” You admit your sins, not sure if it was to come clean or to encourage him, but that didn’t matter now, “Never thought you’d want me back.” You say as his hand snakes down to the waistband of your tight cotton panties. His fingers linger just at the hem, a slight tremor in his touch. 

“Ever since you fell and I caught you, ever since I saw that fierce defiance in your eyes, I’ve wanted you, needed you.” Din breathes in your ear as he continues to kiss every exposed bit of skin he can find. Your neck, your jaw, tracing the shell of your ear with his thick tongue. Every press of his soft, wet mouth against your skin had you shuddering under him. 

“Need you too,” You say as you feel the pressure building deep in your core, you’re craving release, craving him, “Would you-?” You pause, willing the words to come, but you’re still shaken, waiting for the reprimand. Intimacy had been a weapon in Krom’s hands, you couldn’t shake the habit of asking permission, of needing to beg for what you need. 

“Talk to me, tell me what you need.” Din murmurs as he traces the skin just above the fabric of your panties, back and forth along the soft, sensitive area. Your skin is on fire and you arch back against him, the growl that comes from his chest has you squirming against his hard cock. You want to ask him to kiss you, to take you slowly, with care and patience, but you know you can’t. You couldn’t risk seeing his face, you know that, but it doesn’t stop you pining for it.  

“Fuck me Din, please.” You whisper, pleading with the universe for him to say yes. But Din is silent behind you, his breathing loud in your ear. 

“You sure?” He asks, his voice fringed with lust but at its core, he’s being sincere, making sure you really do want this. 

“You tell me.” You whisper as you lace your fingers over the back of his hand, pressing your intertwined fingers under your waistband. You push his hand down between your slick folds and he gasps audibly against your shoulder. You already knew how wet you were but feeling it with Din was hot, you feel his fingers ghost over your folds as he drags his hot mouth against the column of your spine. 

“Fuck.” Is all he says as he slides two thick fingers through your slick, circling your clit as he ruts against your ass. You cry out at the pressure he exerts over your swollen nub, his touch is tender but purposeful. 

“You sound beautiful,” Din whispers in your ear as his strong nose nuzzles into the soft skin just behind your ear, “May I taste you?” 

“Please.” You beg, bucking into his strong fingers as he pulls them away, before he can stop you, you’ve pulled his hand up to your mouth, laving the tips softly with the flat of your tongue, he practically chokes your name from his mouth at the lewd act and you release him once you’re done. Your taste coats your tongue and you smile at the groan he makes as he loudly sucks his fingers, mouth so close to your ear. 

“Taste to good, wish I could bury my face in your pussy.” He pines and you press your legs together to try and relive the unbearable tension in your core. 

“Din, please, I need you inside me.” You plead, your voice pathetic and breathy as you beg for release. 

“You got an implant?” He asks almost business-like as his tone becomes serious. 

“Yeah, lifetime, you can come inside me.” You breathe, relishing the way he grinds against your ass at your consent.

“Alright, this is going to be tight, spread your legs for me please.” He gives the command like a prayer and you more than happily oblige, parting your legs as much as the confines of the bunk allows. You feel his fingertips trail down your spine, wet tracks of your slick and his spit leaving a cool stripe down your back. He frees his throbbing cock from his underwear and the press of his soft, weeping tip hits the curve of your ass with a wet slap. Carefully he pulls your panties to the side and the humid air hits your dripping cunt. 

“Tell me if you’re uncomfortable, if I’m going too fast.” Din murmurs against your skin as he lines his blunt tip to your desperate core. He swipes it through your folds gently, collecting your slick on his head before dipping back down to press gently at your tight hole. 

“Din.” You mewl and it’s all he needs to hear as he presses into you, slowly breaching your tight walls with his thick cock. You cry out in euphoria at the delightful stretch of your walls around him. His free hand returns to your breast and as he pinches your hardened peak between his thumb and forefinger. 

“’M not going to last long,” He groans your name into your skin and you clench hard around his cock, “You ok to touch yourself?” He asks and you snake your hand under your panties and break into a familiar, desperate rhythm. You’d done it countless times in this very bed, in his bed on Nevarro, every time wishing he was inside you as you pushed yourself over the edge. Now you had your wish and you couldn’t believe it. 

“Fuck me Din, fuck me until I scream.” You whine as you feel the hot spike of your orgasm build at the base of your spine, coursing through your core with speed as your breath comes in ragged bursts. You’re convulsing around him as you release teeters ever closer. Din grunts loudly as he buries himself in you, his thrusts short, sharp, desperate as he chases his release inside you. 

Despite the desperate, touch-starved urgency you can’t help but cherish every rake of his cock against your tight walls, he rolls his hips at the end of every thrust, twitching against that sweet vulnerable spot inside you no-one had ever hit before. You cry out at every press at that sweet spot and you feel tears rolling down your cheeks as you feel the last sharp snaps of his hips against your ass. 

Din stutters behind you and as he comes deep inside you, you hear your name woven through the air between you, he’s fucking you through his release, and your own. You feel the dam burst and your orgasm explodes behind your eyelids like a supernova, your whole body trembles again and again. Your toes curl painfully as you arch forward, your mouth pulled into a blissful grimace of overstimulation as Din continues to snap his hips against your ass. He’s spent, softening with every passing second, but the friction and percussive snap and roll of his thrusts don’t stop until you slump forward. 

You tremble with aftershocks as your cunt twitches around his now soft dick, he pulls out and you sigh at the emptiness as the mixture of yours and his spend trickles down your thighs.

“You ok there?” Din mumbles breathlessly into your ear, both arms wrapped around you as he holds you close against him, soft kisses peppering your shoulder as your head lolls back against his, the brush of his stubble tickling your jaw as he nuzzles against you. 

“More than ok, thank you.” You sigh as you reach up to cup his face but you freeze, millimetres from his jaw as you realise what you’re doing. 

“It’s ok, you can touch me,” He says as he dips his head down to meet your hand, “Just no looking.” He says with a soft chuckle and your chest blossoms with warmth as you are sure this is bending the rules to the limit here. 

“Thank you.” You repeat, unable to reconcile the emotions flooding you as you trace the line of his patchy facial hair from his chin to the edge of his jaw. 

“You’ve got nothing to thank me for, I should be thanking you.” He mumbles as he turns his head to meet the palm of your hand, he presses a soft, doting kiss to your flesh and you sigh at the softness of his full lips ghosting your skin. You stay there for a while before Din insists you shower, you let him carry you out, eyes squeezed shut as you press your face to his chest. To your dismay you hear his helmet re-pressurise but you understand. 

Once you’re back in your bunk you expect him to leave but he doesn’t, he scoots back into the small space wordlessly as he pulls you into his firm, yet tender embrace. Your head rests on his sternum as you listen to the steady rise and fall of his chest, his heartbeat slowly lowering in your ears as he drifts. He is careful not to rest his helmet on you, and you sigh to yourself, glad to just be in contact with his skin. You didn’t want to feel the press of Beskar against you for some time.  

Whatever you had just unleashed upon each other was going to need addressing but for now, you settled with being content, hazy in a post-sex euphoria as your pussy ached pleasantly as you feel sated, relaxed for the first time in years. Din holds you tight against him, his fingertips trailing patterns up and down your spine, soothing you into a deep sleep. 

*

Din feels you drift off as he continues to caress your skin. He can’t get enough of it, mapping every dip, and swell of your flesh, but most importantly he traces along the abhorrent marks on your skin. The scars that cover so much of your body it makes him sick, now he has his helmet back on he sees them clear as day. Discolouring your skin in jagged lines, blunt semi-circles, blaster burns and ligature marks. If he wasn’t so concerned with keeping you safe, asleep in his arms, he’d already be setting a course for Mandalore. Ready to wage war on the shameful whelp that would harm you this way. But Din was patient, and he knew you would want to partake in the righteous retribution he had in store. 

He lifts his helmet slightly, exposing just his mouth and nose as he buries them in your hair, exhaling the heady aroma of you, of his own scent on your skin. Din realises in that moment that he would do anything for you, including nothing at all. 

You deserved the choice, he wouldn’t make the same mistakes as Krom, your agency was more important than his fury. But he had a feeling you wouldn’t just do nothing, no, he knew you were ready to fight back, he had seen it in your eyes as you sat slumped on the floor of the alley. That fierce defiance in the face of danger, an iron will that couldn’t be bent or broken. He almost pitied Krom for trying to break you. He had made a grave mistake leaving you alive. 

It was clear to Din, that soon enough you would be gunning for Krom, and he will do everything in his power to get you there. 

What do you think? Did I do this justice? I really enjoyed this one. Let me know what you think below and please comment, like, and reblog if you enjoyed!

@jadealicious06 @casa-boiardi

@notsosecretspy @celenesamaris

#Din Djarin #Din Djarin x you #Din Djarin x F!Reader #Din Djarin x AFAB! Reader #Din #Djarin #Din Djarin x AFAB reader #Din Djarin x femme reader #Pedro pascal characters #Pedro pascal #the mandalorian #Mando #Mando fanfic #possessive din #Star Wars #Star Wars fanfic #fanfic #smut #fluff #din Djarin fluff #din Djarin smut

[absurdthirst]

All Access Card {Mando x F!Reader}

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 12.6k

Warnings: Sex work/prostitution, bondage, spanking, sub/dom tones, unprotected sex, oral sex (male receiving), thigh riding, threats of death, removing helmet, pregnancy

Comments: Instead of credits like he was promised, Mando is given a card to one of the most exclusive brothels in the outer rim. There is one that caters to Mandalorians and when Mando decides to go, he finds much more than just satisfaction. 

