#the mandalorian x female reader

[the-scandalorian]

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

He always waits for you inside the door.

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

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

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

You come to expect it. To expect him.

He’s consistent. He’s hesitant.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You tell yourself not to hope for more.

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

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

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

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

Until the water shifts and he touches you.

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

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

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

You part your lips, and his fingers still.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ve been dying to know, Mando.”

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

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

A rough exhalation. Noncommittal, a little wry.

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

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

“Sit for me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

One day. Maybe.

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

“Just like that.”

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

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

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

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

Your part is done. 

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

Relief courses through your veins.

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

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

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

“Yes. Fuck, please—”

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

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

The offering of such intimacy, a secret shared.

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

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

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

“Are you going to—?”

“Yeah,” you breathe.

“Good.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The door shuts behind you with a click.

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

#din djarin x you #the mandalorian x you #mando x you #din djarin x f!reader #mando x f!reader #the mandalorian x f!reader #din djarin fanfiction #the mandalorian fanfiction #din djarin x female reader #mando x female reader #the mandalorian x female reader

[undercoverpena]

cold, lips blue

din djarin x f!reader | masterlist

summary: din takes you to see the snow, and then uses his body heat to warm you up.

warnings: softest smut soft!din. p in v. no use of y/n. loosely season one/two. same reader as isn't it - but no requirement to read. wordcount: 3.1k

With him, you’re discovering wonderlands.

Eyes finding places your dreams couldn’t even manifest, dream or conjure—shades coming to life, appearing in mixed colours and strong hues.

Each sight makes your heart do a double take as you steal extra seconds from plans to take it all in.

Today’s wonder is all white.

It’s littered with occasional grey stones and slightly blued pebbles. The piles of them doing their best to intersperse, to be a break in the rolling snow-covered hills. Provide some form of depth, give something for your eyes to latch onto—to prove there’s vastness.

The first solid thought you’d had when the hull door opened was, it’s bright. Almost uncomfortably, so,

Eyes squinting instantly, forcing yourself to see through your lashes, forearm coming up to shield you further as the wind howled and flakes began their escape into the ship.

Eyes squinting instantly, yet you force yourself to see through your lashes, forearm coming up to shield you further as the wind howled. Its mournful wail echoes through the air and flakes dance in a frantic ballet, their delicate forms swirl like spirits wishing to escape into the ship.

Stepping outside, more snow finds refuge on your cheeks, forehead and nose, resting there momentarily, before vanishing as though they’d never existed. They leave behind only the sensation, a fleeting tickle, like the echo of a memory. Just like a kiss, its presence lingers, an imprint on the skin, brief yet unforgettable.

Just like him, you suppose. Just like all the kisses the two of you have shared.

The last one, in particular.

The softness of it. The way he so cautiously slanted his mouth over yours, cupped your head in his hand and spent seconds, minutes mapping out your lips before he even slid his tongue past your teeth.

You’d made notes of things too—the low grunt he tried to bury in his throat, the way his body slowly relaxed itself on top of yours. All welcome, a weight you’d forever wear.

Forever. An odd word. Seven letters, and yet it expands through space and time. It’s ever-lasting, yet could be gone in a moment.

Turning on the spot, your senses tune in to the sounds of it crunching under your boots. Bits of it find shelter within the worn seams, seeping into the crevices as if seeking solace in the fabric that has weathered so much, all over-worn and loved.

You’re glad, in a sense.

Even if your toes grow colder and liquid begins to slide under the arch of your foot—it just means you can feel more of it. Soak as much of it in, and let it solder itself to you, so a piece of it lives within when the three of you turn your back on this place.

You hear him follow, and all you think is that he's welded a part of himself in you too.

A fragment at first—and now you’re sure he’s carved himself something larger. It's less about ordering you to stay behind, grasping for you in dark spaces that turn into heady nights spent panting. Now, it’s more about crawling in beside you because you know to wait, trusting him to always return. It's more about the way you can map his face with your palms—bask in the sensation of his breath on your collarbone...

Cold stretches there now.

You’re sure if you slide open your layers, the skin would pebble before it would begin to ache—to become desperate for cover. You wonder if your bones would want to shake and shiver; whether your blood would slow, if your mind would become a little less heavy?

“This okay?”

He speaks—making the two words slice through the howl and the heavy breaths you’re consuming.

Asking it as though a smile hadn’t been stitched into your face since the moment he’d told you he had a surprise. A treat. As though he hadn’t watched a twinkle in your eye because you know he doesn’t make half-promises and he does not give without thought.

“More than okay,” you reply, voice gentle, it flowing from your lips as you let your gaze rest on him.

Let it sit there.

Allow your mind to begin to walk away with itself as you recall the way he jolted, the soft murmur he exclaimed when he danced between being awake and asleep.

You wonder if he regrets this. Whether the way you curled into him to soothe had been a step too far; whether your palm flat to his cheek, knuckles tracing the stubble that leaves welcomed burns along your thighs, had been too much for him.

He hadn’t said as much.

Not even once.

Sighing, letting it trickle past your mouth, you stare up—the sight of frost falling seemingly coming from nowhere and yet somewhere. Lost in it. Attempting to trace, to find the origination, only to find yourself struggling to see, to focus—too bright, you think again, chin dropping, eyes closing as you take another deep breath.

It’s why it slips out, is spoken before you realise it’s left your lips. It travels in wispy condensation, hand outstretched, palm upturned, as the words fill the silence: I’ve never felt falling snow.

You hear the sound of his boots crunching snow, the gap between the two of you closing as you flick your eyes to him—not halting him, but rather ensuring he knows you see him.

The dangerous side and the gentler side; the one who hunts and the one who caretakers. And all the rest in the middle.

You drop your gaze to him—the one more beloved than ship, principles or bounties. Snow resting atop his green head, ears twitching when certain flakes make contact.

Then, you stare at the helmet. Silently asking, all done in an exchange, a purposeful distraction—with a reply given in a tilt, a descent of his beskar-covered shoulders before the child was placed on the ground.

“I’ll be gentle.”

“It’s not him I’m worried about.”

You snort. "You trust me, Mando?"

He says nothing, which says a lot.

And you allow a deep inhale to follow—one that flows ice through your nose, forcing it to crash into the sides of your lungs as you almost gasp.

It’s a different kind of cold here.

A lot of things are different now.

You don’t concede to the ache in your bones or the weariness in your jaw from the relentless clenching of your teeth. You hide it beneath a veneer of stoicism and resolve.

Because if you do, the three of you will leave.

Stubbornness, some would say; utreekov he would say.

All under his breath, later translated when your mouth wraps around his cock—when you hollow cheeks and trace the tip of your tongue along the slit as salt kisses the roof of your mouth.

He decides for you when you blow into your gloves. A firm declaration, bold: Grogu needs to sleep.

It is less a question, and more of a statement; not quite an order, but he leaves little room to argue. The child picked up, scooped practically from the ground, leaving you to face the back of them both.

If you were closer, you’d likely see your dismay reflected in the beskar. The ball in your hand melting, before you let it fall in a half-formed lump to the ground. Letting it reunite with others similar to it before your soles flatten it, crush it back into nothingness.

You shiver, with no attempt to hide it this time, his eyes no longer a threat—no necessity to fight it or bury it. Letting it rumble through you as your teeth move on their own accord. Knowing, without touching, that your lips are likely colder than the melting snow that had been in your hand.

It might not have been the case if you hadn’t taken six snowballs to the face in the last so many moments.

The balls had been cupped and formed in your palms before you'd thrown them, only to have them flung back at you. A test, an experiment. A training session for Grogu and another thing ticked off from the list of things you’d ever done.

Yet, still, there are many things left.

A never-ending listicle—but, there alongside the ones for him are even more questions you're not sure you'll get an answer on.

They won't be shared. You won't whisper them to him when you’re both bare and catching your breaths. They'll rot inside of you, leave them tucked behind sinew and held back by stronger muscles than you have anywhere else.

You know the protocol when you are back in the warmth.

Silently disrobing, entering the refresher—followed by dressing and the rest of your usual routine as the other two sit up top, one resting and the other doing his utmost to avoid.

A thing that rarely bothers you, except now, your skull throbs—pounds. A sudden desire to call out his name, to ask him to come, for no reason other than to be held. The back of your hand finds nothing but chill, cold and sweat when it brushes your forehead, an unsteadiness to your walk as you manoeuvre—so reminiscent of the first few days on the ship—his name being swallowed.

Bed, you think.

Moving slowly, each step is akin to a baby's crawl until you finally grasp the comfort of it before sliding up further into it, encasing yourself, wrapping until you’re closer to a ball than a person.

You’re not sure how long you lie, how much time passes, but when he calls your name it sounds distant—far off.

And, so he calls it again, and again. A chant, a melody, it carries around the walls and greets your ear each time. There's just no energy to reply, nothing else inside of you than being curled and willing warmth to stretch out across skin, muscle and ossein.

Maker.

He breathes it. Allows it to flow out. But, it isn’t until his hand knocks away the sheet, fingers brushing over your calf do you hear him hiss.

“Kriff, you’re freezing.”

You murmur something, mind willing for an I know but not entirely sure what hits the air. Barely able to do more than remain still, to stop yourself from shivering.

Worth it, you add. Repeating it, the bridge to the song of your name he'd begun earlier, until you open your eyes and find yourself in the dark.

It's all-encompassing in its cloak of midnight, the darkness enveloping you like a heavy shroud, pressing against your skin with an oppressive weight, suffocating any glimmer of light and casting you into a realm of shadows and ambiguity.

Then you hear him undress.

Able to tell now, able to spot when each item is placed down—like a strip tease you’ve never been privileged to actually see, but the routine is all but memorised.

You want to reply, tell him you'll be fine as a tremble rips through you—finding it’s easier to keep your teeth together. Easier to tremble and shiver and shake.

That is, until you feel him shift, the presence of him looming before his body begins to smother yours.

It's all broad, heavy—heartbeat hammering against your skin as it ripples a kind of tune through your bones. But it's the warmth you grasp for; bring closer. Your fingers digging into skin and muscle, needing him flush to you more than you need to breathe.

It’s not romantic, but in a way it also is.

Even if shrouded in a blanket of faux night, there’s something intimate about the way he feels around you. It's far softer, slower movements.

His fingers find your cheek. Thumb brushing over your lips, likely cold, lips blue, as you bite back the instinct to let it slide into your mouth. Fight hollowing cheeks around the appendage, remind him how good your mouth can feel.

Instead, you focus on him. How this time, neither of you said this wasn’t it. This wasn't the place—isn't it. No entertainment that snowy-topped hills and rolling mounds of ice could be a place he could ever leave you.

You’re thankful, more than grateful.

Wishing to say as much as you shift your body under his, his thigh slotting more gracefully between yours, so much so, that makes you whimper. A sound that makes his head move, shift quickly.

A shyness falling over you, a veil of it, weightless but still there.

You're sure he's reading you, scanning you, deciphering everything the noise could mean even in the dark.

But, it's obvious that you want him. A thing you almost shrug out, but he shifts again, purposefully rocking his thigh, intentionally pulling another whimper that proves that you're throbbing. That you need him. More than a requirement, more than survival—

Warm me. Keep me warm.

Fingers sliding to his waist, resting, thumb stroking as you nuzzle your nose against his cheek. A sign without words, a signal that flashes in its own way.

Your wants rolling, clumping. Not too dissimilar to the snowballs you had made earlier—them all compacting, hardening.

Please, Mando.

Even if he thinks you just want him, you want more than the solid length of him inside of you or his palms on the back of your thighs.

It's a thing which circulates, and you ponder over it. Turn it over when you wake before him and let sit on the back of your tongue when he's showing you what buttons and switches mean on the ship.

Because you want to know his smile, the shade of his eyes—see the faces he pulls when he tilts his head and know the unfiltered sound of his laugh. You want him to never let you go. To never let you slip under, to hold you, to always be—

“Mesh'la…”

You hadn’t known you’d been speaking out loud. Letting confessions fall, like the earlier snowflakes. Except they hadn't landed softly, or gently. But rather laboriously, thickly—making the small space feel much narrower.

Realisation slams your heart into your chest, halting thoughts, and silencing your apparent babbling.

Head turning, silence doubling—air tightening—before you think and speak, “Should be saying that t-to you.”

He hums, it vibrating through him, fluttering over where your chest meets his. “I’m not... not mesh'la.”

“Don’t need to see you to know that you are, Din.”

You’re cautious with it, his name.

Barely used, barely warranted. A thing given to you one night when your face was buried into his neck—a silent promise made when he’d handed it to you. An offering.

You feel his head rise, each of his muscles taut, and you close the gap, moaning your gratitude into his mouth, all messy.

Rustling sheets sounded, suddenly aware of him. Feeling him. Pressed against you, heavy and leaking, as the rest of him remains tense. Caged in his bicep, mouth unwilling to release yours, to be anywhere but reading the rest of your wants straight from your tongue.

"Got you," he moans, signing it against you as he moves, positions himself before you can feel him nudging at your entrance, "I've got you."

And he does.

Slick with need for him, in a slow thrust, he sinks into you. Deeper and deeper. Clutching onto him, hanging more imperatively to him as he pauses, lets you adjust—mouth sliding over yours as he waits for the sign to move, to go, permission to further set you aflame.

You think each time you’ll be used to how he stretches you, how delicious it feels. How you’re so full, so content, and how he feels all warm and soft against you. But this time it’s different. Not just in the way he moves, but in the way he kisses you, in the way he murmurs soft phrases to your neck and collarbone.

Some you make out and make heat rush to your cheeks. Some you begin to try to translate before a drag of his cock sends the words spiralling into a mess of letters that fade as quickly as they were spoken.

Toes curling, fingers digging further into his waist and shoulder—leaving something on him, even if he’ll bury it in armour.

It's a thing you’ll know. He’ll know. A thing which makes him bite down on your shoulder and ask for more.

A demand which makes your back arch, makes you drop a curse as your vision blurs and your toes curl as his pace picks up.

Because you’re trembling for an entirely different reason now. So close to fracturing, to coming apart—letting have it all, the good, the bad and the parts which have rotted before he lay beside you. Seeing stars in a galaxy of nothing all because of him—I’m close, so close.

"Let me feel you."

All gruff, grunted into your neck as you tighten, clench, tangling fingers into his curls for leverage.

It should feel like falling, but it doesn’t. Never does.

It feels like an explosion. A pause—like you’re floating, not rising or descending. Just there. Flames roaring through you, burning away any leftover chill, as you flutter and howl out his name.

You writhe, whine. Moan. Paint the small space with nothing but pleasure and thankfulness and Din, oh, Din, as he tells you how good you are, how well you take him.

And, he’s not far behind. Can tell from the babbling and then the choked back where he emits as you croak back inside. Internally pleading, wishing, crossing fingers and toes that he does so, when you feel him spill into you when your name sounds both sweet and sinful as he groans it.

As he buries a word that sounds similar to mine into your neck, hips stuttering and stammering as you wrap a leg around him in response.

Yours.

There’s a moment.

The air tightens when breaths are caught and heads are clearer. The space the two of you are in is on edge. Subconsciously tensing. While you, after the softness of the moment, are unsure whether you’ll be rewarded with more or something akin to the opposite.

He answers by pulling you closer, no space between the two of you. Just sweat and skin and nil else, as his mouth and hot breath rest against your cheek, your own fingers finding purpose in his curls.

That’s when you hear it, a whisper, barely discernible from his heaving breaths: They’re brown. My eyes are brown.

Smiling, you swallow.

Nodding, something you hope he can feel.

Because a shade is something, far more than you had this morning—and it’s plenty enough, for now.

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

[firstofficerwiggles]

A Beskar Valentine

Pairing: Din Djarin x Female Reader

Rating: G

Word Count: ~2300

Warnings: Just lots of fluff with a little kissing. Also Din being a bit clueless when it comes to romance.

Author’s note: Happy Valentine’s Day, my darlings! I thought you’d all enjoy some fluffy Valentine’s day fun with Din. Whether you love this day or despise it, just know that Din adores you! 

“I brought you a new rock.”

You turn around from the shelf you were just reorganizing to see your favorite customer, Nevarro’s favorite Mandalorian, Din Djarin. You’re about to thank him, when a loud coo breaks in.

“We brought you a new rock,” Din corrects himself, as his little green baby wants you to know that he was also part of the mission. Not that you think finding a pretty rock for you was the mission, but it’s so nice that Din thinks about you when he’s away.

“Thank you so much, to both of you,” you reply with a smile and a pat on the head for little Grogu, “I’m excited to add it to my collection.”

Din has been bringing you rocks from his travels for a few years now. It started when he was a bounty hunter. Whenever he was on Nevarro, he would stop by your shop, a sort-of general store, and buy different supplies. You didn’t think he’d ever taken much notice of you, he barely even spoke to you, but one day after you gave him his bundle of goods, he placed a shiny red stone in your hand.

“I found this on Mustafar, bounty fell right next to it, I thought you’d like another one for your shelf,” he had told you as he pointed to the display shelf next to the desk where your register was located. 

There was a small pink rock there, one that you’d found on a walk one day. You’d placed it there because it was pretty. Rather bemused, you placed the new red rock next to the pink one. 

“Thank you very much,” you replied, smiling at the mysterious helmeted man. 

He simply nodded and ever since then, he’d shown up from time to time with a new and interesting rock for you. You like to say he’s your friend, even if most of your encounters have just been right here in the shop. There were a few times he asked you to go on a walk with him, which you gladly did. You had hoped those walks might turn into something more, but it seems it wasn’t in the stars. Instead Din has been rather occupied with saving his son as well as the rest of the galaxy from evil, or at least that’s how you like to think of it. 

You look at the new rock he’s placed in your hands; it’s very shiny, a bright grey, almost silver and shaped like a heart. 

“It’s beautiful, Din, I love it,” you tell him, your voice soft. 

You look at your rock shelf, adorned with all the tokens he’s gifted you. You practically melt, out of all the pretty stones he’s brought you, this new one looks the most romantic. You try not to think too much into it, but still, your own heart likes to hope.

“I thought it looked a bit like beskar,” he comments in a thoughtful voice. He tips his helmet at you in what you’ve determined is his ‘thinking expression’.

“It does, a beskar heart, it’s perfect for you,” you reply, finding a special place for it on the shelf, right in the middle where it stands out.

“I thought you’d like it,” he states, “It came from Mandalore.”

“That’s incredible,” you say, touching the rock again, “I heard there was quite a battle there. I’m glad you’re alright, you and the little one. I have to admit I was worried for you when you left last time.”

Not to be too dramatic, but you thought you might never see him again. You figured the fighting would be fierce after seeing the way the Mandalorians fought off the pirates on Navarro. And although you had faith in Din as a fighter, you sort of figured he’d make Mandalore his home.

“You’re sweet to be worried about me,” Din says, “But as you can see, we’re back home no worse for the wear.”

“Home?” you can’t hide the note of hope in your voice.

“Yes, Magistrate Karga granted me a nice track of land, and we have a home there now,” he explains proudly, “I’d like to invite you to come see it, maybe the day after tomorrow?” He suggests. You can’t be sure but he almost sounds a touch nervous as he asks.

“I’d love to come see your new home,” you respond eagerly. 

“Good, we’ll pick you up in the speeder at 5 in the evening,” Din says, knowing exactly when you usually close up the shop.  

With reassurances that you’ll see them soon, you wrap up a few treats for Grogu and Din to enjoy at home and you wave to them as they head off.

“I think she really liked the rock, buddy,” Din says to Grogu as they walk home. “And soon she’ll get to see the nice home we’ve made. I really hope she likes it.” 

Din has planned his entire home with exactly two people in mind, his magical son, Grogu and you, his sweetheart. He’s been courting you for years now, and it’s about time he made you an official offer of marriage. He’s wanted to ask you to be his riduur for a while, but the timing was always off. But now, he has a home and a new job with the Republic, he knows he can be a good and supportive husband to you.

Grogu is babbling at him, he points towards the front yard of the home as they arrive.

“Yes, buddy, I’m sure she’ll enjoy playing with you and seeing your frog pond too,” Din tells him. He notices that Grogu has already managed to open the package of treats you gave them.

Din laughs, “She knows your favorite foods already, I’d say if either of us has the luck to charm her, you’re our best bet.”

Din spends the next day putting all the finishing touches on the house. He wants it all to look its absolute best for your visit. Grogu has been helping too. He’s drawn several pictures that are now hanging up all around the walls. There might be a couple that were drawn directly on the wall, but Grogu was so proud of them that Din didn’t have the heart to scold him. Instead he dropped a kiss on Grogu’s head and told him,

“You’re quite the artist, son.”

At 5 on the dot, Din’s speeder pulls up to your door. Grogu is strapped into a baby seat in the backseat, waving at you merrily. Din hops out so that he can help you in, and you’re impressed once again by how much of a gentleman he always is. 

“What’s all this?” he asks as he sees your arms filled with packages.

“Oh a few housewarming gifts,” you say with a smile, “And a present for the baby.”

“Thank you, that’s very kind of you,” Din replies, sincerely. 

The drive to his land is brief and Din points out various landmarks and sights on the way. If you didn’t know better, you’d say he was trying to impress you. When you pull up in front of his house, the sun is just starting to set, turning his home a lovely golden color. You could not have a better introduction to the place. It looks cozy and welcoming, exactly the type of house you wish you could have instead of the cramped apartment above your shop. 

“Oh Din, it’s charming,” you breath out your praise in a happy sigh. 

“I’m pleased you think so,” Din responds, his voice a bit gruffer than usual. He clears his throat, “Let me show you around.”

With a hand at the small of your back, Din guides you around his new house. Grogu toddles ahead pointing out different things and sometimes floating them towards you with a wave of his hand. You know he has powers, but seeing them in action makes you gasp a few times. 

“Everything looks so nice, you’ve both made a lovely home,” you tell them as you walk through the rooms. 

Din insists on showing you every little thing about the house, asking your opinion and seeming genuinely interested in hearing it. 

“And now it’s time for my favorite part, the backyard,” Din says with a small flourish as he throws the back door open and reveals a nice garden that has recently been planted. There are a few hearty flowering plants and a little vegetable and herb garden too. There is also a small stone path leading to the middle where there is a pretty mosaic of different colored rocks with several red colored stones making a heart. There are a couple lounge chairs there too, making it a nice place to sit and enjoy the fresh air.

Grogu tugs at your leg, urging you forward to see all the pretty rocks.

“Patu!” he says, sounding proud and happy, at least from your perspective. 

“It’s lovely, Grogu, very pretty,” you reply encouragingly and the baby babbles more at you.

“He and I want to know if you like your rock garden? We both worked on it together,” Din tells you. 

“What? My rock garden? You- you made this for me?” You are utterly stunned to hear this.

“Yes, we both wanted a special place for you,” Din replies. You can’t see his face of course but you could swear he must be smiling.

“Why? I don’t understand,” you tell him looking perplexed. You can’t fathom why he would make something like this for you at his house.

“Well, you’re my sweetheart, and I know I haven’t made you a formal offer, but after about four years of courting, I’m hoping that someday soon this will be your house too,” Din sounds sweet and hopeful. 

You stare at Din with your mouth opened in pure shock. You don’t have any idea how to respond to that. Your mind is reeling. The word sweetheart keeps repeating in your head on a loop. You blink at him and finally manage to respond,

“I’m sorry, you- you’re courting me? Din, maybe you could have told me you were courting me?” Your voice comes out sounding high-pitched and quite incredulous. 

Din makes a noise that sounds suspiciously like “oops.”

You keep going, your shock making you babble,

“Don’t get me wrong, Din, I’m thrilled that you think of me as your sweetheart and it makes me swoon that all this time you’ve thought of me like that, I’ve always liked you so much and hoped we could be more someday, but I never realized, I just didn’t know.” 

Din steps close to you, his hand reaches out to cup your cheek. The gesture calms you down and you stare into the dark T of his visor, hoping you’re looking into his eyes. 

“I’m sorry, sweetheart, I thought it was obvious, that’s why I was always bringing you the rocks and making sure to come see you,” he sounds a bit sheepish, “I’m not the best at romance and I guess I should have made it a lot clearer.”

You let out a soft sigh, “It would have been nice to know my feelings weren’t one-sided all this time.” You tilt your head and look at him with a slightly exasperated smile. 

“But you do have feelings for me,” Din points out, sounding a touch smug.

“I do, you handsome, infuriating man,” you reply with a laugh.

“And I have feelings for you, romantic, affectionate feelings,” he clarifies unnecessarily at this point. He pulls you closer, dipping his head so that the crown of his helmet touches your forehead.

“What am I going to do with you, Din Djarin?” you ask, marveling at this turn of events.

“I think you should kiss me, so that way you really know how I feel,” Din suggests.

As you watch him with wide eyes, Din tips his helmet up just enough to reveal his full lips and his rather scruffy jaw. You gravitate towards him automatically and your lips meet his in a sweet and tender kiss. He holds you close and gently explores your mouth with his, kissing you as if he’s been dreaming of it for ages. Something he confirms when you eventually pull away.

“If only you knew how long I’ve wanted to do that,” Din says. 

“Probably as long as I have,” you tell him, beaming at him and leaning in for one more precious kiss. 

You hug the little guy close and kiss his cheeks. Grogu responds with a happy giggle as he cuddles up to you. He turns to Din, holding out his hand and babbling happily. 

A tug at yours and Din’s legs have you cutting the kiss short as someone is tired of being ignored. Din scoops little Grogu up in his big hand. The baby immediately lunges for you, his little arms thrown open and a wide smile on his face.

“I guess someone else wants kisses too?” you ask with a giggle. 

“Alright, buddy, I’ll ask her,” Din says, patting Grogu’s head. He looks at you, “Well, what do you say? Will you be our sweetheart and come spend as much time as possible here in your rock garden with us?” 

“I’d love nothing more,” you tell him. You look at the garden again, “Who would have thought a rock would lead to all this?”

“I always knew it would,” Din replies. 

Thank you so much for reading!!!

Tag list: @boomtowngirl @kavecika @becks-things @mysticalgalaxysalad @catsnkooks @starlightrows @tailorvizsla @bitchin-beskar @lilhawkeye3 @acourtofsnakes @grogusmum @buzzybeebee @deannie13 @ladykatakuri @noodlesfics @the-good-shittt @everythingyouwanted @jewfro24 @vaderthepotater @pinkiemme @laichka @myeternalsin @kazthedestroyer @writeforfandoms @trekkingaroundasgard @beskarmermaid @flightlessangelwings @mandoloriancookie @theofficialbugs @heyitsaloy

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

[chaotic-iguana]

HI OMG UR FICS ARE INTOXICATING WTH!!!

Can I please req a Din Djarin where he and the reader are travelling together and reader is bubbly/sunshine personality and then she admits her feelings and Din doesn’t reciprocate at first.. then her personality changes and she’s all sad and he can’t stand it!!!! Cause he does love her and he can’t bare to see her that way!!!

Super angst and fluff please 😭😭😭😭 THANK H IF U DECIDE TO WRITE THIS 🤍🤍

HELLO THANK YOU SO MUCH!! ofc im writing anything u request lysm ur the best plus the prompt is so adorable ahufsdkfjhfs. just to try sumth new, im gonna switch it up and do this one from din’s pov. lmk what you think!!

Enough

Summary: Din rejects reader when she confesses her feelings to him even though he feels the same, only to regret it later.

Pairing: Grumpy! Din x Sunshine! Reader (no use of y/n)

Wordcount: 2.6k

Warnings: none, just a lot of angst and fluff

masterlist

——————————————————————————————————

Din Djarin was not a good man. He was aware of this, which is why he was careful not to get to close. Not to taint things with his darkness; the destruction that seemed to shadow him wherever he went. He learned to turn his head away when you sung softly to the child, to clench his fists and keep himself from reaching for you when you giggled at your own terrible (adorable) jokes, to steel himself against your pleas to purchase every single fuzzy fabric you saw, no matter the form. Socks, blankets, shirts, trousers, even a kriffing hat, which Din stopped and let you buy just to stop the stares he was getting from people at the way you were practically jumping in your spot, pointing at the shop’s display. 

But despite his best wishes, Din was not a strong man, either. Not as strong as he needed to be, to resist you. You, with a beaming smile that never failed to make him blush under his helmet; with tender, caring hands that looked so soft that Din wanted to rip his beskar off so you could brush them against him, just once. Your hair, which smelled so sweet that Din could catch traces of it through the beskar. Your eyes, almost siren-like when you blinked up at him while rambling away about something. The way you scrunched your nose with a snort when you couldn’t hold in a laugh. The fact that you had never, ever asked for his name - or an explanation of his helmet, for that matter - even when he knew you hadn’t heard of Mandalorians before. The lilting notes of laughter in your voice before you turned to him with a sly smile, offering him with a witty quip he would have killed others for voicing, before throwing back your head and howling. No, Din was nowhere near strong enough to stand a single damn chance against you. 

He could hear you humming to yourself and the baby while you heated some broth, stopping to lean down and pepper kisses all over Grogu’s face as he cooed happily. Walking into the cockpit, he grunted in acknowledgement of your “Hey, Mando! Sleep well?” before turning to the child and nudging his helmet against his wrinkly forehead. When he turned around to see a gentle smile gracing your face in acknowledgement of the scene in front of you, he straightened up and cocked his helmet as if daring you to comment. 

He was itching for a fight: something, anything to stop the sweet torture of your presence which seemed to breathe life into your surroundings, no matter where you stood. You’d find a way to brighten a graveyard, Cyar’ika. Your smile tightened slightly before you presented him with a bowl of his own, brushing past him to take the child in your arms and leave the cockpit. Every muscle in his body was tense, his mind begging him to let you stay, to apologise for his hostility. To hear you prattle on about something menial while he ate, to revel in the domesticity of being with you. Not like that, of course. You were simply too good for him. Too perfect; too pristine. Your eyes too bright and your heart too soft for him to be worthy of your love. And so Din slipped off his helmet, ducked his head, and ate in silence.

He had noticed that lately, you still spoke to him, but you’d leave with the child more often. He could hear conspiratorial whispers sometimes, the child nodding and babbling his own input as if the two of you were hiding something. You weren’t awkward around him, per se, just less readily giving of your laughter, your jokes, your mindless chatter. All Din knew was that his mind would not rest unless he confronted you, and soon. A restless yearning for your erratic, unnecessarily bright gestures gave way to the anxiety spooling in his gut. Had you finally seen him for what he is?

So later that day, after the supply run when you had fed and put Grogu to sleep, he approached you in the cockpit. He shuffled uneasily behind you, shifting his weight from side to side as he waited for you to break the silence. But uncharacteristically, you just continued to stare into hyperspace without a word. When Din cleared his throat, you turned your head his way. But your gaze was flitting around; your hands fiddling nervously in your lap. Why were you apprehensive? 

“Are you…” Din swallowed, unsure of how to phrase his question, “okay?” Are we okay?You looked up at him then, your eyes wide with anxiety, before looking down at your lap again. Could you be…scared? Of me? 

But then you took a deep breath; the nerves fading from your face and giving way to a look of complete resignation, your shoulders slumping with the weight of inevitability. Your gaze met his visor, and he could see that your fingers were lightly curled into fists.

“I don’t really know how to do this, Mando.” Another deep breath. The colour has faded from your face and suddenly you seemed so small, folded in on yourself, that Din had never had to wrestle harder with his own self-control to stop himself from pulling you into his chest and holding you; comforting you, until you’re back to your bouncy self. “You know that I like most people, right?” He nods; you do seem to like and be liked by most people he’s come across, even the ones he would deem unworthy to so much as look at you. 

“I’ve always really enjoyed meeting new people, and making friends. Life is easier when you’ve got people, right?” You’re rambling again, but instead of the usual enthusiasm lacing your tone, crippling worry dripped from your every word. Are you leaving him? 

“I think-I know that I like you more than I like everyone else. Anyone else. I like everything about you more than I’ve ever liked about anyone else and I just…” you trailed off, gulping. “It feels like you and Grogu are my family, already. And I guess I just can’t help but wonder if you might want more than this, like I do. I-fuck it-I’m in love with you, Mando.” And then you’re shying away from him again, biting your lip as you search his visor for a reaction. 

You’re in love with him? This has to be a joke. Din waited for the catch, standing unmovingly in front of you as if waiting for one of your signature punchlines to come tumbling out of your mouth. When it doesn’t, he just gaped at you, his mind overwhelmed with too many thoughts to even say anything. A part of him had never been happier than this moment right here; never loved you more than right now. But the other, more dominant part of him was practically reprimanding him. And what now, idiot? Profess your undying love to her and subject her to a life as the wife of a bounty hunter? No comfortable homes, no proper vacations or even neighbors. A life on the run. With you, dikuit - a man who has never been loved enough to understand how to reciprocate. There is nothing you can give her. There is nothing you can do. 

Din bristled under your gaze, suppressing a wince at the words that came out of his mouth next. “You mean to tell me that you are in love with a man you have never even see the face of? A man who hasn’t even told you his name? Stop lying to yourself. There is no ‘family’. You are the child’s caretaker, and nothing more. It would be best for you not to forget that in the future.” He wanted to slap a hand to his mouth, to bite his tongue - anything, anything not to see the way you wilted in front of him as his words registered. You slumped further in the chair, shoulders curving inwards as you brought your knees to your chest to curl up into a protective position, as if he was hurting you. Frustrated by the fact that he could neither pull you in his arms to comfort you, nor find it in himself to continue spewing bullshit he didn’t mean, Din just turned and walked away. He pretended not to hear the muffled crying echoing through the ship that night. 

