#and yet. i can only imagine them with mandalorian armour | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

pedrito-friskito · 2 years

Note

Happy 300!! ❤️❤️ Can I have Din with “🍑” please 💕

thank you sweetpea! 💕 omg yes you can I’ve had so many din thoughts lately and this was the perfect place for them

a/n: this turned into a whole ass fic too lmfao because I physically cannot write din djarin without LOTS of exposition so here we go - would be considered an au I guess since this would be after the events of book of boba fett/we don’t know what season three brings yet

ANYWAY ENJOY THANK YOU!!! ♥️

sweet like sugar - manda’lor!din djarin x serving girl!fem reader

warnings: a whole lot of descripton lmfao, p-in-v sex, din has a bit of a dirty mouth, wrap it before you tap it people

✨kay’s 300 follower celebration✨

Din’s still making sense of it all.

It’s everything he never asked for; the crown, the palace, the responsibility. The weight on his shoulders that just seemed to be replaced every time a different weight was removed. The only bright spot most days is his son by his side, Grogu often taking to following Din around the palace grounds, his little feet much quicker than they were before he trained with Luke Skywalker. It’s another thing to add Din’s list, another thing to process.

Boba and Fennec, Cara and Greef, they’d all given up their stations to come with him, to help Din take the throne of Mandalore, to get his feet under him and be the friends he’d come to know them to be. His advisors, his Council. Boba was splitting his time between Din’s Council and the Daimyo seat on Tatooine, and Fennec went where she was needed. Cara was glad to stay and Greef was just happy to be included.

And it’s helped, some. Helped him make sense of what he’s agreed to, show him where his attention is most needed. Sure, there are advisors galore on Mandalore, Bo-Katan and her crew desperate to be heard, but Din’s trust lies with his friends. With his son, with his family. The people who have proven to him time and time again that there is, in fact, good in the galaxy. It sometimes just looks a little different than imagined.

He first notices you the day of his coronation.

The palace’s great hall is filled with people, murmurs and whispers moving through the crowds as Din strides through. Darksaber on his hip, his comfortable cloak replaced with something much finer, the fabric thick and heavy against his back as he walks. The Phoenix is hidden away in his personal armoury on one of the higher levels, but most of his beskar remains, including his helmet.

Bo-Katan had given him hell when she realized he would keep his face covered for the ceremony. His head still swam with confusion at the memories; the refinery on Morak and his face being scanned into the Imperial systems, Grogu’s hand on his bare face on Gideon’s lightcruiser, the Armourer’s assertion that he was a Mandalorian no more.

But he had a saber, and according to every legend he’d pulled from the Archives, Bo-Katan’s adamant refusal to take the weapon from him, and every other person he’d come into contact with since winning the saber from Gideon, that made him heir to the throne. And, by some stroke of idiocy, he’d agreed to it.

So here he is, on a seat he never asked for, darksaber twirled in his palm, surveying the crowds before him. It’s not something he ever dreamed of, when he was young. He never longed for wealth or station or a crowd full of people listening to his every word. He’s a strange mix of comfortable and anxious, glad to have at least some of familiarity around him. Boba and the rest sat at a table nearby, and Grogu’s crib had been upgraded to his own smaller version of Din’s throne. The kid is thrilled to pieces, babbling away beside him, sticking his little fingers in anything that’s presented to him.

“Can I get you anything, your majesty?” a soft voice asks, stepping up the dais to refill the tiny cup of juice beside Grogu’s plate. He coos happily, grinning up at you, and behind the helmet, Din is blushing.

You’re beautiful.

There’s no other word for it, and it catches him off guard, back straightening in his seat, gloved hands gripping the arms so tightly Din’s shocked they don’t snap off. Dressed in the same soft garb as the other servants, your hair braided ornately around your head, a silver pendant at your throat. It’s beskar, he knows; every servant and worker in the palace has one, a symbol of their loyalty.

Vaguely, he hears you repeat the question, your eyes nailing him to the spot. His tongue feels too big in his mouth, and Din fumbles for an answer, shaking his head. “N-no, I’m fine, but thank you.”

Beside him, Grogu has managed to pour his entire cup down his front, and you make a little surprised noise, bending down and pulling a rag from your pocket. “Careful, ad’ika,” you say, and the kid gurgles in response as you wipe the juice from his face. “I’ll get you some more.”

He’s pretty sure his mind goes blank at the term of endearment slipping from your lips. “You speak Mando’a?” he asks, nearly sputtering out the question. Why is he suddenly so nervous?

“Yes, your majesty,” you reply smoothly, a grin painting your lips. “Many of the servants do. I was born here.”

His brows raise. “You’re from Mandalore?”

Another nod, the grin growing wider. “Yes, your majesty. My family was killed in the Great Purge. Until it was announced you would take the throne, I was making my way on Coruscant. Then I returned here.”

“You returned to be a servant?”

“Yes, your majesty. My family has served the Manda’lor for many generations. It’s an honour.” You bow your head, knees bending in a curtsy, and Din still can’t tear his eyes from your face. “Are you sure there isn’t anything I could get you?”

“Your name?”

A blush blooms through your cheeks, and just when he thought you couldn’t be any more beautiful. You give him your name softly, knees still bent, and Grogu chirps happily as you say it. Din repeats it back, leaning forward in his seat and offering you his hand. You take it hesitantly, and he can feel the warmth of your skin even through his gloves.

Another servant calls your name, and your head turns towards the voice. “I’m coming!” You look back at Din, offering another smile. “If you need anything, just ask, your majesty.”

And then you’re gone.

In the months that follow, Din finds himself more restless than he’s ever felt in his life. Things were so different before, when it was just him and the kid on the Crest. When he could go anywhere in the galaxy without notifying anyone, without needing an entire security detail following him around. When his days were filled with bounties and adventure, not policies and votes and debates that made him want to fall asleep in his chair.

It’s important, his position, he knows that, still feels the weight every day, but damn if it isn’t boring sometimes.

His nights are restless, sleep evading him more often than not. He wanders the halls of the palace, occasionally with Grogu’s floating crib at his side, but usually on his own. It’s much more quiet at night, any visitors either gone from the palace or retired for the evening. Sometimes he runs into a servant or two, but the hallways are generally empty.

Tonight, however, he finds himself inching towards the kitchens, his growling stomach taking over his wandering feet. He’ll find something to snack on, something he can sneak back to his all-too lavish rooms on the highest level.

He’s not expecting to find someone in the kitchens at this hour, least of all you.

Your head doesn’t lift as he steps into the room, the door whooshing shut behind him. Your face is smeared with flour and spices, your hands covered in more flour and something purple. “I’m almost finished, Myla, I swear,” you say, focused on the task at hand. “You don’t have to wait for me, you know.”

“I’m not Myla,” Din manages to say, his voice strained and awkward. It’s not the first time he’s seen you since the coronation; you’ve been everywhere, in every corner of the palace, at every meal, inching into the corner of his vision everywhere he turns. You flinch at the sound of his voice instead of your friend’s, neck snapping up so quickly he’s concerned you’re going to hurt yourself.

“Oh, gods,” you mutter, immediately starting to reach for the bowls and containers spread across the counter. “Your majesty, I’m so sorry. I was just…” Din tilts his head to the side and you inhale sharply. “I’m sorry if I’m disturbing you.”

“You were here first,” Din says slowly, grinning beneath his helmet. “Doesn’t that mean I’m disturbing you?”

“Oh,” you stutter, linking your hands together in front of you, staring down at them. “You could never, your majesty.”

Din steps further into the room, coming to stand before the stools lining the opposite side of the counter you’re stood at. You look up at him through your lashes and his stomach lurches. Your face has been etched in his brain since the first time he set eyes on you, but still, having you there before him is another thing entirely, making his breath stutter beneath his helmet.

“Is there something you need?” you ask, and he knows you’re flustered more so because there’s a pause before you add, “your majesty.”

It gives him an odd sense of satisfaction, knowing he has a similar effect on you that you do on him. It levels the playing field some, and he pulls out one of the stools, sliding atop it. “I was just looking for something to eat.”

“Of course,” you say brightly, wiping the purple from your hands. He’s still curious to know what it is. “Anything in particular? They delivered some really good fruit this morning; I think there’s still some left. And I could make you some tea?”

“That sounds perfect,” Din replies, and you give him the most dazzling smile, tucking your rag into your back pocket and setting to work. A few minutes later, there’s a plate of neatly sliced fruit slid to him, along with a steaming cup of tea.

He realizes then that he’s still wearing his helmet, and watches the realization pass across your face. “I’ll give you some privacy, your majesty.”

“No,” Din calls far too quickly, feeling his cheeks heat under the helmet, and your freeze, eyes glued to him. “You can stay, it’s all right. I’d…like the company.”

“All right,” you say, your voice quieter than he’s ever heard it.

The kitchen goes deathly silent as Din hooks his fingers into the rim of his helmet and lifts it off his head.

If it’s possible, you’re even more beautiful without the slight distortion of his visor. Your eyes are brighter than he thought them to be, your skin smoother. Gods, it’s been a long time since he’s felt like this, this attracted to a woman. And he knows the cliché of it all: the king and the serving girl. It’s a story that’s been told a million times over, but he doesn’t care.

There’s a wry smile on your face as he sets the helmet down on the table. “What?”

“Nothing,” you reply quickly, shaking your head. “It’s just…there are rumours, about what you look like under there. And you…you’re very handsome, your majesty.” Your eyes go wide and you clap a hand over your mouth. “I’m sorry, that was much too forward.”

Din actually laughs, the sound almost startling him. He’s not used to hearing it so loud and clear, not processed through his helmet. His cheeks are heating at the compliment, and he reaches for the tea. “You need to stop apologizing.”

Your brows raise. “I’m so—” You cut yourself off, making a little huffing noise that makes Din grin. “Yes, your majesty.”

“What are you doing down here so late?” he asks.

You pause. “I’m not sure I should tell you,” you say quietly, reaching for the rag again. “I’d hate to get myself into trouble.”

“Your secret is safe with me, mesh’la,” he tells you, leaning his elbows on the counter. “I give you my word, as Manda’lor.”

Did he just call you beautiful?

“What did you…” you start, but then you shake your head. Your heart is hammering around in your chest so hard you’re worried it might jump out of your throat. He’s here, in the kitchens, in the one place you’ve been able to hide from him since your first encounter at his coronation.

You still played over that first conversation in your head, but this? Sitting across from you, drinking the tea you made, helmet discarded and those gorgeous eyes staring back at you. He is handsome, there’s no denying that, but the way he’s watching you, the way his eyes dart from your mouth and back up again every time you speak, it’s making something in you heat.

But he’s the Manda’lor. And you’re…you. Nobody.

You’ve done a good job, thus far, you think. Keeping yourself scarce when you can, but there’s only so much avoiding you can do when it’s your job to serve him. And gods, he’s so kind. It’s distracting, the quiet way he has about him, so shy and yet so commanding at the same time.

Watching him interact with his son is another thing entirely.

He reaches across the counter, fingers closing around your wrist, and it’s then that you realize that you’ve never seen him without gloves on. His fingers are long, knuckles calloused and criss-crossed with scars, more on the backs of his hands beneath the light dusting of dark hair.

He’s looking at you expectantly, waiting for your admission, and you rub a hand across the back of your neck, staring down at where his hand is still holding your wrist. He can probably feel how wildly your pulse is racing, but he says nothing, just watching you.

“I stay down here most nights, after everyone’s gone to their quarters,” you say, the words coming out in a rush. “It’s quiet, once they’re all gone, and I like it. It’s nice, helps me clear my head.”

He tilts his head to the side. “Why would you think you’d get in trouble for that?”

“I…” You trail off, at a loss. “I’m sorry, your majesty, but you make me very nervous.”

Slowly, he slides off the stool he’d been occupying, and rounds the counter, coming to stand right in front of you. He keeps his hold on your wrist as he moves, fingers tightening slightly as he stops before you. “The feeling is mutual.”

You blink. What? “It is?”

He nods, the moment slow, eyes darting all across your face. “It is. Since that first night I saw you, I haven’t…” He shakes his head. “I cannot get you out of my mind. Do you know what that’s like?”

Yes. Oh, sweet Gods, yes. “Y-yes, your majesty.”

He’s so close now, looming over you. He’s tall, too, his chin at the perfect height to rest atop your head. Slowly, he releases your wrist, drags his hand up your arm, until it reaches your shoulder, and then his fingers are under your jaw, keeping your face tilted towards his.

“Din. You call me Din, mesh’la, you understand? My name is Din Djarin.”

Your words are gone, caught in your throat, so you just nod.

Din. Din Djarin.

“Can I…” he starts, then pauses, clears his throat, and lifts his hand to brush a strand of hair behind your ear. He murmurs your name. “Can I kiss you? I don’t…I don’t know how to a—”

Before he can get another word out, you lean up on your toes and kiss him.

It shouldn’t surprise you how soft his lips are, but it pulls a little noise out of you when his hand dives into your hair, the other reaching down to rest at the small of your back, pushing you until you chest touches his.

He tastes sweet, like the vormur flower tea you’d made him and the sharp tang of fruit. There’s something else too, something that just belongs to him, and you wish you could bottle the taste. He’s so tall, all broad shoulders and hard muscle beneath the soft clothes he’s wearing.

When his arm tightens around your waist, you can’t stop the little whimper that slips between your lips. You reach up, taking his face in your hands, feeling the scruff lining his jaw tickle your palm. Before you know it, the arm around your waist sinks beneath your ass, and he lifts you up. Your legs seem to wrap around his hips of their own accord, and Din sets you on the counter, mouth still hungrily attached to yours, kissing you like he’s been walking through the Tatooine desert forever and you’re the first drop of water he’s found.

It’s hungry and it’s heated and there’s something so forbidden about it that you have goosebumps, nervous energy rioting around in your gut. He keeps one hand in your hair, and the other moves to rest on your thigh, fingers pressing into your flesh. It sets everything in you alight, lust and arousal searing through your veins.

The soft fabric of his pants is doing little to mask the evidence of how aroused he is. It’s a bold move, you know, letting once hand skim down his chest, dropping to cup your palm against him. You’re rewarded by the way his jaw goes slack, mouth still moving against yours, a debauched moan sliding from his lips to yours.

“I need to be inside you, mesh’la,” he whispers. “Please.”

You nod frantically, and there’s a quick shuffle of clothes, your pants yanked down past your ankles and dropped to the floor, Din’s pushed down his hips. It all happens in an instant, his hand sliding up your thigh and hitching it over his hip, pulling you to the edge of the counter. His lips meet yours just as he presses into you, and you gasp into his mouth, one hand fisting in the front of his shirt, the other reaching around to sink into his hair. It’s ridiculously soft, the strands curling about your fingers.

And then he starts to move.

Your head is a mess, still confused as anything by what exactly is transpiring. Not half an hour you were here by yourself, and now you’re…

“Din,” you groan. He sets a ruthless pace, hips snapping into yours, jaw dropped as he stares down at where you’re connected. You tilt your head back, kissing his cheek, pressing yourself into him as much as possible, meeting his every thrust.

It’s filthy, the way the sounds of his flesh against yours fill the kitchens, the slick sound of just how wet he’s got you echoing through your mind. He barely touched you, but you were ready before your pants even hit the floor. His kiss has awakened something in you, and you can’t get enough.

He’s big, and it’s a stretch, but the slight burn just makes it better, the pain ebbing just as quickly as it arrived. Your ankles lock around his back, drawing him closer, tipping your head back as he fits his face against your throat.

“You have the sweetest mouth, mesh’la,” he murmurs against your pulse, nipping at your thin skin before laving his tongue over the spot. “I wonder if you’re just as sweet somewhere else.”

His hand drops from your hair only to snake up underneath your shirt, palm cupping your breast, swiping his thumb across your nipple. You keen up into the touch, back bowing to push your chest towards him, but then it’s gone, hand dropping between your spread legs. He kisses your throat almost roughly, beard scratching against you, but you barely notice as he slides two fingers through the wetness spilling out around his cock inside you, then draws them up, moving in a perfect circle over your clit. It knocks you breathless, yanking at his shirt desperately.

Then he pulls his fingers away, pushing them between his lips and moaning at the taste.

“I was right,” he murmurs, dropping his hand again, drawing another circle around you. “Just as sweet.”

Your brain is swimming with pleasure, unable to push a coherent thought past your lips, nothing but his name drawled out, bouncing off the walls. “Din.”

“I’ve dreamed about this for so long,” he grunts out, thrusting deeper than before, tightening an arm around your waist again, keeping you close. You drape your arms around his neck, pushing your face into his collar. “Touching you like this, being so deep inside you. Hearing the sounds you’d make for me, tasting your mouth. Gods, mesh’la, you’re more than I ever could have dreamed.”

He rubs a hard circle against you and you cry out, digging your hands into his shoulders, holding on for dear life. “Please, Din.”

His hips continue to piston against yours, and his fingers continue to circle your clit. Your nerves sing in response, sparks of pleasure shooting up and down every limb, your jaw going slack against his chest as it starts to pulse through you, hitting you like a blaster bolt to the stomach. Your whole body seizes, nails digging in hard, and Din gasps, pressing his mouth against the crown of your head, hips still moving. “So tight,” he chokes out, “are you…? Can I…?”

“Implant,” you whisper out, and there’s only a breath before he’s finding his own bliss, gripping you so tightly you can barely breathe. You lift your head as he gasps, grabbing his chin and tilting his face so you can kiss his pretty mouth, swallowing down his sounds until he stills against you.

You legs are numb, fingers and toes tingling as you both catch your breath.

And then you both start laughing.

It’s blissful laughter, interspersed between kisses and gentle touches. He stays there, fitted between your legs, pushing the hair from your face and kissing every inch of your face until you’re giggling helplessly, gripping his waist like a lifeline.

A knock at the door makes you both freeze.

Myla calls your name. “Are you coming or what?”

You look at Din, open-mouthed, and he just starts to laugh. “Be there in a second!”

It’s a slightly awkward shuffle apart, both of you wincing slightly as he pulls out of you. You both redress yourselves, righting clothing that had been moved askew, running a hand through your hair. Din pulls up the collar of your shirt, pressing it against your throat. “I left a mark,” he admits, his voice a little sheepish, and you lean in to steal a kiss, your lips soft against his.

“That’s okay,” you tell him, fingers under his scratchy chin. “I like it.”

He blinks down at you, tilting his head to the side, letting his hand span your ribs. “Can I see you again?”

You just nod before you lean up on your toes to kiss him softly once more, and then you turn on your heel and disappear out the door, careful to make sure it closes behind you, keeping him hidden.

You see him again the next night.

And the night after that, and the night after that. A few days you go without, only to deter the other servants who have been asking questions, wondering where you’ve been disappearing to. You can only chalk so much of it up to late nights spent in the kitchens, especially when your bed lies empty and you appear the next morning in the same clothes as yesterday.

Before long, it’s been months of secret trysts and stolen kisses.

Sometimes, he comes to you in the kitchens, like he had that first night. Other times, he requests you specifically to bring him dinner in his chambers. He’ll happen to walk down a hallway and find you walking the opposite way, and pull you into a darkened corner, kissing the breath from your lungs before letting you go.

Eventually, he asks to have you moved to the servants quarters on his floor. Your things are moved upstairs, and are very quickly deposited in his rooms. Your every night is spent by his side, and you love it.

You love him.

As time goes on, you learn everything about each other. Your histories, your pasts, the things you love and the things you hate. Every planet you’ve ever visited and the ones you can’t wait to see. Din is planning the trip to Naboo seconds after the words are past your lips.

You voice your hesitation to be with him, what people might say about the king courting a servant girl, but he doesn’t seem to care. “It doesn’t matter what you are, mesh’la,” he tells you. “It matters who you are. And who you are, is the woman I love.”

And then, one night…

You’re both sprawled in his bed, naked as the day you were born, the silk sheets covering you from the waist down. Din’s on his back, head nestled in his pillow, and you’re on your stomach, lying on his chest, your fingers tracing over the scars that litter his body, evidence of the life he once lived. He’s relaxed, but when you glance up, you can see the hard expression on his face. It’s almost like you can see the wheels turning in his head.

“What are you thinking about, cyar’ika?” you ask, leaning up slightly to press a kiss to his jaw.

“I’m thinking,” he starts, and you lean up higher so you can see his face, stare into those gorgeous eyes, “I might like to make you my queen.”

