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#why is this din djarin energy
technoturian · 28 days
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Din Djarin is like "I'm a gig worker and I can't even afford gas but I'm still gonna tip 400% to every service worker I see".
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nimviridis · 1 year
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I can't believe Din Djarin, he's so goddamn stupid, I love him
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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!
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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.” 
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AFS: Deleted Scene
Din Djarin x Female!Reader
Warnings: Nightmares from PTSD, accidental injury, blood, angst and comfort
Word Count: 2,873
Summary: A night on the town is interrupted by a night terror. [aka someone told me I should write a scene where Grogu has a nightmare and cries out for the reader and I went WAY overboard lol.]
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#9.5: MA'S GOT YOU
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The house was quiet and as Din sat on his couch, holopad in hand and helmet off, he realized this had been his existence prior to your arrival. Grogu was down for bed and Din was alone. It’s not that he minded time alone. He craved it, really. There was only so much social interaction he could manage before he needed time to himself. It wasn’t a fault to the friends he kept, it was simply how he was built. Which is why it spoke volumes that Din wished you were here.
It was your presence he missed. It’s not like he needed you around him at all times of the day. Din was positive you needed your space away from him and others as well, but he just liked the energy you seemed to carry with you. Din wanted to be alone⏤ together. Both doing separate things, enjoying your own time, but in the same vicinity. He just wanted to know you were near and he still hadn’t decided if that was pathetically clingy of him or not. Din never felt like that before with a grown person so it was hard to find a comparison. 
Tonight was his night off of call and you were out with Nima. Din was happy that you agreed to spend time with your not cousin because he didn’t want you to think you couldn’t have a life separate from him. The thought that you might eventually resent him and feel trapped was terrifying. No, he wanted you to live your life as you normally would.
On your way out, you had told him not to wait up for you, but Din was currently perched on his couch in his pajamas doing exactly that. He’d never admit it to you. When you did find your way home he would feign surprise and act like he had been too caught up in reading to realize the time. Din just wanted to make sure you got home safe. It’s not that he didn’t trust you⏤ you were a grown and responsible woman. It’s the rest of the world, Din didn’t trust. Old habits, die hard, he supposed.
His eyes scanned a few more lines of the story he had chosen only to stop when a very quiet, whimper drifted through the air. Din had left his bedroom door open while Grogu slept. He set the holopad aside and padded across the living room toward the hall's entrance. Another familiar whimper followed by a pained cry and Din was sprinting. When he got to his room, Grogu was thrashing in his hammock and every item in the room, save for the large pieces of furniture, were hovering in the air. A side effect Din hadn’t seen since Grogu’s last nightmare ages ago.
“Ad’ika! Gar cuyir morut'yc!” Din cried, but if Grogu heard him it did nothing to ease the child’s mind. He crossed the room, but the moment his hand reached out to grasp the boy a wall of energy body slammed him back. Din fell over the corner of his bed and landed roughly on his back with a grunt. He recovered quickly, rolling to his feet, and tried again. Three times. Din got blown back three more times. One of which he felt the back of his head crack against his bed frame, momentarily making his world spin, before he got through to Grogu. His hands wrapped around the crying boy, pulling him from the hammock into his chest, and cocooned him between his arms while murmuring reassurances. 
There is nothing to fear.
You are safe.
I am here.
Eventually, in a sharp hiccup, Grogu’s cries stopped and his eyes snapped wide open. All the objects in the air clattered to the ground leaving the room looking as if a storm had blown through. Din cradled the back of his son’s head as he swayed in a slight rocking motion.
“Buir, safe?” Grogu whimpered as he reached his hand up.
Din leaned closer so Grogu could find the comfort he needed in touching his cheeks and jaw. He nodded. “I’m safe. You’re safe.”
“Ma, safe?” Grogu whimpered again and tried to crawl out of Din’s arms to look around the room. “Ma!” He yelled and when he wasn’t immediately answered the boy began to cry again. “Ma!”
“She’s safe, Grogu.” Din rubbed his back. “I swear, she’s safe. You had a nightmare. Ma is okay.”
This did not appease the boy who began to howl and scream in a panic. Din tried to explain that you weren’t here right now, but you’d be back. You were just spending time with Nima. However, Grogu who was still trapped in a post-nightmare daze was not having it. He wanted⏤ No, needed to see you. Make sure you were safe with his own eyes. Din could understand the sentiment, but it didn’t make the situation any easier. 
After a minute more of his son suffering, Din caved and grabbed his communicator. Maybe if Grogu could just hear your voice. He dialed your frequency number and when you picked up neither of you could even usher out a greeting with Grogu’s cries.
“Grogu??” You asked, your own voice panicked, “Mando⏤”
“He had a nightmare and he’s asking about you. I’m so sorry. I⏤”
“I’m on my way.” You blurted with no further preamble. 
The communicator line went dead and Din went back to fruitlessly trying to calm Grogu down. He drifted out to the living room to find his helmet so you’d be able to come in without concern. Din winced as it locked in place and the pressure at the back of his head reminded him that he had taken quite the hit earlier. Din wasn’t quite sure how you pulled it off, but five minutes after the call you were bursting through the front door.
“Grogu?”
“Ma!” Grogu was a blubbering mess when you stepped into view, and he nearly leapt from Din’s arms to yours. In the same way Din had cradled Grogu to his chest earlier, you held him close to you. Grogu was hiccuping as his hands roamed your features. “Ma, safe?”
“Yes, baby boy.” You smiled down at him. “I’m safe. I promise. Everything is okay.”
Grogu shifted to bury his face in your neck and you rubbed his back. Din felt his entire body slump with relief. The last time Grogu had a nightmare was back when they had first moved into this house. Since living here, they had slowed until they eventually came to a stop. Din wondered what brought this on. He watched you, hypnotized, as you hummed under your breath and swayed until Grogu’s whimpered breaths turned even. Din could garner a guess. He’d be a liar if he said the thought of losing you hadn’t slipped into his own night terrors. You were new in their lives, your importance increasing by the day, and there was no love without fear. It was the price to pay for a connection. 
“We can try to set him down now that he’s calm.” Din whispered. If he could get Grogu settled again then maybe you could get back to your night out. He hated that he interrupted it.
You gave him a small nod, and Din turned to lead the way back to the bedroom. However, as soon as he turned he heard you gasp loudly, “Fuck, Mando!” He whirled back around⏤ panicked. Was Grogu alright? He hadn’t heard you cuss like that in such a sharp and worried tone. Din rushed forward and settled a hand on Grogu’s back and the other on your elbow. You shook your head and shoved him back a step before spinning him around. “You’re bleeding!”
Din breathed out a sigh of relief. You were fine. Grogu was fine. It was just his head trauma that startled you. He chuckled. “It’s fine. Hurts some but⏤”
“The back of your shirt is covered in blood, you psycho! Don’t tell me it’s fine!” Din reached back and touched his shirt. It had felt damp, but he assumed it was wet with his sweat. When he pulled his hand back his fingers shone with red. Oops. “Go. As soon as I get Grogu down, I can⏤”
“No.” Din said quickly. Your eyes narrowed at him, and he quickly held a hand up in argument. “I’ll dress it. It’s not bad. I don’t even have a headache.” That was a lie. He could definitely feel the beginnings of a possible concussion, but he wasn’t about to admit that to you. “Head wounds just bleed a lot. Take care of Grogu. Please.”
You didn’t immediately reply. He watched you chew on your lower lip in thought, and it wasn’t until Grogu softly whimpered that you gave in. You sighed, giving him a hardened look, before nodding once. This time Din motioned you to walk first so you wouldn’t have to stare at his bloody shirt. He let his hand linger on your back as the three of you made your way towards the bedrooms. Din followed you in, mostly to grab a spare shirt, and he paused on his way out just so he could watch you rock Grogu while whispering words of comfort to the boy. It wasn’t until you glanced his way with a light glare that he realized he was transfixed.
“Please go patch up your broken head.” You hissed.
Din chuckled and slipped away.
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It had been a struggle to change out of your day clothes into something more comfortable because Grogu refused to let you set him down to do so. You had dressed up to go out with Nima, and more than anything you just wanted to be in comfy clothes. Somehow you managed it, and you drifted back to Mando’s room. You didn’t know what startled you more: getting a call from Mando and hearing Grogu’s hysteric cries or watching the man turn his back to you and seeing his white shirt stained with blood. Both had been jarring and it hadn’t been where you thought your night on the town would end. Still, you didn’t quite mind. Nima had you meeting new people tonight and it had been kind of exhausting.
You tried to set the sleeping boy back into his hammock, but the second you pulled him from your chest he whined until you hugged him again. You turned your head and pressed a soft kiss to the top of his with a small smile, “You’re okay, baby. Ma’s got you.”
You wondered what kind of Maker awful nightmare the boy could have had that scared him so badly. Mando had mentioned the kid had nightmares in the past, but this was the first time you had been witness to one. As you bounced him lightly, keeping yourself moving while patting his back, you glanced around the room in surprise. It was a disaster. Mando was shockingly neat and organized, and you had never seen his room in such disarray. Even his armor was scattered about instead of carefully placed where he usually kept it.
“What happened here?” You thought aloud. You wondered if it had anything to do with the injury Mando sustained. As if willed by your thought alone, Mando breezed into the room. He had changed shirts and the new one he wore had long sleeves. For a second, you mourned the loss of being able to see his arms then reminded yourself you should not be drooling over the sight of him. “Hey, you okay?”
“I’m fine.” Mando walked closer so he could stand in front of you. You raised an eyebrow. “That it?”
Mando chuckled. “I fell. Hit my head, and there was a little gash. Sprayed it with bacta and it’s fine.”
“It doesn’t need stitches?” You pressed. He shook his head. “Are you sure, though?”
“I’m positive. How’s he?”
“Won’t let me set him down.” You replied. “What even… What happened, Mando?”
Apparently this was just as his other night terrors had been. When they came, it was always hard to wake Grogu from them and the Force seemed to bubble around him in self defense. That was why his room looked like a bomb had gone off and how he ended up with a gash at the back of his head.
“Poor baby.” You sighed.
Mando tilted his head at you. “Are you referring to me or the kid?”
“The kid.” You laughed. “I’d give you a ‘poor baby’ too, but apparently you’re fine.” Mando let out that breathy, chuckle that always seemed to send a thrill up your spine. “Is he gonna be okay, you think?”
Mando reached out and rubbed the back of Grogu’s head. “Yeah. He’s tough. Resilient. I just hate that he went through so much in his life.” There was a beat of silence where the two of you just listened to Grogu’s quiet snores. “Hey.” Mando’s voice sounded startled. “What are you wearing?”
“Pajamas?” You glanced down at yourself.
“Where did your… Aren’t you going to go back out?”
“Probably not.”
Mando sighed, his shoulders drooping, “Cyar’ika, I am so sorry. I didn’t mean to ruin your night.”
“You didn’t ruin my night.” You scoffed with a chuckle. “Grogu needed me.” You rolled your eyes. “Besides, I think Nima was trying to find me a date and I wasn’t really too interested in that.”
Mando crossed his arms and bobbed his head. “You, uh, you aren’t? Interested in… in dating?”
“Are you interested?” You asked in return, but panicked as the words left you. “Not in⏤ Not in me. I meant, like, interested in dating in general. With anyone.” Unable to stop the flow of words, you kept going. “I just… If you needed me to babysit so you could go on a date. Not that⏤ Not that it would even be considered babysitting because I’m the nanny. Yeah.”
Mando shook his head, that same breathy laugh making your face warm, “I’ll keep that in mind.”
You turned to see if you could get Grogu into his hammock partly because your arms were tired but also because it gave you an excuse to hide your burning face. Same as before, the second he was separated from you he began to fuss.
“Here.” Mando motioned toward you with his hands. “Let me see if I can take him.”
Grogu seemed to recognize his father’s hands and shifted to Mando, but he had only settled for a second before realizing he had been moved away from you. Grogu sat up and spun to look for you. When his eyes landed on you, he cried out a mumbled ‘Ma’ and you let out a soft laugh before opening your arms to him again. He fell into your chest and Mando sighed.
“Maybe he’ll…” You cleared your throat. “Can I sit on your bed, or…?”
“Lay down.” He corrected you with a shake of his head. “Get comfortable.”
You hesitantly drifted over to his bed and crawled into the same spot you slept in the last time you fell asleep beside him. Last time, you had been groggy and tired and had fallen into sleep without thought, but you felt wide awake now. You shifted so you could lay Grogu down on his belly, but when he began to fuss you draped your arm over him to let you know you were still here. That seemed to settle him.
Mando nodded toward the door. “You should stay here. I can take your bed or the, uh, the couch.”
You furrowed your brow. “No.” He stiffened and you blamed the few drinks you had for your lack of self control when it came to speaking. “I just mean, you can stay here. It’s your bed. The bed is big enough, right? That’s what you told me last time.”
“I suppose I did.” Mando chuckled.
He carefully sat down on the other side of the bed and drew up the blankets so it covered the three of you. Mando laid on his side, holding his head up in his hand, while his other settled on Grogu’s back right below yours.
“Shoot.” You whispered. “Your helmet? It’d be better for you to sleep with it off considering you’re injured.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“When Grogu is sleeping more soundly I can leave⏤”
“I said,” Mando emphasized his words, “Don’t worry about it, cyar’ika.”
“You’re stubborn, you know that?”
“That’s funny coming from you of all people.”
Your lips curled up in a smile and the silence that settled around the two of you was warm and comfortable. Before you knew it, sleep crept up on you.
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Din felt settled.
Grogu was safe. You were safe. He was safe. More than just safe, he had the two of you within arm’s reach which he realized was exactly where Din always wanted both of you to be. Cautiously, nervous to wake you up on accident, Din lifted his hand from where it was on Grogu’s back and set it on top of yours. A little sigh slipped from your lips and mingled with the sounds of Grogu’s soft snores. Din smiled to himself.
Everyone was home and safe.
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mando'a translations:
Ad’ika: little one
Gar cuyir morut'y: You're safe
Cyar'ika: Sweetheart, Darling
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taglist:
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fanfreakinfiction · 5 months
Text
My Gods Are Not Kind to Lonely Mothers
Chapter 2: Trying to Understand
Ch. 1 | Masterlist 🖤
4.3K words // Din Djarin x pregnantf!reader
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Pairing: Din Djarin x pregnantf!reader (Reader is younger but not weirdly young) Reader was a sex worker. Reader’s first language is one I made up she speaks pretty good basic but struggles finding certain words. Reader is pregnant!
Summary: How can Din understand and respect your plans without being apart of them? He tries to help, but your stubbornness rivals that of a Mandalorian.
Tags: SLOW BURN, Some fluff, made up Star Wars culture & religion, split POV, slight language barrier, mention of death, mention of child death, dark!, lots of relationship building in this.
Warnings: mention of child loss and grief.
A/n: Alright so let me explain Illa-ishi real quick because I never want to get the wrong idea across. Illa-ishi are mainly single mothers who birth at the lower pool of the Mountain of Mothers. The reason why Illa-ishi give birth at the lower pool and pass away, isn’t the gods punishing them for being single mothers. The journey up to the lower pool when a mother is in the throws of birth is so rigorous and difficult without the help of their partner that many perish from exhaustion. By the time they make it up the cliff to the lower pool some do not even have energy to give birth which is why there are skeletons in the bed rolls. Please comment or ask me questions if anything is ever unclear! Also I know this is a shorter chapter than Ch. 1, I initially wanted this to be a two part series but I found I have more to write than I thought. Anyways, enjoy this soft chapter! I will update this series every Friday.
Standing in the pool, you felt his hand on the right side of your waist. He'd carried you from the spot near the cliff into the shallow end of the hot spring and set you down into the water as if you were sacred. Paralyzed by the sudden display of kindness after the last months spent alone, you felt the cold metal of his helmet lean heavily on the back of your head.
A slow fear crept up from somewhere deep inside the traumatized confines of your heart, the fear immobilizing you to his actions just as they'd done the night he paid for your company. Frozen in place, thoughts of him pushing you into the spring and drowning you flooded your mind. Then you felt his left hand rest on the small of your back, leading you to think he'd take you again as he'd done in the expensive room back on Tatooine. You'd worked in that brothel for years and saw the desperation of men in need, the aftermath of what they'd done to women they had no emotional attachment for.
Just as you started to form a plan of action against him, you heard the softest noise from behind. It took maybe thirty seconds for the sound to register within your mind – he was crying. The strangled sound of a sob left the static of the modulator on his helmet, which was then followed by the most sincere "I'm sorry" you'd heard since the day your father had sold you.
For a moment, you just looked ahead at the milky waters of the spring and the steam swirling around you. The small green baby that the Mandalorian had brought with him sat nearby the shallow end of the pool, gazing into the water below, his small hand chasing the steaming swirls that rose into the air. You felt the life within you stir, your contractions coming inconsistently now, almost as if your body was confused. The warmth of the leather-clad hand on your right side tightened slightly as you heard one more sob break over the roar of the waterfall.
In a show of cosmic irony, you couldn’t help the small but sad smile that graced your lips as you trailed your bandaged right hand up to lace your fingers over the back of his hand, and you spoke, “Don’t cry.”
His sobs seemed to quiet, as if he hadn't expected your touch, your reassurance. The tension in his grip lessened. After a moment of his head resting on the back of yours, you assumed he regained his composure as he slowly pulled away. Shyly, you looked over your shoulder and offered a small tearful smile to his visor before turning your attention back to the spring. Taking careful steps forward, you found a place to lower yourself back once more into the murky depths. You moved to sit where your back was resting on the jagged rock wall.
Out of your peripheral vision, you saw him standing in the same spot. His hands were frozen in the air where they’d rested on your body, until he slowly clenched his fists and lowered them back to his sides.
He stood like a statue just looking at you, his weight shifted to his left, the grey of the flightsuit around his knees now a dark grey from the spring's water. The edge of his grey cape touched the surface of the spring, wetting the frayed and somewhat burned seams.
You felt an awkward discomfort as his helmet seemed locked in your direction. It really made you uneasy that you couldn’t tell where his gaze was or what emotion was on his face. Was he happy? He had cried… you had done the same when you found out.
“You-”
“What’s-”
You both spoke over one another in unison, causing a blush to creep up your neck as you looked away. As if some unseen force felt the tension in the air, the small green child, enamored with the steam of the spring, fell face first into the warm water.