——————————————————————————————————

That had been three weeks ago. He’d gone for a hunt right after, returning within the week. What he found back at the ship made a part of him wish he wouldn’t have returned at all. Your eyes sat bloodshot on hollow cheeks, sunken in your face as dark blotches formed under them. You were quiet, even with the concerned child - all the singing, humming goneas if it had never been. Grogu kept gesturing to you when he father looked his way, as if asking what was wrong. Din knew what was wrong. He just didn’t know how to fix it. He couldn’t find it in himself to leave you alone again, so he’d been mumbling excuses to you each morning as to why he was still on the ship. You’d never answer, just offering him the barest dip of your chin. Din hadn’t just rejected you-he’d been cruel about it. And he hadn’t slept since the night he’d spat those pathetic words at you in an effort of self-preservation, either. The moment kept replaying in his head over and over: your initial nervousness, the words you’d said to him, and your wince at the ones he’d reciprocated with. 

But like he’d admitted: Din Djarin was not a strong man. For you; only for you, he would crumble. To see your usual cheeriness replaced by this emptiness nearly made his knees buckle. You’d stopped eating, too - quietly slipping your food to Grogu, whose concern was overridden by his constant hunger. He’d done this: out of fear of hurting you, he’d reduced you to a mere shadow of what you used to be by doing it anyways. Out of his fear of fucking it up, he’d gone and done that exact thing without even trying to make it work. It was unacceptable to him, to go without hearing your laugh or your jokes or your humming. Not to see you giggling with Grogu. Fix it then, dikuit. So he would. 

Din walked into the cockpit, picked Grogu up from his place on the floor, and whispered a soft apology to him before shutting him in his cot. Grogu, ever-understanding, had just pressed a claw to his helmet and nodded as if wishing him luck. Thanks kid, I’m going to need it. He’d seen your confusion when he had taken Grogu out of the cockpit, but youremained mute. Walking back towards you, Din could feel his chest hurting at the way your hands shook and your eyes glossed over when he got closer. 

“I’m sorry.” His words have no effect; a tilt of your head is the only proof you offer to show that you heard him. Ironic, isn’t it, to be at the receiving end of what I do to others all the time? “For how harsh I was. I didn’t mean it.” Your mouth opens this time, but he raises a hand to stop you. If he doesn’t get this out now, he never will. “I was the one lying to myself, not you. I fell in love with you a long, long time ago, ner’karta. But I was scared-still am-because I have nothing good to give you. Not like what you deserve. My creed alone means that I can’t show you my face until we get married. My job doesn’t allow me stability. I have never been…loved. I do not know how to love you properly. All I know is that it doesn’t feel like a good morning until you say it, that I feel myself flushing under my beskar when you smile at me, that I have to bite my lip to stop a chuckle when you tell me your jokes. All I know is that since you’ve come into my life and made it brighter, it seems I can’t face the darkness alone again. These past two weeks have been hell, cyar’ika. I cannot bear to see you like this. Please forgive me. I will drop you off anywhere you wish to go.” 

And then your face is twisting and you’re sobbing - large, shuddering sobs that alarm Din when they begin. He reaches a tentative hand out towards you slowly, giving you more than enough opportunity to slap it away. When you don’t, he steps closer and pulls you into his chest. As I should have done then. You shake with the force of your hiccups, and Din reaches to rip off his gloves before wrapping his arms around you, a warm hand coming to cradle your head against him. All he can say is a feverish repetition of “I’m sorry, I’m sorrymy love, please forgive me”. 

By the time your tears subside, you can hear sniffs coming from under the helmet too; his modulated voice cracking and giving away his own crying. “Y-you don’t get to-to decide for me. You can’t decide whether or not you can offer enough or whether you can love me properly or not. Just love me, Mando. All you have to do is try.” Your voice is so fragile, so tentative as you speak into his chest that Din’s heart aches at the pain he can hear in it. You continue, “I don’t need stability from you, nor do I need your name or face. To have your heart is enough.” And though you can’t see it, Din has to shut his eyes and brace himself against the weight of his own tears this time. His chest warming, butterflies in his stomach as he tucks you impossible closer.

“Like I said, cyar’ika, you’ve had it for a very long time.” And then you’re smiling again, as Din’s knees threaten to buckle from the force of emotion that wells up at the sight. You’ve pulled back from his chest, but stay close enough to graze his helmet with your nose.

“Is that so, Mando? Do I want to know how long?” You whisper back, somehow looking straight into his eyes despite the visor. 

“Din.” At your frown, he clarifies hesitantly. “My name, cyar’ika. Din Djarin.” You beam brighter, repeating it to yourself. “Wait - cyar’ika? You started calling me that last year, when you were annoyed I bought that fuzzy green hat with frog ear and Grogu tried to eat it on the way home. I thought it was like a swear word, or something -not that I think you would swear at me, you just seemed very annoyed, you know?”

A chuckle slips past his modulator, before he gives in completely. “Close your eyes, please.” When you comply, he rips his helmet off and cups your jaw with his hand, thumb stroking your cheek. Leaning in, he presses his mouth to yours gently, leaning back to look at you. “Beloved, cyare. It means beloved.” Before he can say anything else, your hands tangle in his hair, and suddenly you’re pulling him back into another kiss. And another. And another. 

You two remain so wrapped up in each other that you actually forget to leave the cockpit until Grogu stomps in, having apparently broken out of his cot, and begins babbling at you both angrily, before seeing the smile on your face after so long and hurtling towards you at full speed, nearly tripping on his robes in the process before you catch him in your arms. 

It was true, though. You didn’t need Din to go out of his way to give you anything. This was enough. 

hello loves, as always - thank you for reading. comment your thoughts or find me on ao3. stay hydrated and have a great day! taglist: @imherefordeanandbones @theywhowriteandknowthings, @josephquinnswhore

#din dijarin x reader #din djarin x fem!reader #din djarin x you #din djarin #din djarin hurt/comfort #din djarin x f!reader #din djarin x female reader #din djarin x reader #din djarin/reader #din djarin/you #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian #the mandalorian x female reader #mandalorian hurt/comfort #mandalorian x reader #mandalorian x you #mando x reader #mando x reader smut #mando x y/n #mando x you

[flightlessangelwings]

What Was Unspoken, And What We Finally Said

Din Djarin x fem!reader

Word count-3.6k

Warnings- s.mut (18+ ONLY!), sexworker reader (respectfully), mutual pining, reader is said to have been with both men and women but her sexuality is up to you, unprotected sex, hj, finering, oral (f receiving), protective!Din, soft!Din, feelings, no description of reader other than body parts and no use of y/n

Notes- This is part a bonus Valentines fic and part a thank you for 5,000 followers fic! I would have liked to do a full follower celebration but since I'm low on writing time lately, I'm doing 2 gift fics for y'all instead. I just want to say thank you each and every one of you for following and supporting me all these years!

Since this is Star Wars, I looked up if there was anything like Valentine's Day and while there isn't one canonically, there is a "Lover's Day" that the fandom kinda agreed is equivalent so I used that here but it can be read any time of year since it's Star Wars and we can say it's any time lol! Enjoy!

@flightlessangelwings-updates is my update blog so please also follow that and turn on post notifs to stay up to date on when I post new things!

~

You were exhausted.

If you were honest, you weren’t even sure what day it was… or even what time of day at all. Things had never been busier at the brothel the last couple days, and you weren’t sure why. Especially today it was back to back clients for you. The extra credits were nice, and much needed, but by the Maker were you wiped out. But it wasn’t all bad. The brothel you worked at was safe and respectable and the clients almost always tipped well. You even had a lengthy list of regulars, which was nice. Many of them even came by today too.

The day started with a visit from one of your favorite bounty hunters, Fennec Shand. She was usually more quiet and stoic, but today she had an air of playfulness about her, and the smirk she wore on her face made your heart flutter. Later in the day, Axe Woves came by, and seemed more flirtatious than usual. He always left you with a wink and a kiss on the back of your hand, but today he left a lingering kiss on your cheek… and extra credits in tip. 

But there was one person you looked forward to seeing more than anyone else. And he hadn’t come by in some time. 

You let out a heavy sigh as you flopped down onto the bed. Wrapping your robe around yourself, you closed your eyes as you finally got some time to rest after a busy day. Just as your body relaxed into the plush mattress and you felt yourself about to doze off, there was a knock at the door.

“Coming,” you sighed as you pushed yourself up, ready to turn away whoever was on the other side of the door. You just wanted to rest for the rest of the night. “Listen, came you come back tomor…” you froze mid word as your eyes landed on the one person you had hoped to see, “Din!” you breathed.

“Did I come at a bad time?” he asked, tilting his helmeted head to the side, “I had a bounty in the area and I thought I would come by.” Since it’s been awhile, he thought to himself, and I missed you.

“No, no,” you ushered him inside before he could walk away, “Come in.”

The Mandalorian walked past you, entering the room while you closed and locked the door, “Everything alright?” he asked, noticing the exhaustion in your voice.

“Fine,” you replied as you crossed the room and sat down, motioning for him to sit next to you, “It’s just been really busy here the last couple days. Not sure why,” you shrugged. 

“Want me to come back another time?” he asked plainly, his tone hiding his true disappointment especially after having not seen you in so long. Din truly looked forward to the days when he could come by the brothel and spend time with you.

“I think I can muster up some energy for my favorite client,” you replied with a flirty wink. It took everything you had to not sound like you desperately wanted him to stay, and even if you couldn’t even pull yourself off the bed you would do it for him.

Din tilted his head to the side slightly as a soft amused huff escaped his lips, “Your favorite, huh?”

You heard the smile in his voice. Biting your lip and subtly shimmying your shoulders, you closed the gap between your bodies and traced the chestplate of his beskar armor with your finger, “Don’t tell anyone else. They might get jealous,” you purred as the room started to warm around you.

Din reached in his pocket, pulling out a generous amount of credits and placed them on the nearby table before he leaned in closer to you. He cupped your face, tenderly caressing the side of your head in his gloved hand, “Your secret is safe with me.” Din gently rubbed his thumb against your cheek while his large hand cradled you softly while he pushed his body against yours.

“Din…” you breathed as your eyes fluttered shut and you allowed him to guide you back until your legs hit the bed. 

“I’ve got you,” he murmured as his hands moved down the front of your body and tugged at your robe. 

A gasp escaped your lips as the cool air hit your skin. But, you didn’t feel cool for long. Even through the darkness of his vizor, you could feel Din’s gaze on you, and you could tell he eyed you hungerly. The way his breath hitched whenever he saw you bare for him, the way his helmet tilted slightly, the way his hands gripped you just a little bit tighter… you knew all Din’s tells by now. And you craved the feeling of being under his touch.

“Beautiful,” Din sighed as he guided your body down onto the bed. He stood in awe over you for a moment as your robe fell open and framed your figure. His pants felt tighter as his cock reacted to the way you settled yourself, spreading your legs wide for him. Din let out a low groan as he tugged his gloves off. They were the only thing he ever removed, and he only ever took them off with you.

“Din,” you whispered again as the bed dipped as he hovered over you, “Let me…”

You ran your hands down his chest once more, imaging what it would feel like to feel his bare skin under your touch instead. You bit your lip when you reached the hem of his pants, and you expertly unzipped and freed his cock without letting any other sliver of skin show. You knew the trust he put in you, and you never took it for granted. You felt honored that he even trusted you with his real name- something else you held near and dear to your heart. 

Savoring the groan he let out, you stroked his length slowly. You made sure to squeeze right where he liked it, and you let out a whimper every time a louder growl escaped his lips involuntarily. But you let out another whine when you felt his thick fingers cupping your pussy, and you mewled when Din pushed them inside you.

Pumping his fingers to the same rhythm as you stroked his cock, your moans harmonized with his grunts as you both prepped the other. Heavy breaths filled the room as you fought to keep your eyes open and locked on his vizor. Din rested his helmeted forehead against yours as he thrust his fingers deeper inside you, causing you to cry out louder. But, being a professional, you kept your wits about you and squeezed his cock harder in response.  

Din groaned and let out an amused laugh, “Are you ready for me, mesh’la?” he cooed.

“Always,” you whispered back with a smirk of your own.

Another short huff echoed from his helmet as he murmured your name and pulled his fingers out of you. At the same time, you let go of his cock, your hand brushed against his as he reached for it to line himself up with your pussy. The two of you froze for a moment as your gazes met, and for a breath, time felt like it stopped.

A whirlwind of emotions ran through both of you as you stared at each other. It was as if you could both sense the other had something to say, and if you both had a secret you kept buried. Yet, it remained unspoken between the two of you. Your mouth dropped open and a deep breath escaped your lips, like you were about to put into words what neither of you would say.

Before you could, though, Din thrust his hips forward, driving his cock into you in one swift movement. Your head dropped down into the bed as you let out a loud, obscene moan as you felt the familiar stretch of his cock. 

“Din!” you cried out as he reeled back and thrust forward again.

“I know,” he grunted as he felt his skin sweat underneath all the armor. You had an effect on Din that no one else did. He lost all control when it came to you, especially when he was inside you. And the way you moan with every thrust of his hips only made him come more and more undone.

You cried out in ecstasy as Din rocked in and out of you in a fast and steady rhythm. Tears filled your eyes as you clutched the sheets. He made you feel something you had never felt before. And every time Din visited you, it became harder and harder to deny your growing feelings for him.

Passions ran wild as Din picked up his pace, thrusting deep into you harder and faster. He growled from under his helmet as he felt your warmth engulf his cock. Grabbing your hips, Din gave one harsh thrust, driving his length as deep inside you as he possibly could.

The gasp you let out when he did that made his cock twitch, and Din knew neither of you would last much longer. Din kept a strong grip on you as he repeated the action, changing his thrusts to slow and deep and deliberate.

“Fuck… Din…”

“I know,” he grunted.

You moved your grip from the sheets to his arms as you clung to him for dear life. With every slow, deep thrust, you felt your climax inch closer and closer and closer until you finally spilled over the edge. With a loud scream and trembling legs, you came hard on his cock. Squeezing your inner muscles as you gushed between your bodies, wave after wave of pleasure pulsed through your body as Din continued to thrust into you, hitting your sweet spot over and over again.

With a low groan of your name, Din came right after you. He spilled himself deep inside you as he drove his cock as deep as he could once more. Din kept his pace as long as he could, riding out both your orgasms as you moaned and groaned together, clawing at each other in desperation as you did so.

After one last thrust, Din pulled out of you. He watched as you collapsed onto the bed while he regained his composure. Heavy breaths filled the room as you both came down from your highs, and Din rested himself on the bed next to you in silence. His breath hitched in his throat as you immediately rolled close to him and nested yourself comfortably against his body.

“Hey,” you breathed, breaking the silence, “Is your bounty urgent or do you want to stay for the night?”

Din let out a short laugh, “He’s frozen in carbonite,” he sounded pleased with himself, “He’s not going anywhere.”

You smirked against his beaker chestplate as his unspoken acceptance lingered in the air like a comforting blanket between the two of you. Together, you laid in silence as Din wrapped his strong arms around you. Your heart pounded at the feeling of being in his arms, and you wished that it could be like this every night. But, he was a Mandalorian bounty hunter, there was no way that was in the future for you.

Suddenly, an explosion of fireworks echoed from outside, making you gasp and jump up with fright. Din tightened his grip around you, pulling you even closer and going on high alert. The two of you looked out the window as another color firework lit up the sky in the distance. More and more fireworks continued as the show went on, and in the distance you heard a crowd ooh and ahh at the marvel of the show.

Then the realization hit you. “Maker…” you breathed as you burst into nervous laughter, “Do you know what today is, Din?”

He turned to you but said nothing.

“It’s Lover’s Day!” you laughed more to cover the nerves. You just spent the evening of Lover’s Day with Din…

He seemed to mull over for several moments, his gaze moving down before he finally said, “So it is,” Din was quiet again as he turned back to you. 

Even without seeing his face, you felt your skin warm under his gaze. Somehow, you felt all his emotions just in the way he held you, and as Din moved his hand and cupped your face your world felt like it was spinning. You savored the warmth of his touch, and you let out a deep breath as you leaned into his hand and closed your eyes contently.

“Since it’s Lover’s Day,” Din was the one who broke the silence this time, “Let me take care of you…”

“Din…”

Carefully, Din rolled your bodies so that you laid on your back while he hovered over you. Looking up at him, your breath caught in your chest and your heart fluttered as he pushed himself down and settled between your parted legs. 

You let out a whine as heat rushed through your body. All you could do was swallow hard and moan in anticipation as you watched Din lean forward so that he hovered over your exposed pussy.

He murmured something incoherent before he rested his hand on your hips, gently pinning you in place. Not wanting to let go of you, Din used the leverage of your body to tilt his helmet up while he positioned his face over your folds.

A gasp escaped your lips when you felt his breath on your skin, “Din…” you whimpered as you closed your eyes tightly.

Din growled as he licked his lips before diving into you. The cry you let out sent a jolt through his veins, and combined with tasting you, Din almost lost all his composure. “Fuck,” he groaned against you before he lapped at your cunt again.

His hips bucked against the bed as he savored the sweetness of your pussy. Din groaned into you as his hands gripped you tighter, as if he couldn’t get enough of you. And the way you moaned and cried out in pure bliss only added to the overwhelming sensations and emotions he felt.

Not having expected this, tears quickly filled your eyes and your mind and body floated in the pleasure that Din’s tongue brought you. With every lap of his tongue, you felt a shock of pleasure tingle through your veins. And it wasn’t because he physically made you feel good either. It was the act itself, Din putting himself into a vulnerable position just to lick and suck at your pussy, and doing this for you.

It had to mean something, right?

“Fuck… Din…” you whimpered as you moved your grip from the sheets to his wrists, finding just the tiny sliver of skin under his armor.

Din grunted into you as he pushed his face more against your body. His hands shifted slightly so that his fingers curled around yours, holding both your hand and your hips at the same time. As much as he wanted to murmur soft words of encouragement, to tell you to cum in his mouth, he also couldn’t tear himself away. From the first taste, Din was addicted to you, and he already knew he wanted more… Wanted you.

Your legs trembled on either side of his helmet as you felt your body warm as your climax was about to hit. Without warning, you came hard with a loud scream, arching your back off the bed and gushing into Din’s mouth as your cries of pleasure filled the room.

He slurped and sucked at your folds as he tongue hit your clit over and over again, allowing you to ride out your orgasm on his tongue. And Din greedily lapped up every drop of your release, swallowing as much of you as he could. His grip on you tightened as he moaned against your body, lapping at you until you couldn’t take any more.

With one final gasp, you flopped down limp on the bed as Din broke away from you with a huff. His helmet slid down to cover his face in one smooth motion as he sat up and licked at the corners of his mouth from under the cover of his armor.  He watched you with captivate fascination as your breasts rose and fell with your deep, heavy breaths as you recovered from your intense climax.

There were so many words on the tip of his tongue. So many things that Din wanted to tell you. The tension in the air was so thick that it almost overpowered the smell of sex in the room. Din ran his hands up and down your body, gently caressing you and letting his touch speak for him instead.

“Din,” you murmured as you broke the silence and blinked your eyes open to meet his armored figure in the low light, “I…”

He moved his hand to the side of your face, not covering your mouth but the motion itself paused your thoughts. He said nothing as he pushed himself up to your face, stopping for a moment to rest his helmeted forehead against your own. As the two of you sat like that for a few moments, he brushed your cheek with his finger tenderly. Din whispered your name as he broke away, moving his hand to cover your eyes as he did so. 

Your lips pasted with a gasp, yet you stayed still, fully trusting the Mandalorian. With your eyes covered by his large hand, your world went black. Faintly, you heard a hiss in front of you, but before you could ask what was happening, you felt something on your skin. His breath.

Din pulled his helmet up just enough to uncover half of his face. His lips felt cold as the air hit his skin, but he was instantly warmed again when he pressed his lips to yours. He swallowed the moan you let out as he kissed you for the very first time. Tightening his grip on you, Din pushed himself even closer against you, desperate to feel you as close as possible.

You surrendered yourself to him willingly. Tilting your head, you were mindful to keep your eyes covered as you deepened the kiss by parting your lips for him. Din eagerly accepted the silent invitation, and you both moaned into the other when you tased each other for the first time. The fireworks continued around you, but the only explosions either of you cared about were the ones happening between you.

“I know,” Din murmured against your lips when he reluctantly broke away from you.

You let out a deep breath against his face, and you knew he felt your smile against his skin. Din placed one last kiss on your lips, lingering on yours for several moments before he pulled away and dropped his helmet back down.

Blinking your eyes open, you grinned when you were met with the familiar silhouette in the darkness once more. A soft smile lit up your face, and it made Din’s chest tighten with the sincere look in your eyes. Just as you were about to say something, though, a knock at the door made both of you jump to attention.

Din was quick to stand and shift into attack mode. Out of pure reflex, his hand reached for his blaster, ready to protect you.

“Wait,” you grabbed his wrist with one hand as you reached for your robe with the other, “It might be another client. Hang on,” you slid the robe over your shoulders and wrapped it around you as you moved around the Mandalorian.

He didn’t stray far from you, hovering behind you as you opened the door and recognized the man who stood on the other side, “Hey, I’ve got an overnight tonight,” you told him in a kind voice, “Can you come back tomorrow? I promise I’ll leave a time open for you.”

The man stuttered as he suddenly felt nervous as the Mandalorian glared at him from over your shoulder, “Y-yeah,” he finally said, “Sure… Sorry,” he mumbled before he turned and left.

Closing and locking the door, you turned back to Din and shook your head as you grinned, “He’s a nice guy,” you explained to him, “One of my best tippers too… So please try not to scare away my source of income.”

“Sorry,” he mumbled an apology as he visibly relaxed. Din had no issue with what you did for a living, he only had your safety and best interest in mind. He had seen you mistreated once before, and while he knew it was a rarity, Din never wanted to see you hurt ever again. Especially not if he could prevent it and protect you. 

“Let’s lay down,” you said softly as you reached your hand out to him. Your heart fluttered for a moment as he took your hand and allowed you to lead him back to the bed where you both made yourselves comfortable. Din immediately pulled you in close and held you in his embrace. 

Settling down for the night, you never felt more safe than you did right now, in Din’s arms. Yawning heavily, you felt the exhaustion start to overcome you once more, and you knew soon you would be sound asleep, “Hey Din,” you muttered sleepily, “Happy Lover’s Day.”

Din’s breath hitched in his throat as you quickly started to snore softly. He looked forward to nights like this, nights with you. And it was pure coincidence that he happened to come to you on Lover’s Day. But perhaps it wasn't a coincidence. Perhaps he was meant to be here tonight… with you. As Din listened to your steady breaking while you slept, he leaned in and whispered, “Happy Lover’s Day, cyare.” 

#x reader #reader insert #din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin x female reader #din djarin x f!reader #din djarin imagine #the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian x f!reader #the mandalorian x female reader #the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian fic #the mandalorian fanfic #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin fic #pedro pascal fandom #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal cinematic universe #the mandalorian/reader #din djarin/reader #din djarin/you #din djarin x y/n #mando #mando x reader #mando x you #mando x y/n #star wars imagine

[jake-g-lockley]

Hi, can I have prompt 1 with Din Djarin?

Hypnos (The Mandalorian x reader)

Masterlist | Spotify Playlist | Want to be Tagged?

Prompt: Accidentally falling asleep in each other's arms

A/N: Hi there! Thanks for the ask, I literally love Din so so much, he’s baby and this prompt suits him. Oh to wake up in this mans ARMS UGHHHH

Word Count: 485 words

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

You tried hard to focus on the flame before you but your eyes were swimming with sleep. The Mandalorian was stretched out beside you, leaning back against his bag his helmet tilted up to the night sky. Grogu slept soundly in your arms, snuggled against your chest and your head kept nodding forward, pushing your nose into his big green head.

It had been a long day of running and you were tired, so tired. But you will yourself to keep awake, worried that someone would come and snatch the child straight out of your arms while you slept. Oblivious to you, Din was watching you as your arms tightened around the sleeping child, the unknown feelings of love washing over his heart like the waves of Kamino.

He knew you were keeping awake for the child and his mind broke slightly as you kissed the top of Grogu’s head murmuring “Its ok I’m here.” whenever the little green thing would mumble in its sleep. He was tired too but he wanted to keep you safe, stopping himself many times from pretty much ordering you to close your eyes and relax. The flame before you was hypnotising and you just wanted to let it embrace you as you rocked yourself and Grogu into a soft trance.

“You could just sleep, you know?” The modulated voice snapped you out of your trance and you turned to see the Mandalorian looking at you, the reflection of the flames dancing softly on his shiny beskar armour, bathing him in a glow.

The softness in his voice soothed you and you relaxed, nodding and settling Grogu down before curling up beside him. Sleep took over you instantly and your dreams were pleasant and happy. You dreamt of the Mandalorian, watching as he pulled your sleeping body against him, slotting Grogu between the both of you and wrapping his arms around you.

You woke up in the early hours of the morning to a whoosh of cold air, finding your cheek pressed against a cold metal. You blinked and tried to sit up but were met with resistance. You found yourself staring down at a beskar breastplate and suddenly you realised that your dream had just become a reality. The Mandalorian was snoring softly and his helmet pressed against the top of your head as his arms tightened his grip around you.

He smelled of blaster fire and after a while of breathing him in, you realised that his gloved thumb had been rubbing soothing circles on your biceps and you felt your face flame up at the sweet gesture. It pulled you back to sleep and you relished in his body warmth, nuzzling your nose against the space between his helmet and shoulder plate, where his soft balaclava covered his skin, imagining how sweet life could continue being if you were to wake up like this every single morning. 

Reblogs are appreciated ~~~

#din djarin x reader #the mandalorian x reader #jakeglockley asks #din djarin fluff #the mandalorian #din djarin #the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian fanfic #din djarin smut #the mandalorian fluff #the mandalorian fanart #the mandalorian x female reader #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian x y/n #mandalorian imagine #mandalorian fluff #mandalorian fanfic #mandalorian smut #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fluff #pedro pascal x reader #jose pedro balmaceda pascal #requests are open #requests open

[iron-strangers]

Aliit

Summary: Din is raising a strong Mandalorian clan, so naturally, he's encouraging his aliit to have a Nerf war at six in the morning.

Pairing: The Mandalorian (Din Djarin) x Female Jedi!Reader

Tags: Established Relationship, Kid Fic, Good Parent Din Djarin, Domestic Fluff, Mand’alor Din Djarin

CW: Breastfeeding, No use of Y/N

Length: 1.3k

A/N: I'm trying to cross-post my fic from AO3 to tumblr. This fic is a part of an ongoing series, posted on AO3.

Read this on AO3 : Aliit

Link to the series on ao3, tumblr

-

There's a flurry of little feet running across the wooden floor, pulling you out from your meditation, followed by a thrill of little laughter. The force feels oh so light, the force feels giddy. You crack one eye open, smiling when you see a tiny head behind a wall, immediately sneaking back when he is spotted.

“Buir, we've been covered!” Aranar gasps loudly, then he claps his hand on his lips when his buir shushes him. 

“Go, go, attack!” Din rushes him, pushing his son from behind. The boy runs, shooting you and Grogu with a toy blaster, a model Galar 15 Carbine. Yellow plasti bullets flew across the room, hitting Grogu's little arm, distracting the child from his meditation with a shriek. Din smirks, loading his rotary blaster model and shoots a round of toy bullets, hitting you on your arm. Your riduur is unhelmeted and you can see the boyish grin on his face, looking younger as all the stress from ruling a system melts when he's surrounded by his clan.

“Ouch- hey, watch it, no hitting the kid!” You hiss, pick the child up, moving him to your lap. Grogu thrills happily, holding the rain of toy bullets in the air and sending them back to his buir. ��Good job, ad'ika!” You beam, kissing his green forehead. 

Aranar laughs, ducking behind Din's leg for cover, loading the yellow bullets back to his blaster. He aims from behind his buir and the wind from the bolt blows your hair.

“Excellent aim, Ar'ika!” Din praises, offering the boy a high five. Aranar happily claps his buir's hand and Din loads his blaster, charging it with a few leftover toy bullets before shooting at you with precision, setting an example to his son. “Try deflecting this, cyar’ika!”

You yelp, huddling with Grogu, putting a little toy whistling bird around his fist and shielding him until the plasti bullet rain stops, then you stand up, carrying Grogu on your hip while pulling another plasti blaster that you know they stashed under the couch with the force. The model Westar blaster flies to your hand and you shoot your riduur right on his unarmored tummy twice and to his bicep and chest. Grogu sends his toy ammo towards his vod'ika, hitting Aranar's little calf and thighs, sending another flurry of bullets flying across the room.

“Ow, fall back, Ar'ika, fall back!” Din grabs his son by his middle, carrying him back into hiding. “I will get you back, momma!” Aranar shrieks with laughter, going limp on his buir's arm. Din carries him all the way to the kids’ bedroom, hiding with the boy behind his blanket fort, both are stalking you while loading their blasters back with toy bullets.

“Where's ner Ar'ika?” You pretend to search him, ignoring the wriggly lump underneath the blanket, trying your hardest to not laugh whenever you hear a rustle from behind the blanket. “Oh no, Grogu, your vod'ika is missing! If he's not here then we can eat all the barnaban mist-pudding and add broccoli to our bantha steak tonight-”

“Ew, momma no!! No broccoli, never ever!” Aranar cries from the pillow fort, giving away his location.

“Ar'ika, attack!” Din yells, followed by his son's giggles. Two heads pop out from behind the mountain of pillows, both sporting the same brown, unruly curls, two sets of brilliant brown eyes, and dimpled smiles. The resemblance (and the plasti bolts) knock the wind out of you. You pretend to fall onto the carpeted floor, clutching your chest and groaning.

“Momma yield?” Aranar giggles, running to sit on your tummy and you let out a soft oof, catching him with one hand by his small hips to stabilise him. 

“I yield, Ven'alor,” you throw your blaster away, holding both your hands up. 

“Buir, I win!” Aranar cheers, giving his buir a toothy smile. You smirk to your riduur before flipping the boy to the plush floor and starting tickling him.

“But can The Ven'alor win against the tickle monster?”

Aranar yells with laughter, clutching his tummy and smiling so widely. Din lifts a cackling Grogu to his chest, rubbing on his ear, making the child purr as his other son tries his best to wriggle free from the tickles. “Buiiiir, help me!”

“Now, Ar'ika, what's the word we use whenever we ask for something?” Din teases, making no move to help the boy from your tickles.

“Please!”

Din is about to scoop his firstborn up when he hears a piercing cry from the nursery. You stop tickling Aranar and look at your riduur sheepishly.  “We woke Mirshka up,” you laugh, lifting Aranar to his feet and brushing the curls away from his eyes, kissing his chubby cheeks. You look at him with pure adoration, watching him call his little mudhorn doll with the force and go back to hugging your neck, leaning to your chest, mumbling about giving his toy to his baby sister.

“You two wanna say hi to your vod'ika?” Din asks, answered by both of his sons with a nod, taking his buir's hand and leaving for the nursery along with Grogu. You shake your head, basking in the warmth that is your little family's voice. You lift all the stray plasti bullets with the force and deposit them in their box before getting up to go join your aliit.

“Momma, Mir'ika hungry?” Aranar asks, your three-year-old son is so in tune with the force already. He can feel Grogu’s and his two-month-old baby sister’s emotions in the force and he can recognize his buir's presence even with his armor. “I gave her my mudhorn, she won't stop crying.” 

You mouth a little aww to your riduur, who's currently cradling his wailing baby girl on his strong arm, his other hand holding Aranar's doll to her crying face, almost as big as her swaddle. You caress her cheek and press a soft kiss before sitting on the little feeding chair in the corner of the nursery, covering yourself with a baby blanket. Din hands Mirshka to you, helping you maneuver her into a comfortable position. You push your robes aside to let Mirshka latch to your nipple. As soon as she finds you, she begins suckling happily and her little curious hand holds onto your forefinger tight. Her big brown eyes blink owlishly, smiling up towards you.

Din helps both Aranar and Grogu to climb into the chair, squishing themself on each of your sides, cuddling close to you as you feed the baby. They lean against you and sigh, giving away both their comfort and exhaustion, letting your force presence lull them to sleep. Beaming to your riduur, you offer him your free hand, holding his hand with your free hand.

“Vor’e, cyar'ika,” Din mumbles, caressing your hand with his thumb. You hum, tilting your head to your riduur curiously. “Whatever for, my love? Shooting practice at six-thirty in the morning?” 

Din still gets whiplash from the weight of your love, but as always, he holds onto you tighter and leans forward, pressing a loving, lingering kiss to your lips before bumping his head against yours in a keldabe. “For giving me this,” he gestures, an aliit, he means. The one he never thought he could have. “I'll start breakfast and I'll call you in thirty minutes?”

“You're so dreamy,” you sigh, nodding and leaning to rest your head on Aranar's curls, pressing kisses to the top of his head. Din laughs, giving you one of his rare full-body laughs where he throws his head back, his facial feature relaxes, and the corner of his eyes crinkle. You sigh again, smiling adoringly at him as he backs away, cracking the door a little bit so he can still watch his aliit from the kitchen. 

His responsibility will come knocking in the form of an irate Bo-Katan Kryze in give or take two hours, demanding him to please, come and lead the court, but now he has his aliit close, happily snuggling against his riduur and Din is content.

-

Mando'a translation

aliit: clan

ad'ika: little one

buir: parents (gender neutral)

cyar'ika: beloved

ori'vod: older sibling

riduur: spouse

ven'alor: crown prince/princess

vor'e: thanks

vod'ika: younger sibling

kids' names meaning:

Aranar: to defend

Mirshka: Originated from the mando'a word 'Mirshko' means Courage

#expanding clan mudhorn #din djarin x reader #din djarin x female reader #din djarin imagine #din djarin #din djarin x you #the mandalorian #the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x female reader #the mandalorian x you #star wars #star wars fanfiction

[beskarandblasters]

Immortal By Design

Possessed!Din Djarin x F!Reader

Main Masterlist | Din Djarin Masterlist | Story Playlist

Author’s note: I originally had this posted as a mini series, but I decided to make it a one shot instead! (｡◕‿◕｡) To see what this Din looks like, click here! ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

Summary: Din Djarin picks up a mysterious job at the Bounty Hunter’s Guild from a high paying client that specifically requested him. Once he tracks down the bounty, he discovers two things— you tracking the bounty for different reasons entirely and a lot more than he bargained for.