—————

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soloorganaas · 1 year

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hey tasha I’m not caught up w this season yet so I’m going purely off your reblogs but does the armorer fuck with her helmet on

ty zo for asking the important questions as always 🙏🏻

in line with its importance I did a lot of reflection and research on the Way of the Mand’alor to find an answer. also bc the religious law aspects of it fascinate me. there aren’t many clear and specific details on this tenet beyond “don’t take your helmet off” so to answer this q I’m going to extrapolate from both the law itself and my interpretation of its purpose, as is ✨the way✨ of my Jewish ancestors

to me this tenet is about being the pure and uncompromising embodiment of a Mandalorian. armour is both a representation of identity and serves a practical purpose, both of which are tied together - it shows that you are a warrior and allows you to be a warrior. whenever we see Mandalorians in any context, they almost always have their full armour on, with or without the helmet. when wearing their armour they are always ready for battle and their duties as Mandalorians, but then their appearance as Mandalorians also carries with it the expectation of an honour code

obviously the notable exception to this is the politicians and citizens we see in Duchess Satine’s New Mandalore before it falls deeply into civil war. but it’s this turning away from the traditions of Mandalore that drives so many Mandalorian resistance and terrorist groups to battle against Satine’s government which ultimately spirals into the wars that break Mandalore apart

the most extreme devotees to armour and the traditions of the Mandalorians are Children of the Watch, of which the Armorer and the Tribe are part of. for them, not removing your helmet stems from adherence to the Way, the ancient practice of the Mandalorians that had fallen largely out of style by the time of the Empire. given the importance all Mandalorians still place on wearing their armour in some form in the modern era, I imagine adherence to the Way gradually evolved over the centuries to become less strict and more in tune with the practicalities of life, meaning Mandalorians could take their helmets off for example

this is pretty comparable to how Judaism evolved over time. Bo Katan is very much a “secular” Mandalorian in that she took the Creed but didn’t place much religious meaning in it, but she’s still devoted to her people and being a Mandalorian above all. similarly, Children of the Watch are something akin to Haredi Jews, whose extreme adherence to Jewish law evolved as a reaction to Jews falling away from religious practice in the late 19th/early 20th centuries. Children of the Watch was established some time during the reign of the Empire, after 19 BBY but before the Great Purge in 2/1 BBY, as a reaction to how other Mandalorians had abandoned the Way

so what I take this all to mean is that the ideology of the Tribe and the law of the Way which dictates never removing your helmet is about the absolutely permanent representation of being a Mandalorian and existence as a warrior, so that your enemies can simply never see you as otherwise. with your face covered they can never see your vulnerability or your emotions, they can only strength, power and tradition. in practical terms you are literally always ready for battle. so to be without any part of their armour would leave them vulnerable both in terms of the monopoly they have over their identity and others’ pereception of them, but also physically as people who are always “both hunter and prey”. it’s not actually about not removing the helmet specifically, it’s about not removing any of the armour. it’s just that not removing their helmets is what distinguishes them from less orthodox Mandalorians

the law is just an expression of the broader purpose and history of Mandalorian armour. the law isn’t inherently the reason itself - although like all orthodox religions that nuance tends to get lost amongst the strict adherence to the law. Din, for example, won’t remove his helmet even if he’s mortally injured and needs medical assistance. the Armourer is just as a devout but also incredibly intelligent and with a rich understanding of the Way and its purpose in Mandalorian life, so I have to wonder what her own interpretations and boundaries are

despite the law, we know orthodox Mandalorians do actually take their helmets off for practicalities: they take them off at least daily if they’re alone (Din mentions this to a non-Mandalorian in season 1 ep 4); we know they take them off to eat; they presumably take their armour off to wash and sleep. from this we can assume that when wearing the armour isn’t practical and/or doesn’t align with the inherent purpose, it’s acceptable to remove. and we know the Tribe have kids and families so they definitely do fuck

so my thought is essentially that if you’re in a situation of vulnerability and intimacy where there’s no purpose in having your armour on and taking it off wouldn’t make you less of a Mandalorian then yeah, you do remove it. if you’re married to someone, bound to that person through all the joys and hardships central to Mandalorian life, then that’s a closeness where the need for the identity and protection of armour can sometimes be relinquished. and on a practical level, you need to take at least some of your armour off to have kids, so I think adherents to the Way would have found a justification for it, as all orthodox religions do. both hijabis and married Jewish women can take their hair coverings off at home around their husbands/kids/siblings/parents because, essentially, the protection hair coverings offer against immodesty isn’t necessary, and there’s no loss of identity around your close family (painting with a broad interpretive brush here)

given the extreme to which the Tribe take their adherence to the Way I’m going to imagine this bar is very high. like you and your life partner alone in bed is the only time allowed, you know. no lounging in swimming pools together or going down on your gf in a public bathroom

so, essentially: I don’t think it’s a matter of the Armorer fucking with her helmet on and taking the rest of her armour off (or even part of it) bc it just doesn’t make sense. but I think if she and Bo made some life long commitment to each other (like lighting the Great Forge together at the reclamation of Mandalore idk I’m just spitballing here) then it would be ✨acceptable✨ to take their armour off for each other when they’re alone

thank you for coming to my ted talk

#nitearmor #bo katan x the armorer #bo katan kryze #the armorer #the mandalorian #zo tag #asks #otp: remove your helmet #i simply cannot write fic about this without developing a detailed headcanon that makes sense to me in universe

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ahsoka-its-all-of-us · 1 year

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Concepts in case Disney randomly decides to put me in charge of a new Disney Infinity Star Wars line

Okay so obviously in terms of additional playable characters we need CLONES. The most logical options here are Rex, Cody, and the Bad Batch, including Omega. But what if we would go one step further and also add Fives? I dunno I just think he’s earned it ;-; And maybe Rebels-Era Wolffe and Gregor, cause old clones can be just as fierce

Speaking of Rebels era: it’s a deep disgrace that Hera isn’t a playable character yet, so of course she should be first choice. Additional characters that deserve to get a figure are Kallus and Thrawn, because both of them are simply awesome and both visually and in play appealing enough to get their own figures. The Grand Inquisitor could also be added

Additional Jedi: Mace Windu, Plo Koon, Shaak Ti and Kit Fisto

From the live action series and Rogue One: Din Djarin, Cassion Andor, Jyn Erso, Fennec Shand. I will literally die if Grogu becomes a playable character, imagine the cuteness overload

DROIDS DESERVE TO BE PLAYABLE CHARACTERS TOO!!! Obviously C-3PO and R2-D2, but I’d like to see BB-8, Chopper and K-2S0 as well

I don’t really have anyone from the sequel era because I’ve only seen those movies once, but I would vote for Klaud if only for the meme potential of recreating live slug reaction moments

Additional Clone Wars era characters: Cad Bane, Hondo, Dooku, Ventress, Padmé (in a travel outfit), Grievous, perhaps Bail Organa? Senators deserve more love and I dunno it just seems hilarious to me that you perform his special move and it’s just him pulling out a soapbox and holding an oration

Chancellor Palpatine as a playable character lol. Imagine playing as Palps and getting killed by Grievous, what a twist that would be

Lando Calrissian as a playable character, because he’s awesome and come on he was pretty much the only POC in the original trilogy, if anyone deserves to be a playable character it’s him

Playsets: a The Mandalorian/The Book Of Boba Fett playset, a Rebels playset, a Bad Batch playset. And of course additional ones for the trilogies and The Clone Wars are welcome as well

Circular power discs that change appearance: a disc for Chancellor Friendpatine that turns him into the Emperor, one for Echo that gives him back his ARC armour, one for Padmé that turns her into Queen Amidala, one for Kallus that gives him his Rebellion outfit, one for Ahsoka that turns her into her (post-)Rebels era self including the white lightsabers, one for Obi-Wan that turns him into his older Episode IV version. And maybe one for Din that removes his helmet 👀👀👀

Purple hexagonal power discs: featuring locations such as Coruscant, Tatooine, Hoth, Dagobah, Kamino, Scarif, and Lothal

Orange hexagonal power discs: featuring an AT-AT, an Imperial speeder bike, a Star Destroyer, a Separatist tank, the Ghost, etc.

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sansaorgana · 1 year

Text

— BEING BO–KATAN KRYZE’S GIRLFRIEND (HEADCANONS)

PAIRING — Bo–Katan Kryze x fem!Reader

AUTHOR’S NOTE — I haven’t written in such a long time that I completely forgot how it felt to actually do it, especially in English... 🤣 Therefore, I decided that headcanons are a much safer option. 😘 I haven’t watched the animated Star Wars series so this is based only on Bo’s character in The Mandalorian.

WARNINGS — mentions of depression

WORD COUNT — 633

ENGLISH IS MY SECOND LANGUAGE.

• Bo is a knight in shining armour whenever you get in trouble. Sometimes even when you are perfectly fine. It’s because she’s so overprotective but you have to accept that. After all, you’re everything she has and she’s not willing to risk losing you.

• However, Bo is not a jealous type. She absolutely knows her worth so it’s not easy to make her actually be possessive.

• When she (rarely) gets jealous, though, she is willing to show off her abilities to scare the person who’s been too close with you. You just roll your eyes at that.

• I don’t think she’d show lots of affection in public, although I can imagine her knuckles brushing yours and such tiny gentle things that remind her that you are hers.

• In private, though, Bo would love to show much more affection. She’d sit you on her lap and caress your hair and/or arms as she listens to you talk about your day.

• She’s definitely a dominating character both in life and inside the bedroom but if you’re dominating, too, she’s willing to make some sacrifices... Although you would probably have some fights now and then.

• She likes to be in charge, yes, but she’s also respectful of people she cares for. She would often try to do the things that you like, even if she doesn’t like them herself. It would be adorable to see her trying so hard for you.

• That being said, she’d sometimes wake you up with breakfast in bed or prepare you a bath and all the things you wouldn’t even think of her doing because she’s not very romantic in general.

• If you don’t know it yet, Bo would teach you a lot of self-defense and if you know it already, she would watch over you as you improve. It’s important for her that if something happens to her, you will know how to take care of yourself in the big and dangerous galaxy.

• I think her protectiveness wouldn’t allow her to take you to her missions but on the other hand, she’d like you to be near. Therefore, I think you would never be a part of the missions but Bo would have you waiting in her ship nearby.

• Unless you really want to be a part of her missions and you’re a skilled warrior. Then she’d let you participate but she’d watch carefully your every move, which would sometimes lead to having arguments.

• I feel like Bo doesn’t open up easily and she wouldn’t like you to feel sorry for her. Sometimes you have to be careful and patient with her in intimate moments when she’s very vulnerable.

• However, at the end of the day, you’re the reason why she wakes up in the morning and your very presence instantly cheers her up.

• In her depression episodes, you’d have to take care of her. Remind her to eat and make sure she goes to get a proper night of sleep in your bed instead of the throne or somewhere else around the castle.

• When it’s only you and her in the castle, it can get pretty sad, lonely and gloomy. You’d come up with fun things to do to keep Bo’s head busy but you’d also have to respect that on some days, she’d simply need some space and quietness.

• When it comes to children, I don’t think she would be pushy either way. If you wanted to adopt a youngling with her, she’d be down to it. But if you didn’t want children in your life at all, she wouldn’t complain either. After all, taking care of a child is a huge responsibility and her life is full of risk and danger.

MASTERLIST

#lilysfiction #bo-katan kryze x reader #bo-katan x reader #bo katan x reader #bo katan kryze x reader

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mandoalorian · 3 years

Text

Sinner [Dark!Din Djarin x F!Reader] *SMUT*

Summary: The Mandalorian has been attending confession for weeks now, with the sole intensive purpose to see you.

Rating: 18+ smut

Warnings: Dark!Din, implied age difference, religion kink (don’t come for me...), sex in a place of worship, smut: loss of virginity, mutual masturbation, dirty talk, degradation, unprotected p in v, cunningless, death mention, alcohol mention, brothel mention.

Word Count: 4000+

Masterlist

REBLOGS APPRECIATED!<3

He’d been coming to confess for about a year now. He’d gone off the rails when he lost the kid. You’d heard rumours about the Mandalorian — strong, fierce, brave... a warrior. You certainly wouldn’t have pinned him for a man of faith. You’d seen him a few times when you were shadowing your father in church. He was tall, broad shouldered, and only came during the dead of night, when the abbey was completely isolated.

“Hello,” you greeted him, your soft voice echoing throughout the chambers. Your crimson red heels clicked against the marble floor beneath you as you approached the masked figure. Curtseying politely and removing your hood, you couldn’t help but bat your eyelashes in the direction the Mandalorian. “It’s quite late. I was just closing for the night.” you admitted, biting down on your lower lip in hope that he’d understand.

“I thought places of worship aren’t supposed to close?” He countered quizzically, an air of amusement in his voice.

“You’re right, technically,” you hummed, picking at your nails as a wash of nerves flooded over you. “But my father is out of town and... I need to sleep.”

That’s where he recognised you from— you were the daughter of the Grand Bishop. He’d seen you before, doting around the abbey in your signature black gown and red robes. You were hard to miss, your beauty being beyond standards of measure. Yes, he knew you. He had noticed you watching him from the pillars above, when you thought nobody was looking. He noticed the way you’d deliberately brush past his body... desperate for just the slightest touch. He recognised your scent too; it was sweet like honey. And your ruby coloured lips. He’d dreamt of them plenty of times. It was really you.

“Where is he?” The Mandalorian asked after a beat of prolonged silence.

“He was requested by Senator Berenko to present evening mass on Naboo, for the Festival of Lights.” you explained, probably offering a little too much information.

“When will he be back?”

“Next week.”

“Well, I’ll be back then.”

No, you couldn’t just let him leave. You couldn’t just let him walk away from you. This was your chance. In a fluster, you extended your arm and pawed at his bicep. He froze under your touch, and you hoped that you hadn’t overstepped.

“Are— you’re here to confess. Aren’t you?” you asked him with a nervous gulp. Maker, why were you so nervous? The Mandalorian didn’t say anything, so you heeded to continue. “I’ve seen you come by before. I know you speak to my father usually but— I can do it. The confession, I mean. I’ve been shadowing my father for the past few months— training with him. I can do it. If... if you’d like me to.”

The Mandalorian took a moment to process your words. Maker; you were a sight to behold. Your eyes were starry and reflective of the galaxy he’d spent so long venturing. Your skin was soft and delicate. You were pure— untouched— holy. He was afraid the discussion of his sins might be a bit too much for you to handle.

Or maybe there was something more.

Maybe he was afraid that once he’d start opening up to you, he wouldn’t be able to stop. He wouldn’t be able to resist you.

“Aren’t you a little young?” The Mandalorian scoffed incredulously, bringing his leather gloved hand to his helmet, his thumb grazing the cloth between his chin and his neck. His rude manner didn’t surprise you at all, but yet, you kept a strong posture and held your head high.

“I’m old enough.” you declared, not ripping your gaze from him once. Even through the dark tinted visor of his helmet, it felt like you were looking into his eyes, staring deep into his soul.

So, he agreed. You told him to wait in the confession box by the altar. “I won’t be long, I just have to lock up and turn out the lights.”

As you walked down the aisle, you lit a match and ignited some candles. They were tall and made from beeswax, and the flicking amber flames provided barely enough light. But it had to be enough. It had to do. The wax dripped down the sculptures and chambersticks, pooling into swirls of hardening ivory.

The Mandalorian waited for you in the confession box, having already discarded the plates of his beskar armour. It was hard to wear, and heavy on his back, but he felt safe… here, with you. He had no reason to be still wearing it. No more fighting tonight, he hoped.

The image of you couldn’t escape his mind, no matter how hard he tried. Dirty thoughts — it was wrong of him. You were the Grand Bishop’s daughter for Heaven’s sake.

When you entered your side of the confession box, your full intention was to follow the ordinary strict protocol. There was no reason for distraction.

“State your name for the records,” you requested, shuffling around as you worked on getting comfortable in your chair.

“Din Djarin.”

Din Djarin. It was a beautiful name. Your mind immediately went to pairing his last name with your first name, and then you cursed yourself for the inappropriate thought.

“Din,” his name left your lips like the sweetest tasting honey. “Why are you here today? What would you like to confess?”

“I went to Corellia over the weekend,” he announced, his voice cold through the modulator. “The bad part— well, it’s all bad over there,” he corrected himself before continuing. “Got into some trouble gambling at Lady Proxima’s casino and a bunch of white worms surrounded me. So I killed them, all of them. I didn’t have to. But I did. I murdered them in cold blood.”

It was in that moment you learned how dangerous of a man The Mandalorian was. His beskar armour was just as cold as his heart.

“Wh— why did you kill them?” you asked timidly, almost afraid to know the answer.

“For the release. The adrenaline. The feeling of power. I can’t escape it. Have you ever killed?”

“N—no.”

Din scoffed incredulously. “Of course you haven’t.”

“What do you do after you kill?” you inquired, hoping to change the subject.

“Corellia has the best brothels… cheap too. I sought them out and look for a quick fuck.”

“Out of wedlock?” you pondered with a queasy frown.

Din laughed. “You’re asking if I’m married?”

He was right, it was a foolish question.

“Do you enjoy your time at the brothel? Or do you regret it soon after?” you wondered.

Another laugh— and Maker, he made you feel terrible. Were you really that bad at this?

“Yes, I enjoy myself. The girls there are pretty little things. Needy. Desperate. But— it’s not special, you know? It’s not… not exactly what I crave.”

“What do you crave?”

“To touch someone untouched. Pure. Holy…” the Mandalorian trailed off. “So, when I fuck the girls at the brothel, I tend to think of the Grand Bishop’s daughter.” He revealed, feeling his cock harden in the confines of his pants at the memory. You swallowed, a wave of heat immediately washing over you. You. He was thinking about you.

This was ridiculous. Was he messing with you? He had to have been messing with you. Sure, he’d seen you around before but neither of you had even held a conversation, prior to today. And he’d been thinking about you while he was sleeping with other women? You had to suck it up and remain professional, no matter how much it irked you. He was here to confess and you couldn’t let this become personal.

But it was so hard. Maker, why was it this hard? Was it because you’d thought about him too? Because you’d imagined his cock in place of your fingers, at night when everyone else is sleeping? You yearned to know more. You ached to know the details. Surely that was fair. He was speaking about you, after all.

You could already feel your panties begin to dampen with arousal. How could one man have such an effect on you? In your place of worship too. You wanted to punch him, kick him, take out all your anger on him. But most importantly, you wanted him. His touch. His hands on your body and his cock splitting you open. That’s what you wanted the most.

“What did— what did you think of?” You swallowed, anticipating the details. You were glad he couldn’t see how flustered and hot you were right now. It certainly wasn’t in the code for you to ask about details such as this but… surely one question would do no harm.

You could just about hear Din chuckle, from the other side of the wall, and it made your slick wet cunt clench around absolutely nothing. He was driving you feral. “I’d think about her ruby red lips and how they’d look wrapped around my cock. I’d imagine fucking her mouth, making her gag— wanting her to cry. I’d want to see the tears stream down her cheeks as I give her my all. And finally, I’d imagine her letting me cum down her throat.”

There was something about him talking about you, to you, in third person. Like you weren’t supposed to be there, listening. Like this information was not made for your ears.

Your panties were soaked at the thought. You couldn’t believe it. All this time, all these sessions of confession with your father, and it had only stirred him on more. He’d been going to confess, only to see you.

“Tell me, princess. How does that make you feel?”

Shit. He could not be serious right now. You placed your palm flat against the wall and took a deep breath. “Mando, you’re here to confess. Not me.”

You tried to shut out his words, but your body ached for him. Ached to feel him… touch him. You wanted him just as much as he wanted you — but it would be wrong. It would be so wrong.

Another chuckle. You hated when he did that. As if all of this was some kind of joke to him. Did he even know what he was doing to you? It was like torture.

“See, the Grand Bishop’s daughter… oh wow. She’s a vision. She dotes crimson red lips and she walks around as if she owns the place, her stiletto heels clicking against the floor. She’s bad, like the devil in disguise, and yet, I know her. She’s young and untouched. Her father will probably marry her off to some other minister in the outer-rim, ship her away for good. And she’ll be forced to deal with very mediocre sex for the rest of her life. Which is a shame, really, because she deserves better. You deserve better.”

“You have no idea who I am.” you spat out, feeling your cheeks burn with rage. How dare he make these assumptions about you and your family. This crude, older man with a tongue that could kill. How dare he.

You wanted to be mad at him so bad. He couldn’t possibly get away with this. But he was going to. Because what exactly could you do?

“She’ll never know how it feels to be stretched open by a real cock,” Din gritted out, dismissing your comment completely. “F—fuck.”

Din was palming himself through his pants, desperate for some kind of release. His sleuth, dirty words set a fire blazing in your core. You wanted it too. You wanted it so bad. You contemplated all the things you could do, all the actions and their consequences. You and the Mandalorian, both in the confession box. You couldn’t even see one another… the prolonged silence on your end prompted Din to get up and leave when he heard your honey velvet voice speak once more.

You had to say something.

“When the lights are out and everyone is asleep, I think about you,” you confessed, hating the way the croaky admission left your lips. You’d done it now. Din’s head snapped upwards to face the wall and oh how he wished he could see you right now. You were squirming around in your chair and when you heard the zipper of his pants become undone, you knew it was your queue to continue. “I touch myself. It’s hard to keep quiet… thinking about you. I imagine you touching me… running your gloved hands all over my body,” you bring your hand to your breast and give it a little squeeze. “I figure.. maybe you don’t take the gloves off. You praise me when you feel how wet I am, and I tell you that it’s all for you. I’m all yours. To use however you like. I want you to ruin me. Spoil me for any other man. Fuck me until I cant walk. Bite me, give me marks I have to hide during tomorrow’s mass.”

Din made a fist around his cock and began to pump as he listened to the dirty words that left your holy lips. His grunts and groans echoed throughout the box and went straight to your core. Oh how you wished you could see him right now. Peeling up the hem of your robe, you slid your fingers under the waistband of your panties and began to rub tight circles into your clit.

“You’re a virgin?” he asked, although it came out more so like a statement. Like he already knew the answer.

“Ye-yeah,” you whimpered, quickening your pace.

He was achingly stiff now, beads of milky white precum already dripping down his shaft.

“You want this?” He quizzed. “You want my cock right now? Think you deserve it?”

And in that moment, you made your decision.

Maybe this life that your father had given you, just wasn’t for you.

“Y-yes, oh God yes. I deserve it.”

A low and dark chuckle left Din’s lips. “You’ve been a child of God your whole life. But you want this, yes? You’ve been waiting for this?”

He was right. You had been waiting for this.

“P-please Din, please. Wreck me. Ruin me.”

“In the chapel too?” he laughed, rising to his feet. “You really are desperate. C’mon then.”

In a fluster, you practically fell out of your side of the confession box.

The Mandalorian stalked towards you with his cock in his hand, jerking himself off as he got nearer and nearer. His eyes didn’t leave you once and although you couldn’t see his face, you could only imagine the predatory glint in his eye. Maker he was huge, and thick, and you wondered how you’d ever be able to take him.

You weren’t used to this— Maker, you’d never done anything like this before. There was no way your fingers would ever be able to compare to the size of the Mandalorian.

“Are you sure you want this?” he grunted, releasing his cock and grabbing your throat, giving it an experimental squeeze. You nodded your head desperately and subconsciously licked your lower lip. “I must know. If I start, I won’t be able to stop. Do you want me to claim you?”

Just like Hades claimed Persephone? You shut the absent thought out of your mind and agreed to his proposition.

“I do.”

If it was so wrong, why did it feel so right? You had dreamt of this moment. How could you ever deny him?

He pinned you against the altar and tapped at your thigh, gesturing for you to open your legs up. His eyes dropped straight to your dripping core and he had to hold back a guttural moan.

Din wasted no time and rubbed his cock along your slick wet folds. For a second you were afraid he’d knock over the many burning candles that you had lit earlier in the evening, before your little confession session had begun. But, to no surprise of your own, the Mandalorian had extremely good coordination.

“Oh f-fuck, such a pretty little thing. So warm, bet— bet you feel so fucking good.” Din mumbled utterances of praise, his grip tightening around your wrists as he propped you up.