Co-written with @storiesofthefandomlovers​

|| MasterList ||

Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.

The black t visor of the shiny helmet tilts down, staring at the card that has been extended to him, then slowly easing back up. “This wasn’t the deal.” The modulated tone was flat and would have caused a lesser being to flinch under the harshness that could be interpreted from the essentially monotone statement.

Instead, the Togruta laughs, shaking his head and smirking at the Mandalorian in front of him. “No, this is much, much better.” He insists, turning over the card and flashing the bright red logo before he presses into Mando’s leather clad hand. “This guarantees you access to the most exclusive sex club in the galaxy.” He winks and chuckles as he steps back. “You’re welcome. Just don’t get too addicted. Those cards are worth more than most ships in the realm.” 

Mando watches the man practically glide away from him without stopping him. Sighing, he looks down at the card in his hand. “Great.” He mutters, tired and ready to return to the covert to figure out what he needs to do next. 

When Din returns to the covert, card in hand, Paz immediately notices it. “What do you have there, Djarin?” He grabs it from his hand and his eyes widen under his helmet. “Kriff, you lucky - this is - it’s for that place.” He declares and Din sighs. 

“What place?” 

Paz chuckles, “you haven’t heard of it? It’s the best place in the galaxy. A sex club and there’s women there who cater to Mandos. They know we can’t remove our helmets, they work around it. You gotta go there and ask for a certain girl. That’s what I’ve heard and I - I’ll take the card if you don’t want it. That’s worth more credits than I have but I’ll give you something if you don’t want the experience. I’ve heard it’s incredible.”

Din scoffs, plucking the card back out of Paz’s grip and tucking it into his belt. He doesn’t want the damn thing but he is damned if he will let that big blue bastard have it. Maybe he will go and see if he can exchange it for credit at the club itself. Surely he can since that is probably where the card came from. “I need to clean up.” He grumbles, shuffling past Paz and down the hall to the small quarters he was assigned in the covert.

When the Mandalorian enters the club after showing the card, everyone knows. Din gets tired of the eyes on him wherever he goes but he is used to it. With a sigh, he makes his way over to the gilded desk, surrounded by what appears to be receptionists. “Hello Mando. How can we help? Are you here to see our Mando tamer?” The twi’lek asks with a smirk, holding out her hand with a smirk.

Din shakes his head and holds up the card. “I want to exchange this for the value in credits.” He tells her, catching sight of scantily clad men and women of all species roaming around. His cock twitches, but he’s not here to indulge. He rarely indulges in his personal needs.

“Sorry. Those cards are coveted. We don’t do exchanges. You can, however, give that card to someone in exchange for credits. Many people would chop your hand off for a chance to even hold one of those cards. It’s one of the most sought after things in the galaxy. I’d suggest you try it at least once. It’s unlimited. Never expires. You can try whatever you fancy here and then try to sell it on.”

Din’s brows raise up under his helmet. He’s never heard of something like this but he doesn’t search out brothels often. Usually just a quick fuck behind a cantina with someone who is obviously enamored with the idea of a Mandalorian suited his needs. “Alright.” Din sighs again and looks around. “There was someone who specializes in Mandalorians?”

The twi’lek nods, “she is available now if you wish to see her.” Din nods and the twi’lek sends a communication to your room to alert you that you have a client. Thankfully, you are on your shift and this is your first customer, allowing you to look your best in the sheer gown that covers you but is translucent. 

“Send him in.” You respond and the twi’lek grins, guiding Din through the lounge to the private corridors. Moans and groans echo down that hall until the twi’lek reaches the last door, swiping the card to unlock your room. 

“Have fun Mando.” She winks and sways her hips as she walks down the hall.

Din steps into the room, carefully looking around. Despite the advertisement that this is a pleasure house, he still has to be wary of anyone looking to trap or double cross him. The lighting is low, but clear enough that he can see the opulent room, various toys and tools for sex nearly lined up along the wall. The bed, large and in the center of the space is covered in silky sheets and there is a woman curled up in the middle.

"Hello Mando." You greet him, shocked at seeing a Mandalorian in your room. It's been a while and this one has beautiful beskar, shining and new. It's gorgeous. "Welcome. What kind of pleasure do you seek? Do you want to fuck or be fucked?" You ask, shifting off of the bed to stand. Slowly, knowing that Mandos can be spooked.

Din gulps under his helmet, slowly taking in your curves and the expanse of undoubtedly soft skin. There’s so much of it on display, from your nipples to the soft curls that cover your cunt, right down to your brightly painted toes. “What do you want?” He asks suddenly, surprising you and himself by the question.

"I want whatever you want." You walk towards him, looking up at his visor, and you tentatively reach out to run your fingers along the shiny beskar. "I like your beskar. Clan of two." You murmur, remembering your own clan of two but that is not what you need to focus on right now.

He tilts his head, surprised that you know that. The small etching on his signet giving it away. Maybe it’s because of your familiarity with Mandalorians. “I am in charge.” Din decides, knowing that he will feel more comfortable with that arrangement.

You nod, "you are in charge. I have blindfolds if you wish to remove your helmet. If not, you can keep it on. You are in control and I am yours to do what you want with. I will tell you my limits. I do not want knife play, no watersports or scat. Other than that, I am yours to use." You tell him, excited already at the idea of the Mandalorian taking you. You always get turned on at the feel of the beskar, so familiar, and comfortable.

Din groans quietly. He’s never taken his helmet off with a lover, blindfolded or not. Never wanting to risk something happening. “That’s acceptable.” He nods, stepping closer to you and seeing the look in your eyes at the shiny, unpainted beskar. “You can touch it.” He allows, wondering if you have an armor kink.

Your hand slides along the beskar, your eyes flicking up to the visor, and for a moment, you wonder what he looks like beneath it. “It’s beautiful.” You declare, admiring his form as he looms over you. “Would you like to touch me?” You ask, wanting to feel his hands - gloved or not - on your skin.

“Yes.” He does want to touch you, wants to see if your skin feels as soft as it looks. He reaches out, not removing his glove and strokes a finger up your arm. “I don’t remove anything.” He tells you, explaining previous encounters. “But I want to touch you with my bare hands.”

“You can do that. I don’t discuss anything to do with my client. Anything that happens here will be confidential. Even your bare hands. Can I?” You ask, reaching for his glove and his helmet nods. You grip the edge, pulling the glove off to expose his hand. “Both?” You ask and he nods again. You repeat the action on the other hand so both are exposed and you wait for him to make the next move after you carefully set the gloves down.

His stomach twists in anticipation, he’s had a barrier between him and the galaxy since he had sworn the Creed. He had never touched someone without his gloves since then. Inhaling a deep breath, he reaches out, unaware that his hand is trembling slightly and caresses your cheek.

You feel the tremor in his hand and you stay still, letting him lead. It’s clear he has touched anyone since he took the Creed and you won’t rush him. Tilting your head to allow him to explore however he wants. “Feel good?” You ask, a little breathless from how intimate this is. Most of your clients would be inside of you by now.

His hand slides down the column of your throat and he pauses with his hand there, watching your chest expand in a deep breath. Notating that for later. “It does.” He agrees, fingers webbing out over your skin and down to your breast where he cups it, groaning over how soft you are. “You said I could have anything I wanted?”

You are already wet. This imposing Mandalorian has enthralled you with a simple touch you find yourself willing to do whatever he wants, your unusually submissive side coming out. “Whatever you want, Mando.” You promise, fingers twitching with the need to touch him but you refrain.

He groans again. “Okay.” He pinches your nipple and loves the way your lashes flutter. “What about bondage?” He asks. He’s not the type to take without asking, not from a sexual partner. “Can I tie you up, Mesh’la?”

The idea of this mandalorian tying you up and doing what he wants to you has you dripping. “Yes. Maker, yes. You can tie me up.” You respond a little pathetically. It’s been so long since someone was so in tune with what you wanted despite you being there to service your clients.

“You like that.” Din hums, Slightly amused and pinches your nipple again. You respond so beautifully. “I think you like a bit of pain with your pleasure.” He observes, reaching up to cup your other breast and squeezes it roughly.

“Mando.” You whimper, tilting your head back in pleasure. “I do like it. I love it. Not - usually I’m in charge. That’s what most men want. They want to be out of control but I know you want control, don’t you? You want to be in charge. To use me.”

Din groans under his helmet, hissing slightly. “Yes.” He reaches down and grips your hip to pull you closer to him. Dragging you against his chest. “Show me your ropes.” He orders.

You are soaked, watching him methodically tie you up and it seems so natural to him despite you knowing he hasn’t done this before. He must be a bounty hunter. The thought makes a whimper escape your lips. “Thank you.” You offer when he finishes and you look into the mirror across the room, admiring the way he has you tied up and standing.

“Do you want the blindfold?” He asks, holding up a black scrap of fabric.  “Add sensory deprivation? Or do you want to see what I do to you?”

“It’s up to you. You want to take your helmet off? I - if you aren’t, I want to see you.” You tell him, knowing that he will be a sight to behold if this is the first time he’s doing this.

“Helmet stays on.” Din tells you, still uncomfortable with the idea of removing it. It’s a loophole in the Creed, to use a blindfold, but he doesn’t want to test it. Even if no one but you would know, he would know. “Look at you.” His helmet slides up and down as he looks at your bound body. “I can do whatever I want to you. And there’s nothing you can do about it.”