Word count: 8k

Warnings: reader is able-bodied, canon divergent (long live the Razor Crest), no Grogu in this universe, possession, cursed object, dark!Din, monsterfucking (I think), Din has heightened capabilities, dub con/noncon, restraints, reader gets captured, oral sex (M and F receiving), rough oral sex, fingering, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, creampie, mir’sheb = smart ass, character death, no use of y/n

Fic notifs: @beskarandblastersfics Fic recs: @kelbellsficrecs

Part One: Possession of Another Kind

It’s a typical day on Nevarro. Din walks through the marketplace, heading towards the Bounty Hunters Guild to pick up another job as part of his normal routine. 

Typical. Normal. Ordinary. 

That is unless he steps into the Guild. 

“Mando!” Karga shouts, beckoning for him to come to his booth. He seems frantic… urgent. Before Din even has a chance to speak, Karga continues, pulling out a tracking fob and setting it on the table. 

But for once there’s no bounty poster hologram, no flickering blue lights. 

“No poster?” Din asks, cocking his helmet to the side. 

“No…  But the reward is quite large.”

“How much?”

Karga scans the room, eyes bouncing from person to person. He leans forward, lowering his voice and saying, “A million credits.”

Din can’t believe his ears. There’s no way this is legit. No one on Nevarro or in the Outer Rim for that matter has that kind of credits. 

“Sounds like a scam,” Din says, leaning back in the booth. 

“It’s not. Droid came here this morning and dropped off the fob. Said they’d back with the reward once the bounty was captured.”

“You know I don’t care for droids.”

“You can’t pass up this reward.”

“…No one else wanted this job?”

“The client specifically requested you.”

Din’s hairs stand on their ends. A shiver runs down his spine. The fact that someone did their research… Someone who knows who he is and specifically chose him for the job is suspicious but also intriguing. And the reward is too prosperous to pass up. This bounty must be dangerous if the client is willing to pay this much. 

“Fine. I’ll do it,” he sighs. He takes the fob from the table and slips out of the booth. 

“Good luck,” Karga says with a strange look in his eye.

Din isn’t one to get scared, but the circumstances here are undeniably ominous. Between Karga’s strange behavior, the missing bounty poster, and the absurdly high reward, Din has an unsettling feeling coursing through his body. He heads back to the Crest, his mind wandering with the possibilities of what exactly he just got himself into. 

He plugs in the coordinates from the fob into the control panel of the Crest. And the location is an immediate red flag…

The bounty is located on Malachor of all places. 

Malachor is a barren wasteland of a planet. Din knows the planet means bad news but he doesn’t know why exactly. Something about the Empire or the Sith. The Empire he’s well acquainted with but the Sith? The Jedi? Not so much. 

At least if it’s a barren place, the bounty shouldn’t be too hard to find, right? He’s not too worried about the potential Sith connotations just yet. Din’s a capable warrior, raised by the best of the best in the galaxy. He should be able to hold his own without too many troubles. 

He sets a course for Malachor and takes off. Nevarro gets smaller and smaller underneath him and the unsettling feeling returns. He just keeps reminding himself of the life-changing reward he’ll receive if he succeeds. 

Not if but when.

-

It doesn’t take too long to get to Malachor from Nevarro. Both are Outer Rim planets. So thankfully, the journey there was rather uneventful. 

But when he lands on Malachor? That’s a different story.

He lands the Razor Crest on the desolate surface, grabs the fob, and heads outside. Barren would be an understatement to describe this planet. It’s empty. There’s not a single soul around for miles. It feels like the planet is absent of all light sources. Thick, gray, clouds coat the sky above him. The ground beneath his feet is a rocky wasteland. It’s not hard to understand why there’s no life here; why no one comes here. All of this begs the question; what is the bounty doing here?

He follows the signal of the tracking fob, feeling like he’s walking in circles for ages. His surroundings are the same, with no identifiable landmarks or features around to let him know he’s making progress. He feels his sanity start to slip. The tracking fob keeps beeping monotonously, showing no signs that he’s getting closer to the target. It’s driving him insane. For an uninhabited planet, this bounty is a lot harder to find than he originally thought. He starts to wonder… Is this even worth it anymore? Is it worth his time and frustration?

He interrupts his own train of thought.

Yes. Yes, it is worth it. For a million credits, you’ll spend however long it takes to find the bounty, he tells himself.

Good things come to those who wait. In the distance just over the horizon line, he spots something odd. As he gets closer he can slowly make out what it is– four top-heavy, pyramidal stones situated in a square formation. The tracking fob beeps faster and louder as he gets closer to the stones. Once he’s up close and personal with them he sees just how massive they are. They tower over him and etched in the stone is a language he can’t understand, written in bright red. One of the stones is surrounded by an opening in the planet, a deep hole descending below the surface. The tracking fob only goes crazier as he draws closer to the crater. Only way to go from here is down. 

He uses his jetpack to carefully lower himself into the hole, using the lamp attached to his helmet to see where he’s going. Once he feels the ground beneath his feet, he looks around and can’t believe his eyes. 

A vast field of stones is buried underneath the surface, each of them etched with the same red lettering he saw up above. And in the center of the field is a black stone pyramid, the tip of it glowing red. He looks beneath him and he’s standing on a cliff. He lowers himself deeper into the field of stones, his hairs standing on their ends. This is unmistakably a bad place. 

Something ominous looms in the air, a feeling of dread brewing in Din’s stomach. But he persists, following the trail the tracking fob is taking him. He inches closer and closer to the temple? The tomb? Whatever that pyramid-looking thing is. As he gets closer to it, a disembodied voice calls to him. 

Come closer. 

…Is it the bounty? The voice didn’t sound like it was speaking out loud… It sounded like it was inside Din’s head. 

But how is that possible?

He’s at the opening of the pyramid and it all happens so fast. The tracking fob is ballistic, beeping, and flashing lights rapidly. Everything is a blur around him. It’s like his mind isn’t in control of his body. 

All he can hear is the fob going off and the voice talking directly in his ear. 

Come find me.  

A large box stands before him, blackened stone etched with red, just like everything else in this strange place. He’s not sure what this place is exactly but he feels like he has to be standing in some sort of temple. The box looks more like a tomb, long enough for Din to fit inside of it lying down. This place definitely belongs to some sort of religion. Maybe even a cult. Could this place belong to the Sith? What is he getting himself into?

Open the lid, the voice commands. 

He does as he’s told, lifting the heavy stone lid and revealing… an amulet. 

Put me on. Don’t be shy, the voice says. 

He looks down at the fob in his hand, the beeping is incessant. It can’t be any clearer that this… this thing is what he was sent to look for. 

Put me on, the voice commands again. 

He takes the silver chain in his hands, the red pendant glowing red just like everything else here. He really shouldn’t put this strange, seemingly bewitched object on but he feels compelled to. The voice is convincing, talking to him like this is what he’s supposed to be doing. 

He lifts the chain above his helmet pulling it down around his neck. 

Protect me. Keep me close to your heart. 

Without thinking he tucks the chain into his flight suit, feeling the cool metal contrast against his warm skin. All of a sudden he feels… different. He’s not really sure how to explain it but he feels better, like he’s more in tune with himself. He feels stronger, more alert, almost like he’s on another plane of existence. It’s exhilarating like someone just gave him the best drugs in the galaxy. 

The beeping on the tracking fob finally subsides. Could it be that he was after all this time? That doesn’t make sense. He was sent to track down… an object? No, that can’t be right. 

But it does make sense why there was no bounty poster. It makes sense why the client was so mysterious.

Another question crosses his mind… 

Why was the reward so high?

His mind swirls with questions and possibilities as to what this all means—the voice buts in, interrupting his train of thought.

It doesn’t matter how or why. It happened for a reason. 

He decides the voice is right and revels in his newfound heightened state. Listening to this voice that seemingly comes from nowhere feels right, almost like he’s complete. 

As he exits the pyramid a shout rips him from his bliss. 

“What have you done?!”

He turns around to find a woman. That woman is you, your brow furrowed and your face aghast. You storm over to him, your eyes looking past him and into the pyramid; into the open tomb.

Din’s speechless, unsure of what exactly your problem is. He was just completing a job. What’s it to you? Mindlessly, his hand gravitates towards the chain under his flight suit, almost feeling the need to protect it. 

“You didn’t put it on, did you?” you ask, turning your gaze back towards him. 

“What does it matter to you?” he snaps.

“You have no idea what you just did.”

“It’s a necklace. I put it on. It’s not the end of the world,” he deadpans. 

“You don’t know what that is?”

“…No?”

You sigh and pinch the bridge of your nose. Din doesn’t understand what’s going on, he doesn’t understand why you’re so pressed by this. It’s just an object. It can’t hurt anyone. 

“That amulet is cursed by one of the Mortis Gods… the Son.”

“…Who?”

“You don’t know who the Mortis Gods are? The Ones?”

“It sounds familiar?”

Don’t listen to her, the voice chimes in. 

“The Mortis Gods were a powerful family of force-wielders. The Son embodied the Dark Side. The Daughter embodied the light side. And the Father held the balance between them until the Son grew too powerful. And then- Actually you know what? I’m not here to give you a kriffing history lesson. The bottom line is the Son cursed that amulet you’re wearing.”

DON’T LISTEN TO HER.

“Why is that a problem?” he asks, getting defensive. 

“You don’t feel… different?”

Deny. Deny. Deny. 

“No.”

In one swift motion, you’re grabbing a dagger hidden in your boot and reaching for the cowl of his cape. You rest the flat side of the blade against the fabric, glaring into his visor. 

“So you don’t mind if I cut the chain off of you?”

Some innate instinct comes over him, the primal urge to protect what is now his. He swats the dagger from your hand, his arm looping around your neck and placing you in a headlock. His other hand reaches for the handcuffs on his belt, grabbing them and enclosing them around your wrists. 

Good. This is good.

“What the”

Leave her here.

“What’s stopping me from leaving you here?” he says, tightening the headlock.

“Be my guest. But I’ll just say this– You have no idea what you’re getting yourself into.”

“And you do?”

“Yes. I’ve been researching this for many cycles now. You leave me here? You sabotage yourself.”

His grip around your neck softens and he slowly releases you, grabbing your upper arm. 

What are you doing? I said leave her here. Stop-

“Fine, but you’re coming with me.”

He bends down and wraps his arms around your thighs, hoisting you over his shoulder. Din’s always been a strong man but everything he does feels so effortless. His senses are heightened. His reflexes are swift. He feels like he’s at his peak; the best version of himself. 

You protest, banging your fists into his back but it doesn’t matter. He’s drowning out your angry shouts and listening to the voice. 

Fine. Take her back to your ship and keep her as a prisoner.  She’s nothing but a loose end. 

He makes his way out of the underground cavern and back up to the surface, completely tuning out everything you’re saying. When you try to wiggle free he just tightens his grip, keeping you firmly pressed up against his body. 

Once he’s on the surface again, he sees what must be your ship— or what’s left of it anyway. You crash landed here. In actuality, without Din, you’d be stranded here. And he doesn’t miss the opportunity to remind you that. 

“Quit complaining,” he says, cutting off your shouts of protest, “Without me, you’d be rotting away here.”

You sigh and Din feels like he could almost hear you roll your eyes. His comment worked, though. Because for the rest of the journey back to the Razor Crest, you’re silent. Only muttering a few words under your breath as he sets you down on a crate in the storage area. 

His helmet snaps towards you. He acts like he can’t hear what you said but the truth is he did. You muttered something about how he only cursed himself in the end. 

“What was that?” he asks, crouching down in front of you. 

“You have no idea what you just did to yourself.”

“And you do?” he counters, “Why is this necklace such a big deal to you?”

“Like I said before, it's cursed.”

“Cursed how?”

“It makes the wearer immortal. But if they were to take it off, they’d die.”

Don’t listen to her. It doesn't matter. No one is taking me from you.

“Did you say… immortal?”

“Mhm.”

“But… how can that be?”

“You really don’t know anything about this? You didn’t mean to put it on?”

“No. I was sent here to track down a bounty. I was expecting a person, not a piece of jewelry.”

“Who sent you here?”

“The client was anonymous.”

You lean back against the metal wall of the Crest, eyes wide and lost in thought. Din’s had enough of your questioning, though. Who are you exactly to question him while he’s just trying to do his job and get paid?

“Who are you?” he asks. 

“Does it matter?”

“It does. Clearly, you know what this is. Were you after it for yourself?”

“No! That’s not it at all. I wanted to destroy it. I-”

She’s lying. Silence her. 

Surely the voice isn’t telling him to kill you… Right? 

Even if that’s what the voice is insinuating, he doesn’t do it. Instead, he grabs you by the arm again and hauls you to the carbonite freezer. You beg and plead for him to reconsider his actions but he doesn’t listen, drowning out your voice and following his instincts again. Soon enough, you’re encapsulated in the carbonite. Without a second thought, Din climbs the ladder to the cockpit and sets a course back to Nevarro. He sends a transmission to Karga, letting him know that he secured the “bounty” that way the mysterious droid will be back with the credits. There are only two things on his mind; collect his reward and learn more about his newfound power. 

-

Part Two: Purge the Poison

Din lands on Nevarro with adrenaline coursing through his body. This is what this treacherous journey has been leading up to– the reward. He takes one last look at you frozen in the carbonite before leaving and heading back to the Guild. He’s not sure how this is supposed to work. He doesn’t have a bounty to deliver. He just has an object, bound to his neck that he allegedly can’t take off. He should be able to collect the credits, right?

Wrong. 

The droid never returned. 

“I don’t know, Mando. The droid never came back.”

“So what am I supposed to do?” The voice is noticeably quiet for once…

“All we can do is wait. I don’t have a way to contact the client,” Karga sighs. 

Din leans back in the booth and closes his eyes. He’s not just angry– he’s enraged. But he keeps his cool, not snapping here in the Guild. 

“You know where to find me,” he says, irritation heavy in his voice. He slips out of the booth and storms out of there, heading back to the Crest where you’re waiting for him, still encased in carbonite. 

He’s filled with so much pent-up rage that he doesn’t know what to do with himself. It’s bursting at the seams. It’s threatening to bubble up over the surface. It’s about to let itself loose and out into the world. It’ll tear him apart if he doesn’t do something about it.

I know what you can do about it. 

He internally winces at what the voice is about to suggest.  

Kill someone. Kill her. 

He can’t and he shouldn’t. For the time being you’re valuable to him. You mysteriously have much information about the strange item he found on Malachor. Where did you come from? How do you know so much about this amulet? Were you lying when you said you wanted to destroy it?

Once he’s back inside the Crest he gets to work on unfreezing you. He watches as your carbonite slowly melts away, revealing your damp and shivering form. He catches you as you fall forward, keeping you upright. You’re blinking rapidly, searching your surroundings. 

“Your vision will return,” he says curtly. 

“I know,” you snap. 

He forcefully grabs you by the shoulders and drags you to a crate. He sits you down but leaves your cuffs on. He walks to his bunk and grabs his blanket, draping it around your shoulders before crouching down in front of you. 

“You’re going to tell me what you know about this,” he says, pulling the amulet out from under his flight suit but never taking it off, “And you’re going to tell me who you are.”

“I already told you what I know about it. You’re immortal until you take it off.”

“And then what? I’ll die.”

“Yup. I’ve been researching it for a long time.”

“Why? What put you onto this?”

“I’m a history professor at Coruscant University. My thesis was on the Mortis Gods which led me to the Son’s Amulet. I spent many cycles trying to figure out if it even existed and where it was hidden,” you explain, looking past his helmet. 

“What were you going to do with it once you found it?” he asks, tucking the amulet away. 

“Destroy it,” you say, meeting his visor. 

“Beat you to it.”

“I know but now you’re the one who’s screwed.”

Don’t listen to her. Think of all the untapped potential you have. 

“Whatever, mir’sheb.”

“Huh?”

“Smartass.”

“I’d rather be a smartass than a dumbass,” you retort. 

“I am not-”

“You put on a creepy haunted necklace all because the voice told you to.”

He physically feels the blood drain from his face. 

“You know about the voice?”

“Mhm.”

Silence her. 

But he can’t kill you. 

“I bet that voice is telling you to do all sorts of nefarious things,” you tease. 

His fists clench and unclench at his sides. You and your smart mouth. If only he could take out his frustration on you. If only you weren’t so valuable to him. If only there were another way to relieve his tension…

“I’d stop talking if I were you.”

“Oh yeah? What are you gonna do about it?” you counter, mouth forming into a smirk. 

“Wipe that smirk off your face,” he answers. 

“I’d like to see you try.”

You irritate the hell out of him but he can’t deny how attracted he is to you. Between the sly smirk on your face, the mischievous look in your eye, the little droplets of water beaded up on your skin, and how you don’t seem to be afraid of him even though you should be– Maker, it all makes his cock twitch with arousal. 

It’s almost like the voice takes over with the way he swiftly rises from the floor, grabs you by the waist, and throws you over his shoulder. 

“What the-” you start.

“Talk a big game, get punished,” he says nonchalantly, setting you down on his bunk. 

You open your mouth to speak but you’re at a loss for words, face to face with his massive bulge. He undoes the fly of his flight suit, his cock springing free. You stare at its intimidating size, it's rock-hard and directly in your face. It leaves you speechless. 

“Think you can handle it?” he teases. 

Maker, he wants to grab your face and shove his cock down your throat– completely fucking your face. He can tell you want it, too, from the way you ogle it with wide eyes. 

It’s not gonna suck itself. 

He hooks a hand around the back of your head and wraps the other around the base of his cock, forcefully thrusting himself in your mouth. He lets out a deep, guttural moan at the feeling of your warm, wet mouth encapsulating his cock. 

His hands move to each side of your face as he thrusts in and out. Your mouth stretches open even wider to accommodate his girth as tears spring in the corners of your eyes. 

“Not smirking now are you, mir’sheb,” he says, your tear-filled eyes locked with his underneath the helmet. 

You moan in response and he fucks your face even harder. Tears are rolling down your cheeks now and the sight has him ready to bust. With one last thrust into your mouth, he spills his cum down your throat, holding your head in place as he finishes. Once he’s done he pulls out and to his delight but your horror, he’s still hard. It’s the voice, the curse, or the amulet– whatever this is that has him so feral. 

He has to see your body, he has to feel you underneath him. But you’re still wearing your cuffs. If he takes them off will you bolt? Will you make a break for it, leaving him here with his cock still wet? 

He leans forward and unlocks your cuffs, anticipating your next move. He expects you to run but you don’t, instead you’re sitting here with a wild look in your eye. He reaches for the hem of your shirt, lifting it over your head. He pushes you down on the bunk and hooks his hand around the waistband of your pants, sliding them off along with your underwear. 

Look at her. She’s lying here so patiently, so obediently for you. Use this opportunity to claim her as your own. 

He’s not thinking. He’s following whatever the voice tells him to do. He takes off his helmet, not even thinking about the repercussions he’ll face. He’s got two things on his mind; marking up your body and being inside you already. He sets the helmet down on the floor and takes off his gloves before hovering over you on the bunk. Your eyes widen when they meet his and a shocked expression washes over your face. But why? How do you know he’s taken the creed? Surely a history professor would know that there are all sorts of Mandalorians; ones that walk both ways. It isn’t until he looks over at the small mirror he has hanging on the wall of his bunk. 

His eyes. Maker, his eyes. They’re no longer their usual shade of warm brown. His irises are a pale purple shade, eerily glowing. It startles him for a split second before his attention turns back to you, writhing underneath him. 

He brings two fingers to his mouth and moistens them, spreading your legs apart and sliding them inside you. You gasp at the sudden girth of his thick fingers expanding your walls. He curls them against your g-spot repeatedly, your pleasure continuously building. In no time, he pulls your first orgasm from you, feeling the way your cunt flutters around his fingers. Your release soaks his hand and once he feels that you’re done, he pulls his fingers from you and soaks his cock with your wetness. In one swift motion, he thrusts inside you, giving you no time to adjust to the newfound length and girth. He plants his hands by either side of your head, locking eyes with you as he fucks you relentlessly, driving his hips into you at an unforgiving pace. 

He leans forward and marks up your neck with his mouth, nipping and biting at the soft skin. He moves up and down before switching sides, licking where his teeth just marked you. You gasp and moan at the repeated pattern of biting, licking, and kissing. Once he feels his work is complete he pulls back and locks eyes with you once more. 

You fall speechless, unable to form any real words besides deep moans and mangled sobs. Tears continue to roll down your cheeks, your mouth falling open into a soft O. He’s going to cum if he keeps watching you become reduced to a complete mess underneath him. Your walls tighten up around his cock in anticipation of a big release. He feels the way your cunt grips and releases his cock rhythmically. It draws his own orgasm from him, his cock spilling his warm cum with the head nestled by your cervix. He groans while letting out a string of Mando’a curse words that he himself can barely understand, not in his blissful state. 

He pulls out and collapses on top of you, his head resting in the crook of your neck. You’re both panting against each other and once the endorphins finally settle regret sinks in. No, not because he had sex with you. Because he took his helmet off. 

His chest heaves for a moment and he does his best to hide it, not wanting to seem weak after the power he just showed you. For some strange reason, he’s worried about what you’ll think of him– you who’s so irritating, who gets under his skin like no one else. Yes, he’s worried that your perception of him will change. 

“Mando?” you ask, voice soft and concerned, “Are you okay?”

“I… I’m not supposed to do that.”

“Cum inside me?” you tease.

“No,” he says, pulling himself off of you and sitting at the foot of the bunk, “Take off my helmet.”

“Oh,” you say, sitting up and moving beside him, “Then why did you do it?”

“The voice told me to,” he says, placing his head in his hands. 

You bring your hand to the back of his neck. At first, he stiffens up, not used to the feeling of someone’s hands there. But once your hand travels up to his hair, rubbing small circles against his scalp, he relaxes. 

“You didn’t know? That the voice could make you do things you never thought possible?”

“No,” he sighs.

“You really had no idea what you were getting into, didn’t you?”

“Did you think I was lying?” he asks, turning his head and glancing at you.

“Honestly… yes.”

“I wasn’t. I was sent to Malachor for a bounty.”

“And the tracker led you to the amulet?”

“Mhm.”

“But why would someone send you there?”

“I’m not sure. I should’ve never taken it but the reward was high.”

“How much?”

“...A million credits. I know it sounds too good to be true.”

“Did you go to collect the reward yet?”

“Yeah. The client never showed up to pay.”

You fall silent for a moment, lost in thought. His eyes search your face for some sort of answer and once again, the voice is noticeably silent.

“Do you still have the tracking fob?”

He gets up and grabs it off a shelf in the storage area, sitting beside you on the bed and handing it to you. You activate it and study the mysterious absence of a bounty poster. You turn it off and hand it back to him, asking, “Was there anything else… weird about the job?”

“The client supposedly requested me specifically.”

“Strange…” you trail off.

Both of you sit in uncomfortable silence, trying to put all the pieces together.

“Why would someone want to make you immortal?” you wonder out loud.

Din’s guess is as good as anyone’s. He’s been trying and failing to wrap his head around what he got himself into.

“Mando… I think you were set up.”

“What?! By who?!” he asks, his purple eyes locking with yours again. 

“I can’t answer that…”

“...Will you help me find out who?”

You pause, looking at him with a sort of pity in your eyes. Without saying a word, he pleads with you, his strange-colored eyes begging for help, something to save him from this impossible situation he’s found himself in.

“I really don’t want to but… You did save me from being stranded on Malachor,” you sigh, “But fine. I’ll help you.”

The two of you have to start somewhere. 

-

Part Three: Legends Never Die

“If I’m going to help you, I think I deserve to know your name,” you say. 

Do not tell her. 

For once he can’t listen to the voice. This amulet, this voice told him to take off his helmet. Something he’d never do. His creed is the most important thing to him. And this… whatever it is overpowered his respect and devotion to his creed. That just won’t do. 

If he’s going to get rid of this thing, he has to learn to trust you.

“Din Djarin,” he says with a sigh. 

You tell him your name and the both of you feel like you’re finally starting somewhere. 

“What do we do now?” Din asks. 

“Well, we’ve established you were set up but we need to figure out why. What does this person have to gain from doing this to you?”

“I don’t know.”

“I know. I’m just thinking out loud.”

“You said this amulet is from one of the Mortis Gods?”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t know much about them.”

“They were just an extremely powerful family of force-wielders.”

“Where were they from?”

“Mortis.”

“Oh,” Din says, feeling kind of stupid. 

He’s not familiar with this kind of stuff— the Jedi, the Sith, the Force. As far as he’s concerned, he’s just a regular person, trying to make a living in the galaxy by bounty hunting. He didn’t piss off anyone important that he can recall. 

“Can you take me somewhere?” you ask, snapping him from his thoughts.

“Where to?”

“Coruscant. I think we need to make a little trip to the university’s library.”

He grabs his helmet off the floor and replaces it on his head. 

“Let’s go,” he says, reaching for your hand to help you out of the bunk. 

He helps you to your feet, letting you get dressed while he puts on his gloves. You follow him to the cockpit, sitting in one of the passenger seats while he prepares the Crest for takeoff. It’s silent between you two, an awkward silence. He’s unsure of what your relationship is exactly. At first, you were his prisoner. Technically, you still could be. And then he had sex with you and he feels awful about the implications in which it happened. You were handcuffed in his ship and at not only his mercy but the voice’s mercy, too. And now here you are, helping him when he’s been nothing but an asshole to you. 

Don’t think like that, the voice tells him.

He can’t listen to it now. His own guilt is louder than the voice. 

Once you’re in hyperspace he turns to you and says, “I just want to say… I’m sorry.”

“Sorry for what?”

“For capturing you. For… what we did earlier.”

“You’re apologizing about the sex?” you ask with a smirk.

“I wasn’t sure if it was okay.”

“It was.”

“It was?”

“Stop overthinking it.”

“…Really?”

“You’re acting like I didn’t enjoy it.”

“You did?”

“Was it not obvious?”

“Yes. I mean no. I just…. I don’t know anymore.”

“Hey,” you say, leaning forward and grabbing his hand, “I know you have a lot going on in your head right now. And I’m sure a lot of it is confusing but I’m here to help in whatever way I can.”

“But why? Why do you want to help me even after I was so terrible to you?”

“I just… I feel bad. You had no idea what you were getting into. You didn’t deserve any of this.”

“Thank you,” he says softly. 

“Of course. But don’t get sappy on me.”

“Got it,” he says, spinning around in his seat and facing the control panel again. 

It doesn’t matter what you find, or what you research. You’re stuck with me. 

All he can do is close his eyes and try to drown out the voice. 

-

He’s walking side by side with you towards the university, fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. He’s anxious about what you’re about to find. But what’s his place from here on out? Is he supposed just to drop you off and reunite with you when you’re done? However long that will be…

Standing in front of the library, he prepares to bid you goodbye, confused about why he’s got a pit in his stomach. 

“I guess I’ll see you when you’re done?” he says, mentally wincing in anticipation of your response. 

“What? Why?”

“I just assumed-”

“You can stay.”

“I can?”

“If you want. I’m not sure how long it’ll take and it might be kind of boring but… you’re more than welcome to stay here with me.”

He pauses, thinking about what you said. He’s welcome to stay but do you want him to?

“Do you want me to?”

Kriff, he didn’t mean for that to actually come out. 

“I do.”

“Okay then,” he says, walking into the library with you. 

The library is packed with students and as you walk through the aisle picking books off the shelves, they turn their heads when you pass them by. He’s used to it but for some reason this time it makes him self-conscious, as if they’re piercing into his soul and aware of the secret he’s harboring. 

After you have your collection of books you bring him to one of the study nooks in the back of the library away from all the prying eyes. He watches how your brow furrows when you’re lost in thought, scanning the pages for anything to help him out of this mess. He feels a bit useless, watching you pour yourself over book after book for hours on end while he sits and does… nothing. 

You put your elbow on the table, resting your head in your hand. As you lean to the side, your neck becomes exposed and Din’s eyes settle right on a spot that looks like the perfect place to sink his teeth…

Stop, he tells himself. 

But he fears the voice has taken over and he’s no longer looking at you with adoring eyes, but lusting ones instead. 

Take her here, now. Bend her over the table. Who cares about anyone who sees?

His cock twitches in his flight suit and he doesn’t think he can take it anymore. 

“Din?” you ask softly, setting down your book. 

“Hm?”

“Do you want to go somewhere else?”

“What do you mean? I thought you had to do research.”

“Well, yes but I can just continue researching in my office,” you say, eyes looking past Din and scanning the library. 

“Why? Are you worried about people looking at us?”

“No! No, that’s not it at all. I just wasn’t sure if you were-”

“Who cares? But if you want a little more privacy then why not?” he says, standing from his seat and gathering the books. 

He shuffles them to one arm and grabs your hand, proudly leading you out of the library without a single care in the world about who may be looking at him. 

“Where to?” he says, turning to look at you once you’re outside. 

“Across the quad in the North Tower.”

He nods and grabs you by the hand again, not caring about the people stopping to stare, many of whom are your students. You keep your eyes on Din, on the sunlight bouncing off his helmet, watching as his cape billows in the wind with his confident stride. 

He lets you take the lead once you’re inside the building, walking up a grand staircase until you arrive at your office, a large room with high vaulted ceilings and towering bookshelves. Floor-to-ceiling windows draw natural light in and a long wooden desk sits in the center of the room. He sets the book down on one of your chairs and grabs you by the waist, setting you on your desk. He grabs the waistband of your pants and practically rips them off of you. 

“So much for researching,” you say smugly, looking up at him with a grin.

“Gonna have to do something about that smart mouth of yours, mir’sheb,” he says darkly.

His hands gravitate to the bottom of his helmet. A look of realization flashes in your eyes and you reach your hands out, trying to stop him. But he’s stronger than you, grabbing your hands and forcing them by your sides. He pulls off his helmet, revealing the same matted curls and piercing purple stare. He spreads your thighs apart and kneels on the floor, face hovering over your cunt. He licks one slow stripe up your cunt before flicking his tongue around your clit. His strong arms lock around your thighs, keeping your cunt flush against his face. His eyes don’t leave yours, looking up at you as he slowly eats you out. The eye contact is intense, almost too much to bear. But when you try to look away he stops, starting to pull his face away until you look at him again. With one last swirl of his tongue around your clit, you cum against his face, thighs shaking against the desk. He laps up your release, moaning at the taste until you’re done. And now he just has to have you. 

He stands up and pulls out his cock from his flight suit, stroking it a few times before gathering some of your release with his fingers and slathering his cock with it. He reaches forward and swipes away the contents of your desk, pushing you down so you’re lying against the wood. He thrusts into you in one slow motion, staying still inside you for a moment before drawing his hips back and slamming into you repeatedly. He pulls off one glove, tossing it on the floor and bringing his thumb to your clit. One hand grips your hip while the other rubs circles around your clit. He glares down at you, his body towering over yours as he rails you against your desk. You cum around his cock, eyes locked on his once again. The sensation of your cunt gripping his cock pulls his orgasm from him, warm cum spilling inside you with a grunt. He pulls out of you and sits in your desk hair, holding his head in his hands. You scramble off the desk and reach for his helmet, kneeling in front of him and lifting his head. He looks at you with the same look in his eye like last time, like he just let himself down. You replace his helmet on his head, cupping the hollow part where his cheeks would be.

“It’s okay,” you say softly.

“I know,” he sighs, “I would just like to do… that without feeling bad.”

“About the helmet,” he quickly adds.

“I know,” you chuckle, “I’m not offended. I get it. But I can’t lie and say that the eye contact wasn’t hot.”

“It was?”

“It was. But it would be hotter if it were your choice, not the other way around.”

“Right… Thank you… for understanding.”

“Of course,” you say, rising from the floor and grabbing your pants, “But back to business.”

“Back to business,” he agrees.

-

Months go by with Din glued to your side, helping in whatever way he can with the research. You think you might have found some sort of motive behind why someone would do this to him but the question of who is still a mystery. 

“To travel to another galaxy?” Din asks.

“I think so. It’s just a theory.”

“There are other galaxies?”

“You think we’re the only one?”

“I guess not. But why?”

“That I still don’t know. And I’m just assuming about the traveling to other galaxies thing, too. The planet Mortis was said to be in a different realm.”

“Interesting…” he trails off. “How much longer do you think?”

“I’m not sure. If you think you have to get back to Nevarro, I understand.”

“I don’t want to leave you. But maybe I’ll go check the Crest for any transmissions.”

“Okay, sounds good. I’ll be here,” you say, looking up at him from your desk. 

He caresses the side of your face, his gaze lingering on you before he leaves, walking through the campus and back to the docking yard where the Razor Crest is parked. On the way there, he thinks about his time here and how one good thing came from this… you. If he’s forced to be a monster all his life, at least he has someone that understands. But then there’s the other thing… He’ll be a monster all his life, until the end of time, outliving you and anyone else he may care about. He tries not to think about that. 

Once he’s inside the ship he sees that he has a transmission from Greef Karga, which could mean one of two things; Karga’s got bounties and he’s wondering where Din is or the droid actually returned.

He presses the button for the transmission to play and listens;

“Mando! I’m not sure where you’ve been but the droid from that strange bounty returned… It didn’t bring the reward, though. It said his client will meet you where you captured the bounty in the first place. Strange request, I know. But supposedly the client will have the credits. Just be careful.”

Back to Malachor, it is. 

He bolts from the Crest, anxiously heading back to you to tell you the news. You’re where he left you, of course. 