“Grogu!” The Mandalorian’s voice bordered on panicked as he moved from his stiff position to where the child had fallen in. In a swift movement, the Mandalorian had grabbed the child by the tan robe he wore, pulling it to the surface within seconds of the splash. The child blinked his large eyes frantically as he let out some displeased grunts. Holding the child above the water now, the Mandalorian looked the child over and then moved to hold him in his arms. “We’ve talked about this…” The Mandalorian sighed as he looked at the child. You couldn't help the smile that graced your face.
"Does it get into problems?" You spoke carefully as you tried to remember the words in basic.
Being on your homeworld was the happiest you’d felt in years, and slipping back into Kith, your native language, was like putting on your favorite dress. But coming out of Kith back into basic was proving challenging; maybe the Mandalorian spoke Huttese, which you knew almost as well as basic.
“Yeah…he does,” the words fell in a resigned huff from the man clad in silver as he held the now dripping child.
“Oh…Is he…your child?” You asked slowly as you gauged the man’s reaction. Your eyes flicked from his helmet to the water covering your belly where your hands fidgeted under the water. Anxiety filled your thoughts as you waited for his response.
After a painfully long silence, the Mandalorian sighed and shifted to set the green child on the ledge of the spring nearby and sat next to the child, leaving his covered feet in the spring. Adjusting his cape as he sat, he turned to run a gloved hand over the child’s tan robe before speaking in your direction.
“It won’t look like him…if that’s what you’re asking,” he said dryly, and your head snapped in his direction, studying him for a moment before you thought he might be trying to joke. A smile graced your lips as you moved in the water to slowly approach him. Your right hand held onto the spring’s rocky wall as you moved towards him and the child who fidgeted with a metal object around his neck. Within a foot of the child, you looked the soaking baby over with a cocked eyebrow and critical eye before turning to face the Mandalorian.
“He is…” you paused, trying to find the word in basic as you felt a rush to do so, “…c-ute,” you sounded out the word slowly and looked up at the man sheepishly as the child made a surprised “eh!” sound and smiled toothily at you.
“Basic isn’t your first language?” It was almost not a question from the Mandalorian, and you couldn’t help but feel a hot embarrassment from his tone.
“No,” you said as you turned away again, caressing your belly under the water, “I am Kith.”
“I am Mandalorian,” he said, and you thought he might be patronizing you.
“I see and know,” you retorted back as you shot a soft glare his way.
A sound emanated from his helmet, and you thought it might be a sigh. “I didn’t mean it like that,” he started to say as he reached into his bandolier for something. “I am Mandalorian, but I am different from other Mandalorians. I am bound by a creed.” He pulled out a piece of paper as he spoke, and you recognized the paper immediately. “The Mountain of Mothers…” he spoke again as he unfolded the pamphlet. “You’re here because you believe in this?” He asked as he looked over the paper.
You eyed the pamphlet that Don Mai must have so generously forced into the bounty hunter’s hand. Your eyes trailed from the pamphlet back to his helmet, and you nodded your head yes.
“I understand,” he says as he looks over the pamphlet, the child next to him suddenly taking interest as well. “The creed I believe in… it is my responsibility to take care of foundlings.” His helmeted gaze shifts slightly from the pamphlet to the child next to him.
“Found-i-ling?” you repeat the word back to him slowly in confusion.
His head turns to look at you, and he hands the pamphlet to the child who plays with the paper.
“Foundling,” he confirms with a small nod. “Children who are adopted by my people, warriors of Mandalore… This is the Way.”
Your gaze moves from his to the child next to him, and you nod.
“He is found-i-ling,” you say in confirmation as you nod your head toward the green child.
The Mandalorian nods in confirmation, and you see his hands clench the edge of the rock.
“And you…” he starts, “you are also my responsibility...”
You hated that word. Responsibility. Such a long word that was so often thrown in your face as a guilt tactic. The foreman who your father had sold you to made sure you always had responsibilities.
You were no more than eight when your father had sold you to the greasy man on Tatooine, and your life had been work ever since. The foreman wasn’t completely cruel; there were masters on Tatooine that were far worse. You had a bed, food, and even a bath. The foreman protected you from disgusting prying eyes of patrons who thought you were merchandise and not just a helping hand. But he also worked you to the bone, washing pillows, washing gowns, sewing gowns, steaming tapestry, cleaning the rooms, making meals, fixing the building, making errand runs – your responsibilities.
“No,” the word fell from your lips as if it were law. The Mandalorian’s head tilted towards you as if he didn’t hear you.
“Yes. You are my responsibility,” he repeats. “This is the Way.”
“No.” The word was slightly more harsh coming out as you turned to face him now. The sun had finally fallen behind the sky, and you were almost surrounded in darkness as you stared him down.
You could sense his hesitation, the momentary lapse in response, but the Mandalorian was resolute. “It is the Way. We take care of our own. The Creed guides me, and I cannot abandon my responsibilities.”
The weight of those words hung in the air, the silence stretching between you. The cold grip of your past life clawed at your heart, and you couldn't bear the thought of being bound by another's expectations. You had yearned for freedom, for a chance to shape your own destiny, and here, in the darkening solitude of the hot spring, those dreams seemed to be slipping away.
Your face was starting to turn pink from the heat of the spring as the word left your mouth. Din sat there staring, or truthfully, he was glaring at you from under his helmet. If he didn’t know any better, he’d say your stubbornness made you more a Mandalorian than it did a Kith. He battled with himself; this was not a place he wanted to be.
Din had always been careful when it came to his intimate business. When he and Xi’an would mess around, he would always pull out even though he knew she had an implant. He’d never actually finished inside anyone before, not until he’d taken you. To ease his guilt, he had told himself it was because of his inebriated state, but he knew by the time he’d slowly stripped you in that warmly lit room, the Corellian Whiskey had worn off. Maybe it had been because you were the first virgin he’d ever taken, the tightness of your heat on his fingers like a Dathomirian witch's call. Maybe you were a witch, which is what he was trying to understand, trying to learn more about you.
His eyes had scanned the pamphlet now being crumpled by Grogu’s hands. He realized the Mountain of Mothers was a sacred place, much like the living waters on Mandalore. The stubborn part of him wanted to scoop you from the spring and carry you back to his ship to take you to Mandalore, but he couldn’t do that. You were too close to birth and he really had no place to interrupt your plans… plans he hadn’t been a part of. The dark parts of his mind reminded him.
"What is your plan?" He found himself asking you. He watched as you looked up at him from your spot beneath the comforting spring waters, your brow furrowing. You had placed your right arm on the surface ridge of the pool and had laid your head down to watch Grogu.
"I will rest here," your voice sounding tired, your hair damp from the steam as you offered a sad smile.
"For how long?" He asked next, watching your face carefully to gauge your emotions.
You shrugged and looked down at your belly. "Until Noona arrives.”
Please. Kriff. Please don’t let Noona be the name for this child, his child. He cringed internally.
"Noo-na?" He repeated back, trying to hold down the unhappy tone of his voice. You nodded your head as if he was an idiot.
"Noona," you said with a nod. "Or… Baby."
He breathed a sigh of relief, just Kith for baby.
"Then what?" He asked as Grogu stirred next to him, clambering up into the Mandalorian's lap, leaving a trail of water and the now soggy pamphlet behind as he climbed.
"We rest," you said sadly.
He didn’t want to admit it, but he was getting frustrated with this beat around the bantha approach.
"After you rest?" His voice sounded a bit more terse than he intended. He watched as your head snapped up at him in annoyance, feeling confusion at your sharp reaction.
"We rest," you replied back, matching his terseness.
"For how long?" He gritted his teeth.
You splashed the water as you threw your hands up slightly and glared at him. "Forever!" You shouted back at him, and confusion laced his face.
"I don’t understand," he replied, as Grogu pulled at his bandolier from his lap, a sign he was getting hungry.
A moment of silence lapsed as your gaze slowly traveled to the skeletons surrounding the pool, now shrouded in darkness. You sighed as you looked at the remains mournfully and then slowly back to your belly.
"Illa-ishi come here to rest, forever," you said.
The skeletons and bone fragments all made sense in his mind now, and it made him sick.
"What?" His voice was laced with confusion and a hint of anger.
Before he could register the emotions swirling in his chest, he was already standing up in the water. Grogu, sensing the shift, looked up warily at his father. The Mandalorian glanced over at the pack leaning against the black jagged rock next to your bedroll, and he moved towards it out of the water.
Your heart raced as you watched the Mandalorian abruptly leave the spring and walk towards your pack and bedroll. You watched with bated breath as he set down the green child next to your pack on the ground and knelt down to your bedroll.
"NO!" You shouted as you watched him start to roll the bedroll back up. You quickly moved from your position in the water, walking carefully towards the edge. In an instant, he was moving in front of you, leaving the small child behind. It frightened you to see the speed at which he moved, the menacing aura he gave off as he moved to bend down, eye level with you.
He rested one hand on his right knee and the other hand on the ground next to him as he spoke.
"I am trying to understand your culture, but I will not allow you both to die here," his voice was menacing and sharp, bringing tears to your eyes.
"We are meant to die here," your words came out laced in pain and fear as you tried to stare him down. His hands balled into fists as he stared back at you.
"Why," he asked, and you could tell he was angry, and it wasn't fair.
Why was he angry when he had played no part in the last months?
You instantly felt remorse at that thought.
Throughout your whole pregnancy, you wouldn't allow yourself to think ill thoughts of him, afraid they might pass into Noona. Really, it wasn't his fault. You had no way of contacting him.
After your night with him, you'd taken your cut from the foreman and bought transport off of Tatooine. You spent weeks hopping planets and seeing different worlds, grateful for the credits you'd saved over the years, but even more so thankful for the six thousand credits that bought your freedom.
When you found out you were pregnant, you'd been staying on the mining world of Gorse, visiting the moon Cynda known for its illustrious thorillide crystal mines. You felt as if your freedom was snatched from you once again.
You knew this meant you were destined to be Illa-ishi and knew you'd be birthing a dead baby at the lower pool. It hurt, and you felt it wasn't fair, to you or the life inside you. A life that wouldn't exist outside of your own body, which is why you hadn't even bothered seeking out the Mandalorian.
Besides, all you had to go off of was the sigil on his pauldron, and since the Empire decimated Mandalore, it was impossible that you could find him again. Most Mandalorians had gone into hiding, and being already two months pregnant, there wasn't enough time to try and figure it out. You had accepted that you would be alone, that you were Illa-ishi, and that you could only enjoy the months ahead while Noona grew inside you.
You had traveled back to Kith in your fifth month of pregnancy and taken up work alongside Don Mai, the self-appointed mayor who graciously offered you a job in the fuel station. But soon your time was up, and you'd started your journey three days ago with the accepted belief that you'd never leave the Mountain of Mothers.
Still, the rational part of your mind sympathized with the man staring you down. You honestly believed you wouldn't see him again, and yet here he was. You knew that Kith was a planet along the outer rim, and nobody cared to understand your culture. Your people were not warriors like Mandalorians, nor powerful witches like Dathomirians. Your people were peaceful and slow.
Don Mai had a point about one thing, "People need to see the wealth of culture we have here. Kith would want the galaxy to know of the sacrifices he made for his wife."
Your eyes searched his visor, and he watched as you struggled internally. For a moment, he felt shame at his tone because it elicited a glassy look in your eyes, but he was angry. Not angry at you but more angry with himself. He sat eye level with you, waiting for your explanation when he heard a sigh leave your lips.
“Illa-ishi do not make it to the upper pool to give birth,” Your words offered little to soothe his confused anger. He opened his mouth to speak, but you continued, “Illa-ishi die at this pool with our babes, as a price for our solitude.”
He couldn't believe what he was hearing. You truly believed you would die here, along with the life he helped create. He rose from the crouched position as he looked down at you in the now looming darkness.
He studied your face for a moment before his eyes drifted lower to your full breasts and belly. A twinge of pride at the sight of you was quickly extinguished by the look on your face. You looked sad, like you didn't want to believe what you did, like some part of you wanted to make it to the upper pool. Slowly he extended his right hand down to you before he spoke, “You are not alone, not anymore.”
Helping you from the pool carefully, he watched the steaming water rush off your body, leaving droplets all around you. A shiver quickly rushed through you, and he cursed himself for not being more prepared when he left his ship. He didn't even bring Grogu a snack. He stood in front of you, unconsciously zoned out as he tried to think of his next steps.
He didn't realize how uncomfortable you'd become by his gaze until you moved your hands to cover yourself in shame. Your face was flushed pink, and he realized you assumed he'd been standing there staring at you like some teenage boy. He felt a rush of embarrassment; he normally never spared a thought for anyone, never cared what they thought, but for some reason, he really didn't want you to think ill of him.
"Get back in the water," his voice was low, and it almost startled you.
He saw the look of confusion on your face, and he sighed audibly. "Just… you'll be warmer in the water until I can make a fire," he said reluctantly, and he watched your eyebrows shoot up.
"A fire?" You almost sounded excited.
He nodded as he moved to help you situate yourself back into the water.
The green child cooed from his spot, now sitting on your bedroll as he watched. After situating you back into the water, Din looked back to Grogu; he could tell he was getting hungry and tired.
"I need to go collect wood. Would you… just make sure he doesn't get into trouble?" The Mandalorian hesitated to ask you for anything, but he knew Grogu would just inhibit what could be a quick task. He watched your face as you glanced up at him from in the pool and behind him to the child.
"Yes," you said, almost so quietly that he strained to hear it.
"I won't be long," he told you as he stood and immediately walked over to the edge of the cliff to make his way back down toward the forested area.
Left alone with Grogu, you couldn't help but feel a mixture of emotions. The Mandalorian had been harsh, distant, and mysterious, yet he had also shown moments of compassion and care. You watched the child as he cooed and played with his small, metal pendant, seemingly unfazed by the ordeal.
The thought of a fire excited you after three days of eating cold food and sleeping on the cold ground. Maybe if Noona was tired and not ready to come, you could actually enjoy your last night of sleep. Surely Noona would be here tomorrow?
"Rissi, Noona?" (Right, Noona?) You spoke to your oddly calm belly. You thought back... when had your last contraction been? After the Mandalorian had shown up, but that had now been almost two hours ago.
You felt unease rise up into your throat.
You only felt this afraid once during your pregnancy, and it was when you hadn't heard Noona's heartbeat at the small makeshift medical office in the fuel station. It wasn't until you and Don Mai had realized the medical droid's radar equipment had malfunctioned that you found peace.
But now you could feel the panic and no peace. A part of your mind was whispering that Noona was already gone. You could feel the tears welling up in your eyes as you started moving frantically towards the shallow part of the pool. You rested your left hand on the soaked fabric of your dress as you clambered towards the edge of the pool.
"Pessi Noona... Pessi!" (Please baby, please.) you whispered frantically as you tried to feel anything. The rock floor of the pool felt harsh under your bare feet, and you slipped a little at one point, causing you to stumble.
From your right, you could hear the small green child make a grunting noise. Pushing yourself up in the water, you felt your breath quickening with panic as you moved out of the water. Tears were coming hard, and you couldn't stop the sobs that came from your mouth.
"Pessi a Noona! Pessi! Pessi!" You cried as you made it from the pool to the harsh gravel-covered surface of the rock surrounding the pool. Looking down at your belly, you pressed your hands rather harshly to feel. You could make out two lumps at the top, maybe knees? You couldn't be sure.
You felt a tugging on your dress, and as you tried to look down past your belly, you caught a glimpse of a green ear. The small green child tugged fervently on your dripping gown.
"Noona a nissa movissi" (baby is not moving), you tried to explain to the small green child who you could hardly see. You sobbed and tried to move toward the bedroll. Through your tears, you heard the small child behind you as his feet pattered softly on the rock behind you. You moved to sit on a rock nearby, lowering yourself to the ground, you planted your feet and caressed your belly.
"Pessi Noona, gividas sotissi" (Please baby give me something), you cried as you continued pressing frantically, trying to get Noona to move or kick, anything.
You felt the lightest touch on your arm as you sat and hyperventilated. Looking to the left, you saw the small green child look at you curiously. His large brown eyes were full of so much emotion, something you couldn't place. Before you could make another sound, you felt the edges of your vision begin to fade.
Maybe this was it... the last moment with you and Noona... would the Mandalorian come back and disturb you? You didn't want to leave the Mountain of Mothers, you wanted to die here with Noona, stay here with Noona, forever…
The last thoughts flashed in your mind before you felt yourself succumb.
"Rest," a small voice whispered through your mind.
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starlightmornings · 1 year
Text
hold me down (Din/f!reader)
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Rating: E (Explicit)
Length: 1.9k
Summary: Din can sense when you’re getting overwhelmed. He has a very specific way of helping you through it.
Warnings: SMUT, PIV sex, creampie, oral (m & f receiving), tummy worship, helmetless Din, anxiety, breeding, established relationship bc we’re skipping RIGHT to the action
A/N: ily to @ezrasbirdie for the beta, this is just a lil treat bc we’ve been very good this year and we deserve it
Masterlist || Din Djarin Masterlist
+++
“Din?”
You’d been shifting restlessly in your shared bunk for an hour, and you could feel the panic rising in your chest. As much as you wanted to relax - to let go and rest - your mind continued churning, unwilling to release its grip on consciousness. Even as you said his name, you winced. Would he be upset? Why couldn’t you just sleep and not disturb him?
“Mesh’la?” He stirred, rolling to face you. “Are you all right?”
You shook your head, hot tears pricking the corners of your eyes.
“Can’t- can’t sleep,” you murmured, blinking back the tears.
“It’s all right,” he whispered, wrapping an arm around you. “C’mere,” he added, tugging you closer. “Lemme hold you, pretty girl.”
Your heart thundered rebelliously, unsatisfied by the suggestion.
“I- need to-“ you sat up, breathing heavily as your heart raced.
Din sat up next to you, the sheet falling to his hips. He slept naked, which you were used to by then, but it didn’t stop your eyes from flicking to the dark trail of hair winding down the soft swell of his tummy, disappearing into the soft curls atop his length. Din rubbed your back, nuzzling behind your ear and dropping a tender kiss to your shoulder.
“Tell me what you need, mesh’la,” he whispered. “Anything, it’s yours.”
You glanced into his eyes for a moment before leaning back onto your pillow. 
“I want you on top of me,” you murmured, biting your lip. “Hold me down.”
He shifted, smiling. 