Every now and again the bulbous tip of his cock rubbed over your clit and the sensation practically sent you into orbit. You were touch starved, having never experienced intimacy like this with anyone before. “Do you want me to fuck you now, huh? Want me to fuck that pretty little cunt of yours?”

You whimpered a small ‘yes’ and Din chuckled darkly, tapping his cock against your cunt before sliding into you with one swift movement.

You let out a squeal, your fingernails digging into the muscles of his back as he seated deep inside you. Underneath his helmet, his perfect lips were parted into an ‘O’ shape as your fluttering walls clenched around him and made him feel like he was home.

“Fuck— so tight, so fucking tight. Just like I’d imagined.” He murmured, feeling like he was already seeing stars.

Din thrust upwards into you, the curve of his cock stretching you open and pulsating inside of you. His movements were rough and bruising, as his fingers dug into the soft flesh at your hips as he held onto you for support. Just like you’d requested, he was completely and utterly using you.

“How’s that?” his gasp rolled into an achingly long groan as his balls slapped against your cunt, creating the most obscene wet sounds.

It was uncomfortable at first. He wasn’t soft or gentle by any means, but you’d anticipated that. After just a few thrusts, the intrusive pain turned into bolts of pleasure that coursed through your veins. It clouded your vision like white noise— like what the red berry wine you’d drink during Sunday mass would do to your mind. Din grabbed at the thin cloth that covered your chest, and ripped it off, exposing your bare breasts to him. A sheen of glistening sweat glazed your skin like the most beautiful honey dew. The Mandalorian was tall and broad, and as he towered over you, he coated you in his dark shadow.

His large hands palmed at your breasts and you moaned at the sudden, unexpected contact. He continued thrusting, fucking you mercilessly. With every movement, he hit that sweet spot inside of you, and you knew he’d been doing this for a long time. He was definitely experienced.

He dropped his hand for your chest and lowered it to your clit, expertly moving his two fingers across your bundle of nerves. That feeling, combined with his thick cock, was enough to send you over the edge.

“Oh yes, yes, yes,” you chanted his name like it was a prayer— and he felt powerful.

The Mandalorian grinned wolfishly under his helmet as he increased his speed. You were seeing stars and it felt like your whole body was trapped under a spell. His spell.

“I ca- oh I can’t, I’m close, I’m close,” you cried as he continued to rock his hips into yours.

You hugged his body into yours, wishing the pleasure would never end. With every twitch of his cock he watched you intently. He watched the way your body reacted to him, revelling in the way your face screwed up in heated pleasure. Din adored the way your brow knitted together and your mouth parted as the most angelic noises omitted from your plush lips.

“Have you ever felt so alive than you do right now, with me inside of you?” Din queried with a grunt.

“No,” you answered, shaking your head profusely. “Please don’t stop.”

Your orgasm ripped through you like a tornado and without warning, The Mandalorian split his seed deep inside of you, his salty cum roping your perfect walls as they gripped down around his cock. Now he had marked you for life.

Din returned to confession a week later when your father had returned from the Festival of Lights. There was no reason for you to see The Mandalorian anymore.

“Forgive me, Grand Bishop, for I have sinned yet again.” Din announced, his voice clear as daylight after discarding his beskar helmet. He ran a gloved hand over his face.

“Another kill?” your father inquired, but from the other side of the wall, Din could only smirk.

“I’ve met a woman. A holy woman. And she has consumed my every thought. When I think about her I feel more inclined to sin, over and over again.”

It was true. Your ruby red lips, high heels, thin robes… Din had become completely enraptured with you.

Your father spent a moment contemplating the Mandalorian’s words, finding that he was speaking a lot differently than ever before. Not as ruthless or dangerous— but almost genuine.

“Would you give your body to this holy woman, if she requested you do so?” The Grand Bishop asked, not realising he was speaking about you, his own daughter.

“I already have,” Din confessed, subconsciously licking a stripe over his lower lip, at the memory of your taste. “And I would do it again.”

-—-—-—♡—-—-—-

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Taglist for ‘Sinner’: @guiidiiosa @pascalpanic @fucktheforce @rosalierowan

#din djarin #pedro pascal #the mandalorian #din djarin x reader #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal smut #din djarin smut #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian smut #dark din #star wars #jose pedro balmaceda pascal

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writefightandflightclub · 3 years

Text

I see you (Din Djarin x GN reader)

Summary: Din is hurting, don’t look at him. No REALLY, DON’T LOOK AT HIM.

Genre: Angst / fluff + hurt / comfort.

Author’s note: This takes place after the events of Chapter 15, therefore SPOILERS if you keep reading!

Of course, I don’t know what will ACTUALLY happens in the rest of the series, but in this version, Din + Reader + Grogu are safe on a spaceship after Those Events Happened in Ch14, and after THAT happened on Moskar in Ch15 (reader was present on Moskar). Din is dealing with some trauma following That Event.

I wrote this in one go in a tired yet enthusiastic frenzy after watching. I didn’t want to spend ages on it... but I hope that it’s coherent and that you like it!

Warnings: nightmares, angst but it turns out okay. Final warning: spoilers for S2 esp. chapter 14 and 15. Meant to be GN but not sure if the Mando’a confuses that. Pls forgive.

GIF: a non-chapter-specific adorable GIF so that I’m not spewing spoilers onto my dash. By @calsblueponcho

You hear him stir again. For the third night in a row.

You hear his groans start to build from within the cot opposite you - the sound wrung from his chest and strangled in his throat. You hear him thrashing, limbs and elbows and whatever part of him clunking against the walls of the narrow sleep space, the sounds tinny from within his metal box; like usual.

Metal between you and him.

Finally, you hear the shush of the door as he clambers out of bed, and you hear ragged breaths sawing in and out of him. You hear the weight of his blankets pool on to the floor as he throws them off with a grunt, and his bare feet making contact with the metal floor.

Now, his sounds are not tinny. They are organic. There are no layers of metal between you any longer. Now, only the darkness separates you from him. Only the darkness separates him from the knowledge you hold; that he is afraid.

You hold still. You stay quiet, as Din completes his now nightly ritual - as if the man needed any more rituals. Your heart breaks for him.

Each night now, he awakes in fear, and he throws off his blankets. You have no doubt that if you scooped them from the floor they would be warm and damp with sweat - the whole space is tinged with the odour of roused panic. Each night now, he shuffles hastily towards the foundling’s pram to see for himself that Grogu is safe and here, with him. As usual -you expect- the small child is sleeping soundly, despite what he has been through. Perhaps because of it. He knows now that no matter what happens, his father will keep him safe.

Each night now, as you lie in the dark, pretending to be asleep after his distress has awoken you, Din hovers over your bed for a moment, drawing in a gasp of a breath as if he might speak or plead for help; however, each night it is the same, and no words ever come. Each night he then breaks free of this hot, enclosing space and his suffocating sleep, and you hear his footsteps recede, heading in the direction of the cool, more open cockpit.

This time, though, when he tugs in a breath to speak, you do not pretend to be asleep.This man does not need any more rituals which hurt him, you think. You will help him to break this one.

“Din,” you breathe softly, turning your body towards where he stands, even though you cannot see him. Only because you cannot see him. There is no metal between him now, and you are determined not to look.

Although he stays silent, you can guess at the tension in him. You can sense his stillness and hear his short, sharp breaths. If he was armoured, his pain would be sounding out. Gloves creaking around his balling fists, his clunky boots tapping agitatedly on the floor. Unarmoured, his pain is in stealth mode. Unarmoured, he is entirely more vulnerable to it. You imagine him stripped down -in all ways, unprotected- and your heart breaks for him.

You desperately want to lay your body over him; become his armour.

Din had almost lost it all, and even after what he had gotten back, he had still lost too much to bear.

He had done it all for the child.

It had been worth it.

But that didn’t mean it wasn’t heavy to bear.

He still doesn’t speak, his pain in stealth mode, and so, you shift and swivel on your cot until you are sitting on the edge of it.

“Din,” you repeat, and your hand somehow finds his in the dark, your eyes deciphering the shifting shadows enough to reach for him, and immediately his fingers close tightly around yours, as if they had been searching for a hand to hold.

His hand is clammy, slick with panic.

“Did you have a nightmare?” You ask, not even venturing your gaze up towards his shrouded face, out of respect.You have nothing but respect for him.

“Yes,” he states, and even with one word his voice cuts through the dark and splits your chest like you have been struck with a spear of beskar. Because of the pain in it, yes. But also because there are no layers between you. No vocoder. No metal. His voice is warm and deep and robust like this, and it splits you apart. “Sorry. If I woke you.”

His fingers grip yours a little more tightly, but before you can return the favour, he quickly snatches his hand away. “Try and go back to sleep.”

“I couldn’t sleep anyway,” you lie. “Would you like some root tea? Maybe we can have a cup and both of us can try again.”

If Din finds you out in this lie he doesn’t let on. You’re a bad liar, and he’s a good judge of truth, so you suppose he can make whatever decision he pleases, this way. But, he merely makes a gruff sound of agreement. “I’ll get my helmet,” he states, and yet you find his hand again and give a gentle tug to stop him.

“It’s okay. Go sit in the cockpit, keep it dark. I’ll make some tea for us, and I won’t look.”

There is a beat, and then he makes another gruff sound of agreement before turning on his heels, efficiently swivelling towards the front of the ship.

You stand, and you take a moment to still the racing of your heart. You take your own gasp of air. You feel the pounding in your chest at this morsel of skin on skin. Your hand in his.

You exhale a long breath, and slowly, quietly, so as not to wake the child, you slip through the darkened ship until you reach the cramped ration store, heating and brewing some tea under a dimmed and hazy cooklight.

You hurry, as all you can think of is Din alone and unprotected, and how much you wish to guard his heart.

When you reach the cockpit, you enter with your eyes down, averted, looking anywhere but at him, and then you enter, a cup of sweet sleep tea in each hand. You can make out his silhouette in your periphery, and, silently, you slot yourself into the co-pilot’s seat beside him, extending the tea for him to take. His fingertips brush yours as he takes it, and you almost jolt and spill the contents.

You calm your breath again, and you allow the darkness to settle around you, a barrier between you and him. The only barrier between you and him, you can’t help but think.

“Thank you,” the Mandalorian states after a moment, his tone dull.

“Don’t thank me until you’ve tasted it,” you warn with a gentle attempt at a smile. “Couldn’t really see what I was doing.”

“No,” Din says, and this time, his hand finds yours in the dark, where it rests on the arm of the co-pilot’s seat.

There goes your heart pounding again.

“I mean... Thank you for looking out for me. And Grogu.”

Oh.

What else would you possibly do?

“Of course, Din, you’re my...” you cut yourself off before you complete the thought. Din is not your family. You’re not his riddur. Grogu is not your child. Even though that’s how it feels. Even though that’s what you want. “You’d do the same for me,” you say, reeling yourself in. That doesn’t sound quite right either, you fluster. To a bounty hunter that must sound transactional. Like he owes you a debt now.

You’re getting it all wrong.

And all you want to do is comfort him. Protect him.

“Din...?” you ask softly, your eyes fixed straight ahead, not looking at him, even though you are desperate to. Even though from the shapes in your periphery, and from the direction of his voice you can tell his head is angled towards you. Even though you feel like he is staring intently at you. Like he sees you, even in the dark.

“Yeah?”

A heat rises in you and you snatch your fingers away from his. Your hand had become clammy. Instead of this heat, you take a sip of your hot tea, both hands wrapped around the ceramic, earthenware vessel.

“You know,” you say, unsure why your voice is shaking. “It might help to talk about it, the nightmare... if you’d like to.”

You hope you haven’t overstepped. Din hasn’t had anyone to open to for a long-time before you, and you know he may not want to- however, he surprises you.

“I feel selfish,” he states, his words coming to you immediately and freely as if he had been waiting for a kind ear to listen.

“What in the stars..?!” you exclaim, in a shocked whisper, your eyes intent on the night sky through the transparisteel as you summon the stars in your setiment. “You’re the least selfish person I’ve ever met, Din.”

He emits another gruff sound, but this time it is not in agreement.

His pain...

Sweet man.

You are desperate to turn your head towards him in this moment, but you never would. You would not look.

“I keep having this nightmare, as if it’s the worst thing,” Din continues, and you recognise guilt in his tone. “And it’s not about Grogu. It’s not about you and the child and keeping you both safe.”

Your heart thrums again, from the fact he mentions you and the child in the same breath; mentions you alongside his everything.

“What is it about?” you ask gently, your voice barely above a whisper.

Beside you, you hear Din take a long sip of tea, and you don’t rush his words. You have all the time in the world for him.

“It’s... about my face,” he says solemnly, and even the mere mention of his face has your heart unsure whether it is breaking or racing.

You had known this would take a toll on him. You knew that having to show his face on Morak; to you, to the Imperials, to Mayfield, would haunt him. For a long time. You had tried not to look. You hadn’t looked. And yet, you had still seen him. You had seen him, only for a moment, before you could avert your eyes - hard as it was to look away.

That moment, though, was long enough to burn the image of him like a brand behind your eyes. His hawkish nose, his brown mop of grizzled hair...

Brown eyes.

Brown eyes as kind as his soul.

He was beautiful, exactly as he was to you already. Exactly as he had been to you before you ever had a hint of what he looked like.

Still, as much as you fell in love with his face the instant you saw it, exactly like you fell in love with his soul the instant you knew it, you wished you could take that moment back. You didn’t want it; not like this. It felt like a violation to even look at him, so can’t imagine how violating it must have felt to be seen.

No wonder he was having nightmares.

Your heart was in pieces for him. How in the stars could he feel he was selfish? It wasn’t as though he needed to prove his love for Grogu, when he had done that to get him back. When he had given everything he held dear.

“I let the kid get taken. I barely got him back alive. You back alive. And I’m dreaming about showing my face. I should be worrying about him. Not myself.”

Only this man could think himself selfish for experiencing a trauma, you could swear.

“It was a trauma, Din,” you state sensitively. “It makes sense that you would have nightmares about it. And... maybe,” you muse. “Do you think it’s possible... you’re not dreaming about the kid because you know he’s safe now? You know he’s back home and we can protect him. But the thing plaguing you... is something that was taken from you. Something you can’t get back?”

You’ve thought about this. You’ve had time to think about every single thing which might have been bothering him and how you might fix it, these past nights. That has become your ritual. To care for him. To notice when he holds Grogu a little tighter, becomes more reluctant to let go of his hand. When he grumbles about the specs of this ship, compared to the Crest. When he waits extra late, until it’s extra dark to remove his helmet these days. When he wakes in the night thrashing and gasping for air.

You can’t change what happened, but you hope you can be there as he heals from it.

Din doesn’t respond rightaway, but he takes a sip of his tea, mulling your words over.

“Do you want to talk more about it?” you ask gently. “About what happened?”

And, Din eventually begins, in a deep, empty rumble, sounding like an engine low on fuel. “They scanned me,” he says, and you can tell from the change in his voice that he has turned away from you - is now looking down at the floor. In your periphery you see his figure hunched over, head hung like a bird.

You want to reach out for him, but you don’t. Not yet.

“It wasn’t only showing my face to them, to you,” he begins, and you have a bitter taste in your mouth not only from his trauma but also from the fact you were any part of it. “They scanned me. My face is in their system. My face is everywhere. In every imperial back-up, all across the galaxy. Not only did I violate the code, but my violation is infinite, eternal. They have my face.” Your face twists in agony on his behalf as he speaks. “You know, I keep waking up, in a panic. Like I did when Grogu was taken... except this time it’s me they stole. They really did steal all of me. I’m not fit to call myself a Mandalorian.”

Tentatively, you do reach out your hand to him now, and you set it on to his shoulder, feeling the subtle heat of his skin through the thin, still damp fabric. You rub small circles there, hoping you can soothe him even a tiny amount. You let his heavy words sink in, before you speak.

“Din, I’m so sorry this happened to you,” you soothe. “I know I can’t fix it. I wish I could. But you should know, that it’s okay to feel this way, and I’m here -and so is Grogu- and we’ll help you however we can.” You suck your lips in between your teeth as he is unresponsive, wondering whether to go on. You decide you must. That he must hear this. “And, Din,” you say, through a watery smile. “I hope it’s not inappropriate to say- you know The Way better than I ever can- but, it seems to me, from what you tell me, that being a Mandalorian isn’t any one thing. It’s strength, and honour, and loyalty. And if it’s those things too, then, Din, you’re the most Mandalorian person I’ve ever met.”

Beneath your hand, your feel Din’s chest stutter and he takes a shaky, volatile breath in and out. You wonder if he is crying.

“Cyar'ika” he says softly, after a few moments. “How do you always make me feel a little better? A little safer?”

Your heart pounds. He called you darling.

“It’s just the tea,” you dismiss, through brimming tears of joy. It is all you want. All you want to protect this sweet man.

“It’s not,” he states painly. “The tea’s awful,” he says, and this time, his hand clamps over yours on his shoulder. His chest shakes again, but this time it is with a gentle, shaky laugh. The kind of throaty, beautiful chuckle which sounds out of him when Grogu plays with the silver ball of the flight control.

Yes, he settles his hand on top of yours, but, this time, neither of you snatch your hands away. His laugh subsides, until it dissipates into the space between you, warming the room a little.

“There is one more thing I’d like to talk about,” Din says, his voice cracking.

Softly, you invite him to continue with a squeeze of his shoulder.

“You saw me,” he says, gently, and you can tell his gaze has turned back to you, head pointed where he’s looking. You feel his eyes on you.

Brown eyes.

Now that you know what they look like, it is all the harder to avert your gaze.

You did. You saw him.

“I’m sorry,” you state, voice brittle, and your heart breaking, tears tipping from your eyes. “I wish I hadn’t. I wasn’t looking.”

Just like now. You won’t look.

“Yes, I know. But you saw me. You always see me,” he states, his voice warm and revving like an engine suddenly full with fuel. You shake your head softly in confusion, unsure where he is going with this, syllables stuttering out of you. Luckily, Din picks up the slack. “I hoped you would see me for the first time as my riddur, but, now that you have already... what do you think? Is mine a face you could live with?”

Your heart is pounding faster now. It is definitely racing, and no longer breaking.

As his riddur? He meant to marry you? Means to, still? Your brimming tears spill over on to your cheeks.

And, this time, you turn toward each other, even though your gaze is cast down. Not looking. His eyes very much fixed on you- on whatever he can make out in this shadow.

You think that having such kind, brown eyes fall on you is a blessing.

“Din,” you start, your voice full and bowed with emotion. “Yours is a face I loved before I ever saw it. Loved when I saw it. Will love if even if I never see it again, and would love if I looked at nothing else but into your eyes for the rest of my life. Your face is as beautiful as your soul, and I never needed to look at you to see you.”

“Cyar’ika,” he whispers softly, scooping up your hand and bringing it to rest on his cheek.

An impossibly joyous smile splits your face as you feel the texture of his skin and the scruff of his beard against your fingers. Finally. As you feel his own face crease into a smile in return, his cheek appling beneath your touch. You are overwhelmed by the trust he must place in you, to sit with you like this.

“Do you mean it, Din?” you ask, scarcely believing it. “You want to be a family?”

This time, Din’s voice does not come to you from behind metal - behind beskar. It is close. It is unfettered. You feel his warm, sweet breath on your face as his joyful, certain words filter out of him. “We’re already a family. You and me and the kid. I’m never letting anything take you away from me.”

You believe him.

You smooth the pads of your finger over his face and he reaches out to cup your cheek too, feeling the tracks of your tears beneath his touch. With his broad hands, skin-on-skin, Din pulls you into him, and your lips find his immediately, his tongue delving eagerly into you as if he has been waiting for a mouth to kiss.

Din has been waiting for a long time, perhaps. Waiting for you to complete his family - officially. But he’s never had to wait to love you. He already did that, long ago. From the first time he saw you, in fact. You had a face as beautiful as your soul, and he knew you were the one for him.

You close your eyes, feeling overwhelmed by happiness. You do not look at him; your Mando. You don’t even try to, but you don’t need to look to see him.

Still, you if you get the chance to look again, you think it will be a blessing to gaze into those brown eyes.

Those brown eyes as kind as his soul, and full of love, instead of fear.

#din djarin x reader #mando x reader #the mandalorian x reader #pedro pascal #the mandalorian spoilers #mandalorian spoilers #grogu #mando s2

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writings-of-a-british-fangirl · 3 years

Text

A Lesson In Mando’a [Din Djarin x Reader]

Title: A Lesson In Mando'a Summary: You'd been a bounty hunter most of your life; you were use to sleeping rough, fighting for your life, the harsh realities of life. What you weren't use to was the soft feelings of comfort, the warmth of a family. Warnings: Like one swear word I think ? Request: N/A

A/N: I posted this about half an hour ago, but it wasn’t showing up in the tags, so hopefully this one does!

A/N 2: Let me know if you have any other Din or Star Wars requests!

PART 1: A Lesson In Mando’a PART 2: A Lesson In Tradition PART 3: A Lesson In Touch

Din Djarin~A Lesson In Mando'a

Despite not fully understanding 'the Way', you had come to respect it. You particularly admired (almost envied) the beskar armour that came with it. It was certainly one of the better perks that came with being a Mandalorian. That, and the instant fear reaction most had whenever the Mandalorian walked into the room. Din (you had recently learned that was 'Mando's' real name) was quite a character as he strode into any cantina. He drew the attention of many patrons that occupied the bar, whether they chose to avert their eyes or stare at him. His shiny new beskar, along with the menacing helmet, was quite a sight to behold.

And, yet, you found yourself -on more than one occasion- staring at the Mandalorian with admiration... Affection almost. You knew it wasn't allowed. It wasn't compatible with Din's lifestyle, nor yours; it didn't make any sense, logically. On the surface, you knew that, but deep down you longed for a connection with the Mandalorian, one that served as more than a business deal, or an alliance of convenience. For a while, you had tried to asses Din's feelings about you.

At first, you were pretty sure he hated you: you did, after all, steal a bounty from him. It wasn't your fault that both your employer at the time and the guild he worked for had given you the same target, and it certainly wasn't your fault you were faster. As soon as you had caught the target, you were out of there: you knew of the Mandalorian's reputation, and you were smart enough to not want to fight him head to head. You didn't get to meet Din face to face until you had both been in the same town, both being hunting down by the Imps. You'd helped him escape them directly, and he'd offered you a lift in his ship, the Razor Crest. And, then you met his son... And, kind of never left.