“I have news.”

“Oh?” you ask, looking up from your book.

“I received a transmission from Karga. The droid returned. It said to meet the client on Malachor.”

“Really?”

“Yes… So what do you want to do?”

“We go to Malachor,” you say, rising from your chair.

“Let’s go,” he says, with a tip of his helmet.

As you’re sitting in the cockpit of the Razor Crest, you grab his hand as he’s preparing the ship for takeoff.

“Whatever happens… I love you, okay?”

He stops, turning to look at you, stunned by what you just said. He feels it, too, but it breaks his heart knowing that this love will end in one of two ways; he’ll outlive you or he’ll choose to take off the amulet. And both choices make him unsettled.

“I love you, too,” he says, squeezing your hand before turning to face the control panel.

This is it. Months of research have led up to this. 

-

The familiar sight of Malachor comes into view. He lands the Razor Crest by the same pyramidal stones he saw months ago. So far, no sign of anyone. Surely they’re waiting for Din in the Sith temple, ending this where it all started.

He takes you by the waist, holding you as he lowers himself down to the temple underground. He gave you a blaster before you left the Crest, turning to make sure you have it drawn before proceeding further.

As you head towards the pyramid, someone from behind you clears their throat. You both spin around, blasters drawn and ready to aim at whoever’s there. It’s a man, someone neither of you recognizes. He’s wearing all black and his hair is gray. There’s a lightsaber attached to his belt but he hasn’t drawn it… yet.

“I’ve been expecting you,” he says, glancing at Din, “It seems you brought a friend.”

“Who are you?” Din asks.

“A Sith,” you say in disgust.

“Not a Sith,” the man says, looking over at you.

“Then why did you lead us here?” Din asks.

“Din Djarin,” the man says, “Do you know the significance of that amulet you’re wearing?”

“It belonged to one of the Mortis Gods.”

“Very good. And do you know why I sent you to find it?”

“You want to use him to travel between the galaxies.”

The man looks at you again, taking a step closer.

“Clever girl,” he says, “But do you know why?”

“I know you,” you say, looking at him and the way his face is illuminated with red light from the temple behind you.

“Do you?”

“You’re… You’re Baylan Skoll.”

“Clever, clever girl. Look at the two of you, both so smart. But neither of you have answered my question… Why?”

“I don’t… I don’t know. What could you possibly be trying to find in another galaxy?” you ask.

“Mortis?” Din adds.

“So close yet so far,” Baylan tuts, “Forget about Mortis. I’m searching for Peridea.”

Din looks at you, searching for answers but the truth is… you don’t have any. 

“What do you want with Peridea?”

“To bring Grand Admiral Thrawn out of exile,” Baylan says.

“...Who?” Din asks.

“You’re funny,” you snort.

“I’m being serious. With the Mandalorian’s immortality, nothing is going to stop me.”

“Why Din?” you press.

“He doesn’t have the reputation of being the best bounty hunter in the Galaxy for no reason.”

“I can’t let you bring Thrawn back to the Galaxy,” you say, raising your blaster.

Baylan draws his lightsaber and ignites it, a vibrant orange hue emitting from the blade. Din raises his blaster, too, and a fight ensues. It doesn’t matter how much you shoot at Baylan, he just deflects all the blasts with his saber. He inches closer towards you, deflecting your blasts faster and faster as he corners you against a stone. He knows he doesn’t have to do anything to Din and he just assumes the voice will take over, forcing Din to join Baylan’s fight against you. 

Join him and kill her. Join him and kill her. Join him and kill her!!!

But Din doesn’t. 

Instead, he raises his blaster at the back of Baylan’s head. Baylan turns around, getting ready to defend himself against Din but it’s no use. With one blast to the head, Baylan falls to the ground. It turns out the urge to protect you was stronger than the voice’s pull to get him to join Baylan. 

Din rushes over to you, putting his blaster back on his hip and pulling you into his arms.

“It’s… over?” he asks, feeling your racing heartbeat.

“I think so,” you sigh. 

“But you’re stuck like this,” you say, pulling back and looking at him.

He knew it could end like this, with him living out his days without you once you pass. 

Or… There was a third option all along.

“What are you going to do?” you ask, snapping him from his thoughts.

He fiddles with the chain around his neck before saying, “Take this off when the time is right.”

You nod, leaning against him just a little bit longer before leaving the temple together, hand in hand. 

Mando dividers/support banners by @saradika-graphics !!!

Thank you to @pedgito for beta reading, reassuring me that this was any good, and helping me plot this all out 🖤

@pedrostories

#din djarin x reader #din djarin smut #din djarin x f!reader #din djarin fanfiction #pedrostories #star wars fanfiction #din djarin #the mandalorian #the mandalorian fanfiction #pedro pascal character fanfiction #ppcu fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #the mandalorian smut #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x female reader #the mandalorian x you

[misspearly1]

Ner Cyar'ika Baar'ur

Secret Santa Event by @pedrostories

My giftee: @taro-666

Pairing: Din D'jarin x F!Medic!Reader (use of Y/N).

Summary: Working for the Mandalorian as his personal medic, it has become apart of the daily routine to battle against people who threaten his safety, or yours. You're apart of the chaos that comes with the bounty hunting life, but how does one particular quarry change everything between you and Din D'jarin?

WC: 8k

Warnings: 18+ Content. Minors DNI. Fic is set in season one, between episode one to three. Slight changes in the storyline from the TV show. Cursing. Use of Mando'a (with translations). Friends to Lovers. Mutual Pining. Violence and Injury. Angst with a happy ending. Smut. Mentions of wet dreams. Unprotected PIV. Praise kink. Fluff.

AN: Taro! Omg, I've been so excited to share this story with you and to finally come off anon. Hey friend! 👋 I hope you enjoy the read, my love ❤️.

@supernaturalgirl20 Thank you so much for the beta, beautiful! You're a star 🥰.

There aren’t a lot of things that surprise you these days as a trained medic; you’ve been through a lot and have seen nearly twice as much. Having said that, it’s almost as if you’ve grown used to the mayhem that comes with treating the sick and the wounded because of your line of work.

For instance, it doesn’t surprise you anymore when your boss requires your medical assistance considering he is actually in need of your assistance quite often, and it’s the very reason he hired you in the first place. 

The Mandalorian is your boss, or Mando as he is known to some, and his involvement in the bounty hunting business was never in your interest at first - your a healer, not a fighter - but where there is a fight, there is almost always a need for someone to be patched up afterwards. 

There’s never a dull moment working with the Mandalorian, his daily life is mayhem, more so in the last several weeks since his workload has been busier than usual and seeing that you’ve already adapted to the chaos around treating the sick and wounded, especially on war-torn planets, you quickly adopted his chaotic lifestyle as well.

There wasn’t much difference truthfully, only that you were treating one patient instead of several a day, and rather than coming to you for medical treatment, Mando offered you to move into his ship as an alternative. You didn’t oppose the idea and accepted his offer, not only because the pay is better, but the company is welcome too.

As well as this, you didn’t mind moving into Mando’s ship because he used to visit you regularly for medical attention back on Nevarro. That's where The Bounty Hunter’s Guild is situated, it’s their home base, and although you only stayed in the city for seven months, you didn’t particularly enjoy your time on the volcanic planet. It’s a world of black sand, rocky terrain, and rivers flowing with lava instead of water.  

While it was beautiful to gaze upon at night, it was also deadly as the Reptavion's used the darkness to their advantage, hunting anything it could carry before taking flight. Nevarro provided work opportunities and credits, but it wasn’t a place to call home.

However, the volcanic planet is where you met Mando for the very first time. During the months you were staying in the city, you were working in a small medical clinic, and there were plenty more suitable facilities for the man to visit, but he chose your place of work instead.

At first, you assumed it was for discretion as the clinic's unspoken rule was ‘ask no question, hear no lies’, but sometimes he would come to see you with minor injuries that could be treated by his own hands, thus leading you to believe that he was interested in more than just your help. Besides, you enjoyed the man's company when he would come to visit you. He wasn’t much of a talker back then, but as time passed, he gradually opened up.

Moving into the man's ship brought you closer to each other. You became his partner more than his employee, and you love your job because it simply doesn’t feel like a job. It feels like you're working with a trusted friend, sharing the riches and helping each other out.

Whether or not he was actually in need of your service back on Nevarro doesn’t matter. What matters is that he saw an opportunity with your skills and presented a deal to make your working life better - which it has.

Ever since you moved in with him, your life has become better in so many ways; you now have a place to call home, and you have a friend you can rely on without the niggling doubt of betrayal in the back of your mind. 

Since you were always on the move before, you adopted a cautious nature with everyone regarding every little detail in your life. You never did fully trust people, but you do with Mando. Things are different with him, and one of the many reasons why it's different with him is because you know the man underneath the beskar. 

Many people have heard of Mando. They’ve heard the stories about his reputation in the Bounty Hunters Guild, about how he is the best in the parsec, but his past and identity remain a mystery. Even to you, to some extent, but you’ve heard the stories too, heard ‘warrior’ in the whispers and it’s true. He is a fine warrior, one that fights with grace and loyalty to the cause. His cause; his culture and his religion - the way of Mandalore. 

While many call him Mando, or the Mandalorian in the Guild, you know him as Din D’jarin. You have not yet had the pleasure to see his identity, but hopefully one day you will have that pleasure and the honour. These are just some of the many reasons why you love your job, but to put it simply; it’s because of Din. 

Since there aren’t a lot of things that surprise you anymore in your line of work and partnership with the man, that doesn’t mean there’s nothing that surprises you. Take these last few days for example, it started off with the same regular chaos, but eventually became something you’re not familiar with. 

The loading bay of the Razor Crest is almost packed full of quarries, frozen solid in the carbonite blocks with one more space remaining for the Mythrol. You helped Din as far as your abilities could, and since the tracking fob for the Mythrol led him to a public house on the icy planet, Pagadon, you stayed back on the ship and waited for his return. 

And of course, it came as no shock when Din returned with the Mythrol, thankfully without any injuries, but the blue-skinned man tried to pull a fast one. However, it wasn’t fast enough as the Mandalorian was two steps ahead of the trickery. He always is.

Still, just like the normalities in the bounty hunting life, you made your way back to Nevarro and met with Greef Karga in the cantina to offload the carbonite blocks, receive your payments and gather more tracking fobs leading to more quarries.

The surprise began when the words ‘off the books’ were uttered by Greef himself and from the moment Din took his next job, you had mixed feelings. There was no chain code on the quarry, all you had was their age. Then, Din wouldn’t allow you to accompany him when meeting the client and the very fact he was protective of you in that sense, made you worry about their business. 

In the Guild, it’s common knowledge that you don’t ask questions about the criminals you hunt. You just get the job done and let the proper authorities serve justice, but something was gnawing at your gut. As the day went on and the chaos continued, the doubts slowly began to fade as you settled back into normality. 

The tracking fob led you to a desert planet, Arvala-7, where you met with a kind man named Kuiil working on a moisture farm. It was especially fun watching Din trying to mount the Blurrg and learn to ride them, but you, too, had to learn in order to join his travels to the Nikto Hideout - where the quarry was. 

By the afternoon, you and Din had mastered the art of riding the creatures and you set off to capture the quarry. Just like any other day in the bounty hunting life, there was nothing surprising or out of the ordinary. You worked together like you always do and after leaving you at a safe distance away from the hideout, Din moved forward on his own. 

As battle ensued, you watched from afar and used comms to help the man out. He fought magnificently. More often than not, his skills leave you awestruck. Mesmerized. You prepared yourself and stocked up on the medical supplies before leaving the moisture farm earlier, but remained hopeful that there wasn’t a need for them. 

When the fight was over, the enemy threats were eliminated and Din was unharmed, you made your way to him and entered the hideout together to find the quarry, but when you first laid your eyes on the target, that unsettled feeling returned to your gut. It was an infant baby, a little green baby with big ears and the cutest eyes you’ve ever seen. 

Although you remembered that you don’t ask questions in the Guild about the quarries, you couldn’t help wondering, and worrying, about what the client wants with the child. It couldn’t be anything good if Din didn’t want you present in the meeting with them on Nevarro.

You had many doubts and suspicions, so many that you couldn’t find a single rational explanation as to why a baby had a bounty on its head. Naturally, you asked Din all of the questions you had, but he didn’t have any answers.

Now, as you both make your way back to the Razor Crest with the baby through the mountainous canyons of Arvala-7, you still can’t shake off the nerves around this whole ordeal. Din is many things; a fine warrior in battle, a man of few words, emotionally shielded and well guarded, cold and merciless to those who threaten his safety, or yours, but careless? No, never.

The man isn’t careless. He cares greatly, and deeply, and he, too, knows that something is off about this job. You’ve known Din D’jarin for the last two years and you can sense when the man is nervous. He’s quiet, too quiet, and you don’t like when his mind is on overdrive because if he is worried about this job, then you should be fearful. 

“Alright. What is it?” You finally break the silence to ask, eager to make sense of his sudden edgy state of mind. Halting your walk and turning to face him, you perch both hands to your hips and tilt your head to the side in question, adding emphasis to your desire for answers. 

The baby situated in his floating pod remains close by, right between you and Din as a matter of fact, and he looks up at you both with curiosity. You fight the urge to look at him, to avoid his influence on you as a woman with maternal instincts. The little guy's presence has undoubtedly caused a heavy bout of uncertainty over your heads, a little rift between you and Mando. Not something of the bad kind, but something unfamiliar and foreign. He’s a child, just an innocent baby, so it’s a confusing and an extremely foreign feeling for you both to be transporting him like he’s just another quarry when he isn’t like any other quarry you’ve ever transported before. 

“Din, talk to me,” You shake your head now, frustration evident in your tone, “What is it? What’s got you nervous?” You ask again, although the answer is obvious. It’s because of the baby and all the questions he has for the client, but you want to hear him say it. 

To hear Din himself say that something isn’t right will validate your reasons to be worried, but you were met with silence yet again. The man wasn’t even paying attention to you, he was too focused on the little lizards scurrying across the sand. “Mando.” Stepping forward and calling him the name that everyone else uses, that usually gets his attention, you open your mouth to speak but the words didn’t even make it past your lips as he shoved you back. 

You fell down and watched as he turned swiftly, gun in hand at the ready to shoot, but a blade whacked it out of his grasp, a blade wielded by a Trandoshan. You and Din both lock onto the tracking fob on his hip, the flashing red dot and audible beep familiar, before he then shoves the floating pod away, keeping the baby out of harm's reach. There’s more than one tracking fob, therefore there’s more bounty hunters looking for the child. Bounty Hunters who are careless and don’t ask questions. 

Neither one of you can allow the baby to leave your sight or allow him to fall into the wrong hands, thus causing your legs to act before your mind can think. You quickly rise from the floor and move in to help Din wherever you can. He smites the Trandoshan and they tumble to the floor. Then, he takes the blade from him, before turning around to throw it toward you.

“Stay with the baby.” He orders firmly, and you listen to his instructions. Trusting his fighting skills better than your own, you take a few steps back and give him the space he needs to wield his weapons without hurting you. 

However, another Trandoshan jumps out of cover. “Behind you!” You yell, giving Din a heads up just in time to evade the direction of a blade coming down in his path. The fight continues, and you take a few more steps back to look up, checking the surroundings to ensure there aren’t any more hunters hiding in the shadows. But there was. “Another one, on your left.” You call out. Again just in time as another Trandoshan jumps down from a ledge. 

With one enemy on the floor, but recovering quickly, the odds weren’t in Din’s favour. It wasn’t a fair fight, even though you’re pretty sure he can handle himself, you worry for his safety nonetheless. And although you're not a fighter, you’ll be damned if you don’t try to help even out the odds against him. 

After checking that the baby was safe in his pod, you move toward the closest Trandoshan and raise your weapon. His back was turned, giving you the upper hand to land a blow without deadly consequence. Using the blunt side of the blade, you struck the back of his legs, causing him to stumble forward just at the right time for Din to throw his arms out and punch him in the face, knocking him unconscious as he fell to the floor. 

Now that the odds were evened out, you watched Din’s movements with laser-like focus and only intervened when you saw the right moment. You were sure he could handle himself, and you were right, but the element of surprise was the only advantage the Trandoshans had over him in the beginning. He fought the remaining two easily, eventually leaving all three unconscious and regretful for ever trying to take on a skilled Mandalorian. 

He turns to you, nodding appreciatively. “Good moves there, mesh’la - thank you.” 

“Don’t mention it,” You shake your head, “You did all the heavy lifting. I was just lending a hand.” You mumble with a sheepish grin on your lips. 

“But I know how you don’t like to fight,” He argues gently with a slight chuckle in his modulated voice. “You fought with me. Accept my gratitude, sweet girl.” 

“Ok, ok - you’re welcome, Din.” Your smile deepens with flattery as he stands before you with what you can only describe as pride. It was the way he looked at you; his helmet slightly tilted to the side, displaying the reflection of your own face, and his hands resting on his hips with a puffed out chest. 

Since you can’t see the man's facial expression, all you’re left with his body language and tone of voice to understand how he feels. And right now, you not only feel a sense of pride from him, but a flicker of attraction too. It’s in the air. The chemistry, the spark, it’s surrounding you both, and it’s something you feel quite often, but never have the courage to act on. 

You’re almost certain that the friendship between you and Din means something more, or at least, it’s heading towards something more. But the intimate moments you share with each other, brief moments like this, make you wonder why he doesn’t make a move.

You don’t even have to see the man's face to know that he’s eyeing you up and down. Upon feeling him lean in, something you’ve felt him do many times before, you muster up the courage to lean in as well.

However, the confidence escapes him at the last second and he pulls back, clearing his throat awkwardly. “We should leave now, mesh’la,” He says, breaking the silence and just like that, the moment is over. “ We need to get back on track and complete the job.”

What? You ask yourself as your mouth falls open and your eyes widen, exhibiting your shock and disbelief. After everything that has happened today, especially after a brawl against three Trandoshans, you're shocked that he is still going to hand the baby over to the client. Din picked up on your reaction instantly and straightened his back, as if preparing himself for a dispute. 

“Excuse me?” You scoff, your cheeks burning up again for an entirely different reason now. It wasn’t flattery, or attraction, it was anger. “Din, you can’t be serious. We can’t hand the baby over to the client. Especially now that we know other hunters are after him too-” You walk over to one of the Trandoshans laying on the ground and retrieve their tracking fob before presenting it to him, “-The client gave you the job, but handed out more fobs? It doesn't feel right and you know it.” 

“Cyar’ika, please don’t do this.” He sighs while running his gloved hand over the scruff of his neck, the pleadings in his voice for you to not argue about this falling on deaf ears. You are most certainly going to argue about this with him. You cross your arms and shake your head, like you had already settled the argument without even uttering another word. But, the dispute was nowhere near settled. “Need I remind you of the code in the Guild?” He asks with a bite to his tone of voice, “If you don’t like this job, I’ll finish this one on my own.” 

“On your own?” You laugh humourlessly while waving the tracking fob. “Good luck with that when the whole Guild could have these! What happens if you get hurt? What then?” Biting back with your own set of questions, you watch as the man huffs a short breath and turns away from you, evidently maddened with your bickering.  “Don’t turn away. Answer me -” You give him a second to answer, but grow impatient as you're met with a lengthy silence once again. “- What happens if you get hurt, Mando? You can’t do this alone.” 

Din turns to you now and stands close, his voice raised to a level that hurts. “I was doing just fine on my own two years ago, Y/N.” Turning away again, as if he couldn’t stand another second looking at you or spend any more time arguing, it didn’t matter anyways as you had ultimately lost the dispute. You give him another second, another chance to make things right and take back what he said, but he doesn’t turn around or mutter a single word. 

“Okay then,” You mumble, lowering your head, “Am I just the medic? Is that all I am to you?” You ask, and still, the man doesn’t turn to face you or answer your question. The silence spoke for him and that was all you needed to know before turning around to walk away. You gave him plenty of chances to fix his mistake, but only until your back was turned did he try. 

“Cyar'ika.” He calls out for you, finally coming to his senses, but it wasn’t quick enough as you didn’t respond to him. You made your way towards the baby and the sound of your muffled cries made his head hang low with shame. No matter how quiet you tried to be, your cries were audible to his ears, enhanced by the mechanics in his helmet. 

Although you were quite visibly sad, he watched you put on a fake smile and talk to the baby like nothing was wrong. The warmness of your soul shone through the misery, causing the little guy to beam and babble baby nonsense. It was a sight so beautiful to witness, so beautiful that it was distracting. 

Din can’t allow himself to get too wrapped up in the emotions that the child brings. It’s conflicting, confusing and…  foreign. He’s never felt this way before. Never felt this way before with any woman around a child, but it’s different with you and it clouds his mind, throws him off balance and disrupts his focus so much that he doesn’t pay attention to what’s most important right now. Like the danger lingering in the immediate surroundings. 

“Y/N!” The man calls to you again, his voice was laden with urgency. “Behind you! Y/N - behind you.” Sprinting toward your position while swinging the strap of his amban rifle around his chest, Din takes aim at another Trandoshan and fires, obliterating the reptilian humanoid to a thousand dust particles. 

You fall down, your knees hitting the sandy terrain below as your pained cries penetrate the sound of his beating heart deafening his ears. You took a hit from the Trandoshan, his blade had cut through your clothes and marked your skin before he was blasted into organic matter. 

“Mesh’la.” He choked. Rushing over and kneeling on the ground behind you, he reaches out to hold your arms. The injury you sustained was across your back, diagonally, at least three inches long and almost half an inch deep. A clean cut, but angry red and weeping with blood. “Easy now, sweet girl. You’re bleeding, just take it easy.” He reassures you with a slight tremble in his tone, his worry for your well-being perceivable. 

“The disinfectant,” You hissed in reply whilst shaking your head, “Get the disinfectant. It’s in my satchel, Mando.” Gently removing your satchel over your shoulder, he places the bag onto the floor and opens it up to search through your medical supplies. Supplies that are normally used for him. There’s irony in the fact you became a medic to treat others, not yourself, and the man despises that his involvement in the bounty hunting business has caused you harm. 

And although he is helping to the best of his knowledge, you’re directing him on what to do. “Open the cap and pour a generous amount over the wound.” You explain, then grab his hand on your hip to hold onto for comfort. He begins to ask if you’re sure, but couldn’t even finish his sentence as your sobbing plea cut him off. “Yes-yes! Just get it over with. Please, Din.” 

Listening to your instructions, he held his breath and prepared himself as he began dousing your back with disinfectant. You bawled with agony, your back arching away from him naturally with the instinct to stop the pain, but to his regret, he pulled you towards him and continued to pour. He clenches his jaw as you cry, his fingers almost turning blue from the force of your grip on his hand. “I’m sorry.” He apologizes, to which you don’t accept and stutter in reply. “This isn’t y-your fault.” 

Releasing your hand to place his thumb and forefinger on your chin, he tilts your head to look at him before leaning in. “I’m sorry, Y/N - for this, for yelling at you, for saying that I was doing just fine two years ago and… and you’re not just a medic.”  He rests his helmet against your head and whispers, though his voice breaks with remorse. “You’re so much more than that, mesh’la. You mean so much to me.” 

“Din, I-” You open your mouth to object, but he cuts you off by holding his thumb over your lips while shushing you. “Don’t speak and conserve your energy, we’ll talk about it later. Just let me take care of you first.” He says. 

“No, Din…” You sigh, eyes blinking slowly while slurring your words. “I was going… going to say that I… I can’t keep my eyes… I don't feel good…”  Your body becomes limp as you fall into his arms. Your vision darkens quickly, and the last thing you saw before everything went black was the baby's eyes looking at you as he peaks over the pod.

The next time you awoke, it was a brief moment of consciousness. The familiar sound of Din’s amban rifle could be heard as he fired off multiple rounds and your eyes glimmered open to see his legs, the bandolier of cartridges wrapped around his calf. You saw his gloved hand reaching for ammunition to load into his weapon and worried as to why he needed them. 

“It’s ok. Everything is ok,” he says upon noticing you were awake and were fighting to keep your eyes open. “We’re safe here. Go back to sleep, cyar’ika.” 

Eyes closing once again, you couldn’t keep them open no matter how hard you tried to, and his voice soon faded as you slipped into a deep slumber. The silence took over and, oddly, it felt comforting. Although it only felt like minutes had passed, you knew it must have been longer as your surroundings were different. 

There was no longer a warm breeze, but the cold presence of steel pressing into your side, and beneath you, it felt spongy and soft, thus indicating you were laying on a bed. The unmistakable sound of Kuiil’s voice could be heard in the distance as he makes the baby laugh and you open your eyes to confirm your assumptions on your whereabouts, but are met with locks of brown hair instead. 

It’s Din. He’s the cold presence of steel pressing into your side as he sat on the edge of the bed and it’s his hair that you were currently staring at with wide eyes. His back was turned, but you could still see the back of his head and instantly shut your eyes, fearing that if you spent one more second looking, you wouldn’t be able to turn away. 

“Mando,” You whisper immediately, panicking, then feel him moving around. “Mando, why don’t you have your helmet on? Stars! I could have seen your face.”

You begin to shift your position to turn away from him, but are reminded of the wound on your back. The pain struck you suddenly and harshly, causing Din’s hands to dart out to cover your eyes just in time as you opened them with instinct. He was gentle but quick. “It’s ok, mesh’la. You can’t see, it’s ok.” He reassures you through the strained whimpers slipping past your lips. 

“Where is your helmet?” You ask, getting your teeth. You close your eyes again once the surge of pain passes over and the soothing properties of bacta gel takes over. You can feel the substance on your back, feel the stuff working to heal your injury. “My eyes are closed now. It’s safe but… Shit, Din. I saw your hair.” You say apologetically. 

“It’s fine, sweet girl.” He chuckles softly, the sound making your mouth fall open with shock as you retort. “It’s not funny. I’m not allowed to see you - or your hair! What… W-what happens now?” You ask, to which he laughs again and startles you unintentionally when reaching out to cup your cheek. You weren’t expecting to feel his gloved fingers on your skin, but you quickly leaned into his touch as his gesture brought consolation. 

“Look at me,” He requests, “It's safe to look, I promise.” 

Rolling your eyes behind closed lids, you make a surprised sound when he caresses your cheek with his thumb. Again, you weren’t expecting the comforting gesture, but deeply appreciated it. And whether or not it was the bacta gel or Din easing the discomfort in your back, you chose to believe it was the latter.

A short moment passes before you finally open your eyes and find relief in the T shape of his helmet. Although you would love nothing more than to see his identity, the face of his helmet is what you know, it’s home. Your face softens as you relax into the palm of his hand, but the importance and worry around your question still lingers, thus causing you to ask again. “What happens now? I thought I wasn’t allowed to see you without the helmet, doesn’t that also mean I can’t see your hair?” 

“You didn’t see my face, nor did you remove my helmet, mesh’la,” He shakes his head, his voice soft like honey, “It’s okay and besides-” He turns his head, displaying the brown locks of his hair at the base of his neck, “-You can see my hair with the helmet on.” 

“Oh,” You whisper with intrigue, “Surprised I didn’t notice sooner, but your hair is…” Lifting your hand with a desire to touch his hair, you back out at the last second and retract your arm, but Din felt your movements and quickly assured. “Go ahead. I trust you.” 

You reach out again and caress the base of his neck, your fingertips massaging his scalp which draws out the heaviest sounding exhale you’ve ever heard from him; a sigh of relief, filled with endearment and relaxation. It was a gratifying feeling, seeing and hearing the man lean into your touch without fear of betrayal in this moment of vulnerability. Din is vulnerable at this moment, his guard is down and just the mere thought of removing his helmet sickens you. It never crosses your mind. 

“Your hair is beautiful, Din.” You murmur sweetly, a smile on your lips displaying your satisfaction and joy from something so simple. The action of touching his hair which you’d love to do again, to feel him melt in your arms like soft putty and feel a sense of home from your touch, like you feel a sense of home when looking into the T-shape of his visor. 

You gently squeeze the base of his neck, a way of reassuring him, before pulling your hand back, however, it was apparent that he wanted more as he sharply held your wrist and directed your hand back to his hair. “Please?” He asks in a whispered breath, hopeful and optimistic, desperate. “Keep playing with my hair, ner cyar’ika.” 

You laugh, a mixture of surprise and confusion obvious in your tone. The difference in his pet name for you was confusing, and his request for you to continue playing with his hair was surprising. Though, you granted his request gladly and began playing with his hair. “What does cyar’ika mean anyway?” You ask, tilting your head with interest while wondering what faces he was making under the helmet from your massaging movements. “Is there a difference when you say ner cyar’ika?”

“Yes.” He groans in reply, the sound drawing out another laugh from your lips as your smile deepens. You open your mouth to ask another question, until he turns his head to face you and leans across your body. The pause in his manoeuvre speaks of hesitancy, unsure on whether or not you were comfortable with what was about to do. 

The question you had vanishes from your mind as you nod to the man, nodding with confirmation for him to lay down and rest his head in your arms. The bed in which you lay on didn’t feel small until Mando lay on it with you. Not that you minded anyway, but it really detailed the size and stature of the man, especially the broad expanse of his chest and back. 

He raised both hands to his helmet, and before he could even ask, you closed your eyes with baited breath as he removed it to optimize the comfiest position. The position he chose however, was burying his face between your neck and shoulder. You didn't release the breath you were holding, it was snatched from your lungs.

Somewhere in the back of your mind, you thought this day would come, but doubt is what kept it at the back of your mind. You never entertained the idea of laying in bed with Mando too much as it felt like a pipe dream to have the man in your arms like this, and now that you do, it feels better than you ever could have imagined.

The pain in your back is practically non-existent now, almost as if you never even sustained an injury, and that’s because of his presence, his proximity and his comfort. It wasn’t a struggle to keep your eyes closed as you basked in the sensation of him carefully laying his weight over you like this.

Something else you’ve also thought about in the past, but tried not to think about too much, is Din laying over you for an entirely different reason. And perhaps it’s because of the level of intimacy in this position that brings those thoughts back to the surface, or maybe it was the electrifying feeling of his lips pressed against your skin. 

The man wasn’t exactly kissing you per se, but the bare contact of his lips placed against your neck like this felt like a kiss. Besides, the vest shirt that you wore left a lot of skin on your chest on display, thus providing Din, and yourself, to relish in skin-to-skin contact.

You could feel his beard, it was a light amount of hair, grazing against you with every little movement of his head. Soon, though, all of those little movements from Din became obvious that he was uncomfortable, as if he kept moving slightly to adjust his comfort.

“Want me to stop?” You ask, wondering if he has had enough of you playing with his hair, but to your delight, he shook his head as he inhaled deeply. He smiles against your skin, thus piquing your interest. “What? What is it?” You laugh bashfully. 

“You smell good, ner cyar’ika.” He replies, nestling his nose into your neck to inhale the natural scent of you. The smile on your face is yet to fade, his actions are what keeps your lips turned upwards, that was until you felt something wet dart onto your skin. It was brief, too brief, but you felt it nonetheless.

It was Din’s tongue, and your smile disappears as you bite your lip, leaving a hankering desire to feel it again. Your skin heats up beneath him as you entertain those thoughts about him lying over you like this for a different reason. You think about how you’ve yearned for his gloved fingers to touch other areas of your body, and as well as wondering about his identity, you’ve also wondered what he looks like nude. A mind is an imaginative place, and you’ve imagined him naked more than once. You sigh softly with the ache between your legs, wishing Din to be the one who eases it. 

“Mesh’la,” He mumbles, grabbing your attention, and when you hum in reply to him, he asks: “Is everything ok? Your heart is racing -” Your eyes spring open with worry, feeling like he could see your dirty thoughts, thus causing your heart to pound harder,  “- Hey, hey, relax. I can move, am I making you uncomfortable?” He asks, blaming himself for your panic. Although he is to blame, it’s not for the reason he thinks. 

“No, it’s just…” You falter with finding the right words, but the patience to wait for him any longer escapes you. “It’s just that I felt your tongue on my neck and if… Stars, this is going to be embarrassing if I’m wrong… and if you did it purposely, then I want to feel it again, but…” You gulp, gathering your courage to admit your feelings, “...But if it was just a mistake, then I think that we should maybe stop what we’re doing because I’m attracted to you Din.” 

“You are?” He asks, to which you reply firmly. “Yes. Yes, I am.” 

“So…” He smiles, “You like this?” He asks before placing an open mouthed kiss to your neck, his tongue darting out onto your skin again, thus eliciting you to sigh breathily. “Y-yes. Yes, I like that.” Your eyes close naturally as he plants another kiss on your skin, still with a smile on his lips, as he begins to pant. “I’m attracted to you too. Have been for a long time, ner cyar’ika.” 

“Oh, Din.” You moan. With arousal and relief, his admission makes you moan, the sound acting as a catalyst as he moves down your body, his head disappearing under the covers eagerly to hear you moan again. “Are you able to lay on your back?” You hear him ask, though his voice was muffled, you heard him clearly and nod frantically with excitement.

Shifting your position to accommodate him, you couldn’t feel the pain in your back anymore and slipped your hands beneath the covers, your fingers finding his hair with ease. “It’s ok, I’m comfortable lying like this.” You say while focusing on his every move with anticipation. You could feel his breath fanning across your lower stomach, his fingers hooked inside the waistband of your pants as he leans in to place another kiss on your skin. 

You lift your hips up with a silent request, one that he understood without a need for words, and begins pulling your pants down, along with your underwear. He leans in and presses his lips to your inner thigh, nipping a path toward your sex. You unintentionally begin gripping his hair by the handfuls, evidently desperate to feel his tongue delve into your slick folds. The man doesn’t waste time and gives in to his own desperation. 