You can’t stop the moan that escapes your lips. “You can do whatever you want to me, Mando. Want you to- to touch me however you want. I’m yours to use.” You offer, watching him as he walks around your bound body, the beskar shining under the lights.

He doesn’t know where to start. There is so much that he wants to see, so much to do now that he’s given into the idea of doing this. Din stands behind you and draws his hand back, slapping your ass harshly.

You gasp, loving seeing this dominating side coming out of the silent but lethal mandalorian. "Maker." You hiss in both pleasure and pain. You love being treated like this. Your kinks are being explored, unlike your clients who want you to spank them. This is what you want. "Again." You order, impatient as always.

“Hush.” His hand snakes around you, gripping your jaw in a tight hold. His helmet presses against your ear and the cool beskar soothes the sting of the slap. “You get what I give you.” He growls, enjoying the way that you are begging for him.

You let out a whimper that you’ve never heard from yourself before. “Yes, Mando.” You squeak, allowing yourself to give yourself to him like he wants. “I’ll take what you give me.” You agree, fingers flexing around the silks.

“Good girl, Mesh’la.” Din has never played like this before, never taken his time and indulged and he wants to do everything. His hands slide around you, down your stomach and over your mound. “Does it make you wet, knowing you’re at my mercy?” He asks roughly, cock hard in his flight suit and pressing against your ass.

“Yes Mando. I’m soaking wet for you. Because of you. You could do anything to me right now and I’d be happy. Just please.” You want to beg him to touch you but you know you can’t, that will make him mad. “Please Mando.” You whine when his fingers hover over your clit.

He chuckles, aborning your whine and wishing he could save it, keep it for when he’s alone in the Crest. So different from the pleas for freedom, or their lives that bounties give him. “I’ve got you.” He promises, swirling his fingers around your folds and before he sinks them into your cunt.

“Oh fuck!” You cry, eyes closing as his thick digits push deep into your pussy without warning. “Yes that’s it, Mando. Maker, your fingers - they are so big.” You pant. You want to tangle your fingers in his hair but you can’t. Your eyes open and you look in the mirror, seeing his frame crowding you and you watch his fingers push deep as he starts to pump them.

His own visor looks to the mirror, the startling contrast of skin and beskar turning him on even more than he could imagine as he watches you. His fingers, his skin disappearing into your cunt and being sucked deeper with every gasping flutter. “Fuck, you’re going to feel so good.” He huffs, drawing his other hand back and slapping your ass while he curls his fingers up.

You cry out when his fingers pump deep and his other hand smacks your ass. You wish you could see his face, knowing his eyes look unhinged, but you can’t. You know it wouldn’t be right. “Fuck Mando. It’s so good. You’re gonna make me cum.” You practically sob, nails digging into your palms.

His hand grips your ass, massaging it until he feels something. Pulling back and looking down as he spreads your cheeks wider, finding a small plug in your ass. “Beskar?” He asks, bewildered.

“A gift from an old client.” You lie, cheeks burning as you realize how it comes across and you hope he doesn’t mind. “I like to keep a plug in just in case someone wants to fuck my ass.” You reveal, trying to grind down as his fingers have stopped moving inside of you.

Din hisses at the thought, gripping the plug and twisting it while he starts pumping his fingers again. “I might.” He growls. “I might fill up both holes tonight, let you drip my cum out of both.”

“Oh fuck. Oh fuck. Yes, Mando. You’re gonna make me cum. Gonna make me - oh shit!” You squeal, clamping down on his fingers when he twists the plug again, and you swear you’ve never felt such pleasure before. You almost black out.

Shocked that he’s already made you cum, Din growls as he works you through it. He knows that he’s good with his hands, he tries to make sure his partners are satisfied, but rarely is he watching their face when they fall over the edge like he is with you. Pumping them even harder into you while they squelch and your cum drips down his wrist and absorbs into the shirt under his vambrace.

When he works you through it, you swear you could cum again. Leaning against him as the silks hold your weight, your head lolls and you haven’t cum that hard in forever. You don’t think you ever have. Not even by your own hand. “Mando.” You whimper, chest heaving as your heart pounds.

He can tell you are overwhelmed. His fingers quickly pull out of you and reach for the ropes. Steadily working to free you of the bindings before he carries your relaxed body over the bed and lays you down.

You frown when he lays you down and stands up straight. “Do you not - don’t you want to fuck me?” You reach for him, hands shaking a little as you watch the Mandalorian above you. “You haven’t cum.”

He stands there for a moment, his cock is throbbing and he wants nothing more than to fuck you. Especially when you take his hand. His fingers curl around d yours, squeezing. “I thought it might have been too much.” He tells you, trying to give you the option. Even if you are there for him to use, he’s not interested in hurting you.

You shake your head, eyes hazy as you look at him. “You can fuck me. I want you inside of me. Please Mando.” You whine, spreading your legs to display your weeping cunt. “Gedet'ye.” (Please) You beg, wanting to feel him.

Din stiffens slightly at the use of Mando’a. Thinking that you have been taught it by another Mandalorian. It’s slightly erotic, hearing it from your lips when he can see your face. Making his cock throb harder. “Turn over.” He orders roughly, reaching for the zipper of his flight suit. “I want to see the plug while I fuck you.”

You moan, shifting onto your hands and knees, your arms shaking slightly from the anticipation and you watch him in the mirror as he kneels behind you. You hear the velcro on his flight suit and you shiver when his hard cock brushes your ass, pushing slightly against the plug. "Please Mando."

“I’m going to fuck you.” He promises, deciding to take the time to slide his cock through your folds rather than just push inside you. You’re so fucking wet from your orgasm and he loves how easily the head pushes inside when he does line up. “Maker.” He groans and rocks his hips forward to slam inside you.

The cry you let out is unlike anything you’ve ever done before. His cock is big, even bigger with the plug inside of you, and you slump forward onto your elbows. “Oh Maker Mando!” You choke when he pushes deep, pressing against your cervix. “Fuck me. Take what you need.” You plead, his bare hands caressing your spine before he grabs your hips.

He’s not gentle. Not when you say that. He sets a brutal pace and loves every cry that falls from your lips. You like it, you fucking try to rock back against him and Din is about to lose his mind at how good this feels.

“Yes yes yes Mando. Maker, you’re so deep. Fucking me so good.” You whine, not putting on an act like you usually do. You don’t have to. He’s punching your guts with every thrust and you look in the mirror to watch him. “Yes cyar’ika, just like that. Just like that.” You ramble, grinding back onto him.

His pace falters for just a second before he’s doubling his effort. Gripping your hips so hard that you will wear bruises under your skin, feel him for days between your thighs. He huffs, sinking a hand between your thighs between the slaps of his hips against your ass and starts rubbing your clit. “Cum for me Mesh’la.” He growls. “Squeeze my cock.”

Hearing him speak Mando’a combined with his fingers on your clit has you clamping down on his length, soaking him with cum, and crying out ‘Mando’ in lieu of his sacred name. “Oh fuck.” You pant, falling forward as much as you can with his hands gripping your hips.

He follows you, keeping his cock buried with hard, deep strokes. Growling as he gets closer to cumming. With one last, hard push, Din slams his cock deep and fills you with a roar. Painting your walls with his hot seed.

You pant, cheek resting on the silk sheets, and you are certain you've never had a client fuck you so hard and so good before. It's left you speechless. Maybe it's because he's a Mandalorian. You have a reputation for knowing how to handle Mandos but you have never been fucked by one like this. "So good." You murmur, finally finding your voice.

Din pants under his helmet, fogging up the HUD. He’s never had sex like that before and it scares him because while he was cumming, all he could think about was ripping off his helmet and biting your shoulder while he filled you. When he catches his breath, he straightens, quickly pulling out of you and tucking his cock away.

You mourn the loss of his cock inside of you, whimpering as you remain slumped on the bed. It takes a moment but you catch your breath, sitting up to watch him putting his gloves back on. “Is everything okay?” You ask, wondering if you did something wrong. You know that Mandalorians aren’t known for post coital cuddling but you have never had one leave so fast after orgasming.

“It’s fine.” His words are clipped, even though he didn’t mean for them to be. He’s confused and honestly a little nervous about how intense and intimate that felt. He hadn’t been expecting it and he needs to be alone to think about it. Reaching into his pouch, he withdraws credits, a large stack of them and he sets them on the table. He knows the card gives him access, but he wants you to be able to do something for yourself. “Thank you.”

You frown at the stack of credits, “I don’t - I don’t understand. I get paid as part of the membership.” You tell him but he shakes his head, “consider it a tip.” You watch him go, rushing out of your room and you sigh, sitting back as his cum drips out of you onto the silk sheets below.

****

This time when he walks in the door to the brothel, Din is more confident. He walks up to the counter and flashes his card to the hostess, asking for you by name. Shuffling slightly as he waits to learn if you are available.He’s had time to think about this. Shaking off his initial discomfort as being out of his element. He had still thought about it when he wrapped his hand around his cock every night since then. Coming back at the first available opportunity.

You get the notification that the Mandalorian is back. You recognise his member number and you swallow harshly, already wet in anticipation. You’re nervous too, worried that he wasn’t happy last time he came to see you. Maybe he was nervous. You hear the door as it opens and you stand there, exhaling as you lay eyes on the imposing Mandalorian. “You’re back.” You declare, a soft smile on your face.

Nodding, Din steps into the room and lets the door close behind him. This time he turns and twists the lock himself to ensure privacy. “Did you - did you buy yourself something nice?” He asks, wanting to kick himself for asking such a stupid question. You must think that he’s an idiot.