You'd intended just to leave as soon as you can, to be dropped off at the next planet. You didn't want to over stay your welcome; your companion didn't seem like the type to host company. Though, if you were being honest, you didn't think he'd be the type to have a child either. He was cute: the child. And, while you didn't have many parental feelings, you had to admit the little green gremlin was pulling on your heart strings.

You sat in one of the chairs in the cock pit, with Din in the main front one flying. You suspected he'd put you there so he could keep an eye on you. And, while you couldn't blame him, you did start to feel tired. Did this ship even have beds? It didn't seem like a traditional living vehicle, definitely not built for comfort. Your eyes scanned around the cockpit, wondering if you could sneak down to the hull and take a nap there. While your eyes were wandering around, you spotted something out of the corner of your eye: the child. You smiled at him as he gazed a you. He turned his head slightly, his ears flopping to one side. The child looked curiously at you: you were a stranger, and you doubted he'd interacted with many people besides the Mandalorian. He seemed quite protective over the kid.

Before you could realise what was happening, the child had wandered towards you and was reaching up at you. You hesitated for a second before picking him up. You didn't want to offend Din by over stepping any boundaries, but who could say no to those big, pleading eyes.

You held him carefully, gently placing him in your lap, being mindful of how small he is.

"He seems to like you," Din murmured.

You jumped, a little bit startled; you'd be trapped in the moment, your eyes trained on the child. He smiled up at you, enjoying being held, and the feeling of warmth. You imagined your robes were much more comfortable than the beskar.

"Huh, I'm usually not good with kids, but he is a cutie," you smile up at the Mandalorian, "Is this what you look like under the helmet?"

You feel him tense up.

"Sorry I didn't mean offense by it," you pause, pursing your lips.

"No, its fine. Not too many people make jokes with me, that's all," he reassured.

"Well, no offence, you don't seem like the joking type," you shrug, "Or, maybe, who knows: you might be laughing under there all the time and just nobody can tell."

"Yeah, I'm the life of the party," Din dead panned.

You chuckled a little, and although you didn't know it at the time, Din's heart skipped a beat. 'That was weird,' Din thought, 'That's never happened before...' He tried to bury it, hide the thought away, as he did with a lot of his emotions. This one, however, seemed to stick around.

And, so did you.

It had been a few months since you'd joined him. Originally, you offered to help on jobs, fix the ship, take care of the child, whatever he wanted- to repay him for stealing his bounty. Well, that's what you told yourself. Originally, you believed you were in his debt, but over time you grew more and more fond of his company- and the child of course. He was adorable, and he offered a light distraction from the chaos the universe seemed to be in. Not to mention, your growing affection for the Mandalorian was keeping you pleasantly occupied.

~~~

Din was off hunting a bounty. Usually, you'd go with him, but he had insisted it would be an easy job. Besides, you weren't going to fight him on this: you liked spending time with the kid, and it'd give you some time to catch up on your sleep. The Crest wasn't the most comfortable place to sleep, and you always felt slightly on edge because the Mandalorian practically slept battle ready. It was the perfect excuse to have a rest day- those came few and far between.

The Razor Crest was parked safely in a remote location, with all security measured engaged. You told yourself it would only be a small nap. Besides, the kid was tired too. You'd fed him recently, and he always napped after food. If he was tired, you might as well sleep beside him- for his comfort, of course.

Originally, you were going to put him to bed in the little make shift cot Din had made for him, but you figured he'd be just as comfortable in your arms. You made your way up to the cock pit. It was nightfall, and the stars visible from this planet were quite a sight to behold. Gently, you held the child and began explaining to him all the different star constellations, and what they meant. You weren't sure he understood basic, but the way he looked up at you, and then to the stars, you figured he was understanding something.

"And, this one," you pointed out a large cluster of stars, "Is called 'The Warrior', just like your daddy, little one. That one is 'The Queen,' and this one-"

You stopped yourself. The kid had finally fallen asleep. You gently wrapped the blanket around both of you, and leaned back into the chair. Within a couple of minutes, your eyes had drooped, and sleep had overcome you. Before you completely drifted off, you had one thing on your mind: you hoped you would see your dear Mandalorian soon.

~~~

When the bounty hunter turned dad returned from his latest outing, he was tired. He threw the bounty into carbonite, and trudged further up the ship. It was only after he'd had a moment to breathe, that he realised there was no sign of you- or the child. His heart began to race. He opened the closet, praying to find the child inside a sleep.

He didn't.

Fuck. This was bad. He should've never left the child- what if he was hurt now? What if you were? Surely, you hadn't taken the child. You wouldn't do that to him... Would you?

His last resort before tearing apart the place was to check the cock pit. Logically, he knew you could be up there, but you usually spent most of your time in the hull. That's where your bed was, where the food was, where the child usually played. That's where he thought you'd be.

Din climbed up the ladder, keeping an eye out in case anything had happened to you or the child- in case it was a trap. Instead of any sign of the Imps, droids, or guild interference, he saw your sleeping body. In your arms, was the child. Din pulled himself up and landed as quietly as he could, so as to not disturb you. He watched you for a second; you looked so peaceful, and so well rested. He was envious. His eyes dropped down to the child; he was curled into your body, with his fingers gently wrapped around your thumb. He was softly snoring, almost purring as he slept. Din took one step forward, but his armour boot clanked against the floor a little too loudly. The child perked up; his ears flinched at the sound, and he woke up. When he saw it was Din, he cooed for him, and began to wriggle in your arms.

The Mandalorian stepped forward, and reached for the kid. You began to wake as well.

"D-Din?" you ask, eyes fluttering open, and when you registered it was him, you sat up, "You're back!"

You then registered that the baby was trying to wiggle out of your grasp. Adjusting your grip on him, you lifted the child up and offered him over to Din.

"Sorry little guy, did you want to go back to your daddy?" you asked, and the baby cooed in response, "Here you go."

Din gently took the child from you and held him close.

"How was it? An easy job?" you asked.

He was lost in thought. About you, about the child, about his new found family. His heart had fluttered when you had called him daddy. Well, it wasn't technically you, but he felt it in his heart nonetheless. He had been feeling that a lot around you lately: especially when you held the child. It almost felt like he had... Like he had a family. Din hadn't known what that felt like for a long time. Sure, he had the fellow Mandalorians, but they offered no affection like you did. He didn't feel as warm around them as he did with you. He-

You were still expecting answer. Your smile dazed him.

"Yes it was, cyar'ika," he murmured, looking down at his son, "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you missed my company"

"Maybe," you smiled, "The child did at least."

That was enough, for now.

Din was about to turn around and go back down the hull, when you spoke up again.

"Din, you keeping calling me... Ah, c-cyr-"

"Cyar'ika?"

"Yes, that!" you pause, "What does it mean?"

"Oh that," Din could feel his face heat up behind the mask (which he was very thankful for at this moment, other wise he feared he'll die of embarrassment from the deep blush on his face), "I- Ur, it means... It's Mando'a for beloved."

"Oh," you felt your face heat up, "I-"

"-I can stop if it makes you feel uncomfortable-"

"-No! No, I... I like it."

It wasn't quite a full admission of your feelings, but for now... For now, you were happy. With Din, with the child: with your family.

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melissa-kenobi · 3 years

Note

Hiii Melissaaaaaa

If your requests are still open, can I request something smutty with Din Djarin please? I hope you had a wonderful day!!!

Love youuuu ❤

Hi Anon 💕

Hehe yes they are still open - well i had a peaceful day today- super nice not doing anything, slept in till late it was soo good. omg Smutty Din fml I love it. BTW, I may have gone super overboard with this but that's coz I have a vivid imagination! Also I love Din sm (maybe more than Obi - sorry sweetie).

Love you too anon xx

Word Count:

Big - Din Djarin x Reader

"Off now."

Hands scrambling over your body as you quickly stripped off your clothes, shirt flown across the room as you stumbled around taking your trousers off, leaving you naked for Din's viewing. You stood shyly at the end of the bed, watching as your Mandalorians' helmet tilted to the side as he took you in, inch by inch, you were certain you could feel his eyes on you under the helmet as he peeled off his mustard coloured gloves - also flinging them across the room.

Your eyes glued to his fingers as your mouth dropped open slightly at the sight of his hands, his beautiful tanned hands, watching his digits thick as he clenched his fist. "Eyes up here cyare."

Almost instantly your head flicked back up as you looked at your naked self in the reflection of his helmet. Din was now mere inches away from you, you looked at yourself. Gosh you looked desperate, your face already blushing hard as you glanced down, wanting to avoid looking at youself. You also could feel how wet you were, almost dripping down your legs - he hadn't even touched you yet and you were already soaking wet for this man. Your eyes widened in surprise as they fell to a particular spot on Din.

Holy kriff!

You gulped loudly as you felt his rough fingers gently tip your chin up, your face lined with his as you looked at through his T visor. Your eyes flickering down once more as you took in his figure, well, more like his dick.

"You alright sweet girl?" He asked gently as he pressed his armoured body against your naked one. The coolness of the beskar made you gasp in shock as Din pushed two fingers into your open mouth - indirectly asking you to suck on them.

"I asked you a question sweet girl." He growled in your ear, the beskar helmet close enough to your ear that you hear his heavy breathing, picking up on the sounds he made that his modulator didn't. You let out a wanton moan as you sucked on his fingers, swirling around them as Din let out a little moan at your actions before pulling them out and pushing you roughly onto the bed.

"Let's see what else that mouth of yours can do." He warned, tone strict as he peeled off his armour, making you watch him from the bed, your eyes glued to that one spot. The one the place in-between your legs were begging for. Gosh, how badly you wanted to move from your spot and help him out his armour, but knowing Din, he would probably punish you. Your body inched forwards the tiniest amount, just wanting to feel your Mandalorian, touch him but before you could Din stopped you.

"No."

You whined, face slumped as your own hands trailed down your body, squeezing at your breasts, twisting the buds as you moaned out Din's name - well not his real name.

"Stop." Din commanded, halting your motions on buds as he glared at you though his helmet.

"Mando..." You whined in annoyance, watching as he slipped his curiass off, then his pauldrons and then slowly everything else, leaving him stark naked except for his Beskar helmet.

"What's my name sweet girl?" He growled as he crawled up your body, heat emancipating from him as he settled. His hands grasping yours as he brought them above your head, holding them still with one hand as he slipped the bottom part of his helmet up, revealing his beautiful lips. Din neared closer to your ear, trailing a kiss from your cheek to that sweet spot which always made you moan. His soft lips reaching the lobe of your ear before he roughly bit on the bottom of it, your mouth gapsing in surprise while your hips thrust upwards of their own accord.

"Say it." He growled deeply, his natural voice echoing in your ears as he used his other hand to squeeze your breasts gently.

"F-fuck, Din... please, Din, I-i need you..." You gasped out, his name tumbling from your lips in pleasure as he dipped two fingers in your pussy, before pulling out and circling your clit.

Din would be lying if he didn't love the sound of his name being moaned from your sinful lips, the high tone of it, laced with the pleasure he was giving you was more than enough to get him going.

"Kriff- you take me so well cyar'ika."

"I wa- I want you Din." Your voice wrecked, eyes watering as your writhed in pleasure, hips bucking until your felt something large poke your upper thigh - making you stop.

"Fuck- was that-?" You breathed heavily, kriff, you knew Din was big, just by looking at him, watching him walk, the way he held himself. Shit, your heart sped up at the thought of his cock sliding into you - your pussy being split open with his thick length. You were pretty sure you were dripping wet over Din's hands and sheets.

"Din- I don't thin-"

Din shushed you with a delicate finger placed on your lips - his head tilting at your body panting for him. "Lick it."

He spread his hand across your mouth as your tongue slid across the palm of his hand - spit covering his palm as he moaned in response. "Fuck- you liked that didn't you sweet girl? You're a filthy girl mesh'la."

Nodding in motion, you enjoyed the praise he gave you before he brought his wet palm down to his cock - gliding it easily up and down his length before placing his cock ontop of your belly. You let out a small gasp, the weight of his cock on your stomach made you look down - eyes never leaving his length as your mouth watered at the sight.

Maker he was massive, you were pretty sure he was going to break you. The tip of his cock leaked with pre-cum as he pumped himself on your body, your eyes travelled down as you saw the vein on the left side pop. His large hands only just covered the length of him, how you were going to fit him inside of you was mystery. Your mouth watered at the sight of his cock, all you wanted right now was to take him in your mouth and taste him - kriff he probably tasted amazing.

"Din- can i-i ... I want to- I want you in my mouth." You stuttered out - eyes never leaving his grip on his cock.

The Mandalorian let out a low moan - head rolling back in pleasure at the thought of your mouth on him. But not today - he was on a mission, he wanted your pussy and your pussy only.

"You're gonna be the death of me. But not today sweet girl. I want your pussy." He pushed himself up, crawling up your body as his legs split yours wide open, ready to take him.

"Din, baby- y-you're so big. You're not gonn-"

The Mandalorians' helmet was in the way- he wanted to feel the way felt against him face, to smell your perfume as he thrust into you. To plant kisses across your neck while you writhed in pleausre with his cock buried deep inside of you. So he made a choice, he trusted you and you trusted him.

Din's deep voice rumbled as he flipped you over, your front hitting the bed as he pulled your hands above your head. His thick thigh spreading your legs as flung his helmet off to the side - resulting in a ragged gasp from you as he guided his cock into your pussy. His lips neared your ear as he kissed your neck, sucking and biting.

"I'm going to take care of you cyar'ika, gonna make you feel so good... you'll be feeling me for weeks mesh'la..."

***

👀

Taglist: @spideysimpossiblegirl

#din djarin x reader #din djarin x y/n #din djarin x you #din djarin #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x y/n #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian #star wars

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dottiechan · 3 years

Text

ICEBREAKER Pt. 7

Read on AO3 (link in bio)

Pairing: Crosshair x Reader x Hunter

Wordcount: 2325

Summary: Bracca is nothing more than a blur. But in the midst of this chaos, there are flashbulb memories, vivid snapshots of moments that will be etched into your mind for the rest of your life.

Warnings: cursing, anxiety, injuries

You're sitting in the corner, mute. Everyone is tired, exhausted beyond belief in the belly of a rusting Republic warship, decommissioned just like you should be. You're all waste, fighting for scraps of individuality in a world that only values witless cooperation. Tech once called the Empire "the very death of critical thinking," and you wonder if he meant it literally. If he meant himself too, and his army of identical brothers, those ticking time bombs with switches sewn inside their heads. If he meant Wrecker grabbing him by the throat before trying to kill you. If he meant Crosshair's blind obedience to an Empire that could never love him back as you do.

Your hand glides over your tender arm, and you wince. You will be bruised, the imprint of Wrecker's hand will bloom purple on your skin, like a strange flower. Your back will be painted blue and black and purple too from where it kissed the ground after he threw you across the med bay. You don't know how many times you will be traumatised before you can find some semblance of peace in this godforsaken Galaxy.

And when you look at Omega - sweet Omega, struggling not to fall asleep, holding Wrecker's hand, hoping the man who tried to kill her a mere hour ago would wake - you somehow manage to feel even worse.

...

It takes time, for them all to undergo surgery. You look at their shaved heads, their confused faces as they look around. They won their own freedom, fought for it too. You want to imagine him here too, in the middle of this quiet victory over the unconscious, silver hair shaved on one side, shaking fingers placing a toothpick between soft lips, uncertain eyes searching for yours amongst his brothers. You want Wrecker to put an arm around those sinewy shoulders only to evoke a scowl on that beloved face.

Wrecker gazes back at you sadly when he notices you staring.

"On your feet, soldier," Hunter extends a hand to you with a small smile on his face. But you know him well enough now, and you see through his façade. You know just how shaken he is, shaken down to his very core. You take his hand and let him help you up. "Are you going to be okay?"

"Yeah, don't worry about me."

"You know that's not something I can do."

"I'm fine, I promise. Completely functional. I'm not the one who's just had surgery," you tut gently, taking his bandana from him when he tries to put it back over the bandage on his head. You're as careful as you can be, ignoring the stabbing ache in your arm as you fix Hunter up, gently brushing his short pieces of hair in the front back over the red fabric once you're finished tying a knot. "There. Good as new."

He catches your hands before you could withdraw them, and upon realising that most are distracted by Rex's and Echo's conversation, he holds them to his heart for a little while. His forehead comes to rest against yours gently, but at first you're not sure if he meant to do that, or if he just bowed under the great weight on his shoulders. But his eyes are searching your face now, and his breath ebbs and flows in harmony with yours. You've seen many soldiers do this before, brothers sharing a peaceful moment together before facing death on the battlefield. The Mandalorians call this a Keldabe kiss. But in his mind, Hunter just simply calls it arriving home.

"We'll be okay," you swallow thickly when he pulls back, placing a hand on the side of his face.

"We'll be okay," Hunter echoes, pressing his cheek into your palm, but if there's anything he's learned today, it's that he can never truly be sure of that.

...

"This is it, boys."

Rex almost looks reluctant, as if being around the Bad Batch has rekindled fond memories he's not eager to part with. This used to be his life, being surrounded by his brothers, saving the day. And while he feels satisfied, this victory leaves a bitter taste in his mouth when he realises that in the grand scheme of things, he's barely changed anything. One family saved, but countless others lost. Like his own brothers, for instance; his own stupid, stubborn, loyal brothers, buried on a bare rock of a moon. Their loss left a hole in his chest bigger than the crater their crashed ship indented on the planet surface, and saving your squad is like a bandaid over a blaster shot to the heart.

He allows his gaze to linger on Echo for a while, the last man he's known well to survive, the last nail in the coffin of his grief. He looks so different now, and yet for a moment he expects Fives to materialise behind him. Dominos attached at the hip, his very own double trouble, the dual curse that followed him everywhere. He used to grumble about how they behaved all the time. But he loved them, he loved his little brothers with all his heart. And look where that love got them.

Fives is not here, of course. Rex never dared ask where they buried him. He's heard rumours of unmarked clone mass graves, but he was never brave enough to accept that truth. That's why he and Ahsoka buried their own dead with dignity, marking an extra grave along the rest, empty but reserved still.

His gaze finds you then, eventually. The only one who isn't a clone here in this rusting medbay, the sore thumb sticking out, the lost one with sad eyes who's seen too much for a civvie. He saw the way Hunter held onto you just now, how you shared a quiet moment in the corner when you thought no one was watching. He promised himself he would do this for Fives, that he would tell you if he ever saw you again that he talked about you even months after that one night at 79's. That he called you the one that got away, that he jokingly said he was saving himself for after the war when he could ask you to marry him. Fives was always full of shit, and no doubt half of what he said were just jokes, but he knows he cared about you still. It's apparent that you're a remarkable person, easy to grow attached to, but twice as difficult to forget.

He wants to do this for Fives. He wants to tell you, he wants you to know that the man who ultimately saved the ones you love loved you in turn. But you already seem like you've been through enough and he hasn't the heart to put you through this as well.

You catch him looking at you, and you muster a small, tired smile. "Take care, Captain."

"Ma'am."

I'm sorry, Fives, he keeps repeating over and over in his head as he turns to leave.

...

The deck is about to collapse. It is the only way you even have a slight chance of survival, you know that. And yet you feel stuck in this very moment, unable to move, deer in the headlights, shaking from head to toe.

The squad is whole again.

You'd like to believe you wouldn't know what would happen if you approached him, if you tried to pry his helmet off and look into his eyes. You'd like to believe he'd let you, you'd like to believe he would listen to your pleas, that he would stop this madness. Order his troops to stand down. Come home with you.

You'd like to believe. But all you can think about is Wrecker, out of his mind and yet still so terrifyingly present somehow, grabbing Tech by the throat and throwing him against the wall before coming for you.

And you know Crosshair would gun you down without hesitation.

"Crosshair... Please don't do this. We can help you." The plea escapes your lips before you could stop it, however. Crosshair tilts his head towards you, and even though you can't see his gaze, just knowing that his eyes are on you is like being struck by lightning. How long was it since you last saw him? How long was it since he last gazed at you, and you at him? He seems almost as frozen for a moment as you, and you allow yourself to believe he's still in there, raging against the control of the Empire. You don't know what it was that you two shared back on Hoth, but you know it meant something. It had to. And judging by his consideration, and the hesitant way he shuffles a step closer to you, you know he must remember too.

But he moved too quickly for Hunter's liking, and he's by your side, trying to shield you as much as he shields Omega. Whatever moment you and Crosshair just shared is over. You can tell, by the tightening of his shoulders, by his stance turning defensive once more. You got through to the real Crosshair for a second. But the menace - like some demon possessing his body - is back in control once again.

"Crosshair, wake up! You're being controlled by an inhibitor chip." Hunter's reasoning falls on deaf ears now. It is over. You should accept it, but you can't. But at least you're not the only one who can't admit defeat.

"He's telling the truth. The Kaminoans put chips in all the clones. Remember what I told you in the brig?"

After Omega's spoken up, a stretch of silent tension follows. You're all nervous, weapons aimed, caught in a death trap with no way out but down. And yet you're holding on, you're still holding on to that last shred of hope that your words will finally get through to him. That you can finally put down the cross you've been bearing and rest.

"Aim for the kid."

You don't know how many times you can be traumatised before you finally give in. But you make room for one more, and the day is far from being over yet.

...

You're going to be sick, but you know you can't be. You've treated a thousand gruesome injuries before, but somehow a partial blaster burn to the chest will be your final straw, you can already tell. You gingerly lay the bacta patch across the scorched patch skin and flesh as your fingers tremble like a new recruit's. The internal damage was thankfully minimalised by his armour, but this is still going to take some time to heal from.

You don't know how long it will take for you all to heal from leaving Crosshair behind once more. From losing Omega.

When your breathing starts bordering on frantic, Tech nudges you aside and takes over, but you can't leave. You sit on the edge of the cot, and clutch Hunter's hand in your clammy ones. You can't lose anyone else, you can't, you heart wouldn't take it.

When he finally comes around again, the look in his eyes are so hurt you finally give in to the urge to cry.

"I guess I can't hold the mission on Bracca against you anymore," Hunter rasps through his pain, trying to ignore how choked up and panicked the thought of losing Omega makes him.

"No, you really can't," you agree quietly, wiping at your eyes as you try not to let your anxiety get the better of you. Not when you're supposed to be Hunter's comfort, when you're supposed to reassure him.