���Din!” You whine upon feeling the tip of his tongue meet your clit. He teases you at first, moving his tongue in a circular motion with a feather-light touch, the action making your hips lift off the bed to search for more. You feel him smiling against your inner thigh, clearly satisfied with your reactions, before he closes his lips around your sensitive bud and sucks gently.

You let go of his hair to hold the back of your palm over your mouth, quieting your mewls of pleasure to a respectable level. Considering all the noises Din himself is making was driving you feral, it was a struggle to try and keep quiet. He sounded hungry, like a man starved for a taste of your sweetness right from the source, as if he had dreamed of this moment and was making the most of it now that it’s a reality.

Your hands abandoned his hair to grip handfuls of the bed sheets instead, your back arching as you tilt your head to the side and bury your face into the pillow. Your orgasm crept up on you, started off with a happy cramp in your stomach but quickly became bliss as he eased a finger inside your entrance, soothing the ache in your velvety walls. Din grunted heavily, needily, as he drank your desire.

He continued to flick his tongue against your clit while angling his finger into a come hither motion, caressing that sweet spot deep inside. The stars behind your eyes and the goosebumps rippling across your body never felt so good before, especially from the simple act of receiving oral. It’s been a while, a long while, since you’ve last felt the pleasurable touch of your own hands, let alone a man's pair of hands.

You needed this, needed to release all your pent up sexual energy, though it only made you insatiable for more. “Din,” You call to him, calling on his help to your frustrations, “Din, I need you.” 

Suddenly, his hand emerges from the quilt, “Here,” he says, handing you a blindfold. “Put this on for me, sweet girl.” He asks, to which you oblige and pull the item over your eyes hastily. “Ready - now get up here, I need to feel you.” 

Moving up your body without having to tell him twice, he travels slowly and plants kisses on your skin along the way, his smile never fading as he takes in the sight of you beneath him. “Gar’re bid mesh’la… (you’re so beautiful).” He growls wantonly, “...Bid, bid mesh’la (so, so beautiful).”

“I’m not sure what that means,” You giggle, the smile on your lips as wide as ever, “But I like the way you say it.” You reach out carefully in search of his face, to which he helps by directing your hands, and once you feel him, you gasp. “Stars! You’re so beautiful,” you whisper in awe as you trace the outline of his facial features, “Your lips… your cheekbones… nose… jawline… everything about you is beautiful, Din.” 

“Thank you, sweet girl.” He breathes, eyes closing to relish in the soft touch of your palms cupping his cheeks. “I’ll teach you Mando’a and soon you will understand everything I say, but I said you were beautiful too. So beautiful.” He explains, causing your cheeks to burn once again with flattery as you pull him closer. His lips press against yours with a bruising kiss, and you couldn’t help but moan because of the raw passion and loving desire to finally feel what you’ve yearned for. 

Although there was a hint of desperation in his bid to remove your clothes, Din was gentle with his movements, gentle and respectful. You helped remove his clothes too, and with each inch of skin revealed, you marvelled at the bare touch of him pressing against you. You’ve seen areas of the man's skin before when taking care of his injuries, but never fully seen him naked. 

Using your sense of touch to see, you feel his body and drag your fingers along his chest, feeling the brute strength that he holds. The strength of a warrior. Between your legs, you feel his member pressing against your cunt and it was an impressive size. Aching to be buried in your warm. His breath bellowing across your face, hot and heavy, laden with the same sound of relief from earlier when you played with his hair as you admire his body now. 

“Cyar’ika.” He groans. Placing his hands beside your head, you feel his body shudder with need, his hips rolling forward ever so slightly to ease the throb that burdens his cock. You slip your hands around the base of his neck, pulling him in to close the gap and kissing his lips whilst parting your legs. As he lines himself up at your entrance, your hands fall to his biceps, holding him tightly as you prepare from the breach. 

“Nngh,” you break off to moan, deeply and satisfyingly, “Fuck, Din! Keep going.” You lift your head off the pillow to kiss him again, letting him swallow all the little pretty noises you were making as he carefully buried himself to the hilt. Your walls opened up with ease, stretching to accommodate his size. “It’s ok,” You say, pleading for him to move. “I’m ok.” 

“Are you sure, mesh’la?” He asks, to which you nod in reply. “Waited so long for this,” pulling his hips back slowly, he grabs onto your thigh for leverage before burying himself into your cunt again. “Dank Farrik!” He grunts across your face, “So warm and tight. Better than I imagined, sweet girl.” 

The sound of his filthy words made you mewl, having never heard the man speak this way before, you were surprised, yet growing more aroused and confident to be honest with him. “I used to think… Shit!” You stutter as he grinds into you, drawing out a moan from your lips, “...I used to think about this. In the night, while you were sleeping in your bunk, I’d think about you making love to me.” You admit. 

“Oh fuck.” Din gasps. Picking up his pace while resting his forehead against yours, his moans broken and breathless, his cock reaches a new depth inside your cunt, hitting that sweet spot inside over and over again. “I’m so relieved to hear you say that,” he says, “I took myself in hand many nights thinking about you."  

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” You quickly warn upon feeling the peak of your climax racing toward you. “I’m close. Stars! I’m so close. Keep talking to me.” You cry, feeling yourself on the verge of tearing up from the intensity of your pleasure, but the sound of his voice keeps you tethered to the moment, preventing you from floating up to cloud nine. 

“I would dream about you often,” He groans while holding the base of your neck, his thumbs dragging across your skin reassuringly, “Wet dreams, mesh’la. I felt so ashamed, but… Fuck, they felt so good. Dreaming about you in my sleep felt so good.” 

“More… Tell me more.” You hiss. Wrapping your legs around his back and locking your ankles together, you feel his hips falter as he moans through gritted teeth. “Your pussy, nngh! I’d dream about your pussy wrapped around me, taking my load, mesh’la. Again and again until you couldn’t hold any more and it dripped out of you. Fuck! I’m gonna… Shit, Y/N, I’m coming-” He cuts himself off with a needy whine, throwing his head back with bliss as he feels you clenching around him. 

“I-Inside,” You begged him, “Please, Din. Come inside of me.” The man couldn’t stop himself even if he tried to. You felt him reach climax, the warmth of his release spreading inside of you, coating your velvety walls as they pulsed around him, as if milking him of everything he could give. “Mando. Fuuck, Mando!” You mewled directly into his ear, your eyes screwed shut behind the blindfold as his orgasm pushed you over the edge. 

White static casted over your eyes as your ears ring loudly, your heart thrums in your chest as nothing but pleasure courses through your veins. You unintentionally dig your nails into his back, clawing at his skin as he reverts to a slow grind into your cunt, the movements pleasuring your clit and prolonging the ecstasy of your high. “That’s it, sweet girl. There you go.” He praises you through it as he comes down from his orgasm, the sound of his voice overstimulating. 

Resting your head back against the pillow as you come down, breathing heavily, he plants loving kisses along your jawline and neck. “So pretty like this.” He whispers sweetly, his voice heavy with satisfaction as your hands find his face again. “Are you okay?” He asks. 

“How…” Your voice croaks, “How do you say happy in Mando’a?” 

“Briikase,” He chuckles, to which you reply with a smile. “Well, I’m briikase right now. Really briikase.” 

“Me too, cyar’ika-” He pauses to brush the hair away from your face, correcting himself. “Ner cyar’ika baar’ur.” You open your mouth to ask another question, to ask what difference in his pet names mean, but he leans in to catch your lips in a fervent kiss instead. 

Din pulls back, looking to where your eyes would be behind the blindfold while caressing your cheek. “Ner cyar’ika baar’ur... my darling medic. Ni’m ori briikase as pirusti bal ni kar'taylir darasuum gar, mesh’la... I’m very happy as well and I love you, beautiful.” 

You make a surprised sound when hearing some familiar words in his language and learning what they mean, that he has said them before in the past. “I love you too, Din.” You say earnestly, the tears staining the fabric of his blindfold, which you now just realized that he’s kept in his pocket in hopes to use with you one day, like today. You not only became Din D’jarin’s medic, but you became his - his darling medic. 

There aren’t a lot of things that surprise you these days as a trained medic, but that doesn’t mean nothing surprises you anymore. These last few days have been adventurous and emotional, foreign and unfamiliar, life-threatening and dangerous. It’s been life-changing for you and the Mandalorian, and it’s all because of a baby. The little guys presence not only sparked your maternal instincts, but the protective fatherly instincts within Din too. 

And, although neither of you know it now, the baby is only just the beginning of your treacherous journey across the stars in search of reuniting him with his people.

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[ilovepedro]

Woven in the Stars | din djarin x f!reader

Series masterlist | Main masterlist

Chapter 2 - Cosmically Sewn

Rating: 18+ MDNI

Word count: ~4k

Chapter summary: Din returns to town with Grogu, meeting with you to get custom clothes. Getting acquainted with the pair, you strike up an offer that could bring you and Din even closer. Will Din accept?

Chapter warnings: slow burn, mutual pining, dad!Din, flirting, one (1) use of the word “daddy” in a nonsexual way, reader refers to Din as ‘Mando’ (for now 🤭), POV switching, inaccurate star wars info, liberties taken with the Creed, reader is female, no mention of hair type/skin color/body type, NO USE OF Y/N, none really mostly just pining and fluff

A/N: hi everybody!!! tank you for sticking with me, life has been so hectic lately to say the least 🙃 but these two are finally acquainted with one another! the smut will happen eventually so bear with me y’all! i will throw y’all a bone occasionally, but the freak narsty smut happens all at the end. gotta let these two babies pine and let that slow burn burnnnn! can y’all sense i’m a sucker for the buildup? hehehe anyway i hope y’all enjoy! 🩵 not beta'd, all mistakes are my own.

Divider by @saradika

the first emboldened word = Din’s POV

the first italicized word = Your POV

Stirring in the plush, handsewn sheets, Din’s eyes flutter open, adjusting to the beaming sunlight. Groaning, he huffs as he rubs the shadow of stubble growing on his face, as he recalls what he did last night before falling asleep. Dread washes over him as he thinks of how he has to face you at the market later.

With a deep sigh, he rises from the bed and tidily makes his bed before padding into Grogu’s room. Thankfully, he’s still sleeping, still cuddled up with the stuffed bantha you gave to him.

You are everywhere he looks. How have you infiltrated his mind so quickly?

Din heads down the hall and into the refresher, opting to take a long shower while Grogu still sleeps. The scalding water soothes the dull aches that still linger in his body from years of battling. He scrubs hard, attempting to wash away what he did last night, the guilt and shame.

He shuts the water off and dries off before trudging back down the hall and into his room. As he slips on his flight suit, soft coos make his ears perk up. He smooths out the wrinkles in his shirt as he goes to peer into Grogu’s room. The child now wide awake and still gripping onto the bantha. He squeals at the sight of his father, hands up and stretched forward. 

Din cradles him in one arm as he walks out into the kitchen, starting their daily routine. One that consists of breakfast for Grogu, and sometimes Din. If he’s not eating breakfast with his son, he’s usually doing some work - whether that be house work or having comm link meetings with Teva or Karga.

Today, it’s just breakfast for the two of them. Grogu brushes the stubble on his father’s face while he prepares their meal. In the past, he’d tell Grogu to stop touching his helmet. Things have changed.

Din no longer wears his helmet around Grogu so long as they’re alone in their home. He’s part of his clan now, having adopted him. Seeing that Bo-Katan and a few others who’ve walked both worlds, and being exposed to different Mandalorians who practice the culture differently, he’s decided to take some liberties with the Creed. He wants his son to see him, all of him after losing him once. Also, Grogu is still far too young to partake in the Creed, so he should be allowed to see his father.

He prepares breakfast for the both of them, sitting Grogu down in his chair as he serves them both. His son squeals as his father serves him and sits beside him. Mirroring each other, the clan eats in silence. Grogu busies himself with his meal, completely oblivious to his spiraling father.

How is he supposed to face you again today? Why did he do that last night? Maker, he needs to regain his sense of self control. He knew domestic life was going to be an adjustment, but he didn’t think he’d let himself slip up so easily, so quickly. For stars sake, he’s already thinking about sharing a life with someone, with you. He has other things to take care of before he can even give that a second thought. Like settling in, helping Grogu adjust to this new life, prioritizing his contract work with Teva, and the occasional tasks from Karga. He hopes he can act normally today. You caught him off guard yesterday, but hopefully he can prepare himself to see your beautiful face.

A whine pulls him from his thoughts. Grogu has crawled into his lap, pouting up at him with those big brown eyes, meaning he’s still hungry. Din hands him his spoon, and turns him around to face the table. Grogu squeals with delight as he rapidly devours the rest of his father’s food. 

With a tiny burp, Grogu plops down into Din’s lap and sinks into the warmth of his chest. Din rises to his feet and pads into his son’s room, cleaning him up and changing him into a spare tunic. He settles Grogu in his pram, nuzzling the new stuffed bantha that he’s quickly attached to next to him, and walks across the hall to put on his armor.

As he reaches for his helmet, he calls out for Grogu before placing it on his head. “Come on, Grogu, let’s go.” A hissing sound erupts as he slips his helmet on, and he rushes back into the living room, slinging the sack over his shoulder while Grogu plays in the pram with his bantha. Another reminder of you, he exhales a deep modulated sigh as he braces himself for a day at the plaza. Embarrassment coursing through him as he and Grogu head out the door and off on their journey for today.

Maker give him strength.

The town bustles as the sweltering sun beams down onto the plaza. Setting up the last display at your textile stall, you wipe the bead of sweat that’s formed at your brow. Mando is supposed to return with Grogu today, making you feel particularly giddy about seeing the mandalorian again. You’ve heard tales about mandalorians your whole life, and have even seen some in passing having lived on Nevarro for a few years now. However, something about him was so enthralling.

You couldn’t place it. Perhaps it was the way he was so caring and gentle with his son, or perhaps it was his demeanor which was surprisingly a lot more open than you had expected. Most encounters with mandalorians are short, as they are not people of many words - but not with him. Something about the man in beskar has captivated you, unable to shake him from your head since meeting him yesterday.

Subconsciously, you’ve never taken this much interest in a commission before. You’d even selected an array of fabrics for him to choose from for Grogu. You tell yourself it’s because of the unorthodox, sweet duo. The green baby having captured your heart the second you laid eyes on him, his curious eyes wandering and babbles that escaped him having tugged at your heart strings. You wondered how he ended up with his father, the resemblance between them obviously nonexistent, but you didn’t ask. It’s not your place to know, let alone judge, unless Mando feels comfortable telling you.

You should know better than anyone how complicated familial relationships can be. That family does not always correlate to blood relation, being adopted since birth after your biological parents had given you up to your mother and father. You believe that the stars lead you to people. They lead you to your family - your parents, your brother, your sisters. You are their daughter, their sister despite what biology may say.

Oh how you miss them all so much. What you’d give to see them again. You hope they’re alright, that the krayt dragon hasn’t reached them despite all the time that has passed.

Biting back tears, you shake your head and pack the selected textiles into a box and place them in your home-turned-shop. Working out of your home has its perks - never having to leave. It’s also got its downsides with the lack of space. It can get crammed sometimes, and it’s hard to not bring work home with you - literally and figuratively. Big commissions can be stressful, and dealing with a particularly aggravating vendor neighbor doesn’t help.

Recounting your last encounter with him, it was thankfully diffused quickly by your other neighbors. He’d yelled at some innocent kids who were eyeing the fruits he sells, calling them thieves and accusing everyone of being one after he’d had a few pieces of fruit stolen from his stand. You’d intervened first, scolded him for yelling at children and consoling them by offering them some candy from your stash. Thankfully the other neighbors despised him as well and jumped into your’s and the children’s defenses. He backed off and hasn’t said anything since. Hopefully it stays that way. 

Thank the Maker he doesn’t actually live next to you.

The sound of your name pulls you from your recollection and back into reality. You rush outside and your breath hitches in your throat. There he is, in all his shiny glory. If he’s this captivating with his helmet on, you can’t help but wonder what he looks like underneath it.

You wave at them, beaming as Grogu returns a wave with his tiny hand as he holds the stuffed bantha you gifted him just yesterday. Din desperately tries to keep his composure as he approaches you, trying not to think of what he’d done last night. His hands having grown clammy under his gloves, his helmet suddenly feeling hotter as the sight of you sends his head spinning.

You’re radiant, as if you belong in the stars in the evening skies - outshining every galaxy he’s ever seen. Your energy is infectious, making his heartbeat stutter. 

“Hi, baby! I see you brought your new toy with you! Do you like it?” You ask, voice full of glee. Grogu happily garbles an incomprehensible response, but you take it as a ‘yes’ and burst into a fit of giggles. Your laugh like music to his ears, he bites back a groan under his helmet. 

Is there any part of you that isn’t beautiful?

“Hi, Mando,” you giggle. It sucks the air out of his lungs hearing your breathy laugh and his name from your lips. Sweat forms on his brow and he wishes he could wipe it away. He fidgets with his holster, giving you a nod. “Hi, cyar’ika,” he nervously stammers, the affectionate name having escaped his mouth without thinking. Your brow quirks as your lips pull into a grin. “I’ve never heard that before. Is that your native tongue?” You inquire, fully intrigued by the name.

Fuck. He didn’t mean to let the name slip.

“It is. It’s Mando’a, the language of my people.” Your smile grows larger, making Din’s heart beat faster and body grow hotter. “It sounds lovely! What does that word mean? Should I be insulted?” You playfully tease him. Unbeknownst to you, his eyes bug out of his head as his cheeks grow red. “What? No, it was not an insult, I promise. It means, uh… it means ‘friend,’” he lies. You nod, narrowing your eyes at him as if you don’t believe him.

“Okay. If you say so, Mando,” you tell him, coyly winking at him. He clears his throat as awkward tension fills the silence between you two.

Grogu’s squealing breaks the tension, making you laugh. “You ready for some new clothes, baby?!” You ask him, scooping him up from his pram, eliciting a giggle from the baby. 

His heart feels like it’s going to burst through the beskar.

Tickling the child, he laughs excitedly as you set him on one of the tables at your stall. “Wait here,” you tell the clan as you disappear into your studio. You return with a box containing something. You place the box on the table, Grogu cooing in curiosity. Din tilts his head to the side. 

“What’s this?” He asks, making you beam. 

“I hope you don’t mind, but I selected some fabrics for you to choose from based on what he was wearing yesterday! But also, please feel free to browse around the other selections,” you explain with a sparkle in your eyes as you smile at him, laughing as Grogu grabs one of your fingers to balance himself as he wobbles to the box.

He’s undeserving of your kindness, unable to fathom what he’s done to be on the receiving end of it.

“You didn’t have to do that, cyar’ika,” he nearly whispers. Your face is beginning to ache with the amount you’ve been smiling since he arrived. “It was no problem, Mando. I hope you like some of the selections. You can tell me if you don’t, you can be honest with me. Trust me, I can take it,” you tell him with a coy smile and a wink, making him suck in a sharp breath.

Keep it together, Din.

“Th-they’re lovely, cyar’ika. Thank you very much, I’m perfectly happy with any of the fabrics you’ve chosen,” he tells you. “Are you sure? Because I-I can pick out some more,” you say timidly.

Is he making you flustered? No. There’s no way.

“No need. They’re perfect.” You give him a nod and tuck your bottom lip between your teeth. “How about we let Grogu choose his favorites from the pile?” He says, subconsciously inching closer to you. “O-Okay,” you stutter.

You bend down to meet Grogu’s height. “Grogu! Which one do you like, baby?” You gently ask him as you hold up two pieces of fabric for him to choose from. He points to one in your left hand with a grunt. You repeat the process two more times, the smile never leaving yours or Din’s faces.

He watches quietly as you swipe your measuring tape from your apron, wrapping it around Grogu who garbles in confusion as he wonders what’s going on. He looks up at you with his big brown eyes, tiny teeth peeking out from his mouth. You smile and scrunch your nose at him, speaking to him about different things like toys, candy, animals, anything a child would like. You intently listen to every garble that streams from Grogu as if you can understand him, showing him enthusiasm as he babbles. 

Din can feel his body heating up, his chest feeling fuzzy as he watches you interact with his son.

Grogu goes for something in one of your pockets - the pin cushion. You and Din panic, you get to him before he pricks himself on a needle. “No no, baby! Those are sharp, they can hurt you. Here, you can play with this instead,” you say, handing him a spare one sans pins. You remove the one from your apron and toss it onto a table behind you, probably to ensure he doesn’t reach it at all.

How are you so maternal? Is it instinctual or do you have children of your own?

“You’re really good with him,” he says, moreso to himself rather than you. “Hmm?” You say, lifting your head and eyes wide as you meet his gaze. His heart feels like it’s going to combust every time you look at him. 

“What?” He asks. A smile splays on your face, teeth poking through your lips. “What did you say? I’m sorry, I didn’t quite catch what you said,” you explain.

“Y-you’re, uh, you’re really good with him. Most people can’t keep up with his hyperness, but you can.” He sees something flash across your eyes.

Bashfulness?

“Oh. Thank you, that’s very kind,” you say, voice hushed and shy. “Do, um, do you have any children of your own, if you don’t mind me asking?” He can’t help, but ask - curious as to how you’re so good with his son, curious if you’ve got a riduur at home.

“No! No children, just me at home. I did have a little sister and have just always had a soft spot for kids, but no… no children,” you tell him, a noticeable deflation in your voice as you bring up your sister.

Did. He catches that, unable to miss the use of past tense. Feeling like he’s already pried from you, he nods. “Well, you’re a natural. Plus, he likes you,” Din says, offering some sort of comfort and shifting the focus of the conversation.

Grogu chirps from below the both of you, making you smile. You boop his nose, making him laugh. “I like him too. We’re best friends now, aren’t we, baby?” You ask him, tickling his sides as Grogu’s laughter grows louder. “Better watch out, Mando. I think I’ve taken the throne as his favorite,” you say through your giggles. Din watches from behind his helmet as you cradle Grogu, his heart taking flight at the sight in front of him.

“I don’t doubt that, cyar’ika.”

“So… can I ask what brings you into town, besides clothes for Grogu?” You ask, marking measurements on the selected fabric.

“Uh, yes, uh, we’re actually also here to gather some things for a fence I’m building. I’ve got a pond in front of our house and Grogu keeps torturing the frogs. I also don’t want him falling in, so I’m buying the last of the supplies to block it off.”

Your heart softens at the mandalorian’s concern. Going above and beyond for his son.

“Those poor frogs,” you giggle at the thought of Grogu messing with them. “Yeah, if he keeps eating them, he’s going to turn into one,” he huffs. Grogu snaps his head up, garbling what seems like a question.

“Have you started building the fence yet?” You through a fit of laughter.

“I have not, I’ve been occupied with some last minute tasks High Magistrate Karga asked me to complete. But I plan to start soon, possibly within the next week.”

You hum as silence settles amongst you three. A thought pops into your head, recounting the time you spent helping your father around the moisture farm back home on Tatooine as a young girl. Building and repairing fences and traps with your brother around the farm, your father adamant on ridding your home of womp rats.

Without even thinking about your next words, they eagerly roll off your tongue. Not sure why you’d go so far to extend a helping hand, but not questioning yourself either.

“Would you like some help?” Mando tilts his head to the side. “W-with the fence! That is,” you say, trailing off at the end. “Oh, that’s quite alright, cyar’ika. It’s a lot of work, and I couldn’t ask another task of you.”

“It’d be no problem! I’m more than happy to help, if you’ll let me.”

You’ve never been so eager to do farm work in your life. Surely, your father would laugh at your enthusiasm.

“Cyar’ika, you’re very kind, but I’d be indebted to you should you help me. In fact, I already am with the garments you’re crafting for Grogu.” You playfully roll your eyes

“Again with the formalities. You aren’t indebted to me, Mando! This is my job. Helping would be considered a favor, helping out a friend.”

“Friend.” Mando states. 

“Yeah. Isn’t that what you call me? ‘Cya-cy-cyar’,” you stumble through the pronunciation. Mando barks out a hearty laugh, sending a flurry of butterflies swarming in your belly.

“Yes, we are friends, cyar’ika. You can just call me ‘Mando’ or ‘friend.’ We’ll work on your pronunciation later, don’t want you hurting yourself now,” he teases. Your scrunch your face up, mouth gaped open. “Wow! How rude of you, Mando! Give a lady some grace, why don’t you?!” You squeak, unable to contain the surprise in your voice as a huge smile breaks out onto your face, taken aback by his sudden playfulness.

“I’m sorry, cyar’ika. How can I re-earn your good graces?” A smile evident in his voice.

Your face feels like it’s going to fall off if you keep smiling.

“For starters, you can tell me what that word really means. I’m only fluent in Basic and Jawaese,” you say with a wink, trying to make him feel equally as flustered.

“Jawaese? Are you not native to Nevarro?”

You shake your head as you measure Grogu once more, jotting down his measurements, playfully booping his nose to keep him entertained. “I am not. Tatooine was my home, it’s where I was born and where I grew up.”

He nods, carefully catching a wobbling Grogu. “So what brought you here?” You smirk. “I could ask you the same, Mando… if that is your real name,” you tease. The mandalorian chuckles under his helmet.

Oh what you’d give to see his smile.

“Maybe I’ll tell you… should you ever choose to tell me your given name,” you tease.

“Fair enough. I’ll tell you everything one day, cyar’ika.”

One day. Is he possibly considering telling you his name?

“One day,” you repeat. Your gaze never leaves his, staring into the blacked-out T in his helmet, hoping he can see the desire in your eyes. The silence is broken with the clearing of Mando’s throat. 

“I plan on starting next week. Does that work for you, cyar’ika?” 

You nod a little too eagerly, automatically agreeing despite not having checked your deadline schedules for other commissions. “It does! I’ll even bring over Grogu’s new tunics next week, they’ll be ready by then,” you excitedly say, folding the paper containing Grogu’s measurements and tucking it into your apron. Tucking your pencil behind your ear, you fold the fabrics up and carefully place them back in the box.

Grogu picks one up and hands it to you, melting your heart. You graciously pout, cooing at him. “Thank you, baby!” You squeal, gently caressing his cheek. He nuzzles into your touch.

He’s got you wrapped around his little green finger.

A pang of disappointment hits your heart, your time with the clan coming to a close.

You sigh as you tuck the box of fabric under one of the tables behind you. Silence hangs in the air, fiddling with your apron as you’re unable to say goodbye.

“Well… I guess we’ll be seeing you next week, cyar’ika?” Mando says, making you perk up at the sound of his voice. “Yes, yes you will, Mando.” You can’t help but smile at the thought of spending time with the duo.

“Good. I can’t wait, mesh’la,” he says quietly. Your brows reach your hairline at the new nickname. “Okay, now what does that one mean, Mando? You better not be insulting me!” You exclaim, poking fun at him, but genuinely curious as to what he’s saying.

“I would never, cyar’ika! Like I said, I’ll tell you one day,” he assures you. You sarcastically hum, reaching for something else in your pocket and hand Grogu yet another piece of candy.

“Here you go, little man. Thank you for being so good today, baby!” You tell him, helping him unwrap the lollipop as he squeals with excitement. He incoherently babbles as you discard the wrapper.

“None for daddy though, he’s being a meanie,” you pretend to whisper to Grogu. Your head snaps up at the sound of a groan.

“You alright, Mando?” You ask, brows pinched together. “Y-yeah, cyar’ika. I’m fine. J-just s-sometimes… this… helmet gives me, uh, a headache. I’m fine though,” he stammers. Your worry not quite dissolving. 

“I’m sorry, Mando. Would you like some medicine? I think I might have some inside,” you worriedly ramble. He waves you off. “It’s alright, cyar’ika. I promise. Th-thank you for all your help today, truly,” he nervously says. Taking his word, you nod.

“Well, I’m here if you ever need anything. And of course, it was my pleasure,” you say as you extend your hand to him, smiling as you do so. He quickly glances down to your hand, his large gloved hand fully encasing yours, his thick fingers brushing against yours in the process. He gently shakes your hand, giving it a soft squeeze in between, flashing him a gentle smile.

Is he smiling under there? You hope so.

“See you next week, cyar’ika,” he says, his hand still in yours. “I’ll see you both next week, Mando,” you say breathlessly. He sets your hand down, but doesn’t let go. You can sense his hesitation, but what could he be hesitating about?

“Have a lovely day… mesh’la,” he rasps with a tender, but swift swirl of his thumb on your hand. Sparks of electricity bolt throughout your body, your hand feeling as if it’s ablaze. He quickly drops your hand, gathering Grogu in his arms and settling him in his pram.

“Thank you. You too, Mando,” you nearly whisper, still relishing in the lingering feeling of his hand in yours. “Bye, cyar’ika,” he says with a wave, Grogu mirroring his father’s actions. “Bye, Mando. Bye, Grogu!” You say, returning the wave to the father-son duo. They part from your stall.

There’s a few customers browsing around your stall, but you hardly notice them as your mind swirls from what just happened between you and Mando.

What was that?

A customer comes up to you to ask a question. You shake the thoughts from your head and go about the work day. Anticipation blooms within you as the day drags on.

Next week can’t come fast enough.

we've finally been introduced to our reader (or as Din likes to call you, 'Cyari'ka' hehehe) and now the plot has been set up for some major pining! we've even caught a glimpse of backstory for reader!

i truly hope your suspension of disbelief allows you to picture yourself when reading this, because i like to picture myself while writing! Din wants reader aka you! 🫶🏼

anyway, thank you so much for reading! i'd love to know your thoughts in the comments, my asks, or dms 🩷

tag list: @javierpena-inatacvest @gracieheartspedro @undrthelights @tinygarbage @bastardmandennis @party-hearses @nostalxgic @mandoisapunk @pedrostories @anoverwhelmingdin @diguise7 @survivingandenduring @missladym1981 @stilllivindue2spite @dindjarinsmut @coquettegingette @firstofficerwiggles @christinamadsen @leithatnight

if your name is crossed out, it means i couldn't tag you ):

#fic: woven in the stars #din djarin #din djarin fic #din djarin x female reader #din djarin x f!reader #din djarin x reader #din djarin fluff #din djarin series #the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x f!reader #the mandalorian x female reader #mando monday

[prolix-yuy]

Beautiful Release

Pairing: Din Djarin x F!Reader

Summary: You and Din have an agreement. Simple, clean, easy. But not this time.

Word Count: 4.1k

Warnings: Explicit, 18+ MINORS DNI, IT'S PEGGING DIN TIME! Anal sex (m receiving), rough sex, sex toys, fingering (m receiving), handjob, frottage, blowjob, swallowing, cumshot, mentions of oral sex (f receiving), mild dubcon (Reader isn't aware of Din's mental state and stops the session to re-negotiate boundaries), painful sex, sex as self-flagellation, hurt/comfort.

Notes: Welcome to my addition to the Peg That Middle Aged Man Event 2024! This idea had been bumping around in my brain and this gave me the perfect excuse to write it. Thanks @wannab-urs for organizing this event, making the gorgeous banners, and giving me a chance to live my fantasies after S3 gave us the most delicious kneeling restrained Din image. I will never forget it, it's burned into my brain forever.

Set after S2 and before The Book of Boba Fett.

Cross-posted on AO3

He’s come to you before, but never like this.

Din always treats your encounters like serendipity, but from the first time you’ve known how far from the truth that is. He finds ways to drift into your path, tilting his helmet like he never expected you to be at this spaceport, which you prefer for its discretion, or in this cantina, which serves a hell of a barium fizz. The niceties always devolve into the silent request, which you never fail to fulfill.

But now, there’s a holomessage blinking on your control panel.

Send me your coordinates. Usual encoding.

It’s brisk, cold, mostly to protect you both, but even then something’s off. He’s never admitted to seeking you out. Something stirs deep in your stomach, consulting the encoding slug he gave you ages ago in case you ever needed him. Funny, the first time you’d use it would be because you think he needs you.

Your winding relationship with Din Djarin began at the business end of a blaster, but you can’t fault him for that. The ship you were flying then had all the hallmarks of a slaver vessel, but when he found your crew of rebel sympathizers he lowered his weapon. One escort and a few short-lived conversations later, and you’d forged a razor-thin alliance. 

Your paths wound their way across and through each other for over a year, and in that time Din warmed to you. He gave you his name, his allegiances, his contacts if needed. In return you forged documents and built jammers for his ramshackle ship. Mutually beneficial, and after a time pleasantly warm. His laugh always surprised you, a low chuckle when you turned a phrase just right on him. 

And the kid! The curious little gremlin that had been accompanying him more in recent times did help to smooth the rough spots. Grogu’s presence always brightened your days, brief moments of pure joy from his tireless antics. Din seemed to be ever the exasperated protector, but when he tucked Grogu into his arm his aura glowed. 

However, the times when Din “stumbled” upon you with seemingly no purpose had little to do with play dates or trades. Well, maybe only in the most euphemistic sense.

It was on a cargo run - cargo being more frightened people fleeing under the guise of your fake shipping business - that Din first encountered what would bring him back to you time and time again. There was a man among the stowaways who took an interest in you, the feeling mutual. He wound his way around like a lothcat in heat, and when you whispered how you might be able to pass the time he enthusiastically agreed. 

You weren’t much of an exhibitionist, but the ship wasn’t meant for privacy. So when Din happened upon you bending the man over a cargo crate, your strap slickly splitting him open as he moaned behind your clamped hand, you did feel some mild embarrassment. You weren’t sure how long he watched you thrust into the other man, but the little cough that alerted you to his presence made you turn and take him in.

He was clearly affected, hand gripping his belt as the other clenched by his side. Fascinating. The Mandalorian had surprises in store. 

The man garbled about sucking Din’s cock, letting the Mando cum on his face while you pounded his tight hole, but you stuck your fingers in his mouth and picked up your rhythm again. You’d met other Mandalorians in your travels, but Din’s particular religion was much stricter than most. He might take hefty offense if you assumed any of the armor could come off. Instead you let him watch without comment as your companion came all over the side of the cargo crate, soothing him through the aftershocks. As you cleaned him up you noticed your audience fled, and you determined never to speak of this. 