Your smile changes to a grin, “I, uh, I did.” You walk over to your closet, opening the door so you can pull out the dress you’d bought yourself. “I haven’t really got anything nice to wear and I just wanted something in case I get out of this place eventually. I’m usually naked.” You fluster, holding up the dress. “Do you like it?”

“It’s- it’s very nice.” He can’t help but notice that it’s the same silver as his beskar. Shiny and sleek, sexy although it’s not made to seduce someone. He knows it will look beautiful on you. “Put it on.” He demands before he decides to soften it. “Please.”

You are surprised at the request but you follow it, stripping off your silk gown, letting it fall to the floor before you put the dress on. You can feel his gaze on you the entire time and you are nervous, hoping he likes it since you bought it with his credits. “I’m hoping to wear it one day for a dinner.”

Din tilts his head at you, wondering how often you get to leave the club. He doesn’t think you are a slave, he’s seen no collar or tracker on you. As he thought, you look gorgeous and he nods. “You should.” He tells you. “Take a night off and go out to dinner.”

You sigh, “I can’t take a night off. I wish I could but I’m- I can’t go out. I can’t leave here.” You don’t reveal why, not taking the risk to tell him. You know he won’t understand your reasons for why you’re here. 

“Why not?” He asks, making you bite your lip. 

“It’s a long story…and you’re not here for stories.” You reach for the hem, pulling the dress off to reveal your naked form. “What would you like today, Mando?”

He can tell you are hiding something, the way you are hedging your answer and trying to distract him. He wonders what your secrets are, but reasons that everyone has secrets. His cock twitches as he takes in your naked body. “I don’t know.” He admits, not really having a plan, but just wanting to come to see you again. “Any suggestions?”

You shift closer to him, careful not to move too fast. “I know you don’t want me to see you but I - I want to suck your cock. Can I do that Mando?” You ask, reaching out to touch his beskar clad thigh as you kneel down in front of him. “I can close my eyes if you want.”

He groans softly at the thought. He’s never had someone suck his cock, too worried about how vulnerable he could be, especially with X’ian always chomping her sharp teeth at him and giggling. Still, he’s watched halo videos with oral. “I-okay.” He agrees, slightly nervous. “You don’t have to close your eyes.”

“Do you- do you want to pull your cock out? Or do you want me to do it?” You ask, wanting him to be comfortable and you rub his beskar covered thighs as you look up at his visor. 

“Take it out.” He orders and you nod, reaching for his flight suit to undo it, carefully taking his hardening cock out. 

“Maker, no wonder I ached.” You chuckle, admiring his impressive girth.

Din frowns under his helmet, not sure what you mean. He’s…normal, isn’t he? “Is there something wrong?” He asks, never having talked to a partner about things like that. Normally he would never see them again, but they always seemed satisfied. At least, as much as they could be from the encounter.

“Something wrong? Cyar’ika, you are…girthy than most cocks I see. Your cock is…beautiful.” You declare honestly, running your finger along its length and you smile when his cock twitches. “Possibly the best cock I’ve ever had.” You tell him truthfully, looking up into his visor as you wrap your fingers around his girth, marveling at how your fingers don’t even touch.

There’s probably a little evidence of pride as his chest swells. Looking down at your hand around him and your praise makes him feel important. Even if he shouldn’t care what you think, he finds that he does. Although you could tell every man you sleep with this, he feels like you mean it. “You enjoyed last time, Mesh’la?”

You nod, starting to pump him, and you like how proud he looks. “I really enjoyed last time.” You say, fully meaning it. No one you’ve slept with since compared to him, there was something so intense and intimate about the experience and no one has competed with it. You lean closer, his cock now hard in your grip, and you tentatively flick your tongue over the head of his cock.

“Shit.” He hisses softly, watching your tongue slide over the tip and twirl around the head gracefully. It feels amazing, and his gloved hand immediately goes to the back of your head, although he doesn’t apply any pressure.

You hum, enjoying his suddenly unrestrained move. He always seems so composed, so tactical. You want to see him unhinged. You take him deeper, shuffling closer and you look up as the head of his cock hits the back of your throat, your fingers curling around the edge of his beskar.

Normally when someone grips his beskar, he’s ready to fight, but he’s totally relaxed right now. Understanding that you are using it to hold on and pulling yourself deeper. He chokes out when you swallow around him. “Fuck.”

You take him deeper, choking a little as you push past your gag reflex. You moan around his cock, loving how he curses again. You close your eyes as you concentrate before your nose presses against the coarse hair at the base of his cock.

“Maker.” Din groans and his other hand wraps around your jaw, feeling where his cock is bulging in your throat. “Good girl.” He manages, knowing that you deserve praise for this if he is as endowed as you claim. “Feels so good.”

You are glad you’ve had practice taking a cock down your throat as your eyes water while you take him. “So good.” You love his praise, egged on and practically dripping onto the floor below as you suck his cock. His gloved hand on your jaw and you wish you could see his face, see the pleasure that would be clearly displayed.

His eyes would close, if it’s not for the way that you are looking up at him. He knows that it’s crazy, but the urge to rip off his helmet is strong. To look you in the eyes without the digital display between you. “Make me cum.” He orders you softly, wanting to feel what it would be like to be sucked off.

You groan around his length, bobbing your head to take him over and over again down your throat until he lets out a loud groan, his cock twitching before he starts to spill down your throat. You struggle to keep up but manage to swallow every drop he gives you. Working him through it and you finally close your eyes at the sensation.

He’s panting under his helmet when you suck the last drops out of his twitching cock, making his toes curl in his boots. Pulling his hips back gently and smearing his thumb through the drool running down your chin. “Do you want to get off?” He asks, voice raspy. “Ride my thigh?” He’s learned that there are plenty of ways to get someone off without sex and he’s excelled at those methods.

You don’t waste the opportunity. Enthusiastically saying yes and standing up to straddle his beskar clad thigh. When his gloved fingers dig into your hips, you moan and start to grind, finding the ridges of the otherwise smooth beskar. “Mando.” You whimper when the ridge catches your clit.

He knows this is completely for you. He doesn’t get anything out of this, and yet he can’t stop watching you. Your head tilts back as you grind against him, pushing your tits out. He wants to bite them. He wants to pull his helmet off and press his face between your breasts and inhale your scent from your skin. He growls, a small rumble in his chest. “You like this? Riding my beskar?” He demands. “You’re the only one who has ridden on this plate.” He can feel the vibrations when your plug clinks against his cuss.

“Fuck. I want to be the only one.” You blurt out, unsure of why you said that but you couldn’t help it. “I want to be the one.” Your words come fast and heavy as you grind down onto his cock, whines of ‘Mando’ escaping your lips as you seek your orgasm. “Fuck.” You grab onto his shoulders, grinding down harder and faster.

He groans, enjoying the show. Helping you by guiding your hips with his hands. “Want you to cum.” He huffs, his visor fixed to your face. He lets go of one of your hips to slap the side of your thigh. “Are you gonna cum, Mesh’la?”

The squeal you release is unlike anything you’ve ever done before. Thighs shaking with the effort to work yourself through your orgasm and your cum smears on the beskar as Mando works your hips for you, taking over to work you through your high. “Mando. Oh Mando.” You slump against his beskar clad chest.

Chuckling, he lets you lay against him while you recover. Stroking your back with his gloved hands and humming softly. “When you clean up, put that dress back on.” He tells you, deciding that he wants to spend some more time with you rather than leave right away like he did before.

You are taken back by the request, confused that he wants you dressed after sex. “I- okay.” You tilt your head as you lean back to look into his visor, wishing more than ever that you could see his eyes. “Is - did I do something wrong?” You ask him softly.

“No.” Din shakes his helmet and reaches up to grip your chin to tilt it up slightly. “I’m going to take you out for a meal.” He explains. “Is there somewhere specific you want to go?”

Your first reaction is to smile at how sweet he is to want to take you for a meal, until you remember the consequences if he does just that. You bite your lip, caressing his chest plate. “Thank you but - but I can’t. I can’t leave here.” You tell him and he frowns. 

“What do you mean? You aren’t imprisoned.” He counters and you frown, wondering how you could possibly explain. 

“I’m sorry Mando. I can’t - thank you for the offer.” You shuffle off of his lap, grabbing your dressing gown.

He’s confused. You had just told him that you wished to get out for a meal and yet you are turning down the opportunity to do just that. He watches you throw the gown on and decides that he will bring a meal to you, since you will not go with him. “Wait here.” He orders you, striding to the door and opening it. He disappears out of the door without another word and it slides closed behind him.

You are shocked, standing there and watching the door, and you sit down on the edge of your bed, thighs still wet with your orgasm, and you wait for Mando to come back. He’s gone for a while, returning without you having another client. “Did you sign out? You used up so many minutes on your card by having me wait for you.” You shake your head at him, knowing those minutes are precious.

“Sit down.” He ignores your question. He didn’t care about that. He cared that you didn’t have to see another client while he was gone. The container in his hand is set down on the small table in your room. “I brought food to you, since you won’t go out.”

You are surprised, walking towards the small table, and you want to ask him to join you but you know he won’t. You know he won’t join you for breakfast. “Can you sit with me while I eat?” You ask, offering him a small hopeful smile. You sit down, opening the container, and moaning at the smell of the food.

Din walks over and sits down in the opposite chair from you. Watching as you start to pull out the food and utensils. He hopes that he didn’t get something that you don’t like. He doesn’t really care, as long as it’s food, but some people can be picky over their meals. “It’s not the same, but I -“ he flushes under his helmet. “I wanted to give you something you wanted.”