"This is the only thing I ever want to wake up to," he whispers, a weak hand reaching up, longing touch ghosting along your features. He's dying a little inside every time he fails, swallowing the shards of every heart he breaks as atonement. They're jarring his insides, leaving him breathless every time he moves. And yet he keeps pushing on, even now, even when he feels worse than he's ever felt - all because of you. You're his only remedy in this fucked up world, the only person who still makes him believe there can be a happy ending for you all. He loves his brothers, but they're just as guilty and cynical as he is. He understands why he can't pin all his hopes on a child, but for some reason, he can't make the same exception for you. His voice is quiet, but it's obvious his head is clear when he speaks next.

"Cyare."

A little to the side, Tech finishes checking the medical scans for the last time. Hunter's condition has been stabilised, and for now, all he can do is look into the bounty hunter who took Omega. He casts one last look at you and Hunter, hand in hand, eyes glued to each other's face, and he sighs.

"How's Hunter?"

"He'll live," Tech answers, placing a hand on Echo's shoulder. "We've been through a lot over a rather short period of time. I think they've earned a moment of peace alone though, wouldn't you agree?"

Echo's face rarely reflects the emotions inside him, but now an endless kind of sadness perches itself on his features as he nods and follows Tech to the cockpit.

"They deserve a lot more than that. Hell, we all do."

...

Crosshair would agree with that sentiment now as he's patched up at the medbay of an Imperial flagship, alone aside from the medical droids. His head is killing him, his thoughts are sluggish, but the pain in his chest is not only from his injuries. He keeps remembering you, over and over again, your beautiful face, the way you said his name as if he mattered, as if he still belonged to you. And you left him behind anyways again.

If he heard Tech's and Echo's conversation now, he'd agree. He deserves better too.

#dottiechan writes #hunter x reader x crosshair #hunter x reader #crosshair x reader #tbb x you #tbb x reader #the bad batch fanfiction #the bad batch x you #the bad batch x reader #tbb hunter #tbb crosshair

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acourtofsnakes · 3 years

Text

Ret'urcye Mhi - Rogue, Chapter 7 | The Mandalorian x Force Sensitive! Reader (F)

Summary: Can things go back to normal after the Mandalorian saw you break down? Or have walls been torn down that can’t be replaced?

Warnings: Light swearing, I don’t want to give it away but no smut but… a ‘moment’ with some certainly hot thoughts and pining but nothing heavy though, reader has a back tattoo, let me know if I forgot anything!

AN: I have brought in Cara Dune in this, and she will be a frequent character. I by no means condone what Gina Carano did, and I am pleased and relieved that she is gone. However, I do like her character, as many others do. She IS only mentioned in this one briefly but will be a main character in a few future chapters.

Also, Readers tattoo is loosely based on this design!(link) I’m not sure who the exact creator is, but it was posted by Urban Threads on Pinterest, but if you know, please tell me! ❤️

Word Count: 8231

As always, credit to whoever owns the gif. I usually find them on Google or Pinterest, so message me if it’s yours ♥︎

Rogue Taglist: @snipskixandbeskar @weirdowithnobeardo @the-bottom-of-the-abyss @jackgrzs

Mando’a Translation: Ret'urcye mhi - Goodbye

Neither of you mentioned that afternoon.

It hadn’t come up in the 3 days since, and it hadn’t come up today. You made sure of it.

Every time Mando looked at you, and you just felt he was going to mention it, you’d change the subject. Or just walk away. You didn’t need to have that conversation with him. You couldn’t have that conversation with him. Or anyone.

The Mandalorian had sat there, holding you for the hours it took for you to cry yourself out. When the shuddering sobs had given way to hitched breaths and a numb stare, he’d still sat there. Rubbing your back in gentle circles, in time with Duru’s tail gently swaying over your arm. He hadn’t uttered a single word either, just letting you break down in his arms.

When the quiet ambiance of the ship and the pressure of his hand had lulled you into sleep, he’d carried you to his bed – well, the narrow cot that jutted out from the wall in what was supposed to be the medical area. He’d given up his sleeping compartment to Grogu a long time ago, to keep the little creature warm and safe.

He’d laid you in, covering you with the blanket and then one more that he pulled out from a unit.

You were asleep, so you hadn’t seen the way his gloved fingers gently brushed back the hair from your tear flushed cheeks, the way they’d lingered for a moment as he’d looked down at the soft strands gliding over his fingers. You hadn’t felt the way he’d frozen when a sudden want crashed through him, to yank off his gloves and run his bare hands through your hair, feel the silkiness and the texture for himself.

And you also wouldn’t have noticed the way his breathing went ragged for a moment and he’d lurched back, stumbling away so quickly he nearly overturned a box on his way out of the door.

Your sleep hadn’t remained easy. Only a few hours later, you had woken up screaming, unsure of where you were, why you were on a thin cot that smelled like metal and smoke and something distinctly unique and almost like sandalwood. It was somehow comforting, soothing. You had inhaled the scent, trying to calm down your pounding heard and regain control of your breathing.

It was only when you could suck in a full breath that you realised where you were, who’s bed this was.

A feeling of gratefulness had crashed over you, only to be immediately wiped out by shame. You had broken down in front of him, spat such awful, awful things to his face.

And when you heard footsteps outside the compartment door, the husky baritone of his voice as he called out your name softly, you’d gone still. Like you were back on the run, mere inches away from a hunter and one move would mean disaster.

He’d lingered, you could see by the shadows of his feet under the tiny gap at the bottom of the door. A wild thought had come to you, that he had his hand pressed to the door and you could just.. open it. Open it and let him come in, let him carry the burden of your nightmares and your feelings even If it was just for a little while. You could share some of those plaguing thoughts that you’d unleashed today. And he would listen. You didn’t know him that well, but you knew him enough to be confident he would sit there, let you talk. He knew what it was like to be alone, to have emotions and worries that you had no choice to bear yourself.

The temptation was so strong, you craved that contact and connection so much that you were halfway across the room before your snarling argument came back in full technicolour. The things you’d said to him. The appalling way you’d acted.

No.

You couldn’t see him. You couldn’t face him after that. After what you had said and the way you had cracked. You shook your head firmly, waiting until you heard a sigh so soft you might have imagined it and retreating footsteps.

It was only then you that you returned to the bed, pulling the twin blankets up high over your shoulders.

You’d deal with seeing him in the morning, but for now, all you could do was bury your face in the thin pillow and try not to notice how it smelt like him.

Something had changed between the two of you since that afternoon. He had glimpsed a part of you that you normally kept perfectly hidden, even from yourself.

…

You were on your way to another bounty, one of the last couple of pucks that Mando had left.

Mando had mentioned it was a hot, desert planet and he’d prefer it if you stayed in the ship with Grogu. It’d be far too hot for the little guy out there. You had obliged happily, more than fine to stay in. You didn’t like to be too hot, it made you uncomfortable and agitated.

The cockpit was quiet, a peaceful silence had descended upon it as Mando flew the ship.

You’d found yourself drawn to watching his hands lately. There was something… oddly soothing about it. Watching him work the controls, hold Grogu, clean his weapons.

You wondered if he missed the sensation of touch, and then wondered if yours and the kids presence here made it harder for him. Meant he had less chances to take off his armour and be free of it.

Of course, that had then led you onto the thought of wondering if he slept naked when he was alone.

The thought of him lying there, nothing hiding him, separating him from the world.

The thin blankets sliding over the body you knew was toned, yet soft enough in all the right places.

It made your mouth a little dry, your cheeks a little pink and you struggled to find something else to think about.

Your eyes drifted to his hands again, remembering the sound of the gloves being drawn off the other night.

They were mesmerising, agile, and you couldn’t stop thinking about them in your hair, on your skin.

Stars above, get a grip, girl.

You mentally scolded yourself for these thoughts, trying to steer your damned imagination onto something more appropriate.

Luckily, your saviour came in the form of Mando himself. He tilted his head back slightly, enough for you to know he was talking to you, “What’s your favourite planet? Or one you’d like to visit?”

The question surprised you, you had to admit. You weren’t used to people asking about your likes and dislikes. You smiled though, perhaps this was his gentle way to break any tension left over. “Hmm… I think… I’d have to say the planet I’d like to visit most... either Hoth or Coruscant.”

Mando laughed, that gorgeous rough, honey laugh, “Okay, Coruscant I can understand, but Hoth? Really?”

You pouted at the back of his head, “Yes!! It sounds beautiful.”

The Mandalorian laughed more, “Beautiful? Sweetheart, it’s covered in ice. It’s freezing there. All you would see is ice and snow… and more ice and more snow.”

You scowled at him now, throwing the leftover wrapper of Grogu’s cookies at his helmet, “And? Snow and ice are stunning. They’re powerful and strong. I’ve only ever been in a proper snowfall once, and I fell in love. The way the flakes float down and.. dance even if there’s the faintest breeze. And then when they land on your skin or your eyelashes like little cold kisses… The sound it makes under your boots when you walk on a fresh fall. And it softens everything, makes it easier on your eyes to see across the landscape… it’s quiet, muffled… Besides, I like the cold.”

Little did you know, Mando was grinning like an idiot under his helmet, adoring the way you defend it to him, the way you describe something as simple as ice and snow. “You like the cold, huh? Then why are you always grumbling that the heating is broken?” The teasing lilt to his voice was evident, so animated and content, compared to his usual cooler, calm silence.

You opened your mouth, then closed it again. “That is… completely irrelevant.” You looked at the back of his head, “What about you? If my choices are so hilarious.”

The Mandalorian made a thoughtful noise, “I wouldn’t say there’s one place in particular… But… there’s a few sanctuary planets dotted around. Places with really pretty, dense forests where you could walk for days and not spot anyone else. They’re protected and safe, no dangerous animals or anything allowed… literally sanctuaries. I’d like to take Grogu there… let him wander and have fun and eat things he shouldn’t without having to look over my shoulder.”

It was the most you’d ever heard him speak in one go, and there was a tenderness in his voice that brought tears to your eyes. This man truly loved his little green adoptive son and would do anything for him. “That sounds... stunning. I’ve heard of those planets and always wondered what they were like...”

He made a hum of agreement, fingers working over the control panel as he put it in autopilot. “One day…” He turned around in his chair, “What about your favourite colour?”

You moved to sit cross-legged in the seat, defying the concept of a chair. “Blue. Darker blues, like a midnight blue.” You swayed your chair from side to side slightly, “Actually, the same colour as the cloak you got me. So well done, kudo’s for you.”

Mando leant back in his own chair, tapping the side of his helmet before resting his hands on his thighs again. “This thing lets me read minds; you know.”

You began pulling the pins from your hair, “Mmhm, and I can fly.” You raise an eyebrow at him, grinning.

He chuckled, watching you intently behind the helmet though you wouldn’t know that, watching every pin get removed from holding up your hair, “It wouldn’t surprise me at this point, princess.” He tapped his thighs absently, “You wanna know the real secret?”

You nodded, reaching in for a pin that had become stuck deep in your hair, the last one. “Surprise me.” Got it. You yanked the pin out, letting your hair fall down and your fingers through it. You sighed a little in relief as you rubbed your fingertips against your scalp, chasing away any tightness from the day.

Mando didn’t say anything. He was too distracted, to struck into silence by the sight of your hair.

The light from the ship and coming in through the windows turned some of the strands to gold, igniting them with that fire that blazed within you – and that he’d been on the receiving end.

His hands tightened over his thighs, because he was overtaken by a craving, a need to remove your hands and feel your hair for himself.

It wasn’t the first time he’d had these thoughts.

Fuck, he’d been having these thoughts since he first saw you. He just hadn’t realised them until that night he’d nearly lost his life and woken up to you passed out on his chest.

He’d frozen, even his breathing stopping as he felt the warm weight of you, even though the armour.

He couldn’t bear to move you, to take away that pressure, the closeness of another human that he had missed for so long.

So, he hadn’t. He left you there. Spent hours watching you sleep, the warmth of your breath slightly fogging up the armour on his chest.

“Lori? Anyone in there?” You tilted your head, watching the man before you that was staring at you intently, his breathing somewhat ragged.

He startled slightly, coming back to himself, “Huh?”

You chuckled, “Where did you go? I was waiting for you to knock me off my feet with your revelation.”

He made a noise, “Uh… I.. actually can’t remember...” He tugged at his glove, an odd gesture so at odds with his usual confident demeanour.

You tilted your head, still smiling a little, “Are you okay?”

Luckily, he was saved from answering by the beeping of the controls behind him.

You’d arrived at the planet.

It was hot.

Beyond hot.

The air was warm, the water was warm, you were warm.

And already awake, having just calmed your breathing down from another nightmare, when you heard Grogu, his little coos and gurgled filtering down the hall to you.

The poor little creature had probably woken up from the heat. You had been on this desert planet for a couple of days, opting to stay in and look after the Child whilst Mando hunted down the bounty. The days here were scorching, a dry heat that sucked the life from you immediately. Even the nights were hot, unlike normal freezing desert nights.

Mando had returned this evening, panting from the heat after coming up from the carbonite chamber. “I swear it’s getting hotter out there.”

The cooling system on the Crest was just as temperamental as the heating, so it wasn’t exactly cool in here. The metal floors, which were normally always chilled, were warm underfoot. Mando had let you keep his room, and it was just as hot, being contained in with itself, so you’d been sleeping with the doors open.

Not that it made a dent. Every single closed space was like a heat trap, especially Grogu’s little compartment. So, no wonder he had woken up.

You stretched, then slipped from the cot and made your way to Grogu.

It didn’t take long to settle him, he was all tuckered out from the games you’d been playing today, so after patting his skin with a cool cloth, he had fallen back under.

You were now at the small ‘kitchen’ area in the ship, washing out the cloth. You huffed, splashing some water on your wrists and pulling out the pin that was holding up your hair, and falling out. Grogu had a habit of tugging the ends of your hair in his little fist.

You’d taken to wearing a thin floaty dress to bed, one you’d picked up in that market before it had turned into a horror show. The material was gauzy, allowing the heat to escape your body without it sticking to your clammy skin. What helped enormously was the large cut out in the back. It secured at the back of your neck, and then fell open, exposing almost your whole back before joining again at the base of your spine.

It was probably the flimsiest, most sinful thing you’d ever worn, but it was gorgeous and hey, it did the job.

You rolled your shoulders, pressing the cool cloth to your neck and you couldn’t help the sigh that escaped your lips and you could have sworn you heard a sizzle.

Footsteps behind you startled you, breaking you from your reverie, and then Mando’s voice filtered through the silence, “Are you okay?”

You turned around, smiling when you saw him because he was still in all his armour… not that you were surprised. He must have been boiling though, under all those heavy layers.

You nodded, lifting the cloth from your neck, “The kid was awake, but I settled him down, he was really warm.”

His head was covered, naturally, so you wouldn’t have seen the way his eyes followed a bead of water rolling down your neck, and the unbidden thought of his tongue catching it “Thank you for seeing to him, I didn’t hear..”

Weird. Normally he was so attuned to Grogu, hearing him before he even woke up if you were sitting together. Maybe he was tired, from his hunting.

What you didn’t know, couldn’t know, was that he had been staring at the ceiling for the 3rd night in a row. Having thoughts that he should not be having, his body yearning for things it shouldn’t.

You shook your head, still smiling and turned back to the sink area, “It’s no worries, I was awake anyway so… And you’ve been hunting. You deserve the rest.” You set down the cloth, running your hands through your hair and reaching for your pin to secure it back up. You faced him again, gathering your hair in your hands, “How was it?”

But he wasn’t listening.

He suddenly moved forward, and then he was in front of you. “Wait.” His voice was low, almost strained. There was a husk to it that hadn’t been there before, but it ignited something within you.

You froze, your hands still stuck in your hair. You looked up at him, raising your eyebrows slightly, “What..?” It was only now he was right in front of you that you could see his chest, rising and falling rapidly. “Mando, are you okay?”

He shook his head quickly, his helmet tilted down to you, his hands curling and uncurling at his sides, “Let your hair down.” His voice was still that rumbly order, and it was such an odd request that you did just that, letting it tumble back down again. Your own hands trembled slightly as you lowered them.

A shudder seemed to roll through his body, and he rocked forward on his feet, lurching toward you in a movement that lacked his usual smooth elegance. It was unsteady, unsure.

He stopped when he was a mere few inches away, the closest you’d been to each other since that afternoon.

This close, you could practically feel the heat roiling off of him under his armour, and you tilted your head up to meet him, concern in your eyes, “Mando, you need to go and have a cold shower.. You sound like you’re burning up… do you feel flushed?”

He shook his head jerkily, his hands raising, “Shh… please. I just.. I need to..” He broke off, a sharp intake of air cutting his words.

Something else began to curl through the worry in your belly, like some instinct knew things you didn’t. You swallowed, your voice low when you next spoke, “You need to what..?”

The Mandalorian was shaking, his body tensing and untensing like he was fighting himself, telling himself not to do this. “I.. I need to touch your hair.”

Stars, you could feel the flush that crept up his neck and cheeks, like it burned through his helmet but you stayed completely still.

His words were whispered through gritted teeth, like he was physically trying to bite them back, “I just... I need to do this, please… I’m sorry, but I cant-” He sounded like he was in pain, still breathing raggedly.

Heat flared through your blood, igniting a flame within you that was irresistible. You nodded, letting him see you, “Okay.” Like you could say no to him.

The vocoder nearly didn’t pick up the huff of relief that escaped his lips and he curled his hands into fists again, “Turn around. And close your eyes.” That rough command was back and you were more than obliging to let him navigate this moment.

You turned around, facing the kitchen area, looking over the darkened surroundings before shutting your eyes. It immediately threw all your other senses into overdrive, so you could hear every single rasp of his breath as you exposed your skin to him, and the pounding of your own heart.

“You have to keep them closed. You cannot turn around or look.” There was a desperate plea in his voice, an edge to it that hurt your very soul. He was audibly torn, between his Creed… and this desire that he seemed to have given into.

You nodded again, aching to reach back and reassure him, “I won’t. I won’t open my eyes or turn around until you tell me, I swear on it, Lori.” You let every ounce of truth and understanding seep through your words, praying that it would be enough to convince him he could trust you.

Seemingly, it was, because the next noise that you heard could have struck you dead.

It was the sound of leather rubbing against skin, the friction as they were pulled off, then a soft thump of the material on the floor.

He had taken off his gloves.

He was standing behind you… with his hands bare.

You. A person he hasn’t known for very long at all, and he was partially bare, uncovered.

Your head exploded, a million thoughts racing through it once, sending your heart into overdrive and your own breathing rapid and unsteady.

There was a pause, like he was steeling himself and then… then the slightest sensation, like he was catching the ends of your hair, just brushing them.

That simple movement sent a shiver down your spine, and it was enough to get him to move more. He lifted his hands and then you felt fingers slide into your hair at the back of your head, then slowly, slowly, drag down the length.

You heard a sharp intake of breath behind you, and then a soft mutter, “It’s so soft..” You barely picked it up, even though the ship was silent. The fingers ghosted through your hair again, and his voice was bewildered, “How do you get it this soft in that tiny ‘fresher..” It was like he was talking to himself.

You couldn’t help the soft laugh, a release of tension from this whole thing, “I can’t reveal my secrets, Lori. Can’t have your hair being softer than mine. There’s only room for one on this ship.”

He chuckled, and it ran over your bones like honey, dousing them in such a sweet sensation. “I’ll get it out of you one way or another, princess.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t get the chance to speak because then his fingers were running up your scalp from the base of your head to the crown, with a light pressure and the feeling was so unbelievably good, that you couldn’t help it. Your head leant back into his touch and the faintest sigh left your lips. “Keep doing that..” Your cheeks flushed, embarrassment crashing over you. Why did you have to say that?

The Mandalorian’s hands had paused, absorbing that soft sigh of pleasure and trying to cool his body. But you had a hold over him, he couldn’t say no. He merely did it again, with a firmer press of his fingers against your scalp, a light scrape of his nails just to get you to make that noise again, to be convinced that you were enjoying this just as much as he was.

You didn’t stop the next sigh, this one louder, more delighted. It was like you knew what the other was thinking, could read each other that well.

He was driving you insane, rendering you speechless just from playing with your hair.

You don’t know how long you stood there for, his hands running through the soft locks.

He lifted it slightly, then made a soft noise. “I didn’t know you had a tattoo.”

A tattoo? Oh right.

It was true, you did. It was a delicate piece, spanning from the top of your spine to just above your hips, lining your spine. It showed the phases of the moon, drawn in a minimalist style, with small stars and additional lines coming out of every other piece.

You nodded quickly, “I’ve had it for years.” Fuck, could your voice sound anymore needy?

“What does it mean?” His words were murmured and then the next thing could have had you on your knees.

You heard a sound that had haunted you since the night he nearly died, the sound of leather sliding over skin. The soft plop as it fell to the floor.

No way. Has he just..

His fingers, his bare fingers ghosted down your spine, following the line of it with a touch so fleeting it almost made you whine.

In fact, it did, a whimper rising from deep in your chest.

He was touching you.

His bare skin, skin that he had sworn by Creed to keep covered and hidden until marriage, was trailing down your spine as light as wings.

Pleasure shot straight though you, making your nerves and blood sing, making your knees shake and your belly hot.

A tug on your hair, a tug that was sharp enough to send a faint tinge of pain through your scalp had you moaning, you couldn’t help it. Your lips parted and the moan fell from them, soft, a little high and drawn.

Mando swore under his breath, his whole body twitching behind yours, “I asked you a question, sweetheart.” There was a hoarseness to his voice that hadn’t been there before, a straining note like your moan had shot right through him. Which is had.

What does it mean… what does it mean? Focus!!

“Um… right. When I was on the run, initially in the beginning, I never had a place to call home. Everything I knew had been torn away, and I could never settle anywhere. Every night, I would look up into the sky and watch the moon. No matter what planet I was on, no matter where I was, or if there two moons or 4, it was always there. I only had to look up, and there was something up there to ground me, give me some sense of comfort. It might look smaller, or be a different colour, but it was still the moon. And it made me feel… safe. Like it was a… a companion in a way. I just had to look a little closer, beneath the colours or the distance and there it was. It was always in the sky, so I wanted to get it tattooed so that it would always be with me. No matter if I was outside, as free as I could be, or inside and trapped.” You flushed a little, “That probably makes no sense and sounds so stupid.”