It would take two months for Din to come to you. 

“People like this?” he asked when you showed him your strap and assortment of attachments. You shrugged, picking out the one you secretly thought he’d enjoy.

“Some do, some don’t. It’s just one of many things I like,” you said, leaning against your bedroom wall as he filled the small space with restless energy. “I’m sure you like plenty of things too.”

There it was. The little roll of the shoulders and flex of a hand that told you Din wasn’t as inexperienced as some would believe. 

“Never tried something like this,” he mumbled, and you smiled under the knowledge that he was nervous. Din Djarin, feared throughout the galaxy, and dearer friend than you ever expected, had something he wanted and didn't know how to ask for.

“Would you like to try it?” you said, taking the last barrier away. He tilted the helmet down, fingers restless on his hip. 

“Yes.”

That first night you didn’t fuck him, though by the end he was so close to begging you almost came from the sound. Instead you opened him up with your fingers, got him used to the feeling of fullness and how to connect it to pleasure, while he laid on your bed and gripped the sheets so hard you thought he’d rip them. His pants bunched across his thighs, you got to admire the cords of muscle rippling as you made him shake and choke. His cock, velvety and weeping on his stomach, made your mouth water, but you only offered to suck it when he was just on the precipice. Your hot mouth wrapping around his head, two clever fingers stroking his prostate, tipped him over into bliss as he shouted his completion. Pride swelled in your chest at his belabored breath, chestplate heaving and thighs quivering on either side of your head. 

When you returned from cleaning up he was already dressed again, despite your protests to wait and let you ease him down from this new experience. He thanked you, awkwardly, and left quickly. Lying in the same bed that night, still smelling of him, you reasoned with yourself. He probably had a lot of feelings to sort out, both around his pleasure and the fact that you gave it to him. You hoped he trusted you enough to know you’d be discreet. And, as your fingers slid into your underwear, you hoped he’d seek you out again.

It was only a week before you were at the same spaceport again, his heavy boots clanking up your ramp. You tried to hide your own nerves, but when Din stood before you and let the visor drag up and down your body, a delicious grin crept onto your face.

“Ready to try more?”

Indeed he was.

He enters your ship without preamble, a brief flit of concern clouding your features at how quickly he disarmed your security measures. You weren’t expecting him for another hour. He must have jumped to get to you. 

It’s thrilling, to know the Mandalorian’s need is so great. 

But when he enters and closes the door behind him, the energy is…off. Not seductive, teasing, edged like the other times. No, he’s holding his body so tight and so still. There’s nothing aggressive in it, but you glimpse why his enemies fear him. Without a face, and with so much obscuring the flesh beneath, you’re not sure when he’ll strike. 

He catches you rummaging through your drawer, the strap in your hand. Assessing, you give him a gentler smile than usual, hands visible, softening your stance.

“Hello, Din.”

He nods, quickly, unbuckling his belt and yanking his cape free. Both fall to the floor carelessly. You press on.

“How about you tell me what you want?” you say, watching him carefully as he opens his pants plaquet. The mouthwatering strip of skin you covet peeks from beneath his top.

“Just need…need this,” he says, and while naturally a man of few words you’d taught him to be more vocal in this respect. 

“Okay, Din. How about you kneel on the bed and we start there?” Your voice lowers into a soothing register, reaching for his arm. 

“No,” he almost shouts, startling your hand back. He recovers. “No, I want…” You can practically hear him licking his lips on a sigh, slowing himself down. “Can you sit against the headboard?”

Brows raised, you nod. He’s never ridden you before, always preferring to let you take him from behind or on his back. Pulling the strap-on over your leggings, you settle against the headboard and wait for him. He doesn’t take long, kneeling on the bed briefly in contemplation before swinging over your lap. Shucking his pants half down his legs, you can’t resist a giggle.

“Might be better to take them off,” you tease, letting your hands lay featherlight on his hips. A huff crackles through the vocoder but he doesn’t move to disrobe further. 

“I’ll open you up a bit first,” you say, one hand reaching for lube while the other snakes its way to his hole. You encounter surprising slickness, but he’s nowhere as warmed up as you get him.

“S’okay, I took care of it,” he mumbles, both hands coming up to grip the headboard above your head. Slicking lube on the dildo, you move to finger him enough to ease your way in.

“Just a little more…”

“I’m fine.”

The curt retort snaps your face to the helmet, now more of a cowled chin and shining halo of beskar above your head. There’s something bubbling uncomfortably under the surface, something you feel the need to drag out by the scruff of the neck, but it’s Din. You never talk feelings with Din. Frankly, you barely talk at all during, or after, any of your nights together.

“Sorry,” he breathes, forcing relaxation. “I’m ready. Please.”

Your eyes linger for a moment longer, then you circle the base of your cock in waiting.

He descends slowly, gritted breaths and sharp blasts of air from his nose echoing above you. You watch the strain in his thighs as he sinks and sinks, his cock only half-hard against his stomach. Leaving a hand on one hip, you stroke soothing paths up and down his lower back, watching for discomfort. Instead he’s marble around you, coiled, body not releasing as usual. Normally when you fuck him he dissolves, rolling his hips back onto you and choking out praises of how good you feel.

None of that comes. He meets the base of your cock and immediately slides back up at an almost punishing pace. He can’t be that acclimated yet, and his pained hisses and grunts only make that more apparent. 

“Din, slow down,” you request, hands firmer on his hips to try and even his pace. If he heard you he says nothing, now slamming his hips down on your cock. “Din,” you beseech again, nails starting to dig in. His grunts grow to growls, something from the heat of battle, your headboard creaking from his crushing grip. 

Clarity overtakes you, the shudder of his stomach and forceful downstrokes only getting more intense. There wasn’t pleasure in this. Something is eating up Din inside and he’s trying to fuck it out of himself. And he’s using you to do that.

“Din Djarin, STOP.”

The echo of your voice, strong and steely, finally brings Din to a stop with your cock buried deep in his ass. His chest heaves in front of you, limbs quivering from the exertion, but he’s as still as he can be. Gripping his chestplate, you push him back enough to look him in the visor, your anger righteously reflected back.

“You don’t punish yourself with my cock,” you order, teeth clenched and seething. “Do you think so little of me, that I’d just let you rip yourself to shreds without a word?” 

Din freezes, but this time you know it’s shame. If you were in a clearer headspace you might have tried reassurance, or asked him to lay beside you and talk about what’s destroying him, but you’re just too upset. 

“Is that all you come to me for?” you spit out, knuckles aching from gripping his armor. He’s silent for long enough that you consider throwing him out before he speaks.

“Something happened. And I just want to…be empty. To not think about it every moment.” He leans forward and your visage warps as he presses his forehead to the crown of your head. The anger thrums but starts to ebb as he folds around you. “I didn’t know where else to go. You’ve always taken care of me. More than I deserve.”

The sadness in his voice is palpable, and even with your mouth still sour from his deception you find the compassion to wrap your arms around his middle. The chestplate presses into your cheek, a metronome for Din’s slowing breaths. 

“If you have any care in your heart for me, don’t ever do that again,” you grit out. Din’s breath catches. 

“I care for you,” he says, and a door in your heart you never realized was cracked widens for Din’s admission. 

“I care for you too, you karking asshole, which is why I want you to say something instead of trying to hate fuck your feelings out.”

Din’s chest begins to shake again, but you’re sure it’s laughter this time. You manage a giggle of your own, letting him lean back and look at you again. The motion shifts your cock in him, and his sharp sigh arches your brow.

“If you wanted to forget, you could have just told me,” you say, rolling your hips sensuously up into his clenching hole. Din’s head drops back, grip tightening on the headboard again as you grind into him.

“Please,” he begs, so soft and vulnerable you can’t help but give him what he needs. 

Slowly you press up into him, guiding his hips to rock on your cock. You love the feel of his ass in your hands, well muscled and perfect for grabbing, manhandling him just enough to show he can let go. He follows your direction reluctantly at first, but as you plant your feet and start thrusting with more range he loosens. You can feel it in his arms, holding on to the headboard for dear life, and the building rhythm of his hips meeting yours. For a man whose life is violence, you never want to bring that into your sessions. But a light swat on one asscheek pulls the most delicious moan from deep in his chest.

“Fuck,” he groans, bearing down on you even more. Tilting your hips, you arch his back enough that you’re sure to hit his prostate on the next thrust. 

“Maker!”

There it is.

“Close your eyes,” you whisper. Waiting a moment, you zero in on that perfect spot inside him and hit it with every one of your thrusts. “Do you feel that? Feel how good I’m fucking you?”

“Yes, fuck,” Din curses, one hand flitting down to squeeze the base of his cock. He’s at full attention now, head bobbing against your stomach. You swell with pride that he’s having to stave off his orgasm so quickly, but you’ll be the one to make those decisions now. 

“All I want you to think about is how good you feel,” you purr, tugging his hand away and replacing it with your own. You long for his skin against yours, so you pull up your shirt to skim the head of his cock against your soft belly. He chokes, stuttering away but he’s trapped between your hand and thighs.

“Wait, Maker, I’ll cum if you…” he garbles, but his body keeps meeting your grinds. You shush him gently, stroking from base to tip and smearing precum over the head. 

“You will, but only when I let you. You know I’ll make it good for you, make nothing but this pleasure you’re feeling fill that head of yours.” His rapid nod almost knocks you in the head with the beskar, but he manages to tuck into your neck instead. The helmet is a shocking cool against your skin, but the act of burrowing into you must be rewarded. Bringing your arms around him, you press along the length of his body, trapping his cock between.

“I’m gonna pound into this tight ass until you cum all over us. You like that?” The wail Din lets out shoots heat to your cunt, wishing more than anything that you’d opted for a toy that gave you a little stimulation too. Instead you hammer fast and hard, barely pulling out. Your hips and thighs burn with exertion at his bulk on top of you, but he’s frantically bouncing back and rutting his cock into the wet mess your bodies make. 

“Don’t stop,” he gasps, and you’re not sure if it’s the vocoder but you think his voice sounds watery. “Please, cyar’ika, don’t stop.”

Cupping the back of his neck, damp with sweat, you whisper, “I’ve got you.”

With a handful of final pumps you’re coated in his cum, sliding around your belly as he seizes over and over. Pressing deep, you hold strong against his shuddering body as he finishes. Each weakening thrust draws him down on you, heavier and loose-limbed. 

The armor makes it hard to find the soft spots, so you take to kneading the back of his neck and palming his spine. Before his last aftershock, you urge him higher on his knees so you can slip your cock out - slowly, so as not to shock his jellying body. Easing him down, you hold his head in the crook of your neck and settle him on your lap. His hands slide down from the headboard to your shoulders. 

Then you hear it. A tiny sniff, then another. You can’t pretend you didn’t notice them so close to your ear. So you gather the broad man in your arms and hold him. His hands don’t know where to rest, finally winding loosely around your lower back.

“It’s okay, I’ve got you,” you tell him again, and the sniffing starts to recede. His body, however, slumps against yours, and it takes all of your strength not to start giggling.

You fucked the Mandalorian right to sleep. Bravo to you.

When Din finally stirs, a deep rumble in his throat, it’s been almost an hour. Your toes are half numb and you’re dying to shift into any other position, but much like a lothcat falling asleep on your lap, you couldn’t bear to move Din. Especially when he started snoring, one of the most endearing and hilarious sounds you’d ever heard him make. 

In the time he slept you wondered what happened. What terrible thing hollowed him out and haunts him. Something keeps him up at night, if the depth of his sleep is any indication. Recent, possibly. Traumatic.

Your breath caught in your throat. If something happened to Grogu you know he would have told you. You ask after him all the time, teasing that you’ll be his Auntie (Din always says he has plenty of them across the galaxy). 

Had you seen the Razor Crest fly up? Where was that old bird anyway?

What happened in the time since Din last saw you?

The cycle of possibilities always ends the same. Maybe he cares for you in some way, but not enough for you to ask. No matter how much you want to.

A shift on your lap alerts you to Din waking, kneading his shoulders and neck lightly to alert him to your presence. He’s never slept with you before, but it wouldn’t surprise you to learn that he’s quick to draw at unexpected circumstances. Of which this one definitely is.

“What…” Din croaks, and if not for the helmet you would have offered him water. 

“It’s okay, you’re on my ship. You’re okay.” 

It takes Din another minute to realize what’s happened. Him, half naked on your lap with your strap pressing against his ass. You, covered in drying cum beneath him. In a flash he’s swinging his leg off your lap, attempting to stand but obviously they’ve gone as numb as yours because he stumbles and crashes out of sight. 

“Oh kriff, are you…?” you start to ask, but as quick as he’s out of sight he pops back up again, tugging up his pants and tucking himself away.

“Sorry, that was…I didn’t mean to…do that.” 

All of the heaviness and anger and lust fizzles away to laughter as you try to suppress the ridiculousness of the moment. After a moment of indigent head tilting Din’s shoulder also shake, chuckles fuzzing out of the vocoder. 

“Oh Maker, what an understatement that is,” you sigh, wiping your stomach with the edge of your bedsheets. Din visibly cringes, hands on his hips.

“Sorry for the mess,” he apologizes, but you wave it off.

“I’ve had much worse, believe me,” you shoot back. Clean enough, you sit on the edge of the bed and look up at the inscrutable man. 

“Want to talk about it?”

Din’s stance shifts, helmet tipping down for a moment before coming back to your face.

“...Not yet.”

You hum and nod. “Well, you know how to find me if you do.”

Din nods. “Thank you.”

As he picks up his effects you shimmy off the harness at the foot of the bed, mentally ticking through the steps to clean everything. Din watches you set it down, stilling until your eyes come back to him.

“It gives you pleasure as well?” he asks, which raises one of your eyebrows.

“I mean, about as much as rhythmically hitting your hips against someone can do.” His posture changes into something hard to decipher, so you continue. “I’ve got a few that do more for me, but it depends on the person I’m with. Comfort, boundaries. As you’re well aware.” You gesture to the armor, his chin tucking down to look at it.

“So you’ve never cum with me?” he asks, and a sudden feverish heat blooms under your skin. Din has a sex appeal you appreciate, but have never acted on beyond what he’s asked for. Now, something’s changed so dizzyingly fast you’re scrambling.

“Well, you’re pretty spent after our sessions. And you leave quickly. I don’t ask for more than you can give.”

Din takes a step towards you, putting his belt and cloak back down.

“What do you ask of other people you fuck?”

Your heart hammers in your chest. How can he turn the tables so quickly and spectacularly? Trying to gain the upper hand, you pull a confident face on and speak as breezily as possible.

“Most can’t get it up twice after I fuck them within an inch of their life, so fingers, tongues, toys, any and all of the above are excellent ways to repay the favor.”

He’s even closer now, and the facade is barely holding up. It’s like the vulnerability he showed you can’t possibly be returned.

“You’ve never asked me,” he says, and you can’t believe there’s a note of regret in his voice. The bed hits the back of your legs, and you steady your voice even though those words make your pussy throb.

“I didn’t think it was allowed.” Your voice drops low as Din steps into your space. 

“Difficult, but not forbidden.” Din’s hands come to your shoulders. “Sit down, please.”

Your knees fold so fast you bounce on the bed, looking up at him. He joins you on one knee, hands coming to rest on your thighs.

“I broke my Creed. I would do it again, for the exact same reason, but now that makes me an apostate.” His hands come to the helmet, thumbs tucking underneath the lip.

“Din, what happened?”

He pauses, and you swear you can feel his gaze through that smoky visor. 

“Close your eyes.”

Darkness surrounds you, then a hiss and a thunk. 

Then the voice of a man you care for, unfiltered and bare.

“I’m not ready for anyone to see my face. But I want this, with you. If you can forgive me.”

You could be dreaming still. It would make just as much sense.

“I forgive you, Din. But just this once,” you sneak in at the end just to hear how melodic his laugh sounds. Then his hand splays over your stomach and urges you to lie back.

“I hope you don’t mind teaching me this. I don’t have much experience,” he says, fire licking through your body as he tugs your leggings and underwear off.

“Don’t worry, you’re a quick learner,” you say breathily.

And when he finally kisses you, sweet with your musk on his tongue and your orgasm dripping from his fingers, you teach him how to do that as well.

END

"I need some distraction Oh a beautiful release Memories seep from my veins Let me be empty Oh and weightless and maybe I'll find some peace tonight.

Sarah McLachlan, Angel (yeah I know I used the sad dog song)

#PMAMC 2024 #din djarin x you #din djarin x reader #din djarin x female reader #din djarin x f!reader #mando x reader #mando x you #mando x f!reader #the mandalorian x f!reader #the mandalorian x female reader #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian fanfiction #mando fanfiction #din djarin fanfiction #prolix fics

[moondirti]

all the ways i can have you

pairing: Din Djarin x f!Reader rating: explicit (18+ mdni) word count: 1.3k summary: he's hooked on making you feel good. warnings: naked female clothed male, edging, overstimulation, fingering, pussy slapping, squirting, unprotected p-in-v, blowjobs, hickeys, biting, cunnilingus, rimming, face sitting, this is so filthy don't look at me. notes: here's a little thirst i wrote in my down time. It's not affiliated with The Remedy in any way; i just really needed to get all my thoughts about our favourite beskar man out tbh because the slow burn with those two is killing me

The Mandalorian is absolutely filthy.

It’s not something you expect. He’s awkward at the best of times – pointedly avoiding any possibility of social interaction by the drawing of his blaster or an elongated silence. Honestly, for the first few months that you’d known him, you actually thought he hated you. Sure, you were never the unfortunate soul skewered onto his spear, nor had he ever threatened to throw you into his carbonite freezer, but he always had a handy excuse at the ready when you tried to make conversation. It was torture until you learnt not to take it personally; you figured he was probably used to being alone, and that’s no fault of yours. His lack of social skills could not be your burden to bear. So, eventually, when he gave nothing but a grunt to your occasional bizarre musing, you’d simply shrug it off and go back to playing with the kid. 

In hindsight, maybe you should have picked at the source of his reticence. It certainly wouldn’t have taken you as long to get to this point if you had. Because now, it occurs to you that he’d probably been so tense from withholding the desires that the two of you, in fact, shared.

It seems so obvious once the dam had lifted, but keen deduction has never been your strong suit. 

Back to the point, though. Mando is beyond borderline obscene once you manage to tease it out of him. Truly, he’d have never instigated things had you not been so uninhibited. But when his resolve shatters, it’s like his mind goes into overdrive of all the things he’d do to you. You actually think that, if given the opportunity, he’d lay you out for days on end to enact every fantasy he has. Because life has its way of intruding, though, he settles for the in-betweens of your day to day, taking you in the small gaps where it can just be the two of you.

You think he’s wild when he edges you the first time, his gloved hand palming your front while you stand in nothing but your towel. This is on you, he said, you little tease. It’s deliciously painful; his fingers find your clit with practised ease and he presses down on it, rubbing you in small, tight circles. With the way his hardened body presses into you from behind, clad fully in his armour – a stark contrast to your exposed frame – and his rough praise meets your ear, you almost cum from the miniature ministration alone. But he recognises what your quickening pants mean; he sees how your back arches into him like you’re trying to match the overwhelming pleasure his hands administer, and he pulls away at the last second, fingers returning only to give a sharp smack to your cunt. And of course it echoes – you’re soaked, for Maker’s sake – which only serves to make him repeat the action again and again until you’ve significantly darkened in shade. 

By the time you’re on the brink of collapse, Mando has you sitting between his legs, back to his chest, one leg hooked over a strong arm while you sob your pleas into the empty space of the hull. He fingers you fast and rough, delighting in your high-pitched wails and whiney begs, and forces your first orgasm out of you with an expert quirk of his fingers. It’s torturous relief, like white hot embers dancing upon frozen skin, and your vision blurs as you gush over his vambrace. But he doesn’t let up; he continues drawing them from your sopping core, turning in a complete 180 to overstimulate you until you literally have nothing else to give. 

He manages to serve you in a way no one ever has before – you're a complete, quivering mess by the end – so, you assume that’s the extent of it. But time with Mando proved that was the least he can come up with.

He revels in spreading your legs whenever he gets the chance, taking his time to pull your glistening lips apart and absorb the sight of your clenching hole. He says it amazes him – how such a tight thing is able to stretch over his length – then promptly digs his cock from within the confines of his pants. You find yourself agreeing with the wonder of how it fits; it’s by far the biggest you’ve taken – thick with throbbing veins that weave up to an angry, leaking tip – but his thumbs always dance in reassuring circles along your inner thighs when he presses it against you. And when he pushes in, you forget all about your worries, because the stretch is divine. Mando absolutely fills you up to the brink, the ridges of him catching along your inner walls, and he pounds into you with reckless abandon, like a man starved. It’s simultaneously too much and not enough as he reaches those hidden parts of you – that spongy tissue at the front, the wall of your cervix – and the sensation becomes absolutely addictive. You go cock-dumb without fail, drooling, eyes rolling to the back of your head, and you think he might disappear someplace else as well, with the way his words pour unfiltered. Good girl. Beautiful. So fucking tight. Cum for me, I want to feel you. He turns reverent when he gets you this way, awkward fronts be damned. 

Funnily enough, he’s too impatient for you to go down on him. In the rare moments he forfeits, he has to hold himself back from pulling you up so he can just fuck you already. It’s not that you aren’t good at it, either – no, your tongue is enough to drive the strongest of men wild – but he just… doesn’t put as much priority in his pleasure as yours. It’s something different with you entirely. He doesn’t see sex as a means to relieve his mounting tensions, it’s not the same exchange he’s found in all those brothels. With you, Mando is overcome with the unshakeable urge to wring out every pleasure imaginable. He’s obsessed with the plump of your lips and the folds of your flesh. He dreams of every single part of you everywhere – under his hands, between his legs, in his mouth. 

So, he takes off his helmet to put his lips on yours. And you, who’s naive enough to again suppose that the last, world-ending orgasm was the scope of what he could do, experience it as he transforms into something else entirely. 

His kisses leave no area untouched. They find your neck, tightening as he sucks purple hickeys onto your skin, then pepper down to your chest, where he pecks your pebbled nipples and bites the swollen tissue underneath. Mando leaves a trail of spit and welts in his venture, and you moan under the calamity, combing through his soft curls with shaky fingers. And when he finds you soaked through your panties, your nails dig into his scalp, your tummy flushing with slight embarrassment. The pain sparks something in him, it seems, because he pushes your thighs up with a renewed vigour so he can press his nose onto your clothed cunt. My favourite, he groans between long inhales, before he rips off the cotton barrier that separates his tongue from your clit.

Mando eats you out like he’d rather be doing nothing else. He doesn’t. It’s his favourite pastime, solely for the way you mewl and squirm underneath him. He licks, sucks, drinks from you, uncovering every patch of skin with his warm tongue, which flicks over your bud until you cry and drives into you to collect the subsequent nectar. He spreads you on the floor like a meal, dominating in every way. He kneels before you on a chair, open as you rub his stubble into you. He even insists that you sit on his face: ‘I need to taste you more than I do air.’ You have no reason to doubt it, though. He fucks into his fist when you grind down on his chin, his free hand directing you forward until he can lap at your asshole as well. Mando wants you surging, spilling onto him; crying out his name, his real name, which he whispers to you as you come down from his onslaught.

Din, he beams. To you, mesh’la, it’s Din.

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

[undercoverpena]

isn't it

din djarin x f!reader

summary: at first, it had been you who had found a problem with each one he’d landed at. but, at some point between your clothing being around your ankles, you’re sure he’d begun to find problems with you leaving too.

warnings: mentions of smut/alludes to smut. bad star wars writing (probs, i'm new forgive me). no use of y/n. brief mention/allusion of hand necklace (thanks @rhoorl for the term), m!oral, p in v. loosely season one/two, although likely au. wordcount: 1.7k an: a huge massive thank you to @saradika for firstly convincing me i could do this, and then letting me show her this so i could be assured i didn't butcher him. ily so much 🤍

It’s beautiful.

The sound of wind rustling through it, how it waves in spots up and down the hill—moving side to side like a cosmic wave.

You thought you’d known green until now; thought you had known silver too, assumed you understood the way reflections worked and how quick movements could be. But that was before him.

Before you’d known the feel of his solid body lay on top of yours.

Then, you discovered a lot of things. Like how easy it was to spread your thighs on either side of him. For your fingers to seek in the dark—how they effortlessly hunt and find the parts he’ll expose to the night, but never to the light.

You even found you don’t hate the sound of your name when he says it. Somehow makes it longer, more impactful—like it has meaning when it comes from his mouth.

All of which were things you’d never known before you convinced him to bring you.

A promise, a barter—an exchange. Your hand clutching his blaster slugs, tears clutching to your lashes, flowing from your eyes—aware of what you look like, aware of the desperation you reek of.

Just take me to a different planet. A suitable one. Please.

At first, it had been you who had found a problem with each one he’d landed at.

A bogus reason, a ploy—all stemmed from a rising infatuation with the man under beskar. But, at some point between your cheek against the wall of his ship and your clothing being around your ankles, you’re sure he’d begun to find problems with you leaving too.

But, this place is a gift—it’s a slice of heaven.

It had been a stop gap you’d almost pleaded at him not to make, a pause in the travel plan. Now you’re not sure you want to leave it.

Because here is a sea of greens, a variety, a never-ending display of every shade between the letters which make up the name. Some are more saturated, some are deeper; some are tinged with yellows and others are blotted with dark spots that aim to discolour, but just make them more unique.

There’s no bounty here—no collection to be made.

Just a sight for your eyes and a moment for him. And, you think you could sit here for hours and bask in it. Take it in. Allow the air of this planet to fill your lungs and carve a space inside of you that no one will ever be able to rip from you.

Stroking your fingers through the ground, you feel how your tunic presses to your spine—how it’s held there by the perspiration on your spine. The fabric desperate to blow, to whip around your ribs and the sleeves to float around your arms.

You don’t care that it’s warm—don’t mind that you can feel your skin prickling under it.

Because you’re lost in it, the limitlessness of this place. How surreal it is that each blade points north to the sky, all upright, anchored pleasingly to the ground it came from.

Things had been beautiful earlier too, you remind yourself.

When you had been enveloped by darkness, not a slither of light—not that there’d be the space for it in the small cot. His hands, forever a staple, an anchor, to your hips, determined to pin you there.

He’s a man who chases after those who run, and you suppose it’s ingrained in him. This belief that everyone, at some point, will leave—will go. You think it’s why he holds you tightly when you’re nothing but bare; you suppose it’s why after, when he unsheathes himself, he always traces his thumb over the places his fingers have been, reminding your skin he’s kind, just in case you need another reminder not to leave.

“We should go.”

You hum because you should. Yet, your mind rationalises that the baby is still asleep and there are more minutes to sit in the silence, to not dwell—you suppose it’s why your hand reaches up, and brushes over the gloved fingers instead.

Action is easier than words when it comes to him.

A game the two of you play, one of silence and strategy—wondering who’d be the first to crack and speak more words than necessary. You suspect it’ll be you in time, likely soon enough.

It’s why you clutch, cling. Weaving and working until you’re holding his fingers at an odd angle, a silent plea there, a wishful hope spoken without using syllables or your lips and mouth.

“One more minute.”

“Okay,” you respond.

Watching the strands move again, swaying, dancing.

A content sigh rolls from you, and briefly—in the back of your mind, you wonder if you’re really awake. Whether this is some form of peace your brain has concocted after the sight of him stained in crimson; his palms flat in the air, modulator expelling he’s fine, it isn’t his, he’s okay, it’s okay—

For a while, you’d believed him, until you felt the bruises—all pulsing and colouring in shades you can’t imagine. An image being drawn, shaded in—forever in black and white, just outlines and half-concocted feelings you have on what lives under his armour.

He sighs next to you, it rattling out through his helmet.

And you wait to hear it, the confirmation he normally hands you. Deep, even through his modulator that this “isn’t it” either.

It’s been a routine ever since the two of you began this dalliance. Ever since you’d smuggled yourself aboard his ship with the promise that you’d never ask him for anything else.

Neither realising how false that would be.

You beg for a lot. For more, for his lips, his fingers and his cock. You wait for the darkness, count down to it—thrum with excitement for it when he steps down the ladder and his helmet is aimed in your direction.

Somehow, no words are said, just mutual acknowledgement, acceptance. Or that's what you call it. It being seemingly better than admitting that you crave it—him. That you care, that the sight of him smeared in ruby still haunts you—lingers there, bleeds into good days and casts shadows while you wait in the hull. The child in your arms, soothing him—telling yourself you’re giving him comfort, when you suppose you gain more from the small being than you could ever provide.

“This isn’t it,” he eventually says from above.

His helmet turned, and you imagine the eyes that live under it. Question if they’re almond-shaped or hooded, whether they’re brown, green or blue. You also wonder if he looks at you with curiosity or want, whether it’s with a thousand thoughts running or none at all.

“No?”

“No. Not this one.”

That’s when you close your eyes. Let your ears do the seeing.

Allow your other senses to kick in, to swallow the lack of sight and make do. You end up lingering on the gloved hand in yours—the one which sometimes slides around your neck, lightly pinches either side as you moan at the feel of him. The same hand which slides down your spine to aid your motion, or lingers there when the terrain isn't trouble-free.

It's the remembering which makes you let go of it, of him.

Quickly managing to pretend your hand doesn’t feel cold when you do. Stuff down the emptiness that begins to drown you in the space you put between you, as you stand up. A part of you admitting defeat, silently saying goodbye to tall stands of green and the rolling hills adorned with shades.

“Thought you’d be sick of me by now.”

It rumbles from you. All heavy, laced in its own metal—ready to slam into him and take him down.

It doesn’t. You’re not sure any words ever could.

You suppose it’s why he says nothing, silently following, not too far so that you’re alone, but not close enough that you can feel the ghost of his touch. The distance measured, all purposeful. It remains so until you’re back aboard, until the door closes behind you and you’re once again surrounded by metal.

A part of you knows you shouldn’t grow used to him, shouldn’t be waiting for him to flood your spine with his chest. But you do—you really fucking do.

It’s why you don’t move, don’t take a step closer to check on the baby or even unclench your hand from around the strands of green you’d stolen. The ones you’d ripped up from the ground, roots tickling your wrist—the rest remaining tucked closely between curled fingers and a sweaty palm.

Yours. The smallest piece of a place you’ll likely never see.

“You should sleep.”

It’s an order. Direct—practically thrown at you. Followed by a tight grip on your waist, fingers finding the same place they always do. His place. The one not needing a mark, but he leaves them all the same, ownership, a possession.

Sometimes in the throes of it, you hear him hiss mine, jus’ mine—your head nodding in the dark, because you are, you know you are, the same as you suspect he knows he’s yours. It’s another thing which festers behind your teeth, keeping lips clamped shut, knowing it requires no confirmation, no words in exchange for the momentary slip-up he lets escape. But then, you offer nothing when you trace mine against him with your tongue, when you muffle the words around his shaft as your mouth widens to take more of him.

It’s just pleasure, an easy-to-choose solution to another body being in proximity—a lie you tell yourself.

One you bargain with when he sleeps and you’re coated in the dark, convincing yourself until sleep carries you away and you wake to find yourself either alone or the very opposite.

Because it’s easier, simpler. Far better than admitting your heart does a double take when he returns, that you yearn for him in the days that pass when he leaves you on the ship.

It’s less complicated than asking him if you’ll ever be worthy of seeing him.

And you’re not the type of person to question. So you don’t.

And so the routine continues.

an: you don't know how long this has been burning in my head.

#din djarin x reader #din djarin x f!reader #din djarin x you #mando x reader #mando x you #mando x f!reader #the mandalorian x f!reader #the mandalorian x female reader #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian fanfiction #din djarin fanfiction

[oscarseyebrow]

Enkindle

gif by the wonderful @nowritingonthewall 💖

Pairings: din djarin x female reader  Rating: explicit. 18+ Word count: 8k Warnings: explicit smut, fingering, unprotected p-in-v, dirty talk, friends to lovers, one bed, cursing, slight hint of din not being an experienced kisser.  Masterlist | Taglist

“What do you mean you only have one room left?” 

Din is not impressed, and despite the modulated tone of his voice, his frustration is as clear as the thawing snow trickling over his armor. He has been tested more than enough today, and you’re starting to fear that this could be the straw to break the bantha’s back.

The owner of the room in question–an elderly Lasat with half an ear missing–sighs out her annoyance at having to repeat herself again. Clearly Din had heard her the first time. 

Her gritty voice holds a tone that is almost less impressed than Din’s when she gives him her final reply: “One room. Take it or leave it, big guy.” 

A silence stretches in the dimly-lit reception area. The towering Mandalorin and broad-yet-stubby Lasat share a stubborn glare across the small desk, neither of them willing to look away first. Not many people would attempt to stare down a man dressed in full beskar, but it’s clear that she will not be intimidated by the armor. You’re sure a somewhat disgruntled Mandalorian isn’t the worst customer she’s ever had the displeasure of dealing with in this shady area of town. 

You stand to the side, dithering silently while rubbing at the arm of your damp jacket. It makes no difference at all to the wet fabric, the chill had settled into your bones hours ago while you trudged through the snow after a failed hunt.  

One room. It would be fine. Maker, at this point, you would take the damn barn if it meant not having to go back out into the cold again. 

Very slowly, Din’s head turns until he is able to see you. 

The look on your face says it all: you don’t care about the room. You’re too cold to give a shit. The only thing you want is to get out of your wet clothes and step into a hot shower. 

“Fine,” your hunting partner finally grumbles. “We’ll take it.” 

One room doesn’t necessarily mean one bed. You had stayed in plenty of dives where more than one bed was available in a shared room. Sometimes, places like this would often cram in as many bunks as possible to make money. 