You smile, reaching out to touch his gloved hand. “Thank you. It’s - I love it. I don’t go out and get any food so I - thank you so much for getting me food.” Your heart thumps in your chest and you start to eat, knowing it’s awkward since he can’t take off his helmet but somehow, it’s still intimate.

Din beams as you eat your food, watching happily. There’s not a lot of times that he thinks about eating a meal, it’s often a solitary, quick thing. But right now, this is perfect. He leans in, observing your moves and wondering how you normally eat. “You have things delivered? Or do you eat ration packs?”

"It depends. Sometimes, I will have things delivered but that is very rare. Only special occasions. Most of the time, we order food for clients and the bosses don't want us to eat in case we ruin 'the illusion'. That's why I would love to wear that gown somewhere outside of this place. To be free but I- I can't." You dig back into your food, avoiding what you were gonna say. 

"Why not? Why - what or who keeps you trapped here?" Din asks, ready to fight for you. 

"It's - it's a long story." You reply and Din crosses his arms, 

"I got time left on my card." 

You shake your head, "I don't want to talk about it. Okay?"

“Okay.” Din knows you are hiding something, but he won’t push. It’s not his place right now. He’s not hunting you. Instead he leans back in his chair and watches you. “What would be your favorite thing to do. If you could do anything, go anywhere?”

You contemplate his question for a moment. "If I could go anywhere, I'd go back to my home. To my people. I couldn't go back there though. Not after what I did. I can't go home." You say vaguely, sighing as you play with your food with the fork. "Or I would go to Canto Bight. Con those self important idiots out of their credits." You smirk, "and wear a beautiful dress while doing it."

Din hums, wondering who your people are, but he doesn’t ask. Your smile is too playful right now. “You could always do that, you’d be good at it.”

“Yeah?” You chuckle, tapping your fingers on the table while you take a break from eating. “I think so too. I think I could be good at it. I just- I don’t want to do this forever. I don’t want to have to hide anymore.” You confess, feeling yourself once again wish you could see his face. Just once. You know he can’t. He won’t. Still, it doesn’t stop you wanting it.

“Are you done?” He asks, nodding towards your food. You bite your lip and Din pushes back from the table. “Come here.” He wants you again. This time he wants you to sit on his cock. “I want to see if you can finish eating while I’m inside you.”

It’s an odd request. One you haven’t had before, but you agree, shrugging off your gown while he pulls his hard cock out. You smile, sitting onto his lap so your back is pressed against his chest. “I doubt I’ll be able to finish my food like this.” You admit breathlessly after you lift up, sinking down onto his cock.

Din nuzzles his helmet as close as he can, imagining taking his helmet off and whispering in your ear. “Yeah?” He groans, twitching inside you. “Distracted by something?”

You moan when you feel the vibrations of his visor against your head, making you shiver on top of him. “Fuck Mando.” You lean back against him, hand shaking as you pick up the fork, unsure if you can eat while his girth stretches you out. “Mando. I need-” You grip the table, using it to leverage yourself to begin working yourself up and down his cock.

“I’ve got you.” He grips your hips and lifts and lowers you on his cock, groaning at the way you slide around him. It’s what he imagines the finest silk to feel like. “That’s it, take another bite.” He urges you.

You gather yourself, forking a piece of food and bringing it to your mouth just as he pulls you down onto his cock. A moan escapes your lips and you struggle to place the food into your mouth as your eyes close in bliss.

Grunting, he keeps working you up and down on his length, feeling your walls contract when he spears up into you roughly. “Good girl.” He manages, gritting his teeth together.

His praise makes you moan and you swallow your bite, struggling slightly and you grab onto the table as you force yourself to fork up some more food. When he hits something deep and delicious inside of you, you drop the fork, a squeal escaping your lips in surprise. “Oh fuck Mando.” You hiss, leaning back against him.

He chuckles and continues to fuck up into you. Watching your head tilt back against his pauldron and he can barely see you out of his visor. Reaching out, he starts rubbing your clit vigorously. “Want you to come cyar’ika. Want you to soak me.”

You completely forget about the food, focusing only on the pleasure as he thrusts up into you. “Oh fuck. Oh fuck. Oh fuck!” You squeal, thighs shaking as you clamp down on his cock, soaking him as you follow his order, cumming on his cock. “Mandooo.” You pant, trying to grind down onto him, “cum. Cum for me.”

He growls harshly, pushing up off the chair as he chases his own release. Grunting while your walls tremble around him and it doesn’t take long. Five slick slaps of his cock into your sopping cunt and he’s falling apart, burying his cock deep while he lets out a low groan of the name you gave him. 

Your real name is on the tip of your tongue, to hear it from his modulated mouth, but you don’t. You can’t risk it. “Mando.” You sigh in bliss, pressing your head against the cool beskar. “Always so good.” You confess, truly meaning that. You never have to fake it with him.

He doesn’t think that you are faking, it feels too real, you get too wet. He pants softly and squeezes your hip with the hand that’s still gripping it. “Perfect.” He agrees, he’s never been so relaxed after sex before, slouching back in the seat and bringing you with him. The two of you just sit for a moment, his cock pulsing inside you while he relaxes.

You reach behind you to caress the beskar, enjoying him just holding you for a moment. “Well, I didn’t finish my meal.” You chuckle breathlessly, feeling his responding snort through the beskar. “Mando. Thank you for the food and the orgasm.” You grin, knowing he paid you but this doesn’t feel like a service. You look forward to him visiting you, everyone else pales in comparison to the point where you don’t want to bother taking any other clients.

Din hums, hating that he’s softening inside of you. His time is coming to an end and he needs to go. He pats your hip and leans his helmet against the side of your neck. “You’re welcome.” He chuckles quietly. “Thank you for the orgasms. I’m relaxed and I’ll sleep like a baby tonight.”

You smile, wishing you could ask for him to stay but you can’t, that’s not the arrangement. You don’t want to take any more clients today, wanting to spend your time thinking of Mando, of what you can never have. You’re certain you love him, insanity since you haven’t even seen his face, but no one makes you feel like he does. “You’re welcome, I - I wish you could stay longer. Maybe spend the night but I know you can’t.” Won’t is the correct word but you don’t want to push him.

Din doesn’t know how that would work, but he wants it too. His heart pounds in his chest and he squeezes your hip again. “I have to go.” He doesn’t want to, but he needs to leave and go pick up his next pucks. There is a ship full of carbonite slabs ready for Karga and the guild. “I’ll be back though.” He promises, knowing he won’t be able to stay away from this place now. Not while you are here.

You nod, realizing that he needs to go, so you shift off of his cock, moaning as his cum starts to drip down your inner thigh and you reach for your gown, grabbing a clean cloth to clean yourself while he tucks himself away. “I’ll see you soon Mando.” You walk towards him, reaching up to caress his beskar helmet.

He captures your hand, not because he’s afraid that you will try to remove his helmet. He knows you won’t. Instead he presses it against the side and leans in, pressing his forehead against yours in the Mandalorian version of a kiss. When he steps back, he reaches into his belt and pulls out another stack of credits. “Spoil yourself again, Mesh’la.” He murmurs before he turns to walk out of your room.

You watch him go, your heart aching, and you know you’re a fool for falling for a man who can never love you back. You can never leave this place for your own safety and you know you can’t risk Mando like that. Maker, you don’t even know his real name and he doesn’t know yours. You belong to the card holders, that’s how it goes. You could never belong to the Mandalorian.

****

“Ahhhh Mando!” Grief Karga’s voice booms over the noisy din of the streets, his arms spreading wide in greeting. “Wondered when I would see you again.” Din scoffs slightly, used to the greeting since he was consistent. “I have just the bounty for you. I’ve been saving it.”

Din isn’t really too concerned. Probably just another priority target for Grief himself. He likes sending Mando after them. Told him once after too much spotchka that it was a status thing, sending a Mandalorian after them. 

Grief sits down at the table, gesturing for Din to join, and he places the puck on the table after ordering a drink for himself. “Got a good one here, Mando. She’s been escaping bounty hunters for way too long. She’s smart…and she’s one of your own.” Grief reveals and Din frowns under the helmet, curious at what he means by that.

He’s not too concerned when the leader of the guild says a name. It’s not yours. However, it’s your face that pops up when he turns the puck on. Your face, a chain code, along with the fact that you are Mandalorian. Din’s entire body tenses and he leans forward, absorbing the image and the information displayed. “Her helmet is gone.” He spits. “How did you know she was Mandalorian?” It suddenly makes sense why you had never asked about his helmet and how you know Mando’a. The beskar plug. His jaw clenched under his own helmet when he reads your supposed crimes. 

“She is from Mandalore. She’s a Mandalorian but during the war, she fled. War crimes made her wanted by the Empire and now, she’s crossed too many people to live in hiding. People want her head and are willing to pay good money to get it. You find her, her beskar that she’s stolen is yours.”

The Empire. Din scoffs under his breath and reaches for the puck to snatch it off the table to tuck into his belt as he stands. “Since when do you work for the Empire, Karga?” He asks, making the older man give a shrug and look around. 

“The bounty comes in, the guild accepts it, no questions asked.” He reminds Din. 

Turning around to walk away, Din pauses and says over his shoulder, “maybe that rule should change.” He tells Grief before he strides away towards his ship.

****

You grin when the notification comes in that Mando is arriving and you rush around, tidying up your place and you check your appearance in the mirror. Your heart thumps in your chest and you anxiously await his arrival. When the doors slide open, you stand up from your chair, walking towards him. “Hi cyar’ika.”