You could sense the Mandalorian shaking his head, his voice still low and soft, “No.. I think it’s beautiful. And I get it. I move around so much too, there’s only a few things that always remain the same. So I know the value of having something familiar.” He ghosted his fingers down it again, trailing all the way down to where the cut out portion of your dress stopped and then back up again.

When his hand reached the top of the tattoo, he slid it up further, cupping the back of your neck in his broad, warm hand.

It sent electricity shooting across your skin, that blazed as he wrapped his thumb and fingers around either side of your neck, just a gentle pressure there.

You moaned again; you didn’t even try to hide it. Your head fell back, exposing your throat to him in a sign of instinctual submission, even though you knew he wouldn’t kiss you. You didn’t mind, you just needed more, more than this teasing touch, more than the faint brush of his fingertips. Your chest shuddered, knuckles white as you gripped the counter in an effort to stay still, “Lori…” You whined his name, hoping it would spark something in him, would force him to do something.

You felt him shudder again, felt his hips draw back from your body like he was trying to hide just what these noises did to him.

Fuck.

It burned you, turned your belly molten and the power that washed over you was heady. You had turned him on just from your hair, your skin and your moans.

The voice that came out was equally as tight, husky and you might have lived and died inside the low baritone “What is it, princess?”

Your fingers curled around the side of the counter in front of you, and you were glad he couldn’t see your face when you whispered, “Please..”. Your voice was low, pleading and aching.

You felt him shudder behind you, a tiny groan echoing through the helmet.

His next words nearly undid you there and then, “Like I could say no to you.”

Then his fingers pressed into your spine, caressing down your back over the tattoo with such admiration, such warmth that it arched slightly, chasing more of that sensation.

Your head was spinning, convinced you were dreaming, that this wasn’t real.

This didn’t happen between you both.

You flirted, sure. But that was harmless, playful.

This… this was real. He was letting you feel his bare skin, uncovered and unhidden.

And it was tearing you apart.

The scrape of his thumbnail on your skin tore you from those thoughts, ripped you back to the present as it ran down the curve of your back. If your eyes had been open, they would have rolled into the back of your head.

Your head fell forward, back arching completely into him and the sound that you let out was sinful. You could only concentrate on the that sharp, pleasurable hurt that you felt in your belly, the feeling of his other hand as it held your shoulder, holding you in that arch.

Heat pooled low in your belly, and every dream, every thought you’d been trying to suppress about him came blasting into full technicolour. All because of his hands.

Those damn hands you’d been pining over since saving his life.

His head was so close over your shoulder that you could hear the low pant of his breath, the coolness of his armour barely brushing your shoulders as you pressed back into him.

Fuck, did he want this as much as you did?

By the way his hand tightened, he had to. You didn’t know how you knew it, but you did.

You swallowed, licking your lips to say something, anything, spur him on but a harsh beeping suddenly broke through the thick tension on the room. A light was flashing, and by the time the fog of pleasure cleared in your head, he was gone.

Gloves picked up and yanked on, boots disappearing up the ladder into the cockpit to check on the autopilot.

The taut sensation in your body snapped, making you sink to the floor as though the strings had been cut.

You lifted shaking hands to your face, burying them in them with a low noise. Your head was a mess, you couldn’t get over it. Couldn’t stop feeling his fingers on your back, your hair. Hear the ragged pant of his breathing, the rise and fall of his chest against your shoulders.

It was just touch, just the simple act of touch but it had igniting something so fierce within you.

Something had changed.

What the fuck was that?

You sat there on the floor for Maker knows how long, before dragging yourself up and hurrying off in search of a very, very cold shower.

You weren’t quite sure how to face him the next morning.

You had taken your cold shower, and it had done nothing to cool the fire in your blood so you had to take the initiative, hoping the crash of the water and the fact you were biting down the back of your free hand would cover the desperate moans you made.

Little did you know, the Mandalorian was going through the exact same thing, back arched, lips biting into his lip to stop the groans.

You hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it, stop thinking about what had occurred between you.

Surely it broke some kind of rules of his Creed?

He had touched you with his bare skin. You weren’t married. You weren’t together. You didn’t even know his name.

Yet he had touched you and.. reacted to you.

Maybe that was just instinct, his body’s natural response to such things.

But he had carried on… until you were disturbed anyway.

Your head went round and round in these circles until your body had calmed down enough to sleep.

…

You rose early, wanting to be washed, dressed and ready and doing something to occupy you before you had to think too much about what you were going to say. Maybe just… Good morning?

Sure. Good morning was fine.

Normal.

It totally didn’t reveal what you’d had to do in the shower, or the thoughts you were still having about it.

You had this discussion with yourself all the way up the ladder of the cockpit, and when you rose to your height, you blurted it out in a cheery voice before you could bail, “Morning!”

Breezy. Nailed it.

The Mandalorian was sitting in the pilot’s chair, fiddling with controls and levers, gloves firmly on. “Good morning. Did you sleep okay in the heat?”

You nodded, sinking down into the pilots chair and feeding Duru a treat, “Yes, thank you. Finally.” You stroked under Duru’s chin, your eyes straying to those hands as he slide them over some switches.

The same hands that had cupped the back of your neck and trailed fire down your spine.

A flush started to creep along your cheeks, so you quickly looked away, “Did you?”

The light bounced off of his helmet as he nodded, “Yes, thank you.”

Polite. His words were polite. Almost... distant.

Okay… Okay, so maybe he just feels awkward?

You bit your bottom lip, worried if you should say something.

No, leave it. He no doubt feels over-exposed and maybe shy about what happened last night. Don’t bring it up. Just act normal.

You nodded faintly to yourself and returned your attention back to Duru.

Mando was ignoring you.

You had been trying to deny it, but he most certainly was.

Yesterday, he had engaged in talking to you now and then throughout the day, but only passing comments and a few spare words.

You had spoken more when you were beating the shit out of each other.

You kept telling yourself that it was just lingering awkwardness from how to go back to normal after that night, but the gnawing in your gut told you otherwise.

It had been shouting at you this morning when he had parked the ship on a planet, announced he was going hunting and he’d be back in a few hours.

Then he’d just gone.

You had waited for him all day, mooched around the ship, played with Grogu and Duru and tried not to worry.

You sat up for hours, even when the little ones had gone to sleep, waiting to talk to him.

You’d convinced yourself that you should talk about. You should tell him you didn’t expect anything from him. That you didn’t hate him, that he didn’t hurt you or anything like that.

Just to tell him whatever you needed to stop this frostiness.

You had it all planned, had every phrase and comment worked out to stop this atmosphere.

About 15 minutes ago, you’d heard the ramp open. 3 minutes after that, the hiss and echo of the carbonite chamber.

Then you’d heard him go and check on the kid, then go to his quarters.

And now, it was his booted feet on the steps to the cockpit that held your attention.

You took a deep breath, prayed to the Maker and spun your seat to face him as he rose up.

The mere sight of that beskar-clad body set your heart thumping, but you coaxed an easy smile on your lips anyway. “Hey, how was the hunt? Cause you any trouble?”

Mando didn’t turn his head to look at you, just padded over to his seat and spun it to the control panel, “It was fine. Easy.” His words were clipped, not harsh, just… efficient. Straight to the point.

You swallowed, your courage faltering a little.

Mentally, you scolded yourself. You didn’t falter in the face of a man who’d touched you and now wouldn’t talk to you. You didn’t whimper and pander to a tense atmosphere.

You sat up a little straighter, pulling your shoulders back and you looked over at him.

Now or never.

“About the other night-”

“I’m taking you to Nevarro.”

What?

You had both spoken at the same time, your eyes now bewildered as you beheld him. “What?”

He said nothing, just fiddled with some controls.

“Mando, what do you mean?” Your voice was shocked, but steady. Did nothing to betray the shock that had just hit your chest like a punch.

You didn’t hear him swallow, only heard his words, “I’m taking you to Nevarro. We’re on the way now.” He said them softly, evenly.

Hearing it again only made your heart drop to somewhere around your waist.

He was leaving you. Dumping you on some planet. And going.

Your hand tapped your leg as sort of nervous habit, and then the words were out, “Is this because of the other night?”

It was his turn to sound bewildered, his head just turning to the side, but you knew he couldn’t see you in his peripheral, “What? What do you mean?”

Your heart was starting to beat uncomfortably in your chest, a sense of shame beginning to creep over you, “Because of what happened in the kitchen. I didn’t see you, I didn’t see your skin.”

Mando turned to face you, one hand still on the panel, his hair half turned but head rotated all the way to look at you, “No, no it’s not because of that-“

You cut him off, “You didn’t… you didn’t offend me. Or hurt me. And I’m sorry. I’m sorry if.. if my reaction made you feel awkward or think something. I don’t.. I don’t expect anything from you, if that’s what you’re worried about. I never have, so please don’t think that.” You flushed, the shame colouring your cheeks. You couldn’t help it. But this was the reason, right? The only reason why he would be dumping you.

He shook his head, “Stop. Stop..” His voice softened slightly, “No. It’s not because of… that. I know you didn’t see me. And I know you don’t expect anything from me.” He took a breath, “I’m taking you to Nevarro to keep you safe. That’s all. I have friends there, Cara Dune and Greef Karga. They’ll look after you. They’ve already set up accommodation for you, so you don’t need to worry about that.

They already knew?

Something like hurt flashed in your eyes, colouring your tone, “They… You already planned this..?” There was no bite in your voice like you would normally have in this situation, you were too shocked by the sudden change in direction your journey was taking.

Mando tilted his head, “I contacted them whilst I was on the hunt… I wanted it set up before we got there, so you wouldn’t stand out to anyone looking.” He still looked at you, “Is that okay?”

You sensed you wouldn’t have a choice in this. So you decided to take the high road. You wouldn’t whine about this.

You smoothed your expression over into a mask of calm, “Yes… I was just a little surprised that’s all. But thank you, really. I’ll… set about packing my things.”

He sounded confused, his head tilting back to watch you rise from your chair, “We have a couple of days yet.”

You nodded, “Oh, I know, I just want to make sure I have everything. And all the things I want to steal from you.” You laughed, even going so far as to nudge his shoulder before escaping.

You were gone to quickly, so you wouldn’t have seen the way he slumped in his chair, dropped his head into his hands. You wouldn’t have heard the pained sigh that escaped his lips at the thought have having to part with you.

The Mandalorian stood at the top of the ramp with you, staring out across the dusty, volcanic terrain of Nevarro. Your new home for… however long.

You said nothing, running your fingers along the edge of your cloak, observing the landscape and trying not to let any emotion show on your face. You had kept up natural conversation the past few days. Saying nothing of the wrenching pain that tore in your chest every time you remembered you were departing.

Mando cleared his throat, one arm holding Grogu and the other hand resting on his hip in a gesture that was becoming painfully familiar, “Cara and Greef know you’re coming. They’ll be waiting in Cara’s office for you.”

Grogu was sulking, squirming every now and then to try and get out of Mando’s grip. He had screamed the whole morning, and only calmed down when you hugged him and sung to him on the way here.

You nodded, also trying to ignore the thoughts swirling round in your mind as to why he was leaving you here. Was it because of your argument? The way you had broken down in front of him? Or was it because of the other night? The way his fingers had run through your hair, and then trailed down your spine, mapping your tattoo. His bare fingers. The things he’d whispered to you, “I just... I need to do this, please… I’m sorry, but I cant-”

“I’ve been thinking about this for days..”

Had he known then that he was going to leave you here? Or was it after that, that he’d decided he had broken one too many rules and had to get rid of you.

Words floated over to you, and you realised he was talking again so you hauled your attention back to the conversation at hand.

“-safe here. No one will come looking for you. Greef has taken all the pucks that have come through with your name on them and Cara will do sweeps every couple of days to make sure.”

You looked down at your feet, a bitter feeling leeching through your veins that was getting stronger with every moment you got closer to leaving the Crest.

“Hey… look at me..”

It was that honey softness of the Mandalorian’s tone that finally had you looking up at him, your expression perfectly masked to hide every ounce of emotion in you aside from a calm neutrality.

He tilted his head a little, turning his body toward you, “Please don’t think I’m dumping you here. I had planned to bring you here since I destroyed the puck and the fob.”

Like that made you feel any better.

He must have read the flicker in your eyes, because he stepped closer, his hand lifting to your upper arm, “I want you to be safe.” You could almost feel his eyes boring into yours, “I am more than grateful for everything you’ve done for me. And the kid. More than you’ll ever know. But, travelling with me.. it only increases the target on your back. People know you’re with me. I don’t want that for you.. you deserve to be free..”

And what about what I want?

You only smiled, forcing your expression to one of a lighter one and you nudged him gently, “Hey, I get it. You have to get rid of me because I’m showing you up on hunts. Can’t have anyone destroying your infamous reputation.” You rolled your eyes, laughing even if it did send daggers into your heart.

And his.

He squeezed your shoulder playfully, then dropped his hand. “You’re hilarious. I told you, the day you beat me is the day the stars implode.” You could feel a line of humour in his voice though, and it softened your shoulders, made you relax.

He was doing this to keep you safe. He had planned this for weeks so you could have a break, a chance to rest.

So, you lifted your head a little higher, your smile becoming more real. “Thank you, Mando. For everything. I can’t ever repay you for this, for what you’ve done.” You motioned to the outside.

He nodded, his hand resting at his sides again now, “We’ll call it even.” His head remained focused on you, lingering on you and then he reached into a pouch and held out his free hand, “Here.”

You let him drop the objects in your hand, a small stack of credits.

“It’s not much, I know, but it’ll be enough to get you some food and supplies you need. You don’t need to worry about a place to stay, Cara will show you but… You can get what you want and need.” He withdrew his hand slowly, almost reluctantly.

You swallowed, closing your hand around the credits and you slipped them into the pocket inside your cloak. “Thank you..”

The Mandalorian merely nodded again, leaning back against the threshold of the ramp, his thumb absently rubbing circles on Grogu’s belly.

It seemed that there was nothing else to draw this goodbye out, so you took a breath, straightening your cloak. “Well… I guess I’ll say goodbye then.” You looked up at him, then stuck out your hand for his, realising only a few seconds later how dumb that was.

Before you could pull your hand back, he reached out and clasped your hand in his own, wrapping his fingers around your distinctly smaller hand. “Goodbye… princess.” You heard the smirk in his voice, and you couldn’t help the chuckle and the eye roll again, not failing to notice the way his hand tightened involuntarily and then withdrew.

You looked at Grogu in his other arm, who was still avoiding looking at the pair of you, wriggling in his father’s arms. You bent down to draw your face to his level and you stroked his ears, “I’ll miss you, little guy. Make sure to keep your dad on his toes, okay? You gotta make up for both of us now.” You pressed a kiss to the top of his head, feeling his little hand pat your cheek with a mournful noise. Tears burned the back of your eyes, so you leant back, instead picking up Duru so she could say goodbye.

Grogu cooed sadly again, stroking Duru’s cheek, looking up at her with his glossy eyes.

You let Duru but her head against him, chitter a goodbye and then you stepped back, allowing her to climb up your shoulders as you looked up at Mando.

You just watched him for a moment, his armour reflecting the light on one side and then, with a soft inhale of courage, you turned and walked down the ramp, Duru padding at your feet.

You had only just cleared the ramp, stepping onto the hard, compacted ground when Mando called out, “Wait.”

You turned quickly, hope blooming in your heart, in your expression though you tried to stop it.

He had made a step onto the ramp, body poised like it was trying to run to you but he was holding back. He hesitated, almost as if he were torn with what to say – or what not to say, but all that came out was, “Ret'urcye mhi.”

You couldn’t help the shiver that licked down your spine, the way his voice turned into dripping honey when he spoke Mando’a. “What does that mean..?” You prayed he couldn’t hear the slight hoarseness to your tone.

He tilted his head down to look at Grogu, then lifted it back up to you, “It means goodbye…. And maybe we’ll meet again..”

Your heart swelled a little, a flush of pain going through it but you smiled softer, your expression melting and you inclined your head slightly, “I would like that.. very much…”

There were a million other things that threatened to roll off your tongue, pour from you but before they could, you turned around, walking toward the town and feeling his eyes on you the entire time, burning into the back of your head like a fiery brand.

You were about 4 metres away when you heard Grogu start crying, when your own tears broke through and spilled down your cheeks. You kept walking, even when your vision began to blur and go fuzzy.

So you didn’t see the way Mando hugged Grogu closer, whispered, “I know, kid, I don’t want her to go either.”

You’d be okay. It would be fine.

So you and the Mandalorian were parting. It was no big deal. You had helped each other; you had returned each other’s debts. You owed each other nothing.

The sound of engines whirring filtered into your ears, and you waited until you heard the Crest lift from the ground before turning round.

You paused, wiping your cheeks as the ship that had become a haven of sorts lifted into the sky. It hovered for a second, as if hesitating and then shot up higher, taking with it the two people that you had come to mean more to you than you realised. It felt like the Razor Crest had taken your heart with it.

How comes you hadn’t realised before how much they meant?

Too late now.

You remained watching the sky, long after the ship had vanished into the atmosphere.

With a shuddering breath, you wiped your cheeks. You kissed Duru’s tail, and then returned to walking toward the town.

You’d be okay… right?

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#the mandalorian x force sensitive! reader #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #din djarin x force sensitive! reader #din djarin x you #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal #the mandalorian #din djarin blurb #grogu #the force #star wars #rogue

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light-yaers · 3 years

Note

The best trope in the world is when one character falls in love with another and instead of being bashful about about it their internal monologue is just like “Oh God... no.... FUCK.... WHY.”

That’s Din. A thousand percent Din Djarin.

Do with that what you will.

I like this one a lot. Let’s do it. Here’s the link to my other finished prompts!

Maker, you loved him - Din Djarin x Reader

Your POV

Today. You had to tell him today. If you didn’t, then you’d leave without ever divulging your deepest, darkest secret to that Beskar clad man; you loved him.

Maker, you loved him.

The incessant fear and worry had bubbled into something else with every time he left to capture a quarry. His ability at being so silent yet so fucking loud without even saying a modulated word. He’d let you onto his ship, into his world, when you’d had nothing stable to hold onto before.

Your Mandalorian. Maker, he was yours.

You were cradling the kid to sleep when he came back; dotted with mud and moss and dragging a body behind him. He shoved it into the carbonite containers immediately; before you could see, or get curious enough to take a closer look. He always did that; even from day one. It was like he was protecting you, worrying for you, not wanting to upset you.

The kid gurgled in your arms, after the steam from the containers fizzled away, revealing Mando in all his metallic glory. Grogu reached out for his father, getting restless in your arms as you hoisted the two of you from the hull floor and shuffled towards Mando.

He accepted the child silently, gently, so fucking softly that it made your heart flutter every single time. He was so good with the kid, so caring and kind and protective; it only cemented the way you felt as being even more so.

You sat back, watching the two of them together with a smile. Grogu was excited to have his dad back after a long day without him; you were excited to have him back too; maybe for the same reasons--

Maybe for love.

He stowed the kid in his cubby after a good cuddle, shutting the hatch to keep him safe and sound during the night. That’s when he turned to you. You allowed his unwavering stare to seep into your bones, to invigorate you and spur you to say it, just fucking say it, while you still could.

His stare was cold; he designed it to be that way. The visor left everything to the imagination. Maybe he was a devil beneath his Beskar, maybe he was a god, or a power being-- or a man. Just a man. A man who’s stare had never felt cold to you in the slightest, but had existed only to warm you to your very core.

“I’ll set course for Sanctuary II,” He said, quieter than normal. “You’ll be safe there, can make a life there. Have a family there,” Maker, he was sad.

With every word you felt an ice pick through your heart; you had to tell him-- just fucking tell him.

When he started towards the cockpit ladder, you bit back your anxiety. You rushed forward, grasping his forearms and turning him towards you desperately. He fumbled slightly, not used to you being so forward or restless, but nevertheless, he didn’t pull you away. He kept you close, he kept you by his side.

“What if I didn’t want to go to Sanctuary II?” You blurted out. Maker, you knew you probably looked crazy, but you couldn’t help it. Saying you loved someone for the first time, especially when that person was a Mandalorian, wasn’t going to be easy. It was taking all of your strength not to pull off his helmet and kiss him immediately.

“You--?” He spluttered out. “It’s safe there, a lot safer than here,”

“I know,” You replied, squeezing his arms despite knowing that the Beskar wouldn’t let the gesture through. “I don’t care,”

“You don’t care?” He repeated. Stars, he was lost for words. You imagined he was somewhere between confused and annoyed beneath his helmet, but all you could do was beam, as you finally found the courage.

“I don’t want to leave you and the kid, Mando,” You let out, and Maker, it felt fucking fantastic. “I don’t ever want to leave you--,”

“What’re you-- wait,” He interrupted. He was absolutely boggled; he wasn’t used to people being honest with him like this. He pulled you even closer, as if your voice being too quiet was the problem here. “Say that again,” He breathed out.

You swallowed back your fears.

“I love you, Mandalorian. I don’t ever want to leave you,”

Din’s POV

“I love you, Mandalorian. I don’t ever want to leave you,”

Okay-- so I hadn’t misheard her. I hadn’t misunderstood a word. I’d heard it all, trickling from her mouth as clear as day. She’d just admitted to something so unforgiving, something that could never be left alone.

Maker, I can’t do this.

I just kept looking at her, right in her eyes, not that she could see I was fucking buzzing beneath my armour. Maybe she could feel it though, as her small hands are wrapped around the Beskar on my forearms.

Such small hands. She’s always had such small hands. They intrigue me, that something can be that elegant and soft and tiny. If I fit one of her hands between both of my own, her knuckles would never recover.

The words kept playing over and over in my head, reverberating off of my helmet and bombarding straight back into my brain.

She just said love, didn’t she? Love.

Fuck.

“You...” Maker, what am I saying? “You don’t ever want to leave?” Don’t just repeat her words back to her-- what the fuck is she going to think? That you’re unintelligent? That you’d idiotic?

Stars, her eyes were beaming as she nodded so confidently.

Fucking hell-- Saints. It’s sinking in now, and I have no clue what to say, what to think.

No-- she can’t.

She’s young, talented, soft-spoken and kind-hearted and everything that wasn’t made for a bounty hunter. She’s warm and caring, loving the kid as one of her own from day one and putting up with the fucking horrendous jobs I perform day in, day out; to live; to breathe; to one day, find a person who loves me and settle on a planet, never to don by armour again.