This would most likely be a similar kind of set-up.

Not even a second after the door to the room slides open, you realise how wrong you are. 

This is not similar. It’s not similar at all. 

There is only one bed. 

One small, not-so-big, unable to comfortably share, tiny bed.

Fuck. 

“It’s okay,” you lie through your chattering teeth. “You take the bed. I’ll take a…” 

There’s no shower. There’s no fucking shower. 

One bed is something you could come around to, maybe, but the thought of not being able to step into the warmth of a shower and feel the water cascading over your frozen skin causes a disappointment to sit heavily in your stomach. It had been the only thing getting you through the miles of trudging across the snow with Din: cold, hungry, pissed off. 

“We can work the job together,” he had said before leaving Nevaro. “It will be quicker that way.” 

If it wouldn’t inflict too much pain on your cold hands, you would smack him right here and now for thinking anything involving this planet would be quick and simple. 

“You’re having the bed,” Din’s voice scrapes with a firm edge, the exhaustion notable as he begins the process of removing his weapons. 

“No, you take it. It’s fine.” 

“I’m not taking the bed.” 

“You’ve been complaining for hours about being tired,” you shoot back and prepare to continue, but Din cuts you off. 

“And you’ve been whining for hours about being cold, so take the bed, warm up and get some damn sleep.” 

A long silence follows Din’s words. His helmet fixes you in place, unmoving, unrelenting in his stubborn stand. It’s almost identical to the one you had seen him take up with the Lasat out front, and as a show of your own stubbornness, you fold your arms across your chest and tighten your jaw to fight your chattering teeth. 

“Don’t start,” Din warns you. 

You know each other well, having worked for Greef Karga for longer than either of you would care to admit. Din was always a lone hunter, much like yourself, but somehow a friendship had developed between the two of you a couple of years back. You liked to think that you had both come to a point in your lives where a little company wasn’t so bad. One hunt had turned into two, two into three, and before either of you had realised, you had spent more hunts together than apart. 

So yes, Din knew that you were standing your ground with him, just as he was with you. 

“You need it more…you’re older. Your back isn’t what it used to be.”

Din tilts his helmet slowly: “I’m going to let that one go.” 

“Like you let our bounty go?” 

“Hey,” his tone lacks any sort of playful edge now. “I said I would let that one comment go, don’t push it.” 

With a huff, you turn your back on him and walk across to what you assume is supposed to be the refresher. The door barely closes, and even when it does finally click into place, you’re able to touch each wall without fully extending your arms. 

“Wonderful,” you mutter under your breath. “Absolutely love this for me.” 

The light above the sink flickers and temporarily illuminates names that have been etched into the wall over the years: some have hearts around them, memories of nights spent in a cheap room together while others have dates and other little messages to accompany them. It holds your attention for longer than it should as you stand there, dripping and cold, wondering what their stories are.

Were they partners? Lovers? Had they come here for a secret affair? How many others had stood in front of this mirror reading those names, wondering the same thing? 

You make quick work of splashing water on your face—you’re not sure why you hoped it would be anything more than freezing cold—then groan when you realise there’s nothing that comes close to resembling a towel.

Of course. Of fucking course. 

You’re still grumbling to yourself when you slide out of the fresher, then pause to look at Din. His armor is gone, now set out neatly beside the bed where it glints in the limited light from the dusty window. It’s a strange thing to see in a place like this: something beautiful, laid out with precision on a carpet blotched with stains of varying colour and size. He has shown so much care toward something when nothing else in the room has ever been treated with that level of dignity and respect. 

But that’s not all he has removed. 

The thick, woven fabric of his flak vest is gone, laid out to dry alongside his cape and gloves. Din is clearly removing his cold, wet layers and you beg yourself to divert your eyes, offer him the same respect he often does for you. It’s almost impossible, though. 

“I had an idea,” Din breaks the silence in the room as he turns to face you. 

You want to listen to him, really, you do. But you’re distracted by the way the wet material of his black undershirt sticks to his body. He reaches to slide down the suspenders from his shoulders and you swallow thickly, now forcing your eyes to focus elsewhere in the room. 

This is Din. You should not be looking at him this way. Sure, you had often wondered what sex with him would be like—you were only human, after all. You had taken the risky glance here and there while travelling together, but only when you knew he was too busy to catch you staring. He was your hunting partner, your friend. There had never been any reason to complicate that and try to make it into something more. 

You both met your needs elsewhere, with other people. Din had never wanted that from you. There had been plenty of opportunities, moments where you found yourselves just a little too close, lingering touches and hands accidentally brushing while reaching for the same tool or controls on the ship. But nothing more. Never anything more. Din simply isn’t interested in you like that. 

“We can share.”

It seems like a perfectly acceptable solution to share a bed with a friend…just one night, sleeping back-to-back. 

When he gets no reply from you, he tries to bring you around to the idea: “And considering there’s no heating in this place, it would probably be beneficial to share. The temperature outside is going to drop further tonight and we need to try and stay warm.” 

His tone is so matter of fact. It’s clear that Din has thought this through. 

How does he make it sound so casual? 

You attempt to inhale slowly but all you can manage is another shiver as your teeth start chattering again. Din is right; there’s no heating in this room, and you need to warm up. It wouldn’t do either of you any good to spend the night freezing cold and wet. It was important to rest up and prepare to make another attempt at tracking the bounty in the morning.  

“F—fine,” you agree. “I’ll take that side.” 

You motion to the left side of the bed and watch as his helmet follows, taking note of your preference. Din doesn’t argue, he simply nods and accepts your terms. 

“Okay.” 

“Okay,” you repeat and turn your attention to the bed again. 

Neither of you move. 

The whole situation suddenly feels awkward, as though you’re both reconsidering Din’s great idea and desperately trying to think of a better solution. It comes down to very simple facts: you suck it up and share a bed, or you freeze. 

“I’ll turn around,” Din offers after a moment. “You need to get those wet clothes off before you get in bed, so…just tell me when you’re ready.” 

True to his word, Din turns himself around so that his back is to you, giving you as much privacy as he can. You watch him for a moment and let a hint of a smile settle on your lips. How could you not? Din is caring and polite. He’d always done everything he could to ensure you were comfortable in his presence, especially when spending extended periods of time together in what little space the Crest had to offer.

You trust him not to look. You know that he won’t. His word is his promise, so you slowly peel the wet layers from your skin and hiss as the cold air causes another involuntary shiver to pass through your muscles. 

Nothing is dry. Every item of clothing you have is soaked through: your socks and pants, your jacket, shirt and tank top. There’s absolutely nothing left to salvage, nothing that you can sleep in…aside from your underwear. 

You have to warn him. 

“Din…” you murmur and look up just in time to see him starting to turn around. “No! Don’t look!” you shriek and throw your arms over yourself to cover your exposed body. 

That’s not why you called his name. It wasn’t confirmation that it was safe for him to turn around. You just wanted to tell him you were going to have to sleep in your underwear. 

“Fuck. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I thought—shit,” Din’s helmet whips around quicker than you’ve ever seen him move before. “I didn’t…I didn’t see anything, I promise.” 

He sounds truly mortified, and before you can stop yourself, you laugh. This whole situation is one long, hilarious fuck-up: losing the bounty, being too far away from the ship to make it back in one night, the shitty excuse of a room. One bed. It’s all fucked. 

“I’m sorry,” you laugh. “I just…I have nothing to wear and I didn’t want to surprise you by only wearing underwear so I wanted to warn you but then you started turning around and I panicked and…yeah.” 

There’s another long silence while you watch Din’s shoulders rise and fall with his steady breaths. Your eyes wander further, exploring the broadness of his back, the way his damp shirt defines the shape of his muscles and the softness of his body beneath the thin fabric. 

“Are all of your clothes wet?” Din asks after a moment. 

“Yeah.” 

“Oh.” 

The silence returns. 

This time, he shifts his weight to his other foot and lowers his helmet slightly. Is this a bad idea? Should you put your wet clothes back on and insist that you’re fine with not having the bed? 

You shiver again, your body’s attempt to warm itself. 

“Okay,” he finally sighs. 

“Okay?” 

“Get under the blankets. You need to warm up. I can hear your teeth chattering from over here…just tell me when it’s actually safe to look,” Din explains with full sincerity. 

Your teeth find your bottom lip as you try to carry out the impossible task of suppressing your smile. He’s doing his best to make this situation as comfortable as possible. There’s very little dignity to be had in this dingy little room, but he’s trying to save yours. 

The bed creaks and groans in protest the second you lift a leg onto it. It whines as you shuffle down beneath the scratchy blankets. There are chings and clangs while you turn onto your side and scoot as close to the edge of the bed as you possibly can without falling out of it. 

Then finally, when you settle, you give Din the confirmation he has been waiting for: “It’s safe to look at me now.” 

You don’t know if he does look at you. Why would he? What you meant was that it was now safe for him to look around the room, not specifically at you. Should you correct what you meant by that? No…no, you just need to not say anything else. 

You shake your head to yourself and close your eyes, willing yourself to fall asleep quickly. You’re too cold. Your fingers and toes are still tingling, your muscles too tense, and the voices next door are much too loud through the thin walls. 

Eventually, the room plummets into darkness, and a few seconds later, the bed shifts under Din’s weight. You can tell he’s moving with caution, taking care not to disturb you as he attempts to fit himself into what little space is left. 

“Sorry,” he murmurs when his elbow accidentally catches you. 

You open your mouth to tell him it’s okay, that he doesn’t need to apologise, but you’re suddenly distracted by the warmth of a brief touch. It’s Din’s skin, meaning the black undershirt you were admiring is now gone. He’s shirtless. Din Djarin, intimidating Mandalorian, feared bounty hunter, shirtless, in bed with you. 

Okay, you need to think sensibly and logically about this. You have seen Din’s skin plenty of times before: you have patched him up countless times, unintentionally bumped into him while he has been changing. Maker, you have even accidentally walked in on him fucking someone on more than one occasion. His skin is nothing new—you have seen it and felt it before. 

But never in the same bed. Never anything more than what is necessary. No, this is necessary. This is your only option. Din suggested this because you need the warmth and he needs a place to sleep. 

That’s it. That’s all there is to it. 

So why does your mind keep coming back to the image of him standing before you, his wet long-sleeve sticking to his body… 

Before you can stop them, your teeth begin to chatter again and another shiver takes over your body. The blankets aren’t helping. The chill has settled deep within your bones and isn’t letting up. The hours of being out in the snow are taking their toll, and you already know that come morning, your clothes will still be damp and uncomfortable to put back on. 

The thought of dragging cold fabric over your skin has you shivering again. 

Din moves a little behind you, no doubt trying to get himself into more of a comfortable position, and you think he may have found one when you hear him sigh. 

“Come here,” he murmurs. 

The words are almost as unsure as you are—did you hear him correctly? Had he told you to go closer to him? 

“Excuse me?” 

“Look,” Din starts and then pauses with another small sigh. He’s trying to find the right words. “You’re freezing cold. You’re keeping us both awake. The quickest way you’re going to warm up is if you share some of my body heat.” 

A long silence falls between you. 

Again, he somehow manages to make it sound so normal. Nothing out of the ordinary. The words roll out like he’s explaining a hunting plan to you or giving you some information regarding the planet you’re going to be landing on. Despite the way your heart races and uncertainty sits heavily in your thoughts, Din makes a fair point. 

Should you ask if he’s sure? No, he wouldn’t have offered if he wasn’t sure. 

It’s strange, unfamiliar territory as you shuffle back a little on the bed until you’re met with the warmth of Din’s chest. Stars, he’s carrying enough heat to warm up the whole damn room. 

You find a comfortable position and then close your eyes when his arm rests against your side. He’s respectful in where he lays his hand: it doesn’t venture anywhere it’s not supposed to. He crosses no lines, and after a moment, you feel the front of his helmet touch the back of your head. 

“Is this okay?” he asks quietly. “It’s easier to sleep at this angle, but I can move if y—”

“It’s fine,” you reassure him. 

With Din’s head resting against yours, you listen to the rhythm of his soft breaths: slow and controlled, barely audible through the modulator if it wasn’t for him being so close behind you. There’s a comfortable warmth that radiates from him and easily seeps into your limbs. It cocoons you, thaws the deep chill that had latched onto your bones. 

It may have been the smallest bed, but you had never felt so settled. With each breath he takes, his chest brushes against your back and offers gentle encouragement to release some of the tension you’re still holding in your muscles. 

This doesn’t have to be anything more than what this moment is: two friends huddling together to share some warmth. The tightness in your shoulders begins to ease, allowing you to mould yourself more comfortably against Din. Eventually, your breathing finds a similar rhythm; slow, steady, relaxed. 

Until you reposition your legs and hear Din’s breath involuntarily hitch. 

Your eyes snap open in the darkness. During your adjustment, your hips press back a little too far, causing your ass to come into contact with Din’s crotch. There’s no mistaking the feeling of his hard cock pressing against you, restrained only by the thin fabric of his boxer briefs. 

Okay, you need to return to some sensible, logical thinking about the given situation and not react impulsively. 

Din has never been interested in you like that…has he? No, no. This is simply a natural reaction to being pressed close to someone after such a long time between intimate contact. This is nothing more than two friends sharing a bed, staying warm on a cold evening after a long day of hard work.

You’re suddenly aware of the deafening silence: not even your breathing helps to ease it as you hold it in your chest, unsure of what you’re supposed to do or say. You remain frozen, in all sense of the word, and acknowledge the building desire to grind back against Din in the darkness, to feel him take hold of you and fuck you open and—

“I’m—I’m so sorry. I can’t really—fuck. I didn’t mean…” Din’s frantic apology begins to tumble from him before he can fully form a coherent sentence. 

He’s panicking. He’s embarrassed and attempting to put some space between you but you quickly grab hold of his forearm to keep him in place. You don’t want him to go. You don’t want space. 

You want him to stay. 

“Are you attracted to me, Din?” The question is out before you can talk yourself down. You have to know. 

It takes a moment for any sort of response to arise, but you finally hear it, quiet yet confident as it scrapes through his modulator: “Yes.” 

Maybe, just like you, Din has never wanted to complicate things. The friendship and connection that you have works well as it is. There has never been any reason to change that or risk the embarrassment of finding out if any mutual feelings were shared. 

Until now. 

You swallow thickly, all too aware of the heat from his forearm radiating against your palm. His cock, thick and heavy, presses against the curve of your ass as you both take a moment to process the reality of the situation. Perhaps trying to process this isn’t the best thing to do. You know that you’ll end up overthinking everything, just as Din will, so before either of you have a chance to reason yourselves out of this, you slide your hand down over his arm and lace your fingers through his. 

“Have you ever thought about fucking me?” 

“All the time,” Din confesses without hesitation. 

With your hand closed over the top of his, you guide it up over your side so that he can feel your skin. You hear a noticeable change in his breathing: it becomes more shallow, a little heavier, while you take your time with smoothing his hand across your body. 

“What do you think about?” 

Din’s response is instant this time, a sense of relief evident in the one word he speaks: “Everything.”

You slide his hand up to cup your breast through your bra and squeeze, then with a somewhat innocent tone to your voice, you ask: “Why don’t you share some of those thoughts with me?”

Maybe this is simply a case of wanting what you’ve never been able to have: these unexpected circumstances have offered you both an opportunity you would have otherwise never taken. In the morning, it may be the worst decision either of you could have made…but for tonight, all you’re able to think about is the way his large hand squeezes at the supple flesh of your breast again.  

“I think about fucking that smart, pretty mouth of yours,” his tone is suddenly sinful, and gods, it catches you completely off guard as you exhale shakily. “I think about how good it would feel to fuck you right after a hunt while you’re all worked up and disheveled.” 

You’ve thought about that, too. On the nights you’ve spent with your fingers deep inside of your cunt, hips rolling while chasing your release to the thought of how Din would tear your pants down over your legs and sink his fingers into you. You’ve always imagined they would stretch you open and fill you perfectly, curl in just the right way until you were begging him to fuck you. 

“Keep going,” you urge him. 

“Sometimes, I think about how wet you would feel around my cock while you ride me in the pilot’s chair.”

Din’s hand releases your breast and slides upwards across your chest. You know he can feel the way your heart pounds with excitement beneath his touch, the way your body warms against him, flushed with desire. 

“I think about holding you while you tremble and cum around me, how beautiful you would look. I think about how you would moan my name, how good it would sound coming from you. Not Mando, not baby…you would moan my name.” 

“Din…” you speak it in a way that you never have before. It’s something so personal; breathier, softer. 

His hand smooths back down over your chest, pausing only to hook the tips of his fingers into the cup of your bra and tug it down to expose your breast completely. For a bounty hunter, you note how soft Din’s hands are. There’s no callouses as he traps your nipple between two fingers, no rough skin when he pinches the sensitive bud and tugs just enough to cause a spark of pleasure to pulse straight down to your core. 

“How long have you wanted me to touch you like this?” he asks. 

Despite the modulated tone of his voice, the sultry edge still washes over you like an exquisite silk, and you feel the effects of it everywhere. 

“For so long.” 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” 

It’s hard to focus when he squeezes your nipple again. You try to form the sentence in your head while his hand follows the curve of your ribs and you attempt to respond just as his fingers inch lower until they meet the edge of your underwear.

“I… I didn’t think you were interested,” you confess in a voice that’s barely louder than a whisper. 

“Weren’t you curious to find out?” 

“I didn’t want to look like an idiot if you weren’t attracted to me…” 

Din’s fingers dip beneath the thin fabric, but instead of settling where you ache for his touch, he traces them lightly over the curve of your hip. It causes the smallest shiver to dance through your muscles, and this time, it has nothing to do with the lingering chill from the snow. 

There’s a patience to Din’s touch, a restraint that you see him carry out on every hunt. He knows exactly how he wants to do this. He has thought about it, plotted his next steps while mapping out your skin with his hand. Stars, you can’t help but admire the way he controls his urges: he wants to take his time with this. He wants to show you that the attraction is mutual. 

“Do you want to find out now?” 

You nod eagerly. Maker, you want to find out more than anything in the galaxy. 

“Let me hear you say it,” Din encourages you. 

“Yes,” you nod again, still as eager as the first time. “I do.” 

Din readjusts behind you: only enough for his hand to slide down and take hold of your inner thigh before guiding your top leg over his own. Now that you’re adequately spread for him, his fingers smoothover the thin piece of fabric keeping him separated from you. 

You hear Din’s breath catch when his fingers discover the wetness that is entirely his doing. For a moment, he’s difficult to read. He lingers there, fingers flexing slowly against the damp material as though he’s admiring what he has done to you from a few confessions and light touches. 

“Fuck,” he hisses slowly while his fingers ease your underwear aside. “You’re so wet.” 

And before you can stop yourself, words come tumbling out of your mouth: “I always am when I think about you touching me.” 

You don’t need to see or hear Din to know that he’s smirking. You can sense  how smug he is to have this newfound knowledge of one of your best kept secrets. 

He traces the tip of one finger through the drenched slit of your cunt, collecting your arousal before drawing slow circles around your clit. Your whole body momentarily jerks and tenses at the sudden pleasure but his other arm slides beneath you and holds you tight to his broad chest. 

You’re trapped against him in the best possible way: leg hitched over his to spread you open, his hand pressing your upper body back against him. Your movement is limited when you attempt to roll your hips and moan in desperation when his finger stills against your clit with a lingering pressure. 

“Tell me how you imagine it,” Din encourages. 

Lust sears through your whole body, molten and unyielding. Of all the ways you have imagined confessing this in your fantasies, none of them come close to the real thing. The electrical flutter of excitement is ever present in your stomach, and it spurs you on to reach down and cover Din’s hand with your own, taking control of the pace. 

He’s just as surprised as you are when you press against his finger and cause it to flex slowly against your clit. You have the upper hand—quite literally—and Din is more than willing to see this play out. 

“Sometimes, I think about us not being able to make it back to the ship before you have me pressed up against something, out of view of any passers-by but still close enough that I would have to keep my moans quiet.” You fight to keep your voice steady while Din’s finger continues to rub slowly against you. “You’d barely get my pants down all the way, but it would be enough for you to bury your fingers into me.” 

“How many?” 

“One to begin with…but this is after a hunt and all of your patience has been spent. All of that composure and restraint would be at breaking point so you would waste little time before sinking a second finger in and moaning about how good it feels.” 

Din’s next breath falls unevenly through his modulator, creating a momentary crackle of static before he groans: “Go on…tell me what I’d do next.” 

“I’d ask for a third one,” you continue. 

“Do you think you could take it?” 

You’re already smirking to yourself as you nod and give him a simple response: “Yes.”

Your words have Din shifting behind you, and you know that he’s close to snapping. He’s strong and resilient, but he’s only human, and it’s clear that his needs are starting to cause cracks in his composure. You can hear it in his laboured breathing, in the strain in his voice.

“It would feel amazing…that stretch. It would be enough to open me up and prepare me for your big cock, but when—” you stumble and pause on your words when Din seeks out your opening. 

Fucking stars, you hear the obscene sounds of your drenched cunt when his finger presses into you: one to begin with, just as you had described. 

“You feel amazing,” Din groans out his praise. “What would happen next?” 

You moan at the feel of his finger pressing deeply into you, at the thought of him wanting to hear you describe your fantasy to him. Din is enjoying this: his neglected cock twitches against you in anticipation while he hangs on your every word. 

You draw in a breath, attempting to continue while a warmth radiates throughout your body, right from your core. Then right on cue, Din adds a second finger. He works them slowly to begin with, enjoying the feel of you opening up and welcoming him into your tight heat. 

“I’d try so hard to keep…to keep,” your words bleed into a loud moan when Din adjusts his hand and strokes his fingers up against a spot that has you trembling. Fuck. You draw in a shaky breath, attempting to continue. “To—to keep my composure,” you finally manage to rush through your words and then smile at Din’s breathy laugh. 

“More than you are now?” 

“I said I’d try,” you remind him. “Never said I’d do it successfully.” 

At this, you both laugh, his a lower rumble in comparison to the breatheir tone that passes through your lips. Any lingering nervousness or doubt seems to melt away in the moment: there’s something surreal about laughing at the easy banter you share while Din has two fingers buried inside of you. 

There’s an undeniable charge in the air, a shift in the connection you share. You think it’s the excitement and fear of the unknown that comes with crossing the line from friends and into something more. Is this something more? You don’t want to get ahead of yourself here, but it already feels different to so many others you’ve been with. 

There’s a mutual trust that you share with Din, an understanding of each other that nobody else has. You’ve given up your years of travelling alone and traded them in for his companionship. It has always felt so right to be with Din, despite the fleeting doubts in the beginning. There’s been hours spent talking and laughing in the cockpit, learning who he is beneath his armor and allowing an authentic friendship to blossom. Maybe that’s why even now, while stuck in a freezing-cold room, there’s nowhere else you would rather be if it means being there without him.

Much to your disappointment, his fingers withdraw. Din makes no big adjustments to his position, reluctant to put any space between your bodies. At first, you’re unsure of his intentions, unable to work out what he’s doing, until he draws his other arm from under you. 

A few seconds later, there’s a familiar hiss, one you have only ever heard from behind closed doors. Then, a thud. The unmistakable sound of beskar hitting carpet: Din’s helmet, dropping with much less care than he had taken when setting out the rest of his armor. 

A sudden excitement bubbles up from deep within your stomach at the realisation: he’s helmetless, for you. You know this isn’t his usual method of fucking people—you have witnessed that yourself. Din rarely removes any pieces of armor when seeing to his needs with another. But not with you. 

When his hands return to your body, you feel a new sensation; his breath, hot and steady against the back of your neck. Every fine hair rises to the caress of his exhales, and when his nose traces over the skin behind your ear, the weakest gasp escapes you. Din has facial hair. It tickles against your skin right before his lips find the sensitive spot below your earlobe. 

“Is this okay?” he asks, his voice enchantingly smooth without the distortion of the helmet. 

“Y—yes,” you gasp. 

This is more than okay. You tilt your head in silent encouragement for him to continue, willing those lips to explore more of your neck.

“I know this wasn’t part of your fantasy…but I’ve always wanted to know how it feels to kiss your skin.” 

Stars, you have thought about this often; how could you not? You have always found yourself wondering how Din’s lips would feel–would they be chapped and rough? Does he chew on his lower one when tense or nervous? Does he know how it feels to brush them gently against another’s or feel someone smile into a kiss? Knowing how little he removes his helmet, you doubt he does. 

He takes his time exploring your skin with his mouth: nose brushing against the curve of your breast, lips sealing around the sensitive bud of your nipple while guiding you onto your back. You move with him easily, as though this is a well rehearsed dance that has been practised over many weeks together: it comes with knowing each other, working together, learning how the other moves and thinks. 

One of Din’s large hands glides over the curve of your thigh when you arch against him and bury your fingers into his hair without thinking. The action is rewarded with a surprised moan that gets caught in Din’s throat. He likes it. He enjoys the feel of your fingers tangling into the thick strands while you use them to hold his face close to yours. 

The warmth of Din’s breath caresses your cheek with a delicate intimacy. He’s close enough to kiss, if only you were to turn your head slightly to seek out his lips. 

Has he ever kissed anyone before? From his hesitation, you assume not. 

You want to ask him. You want to check if this is okay, if he’s comfortable with how quickly this is moving for him…but you don’t know how. This affection is beyond what you’re used to, so you say nothing. Instead, you turn your head just enough to find his eyes in the darkness—the years of staring into a visor have taught you how to hold his gaze without seeing him—and slowly, a soft smile curls onto your lips. 

“I think… I think I was better at this while we were doing all the dirty talk,” you admit with a soft laugh. 

When you hear Din’s chuckle accompany it, your smile grows a little more. He’s still at ease, and that settles you—until he leans in to kiss you while you’re still smiling, resulting in him awkwardly catching more of your teeth than your lips. 

“Shit,” he half laughs, a little embarrassed. “I thought your lips were there.” 

Clearly he’s not as well-trained without his helmet.

“Come here,” you whisper through your smile and guide him in again until your lips press gently to his. 

The kisses are slow to begin with: each one lingers as you take in the feel of his lips, the softness of them, the way his moustache unintentionally tickles your upper lip and nose while you melt into him. Eventually, your lips part against Din’s to take the lead. He follows, learning from your knowledge and experience in the same way you so often learn from his. 

It takes him no time at all to deepen it, and much to your surprise, his tongue licks confidently into your mouth. Maker, you could kiss him for hours, just like this. His warmth and taste are better than you could have ever imagined, and as each kiss becomes more assured than the last, you’re lost to him. 

Din devours you, kissing you like a man starved of affection, and when he reaches down to ease your underwear aside again, your moan muffles against his mouth. He starts slowly, sliding in one finger while kissing down your neck. He adds a second when his teeth graze over your collar bone, and just as his fingers curl inside of you, the wet heat of his mouth closes over your nipple. 

You arch into the pleasure while his name slips from your mouth in a desperate whine. You like the way it sounds, and from Din’s groan of approval, you know he likes it, too. 

He takes his time pleasuring you, working you open with his fingers until he finally gives you what you want and adds a third. Stars, you feel yourself stretch around him in the most satisfying way. 

“Is that what you needed?” Din almost purrs against your ear. 

His unmodulated voice should be illegal in this situation: he shouldn’t be allowed to use it so casually—at the very least, it should come with some sort of warning. 

“Yes,” you manage, your breaths short and shallow while your hips rock against his fingers, enjoying the way those strong, thick digits feel inside of you. 

His mouth does nothing short of worshipping your body; the kisses are feather-light brushes before switching to something more calculated: mouth open, his teeth and tongue teasing and exploring in a way that has you arching against him. 

Your whole body feels ignited by his touch: a heat radiates slowly from somewhere deep within your lower stomach and spreads through each limb as Din’s fingers withdraw from the wet heat of your cunt and move to focus on your clit again. 

Coated generously in your arousal, the pad of Din’s finger moves with ease in slow, circular motions. He’s enjoying this. He’s taking his time, savouring the sounds you make as your own fingers grip at the sheet when the heat begins to lick up your lower spine. 

“Din—” you breathe out his name while he breathes you in, mouth at the base of your neck again. 

There’s an unexpected intimacy to the way his lips map out your skin, exploring, learning. He memorises you, the way you feel and sound as his fingers continue to pleasure you. You don’t need to say a single word to him; it’s almost as though he feels the molten desire pulsing through your veins, burning with enough fever to thaw the snow in a six mile radius of the bed.

You turn your head to seek him out and sigh softly when your lips find his temple. His hair is soft against your nose and holds the lingering scent of the soap on the Crest: it smells so perfectly Din. You can’t help but wonder if he has found an intimacy like this with anyone before, if he has been touched with a tenderness that comes from knowing him, caring for him. It’s easy to assume that he hasn’t from the way he exhales when you kiss his temple and then brush the tip of your nose against the side of his cheek. 

Din leans into you, as though he finally has a touch that he has craved for longer than he’s willing to admit, and you’re more than happy to give him as much as he needs. Your lips drag slowly over the side of his face, dropping lingering kisses and breaking them up with small nudges of your nose. These needs, these soft displays of affection, are some that Din was unable to satisfy with the simple pleasure he found in a stranger’s body.

Together, you remove the final items of clothing–your underwear, Din’s boxers–before you’re captured by his lips again and lost to the welcoming heat of his mouth. It’s only when you feel the head of his cock teasing at your entrance that you stop him: one hand against his warm chest, the other holding his shoulder as you pull back just enough from the kiss. 

“Wait,” you whisper against his lips. “I want to be on top.” 

There’s a pause, seconds of Din holding himself still while considering your words. 

“Yeah?” he finally asks, unable to mask the interest at the edge of his tone. 

“Yeah,” you smile and then nip his lower lip lightly. 

Who knows if there will be another time after this, so if this is your only night with Din, you want to fulfil the fantasy of being the one in control. And to your delight, Din is not opposed to the idea. 

With some manoeuvring–and some very close calls with the edge of the bed–you find yourself braced on top of him: knees pressed into the uncomfortable springs of the mattress which pop and groan beneath you both while you sit back on his hips. 

You can barely see him. The limited moonlight from the window offers a sliver of illumination across his chest which rises in a steady rhythm. Maker, it’s broad. He’s broad. On his back, you note that he fills most of the small bed. The sight has your cunt throbbing with need.  

Din’s hands find their way to your thighs, smoothing over your skin and touching whatever part of you he can reach. His palms are still warm, a stark contrast to the cold bite of the room as you lift your hips just enough to nestle his thick cock inside the soaked slit of your cunt. 

The sound you’re rewarded with is unexpected, yet not unwelcome. It seems to take Din by surprise when he gasps and moans: his fingers unintentionally gripping at your skin at the pleasure you offer. It’s a sound you feel in the depths of your core, a sound that’s so personal, just for you. 

You know that his eyes are glued to your form in the darkness, watching you with a lustful gaze as you rub yourself against the underside of his cock.

“Fuck, that’s it,” Din praises in the softest tone. “You’re soaked.”  

This time, it’s you who finds yourself moaning out louder than intended at the praise he gives you. 

His hands roam upwards over your body, exploring every dip and curve while you sufficiently coat him in your arousal. You know that you should guide him into you—it’s what you both want, but it feels so good to grind against him as his hands find your breasts. There’s no hesitation when his fingers find the stiff peak of your nipple and squeeze: the boardline roughness creates a delicious jolt of pleasure through your body as you moan again, encouraging him to repeat the action. 

Din is more than happy to comply. He moves his attention to your other nipple, offering the same rough treatment as you roll your hips. Lost in the moment, it’s easy to forget where you are and just how thin the walls are between the rooms. 

You’re flying too close to the sun. The coiling heat ignites in warning, pulling tight in your lower stomach as you force yourself to stop and catch a breath. 

“You’re incredible,” Din compliments from the safety of the darkness. 

He has never been forthcoming with compliments: everything is usually ‘good’, or ‘okay’ to him. Maybe that’s why they drive you wild, offering a taste of how it sounds to hear him enjoy something—that something being you. 

With a coy smile, you lower yourself over his body to seek out his lips again and murmur, “You haven’t seen anything yet.” 

Leaned over and spread open for him, you grant him the opportunity to guide himself to your entrance. Din takes his cue as his lips meet yours for a kiss: it’s not as controlled as the last—he’s distracted, lost to the sensation of his cock slowly stretching you open. 

Stars, he’s thick. 

His free hand moves to the back of your head when you press your forehead gently against his cheek and close your eyes. Your body is quick to adjust to him, your inner muscles sheathing him inside of your heat until he stills and lets out a heavy breath. 

That’s when you clench teasingly around him and smirk to yourself. 

“Don’t do that,” he warns you in a murmur. “It’s already difficult enough to fight this urge to fuck you senseless right now.” 

“Yeah?” you ask as you do it again. 

“Yeah.”

Din’s fingers tighten their grip on you: his composure is close to snapping. You’ve worked him hard enough with your teasing so you finally give him what he wants. 

You begin slowly, drawing your hips up and sliding yourself down over his cock again in a steady rhythm. It’s not a pace that lasts for long, though. You move to sit back up on Din’s hips, hands bracing against his chest to give yourself some leverage as you fuck yourself on his cock. 

A slur of incoherent curses fall from your lips when Din’s thighs tense to thrust up and meet your hips. He learns your movements quickly, finds your rhythm and compliments it with his own. The bed protests with its squeaks and groans, but you’re sure it’s barely audible over the way you moan for the man beneath you. 

“Oh fuck,” you gasp when Din grabs handfuls of the flesh on your ass. 

He guides you up and pulls you back down, creating the most delicious sounds of skin against skin as you lean back even further. The change in position has Din’s cock rubbing up against just the right spot as you gasp. You repeat the action, switching to rock your hips as you control the pace and moan at the way tingles of electrical pleasure pulse across your body.

Maker, it’s amazing, albeit borderline overwhelming.