“You sure you can take my weight, pretty girl?”
You nodded.
“It’ll help,” you said encouragingly.
Din leaned down, the ridge of his nose brushing your cheek before he pressed a soft, gentle kiss to your forehead. He smoothed a hand along your side, his palm soothing you as you took a deep breath. Lifting up on one knee, he carefully straddled you, easing himself down, the warm, broad expanse of his body settling over you like a heavy, weighted blanket. 
“Okay, mesh’la?” He asked, eyes roving over your face to check for any sign of discomfort. 
“I’m okay,” you whispered, sighing into the cozy cocoon he made over and around you. His firm, strong thighs pressed against your own, pinning you to the bed, until you felt as though the wild, buzzing energy that refused to quiet itself was being corralled like a restless horse. His body acted as a gentle set of blinders, creating a barrier around you and easing you into a tranquil, relaxed mood.
“Can feel your heartbeat slowing down, pretty girl,” Din murmured, the words a soft rumble through your body as he spoke. 
“Mm,” you breathed, feeling the warmth of him seep into your bones, relaxing each muscle even as he held you firmly, tightly in place. Your very soul felt peaceful, safe, and protected.
“Love you so much,” he murmured, the confession taking you aback slightly in its bare, sudden honesty. “You know that, right?”
It occurred to you that you did know, had known for some time, but having it put into words, melted down and poured into you like a soothing balm gave you a strength and joy you hadn’t yet felt.
“I do,” you replied, brushing a kiss to his neck where you could reach him from your position pinned beneath his body. “Love you, too.” You drifted between sleep and wakefulness for several long minutes, his breaths slow, deep, and even above you, lulling your own into a similar pace.
At last, you felt tingles of awareness begin to return, the sensation soft and pleasant in comparison to your earlier feelings. 
And that wasn’t the only thing you felt.
“Sorry,” Din whispered sheepishly, the firm, hard length of his cock nudging the softness between your thighs through a few layers of fabric. “Feeling every part of you against me, it’s difficult to control,” he added, licking his lips. “You just feel so damn good, mesh’la.”
Delight and arousal coursed through you in equal measure, and you slipped a hand between your bodies at just the right angle to press your palm against his hot, hard length. You could feel a small damp spot where the head of his cock rested against his cloth pants, and you rubbed your fingertips over it, making him shudder and moan.
“Fuck, that’s- oh, fuck,” Din grunted, hips canting slightly into your grip. “So fucking good.”
Your lips curled into a smile. Din’s descent into cursing meant you were doing something right.
“Feeling better?” He asked, eyes heavy-lidded as he examined you, hunger evident in his expression.
“Much,” you replied, tugging playfully at the waistband of his pants, then your own. It didn’t take long for the pair of you to wiggle out of your clothes, warm skin pressing to warm skin as you settled back against each other. You rolled to your sides, and you reached down to touch the soft layer over Din’s stomach; the muscles beneath twitching slightly. A flicker of doubt passed through his eyes, which spurred you on, needing to prove to him how much you loved every part of his body.
You shifted lower on the bed, Din’s hands still warm on your neck and shoulders as you kissed his tummy, making him gasp.
“Perfect,” you breathed, tongue flicking out to lick a wet stripe up his belly, making his hips hitch. Low moans slipped from his mouth as you inched ever closer to his cock, the length of it bobbing near your chin as you nuzzled the patch of curls at its base. Din’s palm went to the back of your head, and you smiled, licking your way up the shaft and back down again. His tip was shiny with precum, the bead of wetness spreading over the head as you opened your lips around him and sucked him as deep as you could in one smooth motion, enveloping him in heat. He cried out, hands clutching at you as you bobbed up and down, hollowing your cheeks to suck him hungrily. His thighs began to shake from the effort of holding back, the desire to be gentle with you warring with the desire to fuck your throat. You’d pulled off slightly and were teasing the sensitive bundle of nerves just under the head of his cock when Din took hold of you, biceps flexing as he pulled you bodily up the bed.
“What?” You asked, mouth shiny and eyes hazy.
He gazed back at you, eyes nearly as unfocused as your own. 
“As much as I’d like to cum in that pretty mouth, there are a few other things I’d like to do first,” he purred, lifting and pulling you like a toy ragdoll, positioning your body flat on your back. He looked down at your bare skin - every inch of it - like a feast he couldn’t wait to savor.
Like he couldn’t decide where to start.
He eased your thighs apart with one large hand, palming your pussy, which ached with need. You could feel your wetness in his hand and a flush of heat burned your cheeks. He dragged his fingertips over the wet folds, then lifted the digits to his mouth, sucking on all four at once as though starved.
Leaning down, he pressed his lips to yours, letting you taste yourself on him, the pair of you moaning as the kiss turned wet and messy. 
“Spread your thighs, mesh’la,” he purred, grunting in approval as you opened them.
“Wider,” he added. “Wide enough for my shoulders.”
You gasped softly as he settled between your spread thighs, nose sliding up and down your folds and teasing you. The curved ridge of it bumped into your clit, the bud already aching and puffy.
“My girl likes that,” Din murmured smugly, referencing the keening moans you hadn’t been aware of making.
“More, please,” you whimpered, hands twisting in the sheet feverishly.
Din gently encircled first one wrist, then the other, on either side of you, pinning them to the bed before he opened his mouth and licked a hot, wet path through your slick folds, mouth sealing around your opening as he feasted on your body. You nearly screamed at the sensation, his lips and tongue working, plunging inside your core as his nose nudged over your clit, keeping steady, firm pressure. At last, he lifted up slightly, only to wrap his lips around the swollen bud and suck until you screamed, soaking his chin with a fresh wave of your arousal.
Din climbed up your body, enjoying the slightly dazed expression on your face as you looked into his eyes. The hardness between his legs had not flagged; it looked almost purple with need. The tip grazed your sensitive clit as he drew level with your face, and you canted your hips up with need.
“So pretty when you cum,” Din whispered, pressing a sticky kiss to your lips. 
“Want you inside,” you panted, fingers scraping gently over the cheeks of his ass, preening with delight as they tightened under your touch. “So ready… want you to fuck me.”
Din lined himself up with one hand, his tip breaching you gently as he reached up to cup your face, his eyes full of desire and love as he sank deep, sliding to the hilt inside you. Your body gave for him, so wet and relaxed from your release, and he grunted with pleasure as you gave him a squeeze with your cunt. 
“Hold me down while we fuck, and fill me, my love. Breed me,” you whispered, groaning with delight as Din came undone and leaned fully against you, his body weight anchoring you to the bed as his his snapped in and out, fucking you as he held the rest of your body at his mercy.
There was nowhere for the thrusts to go, except deep into your body, as he fucked you feverishly, hitting that perfect spot inside that made you cry out with each movement.
Din hooked a hand under one of your knees, spreading you wider and changing the angle to somehow go even deeper, your body at his mercy, a toy wound tightly by his ministrations, ready to burst into song. You shattered around him, shaking as your second release shot through your body. At last, you felt his pace rise to its peak, hips stuttering as he shuddered and filled you, his cum spilling inside your body, claiming you, breeding you, if the seed happened to take. 
“Fuck,” he gasped, panting into your shoulder and easing off just enough to let you breathe more easily.
“Perfect,” you whispered, nuzzling him sleepily, your orgasms making you drowsy. You were barely awake enough to feel him slip from the bed and clean you up with a damp cloth, fingers tender as he did so.
You could just sense his possessive grip on your body as he returned to bed, kissing your neck softly as the pair of you drifted off at last.
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magpiepills · 5 months
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A Rite
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Rating: EXPLICIT! 18+ MDNI
Pairing: Din Djarin x AFAB reader
Word count: 900
Summary: just a beej, no biggie.
Warnings: oral (m receiving) dirty talk, din thinks he’s the dom, cum eating, facial, turgid member, helmet is on, gloves are on, mild hair pulling. I think that’s it? She’s not specified, only physical description is that readers hair can be grabbed. No use of y/n.
A word for the author: I don't know why I did this. I had a thot and I got carried away thinking about sucking his dick and licking cum off beskar. Please don’t flay me alive if I’ve gotten integral Mando terminology wrong. I tried to watch the mandalorian but there were just too many muppets. I’ve never written for Din before and I probably won’t ever again. But who knows. I had some dark ideas for this but I got tired of writing so maybe one day there will be a dark version of this blowie.
Thanks to the magic sluts for all the boobs and for tolerating this nonsense.
Thanks to @for-a-longlongtime for encouraging the nonsense.
The lights are dim, the faint buzz of electricity and the beep of some automated control made a soothing background noise to your own sounds. The squeak of leather against metal, the smack of metal against skin, the groan on the captain’s chair, and your own gagging as Din holds your hair tight in his fist, guiding you up and down on his cock.
He was a man of few words, a solid wall of silence most days, changing the energy of the air around him with the pivot of his shoulders. He could give you a chill that tingled your spine with the minute tilt of his helmet, stiffening your nipples against the coarse weave of your tunic.
It was disorienting how quickly he snapped from cold and quiet to hot and direct. Urging you onto your knees before him, nodding to you, a silent command to tug open his pants and take his heavy cock in your hand. Thick and leaking, the sight made your mouth water. “Open your mouth and suck it.” His voice crackled from somewhere under the emotionless mask of his helmet, cool, even, and deep. It sounded raspy, maybe but that could be the modulator.
The next sound from him was a soft grunt as you wet the head of his cock with your tongue, swirling and licking at his slit, greedily lapping up the leaking pre cum that beaded there as your hand slid and twisted up and down along his turgid member.
“You can take more.” His tone left no room for disagreement, so you opened your already aching jaw wider, letting the end of him push and slide against the soft skin inside your cheek.
“More.”
You squeezed your thighs together, aching for his touch that would never come as he demanded more of your throat. Your eyes watered and you reminded yourself to breathe through your nose.
Another half inch more and you heard him groan again. “Like that. Keep going.” His shaky exhale sounded like static, but you knew better, and it egged you on. Giving him this kind of attention and care was a thrill, it made you want to please him, give him something special, be good for him.
His grip loosened enough to let you pull off quickly, your hand working to stroke the entire length of him while you adjusted your kneeling stance. You took a deep breath and licked over his top again before quickly taking him deeper than before. Your eyes were squeezed shut and the sound of his cock in your throat was obscene. Carefully covering your teeth with your lips, you began sucking in earnest, hollowing your cheeks, saliva dripping down his cock and over his balls, wetting the fabric of his pants, opened and tugged below them just enough to allow only the necessary amount of skin to show.
Once again you focused on your breath, on relaxing the muscles of your jaw, your neck, your arm, on giving him everything you could. He wanted more, though.
“Deeper. Don’t tease- all the way.” His heavy gloves hand was at the base of your skull, and you thought he might feel himself there, deep as he was. Your nose and swollen top lip pushed into the coarse dark hair at the base of his wet cock, you swallowed carefully, slowly, lips, tongue, and tonsils working together to overwhelm his senses.
Could he see anything in that helmet? Could he hear your muffled moans, or did he just sense that you wished you could swallow him whole? Your count throbbed when you imagined how his mouth must taste. You wanted it to taste like you. Being the center of his sensory experience, the maker and creator of his pleasure, the only thing he could feel that wasn’t transmitted through a filter was a powerful drug. He had nothing of the world outside his helmet, his metal, his leather except your mouth.
His hand on your head didn’t matter. You relished how your throat ached at the intrusion of his cock, but he didn’t need to know. Let him revel in his control as long as he can. His breath was heavy but controlled through the voice modulator while you gagged and hummed, sending vibrations straight through him. When his hand slid around to feel the front of your throat, you pulled back enough to fit your hand around his cock again, stroking in in a way that might be called loving as you peered up into your own reflection in his visor, admiring how your lips looked around him. It was while you looked up where his eyes must be that you felt his thigh twitch, a telltale sign that his release was not far off. His breath hitched just slightly and you took your mouth from him, leaving you connected by a short string on saliva while ropes of his cum laced over your cheek, his glove, and the steel covering his thigh.
You watched in awe, touched your wet cheek, bringing his cum to your mouth where it belonged.
“You made a mess, clean it up.” Came a voice that sounded less steady than it did twenty minutes ago. You wanted to smirk, but instead you just nodded, dipping your head to run your tongue over the cool, smooth metal of his beskar, lapping up his cum and peering up at him. “Get it all.”
@arcanefox207 @redhotkitchen @sparklefarts38 @exquisiteserotonin @pink-whiskey-woman @imalrightllama @youandmeand5bucks @legendary-pink-dot
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wannab-urs · 1 month
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Trust
Prompt #634 "I trust you not just with my life, but with the lives of others."
Pairing: Din Djarin x gn!reader
Summary: season 2 finale fight scene rewrite
Warnings: uhhh brief threat of death? That's it really. WC: 418
A/N: Due to my crazy ass writer's block, and thanks to the recommendation from @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin, I'm gonna start doing these @creativepromptsforwriting challenges. You pick a number 1-1065 and write for 15 minutes based on the corresponding prompt.
Did I even use the prompt? No not really. Is this drabble creative, interesting, or innovative in any way? Also no. But it's words! Which I've been struggling with. It's unedited also.
Din Djarin Masterlist | Main Masterlist | AO3 | Kofi | Prompt Fills
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Mando is one of the most trustworthy men you know. He would never let anyone down if he could help it. You trust him with your life, with Grogu’s life, with the lives of any stranger that needs help.
That’s why it’s incredibly concerning that he isn’t here now. It’s very unlike him to leave you to fend for yourself. 
Moff Gideon has you pinned in the corner of some godsforsaken cell, the kid cradled protectively in one arm while the other keeps a blaster trained steadily on the Moff’s head. The strange weapon he wields twirls from his fingertips as if it weighs nothing. He seems completely unphased by the weapon aimed at him. 
“Hand over the child and no one has to lose any limbs,” he taunts.
“No kriffing shot, Gideon.” 
He won’t swing on you with the child in your arms… you hope. Gideon presses in closer, forcing you further back into the cell. You fire off a shot at his head, hoping it doesn’t ricochet back into you or Grogu. 
Gideon blocks the shot easily with his energy blade, sending the blaster bolt into the ground by your feet. Too close. And Gideon knows it. Knows you won’t risk another shot. He closes the space between you and tries to yank Grogu from your arms, but you twist away from him. 
With your back exposed to him, he can easily run you through with his sword without harming the child. This is it. Where the fuck is Mando? 
You brace for death, but it doesn’t come. Instead, you hear the distinct sound of beskar clashing with that strange sword. You slouch onto the ground, Grogu pressed tightly to your chest, and watch your mandalorian battle the Moff. 
He’s beautiful with that spear in his hands. All swift, fluid motion. The sword hums and growls with every impact, but it doesn’t seem to be able to cut through the spear. 
Mando hooks the spear behind Gideon’s leg and yanks, dropping the man to flat on his back. He presses the tip of the weapon against the Moff’s throat, but doesn’t press in. 
“Drop the saber, Gideon.” 
Gideon retracts the blade back into the hilt, flips it around, and holds it out to Mando. 
“Take it. You defeated me in combat. It’s yours.”
Din stares down at him, seeming to falter a bit. 
“I don’t want it.” 
“It doesn’t matter. It’s yours. Bo Katan will not be the leader of her people after all… Mand’alor” 
“Kriff.” 
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@creativepromptfills
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Note
Ok hear me out. Some of the pedro boys have to pick their favorite Spice Girl and “no” is not an answer. Who do they pick? (And why?)
Pedro boys as Spice Girls
Thank you for this super fun request @whatsnewalycat 💕 I tweaked the ask to cast Pedro boys as Spice Girls because it’s too good an opportunity to pass up. Commentary below the cut!
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* Click for higher resolution
• Masterlist •
Related posts:
Pedro boys chattiness matrix
Pedro boys fashion matrix
Pedro boys colour matrix
Baby Spice
Javi Gutierrez, Marcus Pike, Charlie, Dio
These guys all exude sweet bbgurl energy to me. Except Dio, he might be into the occult but he has a baby face so he qualifies.
Posh Spice
Oberyn Martell, The Thief, Max Lord, Nico
These guys enjoy the finer things in life, and to be fair to them, they can afford it (other than Max Lord).
Scary Spice
Meemaw, Joel Miller, Dave York, Mario
Three fearsome tough guys... and a fierce mother 👵🏼
Ginger Spice
Dieter Bravo, Ezra, Max Phillips, Agent Whiskey
Took me a while to figure this out since none of the Pedro boys have the hair, but these guys definitely have a diva streak that would make Ms. Halliwell proud.
Sporty Spice
Din Djarin, Javier Peña, Frankie Morales, Pero Tovar
These guys definitely get *physical* for their jobs.
Who's your favourite Spice Girl? Any casting decisions you would've made differently? The floor is open for debate!
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haylzcyon · 1 year
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Right Now, You're Mine
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Pairing: Din Djarin x fem!reader
Summary: When The Mandalorian seeks you out after losing something very important to him, he is a different man than the one you knew years ago. 
WC: 2.8k
Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI angst, old feelings, helmet comes off!, fingering (f receiving), unprotected P-in-V sex, that’s pretty much it - it’s all soft y’all and I have no regrets.
A/N: I have been needing soft!Din for a while, and this is that. It is a little angsty at first but also is just very, very soft smut. Takes place after The Mandalorian S2, but before TBOBF. Un-beta’d. As always, comments & feedback are highly appreciated. 💚
READER NOTE: I have labeled this as fem!reader, but there are no physical descriptors or pronouns/gender specific language included. If I missed something or this should be tagged differently, please let me know so I can fix it!
A03
----------------------------
The last time you saw him, he was different. 
Cold, quiet, sharp. 
You were none of those things - but you were different then, too. 
Now, the armored man towering in your doorway has changed. His chest heaves and the energy surging off the beskar he wears fills your small apartment so thickly you find it hard to breathe until he speaks. 
"I- It took me a while. To find you." 
His voice is strained and trepid through the modulator in his helmet. Leaning against your pathetic excuse for a kitchen counter and folding your arms, you steel your face and lick your lips. 
"How did you?" you ask.
He doesn't respond, his breathing evening out at the sound of your voice. 
Right, you think, bounty hunter. 
"Well," you say, rolling your eyes as you drop your arms and lift your hands noncommittally, "not much to find these days." 