But this-- she’s loves me with it on.

Maker, she’s never seen my face. She’s stitched up wounds and cuts and blasts but she’s never seen what lies beneath my helmet. She’s heard me in the fresher, listened to me snore and chuckled to herself uncontrollably until it’s woken me.

She’s shivered on the cold hull floor before, so much so that I had to drape that blanket over her while she was fast asleep, not knowing how her body was violently convulsing as the frost seeped under her skin.

She’s never complained, never yelled or cried or showed unnecessary fear when things have become more dangerous than normal, She’s--

She’s... Maker, she’s perfect.

Fuck-- no. Me? No, she can’t. What in the--

“Mando,” Her voice brings me back. “Are you okay?”

No. Of course, I’m not.

“Yes,” The words tumble out. I can’t leave it at that, I can’t.

Because maybe, despite the danger, the way my job operates, the way I am not safe, wherever I go-- maybe, I would like her to stay, too.

“You wish to stay?” I asked again, fucking stupidly. But she just smiles at me all the same; Maker, maybe she does love me. Anyone that can look at me the way she is must not hate me. She nods again.

Fuck. That’s it then, isn’t it?

“Okay.”

I loved this one so much! Thank you for the prompt, anon!

#din djarin x reader #prompt #writeblr #din djarin #star wars #fic rec #one shot #writing prompt #x reader #fluff #hurt and comfort #pedro pascal #the mandalorian

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mandochlorian · 3 years

Text

SEE YOU WHEN I SEE YOU (Din Djarin x Jedi!Reader)

Summary: The Child has been captured by Moff Gideon. In efforts to rescue him, you and Din rally a team and board his ship. When the time comes to face the Moff, you’re heavily tempted by the dark side.

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Abruptly, Din pulls you back, holding you against him. His grip is tight, urgent, yet steady and sure. You feel yourself hold your breath. The distant sound of footsteps fades away, heading someplace down the dark hall. The coast seems clear. You look at Din, giving him a nod to signal this. Pulling away from the wall, you both instantly break into a sprint. There isn’t any time to waste.

“How far are we?” You ask, glancing back at him. By now, the entire ship is aware of your presence. The troopers have been deployed and Moff Gideon’s most likely forming some plan to stop you - in vain, hopefully, once he’s captured by the rest of the team.

“To your left!” Din shouts, watching as you come to an abrupt halt. He sees your eyes go wide and you step away from the doors. The Dark Troopers have been activated. Your chest sinks to the floor as you watch them. Their eyes glow red, staring down at you while they begin walking towards you. “No, no!” He grunts, heading straight for the control panel.

You raise a hand, trying your best to push them further into the room. Your eyes go wide at the sheer strength they exhibit and your hand shakes with fear. You can’t help but look at it. If any of them make it out, you’re not sure any of you will survive it. The door begins to slide shut and you let out the smallest of breaths. Mechanic hands wrench them open, pulling the door ajar.

Your hands are instantly at the ready, focusing on pushing the doors shut tightly. The power flowing through you is so intense, it feels hard to push out a breath. Loud screeches come from the door. Din’s heart is almost beating out of his chest and past his armour. He fires shots at the machines but nothing seems to phase them.

“There are too many of them!” You shout, eyebrows furrowed at the effort of trying to shut the doors. Holding a breath, immense energy shaking your arms. Din watches you, the anguish and anger on your face - emotions he’s never seen so prominently desperate on you.

Suddenly, one of the troopers charges through. The door slams shut behind it and you feel your legs buckle under the lack of energy. “Get behind me!” Din shouts, his blaster fire bouncing off the droids untainted metal. You jump away from the approaching droid but face it. “Behind me!” He repeats himself, watching you stand before the thing.

Staring into it’s glowing red eyes, your hand grasps your weapon. You ignite your blue lightsaber. Fear grips you, it makes your skin turn cold. But you try to remain still and focused despite the quick rise and fall of your chest. Better you than Din.

When you go to swing at it, the machine swipes at your legs. The wind is sucked from your lungs but you keep your saber raised, attempting at shielding your face as much as you can. The whir of its body moving is loud as it grips onto your wrist. Din fires at it constantly. It seems to stare at you for a moment, as if to analyse your face. You wonder why it hasn’t killed you, used your weapon against you, broken your wrist. Turning his attention back onto Din, who had begun to kick at the Dark Troopers head, it lets go of your wrist.

Why does it keep you alive? With wide eyes, you watch as it begins making its way to Din. No. Not him. The trooper marches towards him, twisting the blaster from Dins hand. He groans in pain as he’s lifted off the ground and once again, you feel like you can’t breathe.

“No! Din!” You shout. You try to pull it back as you stand from the ground, but he’s too strong for you. Your force only shakes it, making it pause for a moment. You grunt in frustration, charging towards it. You swing your lightsaber down against the troopers hand. It falls the ground with a heavy clank, releasing its grip on the Mandalorian. It seems to pause, looking at you. Not giving it any time to recover, Din engulfs it’s lower body with flames. They lick over it, reaching up to its neck. It snaps its head at Din, unphased, before swinging its arm and sending you sliding against the floor.

You let out a yell when you hit your back against the wall, your lightsaber flung out of your grip. The ache in your neck spreads to your temples and when you open your eyes once again, you can’t help the anger that overcomes you. You know you shouldn’t feel it. It makes you shake. This hateful desperation. But you need to help Din. You need to make sure he survives. Din continues to fight, being pushed by the large trooper. The machine is unaffected when the whistling birds explode onto its metal skin. You’ve seen those things wipe out entire groups of strong fighters.

Stand up on unsteady legs, you reach your hand out. The lightsaber comes flying into your grip. You ignite it once more, gritting your teeth together. It’s wrong but... you can feel the emotion fueling you.

Running to the Dark Trooper, you pull your lightsaber back as far as you can. Din is in front of it, taking the brunt of its beatings. It’s about to grab him once again. Din watches, reaching back to find his Beskar spear. The sound of your lightsaber crashing finishes the fight. It rips through the Death Troopers armour, leaving him to fall to pieces on the ground.

You let out a huff, seeing Din look up at you from his place on the ground. When you reach a hand out to him, he can’t help but pause for a moment. You help him stand, trying not to wince when you hear him grunt. Din watches in horror as the troopers begin to break the glass of the doors. The rhythmic beat of their iron fists hitting the solid blast doors echoes through the hall. He goes to the control panel, flicking a switch. In an instant, they’re being sucked out into space. You release a breath.

“Come on, we have to keep moving,” you remind him, placing a quick hand on his shoulder before continuing down the hallways. He watches you, eyes lingering but following suit.

You can... feel him. He knows you’re on board, he can sense you. He’s afraid. We’re coming. We’re going to find you, buddy.

You can hear his thoughts speeding by so quickly. He’s afraid he won’t make it. Stopping before an unguarded door, you look to Din. He’s in here. His presence is so close it makes you want to cry. Din strides towards it, the cell door slides open. You knew this plan was never going to be easy. Plans never go as they should. So it doesn’t surprise you when you see Moff Gideon sitting beside Grogu. It doesn’t surprise you at all. It infuriates you. He has his dark saber at the child’s throat.

“Release him,” you order, eye twitching as you stare Moff down, “Now.” The man gives you a small smirk, almost impressed.

“Where have you been all this time?” He muses, tilting his head down to stare at you, “I’ve long been waiting for your anger to overcome you.”

“Nothing has overcome me.” You remind him, frowning at him.

“Hm,” he responds quizzically, “You don’t believe that. Why should I? Drop your weapons. Slowly,” he announces, a smug expression on his face that you wish you could punch off. You can feel Din watching you, seeing how you don’t move an inch. It’s only when you hear his blaster hit the floor that you tear your eyes from Moff Gideon’s, placing your saber on the floor. “Now kick them over to me,” he adds, staring you down with the subtlest of grins when you both listen to his orders, “Very nice.”

“Give me the kid,” Din tells him, voice cold yet steadier than before. Your breath is shallow and you can’t help but stare at Gideon, desperately avoiding Grogu’s eyes. You can’t break now. Not now. Not in front of him. Din at least has his helmet, Moff won’t be able to see it if he were to show weakness. But you have your face on display.

“The kid is just fine where he is,” Moff responds, pulling the weapon away from him and holding it up in the air, “Mesmerizing, isn’t it? Used to belong to Bo-Katan.” His eyes dart between you and Din, “Yes. I know you’ve been traveling with Bo-Katan. A friendly piece of advice...” he gives pause, rising to tower over you, “Assume that I know everything. Like the fact that your wrist launcher has fired its one and only salvo.”

Your skin runs cold. He must’ve been watching you somehow. The thought makes your fist clenched at your side. It takes everything for you not to launch at him. Din can sense your rising anger and energy, though he’s only witness it a few times before. Moffs eyes glance at your fist before he looks back up to your eyes, raising a brow slightly.

“Where is this going?” Din interrupts.

“This is where it’s going,” he continues, his voice tinged with superiority that makes you want to rebel, “I’m guessing that Bo-Katan and her boarding party have arrived at the bridge, seeking me or, more accurately, this.” He gestures with his saber, “But I’m not there. And I imagine that they’ve killed everyone on the bridge, being the murderous savages that they are. And now, they’re beginning to panic.” He takes a few steps as he speaks, “You see, she wants this. Do you know why? Because it brings power. Whoever wields this sword… has the right to lay claim to the Mandalorian throne.”

“We’re here for the child,” you respond to Moff, “we have no interest in your toys and politics.”

“Keep the sword. Just give us the kid.” Din confirms, his eyes always trained on Moff. He’s beginning to get antsy with all this exposition. And it feels like you’re so close to fulfilling the plan yet so far away. Agonisingly far.

Moff thinks it over for a moment, “Very well. I’ve already got what I want from him. His blood. All I wanted was to study his blood.” He says it as though it’s simple, “This Child is extremely gifted…” his eyes flicker to you, “Not dissimilar to yourself, Y/N Y/L/N. Though you were far too slippery to grasp onto in the past,” Moff watches as you stare at him, the anger so evident on your face it almost makes him laugh, “Like you, the child has been blessed with rare properties that have the potential to bring order back to the galaxy.” He begins to walk from Grogu, and you both carefully watch his movements, “I see your bond with him... Take him, but you will leave my ship immediately and we will go our separate ways.”

Your eyes linger on him, sensing his wrongful intentions. But he doesn’t make a move. “What game are you playing?”

“Why don’t you answer that?” He retorts, taking a step towards you, “You’re... shocked to be alive. Though it comes as no shock to me, Y/N.”

“The Death Troopers weren’t targeting me,” you mumble to him, trying not to feel like an idiot under his gaze. Din turns to the child.

“No one ever was. We only want you, Y/N.”

Your lightsaber reaches your hand just in time, and you block the blow Moff Gideon tries to land onto Dins back. Moff stares into your wide, shocked eyes. Din turns back immediately, standing in front of Grogu protectively. If it weren’t for you or the Beskar, he’d have been killed.

Your lightsaber lingers on his darksaber before he rips it away from you, pulling back to land repeated blows to your weapon. He has such strength that your legs shake trying not to cave under his force. No. No, he won’t win. He can’t. He notices your struggle, seeing you grit your teeth as you crash your saber towards him. He dodges it, stepping back and pacing the room a little.

Staring him down, you swing your saber around you. You watch him all the while, anticipating his next move.

Din whips his spear out, holding it up as he stands beside you. You ready your weapon, feeling a sense of security with Din beside you. Giving one another a look, you both charge at Moff. He uses his sword to block your blows, moving and dodging expertly as he steps back into the hallway and away from Grogu.

In a moment where his saber collides with yours, Moff pushes it towards you. It slides down the length of your weapon, searing the tips of your fingers. You try to hold on, pushing against him as you cry out in pain. Until you can’t stand the heat, and your saber flies from your hands.

He swings continuously, you stepping back and barely dodging the hits. He’s aiming for your throat, trying to make you yield to him, on your knees. But he won’t take you away, you won’t let him. Moff pauses his actions, just as you foresaw. The darksaber is under your chin. You smile up at him, “You won’t kill me. You can’t.”

Din uses his spear to knock Moff off his feat, pressing the tip of it to his throat. Moff waits for the weapon to enter him, to pierce his skin and end his life. But that moment never comes. “You’re sparing my life?” He asks, looking up at the Mandalorian with curiosity in his eyes.

You can feel betrayal and frustration flow through you as you frown at the scene before you. “No,” you speak up, weapon suddenly in your hand as you march to his position on the floor, “you don’t get to live. Not after what you’ve done.”

“Y/N,” Din calls, eyes wide at your searing saber at his throat. Din’s the only thing stopping you right now. If it weren’t for him there, you’d have killed Moff Gideon as soon as the chance presented itself.

“He deserves this,” you answer, staring at the piece of filth below you.

“You can’t judge that,” Din responds, his hand hesitating as he presses his hand against your shoulder, “He belongs to the Republic now.”

Gideon looks so fucking pleased with himself, raising his brows at you and taunting you - even in this situation, it feels as though he has the upper hand. “Go on,” he muses, “defy your Mandalorian.”

“Don’t tempt me.” You spit through clenched teeth, your eyes dark and unyielding.

“I’m not sure that I am tempting you,” Moff taunts you so easily, “it seems something far darker is tempting you, Jedi.” He says the last word out with disgust though he smiles up at you. Something darker. You can feel it surrounding you like black smoke, like a sickness.

He’s right. What are you doing? What the hell are you doing? You turn your lightsaber off, stepping away from him. You were never taught to take justice into your own hands. This was never part of the plan. Din grabs a hold of the darksaber, aiming it at Moff and ordering him to stand. You turn to the cell, half embarrassed and half shocked at yourself.

Anger. Fear. Hatred. It all leads to one path, you know this.

Grogu let’s out a confused noise, staring up at you with large eyes. You wipe your mind of that, giving him a smile as you put your weapon away. “Hi, buddy. You’re safe,” you tell him, picking him up gently and holding him in front of you, “you’re safe now. Everything’s going to be okay.”

The robed man approaches. You watch the monitor, your eyes wide with something Din can’t quite place. Longing? Nostalgia? Something he’s never seen on you before. The man on the screen wears a low hood, and the colour of his lightsaber is hidden from you, but when he reaches a hand out to push a Dark Trooper away, you know who it is.

That, coupled with the way that Grogu places his hand on the monitor, makes Din let down his guard a little bit. The Jedi stands by the doors to the main hold, silently, patiently. He senses you. You sense him back.

“Open the doors,” Din states, making you look towards him. It’s like he knows, somehow, that you have a connection with the stranger already. The other give him a quizzical look, “I said, open the doors.” He repeats himself.

When no one answers, he moves to do it himself. “Are you crazy?” Fennec frowns, watching him press a few buttons.

“It’s okay,” you add. The doors slide open, filling the tense silence with the uncomfortable sound signifying danger. Beyond the smoke, his green lightsaber illuminates the doorframe. The man steps out, no longer hidden from the groups view.

He places his lightsaber back on his holster, silent and regal. Then he removes his hood, his hands coming to rest before him. Luke Skywalker. You can’t believe you’re seeing him again. You never thought you would, not since you went into hiding from the remnants of the Empire and the New Republic. Not since you had decided to shut yourself off from politics and from the Force. Everything changed when you met the Mandalorian and then the Child. And now, here you are, face to face with him yet again.

“Are you a Jedi?” Din speaks up, watching the man closely. You almost let out a laugh at Din. He’s so humble, so innocent and kind.

“I am,” he responds calmly, his eyes then drifting to the little creature sitting on the chair. Luke reaches his hand out to him, “Come, little one.”

Grogu stares up at the stranger with wide, curious eyes. Dins response is immediate. He knows his kid. “He doesn’t want to go with you.”

You can sense it too, but it’s much more than that, “Grogu isn’t sure that he should.” You tell Din, turning to give him a melancholy expression. Mando gives you a look before turning back to the man.

Luke’s blue eyes flick between you and the Mandalorian, “He wants your permission,” he admits, “He is strong with the Force. But as you know, Y/N, talent without training is nothing.”

As soon as he says you name, Din snaps to look at you with confusion. You don’t turn to meet his gaze. “You know this Jedi?” He asks you.

You can’t look at him, feeling as though you’ve been horribly dishonest with him. He knows a bit about your past but not this much, despite the close friendship you both share. “Yes,” you admit aloud, searching Luke’s light eyes. He looks different - so much more mature and powerful. “I begun my training shortly after the fall of the Empire.” You add.

“And now, it is time to finish it,” Luke tells you, the smallest of smiles on his mouth,“I haven’t just come for the child. I’ve come for you to.” Dins breath catches in his throat. Unbeknown to him, you have the same reaction. Before you can say no, Luke continues, already having sensed your hesitation. “I will give my life to protect the Child. And to teach you the ways of the Force,” he adds, “You’ve always been strong, Y/N. But neither of you will not be safe until you fully master your abilities.”

“I don’t want anything to do with the Force,” you admit to Luke, a frown coming to your face.

“Yet you continue to use it to your advantage,” he notes, a hint of lighthearted mockery in his voice, “I can sense much conflict in you. Your fear and hatred will never wade until you learn the ways of the true Jedi - you will always feel the temptation of the Dark Side.”

“I can fight it.”

“Search your feelings,” Luke responds calmly, “you know you can’t, not on your own.”

Feeling a hand on your shoulder, you suck in a breath at Dins gloved hand on you. Looking up at him, you suddenly feel comfort but your body is tense. “Y/N...” he begins, voice low but soft, “you’re strong, you have a gift. But I don’t want to see it destroy you.”

“What are you saying?” You ask, squeezing your eyes shut because you already know.

He pauses, the words paining him as much as it pains you. Over your journey together, you’ve grown so close. Starting out as some Jedi who swore to protect the Child, he couldn’t get rid of you. Now he desperately wishes you could stay. But he knows what’s truly best.

“Finish your training,” he answers, hand heavy on your shoulder, “I’ll still be here when you’re some almighty, powerful Wizard.”

You let out a small laugh, before the tears make you sniff. “I don’t want to leave you,” you admit to him, placing your hand on top of his; though it’s not his skin, you still feel connected to him. You don’t want to go. You really don’t want to go. You feel so utterly attached to the Mandalorian, it’s something you can’t put into words. But you know he feels it too.

“This won’t be the last we see of each other,” he tells you, thanking his helmet for hiding his aching expression. “I have a feeling you’ll manage just fine on your own.”

You give him a tender smile, staring up into the darkness of his visor like you’ve done a million times before. You can’t bear to speak, so you just give him a nod. He lets go of your shoulder, suddenly feeling the prying eyes of those around him.

Grogu is at Dins feet now, reaching his hands up towards him. You step back beside Luke now. The Jedi gives you a gentle smile along with a nod, “Welcome back, Y/N.”

You just nod back to him, feeling fear prick at your chest but you push it down. Soon, it will be gone.

Looking at Din, you watch him pick Grogu up, trying his best to push the sadness from his voice and his heart. “Hey, go on,” he tells Grogu, “that’s who you belong with. He’s one of your kind... I’ll see you again... I promise.”

You can’t stop the tears from building at the sight, no matter how hard you wish they’d disappear. After everything, every tender moment, every life and death situation, every adventure, Din and Grogu are parting ways. The child presses a hand to his shiny helmet. At first, you think it’s his way of saying goodbye. But then Dins hand comes to the bottom of his helmet. You don’t look away this time, like you’ve had to in the past. You’ve never seen more than the bottom of his chin before. But now, Din removes his helmet all together, in front of all. the breath is knocked out of you. You watch on, respectfully. His brown hair, messy, soft, curly. His brown eyes are filled with tears. His light brows are turned up slightly with emotion. He has stubble around his chin, jaw, and above his pink lips. His lips. Your eyes brush over them before you return to his eyes. You gaze upon the face of the man you love and you feel like you want to sob as he looks down at Grogu.

There are tears in Dins eyes as he holds the kid close, trying his best not to look defeated in front of him. He’s trying so hard to be strong. Grogu looks over Dins face, much like you do. The stubble surrounding his mouth and jaw. His dark hair. His brown eyes. His large nose. The hard lines on his forehead and between his brows. You can’t stop pointing out features of his face as your eyes go over his again and again and again. Grogu places his small hand on the Mandalorians cheek and you hold a breath when Dins eyes fall shut for a moment.

“All right, pal. It’s time to go,” Din says softly, reassuring Grogu when his ears fall slightly, “Don’t be afraid.” His voice is so soft. You close your eyes for a moment. Keep it together.

Tears fall down your cheeks when Din sets Grogu down, and you watch him slowly walk to Luke. When your eyes meet Dins again, he’s already watching you. You try not to cry or look away. Staring into his eyes nearly takes the breath from your lungs, and you blink the blurry tears from your eyes to give him a small, proud smile. His chest swells at this.

Despite you both tearing up, Din returns the smile. It suits him. Stars, does a smile suit this man. You only wish your chest didn’t ache at the fact that it may be the only time you see him smile. A few beeps distracts you from him, and you look down to see R2D2 standing before Grogu. You smile at the pair, seeing them greet one another so long. There’s recognition between the two. They must’ve known each other when Grogu was first being trained. There’s a sense of solace in the fact that despite leaving Din, Grogu is being reunited with an old friend. Grogu isn’t alone. This makes you feel alone.

Din admires the way you smile at the pair. His hands buzz at the thought of reaching for you one last time, of pressing his forehead to you, or his lips to your soft skin. But he stays planted still, two metres away from you.

Grogu cooes softly at Luke’s feet, reaching for his new master to pick him up. When he holds him up, Luke gives Din a kind nod. “May the Force be with you,” he tells him wholeheartedly, turning to the hallway as he heads for the doors.

Looking around the group, you give them all a subtle smile. “I guess I’ll... I’ll see you when I - when I see you,” you let out a small laugh, mostly at yourself and your inability to control your emotions - which seems to be a major topic of discussion today.

Cara gives you a smile, the dimples prominent on her face. You sense her sadness. “See you when I see you,” she responds.

Before you turn, you give Din one last smile, as if trying to tell him everything will be okay. He sees your lips tremble. But your facade falls when you turn to begin walking down the hall, you furrow your eyebrows and the tears don’t stop falling now that he can’t see you. Din watches with baited breath, on the cusp of losing it. But something stops you before you can step into the elevator. You turn your head slightly, feeling the longing plague Dins chest. He sees you, taking a tentative step forward.