“I don’t–I don’t want to cum,” you whine breathlessly. “Don’t want this…to end.” 

“Sweetheart, this is just getting started,” Din assures you. 

Your eyes snap open to catch sight of a grin on his full lips—stars, that does nothing to help you hold onto what little composure you have left. It’s already slipping through your fingers when you drop a hand to rub at your clit. 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” he confirms. 

Din makes it sound like a promise. The simplicity of knowing he wants more serves as the assurance you need: you feel wanted, but not by just anyone. You feel wanted by Din. The thought of that has everything beginning to pull tighter and tighter until finally, something snaps. You descend into the pleasure of your climax with a loud moan of his name as your body switches to autopilot, hips rocking to ride out your orgasm.

There’s barely time for you to fully comprehend what’s going on when Din tenses with a groan and urges you to move. His thick cock is gone, no longer filling you as he quickly reaches down to wrap a hand around his glistening length while he spills his release against your thigh with a moan. 

A moment of stillness fills the room as you keep yourself propped up with your hands against Din’s firm chest. His heart thunders beneath your palm, just as your own does: you hear the rhythmic thumps of it,  loud in your ears against the silence. 

Din hands find their way to your body again, smoothing affectionately over your skin before he pulls you down and wraps an arm around you. With barely any room on the bed, you find yourself settling onto the side of his chest with a small, lazy smile. 

“I’d say we should get cleaned up,” Din mumbles quietly now that he has caught his breath. “But there’s no shower.” 

“There’s no shower,” you remember with a quiet laugh. 

“And I’d prefer to keep you right where you are…” 

The way Din trails off leaves it open for you to decline: he’s unsure if you want to stay here with him. You get the feeling he’s offering you a chance to leave, if this isn’t what you want. 

“I’d prefer to stay right where I am,” you reassure him as you tilt your head a little to brush the tip of your nose against his jaw. “Besides, I’m interested to see what you have planned for the rest of the night.” 

Din huffs a small laugh at your recall of his words, “Yeah?” 

“Yeah.” 

—-----

The small, not-so-big, unable-to-comfortably-share, tiny bed proved useful for many things…but sleep wasn’t one of them. 

You fasten your damp jacket, standing in front of the window, noting the fresh layer of snow that had settled overnight. You already know how cold it is out there, how wet your clothes are going to get while you freeze down to your bones. 

The thought of that brings a hint of a smile to your lips as you look over your shoulder to see Din fixing the last of his weapons back into place. To look at him, nothing seems different this morning as he goes about his normal routine, yet, everything has changed overnight. 

Daylight had crept into the room far too soon this morning after hours of losing yourself in the pleasure Din could offer. If it wasn’t for the fact that you were both on a job, you would have insisted on staying longer so that you could fall back down onto the bed again and have him bury his face between your thighs to worship your taste. 

You blink yourself out of your thoughts and notice that he’s watching you, helmet tilted slightly to the side. You can’t be certain, but you like to think he’s smiling under his helmet, having caught you staring at him now that you no longer have to hide it. 

“You ready?” he asks as he motions to the door. 

“Actually…give me a second,” you quickly request and make your way into the fresher. 

The light above the mirror continues to flicker, and with an amused grin, you pull the small blade from your jacket. It seems only right to add your initials to the wall after spending a night here with Din. The sound isn’t a pleasant one as the blade scrapes over the metal, and within seconds, you feel his presence in the doorway. 

“Should I ask?” 

“Nope,” you reply and take a small step back to admire your work. 

No date, no full names, simply your and Din’s initials etched into the wall. Just like all the other names on there, you have plenty of stories to tell about your time spent in this room. 

But they would have to wait for another time. 

You turn to look at him, doing your utmost not to beam as you offer him a small smile. 

“Okay, let’s get going, big guy,” you tease him, using the Lasat’s words from the night before. 

“Don’t,” he sighs, still annoyed about that. 

You step out of the fresher and reach to touch the edge of his helmet with your finger, as if it were his chin: “Don’t forget to thank her on the way out. Seems like one bed wasn’t so bad, after all.” 

#the mandalorian x reader #din djarin x reader #the mandalorian x female reader #din djarin x female reader #the mandalorian #din djarin #mando x reader #mando x female reader #mando x you #din djarin x you #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian fic

[chaotic-iguana]

Acting out

(Din x f! reader one-shot)

Summary: You thought it would be fun to tease Din on the comm link while he was hunting for a bounty, expecting it not to take too long. But it takes longer than you thought - and it turns out your distractions were partly why it took so long. Mando’s back now though, and he’s not happy…

(basically just a brat tamer! din x bratty-till-shes-drooling-on-his-cock reader)

Wordcount: 2.7k 

Pairing: Din Djarin/ The Mandolorian x fem! reader (no use of y/n) 

Warnings: dacryphilia, dom/sub dynamics, overstimulation, edging/denial, crying, mean!mando, pussy slapping, spanking, daddy kink (mild), dumbification, crying (during sex bc it feels good), aftercare. MDNI

ao3 // masterlist.

Din stalked back to the ship, dragging the bounty behind him, aggression pouring off him in palpable waves. His seemingly easy bounty had taken triple the time it normally would have, thanks to the fact that every time Din got close enough to catch him, you’d picked up the commlink out of boredom, and moaned, whimpered and whined into it till he was so painfully hard under his beskar that The Mandalorian was forced to jerk off in dimly lit alleys. With the shiny armor on. 

14 times in three weeks. Fourteen times in three weeks you disobeyed his direct command to not touch yourself while he was gone, practically taunting him every time he threatened to punish you on his return. He could hear the smirk in your voice as you bit out each one of your witty little replies. ‘S okay, he was gonna wipe the smirk off your face, along with every other thought in your pretty little head. 

Since it was going slowly anyways, Din had gone a bit off-route and into a shop he’d rarely been to before. The package was now tucked in his holster belt, and had been spotted by the quarry who had been guffawing the whole way here. Must have been his happiest damn quarry yet, the rate at which his boisterous laughter was reverberating in Din’s skull. He whirled, slamming the Twi’lek face-first into the side of the Crest in warning, relishing in the string of blood and spit beading from his mouth as he spat out a tooth and snarled. Din snarled right back and hauled him inside, throwing him into the carbonite chamber and freezing him before he had a chance to do much else. 

Once that was out of the way, Din began hunting for you. He found you in the hull, giggling with the child over something adorable, no doubt, but he was so infuriated by you he didn’t care. He just walked over to the child, gave him a Keldabe kiss, and tucked him away in the crib fondly before fiddling with his vambrace to close the sphere. At the sound of your protests, Din turned to you and cocked his head in your direction, watching you trail off nervously as he offered no explanation. You took a step forward, reaching to put your hand on his chest and ask if he’s injured - but before you could even open your mouth - Din gripped your elbow and whirled you around. His chest connected with your back as he crowded you forward. 

A knot of anticipation and nervousness grew in your stomach. You were a brat, but you had never pushed him this far before. Never during a bounty, either. Despite your anxiety, you trusted him to take care of you; the combination of unpredictability and trust making your head dizzy with molten need before he even touched you. 

“Stand in the corner and face the wall with your arms up.  Don’t lower them unless I give you permission to.” His modulated voice ground the words out in a monotone, but he was close enough for you to be able to hear the whisper of rage in his words, making your hands tremble as you pressed them flat against the cool metal wall. You heard a rustle and telltale clink of metal armor behind you and tensed in expectation before a large, warm hand settled just above your hip, covering the expanse of your back. Another made its way around your torso and both began working in tandem to rip the clothes off your body. 

You gasped as you stood shivering and bare in the hull within seconds, testament to the strength he hid in his gentle touches with you. You opened your mouth to beg him to hurry up before his hand came down on your ass and a smack echoed in the ship. Your lips parted, and a cry of surprise worked its way out as Din began slapping both your cheeks in a random, but equally devastating order. He gave you no time to recover, barely letting the sting fade before he repeated the motion and the pain increased tenfold. 

Tears began pooling in your eyes as Din kept going, and when your legs began shaking from the ache you couldn’t take it anymore. “S-stop. Please. ‘M gonna be g-good” you could barely get the words out between the sharp, jagged breaths bursting out of you. Din chuckled behind you before leaning in to rub your swollen, reddened skin in a soothing motion. 

“Are you now? You forgot to count, though, cyar’ika. Good girls count. Let’s try again from one, no crying.” His tone dripped with condescension as he began again, practically reveling in each gasp and broken sob that spilled from your lips, taking pleasure in each time you stuttered on a number. Your eyes burned but you blinked rapidly to stop any tears from falling. You had submitted completely to your submissive headspace, and Din knew it too.

Finally, as you gasped out “25”, Din stopped to soothe the flaring bruises again. You whimpered and tried to move your hips forward, but realised the wall gave you no space to do so. Turning over your shoulder, you met his visor with pleading, tear-filled eyes. 

“S-sorry daddy. Won’t tease you next time, ‘m sorry for being bad. Please no more, it h-hurts,” sobs wracked from you, and you wrapped your arms around his midsection before burying your face in his chest. Gloveless hands began smoothing over your hair as Din began muttering praises and assurances to you from behind his helmet. 

“That’s okay, baby, I know it hurts. You teased me all the time, hm? Gotta make it right, no?” he paused as you nodded into his chest. “Then you gotta take your punishment, too, honey. You think just 25 strokes is enough to make up three weeks worth of misbehaving?” you shook your head, sniffling and looking up at him with such a sincere apology in your gaze that Din debated abandoning the punishment then and there. 

But the package sat on the floor next to his armor, tempting him, and he gave into the wrecked visions of you his mind was conjuring. Tapping your thighs lightly, he urged you to jump before adjusting your knees on his waist and cradling your head in one hand to reach down and pick up the inconspicuous white bag from the floor. Carrying you to his chair, Din pulled some rope out and began typing your hands to each of the chair’s handles; your feet spread wide in position. He reached his hand into the paper bag and pulled out a bullet-shaped, neon-pink toy as your eyes widened in alarm. 

You whined, tugging against your restraints fruitlessly as you looked at Din, who just tilted his helmet at you before kneeling and running a knuckle down your folds - chuckling when the contact makes you hiss and buck your hips. Din’s fingers leave you for a second before his hand comes down again - this time on your bare and swollen cunt - leaving you jolting away and yelping in surprise as you suppress a shudder. The snap of his rough hand on your clit leaves you breathless as stuttered pleas and whines come tumbling our of your throat. Din just brings his open palm down in another slap in response, the wet sound echoing throughout the room. 

“We’re done when I say we are. Ask me to stop again, and I’ll add another punishment after this one.” You squirmed, tugging against the ropes binding you to the chair. Din reached for the toy, pressing a button on its side and holding it snug against your clit. Your hips bucked of their own volition as you choked on your needless babbling, the warmth in your belly growing to a crescendo just as Din slid two fingers into you without warning. 

Just as you felt the first waves of your orgasms within reach, suddenly everything was gone - his fingers, the toy - pulled away cruelly, leaving you rolling your hips while the restraints chafed your skin. You sobbed out a whine as Din tutted at you in mock sympathy, stepping away from you until your release faded away before returning the toy and thrusting three fingers inside you in a single, swift motion. 

He repeated this cycle endlessly - bringing you to the edge only to pull away again, watching your trembling body rut in midair mindlessly; too far gone to even beg properly. Broken syllables poured out of your mouth, interrupted by wanton moans and sobs as tears stained your flushed cheeks. Eyes rolling back and slick running down your thighs, you furled and unfurled your fingers as the need to touch Din overwhelmed you. A steady chant of need to cum, need to cum, please, please, please, i’m sorry began taking over your mind, rocking your hips forwards and backwards in an attempt to chase any friction at all in the haze that had flooded your mind. 

Din could see you crumbling, your frustrated tears falling harder as time went on. He pulled the vibrator away from you again, turning it off to set it aside this time, untangling the ropes and opening your binds while rubbing at your sore wrists. You sobbed as you reached your shaking hands out for him, and he gathered you in his arms before turning to sit with you in his lap, rubbing your back as he cooed praises into your hairline. 

“You wanna come, honey?” You nod feverishly into his chest. “Okay, baby, okay. Took your punishment so well for me. You deserve a reward, okay? Let me take care of you.” You sniffle and look up at his visor before resting your hands on either sides of his helmet, waiting for your riduur to nod to tug it over his head and smash your lips to his desperately. You needed to feel him so badly, to breathe the air he was breathing, to be one with him again. Hands reaching up to tangle in his hair, your fingers began to claw at him urgently as you deepened the kiss. 

Breaking away from your mouth to grasp your chin, Din’s eyes met yours, an unguarded question in them. You want this? Instead of responding verbally, you stood to your feet to help rip off his boxers and undershirt before returning to straddle his thighs. Din leaned back in his seat before grinning at you. “Go on, take what you need. You’ve earned it. Just wanna hear a thank you when you’re done.” he drawled at you before resting his hands on the rests of the chair. You leaned in closer, rolling your hips to grind your cunt against his length; his moan rumbling against your pressed chests as his tip caught at your clit, making you hiss and jump from the sensitivity. 

You sunk down onto him, nails digging into his biceps as your toes curled and you both groaned from the stretch as you met in a rough, sloppy kiss. Eyes rolling back, you bounced in his lap whining his name over and over like a prayer as a cocky grin made its way onto his face. Wet, smacking sounds and the repetition of your wrecked “Din, Din, D-Din…” echoed throughout the hull. Din planted his feet, gripping your hips hard enough to bruise, thrusting up and nuzzling your neck as his tip battered your cervix with enough force for your vision to black out; back arching as you screamed soundlessly and felt yourself hurtling towards your orgasm. 

You tipped your head back as your eyes fluttered shut, unable to do much more than take the pleasure he was giving you. A hand wrapped around your neck and clamped down as Din spoke into your ear with an edge that had you suppressing a shiver. “You look at me when I make you feel good. Let me see those pretty eyes cry on my cock, mesh’la. Cum.” The words of endearment in Mando’a were the final nail in the coffin, and suddenly your whole body was locking up -  walls clamping down around Din as you finally got to come - eyes filling with tears as Din’s movements didn’t so much as stutter, drawing the high out to the point of pain and over-sensitivity that had you jolting with each thrust. The steady repetition of thank yous began surging from your lips, eager to please him, keening for his praise. 

Scratching your nails along his scalp and curling your fists into his hair, his stubble leaving burn marks down your neck as he began rolling your flesh between his teeth before sucking bruises into it. Gasping, you felt your legs shake slightly as the onslaught continued, barely able to form sentences in your head as the white hot bliss wiped your mind clean. A particularly punishing press of his girth inside you caused a shriek to bubble up from your throat as you pushed weakly at his chest to slow him down, making him laugh at you. 

Tilting your head down to level your eyes, he brought his face close enough to make your noses touch. “My poor-” leaning in, he pressed a kiss to your now slack jaw, pulling back to look at you again, “poor, baby.” Twin brushes of his lips over your eyelids, which threatened to shut at the fatigue coursing through you now. “Fucked so dumb she can’t even tell me to stop.” A kiss to your cheek this time, his tongue flicking out to taste your tears. “‘S that what you want, sweetheart? Want me to stop?” you shook your head frantically, too desperate to feel him in you to remember your pain. 

“W-want you to cum, daddy.” You whispered it as you buried your face in his neck, body twitching with his relentless motions and reveling in the slight hitch in his breath at your words. Before you knew it, a steady slew of please cum and please trickled into your half-gasped, rambled vocabulary, just as Din’s thrusts sped up slightly. Your eyes did close then, arms wrapping around his neck to wrap yourself in his safety as he reached a hand down to thumb at your clit, making you lurch in his secure hold as he began tracing rapid, tight circles on you while rutting up into you with renewed vigor. 

“Give me another, baby. That’s it. That’s it, good girl” his words kept you grounded as you began wailing, trembling like a leaf as he thrusted a few more times before he came with a low, animalistic moan and spilled inside you. 

Heaviness and fatigue began weighing down your body and mind in his arms, your breathing evening out as you tucked your face in his shoulder. His arms wound around your midsection, pressing soft kisses and murmurs into your hair as he used one hand to smooth the hair away from your face. You felt him pick you up and walk you somewhere - turn on some water and the glorious feeling of his hands running down your body to scrub his soap into your skin. 

You had the distinct memory of his lips ghosting over each blotch of blue or purple, taking the time to kiss it softly before moving on to the next, before he wrapped you up, dressed you in his shirt and panties, and lay you onto the bed. Swooping down to kiss your forehead and smiling at the sleepy grumble you let out before reaching your arms out blindly for him, he turned the lights out and crawled into bed to hold you. Watching you burrow into him in your sleep, the irritation of the hunt seemed to melt away now that he was with you again. For the first time in days, Din let sleep take him; feeling completely safe and at home with you pressed to his chest.

hello loves, as always - thank you for reading. comment your thoughts or find me on ao3. stay hydrated and have a great day! taglist: @imherefordeanandbones 🫶

#din djarin x fem!reader #din djarin smut #din dijarin x reader #din djarin #din djarin x you #din djarin/reader #din djarin x female reader #din djarin x f!reader #the mandalorian x female reader #brat tamer! din djarin #husband! din #dom! din x bratty! reader #the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin x reader #din djarin/you #dom/sub #mild daddy kind #daddy dom! din djarin #soft dom din djarin #cool-iguana

[flightlessangelwings]

His Strength

Din Djarin x fem!reader

Word count- 3.8k

Dialogue prompt- “ hey! get away from them! “ and “ don’t worry about me; are YOU okay? “ Action prompt- [ SACRIFICE ]: sender sacrifices themselves, either fatally or otherwise, in order to save the receiver’s life.

Warnings-s.mut (18+ ONLY!), fwb to lovers, protective!Din, bounty hunter reader, injury, brief violence, brief torture scene (not super descriptive and no needles or anything like that), light angst, happy ending, mutual pining, feelings, no use of y/n, ambiguous on where in the timeline it is but razor crest lives

Notes- We made it, this is the last of my Year of Protectiveness @yearofcreation2023! I actually had a different idea at first, but after some personally tragedy, I wanted to write something a little more angtsy. Don't worry tho it's still a happy ending and no major character death! Thanks so much to those who have supported this year theme endeavor with me!

@flightlessangelwings-updates is my update blog so feel free to follow that and turn on post notifs to stay up to date!

~

When you first partnered with a Mandalorian bounty hunter in the guild, you never expected how much it would change your life. What started as a one time alliance for convenience turned into a partnership built on mutual respect for the other. And everything changed even more the day Mando came to you asking for help with a child he had taken in. He had told you what happened, and how he made the decision to save the child instead, and it awoke something within you that day. Even as he rescued the child from the Client, you stayed by his side and as the two of you traveled the galaxy, you felt the dynamic shift between you two.

It changed the Mandalorian that day too. From under the armor, he had always respected you, but seeing you with the child made him feel something he had never felt before. He found that his gaze lingered on you when you weren’t looking, and he found himself wondering what life would be like if you and the child could stay with him forever… as a family. 

Neither of you were sure when it happened. You were just partners one moment, and the next, became something more. There was never a whisper of it spoken out loud, though, just both of you knew something shifted. Even if it was simply for release, it changed everything between you two. He even murmured his real name to you in the throws of passion- a gift you treasured and kept safe in your heart. 

*

Sweat lined your brow as you writhed beneath the Mandalorian. His low grunts echoed from under his helmet while you bit your lip to stifle your moans. Din, as always, never took anything off, only freed his cock. You stayed mostly covered as well, something you wondered if he did to keep things feeling leveled, as if he didn’t want to feel like he was overpowering you. Only your bottoms came off, and even then they stayed around your ankles.

It started fast, heated, and fiery. The first time you and Din slept together was quick, as if you were both concerned with the moment running away from you. He just pushed your pants down enough and took you against the wall. And even with the rush, it was still a more intimate connection you had ever felt in your life. You couldn’t tell at the time, but Din felt the same way.

Over time, it moved from the wall to Din’s bunk, and from hot and hurried to slow and sensual. Din at times handled you with sure care that you wondered if he thought you would break. The way he caressed every inch of you made your heart flutter in your chest as you looked at him with a glazed over expression. Neither of you were sure when exactly it happened, but something changed as the two of you came together time and time again.

You felt it with every thrust of his cock. Though you never saw his face, you felt the emotions behind his movements and his touch. You looked into the darkness of his vizor, locking eyes with him behind it. A louder moan escaped your lips as he rocked into you again, filling you to the brim.

“Din…” you murmured as you ran your hands across his chest.

“I’ve got you,” he groaned in a low tone that went right to your core.

You whimpered at the care that lined his voice. Moving before you could second guess yourself, you let go of his broad shoulders and reached down for your own top. You grabbed and pulled it over yourself in one swift movement, exposing more of your body to Din.

He paused as his helmet nodded up and down as he soaked in the sight of your bare chest, “You’re beautiful,” he groaned as his hands wandered across your breasts. 

Mirroring your action, Din surprised you by quickly removing his gloves so that he could touch your bare skin. Both of you gasped when his large hand cupped your jaw first, then trailed down to your breast. He remained inside you yet stayed still as both of you froze in the moment. Din’s thumb brushing across your nipple was the only movement save for the way both your chests expanded with your heavy breaths.

A whimper escaped your lips as Din caressed your breast, gently pinching your nipple as he fondled you. He worshiped your body with his touch and you could hear the heavy breaths from under his helmet. Heat rose between the two of you as he kneaded your breasts.

Din murmured your name as his hand trailed up your chest and along your arms until he took your hand in his. Leaning forward, Din pressed his forehead against yours as he covered your body with his own and resumed his thrusts.

This time, you couldn’t hold back your moans. Between the way he pounded into you and the emotions that came with the intimacy of the moment, you couldn’t help the way you cried out. Din’s cock hit spots deep inside you that you never felt before, and it brought tears to your eyes.

“Fuck… Din…”

“I know,” he groaned, “Me too…”

His hand clasped around yours as he sped up his thrusts, rocking into you with abandon. You arched your back into him as you squeezed his hand right back, and your eyes fluttered shut as you felt your climax quickly approach. 

“Din… I’m…” was all you could get out before your orgasm hit you. Your entire body trembled under his beskar-clad one as you came hard on his cock. Your cries echoed in the small space as you felt Din hit your sweet spot over and over again, making you feel a pleasure unlike anything you ever experienced before.

Din growled your name as his hips became more erratic until he too hit his peak. He dropped down onto his elbows, all while never letting go of your hand as he felt wave after wave of pleasure crash through him as he spilled himself deep inside you.

Heavy breaths filled the small space between your bodies as Din rode out your orgasms together. With one final deep thrust, Din groaned as he stilled himself for a moment until he pulled out of you completely. You let out a soft whine at the loss as you felt your body pulse from the aftershocks of your powerful climax.

He gave your hand one last squeeze before he finally let go, and Din immediately grabbed your shirt so that you could cover yourself.

Mumbling a hushed “thanks,” you maneuvered yourself in the tiny space to dress yourself, slipping your shirt on before shimmying your pants back up. Vaguely, you felt Din’s gaze on you as he helped you move around on the cot. For a moment, you didn’t dare look at him. The emotions were too overwhelming after what happened. Something changed in the air between you two, but neither of you were sure how to address it.

That was when you noticed his hand still lingered on your body, holding you tightly. “Din…” you started in a whisper.

But you were interrupted when a coo from a distance made you both look up. Grugu babbled happily as he made his way outward the bunk and climbed in, settling himself in between you two.

You smiled brightly as you finally looked at Din, “We didn’t wake him did we?” you asked in embarrassment.

“I hope not,” he replied with a soft laugh in his tone, “I’m sure it’s fine,” he reassured you. 

You couldn’t help but giggle as the little child made himself comfortable between the two of you. Faintly, you heard his laughter with yours and it made your heart soar.

Din tilted his head affectionately, “Rest now,” he cradled your face, “We all need some sleep.”

Swallowing hard, you nodded. Wiggling your way around where Grogu already made himself comfortable, you laid down on your side and exhaled deeply. Din did the same after you were settled and he placed himself so that he could wrap his arm around both you and the child, holding you both close, keeping you both safe.

“Goodnight,” you murmured before you drifted off. Surprisingly, it took you no time to fall asleep, perhaps because you were warm and comfortable… and safe.

The Mandalorian, however, laid awake for some time, just listening to you and Grugu sleep. Everything he could ever want in the galaxy was tucked safely in his arms, yet it all felt so far at the same time. He knew neither you nor the child were truly his, yet he felt like the three of you were already a family. If you only knew just how much you meant to him… 

*

“I have a bad feeling about this,” you mumbled.

Din glanced over at you, but said nothing. He placed a hand on your shoulder and gave it a reassuring squeeze before he stepped in front of you. 

The alleyway felt like it closed in around you. Dim lights led the way as you, Din and Grogu tracked the fob and the bustle of the city faded into the distance. It was quiet, but not calming. You couldn’t put your finger on it, but something felt wrong, and everything in you screamed to turn around.

Din's presence anchored you, though, and you stayed at his side as you carefully made your way toward where the fob guided you. With each step, it beeped louder until you all turned down one last alley that led to a small shack.

“Careful,” Din hissed under his breath to you.

You and Din each hovered your hands over your weapons, ready to strike. Din scanned the area, and when he found no movement, he nodded to you and opened the door slowly. You held your breath as the two of you pointed your blasters into the small space, ready for anything. However, as you inched closer, you noticed that the target laid still. Scrunching your brows, you reached a hand out to check, and with a sigh you turned back to Din, “He’s already dead.”

Din let out a soft grunt. You were right- something was off about this. But, before he could even reply, an explosion knocked both of you off balance. He shouted your name as he instinctively tried to reach for you, but you were knocked too far away from him.

A yelp escaped your throat as you found yourself thrown against the nearby wall. You groaned as your body ached, but you forced yourself up onto your elbows. Grogu’s pram was pushed next to you, and through the smoke in the distance where the front wall used to be, you saw numerous shadows appear. Din laid on the ground on the other side of the space, groaning as he too pushed himself back up.

Acting quickly, you shot up to your feet and grabbed onto the pram, “Get out of here, Grogu,” you told him and you gathered your strength, “Get out of here and get help,” you strained as you pushed the pram as hard as you could, sending it hurling out the window and into the darkness. You watched it disappear for a moment before you turned to your companion, “Din,” you breathed.

He looked over at you, but before he could even say your name, another figure appeared behind you and knocked you unconscious. Din yelled, both in fear and in anger, and attacked the enemies with everything he had, fighting until he too found his world completely black.

*

You felt the pain before you opened your eyes; your entire body ached. Faintly, you heard voices and clamoring around you, and it took you several seconds to blink your eyes open. When you did, you found yourself in a brightly lit room with several men around you. Gasping, you tried to move, but you found yourself strapped down- your wrists were bound at your sides and your ankles were tied at the end of the table you currently laid on.

“You joined us just in time,” a sinister voice spoke.

Snapping your head in the direction of the voice, you saw a tall man with a rod in his hands. The rod sparked at the end, and you knew immediately what it was for. You spat a curse at him as you struggled to get out of your binds, but that only amused him.

“She’s feisty,” he commented, “I see why you keep her around, Mando,” he moved aside to reveal Din behind him, also bound but in a different way.

The Mandalorian was on his knees, his wrists cuffed together in front of him, and several men strained to keep him in place. His shoulders rose and fell with deep breaths, and you could hear the snarl in his breathing.

“Maybe now you can tell us where the child is,” the man continued as he stepped towards you, the rod pointing right at you.

“Get away from her!” Din shouted, “Let her go!”

He ignored him, the rod hovering just above your skin, “Let’s hear how pretty you are when you scream,” he hissed.

“No!” Din struggled in vain as he tried to break free.

The searing pain from the rod against your skin made you scream before you could fight it. Pulse after pulse of electricity shot through your entire body, and it was the worst pain you had ever felt in your life. Your eyes snapped shut as you tried to wriggle away, but it was no use. You were trapped, and there was nothing you or Din could do.

Your screams went right to Din’s chest, “Stop!” he shouted. Fueled by his rage at seeing you hurt, Din finally broke free of his captors and with a grunt, knocked them out. “It’s me you want. Leave her alone,” Din panted, “Don’t hurt her.”

Din smashed the binders that held his wrists together, shattering it, before he grabbed his small vibroblade that he kept hidden. The room turned into a frenzy as the other men attacked him, but he fought them off until he reached the leader, the one who hurt you.

Amused at the scene, the leader pulled out a blade of his own and countered Din's attack, “Is this… love, Mandalorian?” he asked as he parried Din's attack.

The Mandalorian just growled as rage consumed him. He went blade to blade with the leader a few times, but he soon made a mistake. Din glance over at you, still bound to the table with tears in your eyes. He hesitated for just a moment as the sight of you like that broke him, and that was when the leader stuck, stabbing Din right between the plates of his armor.

“Has a woman made you soft?” he teased in a low voice as he drove the blade deeper, "How sweet," he spat.

Your eyes went wide as your mouth opened to let out a scream, but nothing came out. Instead, all you could croak out was a hushed, "Din..."

Tears fell from your eyes as you wailed and thrashed in your binds, desperate to do something. Maniacal laughter filled the room as Din slumped down, the blade still in his body. You whimpered as you tried to fight through the pain that coursed through your body and free yourself, but it was no use. This was the end. And you didn’t even get to tell him…

Suddenly, the wall on the far side burst open in an explosion and dozens of Karga’s men flooded into the room. They fought off your captors in a heated fight. And through the flames and blaster fire, you saw the familiar outline of the child, who waddled over to you. It was the last thing you saw before you passed out from the pain. 

*

Din woke with a gasp. The last thing he remembered was getting stabbed, hearing you scream and then an explosion. He had no idea where he was, but he did notice that his hands weren’t bound anymore. And the pain had dulled to an ache in his side. But, more than his own injuries, he was more concerned with where you were. Thankfully for him, your voice was the next thing he heard.

“Din,” you gasped, “It’s alright, we’re ok,” you were right next to him.

Din laid back down with a groan as the pain suddenly intensified. But it didn’t matter, you were here, and you were ok. He whispered your name, “What happened?”

“Grogu found backup,” you sounded tired, “Karga and the others found us just in time.”

He groaned, “Grogu?! Where is he?”

“Shh,” you tried to calm him, knowing how much the kid meant to him, “He’s alright. He’s resting in the next room. It took a lot out of him… healing us…”

“Are you alright?” was his next question after a pause.

Your eyes went wide, “Don’t worry about me. Are you ok?”

Din cupped your face, “As long as you and the kid are alright…”

“Don’t say that,” tears filled your eyes before you could stop them. You let out a shaky breath before you added, “Din, you… You sacrificed yourself… For me…” your voice trembled. 

He groaned as he slowly pushed himself up to sit. You mumbled incoherent concerns as you helped him up, and once Din was upright, he found himself almost eye level with you due to the height of the cot. Din let out a heavy sigh as his heart skipped a beat in his chest at the way you looked at him. Though he hated to see tears in your eyes, he noticed the care and concern that highlighted your features.

“Din…” you breathed as he cupped your face once more.

As he gently cradled your face in his hand, Din murmured, “Keeping you and Grogu safe,” he hissed slightly from the pain, “Is all that matters to me. You two are all that matter to me.” Din spoke in a sincere voice.

Fresh tears filled your eyes, but not ones of sadness. You longed to hear him say those words, and now that you heard them, the emotions became overwhelming. “I care about you too, Din,” you whispered as you leaned into his touch, feeling his thumb brush across your cheek, “You and the kid… You’re my family. My everything.”

Din let out a deep breath, “I trust you,” his tone was soft, “Do you trust me?”

“Yes,” you breathed without hesitation.

He slid his hand up your face to rest over your eyes. Your mouth dropped open as a sigh escaped your lips, but you said nothing and made no attempt to move. You put yourself completely in his hands, knowing you were safe in them. But, you gasped when you heard the hiss of his helmet, and felt the gentle breath from Din’s own lips.

Din leaned in and tenderly placed his lips over yours, using his free hand to keep his helmet covering the rest of his face. You both moaned softly into each other as you savored the feeling of your lips together for the first time. The kiss was soft and sweet, yet it held all the emotions the two of you held close to your hearts. Now that everything was out in the open, though, you and Din both felt like you could share this vulnerability with each other.

You tilted your head to the side as you placed your hands on Din’s armored chest and parted your lips in a silent invitation. Din eagerly took it and deepened the kiss by darting his tongue past your lips. He groaned into you and pushed his chest more into your body as the taste of you sent a jolt of electricity through his veins. A tear of his own slid down his face as he memorized the taste of you and the feeling of your face against his.

As much as neither of you wanted to break away, you needed air. Reluctantly, you both parted at the same time, sharing the air that you both inhaled. Din carefully pulled his helmet down and covered your eyes, taking a moment to admire the subtle features of your face as you kept your eyes closed.

“Look at me,” he said gently.

You blinked your eyes open, and knew from the way he tilted his head to the side that he was admiring you. Your heart fluttered in your chest as you felt his eyes stare at you through the darkness of the visor. “Thank you,” you whispered, “For saving my life,” you slid your hand in his.

“You never have to thank me, mesh’la,” Din murmured as he squeezed your hand and moved his free one to cup the back of your head, “I’ll always protect you,” he continued in a low tone as he guided your head closer to his until your foreheads touched. Din knew his love for you and Grugu didn't make him weak, despite what the leader said. In fact, it made him stronger than ever, it drove him to fight harder to protect you both.

You let out another deep breath as your eyes closed and you cherished the moment. Being held by Din made you feel safe and warm, even with the cold armor he wore. You felt the warmth of his touch, the warmth of his love, even through the beskar. “Let’s go see our kid,” you broke the silence with a smile in your tone.

Din let out a soft, amused huff that told you he was smiling too, “Yeah,” he murmured, “Let’s get our family back together.” 

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