Reading people hasn't always been your strong suit, and the Mandalorian has never been an exception. You can't place the intense emotion he's brought with him - it's not anger, you've witnessed that. This is something else, something less violent but impossibly more overwhelming.
The hunter's boots take two wide steps and he's beside you, gloves palm down on the strip of counter lining the sink. 
Swallowing hard, you turn your body to face him and narrow your eyes at the side of the helmet, its visor now trained on the mug and spoon laid inside the basin. 
"You're…different," you say without thinking, to which he responds with a nod. 
"Life has changed," he says, giving the edge of the countertop a tight grip before turning to face you, "This is why I wanted to find you. I- I'm sorry. For what happened. I didn't know what I was doing, and I did not think I needed that- or anyone." 
The words sting as they dredge up long suppressed sentiments and you flinch, but his inflection softens the blow. You've never heard him speak this way before - his voice soft and earnest, but still strained and foreign-sounding as it comes through his helmet. 
A light scoff escapes you as you roll your eyes, this time in frustration at yourself and to combat the tears you feel welling in their corners. 
"You don’t need to apologize, Mando. I understand. "This is The Way'," you quote to him, no venom in your tone. It's true - his rejection had been heart wrenching, but you had come to terms with his reasoning a long time ago. 
Things had ended painfully, but mostly of your own doing. Months spent together on his Razor Crest brewed strong desire within you - not just for his body, but for the mysterious heart you knew resided beneath the armor. 
A desire he was incapable of reciprocating. 
Even so, you couldn't stop yourself from laying your feelings out to him after a particularly dicey job and a night in a cantina. He was direct with you then - a firm "this cannot happen" in that slightly robotic voice still rings in your ears when you let your mind linger about him late some nights. 
But, you knew. You knew from the moment you'd begun harboring love for him that it was going to end that way - but it hadn't kept you from leaving while spitting harsh words and dropping tears on the durasteel floors of his ship like they might preserve a piece of you there with him.
When you think of that night, you try not to remember the words you said. 
"I think I'm the one who should apologize, actually," you say, tilting your head down as you start to scrape at your cuticles. 
No words leave his lips, but he reaches out and places a hand on your shoulder. Your eyes snap back to the visor, furrowing your brow as you wish desperately to find the expression on his face. 
Was it in agreement? Sympathy? Understanding? Pity? 
“No, I thought I could- that I wanted to be alone. And you…scared me.”
The notion that anything about you would strike fear in the Mandalorian was laughable, but there was no humor in his tone. Your heart starts to race, putting the meaning behind his words together in your mind like assembling puzzle pieces that don’t quite fit - like one is missing. 
“I lost someone. A foundling - he meant more to me than I ever thought possible. And my Creed…and I-” he cuts himself off and your heart aches at the pain you hear in his voice. From anyone else, such small words could never have softened you so quickly, but from him - you recognize the meaning and what they infer. A monumental transformation within the man. 
A foundling? And his Creed? You can't be sure about what he says entails, but his grief is palpable. 
Stars, what happened to him?  
The glove slips off your shoulder, trailing south towards your elbow and gripping you tighter. 
“I don’t want to do this alone, anymore.” 
Moving slowly, giving you time to step away, he closes the distance between you. Your mouth parts in a soft gasp when his free hand reaches your face, his thumb swiping away a single tear you hadn’t realized had fallen. 
“Cyar’ika,” he murmurs as you close your eyes. Cold beskar presses to your cheek and you feel arms wrap around you, a large hand covering the back of your head and gloved fingertips pressing into your skull. When your body returns the embrace and your hands grasp at his sides, you’re close enough to hear a deep, shaky exhale from beneath his helmet. 
So quietly he can barely hear it, you whisper into his cuirass, “Okay.” 
Holding him tighter, but pulling away enough to fix your eyes where his should be, you try to conjure words that might soothe the broken man in your arms. There is much you want to say, want to ask, but now is not that time. You don’t need his explanations tonight - you just need him. 
“I’m sorry about your child…and your Creed.”
His shoulders slump as his hands drop to your waist, pulling you closer still. Bringing his helmet down to rest against your forehead, he lets out another unsteady breath.
“Thank you,” he whispers, fatigue lacing the words. 
“Do- do you want to stay?” 
The man swallows hard, and you feel the slip of cool beskar across your forehead when he nods. 
Confusion hasn’t vacated your thoughts - but you don’t care. Electricity thrums through your skin and into the air surrounding the two of you when you reach for his hands. He lets one fall to his side and holds both of yours in the other as you lead him to your small cot in the corner of the room. 
When you take a seat on the edge of the bed, Mando kneels before you instead of joining in the small space on your side. His visor stays trained on your face as you glance at hands removing their gloves, and your breath catches at the sight of tan skin beneath them. When he brings one to your jaw and skims his thumb across your bottom lip, you both inhale sharply at the contact. 
"I shouldn't have let you leave," he says. The sentence is rimmed with regret, but his voice drops an octave on the last word and sends what feels like thruster-fire to your core. 
Resting his other hand on your thigh and tilting his head, he tries to focus on the piercing look in your eyes, to marvel at the way you're reacting to him, but the shockwave of heat and wanting that courses through him now is impossible to ignore. 
Licking your lips and shaking your head, you place your hand on his and trail gentle routes across his skin, carefully lifting the fabric of his sleeve to circle soothing fingertips around his wrist. Your touch feels somehow white hot and ice cold at the same time, sending a shiver through his body. 
“It’s okay,” you whisper again and give his hand a reassuring squeeze when you raise the other and place it on the side of his helmet. He leans into your hold, and your body aches at the deep and unsatisfying urge to kiss the man in front of you. 
“Come here,” you say, slipping your legs up onto the mattress and sliding back towards the wall to make room for him. He stands, and you feel his hesitation as he stares down at you. 
“Can you…kill the lights?”
The ever deepening timbre of his voice is doing little to quell your ever quickening heart. You know he must notice the way your chest is rising and falling now, but you try to push aside insecurity and just nod, reaching to the wall behind you and pressing the button that cuts the flow of electricity to the artificial lighting. 
Bathed in darkness, your ears pick up the sound of hands over fabric and the clink of armor being set gingerly onto the duracrete floor. Listening intently, you don’t realize you’ve been holding your breath until you feel the cot sink lower under his weight and hear his.
His breathing. Unmodulated. 
You gasp, unable to find words when his hand comes to rest on the slope between your shoulder and jaw and his bare forehead nudges against yours. The smell of metal and something spicy - which your brain immediately registers as the same scent of soap he used to keep in the Crest’s refresher - overtakes your senses and it’s all you can do but to reach up and grasp the sleeve of his shirt as he smooths his thumb over your neck.
“So soft…” he mutters, his rich voice and hot breath on your face pulling a whimper from your chest and increasing the goosebumps across your skin that haven’t eased up since the light left the room. 
The sound you make sends what feels like all the blood in his body to his cock and he stifles a grunt. 
“Is this- Are you okay?” he asks, acutely aware of how heavy the air covering you both now is, and you nod as you let out a small, breathy laugh.
“Yes, Mando. I’m okay with…” you exhale, suddenly feeling unsure if he is reading your current position in the same way your body is, “whatever you want.” 
The groan that leaves his lips is filthy and quickly dispels your uncertainty. 
“Fuck,” the curse leaves his mouth and before you can react his lips are on yours, crushing at first before he eases back slightly and kisses you in a way that you’ve never experienced. It’s somewhat uncoordinated and you feel hair on his upper lip scrape against yours, but he is tender and hot and you feel as if he’s attempting to give you everything with it - his body, his Creed, himself. 
Your hand ghosts its way up his arm and over his shoulder until you find his face. Groaning over your mouth once your fingers reach more scratchy facial hair on his jaw, you part your lips and his tongue finds its way to meet yours. The kiss turns languid but your heart beats faster as you graze your palms through thick, curly hair and feel his own hands start to wander your body. 
The ache and throb between your thighs is severe, and you scoot forward to close the small distance between your bodies. A hand shoots down to grip your thigh and guide it up and over his own, bringing your core directly against his rock-hard length. 
The roll of your hips is involuntary, your body’s reaction to being so close to the man you’ve yearned for, and he pulls his lips away to curse under his breath again. 
“Mando, please,” you whine, fingers entwining in his hair and rolling your hips to seek out anything that might dampen the intense pressure building at your center. Moaning, his hand meets your shoulder and gently pushes you onto your back before following a trail down your side and resting on your stomach. 
He leans into your lips again, catching them once before pulling away and gritting out, “Din.”
Fingers gliding across the skin of your midriff beneath the hem of your shirt distract you, but you mutter, “What?”
“My name. Din. You can call me that, if you want.”
“Din,” you say with a sharp exhale. Maker, he would choose now to finally tell me his name.
“Din, please. Touch me.” 
His weight shifts and then he covers you, lips crashing in a fervor and his hands making quick work of unbuttoning your shirt. Din’s breath is shaky when his hand finally makes its way beneath your waistband and dips precariously into the pool of slick that’s gathered in your folds. 
But you arch your back and moan loudly when a fingertip nudges your swollen clit, and Din loses his semblance of composure. 
As he sets a pace of circles around your bundle of nerves and his lips and teeth find the expanse of skin between your breasts and jaw, the heat now burning relentlessly through you draws your hands to him, working on the buttons of his trousers until his cock springs free from them. As soon as your palm wraps around his length, he plunges a finger deep inside you and a synchronized groan leaves both of your chests. 
“Fuck, I-,” Din moans as you begin to pump your fist around his length and his lips find your ear, “feel so good, mesh’la.”
His words and breath in your ear cause you to tighten around his finger and whimper, and he adds another while quickening the steady movements over your clit. Another moan and lips that find your nipple send you over the edge, fluttering around his digits and crying out for him. 
“Mesh’la,” he repeats, and though you don’t know the meaning of the word, you don’t miss the reverence his voice places around it. Reaching out to find the hem of his shirt, you pull it up over his head and lean forward to catch his lips again. 
“Please Din,” you whine between kisses, “need you now.”
The sound that comes from his chest is closer to a growl than a moan, but you hear the desperation behind it that matches what you feel in your own body. Kicking off his trousers before helping to remove the remainder of yours, he moves to lay on top of you and places his lips on your neck while gently rocking his hips, just barely gliding his cock through the wet evidence of your orgasm that he was responsible for. 
It’s too much. Unable to accommodate the absence of him inside of you any longer, you reach a hand between your bodies to line him up to your entrance. He pulls away from your neck, and you’re able to just make out his silhouette over you before he snaps his hips forward, burying himself into your pussy in one sharp movement. 
You both moan loudly together again, and he holds himself there as you adjust to the stretch. You’re so warm and tight around him, and he nearly chokes when you whimper his name.
“Maker, you feel so good,” you breathe out, “please, Din.”
The roll of his hips is relentless once he obliges, and the way his hands roam over your bare skin with a gentleness that doesn’t correspond with the thrusts he’s bestowing upon you finds you approaching your crest at a slower, but still substantial speed. 
Din wasn’t sure how long he could last once inside of you - he had no idea how perfect your pussy would feel until he was too far gone. The noises you make and the way you begin to clench around him has the man completely out of his mind, unable to think about anything besides you and how utterly helpless he is for you.
You, the beautiful and funny mechanic who had been happy to help with whatever his outdated and technically illegal ship needed for a fair wage. You, who he had seen give your last handful of credits to a hungry family on Nevarro the first night he met you. You, who sometimes snorted when you laughed and who teased him about his aversion to droids and who sang in the ‘fresher and who deserved so, so much more than what the galaxy has given you.
As you cry out his name one last time and he feels your body tense around him, he lets out a choked groan and spills himself inside you, falling to place his forehead on yours again as you both ride out your highs on each other. 
Pulling your lips in for another kiss, Din feels you smile against him and he can’t help but return the sentiment. 
You do deserve better - and he will do whatever it takes to give it to you. 
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lady-djarin · 8 months
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yes sir
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din djarin x f!reader (drabble)
warnings: pure smut, semi-brat tamer din, outdoor sex, spanking, some degradation, teasing, p in v unprotected sex (wrap your willies!) 18+ minors dni GO CHILDREN GET OUT
word count: 1.8k
a/n: just a short drabble… tbh sometimes i hate writing the end of a smut story, i never know what to do lol. i just really wanted to write brat tamer shit with din, enjoy my lovelies!
Three days. You had been hunting this quarry for three days, non-stop. you were tired, covered in sweat and dirt and not happy. The tropical landscape normally would have been your cup of tea, if you had a large cup of spotchka instead of chasing a madman through the forest. You and your Mandalorian companion were growing impatient with this hunt but the bounty was large enough to make it worth it. He was wanted for trying to blow up a government building on Coruscant and multiple accounts of aggravated assault; clearly a gnarly guy. You knew he was no match for the two of you.
You two worked like a well oiled machine, complimenting each other in perfect harmony. He was the big strong brute force and you were the sly and stealthy one. You were both smart that’s for sure and that’s why this case was particularly frustrating. On the third day, the sky decided to open up and pour down on you as if you didn’t have enough issues. You both groaned at the first droplet, knowing what was coming your way. Almost as soon as the first drop hit your head, the next thousand rained down all at once you both quickly ducked into a cave nearby, just deep enough to shelter both your bodies from the downpour.
“Dank Farik…” The large man slumped down on the wall of the cave, a small thunk from his helmet hitting the stone. You did the same on the opposite side, your legs touching in the small space. “We just can't catch a break.”
“Maybe if you stopped picking the hardest bounties we could actually get some of them done…,” you mumbled, only slightly to yourself.
“Me? You’re the one who suggested we follow behind and stay quiet instead of just jumping his ass in the first place!” You were both exhausted, and you knew it, but that didn't stop you both from getting in each other's faces. It's normally very civil between you both, some slight disagreements but nothing serious. You could recognise the anger bubbling up in your gut but didn't have the energy to stop yourself.
“Maker forbid I have any input! You're always the one deciding what we do and where we go next! Fuck, I’m so tired of it…” You got up and paced across the entrance to the cave, like a lothcat behind bars. Running your hands over your face you could tell the Mandalorian got up to meet you. He was on you in a second.
“If you’re complaining, I can leave you on this fucking planet for all I care!” Mando never curses, like ever. You knew he was pissed, especially the way his voice tore through the modulator and he was backing you against the stone wall.
“Maybe you should!” The air suddenly became wired, a tension running between you two. You were both breathing heavily, you could see it fogging his visor this close. The anger burned in your blood, so why was the only thing you could focus on the sudden need to have him touch you. Your body screamed for his hands to roam your skin, wishing his hand was around your neck. You were ashamed to say that this was actually turning you on.
“Don't try me, sweetheart,” his voice was a low rumble that you felt in your chest. Just as he went to turn away from you, you shook your head as you sarcastically rolled your eyes.
“Yes sir.”
He paused, his heart stopping as he smirks under his helmet. Sir? Why did he like hearing that so much from you? You had always been a little bit of a smart mouth but ‘Sir’? He never thought he would love one word so much.
“What?” He stepped even closer, pressed up against you entirely. “What did you say?”
“I said… ‘yes sir’,” you knew exactly what you did, but didn’t know if it would actually work, until now. He didn’t say anything for a moment, just tilted his helmet at you, pinning you down with his gaze. You started to worry that he might have taken it the wrong way but when his hand grazed up your arm, you knew you read him right. You had a feeling he felt the same as you but didn’t know for sure until now. Before you could even think, his large hand wrapped around your throat, just tight enough to make your head spin. Finally, the tension was broken and you smiled against his helmet.
“You're such a brat, you know that,” you smiled wider, knowing what was coming. “Am I going to have to teach you a lesson?” You felt your heart drum in your chest and your core clenched around nothing.
“Maybe…” The end of the word was strangled by his palm pressing on your vocal cords. The seams in the leather gloves were pressing deliciously into your delicate skin, somehow turning you on more.
Suddenly you were spun around, your hands flying out to keep you from colliding with the cave wall. His hands disappeared from your body for only a second before one returned to the back of your neck, and they were his bare hands.
“Unbutton your pants…now,” his voice was something you had never heard before, something almost scary. You did as he instructed, practically ripping the button and zipper off. Before you could push them down, Mando tore them down over your ass along with your underwear, the cold air causing you to jump. You thought that was as shocking as it would get but maker, were you wrong. Before your mind could register anything else, a loud crack split the air as his hand came down on your ass cheek. You shrieked in response, a sting left behind along with no doubt a large red mark in the shape of his hand. “You like that? Hmm? Like when I spank you for being a brat?”
Another slap. You were dripping, your slick coating your inner thighs as his hand came down on your ass another time. The hand around your neck was tightening with every spank. How could this man already read you like an open book, how could he know your every desire? Your brain was trying to think but all your body could focus on was the low grumble of his voice as he started to roam his hands over your soft skin, his fingers starting to trail up your inner thighs. Mando used his boot to kick open your legs, spreading them without having to ask. You moaned softly as he pushed on your upper back, bending you over as you were on full display for him.
“Mmm, look at you, so easy for me.” You were almost ashamed of yourself at how easily you followed his command, considering how much you fought him in every other aspect of your partnership. You were putty in his hands now, and he knew it. He reveled in the feeling of you relinquishing control to him, knowing that you were completely his in this moment. “You're so pretty when you listen, so obedient.” You were trying hard not to mewl at every word he said but for a man of few words, you wish he never stopped talking.
His fingers were grazing every part of you except where you wanted him most. You tried to rock against his hand when he got close to your clit, but never close enough to build any friction. You grew frustrated after not receiving enough attention on your clit, your legs already beginning to shake.
“M-Mando, please, just to-touch me,” you were trying not to sound too pathetic but the way he was teasing you, that was becoming harder.
“I like you begging for me.” Another loud smack on your ass earning a squeak from you. When all that came from you was a moan, his hand came down on your reddening skin again. “Do you want me to touch you?”
“Yes! Maker, please just– please, I need more,” you begged, begged for just one touch. Like magic, his fingers found your dripping center and circled your bundle of nerves. Your whole body sagged at the releaf, pleasure spreading in your veins like fire. He moaned, moaned, at seeing you respond to him and your slick on his bare fingers. He could tell that he was going to lose control soon, getting lost in the feeling of you. “Mmm, Man-Mando, more… I need more,” you whined again, hoping to get him to relent.
“Fuck– I can’t wait to be inside you,” you heard the sound of his zipper being opened and your whole body burned with excitement. You felt the large man shift behind you, his hands gripping your hips to keep you in place. “You want me so bad? Fine, I’ll give you what you want, but I want you to scream my name.”