Cyar’ika. The fact that you are calling him that makes his heart pound in his chest even though he doesn’t respond. He’s hurt that you didn’t tell him about this, as though he was nothing more than a client. He was bound by Creed to help you. Angry that you continuously sold your body to Mandalorians and didn’t reach out. Instead of relaxing, Din puffs his chest out, his stance more bounty hunter than lover as he strides closer, reaching for the puck on his belt. “I can bring you in warm.” He rasps. “Or I can bring you in cold.”

Your blood runs cold at his words, realizing that he knows about your bounty and he wants to take you in, reap the rewards and get the credits. “Mando. I- please. Don’t do this. I can’t - they will kill me if you don’t do it now. They want me dead.” You back away from him, heart breaking that he won’t even let you explain.

He continues to walk towards you, even as your eyes fill with horror that breaks his heart and you start stepping back. Away from him. He opens the puck and sets it on the table. “You were Mandalorian.” He spits, hurt that you did not tell him. “You said a client taught you Mando’a.” He remembers that conversation, the way the words slipped out easily, as if you were used to using them. It had made him jealous, wondering how many men you called cyar’ika thinking that it sounded cute. 

“I am Mandalorian.” You counter, making him shake his helmet. 

“You are not wearing a helmet. You have betrayed your Creed. This is the way.” 

You shake your head, reaching for him before you think better and lower your hand. “There is another way. The way you know is…it’s extreme. They don’t believe in soulmates, in Mandalorians having soulmates. You can only recognize your soulmate through your eyes meeting and the sect you came from believe that shielding the eyes behind a visor allows the Mandalorian to focus on the Creed, on the way, and not themselves. For once you find your soulmate, they are your priority, not the clan. They didn’t want that so they decided to divert from the traditional way, create a more extreme set of rules to ensure the clan comes first. Sex was for breeding, not love making. I lied about knowing Mando’a because I knew you were a bounty hunter, it’s in your very gait. I was scared. I didn’t want you to take me. I don’t want you to take me in. The Empire…what remains of it…will kill me.”

Din huffs under his helmet, not completely believing you, but he can’t say that you are lying. He can tell when someone is, but the honesty in your tone and your body language is very telling. “Why does the Empire want you dead?” He demands, needing to know why. “Why would they care about one Mandalorian who removed their helmet? You don’t even wear your beskar.”

You sigh, sitting down on the edge of the bed. “I had to take it off. I had to hide. They wanted to kill me. The Empire…they wanted war on Mandalore so I had to do something. I got a group of revolutionaries together and we - we planned to blow up a base. We succeeded. Then the Empire killed every Mandalorian involved in that revolt and I escaped by removing my armor and I’ve been in hiding ever since.”

“So how do they have your picture?” He demands, pointing to the puck, clearly showing your face as the holo image blinks at him. “They have your name. A name you didn’t give me and your face.”

You rub your cheek, “I thought I was clever, escaping and not wearing my armor but the Empire…they figured it out. I’m not - my Creed and your Creed are different. My Creed allows me to remove my helmet. The way means Mandalorians finding their soulmates, having families, and protecting the clan. That’s the way. They managed to find an image of me without my helmet prior to blowing up the base, so I’ve been on the run ever since and ended up here so I could hide from the Empire. They are growing powerful again. They want anyone who wronged them to die.”

Different Creeds, soulmates. The information makes Din’s head swim and he reaches for the puck and shuts it off. “You are worth a lot of credits.” He murmurs, shoving it back into his belt. “Someone wants you to be found.” He sighs and motions for you to sit down. “And I’m not happy with the Empire, so you’re in luck.”

You look up, watching him with hesitation, and he sits down beside you. “Well that’s something. Can I- can I know your name?” You ask him, wanting to know what to call him instead of Mando. 

He tilts his helmet towards you, “Djarin. My name is Din Djarin.” 

You smile, liking the sound of it and you repeat it softly. “I know it’s a lot of information but I just want you to know that everything we did in here wasn’t just because I was getting paid, I wanted to be with you.”

He hums, wondering if he was a fool for believing that. Maybe it was because he’s Mandalorian. “The plug.” He chuckles softly. “No wonder they would send Mandalorians to you. And why you couldn’t go to dinner.” He turns his helmet towards you again. “Anything else I need to know?”

You look down at your hands, knowing he has no reason to believe you but this feeling - it’s similar to what everyone described and you are certain you’re right. “I, um, I also think we could be soulmates.” You reveal, glancing up to see your own reflection in the visor. 

“We could -what?” His modulated voice is in disbelief. 

“This feeling. You being with me, inside of me. I’ve never felt that before, have you?”

He wants to deny it and opens his mouth to do just that. But he doesn’t. Instead, his head tilts slightly and he thinks about the cravings to take off his helmet. He’s never thought about it before with someone else, not even when he was balls deep and cumming. “No.” He admits quietly.

You tentatively reach for his gloved hand, moving slow to remove it so your skin can touch his. “Have you ever felt that before?” You ask, enjoying the electricity that passes between you. He shakes his head, knowing he’s never felt so alive just from a simple touch. “I want - I know it’s so much to ask but I want to see your eyes. I just want to look into them because - because I think I will have my answer.”

Guilt eats at him. He wants to say no, he should say no. It’s on the tip of his tongue to immediately deny you, but then he stops. He’s not sure what to believe, if he should risk removing his helmet. You have, you have given up your entire existence because of your beliefs and you’ve never tried to remove it. You know the importance to him. “You- you’re covert….you remove helmets?” He verifies again. “And you are still considered Mandalorians?” You nod and Din sits in silence for another moment, feeling the buzzing of his skin against yours. He’s wanted to take off his helmet around you since the first time and that concerned him. If he was your soulmate it would explain some of that desire. “Okay.” He decides quietly. “We will see if you are right.” 

“Din.” You reach for his hands to stop him for a moment, “if we are soulmates, your Creed is still intact. It’s - your sect believes that revealing your face to your soulmate is still within keeping your Creed since they are your family. If we aren’t soulmates, you are still Mandalorian in my eyes, in the eyes of the Mandalorians I know. Either way, if you remove it and we aren’t and you wish to remain in your Creed, we can deny it ever happened.” You promise, wanting him to be completely comfortable and know what he’s doing before he reveals his face to you.

He nods, one quick incline of his head. He knows that you are just making sure, but he is ready to do this. Taking a deep breath, he reaches up and grips the sides of his helmet, watching your eyes widen slightly though the display and closes his eyes as he starts to lift the helmet off his head. 

You watch him slowly remove the helmet, your breath bated as you eagerly wait to see his face, the one you’ve yearned to see since the moment he came into your room. When he removes it, you gently take it to set it down, his eyes still closed, and you swear you’ve never seen such a beautiful man. You reach up, tentatively caressing his cheek, and you bring your other hand up to caress from his forehead down to his chin, just marveling in his features.

He feels like he’s going to be sick, or maybe it’s anticipation. He can’t quite tell, but the feeling of your hand on his face nearly makes him flinch. His heart is pounding in his chest and he tells himself to just open his eyes. Slowly obeying his own command.

When he opens his eyes, his beautiful brown eyes, you swear your entire being lights up. Your heart pounds in your chest and yet you feel the most at peace you’ve ever felt in your life. You smile, your eyes on his, locked together, and you are certain you are his and he is yours.

Din feels his heart nearly burst, flooded with the complete knowledge that this woman in front of him is his. That you are his soulmate, one he never thought he had. “I-“ He swallows and manages a smile. “Wow.”

You grin, cupping his cheeks and just staring at him. “All this time…I thought soulmates were just something we were told to give us hope but it’s true. It’s true and I - Din, I love you.” You reveal, knowing it to be true. You feel it with your entire body. Your soul.

His eyes close and he absorbs the words, tucks them into his heart and savors them. He sighs softly and opens his eyes again, startled by how clear they look without his helmet. The digital display was not nearly enough. “I love you.” He murmurs softly. “I- the first time I came here, I had the urge to take off my helmet, it’s why- it’s why I left so quickly.”

Your thumbs brush his cheeks, and you can’t stop smiling, amazed by the Mandalorian. “I felt it too. I would never - I’d never remove your helmet without you telling me to but I just had this urge to look into your eyes. I haven’t - I haven’t had anyone in my room since the last time you came here. I couldn’t. It just - it felt wrong. I was waiting for you. Only you.” You promise, bringing his head down to yours, pressing your forehead against his.

His brow swung up in surprise, sure that you had many visitors since he had met you. He hadn’t wanted to admit to his jealousy though. “I’m sorry I was gone for so long then.” He murmurs before he reaches up and caresses your face. “Cyar’ika….” He sighs. “You can’t stay here.”

You sigh, knowing he’s right but you are scared. “If I leave…the Empire will find me and have me killed. Do you think you’re the only bounty hunter with that puck?” You ask him, reaching for his hand to hold it in yours, reluctant to let him go.

He knows that’s true. He’s had experience with that before. Nodding, he sighs. “So we give you to the Empire.” He tells you. “The puck says dead or alive.”

You frown, “how - are you mad? They will kill me if I go there alive and if I’m dead…I don’t - explain. Please.” You demand, praying that your soulmate isn’t considering killing you for a bounty. It’s unheard of but he is from such an offset of Mandalorian culture, perhaps he thinks this is a solution to maintain his Creed.

“You still have your beskar?” He asks, making you nod cautiously. “I will give them ‘proof’ of your death. It doesn’t say I need to bring your body back. You burnt up in the atmo when you were running from me.” He explains. “And your armor can be refashioned by the armorer of my covert so your identity will be protected. I know someone who can get you a new chain code.”