“Yes Mando please, wha-whatever you want,” you were a stuttering mess, the only thing on your mind was finally feeling him inside you.
“No,” he stopped himself for a moment with his tip lined up with your entrance. “Din. My name is Din.”
His name. He gave you his name, his real name. You felt your head swim and your heart ache. Not only was he giving you your deepest desire but he was giving you a part of him.
“Din,” you liked the taste of his name. “I need you.”
A low grunt escaped his chest as he thrusted his hips forward, sheathing himself fully inside you. You both froze, the feeling so incredible and new, it felt like your world was turning on its axis. You had waited so long to know what he felt like, what he would fuck like. He was certainly not small, he was filling you up like you had never felt before. Once he adjusted to the feeling, he started moving his hips slowly before snapping them into your ass. The metal covering his thighs hit the back of yours and the cold bite of the feeling brought to your attention that he was still fully clothed and a helmet on his head. It felt almost wrong how much you loved it all; his roughness, the contrast in clothing and this all happening basically out in the open.
Your hands were barely holding you upright against the cave wall as he pounded into you. His length hit that perfect spot inside you every time he moved, causing the coil in your lower stomach to tighten again. Your knees began to shake, almost buckling under the pleasure of Din’s motions. As you started to slide down the wall, Din wrapped his arms around your body holding you tight to his chest, never ceasing to hammer into you.
“All this time… this is what you needed? Huh? This is all it took to get rid of that attitude? You fucking brat.”
You couldn’t even respond, you were done for.
“Use your words…”
“Y—yes…yes sir.”
You were sure that if anyone was in those woods, they heard both of your screams.
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angelltheninth · 10 months
Note
Babygirl Din + 12. “I think I’m in love with you and I’m terrified.”
Omg, the angst coming out of this one, I can sense it through the screen.
Pairing: Din Djarin x Fem!Reader
Tags: fluff, angst, confession, fear of loss, doubt, insecurity, helmet kisses, chin kisses, soothing kisses, soft!Din Djarin
Word count: 0.6k
A/N: Din does give babygirl energy, you're so right there Anon!
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12. “I think I’m in love with you and I’m terrified.”
Din had been even more distant then normal lately. He's not the man of many words, he never was never the type of person to talk a whole lot after missions but these past few have been incredibly conversation dry. Not only that but he didn't want to celebrate with you anymore, made you wonder if it was something you did.
"You're fine. I just have a lot of things to do, between Grogu and visiting Bo-Katan, I don't have time for chit-chatting." That was a load of shit and you knew it.
"But you have time to run around the galaxy with me at your convenience. And I know its not tough jobs either Din, you could handle those on your own and take the reward for yourself." It was almost laughable, the types of bounty missions you went on. Easy money, but also very easy missions, not something that was dangerous or challenging. "I love partnering up with you but you've been sending me so many mixed signals as of late. Hasn't anyone ever told you its not wise to play with a woman's heart?"
"Good thing I'm not trying to. You're the one who said you wanted to hang out with me more, isn't that what we've been doing?" Din settled back into his pilot seat and turned to look at you.
You threw your hands in the air, unbelievable, he was unbelievable, "I meant outside of missions. We used to be better friends then this. We used to... be closer."
He was a dad now and that took a lot of his time. You were happy that he was taking the role so seriously, not many in his line of work would. It was a quality of his that you were very much drawn to. But he still made time for you too before, he brought Grogu along. Oh, oh no. Did... did Grogu not like you?
"Grogu loves you a lot actually." Din spoke up and replied to your apparently spoken out loud question, "That's not the problem."
"Then what is Din? Please tell me, what's the problem between us?" You surged forward and pinned the Mandalorian flat into his chair, hands on either side of his head. No escaping you now.
He seemed to shrink back into his chair, a funny sight for such a badass Mandalorian, "I think I'm in love with you and I'm... I'm terrified." His helmet almost blocked out his entire confession with how silent his voice was just then.
"Huh?!" You tried to back away but Din caught your hands. No escape for you either as he pushed them slowly against his helmet, "I-In love with me? Since when?"
"I don't know... exactly. Might have happened when were we trapped together on that ice planet, or on our undercover mission to the Casino. All I know is, its been scary going on missions with you. I know you yourself have a reputation to uphold, but when I'm with you I don't prioritize the mission, I prioritize you." So that's why its been easy pickings lately, he can mess them up even if he's distracted. "I know this isn't what you thought you'd hear but Grogu's been talking me into this for some time now. I promised him I'd try."
Anything for his kid, what a good dad.
"I wish you hadn't told me this now." You heard him grunt and saw his shoulders slack, fully expecting your rejection, "Because I don't think I can focus now either." You planted a quick kiss on his helmet and then an even quicker one on his jaw as you lifted the helmet up just enough. Din whined when your lips came into contact with his skin, "Oh I definitely won't be able to focus now." You teased, letting his adjust his helmet again.
"Kriff you." Din mumbled and you could almost imagine the blush on his face. One day you would see it for yourself, maybe sooner then you thought.
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lincolndjarin · 8 months
Text
Best Kept Secret
chapter twelve : pretend (RE-UPLOAD)
ao3 link ✿ series masterlist ✩ main masterlist ✧
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pairing : bodyguard!Din Djarin x afab!princess!reader
rating : 18+ mdni
word count : 4.4k
summary : reader plays pretend
warnings, etc. : language, angst, references to sex
A/N : i had to change accounts so this is a re-upload of my ongoing fic bks!!
Two days.
That’s what you’re willing to give yourself. Two days to get over it. One to get it all out of your system and one to pull yourself together. 
So you need to get through day one. 
Which is going fine until you step out of the closet and into the main room and you look for a pair of scissors, opting to just cut yourself out of your dress from yesterday rather than try and unlace it yourself. It’s not like you’ve ever worn the same dress twice anyway. 
And then you're faced with your reflection. 
You remember thinking you’d looked like a stranger when you first arrived on Naboo. It’s like that. You stare at your reflection as you carefully cut away the dress, you look unfamiliar, the bruises on your waist are starting to yellow and fade, you trace your fingers across them gently and you sort of wish they wouldn’t heal. It’s the only physical trace of him left on your body. 
You don’t bother covering them when Elaine and Lysa walk in. You can’t seem to find the energy to care, if they notice they don’t say anything as you quickly wave them off, insisting you don’t feel well and want to spend today in bed. 
You don’t look to see if there’s a glint of silver outside of the door. You know there is. 
So you do exactly what you told the girls you’d do and you retreat back to the closet, crawling into the blankets, staring at the door. Normally you’d push down any thoughts that might be creeping in right now, but why does it matter anymore. 
“I don’t want you.”
That’s what he had said. 
Was it so wrong to want him to come through that door and crawl into your makeshift bed with you? You don’t think it makes you weak, it just makes you… human. You’ve spent your entire life being turned away by the people who were supposed to keep you safe. Your family first, sending you here, to this nightmare. Then your husband, sending you away until he decides that you’ve become useful. And now Mando. 
But this hurts more than the first two. 
As much as you didn’t agree with it, you knew your parents had thought they were doing the right thing when they sent you away. And you couldn’t care less what Kodo thought of you. 
Mando had been kind. 
He had been your friend.
Had he? He seemed to think he hadn’t but maybe it was just a one sided friendship. That still counts, right?
Bodyguard, rival, friend, protector, confidant, lover, nothing.
You decide lover was the right word. You didn’t necessarily love him. Love is a very volatile word. He had loved you, physically that is. 
“I was… bored. You were entertainment.”
Of course he hadn’t loved you in any other way, only physically. He had made love to you. 
Now he didn’t want you. 
He had grown tired of you so quickly. 
You shake off the thought. No sense thinking like that, you weren’t a helpless victim here. You knew that it wasn’t a permanent arrangement. You just hadn’t expected it to be over so soon. It was bound to happen eventually, it’s actually probably better that it happened now. Before you got too attached. 
Were you already too attached? 
Right now, here in the darkness of the closet, wounds still fresh it feels worse than any break up you ever went through back on Hoth, and most of those relationships had been much longer than this short lived affair. 
You had liked him. 
There’s no harm in admitting that now that it’s over. You had not loved him, maybe you had simply liked him. You had a crush on your friend, that’s completely normal, especially considering you were doing plenty of other things together. 
It feels nice to admit that. 
Like a weight has been lifted off your shoulder. Of course it doesn’t matter because there’s still a million other things holding you down right now but it’s a brief sense of relief. 
You had liked the Mandalorian, as more than a friend. 
Nothing’s gonna happen with him anymore so you can admit that to yourself now. 
It’s good to get that out of the way, it’ll help you get over this faster. 
Except it doesn’t really, your relief is brief as you burst into tears, burying your face in a pillow for the rest of the day. It hits you like a ton of bricks, you’re finally willing to admit that you may have had genuine feelings for him and he’s already moved on. It makes you feel pathetic, it makes you cry harder. But that’s okay, because that’s what day one was for, getting it all out. 
When you wake up, eyes red and puffy, you’re ready for the next stage in your plan. It’s time to recover from yesterday. You send the girls away again like clockwork as you stretch in front of the mirror. You’re more than capable of getting through this. He’s out there, and the longer you hide in here from him the worse it’s gonna be. So one more day, you can find some busy work to keep your mind occupied. 
You organize the closet. It’s massive, so you search through the drawers, trying to figure out what goes where. You open one of the drawers tucked in the back and you can’t help but gawk at the contents.
Pants.
You hadn’t realized how much you’d missed pants. Honestly you didn’t hate the dresses but you were getting a little sick of being dolled up beyond belief every single day. This entire time there’s been a whole drawer full of trousers you could have been wearing, you slip on the first pair you find and after a few more minutes of searching you find a drawer full of simple cotton tunics. It’s probably the most comfortable you’d been in weeks. 
It’s such a breath of fresh air you wonder why you hadn’t looked for simpler clothes sooner. Now when you walk to the mirror it is a familiar figure. 
It’s you. 
It’s almost enough to bring a smile to your face. 
Almost. 
As you organize the drawers you're pleased to find a lot more pants and shirts, you set them aside in piles, you were going to convince the girls to let you wear these outside your room, even if it was for just a day or two out of the week. You never saw anyone anyway, there was no need for you to be wearing gowns and heels to the library to read everyday. The only person you see is the Mandalorian. 
“I don’t want you.”
You couldn’t become any less attractive to him at this point so who cares. Besides, you like the way you look in these clothes, it’s how you used to dress at home. It was too cold for frilly dresses and it would have been impractical to get so done up on a day to day basis. Something about the familiarity of it all seems to help push you into the next stage of grief because suddenly you’re angry at him. 
What gave him the right to do what he’s done? To make you like him just so he could get his dick wet? If he had wanted that he could have just had it, you had been rather attracted to him physically early on, it probably would have been better that way but no, he had to go and make it personal. 
So you’re angry. 
And not just petty surface level anger, this is something new. Something you don’t even feel towards Kodo. This is deep rooted and raw. He had cut you open and laid you bare for him to see, he went through to pick and choose what parts he wanted and left you to try and survive with what remained. 
And what remained was furious. 
It doesn’t feel as good as it did last time you hated him. Last time it was almost fun because you hated him for being annoying. Now there is a deep sorrow in your anger. Last time there was the entertaining prospect of scheming his downfall, and there was teasing and conversation. This anger eats away at your insides. It doesn’t demand satisfaction, it just rests in your stomach and consumes you. 
It consumes you so much that you feel sick. You don’t know when you sat down on the floor but when you come to your senses it’s dark out. You push open the windows. Desperate to get some air into the room, it works, for a moment. But everything is too much right now and without thinking you decide you need to get out of here, go get a book, maybe one of the boring history books Mando’s always reading. You pull open the doors to your chambers without a second thought and you’re taken aback by the sight of what stands before you. 
Actually, what sits before you. The Mandalorian is sitting on the floor. His back resting on your door, at least it was before you opened it. He’s looking up at you and you know it’s impossible with the helmet but you swear he looks embarrassed. 
Your instinct is to crack a joke, or at the very least ask what he’s doing, it’s the middle of the night, he never stands guard over night. 
But that isn’t your relationship anymore. So you just sidestep him and make your way to the library, you don’t protest when he follows behind you. It’s the strangest thing but in the two days without him you had missed your shadow. The presence of him walking a few steps behind, you hadn’t even realized that was something you’d grown fond of. You shake the thought out of your head as you descend the stairs. 
You don’t acknowledge him and you don’t acknowledge the way your heart feels like it’s beating out of your chest. This is a quick in and out task, you’ll get a book to help relax your mind so you can sleep. 
You squint in the darkness of the shelves. Maker, you should have brought a glowrod, or a lamp with you at the very least. It’s useless, you can’t make out any of the titles so instead you grab the two books off one of the tables that you’d seen him reading a week ago. You shove them under your arm and hurry back to your room. Neither of you say a word about the encounter as you shut the door behind you. 
You hear the soft clunk of metal on wood just before you shut yourself in the closet. 
His helmet leaned on the door again. 
Huh. Maybe Kodo had recently requested he guard you at night as well. You aren’t going to ask him what he’s doing. You aren’t going to do anything. 
You close the closet door. You turn on one dim lap as you put on pajamas and sit in your blankets, picking up the first book to take your mind off things. 
A Deep Dive Into the History of Classic Ships and Speeders
Yeah you’re not reading that. You’re bored just looking at it so you toss it to the side and hope the other book is less of a dud. it’s bookmarked near the end and you worry that maybe he’s still reading this one but then you remember he doesn’t care about you so why should you care for him. Your eyes scan the title. 
Wild Flowers & Flora of Naboo : A Beginner’s Guide for the Identification of the Planets Native Plants
You think back to when you had asked him so many questions when he’d taken you to the garden and he never knew the answers. You always thought he seemed upset with himself over that. 
This is what he had been reading all those quiet days together in the library. You flip to the bookmark. You recognize the flower being showcased on the page immediately. You had pointed the patch of them out because the petals were an identical match for the shade of pink your dress had been that day. 
Your heart skips a beat. Which makes you feel sick. 
Even after he ended things he’s still messing with your head. 
Then again, this is not a small book by any means and the bookmarked page is near the end. He must have read quite a lot of it…
No. 
No doing this. Hoping. Not anymore. You can admit to yourself now that you liked him, and had a little crush. But he hadn’t liked you back. He didn’t want you, he was just bored. You need to remember that.
You don’t feel like reading anymore. 
So you let your mind go blank as you lay down and close your eyes, hoping for a dreamless sleep. 
Of course you aren’t that lucky. 
And even worse is the contents of your dream. 
You wish they were carnal and needy like they usually are, you would trade the dream you have for a hundred gut wrenchingly painful erotic dreams.  
Because this dream is warm, and soft, and above all this dream is familiar. 
This dream is kisses on your thighs, and they aren’t sexual, they don’t insist on more. They’re soft and chaste and leave a lingering scratch of stubble. 
This dream is him embracing you. Holding you like he did when you gave him his birthday. 
And he doesn’t ask for more, he just holds you, his hands roam your back but they don’t push for anything other than your company. 
This dream is him sitting across from you in the library in silence. But the silence isn’t forced, it’s comfortable and domestic. And you both read your respective books as the sunlight shines in through the windows of the nook. 
And worst of all this dream is the garden. It’s him giving you the one thing you’d wanted since you were a little girl, real flowers, and playing the game, and sitting in the gazebo watching the pond ripple. 
It’s promises of more good days, it’s books with little messages scrawled inside and it’s whispers in Mando’a. 
When you wake there’s a dull ache in your chest. You’ve always slept alone yet your makeshift bed feels emptier than ever.
The girls dress you in silence. Like they can sense something is wrong. 
You don’t want to leave. You don’t want to have to face him but you know it’s inevitable. So you suck it up. You’ll do what you’ve always done and you’ll go to the library and read. 
And you won’t look at him. You won’t talk to him. You won’t even acknowledge that he’s there. 
You give yourself one last look in the mirror. Elaine and Lysa really matched your mood with the dark gray dress you find yourself in. You look empty. Like there isn’t any life behind your eyes. 
You have to look away from your hollow reflection. 
Taking a deep breath you open the doors and there he is. As constant as ever he stands against the opposite wall from your door and you give him no more than a glance as you turn on your heel towards the library. 
You can do this, this is simple and easy and you are more than capable of handling this. 
His presence is stifling. 
You can’t escape the feeling of his eyes on you and if you don’t think of something fast you’re gonna snap at him and you know you can’t take another argument right now. 
Make a list. 
Stick to a list. 
Walk, sit, read. It's simple, you can do that. 
You manage to walk to the library with no issues; it's the second task on your list that causes immediate problems. 
Because your instinct is to sit in the nook, you walk there purely on muscle memory. But the moment you look at it your brain short circuits. 
Metal, gunpowder, leather. 
There’s suddenly a lump in your throat. 
“Are you paying attention, mesh’la?”
Your bodice must be laced too tight. Your breath picks up as your heart threatens to burst from your chest. The feeling of phantom touches roaming your body, gloved hands hiking up your skirt, is suffocating. 
“What is it, copikla?”
You need to breathe. You’ve only just started the day, you’re pleading with your lungs to take in air, your eyes locked on the nook. He has to know what’s got you rattled, he’s standing right behind you. 
Why did you leave your room? You weren’t ready for this, two days wasn’t enough, how are you supposed to deal with the million different thoughts that are screaming for the spotlight right now in your mind? One thought seems to be pushing itself to the front, demanding your attention. 
What if no one ever makes you feel like that again?
You can’t cry. He’ll look at you like you’re pathetic if you cry at the sight of somewhere he fucked you. That’s all he did, for Makers sake, he fucked you. 
It shouldn’t feel like a place where he loved you. 
When you close your eyes you can feel the stubble pressing against your inner thigh accompanied by a kiss. 
Stars, keep your eyes open. 
You finally remember how to breathe but the breaths come out short and shallow and you need to come up with an escape plan or something because otherwise you’ll be petrified in place for the rest of the day. 
Suddenly you don’t need a plan though. 
Because there’s a hand on your lower back. 
His hand. 
It gently pushes you to a different part of the library. He doesn’t say anything, the modulator doesn’t crackle, he just guides you to a different spot. A chair and a table, the nook is out of sight from here and you can breathe properly again. 
His hand is gone too soon as he gently pushes down on your shoulders to make you sit. His touches are featherlight, like you’re made of glass. Right now you might be. He takes a step back and you regain your composure like it never happened. 
Walk, sit, read. 
Well, you really fucked up the second task on your list. 
And you don’t do well on the third. 
You reach towards the closest shelf and grab the first book your fingers touch. It’s some sort of mystery novel, you can’t focus on the words. Your brain feels fried and you’re still processing the last few minutes. He’s leaning against one of the shelves, his helmet facing away, almost like he’s giving you privacy to collect yourself. 
You take a deep breath and let your eyes scan the page but you just can’t bring yourself to read. Your mind is too foggy, your heart still racing, you sigh as you set the book down on the table. 
You need a simpler task. Something that will occupy your brain enough that you don’t have to think of anything else but doesn’t require too much critical thinking. You turn to face Mando directly for the first time since your… break up? Is that what it’s called when you weren’t necessarily romantically involved but were friends who were physically involved but also you might have romantic feelings for him? 
Now you’re just confusing yourself. 
It doesn’t matter because you’re looking at him and you immediately recognize that his posture is different. The two of you have spent a lot of time staring at each other, you know how he stands. Tall and proud, always. 
But not now, now he looks like a scolded child, staring out a window to avoid meeting your gaze lest you reprimand him further. 
You really want to hate him. You want to hate him so badly right now but it’s like trying to hate a wounded puppy. 
How is he so damn expressive behind a layer of steel? 
You need to speak to him. 
If he’s going to insist on being your bodyguard you’re going to have to learn to live with each other in this new dynamic he’s created. 
So you need to speak to him. 
Rip off the bandaid, why wait any longer? It's going to happen eventually. It should be something thoughtful and well articulated. 
“Could you get Leo for me?” Your voice is hoarse from sitting in silence for two days and the words tumble from your lips before you can stop them and he’s quick to nod and rush out. 
Bodyguard, rival, friend, protector, confidant, lover, guy who you’ve had mind blowing sex with that you’re suddenly nervous to ask simple things from. 
Maker, you’re a mess. 
Alarmingly fast he’s back with Leodall hot on his heels.
“My lady, how may I be of service.” Always straight to the point with him.
“Could you bring me a book from my quarters, the one on ships, and some parchment and pens please?”
“Right away ma’am.” And as quickly as he arrived he’s gone. 
This is the part where Mando usually asks what you’re up to. Except he doesn’t. 
So he’ll touch you and help you when you're frozen in time staring at the scene of one of your sexual adventures on the verge of a nervous breakdown, but he won’t ask what you plan on doing with his book. 
This new situation is going to be way harder to navigate. 
You look to see what the Mandalorian seems so fascinated by outside the window but it’s just sky and clouds. 
Maybe your new situation is avoiding conversation. 
That’s probably why he had ushered you away from the nook. Not because he cared but because he didn’t want to talk about it. 
Okay, you can do that. Avoid confrontation at all costs. 
It’s probably for the best anyway. 
When Leo comes back with your requested items you thank him as he leaves and you open to a random page and start trying to copy the exact images of the ship. 
Busy work.
It’s boring in the beginning. Mindless scribbling to keep your brain occupied as you try to sketch every detail you can. Eventually it’s almost fun, seeing how closely you can get them to look to the original image, you draw dozens of ships, occupying most of your day as you proudly spread them out on the table.
Every so often you’ll catch a glint of silver and you know he’s watching you, you never turn to meet his gaze.
You can pretend he isn’t. That’s what’s easiest. Because he doesn’t care, he made that clear. He doesn’t care. (Even though he won’t stop looking at you.)
Don’t focus on him, don’t focus on anything but your drawings. 
You pick out your favorites, the Naboo royal cruiser, the YT-1300 light freighter, the ST-70 class Razor Crest M-111, and a T-47 air speeder. You can’t help but feel a genuine pride as you stare at the drawings. They’re messy and on most of them you’ve smeared the ink but they’re recognizable and it’s nice to actually feel like you’ve accomplished something. It’s easy for the days to blend together when you do the same thing over and over and over again but this is real. You can touch and see the drawings you did, physical evidence that you did something other than finish another book. 
It’s hard to really appreciate what you’ve done when you’re also pretending that you don’t see him staring right at you. 
He pretends that he doesn’t care about what you’re doing. (Rather poorly.)
And you pretend you don’t notice him gawking at you. 
You need to stop thinking about him and his staring problem so you find another book, something bulky with pictures.
The Illustrated History of Blasters : From Pistols to Rifles
And you start from the beginning, just scribbling sketches of every gun there’s a picture for. You don’t really care much for blasters but the illustrations are so complicated you can’t help but try and match the attention to detail.
It’s late when you finish the first section of the book. You haven’t even gotten past pistols as you stifle a yawn. 
He seemingly hasn’t moved an inch, aside from the glances in your direction that you brushed off. 
Even with the circumstances you can’t help but wish he would just say something, literally anything. He could tell you that your drawings are shit and honestly you’d just be happy to hear his voice. But of course he doesn’t. Because you aren’t anything to him.
Maybe he’s pretending too.
You have no reason to believe he is, he’s shown no interest in you or reconciliation since he ended things, other than his persistent presence. You can’t think of a reason why he would end things and not mean what he said. 
But you like to think that he’s pretending. 
It makes this easier in your mind if it’s not that he doesn’t want to be with you, it’s that he can’t. 
It’s harmless. 
Imagining such a thing, as long as you don’t let yourself get caught up in another fantasy. This isn’t real, it’s just something to help you stomach the harsh reality of being undesirable to him.
So you pretend that his glances are those of want, that maybe deep down he might actually care for you.
You pretend that he regrets his decision, that he misses you even though he’s spent all day right next to you.
You pretend that he secretly wishes he was walking beside you instead of behind you as you return to your chambers. And you pretend that he wants you to invite him in but some secret invisible reason that you don’t know about is holding him back. 
But it’s all just pretend. 
You need to remind yourself of that. 
You can do this. You can have more days like this. 
Drawing to keep your mind from wandering and when it does you can pretend. It isn’t an ideal way of living but for now you have to manage until you figure out where to go from here. 
You slip out of your gown after fighting to unlace it yourself for a few minutes and decide to just sleep in your undergarments as you make your way to the closet. 
You pretend you don’t hear that soft clunk of Beskar against your door.
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corazondebeskar-reads · 2 months
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live to rise - chapter three
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live to rise series
three: won't give them that satisfaction
series masterlist | prev chapter | next chapter
gladiator!Din Djarin x f!reader
word count: 3.2k
summary: Din faces his past. You dare to enter the Mandalorian's cell when he's in need of medical attention. A bond grows, and so do the stakes.
chapter warnings: masturbation (f, m), p in v (not Din, brief mention of reader x oc), hurt/comfort, a little yearning, a little pining, a lot of ~bonding~, minor character deaths, canon-typical violence, description of injury, gore, angst
Please heed the series and chapter warnings.
also on ao3
dividers by @saradika-graphics
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Din is the only one from Cresh with an off day today. It’s quiet in the cellblock, and he’s putting himself through an easy bodyweight routine when he feels the pneumatics of the door. You’re so quiet, bare feet barely making a sound on the sleek floor. 
It’s not even midday, so he waits to find out who was the first to fall.
The door next to his opens. 
He takes a moment to close his eyes and pray. Nu kyr'adyc, shi taab'echaaj'la. Not gone, merely marching far away. Idly, he wonders if the words would bring you comfort.
But when he opens his mouth, he chokes on them. No, he can’t share that with you. No matter how honorable, you are not Mandalorian. 
“What was her name?” he says instead.
It startles you, and you drop the bottle of disinfectant. He’s never just spoken to you before, unprompted. 
“Disdraa,” you tell him, and hesitate for just a moment before letting the rest pour out. “—a smuggler—explosives for the, um. You know.” 
“I’m sorry,” he says. 
“Thank you.” You fall quiet, letting the skrish-skrish of the spray bottle fill the silence. 
“Why did she call you little bird?” Din’s not really sure why he asks, other than a strange ache in his chest at the way your words are laden with sorrow. 
“Because some of the others used to.”
“Why did they call you little bird?”
“Picked it up in a long chain of the dead. One of my first who survived for a few months started it.” You pause, knowing this isn’t the answer he was looking for. “It’s silly. When I first got here, I used to whistle a lot. The quiet was unsettling.”
“It doesn’t bother you now?”
“—used to it.”
He knows there’s something more that you’re keeping locked down. He knows it’s probably for a good reason, and he should leave it be, let you pretend. 
He asks anyway. “Why did you stop?”
“Guards didn’t like it much,” is all you tell him, the silence filling in the gaps of the story. 
You hesitate in the hall after you’re done, like you want to say something to him but haven’t the nerve.
He beats you to it. “What’s on your hand?” he says as he studies you, everything about you as neat and tidy as ever—except that. 
You look down. A blue smudge runs the length of your palm. He watches, rapt, as you bring your other thumb to your mouth and lick it, scrubbing it against the blossom of color until it disappears. 
“Nothing,” you whisper. 
“What?” 
“It’s nothing,” you shake your head and slip out of the barracks. 
When you leave, he waits only a moment before he licks his palm and strokes his cock, thinking of his own thumb, of more, between your lips as he spills down the drain. He shuts down before the shame can come. He’s only human, after all. 
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There’s an energy to the compound that you don’t particularly like. It crackles and shakes, much like the soft surface of this planet did when they first built the arena, when the red soil swallowed it whole, and instead of moving on, they just built more and more on top. But you can feel this, even here at the frigid, solid core—an unsettling. 
When you ask the others, they shrug. It’s not strong, not bothersome. The officers are clearly abuzz with something stupid or irrelevant, and it’s just echoing down the lifts and spilling into the underground. 
Hali shrugs. “It probably doesn’t bode well for us, but what can we do?”
Two weeks later, the tension crests. Eli catches your arm when he passes you in the corridor after breakfast service, pausing for just a fraction of a moment. 
“They found another Mandalorian,” he murmurs. 
His hand drops, and you’re gone before you can think it through. You’re too late, though.
They’ve already taken him to the arena.
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Gideon’s face tells Din that he’s going to lose this fight no matter the outcome. It’s always a little true. A little part of him dies each turn. 
But Din knows he’s right when his opponent is forced into the ring. He knows because he won’t meet his eyes. He knows because when the bell tolls, the other man takes a knee.
“Ner Mand’alor,” he says, voice hoarse from overuse and underhydration. 
“No,” Din says. “Not here.” 
“Anywhere,” Alor’ad Adro Varra swears. 
“I won’t fight you,” Din says, voice cracking a little on the tail end. 
“I’m dead either way,” Varra says. “Grant me a warrior’s death. Gedet’ye.”
Din closes his eyes. “Don’t go easy on me,” he begs.
“I would never do you the dishonor, ner Mand’alor.” 
The crowd finally gets the fight they’ve been waiting for. Few of the champions so far have been much competition for Din. But between a well-trained opponent and his own unwillingness to cause unnecessary pain, they manage to drag it out for a few extra minutes.
Varra holds true to his word, of course, and doesn’t hold back. To drive in Gideon’s mockery, their weapons today are beskad they’ve stolen from Mandalore. 
They’re going to make him kill his vod with a beskar blade. 
Varra is a skilled swordsman and hasn’t yet had a chance to weaken in the cells. Din finds the beskad as unwieldy as the Darksaber had been when he first held it. There’s no honor, here. 
Din parries more than he strikes. “Are there others?” he asks under the guise of heaving breaths.
“Not sure,” Varra says. “Got separated. I’m sorry.” 
“Don’t,” Din says, fumbling in the riptide of disappointment and relief. The edge of Varra’s blade makes clean work of his thigh, just shy of danger. 
The cut is an awakening, an understanding. Time is running out.
“I think,” Varra gasps. “I think some made it. But—your alor—I’m sorry.”
He’s not deliberately trying to distract Din. But the words cost him another chunk of flesh from his forearm.
Din briefly considers letting his vod win to spare himself the pain. He can’t decide which path is more cowardly. 
The clash of beskad echoes sickeningly. Beskar against beskar is a broken oath, a true loss of The Way, and the guilt cuts worse than the sword. This man swore to him, swore to follow the command of his Mand’alor, and Din’s forcing him to use it in such a perverse manner.
No. It’s worse than that. He has forced his vod to break the Resol’nare by fighting against his Mand’alor. 
The scars from the blade will join the many others earned through his life, but this? The things he’s done now? The sins against his vod and the Manda? He’ll never stop bleeding.
In the end, though, Varra’s head is on the ground much further than his body, knocked afar by the swift, heavy swing of Din’s sword, leaving him awash with his brother’s blood. He chokes down the vomit and the screams. Gideon can’t have those, too. 
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For the first time, you enter the Mandalorian’s cell while he’s inside. He had refused to see the medics, but he’d still showered, meaning the blood he trailed in was leaking from his own flesh. With your eyes shut tight, you hold out the only solution you could come up with—a linen scarf. 
“You should be able to breathe still,” you say. 
He gets the idea. 
You slip inside once he’s covered and seated on the cot. You start with the gash on his forearm, kneeling on the cold floor to wipe it clean. 
“I’m so sorry,” you say. 
He closes his eyes. He doesn’t speak for a long time, long enough that you’re afraid you’ve overstepped. But he sits still, the perfect patient, and lets you pinch the slippery sides of the cut together enough to apply suture tape. 
He thinks suddenly, unbidden, that she would have liked you. His alor, who he still bowed to despite his rank, for she wielded the fires and iron hearts of their people. Mandalorian or not, she would have respected you for your steadfast principles and unwavering purpose. 
“I knew him,” he says instead.
You startle and overcorrect trying to act casual, but if he notices, he doesn’t say anything.
“Would you… would you like to tell me about him?” you say. This, at least, is familiar territory. 
“I didn’t know him well,” he admits, the clench in his chest screaming. Just another brother he’s failed. “He was a battalion captain. He still knelt for me, even without the saber, and I—”
You rest a hand on his knee and wait. 
He sighs. “I gave him a warrior’s death.” 
“What did his armor look like?” you say.
“He didn’t have it.”
You hum softly, not wanting to push. 
“Captains wear full black, matte and streamlined,” he says. “Sleek, flat, practical for ops.”
You hum again, the feeling spreading goosebumps as it vibrates through your wandering fingertips over his skin. You’re checking for wounds.
He indicates the weeping gash on his thigh.
“Oh, kriff, Mando, I’m sorry. That looks painful.”
“It’s fine,” he says. 
You lean close, gently prodding around to assess. “It’s deep. You prefer it stitched or cauterized?” 
“Stitched,” he grunts as you wipe it down with antiseptic.
The cell is tense, now. He thinks he’s smothered your softness with his grief.
“I paint,” you say suddenly, as the needle slips into his skin. 
His attention snaps to you, even if you can’t see his eyes. “What?”
“That’s what was on my hand the other day. Paint. I paint.” 
“Where do you get paint?”
“I make it,” you say as he winces against the tug of the thread. 
“What?” 
“I’ve got a friend in the kitchens,” you say.
“No, sorry,” Mando says. “I didn’t hear you.”
“Oh. I said I make it.” 
“Oh,” he says, and thinks for a moment. “They sneak you oil?”
“Or grease, or lard. Whatever the runoff is.” 
“Whatever the what is?”
“Runoff, like—”
“No, I know what it means,” he huffs a little. “I just. Dank farrik,” he mutters.
“What’s wrong?” you stop stitching immediately.
“You didn’t hurt me,” he says and waits until you’ve resumed your careful motions. “I… I can’t hear very well without my helmet.”
You sit back on your haunches. “Oh,” you say.
“You can’t—don’t—”
“I won’t tell,” you say. “But you let me know if there’s anything I can do to make things easier on you. Do you read lips?”
“Not really. It’s hard. I can pick up some things in Basic from humanoids, but it’s near impossible with anyone else. And unreliable.”
“Okay,” you nod, lips twisting and gears turning. “Want a signal? Like if you need me to be louder or repeat something.” 
“Maybe,” he says. He’s feeling oddly dizzy, like perhaps he lost more blood than he thought. When he looks down at his thigh to check, you’re applying a cream to the sutures. It only gets worse as he watches deft fingers secure bandages, sucking in a sharp breath when you gently brush over the hair next to the wound. 
“Sorry,” you say, wincing. 
He lets you think it hurt. “You never finished answering my question,” he says. 
“No, but it worked, though, didn’t it?” you say. 
He quirks his head.
“Distracted you,” you say, and grin.  
You’re beautiful, he thinks. He’s in trouble.
You don’t seem to notice his dilemma, especially since you won’t look at him, despite the veil. 
“Anything else?” you ask, fingers gently holding his calf while you investigate his battered body. Now that the danger has passed, you’re a little choked up. You knew he was strong, but hadn’t been close enough to realize how broad he was without the armor. 
Most of that bulk was actually him. The wide cord of his thigh where you had stitched spans far past the sprawl of your palm. He’s not all rock, though. It’s muscle well-earned under the softness of a life… well, you don’t want to say well-lived, because that’s up for debate. But lived. Fully and unapologetically. 
It feels illicit, just even seeing this much of him. 
“No,” he says. The little cuts and scrapes aren’t worth wasting supplies. They’ll scab over on their own. But he regrets it as soon as his mouth closes because you push up on his knee to stand.
You’re leaving.
“Can I see?” he says.
“Not very well, right now, I’d say,” you tease, though you know what he means. “Maybe another time.”
He snorts, and your heart catches. 
Inconvenient, really, you think. Moreover, cruel and unfortunate. You’ve never felt this kind of warm affection toward a fighter before. 
“Hey Mando,” you say, turning back to look at him. “His helmet, was it like yours?”
“Yes,” he says, perplexed. 
“Okay. Well, I should go,” you say, and it’s almost like you want him to argue, but you’re already slipping out of his cell. “It’s almost dinner time, after all. Get some rest.” 
When he unwinds the shawl, he holds onto it for longer than he’ll ever admit. 
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He does give it back, of course. Slides it out on his tray when you come by with dinner. You stuff it in the front pocket of your skirts, and if you take it out in the dark of the night to catch a hint of his musk, so what? It doesn’t hurt anyone. 