You are surprised at his quick thinking, wondering how he came up with this plan. You feel protected and cared for, something you haven’t felt since you were a child. “Thank you.” You surge forward to wrap your arms around his neck, tangling your fingers in his hair to pull him close so you can breathe him in.

Din moans quietly, not meaning to, but the feeling of your fingers in his hair has him thrown off. It’s so intimate, he can barely think about anything but the fact that he can kiss you. “Mesh’la.” He murmurs softly, his own arms wrapping around you and tugging you close. “I- I want-“ he flushes slightly, not even able to voice it.

You know what he wants, you’ve wanted it too. “You’ll be my first kiss.” You reveal, knowing that it’s unusual considering your job but you always withheld that intimacy. You cup his cheek, bringing him closer and you brush your nose against his. Your body warms under his touch, and you tentatively press your lips against his.

Din sighs into the kiss, holding you tighter and clumsily moves his mouth slightly. Trying to show you that he wants to deepen the kiss, obviously succeeding since you open your mouth and let his tongue inside.

You let his tongue slide against yours, humming in enjoyment, and you shift to straddle him, his beskar biting into your skin in some places and making you shiver from the cold metal. “I love you Din Djarin.” You declare breathlessly, kissing his jaw. You feel safe, knowing that he will protect you, and has a plan to protect you. He’s your soulmate and you couldn’t be happier about that.

“I love you.” He reaches down and palms your ass, hauling you closer to him. He’s going to fuck you again, there’s no way that he’s going to leave this building without having you once more, but for now he groans as you bite down on his ear. “Are you- are you going to be happy wearing armor again?” He pants out, wondering if you’ve been without it too long.

You smile against his cheek, “I’m excited to wear it. It’s been a long time. I’m ready to put it back on. Right now though, I want yours off of you. Now.” You say, reaching for the clasps of his chest plate.

He shudders slightly, not stopping you from starting to pull off his armor. The door is closed, unable to be opened from the outside and you are his soulmate. If there is anyone he should strip down with, it’s you. “Mesh’la.” He groans when you pull the chest plate off and work on his pauldrons. 

You work fast, used to taking off the armor for the years you wore it. When he’s in his flight suit, you reach for the zipper and look into his dark eyes. “Is this okay?” You ask, wanting to make sure he’s comfortable. When he says ‘yes’ you pull on the zipper, pulling it down to expose his bare skin. “Maker. You’re gorgeous.” You sigh, leaning forward to kiss his chest while you push the sleeves off of his shoulders.

He shudders again, soaking up the praise, and kicking off his boots while you grind down on his already throbbing cock. There is nothing to strip off of you except for the thin, sheer robe that you wear and he’s already pulling that off of you, leaning in to run his lips and tongue over your skin like he imagined. 

You sigh in delight at the feel of his tongue over your skin. Your hands caressing every inch that gets revealed to you until the flight suit is pooled at his waist. “Din. Mesh’la.” You murmur, fingers tracing the faded scars of past battles he has won. “Riduur.” You say unconsciously, feeling that with all of your heart.

Groaning, he pulls you against him, loving the feel of your breasts against his chest. "Maker." He breathes out, scraping his teeth over your shoulder. "Riduur. Yes, you are my riduur, already. I am yours." He promises.

Tangling your fingers in his hair, you enjoy the feel of him all over you, making you grind down onto his cock. “I’m yours. Have been since you first came here.” You tell him, loving how much skin is pressed against yours. You caress every scar, every blemish, following your fingers with kisses.

Din groans, nodding and starting to press fervent kisses into your skin. “Good.” He grunts into your chest. “Gonna keep you. You’re mine now.”

You push him backwards until he is laying on the bed, reaching for his flight suit to pull it down his legs until his hard cock rests on his lower stomach. You toss the suit aside and crawl back up his body, kissing his thighs and stomach. “Mesh’la. You’re so beautiful, Din.” You murmur.

He flushes slightly, unused to this praise. He reaches up and caresses your side gently. “I think you are the most gorgeous thing I’ve ever seen.” He confesses. “I’ve thought it since I walked into your room.”

You shift to straddle him, leaning down to softly kiss his lips before you reach behind you to grip his cock, positioning him at your entrance before you slowly sink down. “Riduur. Cyar’ika. I love you.” You declare, leaning down to kiss his lips.

Din moans your name, not the one you had gone by, your real name. Holding onto your hips like they are a lifeline and sliding them up your back to press you firmly against his body. Relishing every inch of you pressed together. “I love you.” He pants, nearly overstimulated by the feeling.

You kiss his neck, starting to move and you rock back and forth on his cock, unhurried and just enjoying every moment of being with him. You pull back to look into those beautiful brown eyes. Unable to believe you’re looking into the eyes of your soulmate and he loves you, he wants to protect you.

“Maker, cyar’ika.” Din watches you with sonder. “I never knew that I would be able to do this. Never thought I had a soulmate, or that I would meet them.” He rambles as you ride him at your slow and methodical pace. “But you’re perfect. You’re going to stay by my side.” 

Your hands are everywhere. In his hair, caressing his neck, cupping his cheeks, and you press your lips against his. His cock twitches inside of you and you know he loves kissing. It’s so intimate and you adore it. “Din. Oh Maker. Din. I love you.”

He loves the fact that the two of you are exchanging breaths. That he can feel the warmth of your breath across his skin. It makes him thrust up into you frantically every time you whimper and clench down around him. “I love you, oh fuck.” He groans, “I - cyar’ika, I need you to cum.” 

You pant, the pleasure taking over from the emotions, and you rock back onto his cock. Your hips pressed against his so the coarse hair at the base of his cock brushes your clit, and you are gone. Clamping down on his length, soaking him as you cry out his name, collapsing onto his chest.

Growling in pleasure, Din rolls you under him, thrusting into you harshly as he fucks you through your high. Wanting you to enjoy cumming for him this time most of all, this time was special. Bracing his arms on either side of your head and looking down at you blissed out in pleasure. 

Your head is pressed against the pillow and you force yourself to open your eyes, to watch your lover as he seeks his own high. You just about manage to rock your hips up to meet his and you cup his cheeks. “Cum for me riduur, cum for me Din.” You plead, wanting to see his face for the first time as he orgasms.

Your words push him over the edge. Gasping out and his brow pinching together in the most pleasure he’s ever felt, his entire body seizes up. He buries his cock deep and cries out your name, his eyes locked onto yours, helpless to look away while he can see your face so clearly. 

You swear you cum again just from watching him. He’s gorgeous and he’s yours. Your heart pounds in your chest and you stroke his back when he calms down, coming to a stop inside of you after painting your walls with his hot seed. “I love you.” You whisper, knowing it’s been said so many times but you mean every syllable.

Instead of pulling out of you, Din presses you deeper into the bed, kissing you softly. “I love you too, Riduur.” He knows that eventually you will have to exchange vows, but he already feels like you are one. You have been since he opened his eyes and saw yours without the digital display between them.

You smile against his lips, caressing his shoulders and back as he rests on top of you. “I want a life together. I want foundlings. Our own children. I want to be with you and be safe. That’s what I want most of all. Safety and to live free. I want to be with you for the rest of my life.”

Din hums softly. “You will be.” He promises, rolling onto his back and bringing you with him so he is sprawled out on top of him. “We will make sure that no one comes after you again and then we will make sure our clan is strong and large.”

****

“Slow down!” You call out to your son as he rushes down the hall after you received news that Din has returned to the covert. After leaving the club, Din had his contact change your chain code and the armorer refashioned your armor. As far as the Empire is concerned, you’re dead. You huff, annoyed you cannot wear your chest plate since you are heavily pregnant, ready to have your second child with Din any day now.

Din strides through the covert, eager to see you and Tye. Not stopping to talk to Paz or the armorer as he hears a shriek of happiness and grins under his helmet. He spots the little boy running for him, a wide smile on his face. “Buir!” He yells and launches himself towards Din when he’s within range. His father catches him and swings him around and tosses him up in the air while the young boy screams with laughter.

You smile under your helmet, excited to see your husband and you watch him with your son, making him laugh and rejoice that his father is home. “Riduur.” You coo, loving the way Din presses his helmet against yours in greeting. “I missed you.” You tell him while your son clings to his side.

“I missed you too.” Din promises softly, his free hand sliding over your belly gently. “How is our other ad doing?” He asks, having hurried home from his last hunt so he could be here. You are due any time now.

“Restless. Always kicking. I haven’t had a good night’s sleep since you left between this one moving around and our bed being cold.” You admit, covering your hand with his. “I can’t wait for them to come so I move around properly again. Especially when this one is running around everywhere.” You reach up to cup your son’s cheek, making him giggle.

“Soon there will be two.” Din’s hand slides down to your back and he starts rubbing, knowing that your body is taking a beating with his child inside you. “I will run Tye until he is sleeping in his food tonight and then I will make sure that your entire body relaxes.” He promises, only slightly smirking at the thought of touching you. You haven’t been in the mood for sex and that is perfectly fine with him, but he will make sure that your poor feet and back are rubbed and his tongue caresses your clit before you give birth to his next child. 

You moan softly at the thought, knowing that he will take good care of you. You take his gloved hand and bring it back down to your stomach. “I love you, riduur. So much.” You promise, leaning in to press your helmet against his once more. “Come on, let’s go to our rooms and we can get started on relaxing. This one needs a nap.” You reach out to caress your son’s cheek as he rests his head on Din’s shoulder, his eyes fighting the urge to close.