Well. Maybe yourself. You need to pinch this ridiculous crush at the stem before it blossoms. But one night of indulgence can’t hurt, or at least that’s what you tell yourself as you slip off to the fresher. You hold it to your cheek, clenched in one fist, as the other hand rubs quick circles around your clit. You orgasm easily, the smell of him and the cadence of his voice on the edge of your consciousness. 
You drop it in the laundry bin when you leave, washing your hands of the affair but not the guilt. 
But you can’t stay away. You’re drawn to him, and you tell yourself it’s just the way you’re drawn to any of your fighters who live long enough to bond. 
Anything else is just because you’re human, and he has a lovely voice. 
It’s not like you can’t satisfy your needs. Fucking around with the other servants isn’t exactly encouraged, but it isn’t prohibited either, and there are plenty of stock rooms and nooks and crannies for fumbling fingers and sordid, sloppy relief. 
You’re no stranger to these things, either. There’s an unspoken code that keeps things quick and neat, no attachments or drama. (You and Eli made a spoken pact, though—you’d keep an eye on each other. Make sure no one gets too close or too deep). 
And part of the medical processing upon arrival includes an implant, whether you like it or not. So. 
So you indulge. You find one of your go-to’s, Stellus, a dark-haired man with a nose crunched in far too many cantina brawls to ever sit straight again. He’s serving six years for stealing a ship and another two for evading his warrant. With three left, he’s numb to it all most of the time, but he almost never says no to pussy. 
It’s fine. It's satisfactory. He's a generous partner with nimble fingers and a girthy cock. It does take the edge off. It’s not what you want, but you’re used to that. None of this is what you want, but you take it anyway. 
After he tugs his trousers up and slips away, you lean against the wall of the laundry facility for a moment, catching your breath and leaving a gap between your departures.
And then you go straight to the barracks. In the middle of the day. With no excuse.
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The Mandalorian has just gotten back from the arena, and you check in even though you know he has no injuries this time. His status is continually updated on your datapad, after all.
“I’m fine, thank you,” he says, but it comes out on a sigh and gives you pause. 
“Are you sleeping?” you say.
“As much as I can,” he says. 
You lean against his door for a moment, debating if you should leave or not.
“Do you sleep?” he says, catching you off guard. He sounds suspicious.
“As much as I can,” you echo. 
It's silent for a beat, but he can't shake the thought. “How did you know?” he finally asks. It’s been an itch too deep to ignore.
“How did I know what?”
“That he was Mandalorian.”
“Eli told me,” you say as if that’s the only answer you need. 
“It wasn’t advertised,” Mando says cautiously. “They didn’t want anyone to know there might be more survivors.”
You shrug. “Must have been in his file. I knew about you before everyone else, too. Do you—” You hesitate, knowing his answer will be an echo of all the others, “is there anything I can do for you?” 
It’s his turn to hesitate. You don’t usually deviate from the routine. Though, he supposes, this whole visit is off-schedule. 
“Like what?” His answer surprises you both.
“Oh, um.” You’ve immediately forgotten anything you thought he’d need. “Would you like some company?” 
“Only if it’s yours,” he says. 
Your brain feels a little fuzzy from the way his voice has softened, and you can’t quite smother the little pleased smile. You settle on the ground by his door; legs sprawled out under the fan of your skirts. He’s not a big conversationalist, but he asks questions and answers them just fine.
When you tell him a little about home, he feels like he’s finally cracked the mystery. The paintings, the service, the memorials. You don’t talk about it a lot, but it’s enough to fill in the missing piece he couldn’t quite puzzle together.
It’s a sentiment that feels a little too close to home for him, too. 
“How do you do it?” you ask.
“Do what?” 
“How do you keep going? You must be exhausted. I’ve seen other fighters last as long as this, but they were never up there as often as you are.” 
“I have to,” he says as if it’s that simple.
And you suppose maybe it is. 
He waits a moment, though, and then it spills from him like a faulty dam. “I have to try, for my son.”
It’s quiet, so quiet, but you hear it. Your breath trips and falls in a soft exhale of “Oh, Mando.” 
You flounder for something more to say, some way to swallow some of the rotting guilt and horrible, sharp sadness that leak into the silence. But as you open your mouth to speak, the doors nearest his cell slide open.
“What are you doing in here, girl?” the guard snaps. “You can’t be in during transfer.”
“I-I didn’t get a message,” you say to the ground, having leapt to your feet when the panel beeped. “Apologies, sir,” and then you’re gone. 
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The ping comes right after breakfast delivery while you’re folding sheets for service rounds. It’s like a static shock, and you nearly drop your armful of stacked bedding.
It never goes off now. It’s too early for anyone to have died. Right? You repeat it under your breath while reaching for the datapad. 
It’s a notification you’ve only had twice before, and your heart swoops to the bottom of your diaphragm. “C-5 Status Update: Reassigned.” 
next chapter
*title from "Burn the Witch" by Shawn James
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INEVITABLE [4]
din djarin x female!reader
warnings: language, discussion of the slave trade, past trauma, mentions of mental and emotional abuse, mentions of murder
word count: 3,804
Summary: It was like fate or destiny had planned from the beginning for you to be on the run from the law. With the words ‘I can bring you in warm, or I can bring you in cold’ adorning your rib cage you always wondered what was worse: Knowing you were bound to being wanted or realizing your soulmate was a cursed bounty hunter. You had a mission to finish and no bounty hunter, soulmate or not, was going to stop you.
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04: COOL MOTIVE, STILL MURDER
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"unexpected friendships are the best ones." -unknown
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Corellia wasn’t so bad after all. As much as you hated the city itself, the Mandalorian had flown you out to the middle of nowhere where a sliver of nature sat. Maker knows this world didn’t have much of it, but what it did have was nice. It had to be. That must be why you felt so much better. The rickety, old ship the Mandalorian flew was parked off to the side and you sat at a small fire he had started. Grogu was sleeping in his floating egg shaped pram⏤ you could hear his snores. 
“I need to patch up your shoulder.”
You turned your head to see the Mandalorian had come back from his ship with a first aid kit. He sat down beside you and popped open the case. You shrugged out of your jacket with a wince and then carefully unhooked the holster from your shoulders. 
“Can I touch you?”
“What?” You asked in surprise. Mando nodded toward you and lifted the cautery in his hands for emphasis. You appreciated that he asked and then wondered how sad it was that him acting permission had surprised you. He cleared his throat and you chuckled. “Yes. Thanks.” Mando shifted closer and you turned a bit so he’d have better access to your back. “What’s the damage?”
“Not bad. Could’ve been worse.”
“Yeah, no kidding.” You chuckled. “That sleemo was gonna saw my arm off.” 
“Am I allowed to know why?”
You chuckled. “We go way back.” Nivor was one of Viktor’s goonies. In your mad dash to escape, you had blasted off a few of his fingers. Oops. “You saw those missing fingers on his hand?” Mando nodded. “Yeah, well that’s my fault.” There was a beat of silence and you heard the cautery kick on. “How did you find me? Why did you find me? What were you⏤”
“Can I answer one question before you ask another?”
“I suppose that’s fair.” You mumbled.
Mando did not give you warning for when he pressed the cautery to your skin, but he did answer your question which gave you something to focus on. “I was looking for you.” You grit your teeth together in pain as he continued to cauterize your wound. “And since I know you have a penchant for cantinas that narrowed the list of places I had to search. Besides,” It sounded like Mando chuckled, “I’m a bounty hunter, remember? Did you really think I wouldn’t be able to find you?”
Your shoulder ached something awful, but before you knew it Mando was placing a bacta patch over it. You glanced back at him in surprise. Bacta patches were expensive. It was the kind of item reserved for the worst of injuries. Your shoulder hadn’t been nearly that bad, and Mando had stopped the bleeding without issue. Already though, the bacta was soaking into your skin and your pain was beginning to ebb away.
“Right.” You mumbled then shook your head. “I guess I was less curious about the ‘how’ and more interested in the ‘why’.” 
Mando was silent and you wished he was an easier person to read. Granted, you didn’t take your inability to get a read on him personally. It was a metal helmet after all. He tilted his head, just a bit, and you shifted under his gaze. Finally, Mando spoke. “I thought you could use some help.”
“You… You want to help me?” You asked skeptically. Mando nodded once. His entire body was rigid, arms resting on his knees, and you glanced down to his gloved hands that were clenching and unclenching. Nervous. That was the energy you felt radiating from him, but it had to be a wrong guess. You couldn’t picture a hardened Mandalorian being nervous. Based on all the tales you had heard, you assumed they were as hard as the beskar they wore.
He cleared his throat. “I do.”
“Why would you want that? What’s in it for you?” You narrowed your eyes at him. “Nobody just offers help like that⏤ with no strings attached.”
“Maybe that’s why I want to help.” Mando shrugged. “To show you that’s not true.”
You chuckled, “What? You trying to change the worldview of a stranger?”
“No. You were wronged. I⏤ I want to make right with that.” Mando said. There was a softness in his tone that matched the quiet of the night surrounding the two of you. It caught you off guard. His sincerity. He was speaking as if he had been the one to wrong you. “I know you have no reason to trust me⏤”
“You kept me from getting my arm cut off. That’s one reason.” You shrugged then winced just a bit. The bacta was making your shoulder feel so good you forgot moving it around a bunch was probably a bad idea. You shook your head. “I just mean, you’ve given me no reason to not trust you, I suppose.”
It wasn’t a great degree of trust, but it was more than you were usually willing to give. Everything the Mandalorian had said to you so far had been honest and to the point. In fact, the only time he went back on his word was when he claimed to want nothing to do with you after dropping you off only to immediately come and find you.
“But you have to know something.” You said firmly. Mando gave you a small nod to continue. “I’m not what that puck claims me to be, but I’m also not innocent.” For a minute, the only sound hanging in the air was the crackling of the flames and Grogu’s snores. Your hand lifted to touch the band around your neck. “The man who… The man who owned me last is named Viktor. He’s a big player in the flesh trades, and he has five bosses beneath him. The people he trusts the most⏤ all flesh traders as well.” You tapped your fingers against the band, your nails clinking against the metal. “And I killed all five of them.”
If Mando was caught off by your admission he didn’t show it. You reached behind you to pick up the firearm still tucked away in its holster. “You asked why I only had one slug? Well, I started out with six. Just have one to go is all.” The firearm was decorated in gold just as you had been. Viktor had a disturbing obsession with it. Your fingers traced the lines engraved in the metal. “The firearm was his too actually. Part of his collection, just like I was. Stole it on my way out. It’s probably melodramatic of me to want to take the bastard out with his own firearm but…” You chuckled. “He forced me to live by his dramatics, and now I’m gonna kill him by mine.”
“That’s why you keep the collar on.” Mando blurted after a long moment. You blinked in surprise that he seemed to understand so quickly. That his voice didn’t hold any kind of disgust or surprise.
You pressed your lips together and nodded. “I want them to know. I wanted the last thing they saw to be a reminder of their sins.” There was a tense pause and it made you uncomfortable to have so much of yourself hanging out in the air to be seen. You cracked a smile and joked. “Just in case you thought the firearm thing wasn’t dramatic enough.”
Silence followed once more, but it didn’t feel awkward. It felt just as warm as the glow coming from the fire not too far from you now. You reveled in it⏤ pulled your knees up to your chest and rested your chin there comfortably. Mando hadn’t grabbed you and dragged you back into his ship for admitting to five counts of murder. Technically more if you included the henchmen you had to burn through to get to the bosses in the first place. Though, in your mind, you hardly considered it homicide. Murder involved killing a person, and they had not been people. Not with the crimes they committed, the sins they enjoyed. 
“I’m a bounty hunter.” Mando suddenly spoke up. You turned your head, still leaning on your knees, to glance at him. He was leaning back on one arm while staring into the fire. “I’m sure you’re aware my hands aren’t clean. I’ve taken lives before.”
“For different reasons.” You argued. Mando’s had been a job, yours was for vengeance.
“Doesn’t matter.” He shook his head. He turned to face you again and his hidden gaze nearly knocked the air from you. You shifted awkwardly. Being the sole focus of this Mandalorian felt like having a spotlight aimed straight down on you. Revealing. “My reasons are my own, just as your reasons are your own. I don’t get to point my own bloody hands at you in judgment.” You appreciated that. Appreciated that he wouldn’t look down his nose at you in disdain or discontent. It was…refreshing. Mando shrugged his shoulders.” Although, if you’d like my opinion, I think they’re getting what they deserve.”
You chuckled at his words. It just felt funny. Never before had you told anybody these things. Nobody. Yet, here you were baring your soul to a Mandalorian stranger, and it felt…right. Maybe deep down you had been craving the clarity that conversation brought. All this time, maybe you had needed someone to share this with, and though it ended up being with the least likely person in the galaxy, you counted your blessings. 
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The Razor Crest was drifting. Din loved the Crest. It was his and Grogu’s home. However, right now it was a real pain in the ass. Something electrical had short circuited and now they were drifting in space. It wouldn’t usually annoy him as much as it did, scrap happened, but with you on board now it felt like Din was in a tumultuous state. A fragile partnership. You had agreed to allow Din to help you by giving you a ride. Now, that one thing he promised was out of service. He was determined to help you see this to its finish, find you a happy ending, and that would be really hard if you left him.
“Dank farrik.” Din mumbled. He was shoulder deep into the wall panel trying to reach the wire that was fried. He was forced to remove his pauldron to make his arm fit and even with it off he could only get so far. Grogu babbled in front of him and Din shook his head. “What? You wanna try?” Grogu continued to babble. “After what happened last time? I don’t think so.”
“What happened last time?”
Din jumped at the sound of your voice and his ungloved hand brushed against the wrong wire sending a shock right up his arm, “Fuck!” He yanked his arm back quickly, trying to shake sensation back into his hand, and glanced over his shoulder to see you standing there, leaning against the wall with your arms crossed and a small smirk. Din was blushing. He could feel it in his cheeks and he thanked the Maker for his helmet. “You were sleeping.”
“Yeah. ‘Were’ being the key word.” You nodded toward him. “How’s your hand?”
“I’ll survive.” Din turned back around and quickly slid his glove back on. Grogu giggled, as if he could tell his father was flustered, and Din playfully tugged on the boy’s ear in response. “Go play.” Grogu began to waddle away and Din added. “But not in the wiring.”
Din stood up and turned to face you. His eyes widened when he saw you holding his pauldron in your hands. You were tracing his mudhorn signet with a single finger. “It’s heavier than I thought it’d be.” Your gaze was thoughtful as you studied it. Typically he wasn’t a fan of anyone touching his armor, but he couldn't quite bring himself to take it from you. “Why do you have a mudhorn on your shoulder piece?
“It’s the signet of my clan.” Din responded.
“Did you choose it?”
“No.” Din shook his head. “It chose me. Us.”
You glanced up from the beskar and raised an eyebrow, “Us?”
“Grogu and I.” Din explained. He hated it, but briefly⏤ so brief it was only a flash⏤ Din couldn’t help but think of the word ‘us’ including you. It was stupid. He mentally cursed himself at the notion, and then he reached forward and snatched the pauldron from your hands. You left your hands open, fingers spread apart, in mock surrender. Din grimaced and attached the pauldron back to his shoulder. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be. Probably shouldn’t have picked it up.” You shrugged and went back to having your arms folded across your chest. “I was just curious. I heard a lot of talk about beskar, but I’ve only ever seen it in ingot form.”
Din’s head snapped up from where he had been glancing at his shoulder in surprise. “What?”
“What?”
“You’ve seen beskar ingots?”
You nodded. “Viktor liked to collect them. That’s his whole spiel. He likes owning things that obviously belong to someone else.” You motioned to him. “Mandalorian’s beskar.” Then motioned to yourself. “Bounty hunter’s soulmate.”
Din stiffened in place at your words. His mouth felt dry. Involuntarily, he took a step toward you, voice low, “He took you because of who your soulmate was?” Din felt like he was going to be sick. As if the prospect of you going through what you did could possibly be anymore his fault. “Because you are a bounty hunter’s soulmate?”
“Because I’m a soulmate period.” You shrugged nonchalantly. “That’s why he took all of us. He liked owning girls who he considered some other person’s property.” You kept your voice steady, your features steeled, but Din saw a flash of pain⏤ of anger in your eyes. A slow smirk crawled across your features. Din had already registered the smile synonymous to a shield of armor. Din had beskar, you had that grin. “I really had no chance at freedom. Even if I hadn’t been born to a slave, fate marked me with words that would always make me belong to someone.”
Din loathed the comparison and before he could hold himself back he was arguing with you once more. “Having a soulmate isn’t the same as having a master. It isn’t slavery.”
“Isn’t it?” You countered. “Fate painting you in a corner, determining who you’re going to belong to the moment those words appear on your skin. Doesn't sound like freedom to me. Sounds like another one of my choices got torn away from me.”
“That isn’t⏤ It’s not⏤ If your soulmate forced you to be with them then that says more about that person than it does the mark itself. And just because you have words etched into your very being, doesn’t mean you have to be with that person. It’s a…” Din was talking too much. He was acutely aware of that. However, it was like he couldn’t stop. It was like you were pulling the words from him with that curious but firm stare. “In my culture, soulmates are just a compass. My… My father used to say that having words on your skin is a gift. Fate is offering you a peek into your future. It’s leading you to a like minded soul. A soul that compliments your own in some way.” He shook his head. “It’s not a perfect system, and I’m not blind to the fact that sometimes terrible, terrible people get a gift they don’t deserve, but… you should never feel pressured to be with your soulmate. The words are just pointing down a path you can choose to follow or not.”
You blinked at him in surprise and Din resisted the urge to readjust his stance. Finally, you tilted your head at him with a chuckle. “I think that’s the most I’ve ever heard you say in one go.” Din was blushing again, for fuck’s sake. “Don’t get me wrong. I like it.” Your smile shifted less from defensive to more sincere. “It’s really nice hearing a voice other than my own.” Din would never admit it, could barely even bring himself to think it, but he liked talking to you. The back and forth between his voice and yours created a melody, and Din was slowly considering it to be his favorite song. “So, is that the Mandalorian outlook on soulmates? It’s a little sweet and sappy for a bunch of hardened warriors.”
“It’s not. I… It was from before.” Din cleared his throat. “My culture before I became Mandalorian.”
There was even more curiosity in your gaze. He didn’t want to talk about Aq Vetina. His past. If you asked, he would answer. Din wouldn’t be able to help himself, and it was his own fault for bringing this up in the first place, but a sense of dread settled in his gut. As if you could somehow see through beskar, read his mind, you just nodded and left the topic be.