Din hums happily, turning and following you through the halls of the covert. He had been alone for so long and never knew that he needed a family of his own as much as he did, his clan expanding and growing beautifully everyday. All because instead of credits, he was given a card to your establishment. It had been the best payment he had ever received because he had found his soulmate. You. 

#pedro pascal #mando #the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian x f!reader #the mandalorian smut #the mandalorian fanfic #the mandalorian imagine #mando x reader #mando x you #mando x f!reader #mando smut #mando imagine #mando fanfic

[icecreambeach]

home again, for the first time

Mandalorian gen-fic (spoilers for s3 finale!)

Relationships: Din Djarin & Grogu

Word Count: 2,065

Rating: G

Tags: Post-Finale, Fluff, Comfort, Rest & Relaxation, Home, Returning Home, new home, Domestic Fluff, Domesticity, Din gently shaking a support beam in his new house like the dad he is, "oh yeah this is well built.", new dad, Fatherhood, Grogu's Bottomless Stomach, Din's Undying Patience, Good Parent Din Djarin, The Helmet Stays On, Star Wars CRIBS, My Sims interior decorating skills are finally coming in handy, This cabin fucking rules, Familial Love, Safety, Father and Son

Summary: It's time for Din and Grogu to rest, but not before Din does his Dad diligence.

**SPOILERS FOR S3 FINALE**

Excerpt below:

Even more surprising are the plants. Two leafy species dangle above the nook while three smaller pots sit in one of the windowsills. Din picks up one that looks like its thorns would pierce through his kute if given half a chance, turning it in the light. Its stem is pale green, but grows darker at each bulbous appendage. He’s seen similar plants growing in the deadlands far out from the city, where water rarely reaches. This one is comparatively smaller, but he knows they can grow taller than the house itself.  He puts that plant in the middle of the nook’s table. Maybe, when it’s bigger, he’ll plant it outside.  More surprises: the small conservator is full of food. Fruits, vegetables, meats. Some of it is even cooked, wrapped in matte paper just as intentionally as the pillows arranged on his bed. They put all of this here for me, Din realizes. Me and Grogu.  He’s still for a long moment. Then he turns to look out the window, but Grogu is not by the pond where he left him. Din looks down, scanning, and spots Grogu right next to him, climbing up a ministation housing tools. Something falls off and clatters to the ground.  “Hey,” Din leans over to scoop him up, “Let’s get a look around first.”

#the mandalorian fan fiction #mando fanfic #din djarin #grogu #a clan of two #my fic #mandalorian gen fic #the mandalorian #the mandalorian spoilers #mando s3 spoilers #spoilers #star wars

[sushiwriterhere]

the mandalorian *smut | 'angst

*breathe you in - The only one of your senses that seems to be clear, that seems to be working, is touch. Every nerve ending in your body is on fire, amplifying every brush of his fingertips to a thousand.

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian smut #the mandalorian x you #mando x reader #mando smut #mando x you #mando fic #mando fanfic #the mandalorian fic #the mandalorian fanfic #din djarin #din djarin fic #din djarin fanfic #din djarin smut #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #sushiwriterhere masterlist

[shanakin-skywalker]

Here’s another snippet of my Din Djarin x AFAB!reader Sex Pollen piece.

I figured since it takes me a while to finish my fics, I could post some as I go? Thanks! And I hope you all enjoy! -Shay 🤎

Rating: 18+

*MINORS DNI*

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#pedro pascal drabble #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal x reader #jose pedro balmaceda pascal #pedro pascal #the mandalorian drabble #the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian fanfic #the mandalorian smut #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian #mando drabble #mando fanfiction #mando fanfic #mando smut #mando x reader #mando #din djarin drabble #din dijarin fanfiction #din djarin fanfic #din djarin smut #din djarin x reader #din djarin #sex pollen

[moreliketearsofpain]

Old Friends | Mando x Reader

Part 1 of my new series ‘Weakness’

Part 2

Full story will also be on my Wattpad

"I didn't realize asking for a ride was so offensive on this planet!" I roll my eyes, wiping blood from my nose as I crouch behind a large crate.

"Show yourself you thieving SCUM!"

For a moment, the fact that you're currently in the midst of what is essentially a fight to the death slips your mind. You quickly stand from where you hid, turning to to face your opponent with a look of offense branding your face.

"Thief?! Jinshi, pal, don't you think that's a little ha-" your eyes widen and you drop to the floor, the sound of your rival's blaster, firing overhead. "Harsh, I was going to say harsh..."

"Stop hiding you coward!" Jinshi bellows, firing another shot, this time shattering the corner of the crate. You feel the anger building; for once in your life you hadn't been in the wrong, you'd come into town hoping to find passage on a ship but an old "friend" seemed to have other plans.

"Jinshi..you know I don't want things to end like this-" one last attempt at diffusing things without any more violence than what has already occurred . "But you also know that I'll do what I have to do to save my own ass. Always have, always will."

Silence. You don't hear so much as a footstep.

"Jinshi?" you stand slowly, blaster tight in hand as you survey the room. The confusion only lasts for a moment, as two stubby arms latch themselves around your neck from behind. Your weapon hits the floor and your hands shoot up, grabbing tightly onto the limbs that bind you.

"I told you you'd pay for what you did to my family!" Jinshi growls as his grip tightens, arms constricting around your neck like a snake preparing its meal.

"And I told you-" each word catches in your throat as you use all your strength to loosen his hold as much as possible. Even the air struggles to pass through. "I told you, it wasn't me!"

Another blaster shot rings through the room, followed by a heavy thud and suddenly your lungs are flooded once more. Eyes wide, you look around, hands still at your neck.

"Jinshi?" you crouch beside his limp body, feigning a look of sadness before reaching a hand under his collar and snatching a locket off of the corpse.

"Guess you were right...maybe I am a thief." standing now with a disgusted expression, you give your old friend a final word. "Bastard."

"If I had known it was you, I wouldn't have shot." A vaguely familiar voice echoes behind you. "Or maybe I would have...just not him."

"Mando." You turn smoothly, a sarcastic grin emerging as you see the familiar sheen of his beskar.

"I almost feel bad for the guy...I'm sure whatever his reason was for wanting you dead, it was justified." he takes slow steps forward, keeping a solid aim locked on you with his blaster as he closes the gap between you.

"Oh how I love visits with old friends.." you match his pace, stepping forward, not even bothering to get to your weapon.

"What did I tell you about that armor?" his voice is cold and demanding as he holds his stance. Your arms swing out at your sides as you glance down at your armor, the style of which resembles his own.

"Oh come on, don't you think it suits me?" the mischievous smile growing on your lips is just the icing on top of the faux-charm act you're performing.

"Take it off. Or I will." he takes one more step forward. With every inch lost between the two of you, his looming dominance grows. Even with his helmet inhibiting you from seeing the brows that you knew were furrowed in disgust, you could feel his power. It was a force that radiated out from within and showed in the way he held himself, but the intimidation wouldn't set you back.

"Oh please," you glance at his gun and back up. "You wouldn't want to damage the precious armor that you care so much for, now would you?"

"You talk too much."

"Says the man who saved my life."

"I said take it off. Now."

"Or else you will, right?" a final step is taken in his direction. "I'd like to see you try."

"What was that?" you could see his frustration in the way he cocked his head, his grip on the blaster shifting.

"I said..." your voice drops to a slow whisper as you lean closer. "I'd like to see you try..."

You maintain a deep stare at him, a stare so strong he could've sworn you could see right through his helmet. Without breaking your gaze you swiftly grab at his blaster, successfully disarming him and aiming his own weapon back at him, keeping it tight, pressed against his abdomen. Had it been surprise or anger that kept him quiet, you couldn't tell, but you used your new position of power to your advantage.

"Now what do you say...we make a deal?" the tip of the blaster presses more firmly against his body as your voice stays low.

"Unlikely." a simple reply from the man of few words, to which you respond with a feigned look of pleading innocence.

"Oh come on now Mando, I think we could help each other out, don't you? See, you want this armor...I want passage off this sorry excuse for a planet..." you raise your eyebrows, head tilting up. "Can't we come to some sort of agreement?"

There's a tense pause before he replies.

"Not happening." You relax your arm, letting the blaster fall to your side with a half-assed shrug.

"Ah...what a shame.." you turn on your heel, beginning to walk away without another word.

"Where the hell do you think you're going?"there's a spike of urgency in his voice as he takes a brisk step towards you. Even quicker than before, you turn around, blaster now held out straight, a firm grip holding perfect aim at his head.

"Ya know...that armor may be tough and all...but there's this nice little spot.." you slowly drop your aim ever so slightly down. "Right at your neck...a fully exposed jugular. Nothing but a bit of fabric to protect it, a fatal shot if made right...and I never miss."

One last pause before finishing your final offer to the hunter before you.

"I'll give you one last chance...you give me passage on your ship, I give you your silly little armor back, everyone wins."

He takes a moment to contemplate, his helmet not doing much to stop you from feeling the daggers his eyes are shooting through you. The pause is broken and he gently raises his hands in surrender, causing you to relax, blaster dropping to your hip.

"Fine." no other words are said, he simply extends his arm, his hand requesting the return of his weapon. But you shake your head, pulling the gun away from his reach.

"You'll get this back," you give a slight wave of the blaster. "Once I'm safely on that ship of yours."

All you hear is a muffled grunt as he pushes past you. Quickly, you grab your own blaster off the floor and follow him as he leads you to the spacecraft.

#the mandalorian #mando #mando x reader #din djarin #din djarin x reader #star wars #mando fanfic #weakness