“So how come the ship isn’t moving?”
Din motioned to the open panel, “Wiring issue. I’m getting it sorted out right now.” He cleared his throat then added for good measure. “We’ll be moving again soon. Don’t worry.”
“Alright. Need any help?”
“No.” Din answered quickly. He didn’t want to look incompetent in front of you. This was his ship and it’d be embarrassing to ask the guest for help in repairs. He crossed his arms. “I can handle it just fine.”
“Mhmm.” You mumbled with a smile. “Well, I’m gonna eat. You have fun electrocuting yourself.” You began to pass him with a chuckle and Din resisted the urge to squirm. “Let me know if you change your mind.”
When you were out of sight, just around the small corner in the little kitchen nook, Din blew out a quiet breath of air. He crouched down once more to peer deep into the panel where it had shorted out. There was no way Din was going to reach that.
“Ih.” Grogu blurted and Din glanced over his shoulder to see Grogu waddling back over.
“Yeah, ad’ika.” Din sighed. “I’m gonna need your help.”
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After some clever electrical engineering courtesy of Mando’s toddler child, the ship was moving once more. You honestly found it hilarious that the Mandalorian had denied your offer to help and turned to the small adorable gremlin instead. You assumed it had been a point of pride so you didn’t push on the issue. Plus, you weren’t all that great at engineering anyways and hadn’t been in the mood to shock yourself. 
So, you had made yourself some food and left half for Mando.
Then you planted yourself in the cockpit and watched as the hyperspace lines raced by. It was a hypnotizing sight. A peaceful one. You never grew tired of seeing it. Eventually, you heard heavy footsteps and Mando entered your line of sight. Without glancing at you, he sat down in the pilot’s seat and flipped a few settings.
“Thank you.” Mando suddenly said. “For leaving me some food. That was… thoughtful.” 
You grinned in amusement. Talking to Mando was fun. Mostly because it felt like he was relearning how to have full length conversations. Or maybe it was just you he was trying to learn to talk to. You knew you had a tendency to commandeer the direction of any conversation you were in. You sunk in your seat and kicked up your legs onto the control panel. “Was I right? In guessing you don’t remove your helmet?”
“Yes. Not all Mandalorians uphold that tradition.”
“Viktor assumed it was all of you.” You commented. “Bragged about it because he has a Mandalorian helmet on display in his trophy case.” Mando suddenly turned to face you and you just shrugged. “No idea where it came from or who it belonged to.” The Mandalorian’s shoulders were stiff, and you noticed the way his fists clenched and unclenched. “You look like you’re considering killing Viktor. If that’s the case get in line. I was here first and I'm sure there are a hundred others in the galaxy who wouldn't mind ripping his throat out as well.”
There was a comfortable beat of silence before Mando chimed in once more. “Can I ask you a question?”
“Sure.” You shrugged. “But just know that we’re a few questions away from actually bonding.”
“There was a…comment you made. Before.” Mando spoke slowly as if he was carefully choosing each word he said. You liked that. He put thought into every sentence that left his mouth. Made it more…impactful, in a way. “You insinuated that you chose to be owned by Viktor. Is that true?”
Your hands were resting in your lap and you began to play with your fingers nervously. Mando stayed silent while you considered what to say. He didn’t press again or rush you. You twisted your lips and decided to tell the truth. It was a trend these days with you. “I did. In the beginning. I was stuck between a rock and a hard place. Two really bad options, and… Viktor promised me security. Said nobody would hurt me. Nobody would ever touch me without my permission. That I would have a roof over my head, clothes to wear, food to eat. Considering the situation I was in, it would’ve been stupid to refuse. So I let him put this damned collar around my neck.”
“Did he lie to you?” Mando’s voice was tight. Pained.
“No. He kept his word.” You replied. Physically, you had always been well cared for. You couldn’t deny that. Compared to some poor souls in the universe, you had been thriving. But, Viktor wholeheartedly considered you to be his. His property. His trophy. You had no agency. No sense of self. He wanted to wipe away every bit of who you were and create a mindless doll to admire. You weren’t allowed connections, beyond his other trophies, and though Viktor had never set his hands against you in violence that didn’t spare others. Physically you had been safe. Mentally and emotionally you had been torn to shreds and spat on. Reduced to nothing. 
“I need to stop by Tatooine first. Is that alright with you?” Mando suddenly asked. As if able to tell that you wanted to drop the conversation, he steered into safer waters. He added. “It won’t be long. I just need to get supplies for the Crest and see an old friend.”
“I’m alright with that.” You agreed quickly.
Mando was an unusual choice of traveling partners for you, but you were finding that you didn’t quite mind it so much. It felt like… It felt like you had the opportunity to connect with someone. Make a friend. And that wasn’t a chance you took lightly.
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mando'a translations
adi'ka: little one
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taglist:
@onceinamando @hrtsforpascal @lil-dragon-draws @harriedandharassed @aheadfullofsteverogers @elfamosotoga @the-anchored-sailor-girl @garbo-lesbo @moonlqghts @stokeholdsblog @morks-watermelon @http-onie @chonkercatto @xalphafox @pedrojoe @zarahbronstein @cockscombkingdom @ale0m @shelbyteller @fallinallinmendes @grandtheoristpeach @perilous-pasta @love-the-abyss @kneelforloki @insomniac-nerd-posts-things @marvelouslytrekking @lady-winchester @liadamerondjarin @vampseddie @guccistardust @smexy-bucky-waifu @mayaaaaah @theway-thisis
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honeyedmiller · 1 year
Text
The Bounty | Din Djarin
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pairing: din djarin x f!reader
warnings: mentions of death (of a family member as well), murder, swearing, fluff, and just... Mando being Mando. hope y'all enjoy <3
word count: 2.8k
synopsis: Din catches a bounty that utterly intrigues him, and that bounty happens to be you.
divider by @saradika
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Fuck.
Your head hurt so bad. Your vision was so blurry, and you couldn't comprehend what the hell even happened. You kept fading in and out, whole body just absolutely aching.
You felt like it was forever until you came to. You blinked rapidly, several times, just to even regain consciousness of reality. Once your vision focused, you noticed you were on a ship. What the fuck?
You look around slowly, drinking in the sight of your surroundings. You noticed you were perched up against a metal wall, legs extended out in front of you. It was only until now that you noticed your hands were cuffed behind your back, the cold, rough metal biting harshly at your wrists every time you tugged slightly. You furrowed your brow, which was coated in pure cold sweat. The fluorescent lights in the ship were still too blinding for your vision, and you groaned in agony.
You stilled for a second, closing your eyes again to see if you could at least hear something familiar, because even the stars in space knew you couldn't muster up the energy to stand up, even if you wanted to. You didn't hear much except for the still air of hyperspace, it seemed like, and... is that... a baby cooing?
Your eyes instantly snapped open, being startled by a tall, extremely intimidating Mandalorian. You looked up at him from your place on the ground, his almost blindingly shiny beskar armor glinting the reflection of the lights on the ship. His helmet was tilted down toward you, making it devastatingly obvious that he was staring... maybe even... observing you.
You gulped in terror as your fight or flight kicked in, but then it suddenly dawned on you: one, he's a fucking Mandalorian. He has all kinds of weapons and trinkets that could kill you in a second, and two: even if you did put up a decent fight, where the fuck would you go? You're literally in hyperspace.
It's only then that you notice a little creature, who couldn't be more than a foot tall, making his way to the Mandalorian. He was so tiny, with big dark green, almost black-ish eyes. You blinked a couple of times in disbelief, making sure you were seeing things correctly. The little creature cooed his baby noises once more, trying to get the man's attention. He didn't budge.
"Uhm," You try your damndest to break the awkward silence and thick, unwavering tension, "What am I doing here?" You choke out, your mouth feeling so dry, throat extremely coarse.
You had an idea of why you were a bounty, but in your defense, the man you murdered had it coming. He killed your father, the last family you had on Tatooine, and you simply wanted to avenge his death. You didn't think the New Republic would frown so deeply upon getting revenge. But, alas, you were another identity on a puck, being ruthlessly hunted by a Mandalorian.
"Just kill me now," you wavered, feeling exhausted and quite literally having no will to stay alive, "I'm sure you'll get a good amount of credits for turning me in." You felt tears prick the back of your eyes, because your father was the only reason you kept going. Now that he was gone, what was the purpose?
Your response astonishes Din, even though he stays incredibly still. He's never had a bounty, especially as young and healthy as you were, plead for him to take their life. Usually it was a bounty that was older, or a renowned criminal within the galaxy, that truly didn't give two fucks if they died or not. Especially commenting about how many credits he'd get after turning you in. Something was off about you, but not in a bad way— Din just couldn't figure it out. He didn't trust anyone, at all, except for his green little son that was still trying to get his dad's attention at his feet.
But, for some reason, Din's gut told him to not freeze your body in carbonite. And so, he didn't... and he let you stick around.
-
That was six months ago. Six months you've been by Mando and the kid's side, flying all throughout the galaxy with them. Six months of incredibly dangerous yet exhilarating missions, beautiful planets, and little by little, getting to know the man armored in beskar himself. He never says much, and quite frankly, neither do you. The silence is something you both enjoy, but there's times where you'd both get curious about each other and your lives.
You told him the reason you ended up on that puck he was given to by Greef Karga, which made him ten times more glad he didn't do anything stupid on impulse that resulted in you no longer being in this galaxy. Mando knew you could fight, quite well, to his astonishment. He also knew you could shoot a blaster, and basically carry your own. Only thing you were missing was practically just the armor.
You never ceased to amaze him with your abilities— one minute you're his little sidekick joining him on a couple of missions to catch other bounties, and the next, you're making a deliciously hot meal for him and the kid. He didn't need help catching the bounties, but because of your quickness and ability to be sneaky, you were a great asset to him catching his targets. Plus, he thoroughly enjoyed spending time with you—
but he'd never admit that to you.
He generally always wondered how you'd acquired all of these vital survival skills over the years but never asked you, well, for one, because of the enjoyment of peace and quiet. Two, he didn't want to overstep. He wanted to get to know you more, and the more he found out, he always made a mental note to himself.
He remembers that your favorite flowers are nightbloomers, you like the warmth of the sun (because it wistfully reminded you of your home planet) much rather than the harsh and cold snow, your favorite drink is Bantha milk, and you love to secretly dance, especially when you think he isn't looking.
You can say being a quiet person really comes with some perks, especially being an excellent observer. Sometimes it's better just to sit back and watch, and that came as second nature to the both of you.
You sat in the co-pilots chair, basking in the same comfortable silence you two always do. The kid, who's name you found out long ago is Grogu, is fast sleep on your lap. He's snoring lightly, little breaths in and out at a steady pace. His tiny, three-fingered right hand is grasping onto the lapel of your black robe. Your heart swells at the sight.
You hear Mando input something on the navigator of the Razor Crest, and your eyes shift to his fingers. He was putting in new coordinates to a planet.
"Where are we headed?" You ask softly, eyes trained on the navigation system.
"Coruscant. Figured you'd want to get some fresh air and see the markets they have." He replies to you simply, no further explanation.
This was odd— he never really went out of his way to go to a completely different planet he didn't need to be on. Nonetheless, the kind gesture of his didn't make your heart fail to flutter.
You can never tell what goes on through his mind, mostly because you've never seen his face. You knew about the creed the Mandalorians needed to strictly follow prior to meeting him, but didn't know the full extent until he decided to explain it to you on a warm, sunset-filled evening not even a few weeks ago. You'll never forget the way the hues of orange and red reflected off of his armor.
His identity basically became a secret for the rest of his life, from childhood on. You were always curious as to what he looked like, but never questioned him or pushed it because, well, it really wasn't your place to know. You'd only known him for half a year, so you were nowhere near deserving to ask more than slightly intrusive questions about his appearance, or his past.
You arrived to Coruscant faster than you anticipated. The kid was still sleeping soundly when you guys landed, so you made sure to be extra careful to put him in his crib. Soon enough, you made it to a more secluded area of the city-covered planet. It was only a twenty minute walk from where the Razor Crest was stationed.
The planet was warm, and the outskirt markets of the city had solid dirt roads. The sound of dirt crunching under your boots as you walked became all too prominent, realizing the buzzing market before your eyes suddenly became quiet. You were confused at first, until you realized everyone was staring at Mando. He seemed to ignore all of it, probably so used to holding so much power that a whole lively, bustling town falls silent at his mere presence.
The power trip he must have is insane.
Everyone slowly returns to their own doings, some still whispering amongst themselves. You were here for the market, so that's what you were going to focus on.
You stop suddenly, guilt tinging your being just slightly. Mando looks down at you, confused as to why you suddenly halted your movements.
"I don't have any credits." You look up at him, your grimacing face reflecting off of his visor.
"Don't worry about it. We need food for the ship anyways." He keeps walking past you like it's no big deal at all. Although he is the one who captured you, you couldn't help but feel bad for not contributing to buying food or necessities. You know he made a decent amount of credits doing what he does, but you never questioned how much.
Again, it wasn't your space to pry.
"Here," Mando's modulated voice breaks your wandering thoughts, "Buy yourself whatever you'd like." He slips fifty credits in your hands, and you gasp.
"Mando, this is a lot. I can't take this." You shake your head in refusal, trying to push the credits back into his big, stubborn hands.
"I insist. You help out a lot and never complain about a damn thing," He pushes your hands with the credits toward your body, "It's the least I can offer you." He finishes, looking down at you. Oh, how you wish you could see his face underneath all that beskar.
You couldn't form words to show how much gratitude you felt in the moment, so you just offer him a soft, sweet smile.
Something else Din would never tell you: he loved your smile. You seldom did it, but when you did, it's like the weight of the world was lifted off of his shoulders, and he felt like he could relax. It was genuinely such a rare treasure being able to see such a sight.
He looked back up at the busy marketplace, spotting a vendor he wanted to buy something from. Grogu's crib followed Mando, so you went off to a fruit vendor only a few feet away. You smile at the woman as you pick out your favorite fruits, putting them all in one bag. You gave her credits she charged you, thanking her for the bag and you step away to look at what the other vendors had to offer. You saw one that offered Bantha milk, and you gasped in pure delight.
You quickly walked to the stand, immediately getting three bags of the delicious blue milk you used to drink on Tatooine. It reminded you so much of your dad and mornings with him as you sat and watched him repair people's ships from all over the galaxy. He was a very well-trusted mechanic, and he taught you everything you know. Oh, how you miss him dearly.
Mando put a hand on your shoulder, prompting you to turn around and face him. He held out a bag of dried meat toward you, and you happily took a small piece.
"Thank you for bringing me out here," You smile up at him, feeling overly spoiled, "It means a lot that you'd go out of your way." You rest a free hand on the chest plate of his armor without even realizing your actions at first. You quickly remove your hand, gathering up your bags of goodies once more in both arms. You spot a small boutique across the way, excusing yourself from Mando's presence.
You saw the prettiest pale pink nightgown, and you bought it immediately. It got so hot on the ship sometimes because of how warm the heaters were, despite being in freezing cold space nearly all the time. You had fifteen credits after that, so you looked around some more.
You spotted a shoe vendor, but your arm was immediately yanked by Mando before you could even step forward.
"What the—?!" Mando's leather-gloved hand covers your mouth, pulling you to the side of a building and away from the view of the main road.
"New Republic officers and Mandalorians don't get along," He grits, voice sounding agitated, "We need to leave." And all you do is nod in understanding, not even thinking twice about questioning it. He's seen far more of the galaxy than you have, so it's easy to say that what he's saying to you comes from utter experience.
Mando made sure you followed close behind him, and you turned to check on Grogu every couple of minutes. You just wanted to make sure he was safe. That kid could sleep through anything, seriously. He's been asleep this whole time.
Following his lead, you three were hiding behind as many buildings as you could until there was no more. You stopped behind the last building before he looked at you.
"Can you run?" He asks, helmet looking down at you. Of course you can. You grew up on Tatooine. You nod feverishly, adrenaline pumping through the course of your being. He gives you a short, slight nod, before he takes your hand in his and you two book it back to the Razor Crest.
You heard the officers shouting from behind, but both of you couldn't be bothered to look back unless it was to check on the kid. After about ten minutes, you made it back to the ship. You were a bit breathless, but the officers were nowhere to be found.
You've never outrun the law before. To say it was exhilarating would be a complete understatement. You lean your back against a metal wall of the ship, hands behind your head to steady your heart rate. Mando immediately took off, shooting into hyperspace in less than no time.
Your heart was still beating rapidly, but your breaths weren't as labored. Mando made his way back over to you, and you stood up straight once he was in front of you. You looked up at his helmet with wide eyes, then suddenly— you couldn't contain your joy any longer.
You started laughing, hard. So hard that you were hunched over, gripping your sides. You can't believe you just did that.
Maybe for Mando it was something normal, but for you? You'd never do something like that. Your dad would've kicked your ass would he've known about these shenanigans.
Din's heart felt lighter when he heard the sweet sound of your laugh. It was like music to his ears. As soon as you settled down and looked at the shiny armor in front of you, he put both arms on each side of your head. It wasn't in an intimidating fashion whatsoever. It was gentle, almost like he was going to tell you a secret.
"Do you trust me?" He rasps, voice hardly present. You nod, no apprehensiveness in your movements. "Close your eyes. Please. Promise me you won't open them." His words are stern, but still kind.
"I promise," you whisper, immediately closing your eyes. "Mando, what's this abo—" You couldn't even finish your sentence, because a small hissing sound like pressure was being released was very close and present in the air in front of you.
Suddenly, you felt a pair of plush, velvety lips press up against yours. You gasp into the kiss, not expecting it one bit, but still melt into it. Your lips move with his in perfect sync, slow and steady. Your heart was fluttering and your stomach was doing all sorts of flips. Who knew a Mandalorian could be one hell of a kisser?
When your lips finally parted from his, you hear the same pressurized noise, except this time it sounded like it was being sucked in instead of let out.
"It's Din," he says, putting his leather-gloved hand on your cheek, grazing it softly with his thumb. "My name is Din." He reveals, resting the cold metal of the beskar helmet against your forehead. A smile spread across your lips like a wildfire, both hands reaching up to hold either side of his helmet.
"It's nice to finally meet you, Din." You teased, but smiled nonetheless. You knew, right then and there.
Din was your new purpose.
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