Turning back around, you meet the Mandalorians eyes. You never thought you’d ever be able to see them. It’s now or never. At the prospect of never truly seeing him again, you begin to walk towards him. He follows suit, marching quickly to you. Your speed builds when you’re about to reach him and he holds his arms open in anticipation. His beskar pushes against you roughly when he hugs you but you don’t care. Wrapping your arms around him, you squeeze your eyes shut and feel the warmth of his neck against your cheek. Dins hands hold you tightly, resting against your back. He can hear you crying quietly. It lasts for a few moments, neither of you wanting to separate yet.

When you pull back, you can’t help but look at him up close. Your eyes dart between his and you smile when you realise he’s also smiling. Din places his hands against both your cheeks, his fingertips brushing your skin tenderly, so painfully aware that this is the first and last time he’ll touch you. But as you look at one another closely for a moment, something pulls the two of you together. Dins smile slowly fades and his eyes gaze at your lips. Usually when he does this, you can’t tell. But today you can. Moving forward slowly, your lips brush against his gently and your eyes flutter shut. Feeling your lips to tenderly against his is heaven, it’s so good, but it isn’t enough, Din doesn’t think it’ll ever feel like enough. He moves closer, his lips now encasing yours in a kiss. He feels so close that it makes you sad - sad that you won’t get to feel this for stars knows how long. Your first kiss with Din lasts a few moments, a few good moments, and your mouths move against one another’s sweetly.

But then it ends, when your hands rest against his beskar chest armour. And you both have to separate. Your eyes can’t seem to leave one another’s. Not until he pulls you in for another embrace. He rests his forehead against yours for a moments breath, before removing his arms from you and setting you free. No words need to be said. You smile at him from the elevator. He looks between you and Grogu, giving you one last smile before the doors shut.

#din djarin x y/n #din djarin x reader #din djarin imagine #din djarin x you #din djarin x female reader #din djarin x jedi!reader #din djarin oneshot

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sirius · 4 years

Text

Bite Marks (The Mandalorian x Reader) SMUT

Pairing: The Mandalorian x Reader

Warnings: Unprotected sex (don’t be silly, wrap that willy), Dom/Sub, Rough sex, Oral sex (Reader receiving), Swearing. IF YOU’RE A MINOR, KINDLY FUCK OFF

Word Count: 3.6k? I think? Who knows at this point

A/N: Nothing sexier than Jealous!Mando, amirite?

***

The bounty was supposed to be easy.

All five mercenaries were dudebro fuckbois with high prices on their heads and a habit of pissing off the wrong people. They were all expected to be at the same club, too, which meant that you just had to flaunt some skin and purr honeyed promises and they’d be in the palm of your hands.

The bounty was supposed to be fucking easy .

It wasn’t.

***

The Mandalorian is suspicious. He always is.

“What are the chances of all six of our targets being in one place?” He says, “Seems suspicious. Could be a trap.”

“I considered that, too,” you remark from over your shoulder, searching idly for an outfit, “That was before I realised it was a Solastice festival. Literally hundreds of thousands of people rock up to this sleeze fest. No one wants to miss out on the free booze and the orgies,” Your fingers skim across a velvet mermaid dress, “How about this?”

Mando huffs out a grunt, “I should come.”

You toss the dress aside and search for another, “Who’s going to look after the Child?”

The Mandalorian stares long and hard at the Child, who blinks owlishly back at the Mandalorian, his inky eyes filled with adoration, “I know someone.”

“You sure you can trust them?”

“She’s taken care of him before.”

You give a noncommittal hum and hold out a lacy, navy-blue dress, “What about this?”

“That’s it?”

“What? You don’t like a bit of lace—?”

“—you’re not going to argue about me coming on this bounty with you?”

“It’ll be fun,” you smirk, throwing the dress away, “Besides, I like watching you in action. You’re sexy when you fight.”

Mando tilts his head. His expression is impossible to read but you suspect he might be amused, annoyed or confused.

Beaming excitedly, you flatten a sleek, backless dress with a plunging neckline against your body, imagining how the dress will hug your curves and flaunt your cleavage. A long split down the side will give you access to the blasters and daggers strapped to your thigh holster too. It’s classy with just enough sexy to keep the imagination stirring.

The Mandalorian doesn’t say anything for a long, measured moment. Somehow, perhaps ironically — the silence seems to whisper his approval.

You untie your silk dressing robe, letting it fall to the ground and pool around your feet. The Mandolorian averts his gaze. suddenly taking a keen interest in the small plant you’ve been watering. You wish you could see his face. Is he blushing? Is he horrified? Is he aroused?

Sliding into the dress, you turn and gesture to the zip kissing the small of your back. “Do you mind?”

The Mandalorian hesitates at first. Somehow, you can almost hear the clink of his thoughts colliding, like he’s mentally solving dynamical system calculations and differential equations. Finally, he stalks toward you and you feel the hesitancy begin to thaw as his gloved fingers twitch around the zip and tug.

His ghostly, featherlight touch lingers on your skin, following the line of your spine until he reaches the thin straps sitting elegantly on the knob of your shoulders. Summoning every ounce of your ex-assassin courage, you slowly turn to face him and stare deeply into the slit in his helmet, imagining the colour of his eyes. Are they a dazzling shade of blue? Or a lovely, rare shade of teal green? Perhaps a smokey umber or steely grey? Or were they like yours; a kaleidoscope of colour always shifting and changing and never one distinct shade?

The air thickens, electricity crackles.

Suddenly, the Mandalorian nods stiffly and stumps away, leaving you alone with your thoughts. You sigh, realising that there’s more than Beskar armour hiding his thick, prickly layers. Perhaps... , you muse, in that childishly naive way that only deep affection can stir, ... Perhaps I’ll find a way to pry it off.

***

Outside, the festival rages.

The dancing crowd of celebrants are like a splash of vibrant colour against the bland backdrop of the surrounding buildings as they flood the streets, filling the air with hoots and cheer and vivid shades of life .

You perch on the barstool, keeping an eye on both your targets and the festival. The Mandalorian is sitting at a table in the far corner, close to the exit in case the targets are as dumb as they look and decide to make a break for it.

The bartender slides yet another drink your way from a hopeful suitor. You smile and take a sip, winking at the nervous, young man stealing furtive glances at you.

“My, my...” a greasy voice says from over your shoulder, “What’s a beautiful woman like you doing in dump like this?”

You spin in your stool and smirk.

The lead dudebro of the fuckboi boy-band is trying to make a pass at you. He thinks he sounds smooth but his pick up lines are equal parts cliche and cringy and they come off polished and second-hand, like he’d heard it from a grainy, amateur porn movie and decided it was a winner.

“Hoping to find myself a handsome fella,” you purr, flashing him your most alluring smile.

Dudebro leans against the counter, reeking of smoke and sweat and virile fuckboi testosterone. He trails a lewd gaze from your eyes down past your neck, spilling indulgently between your breasts, along the sloping curve of your hips, down to the skin of your thigh peeking out from where you have one leg crossed over the other.

“How is that working out for you?”

Your lips tilt into a cat-like smirk, like a spider watching the squirming wreck of their prey struggle against the sticky fibres of a carefully designed web, “You tell me.”

“Beautiful, clever and single? Seems too good to be true.”

“Yet here we are.”

A dodgy grin hooks around Dudebros chapped lips. He slides a calloused hand along your thigh, his grip bordering on possessive.

“Here we are.”

You pause, stretching out a silence to create tension. Dudebro slides his tongue over his bottom lip.

“You should know that I give generously to women who know how to please a man,” he says, “And you look like you know a thing or two about that...”

You lean over, your lips ghosting over the shell of his ear, “Why don’t we get a room and you can see for yourself.”

Dudebro shudders. You’ve got him.

Suddenly, a blur of grey and silver charges toward dudebro, slamming his head onto the counter. Dudebro crumbles into an unconscious heap by your feet.

The Mandalorian has swooped in to save the day. What a knight in shining fucking armour.

“What the fuck was that about?” You hiss, incensed, “I nearly had him!”

The Mandalorian doesn’t answer. Instead, he’s twirling his blaster between his fingers with well-practiced movements.

The other dudebro’s jump to their feet, steeling themselves for a fight.

Chaos erupts.

***

You’re quiet on your way back to the Razor Crest.

Your blood is boiling, your throat itchy and dry from all the insults you want to scream into the dull, black, bottomless void. The Mandalorian’s anger is an icy contrast to your fire; his broad shoulders steeled and his posture hard, unforgiving, like he’s still hunting down a bounty.

Your temper spikes as you watch him pay Peli Motto, your jaw clenched and your lower belly fluttering with a confusingly irritating concoction of venomous seething and hot, syrupy desire.

“It didn’t have to end in a fucking bar brawl,” you snip, waspishly, as he closes the hatch to his ship, “Thanks to you, though, it did.”

The Mandalorian gives you his usual response: silence.

Your nostrils flare.

“Three dudebros nearly escaped. It was lucky I was able to catch them before they raced off.”

Still no response. He’s too busy scaling the ladder up to the cockpit. You stomp up to the ladder and call up to him.

“You undermined me! And for what, exactly? Because some guy was getting a little touchy feely?”

You hear the engines roar to life and feel the ship rise, hover, then launch into the air.

Fuming, you pace the length of the ship, clutching the daggers in your thigh holster and hurling them in quick procession. They lodge themselves into the bullseye, trembling from the force of your strength.

“You’re making dents in my ship.”

Your jaw clenches, molars grinding as you storm toward the daggers and pull one of them out.

“So now you want to talk!” You snap, scathingly, wheeling around to face him.

Mando’s helmet tilts as though he were evaluating you. He takes three deliberate steps forward, forcing you take a surreptitious step back.

“I’m not exactly a conversationalist,” he states, his voice clipped and tight. He makes no effort to disguise the anger in his tone.

You ball your fingers into a fist, clenching and unclenching, “So you’re not going to explain to me why you nearly let three of our bounty’s escape?”

There is a crackle and whir from the modulator as he speaks again, low and even with an intensity that sends shivers traipsing down your spine.

“You don’t know?”

You squint at him, wondering what he’s playing at. He acted rashly and impulsively; in a way that he’s never done before, betraying his years of careful training and defying all common sense. His timing was peculiar, too, just when you had suggested finding a room...

It hits you like a blaster to the chest, “You were jealous.”

Mando takes another step forward, neatly eliminating any space you had tried to regain. Your back is pressed against the wall as he takes another step closer, closer, closer , his arm reaching out grazing against your cheek, caging you in, closer, closer, closer—

He grips the handle of your dagger and pulls it out of the wall beside your head with a strong tug. The dagger dances between his fingers as he twirls it then parts the split in your dress just enough to slide the dagger back into its holster. His fingers glide along your inner thigh and you gasp, his touch electric.

“Not exactly,” he says, “Just a little protective.”

You exhale slowly, evenly, your chest fluttering with a thousand hummingbirds, “Is there a difference?”

He pulls his gloves off and trails his fingers along the delicate skin of your inner thigh, “I suppose not.”

The tension in the air is almost sentient, alive with a frantic, crackling energy that’s hotter than a heatwave in Tatoonie. Mando’s fingers dig into the spot where dudebro fuckboi had his hand back in the bar. Slowly, slowly, his hand snakes up your thigh, grazing across your hipbone, tickling the sensitive skin...

“You’re such a fucking asshole,” you sneer, your upper lip curled.

“I guess I am,” he admits, his eyes boring holes through the visor of his helmet, “But you’re no angel, either.”

With that, he whirls you around and pushes you up against the wall, your flushed cheeks pressed up against the cool metal of his ship. You moan when he drapes a bandage across your eyes then tugs tightly at your hair. You hear him pull his helmet over his head, dropping it onto the ground with an obnoxious clang. Then he’s behind you, his voice in your ear, sultry and thick.

“You waltz around teasing me with those looks and that body of yours,” he grips your ass through the fabric of your dress, squeezing with bruising strength, “You drive me absolutely fucking crazy.”

He presses a searing kiss to your neck, teeth clamping around the flesh. You moan and arch against him, desire pulsing through your veins like velvety liquid chocolate.

“Then I saw you with our bounty, the way he eyed you, like he was undressing your right then and there,” the Mandalorian grazes his teeth along your neck, biting and nipping hard enough to draw blood, “Only I get to look at you like that. You’re mine.”

With a sudden burst of strength, the Mandalorian grips you by the waist and spins you around, pressing your back against the wall. He crashes his lips onto yours in a searing kiss, teeth scraping and tongues clashing, his mouth ruthless and bruising in the most delicious of ways. He kisses you with the hunger of a starved man, as though he’s deciding whether to savour you or swallow you whole.

The Mandalorian spills his lips down the column of your throat, biting and sucking and bruising, planting blossoming purple roses in your skin. Bite marks swell beneath his lips; a brand you’ll wear proudly for the next few days. It’s ironic how being claimed by the Mandalorian can make you feel so liberated.

He pulls away from you and clutches the zipper to your dress, tearing it from your body. You gasp, the cool air caressing your exposed skin. You feel the prickle of his eyes travelling across your body, capturing and collecting, memorising every detail.

And then he’s on you again, kissing your lips fiercely, stealing the breath from your lungs, swallowing your gasps, your moans, trapping your bottom lip between his teeth and biting. Your hands roam through his hair, tugging the roots, letting it melt between your fingers like honey.

The Mandalorian reaches behind you and rips off your bra followed by your panties, pulling an involuntary gasp from your lips.

“You’re going to have to pay for those,” you pant, “They weren’t cheap—“

You trail off into a moan as you feel the Mandalorian’s hot lips close around one of your nipples, teeth scraping and nibbling. You arch into his mouth, massaging his scalp as you play with his hair. His hand paws at your other breast, rolling the soft flesh in his palm, sending shivers throughout your body.

“Consider it payback for denting my ship,” he counters, and you hear his armour clink against the ships floor as though he were kneeling.

You’re about to ask him what he’s doing when he begins pressing butterfly kisses down your stomach, tasting the salty sweetness of your skin, tongue mapping out the canvas of your body. You moan when he bites your hipbone then travels lower, lower, until his hot breath is hovering over your slick entrance. He slings your leg over his shoulder and inhales your scent as though he were taking mental notes, cataloguing your natural fragrance with everything he knows about you, and then—

He dives in, curling his tongue over your clit, rolling the sensitive pearl of nerves as he drinks you in like sweet nectar. You moan and gasp and whimper his name, your voice hoarse as your lower belly crackles with ethereal-like energy; a nest of frayed, live wires sending currents of azure-blue electricity through your body.

Thick fingers push into you; first the index, then the middle finger, then both. Your back arches and your fingers fly into his hair, gripping hard enough to draw a groan from the back of his throat. It doesn’t take long for you to climax; you cry out his name as you shatter into oblivion, coasting a high that jolts you into hyperspace.

The Mandalorian kisses his way back up your body, and then he kisses you deeply. You slide your tongue over his lips, tasting yourself. Your head spins into a state of euphoric delirium.

“Your pleasure belongs to me,” he snarls, transforming your spine into a quivering live wire, “I’m in charge. Understood?”

“Yes, sir ,” you whisper, light as air, tone teasing.

“Good girl.”

The Mandalorian breaks away, the absence of his warmth leaving a ghosting greyness where he once stood. You shudder as you hear armour clicking and the whirr of zipper teeth being pulled apart. Then you feel his hands tug on the knot behind your head, keeping your bandage together, and the fabric falls away, returning your vision.

You blink, eyes adjusting. The Mandalorian stands before you in his armour, including his helmet. His codpiece is discarded; the lump of metal sits abandoned on the floor near your shredded clothes. You trap your bottom lip between your teeth as your gaze dips to his huge, thick cock.

“Wow,” you gasp, “You’ve been holding out on me, Mando.”

The Mandalorian steps toward you again, hooks his arms around your thighs, and hoists you up against the wall. The cold metal bites into your back, penetrating your skin and crawling down your spine. He presses his cock against your entrance.

“Maybe if you weren’t such a brat...”

Without further ado, He pins you to the wall of the Razor Crest with his long, thick girth, sinking into you with a loud groan and a roll of his hips. You cling onto the pieces of his armour and rest your head on the cool metal of his shoulder as the Mandalorian sets a pace. He rocks his hips slowly at first and you move your own hips against him, for once perfectly in sync.

“Fuck,” you curse, wrapping your thighs around his hips and pulling him further into your warm depths.

The Mandalorian snaps his hips against you, building up a fast, unrelenting pace. His movements are steady and deliberate, his grip plunging into your thighs, shooting sparks of pain and pleasure throughout your entire body. He’s silent for the most part, occasionally grunting and gasping in your ear when the muscles in your pussy contract.

“Yes,” you cry, biting into the fabric of his shoulder, “Just like that, don’t stop.”

A familiar tightness begins to curl inside your lower belly again, sloshing around with the chemical cocktail of champagne,

dopamine and serotonin. The feeling rolls and crashes within you, filling you up like seawater and sunlight and bright, glittering gold.

“Every time a man lays his hands on you, I want to cut them off,” he growls, each word punctuated with a sharp thrust, “Each eye that follows you makes me want to dig them out of the socket.”

“I never — oh — never knew you felt like — Ah, fuck yes — like that.”

“Bullshit. You knew...you’re just such a — fuck — fucking tease .”

“So what are you going to do—do about it?”

The Mandalorian groans and increases his pace, slamming his cock inside of you. He balances you with one, strong arm while the other snakes between the two of you and reaches up, up, up, his fingers wrapping around your neck, flexing gently. The added pressure makes you moan as you crest higher and higher, scaling the wobbling, tipsy-turvey ladder of a crashing crescendo—

Suddenly, the tight coil inside you snaps, spirals, sending pleasure surging through you, fluttering in your chest, pulsing through your arms and legs. Your pussy quivers around him, hugging his cock as the muscles spasm and quake with the force of your climax. The Mandalorian follows you over the edge, gritting his teeth and growling your name as he buries his twitching cock inside of you and comes, pouring his seed deep inside of you.

The air around of you smells like sweat and sex and grease and is filled with your combined pants. After a few lingering moments, the Mandalorian slides out of you and places you gently on the ground, tucking himself back into his pants. Your thighs are sticky with his dribbling cum and your head feels like it’s been crammed with fluffy cotton buds but your entire body tingles like light dancing off the ocean.

“That was—“

“Incredible...” you finish, biting your lip. The Mandalorian’s faceless mask stares down at you, but you have a sneaking suspicion that he’s gazing sheepishly at you, perhaps shy or maybe even aroused. Maybe he’s like you — an amalgamation of conflicting emotions, some old and nostalgic, some surprising and new.

***

Morning light drenches the Mandalorian’s quarters, shimmering like gold dust. You moan gently, consciousness slowly returning to you. You become aware of your surroundings, recognition settling in, delicious memories of being tied up and blindfolded while the Mandalorian worshipped your body...

The gentle caress of a warm kiss tickles your inner thigh.

You moan as the kisses dot along your thigh, climbing higher, teasing around your entrance, licking and nipping like he can’t get enough...

Your fingers fumble then clench around the bed sheets as his tongue finally laps at your clit, swirling and sliding in tantalising rhythms. You gasp and mewl, whispering words of encouragement as the Mandalorian feasts on you, plunging two fingers into your slick entrance. You begin to draw closer and closer to your climax, your toes curling as you throw your head back and moan—

A small whimper suddenly jolts you back into the present.

You sit up on your elbows and gasp, clambering to cover yourself as the Child stares up at you, distressed by the sound of your moans. His bottom lip trembles, his large eyes unusually glassy as he waddles up to you.

Beneath you, the Mandalorian shifts, and you turn away from him as he slides his helmet on.

“Hello baby,” you soothe, reaching down to scoop him up with one arm, “It’s okay, mummy’s here.”

The Child coos in delight as he snuggles into your embrace. You gently turn on your side to face the Mandalorian — who is now wearing his helmet — and place the Child between your bodies. He stares up at both of you and beams; his smile could light up a thousands suns.

When the Child begins to doze, you gaze up at the Mandalorian through your lashes, bracing your head on your hand bent at the elbow.

“I think he was jealous,” you whisper, stifling your giggles.

You hear the amusement in the Mandalorian’s tone, “Of you or of me?”

You shrug, leaning down to press a tiny kiss on the Child’s head, “Who knows?”

#the mandalorian #star wars #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian smut #baby yoda #star wars imagine #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian x y/n #the mandalorian fluff #fluff #smut #star wars smut #star wars fluff #fluff & smut #jealous #imagines #georgie writes

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mandoalorian · 3 years

Text

Borrowed Time [Din Djarin x F!Reader] SMUT

ੈ♡˳‧₊*: • Chapter 8: The Truth ✩࿐ ˚.✧

Summary: You are the princess of Mandalore, held hostage on your own planet by Moff Gideon and his army of Imperial troopers. Left with no choice, you send out a distress signal; a plea for protection— and who comes? None other than Din Djarin, a foundling of The Death Watch. He, by creed, is your sworn enemy. And where you have asked for his protection, he has been told by his mentor that he must marry you and gain the ability to restore Mandalore to its former glory.

Word Count: 2200>

Warnings: more angst and feelings! 18+ SMUT; unprotected p in v (wrap it before you tap it), f receiving oral, fingering… very soft sex andddd a praise kink because it’s Din’s first time giving oral :’)

AN: Please reblog to spread this around! It’s not showing up in tags! i think i’m still semi-shadow banned:(

Series Masterlist

Din didn’t say anything for a long time. He didn’t understand. Not the Manda’lor? How could that be possible? If you weren’t the Manda’lor, then... who were you? As if you were reading his thoughts, you closed your eyes and turned around so you were facing the brick wall behind you, and tried your very best to explain the truth. You had to at least make an attempt. You ignored the choked nervous knot in your throat. You couldn’t bear to look at him.

How could you ever even begin to explain this to him. You’d never spoken about what happened back on Mandalore to anyone. You’d kept it to yourself all this time. It was so painful. But you had to try.

“My mother was Duchess Satine Kryze, and I am, by technicality, the Princess of Mandalore. I always will be. When my mother died, fifteen years ago, I became heir to the throne. I became the Manda’lor, and... everything was fine. I had everything under control, and, dare I say, I was a good leader. Until one night, there was a planned attack by the Imperials on my city and they slaughtered everyone. They raided homes and killed children…” a single tear slipped down your cheek. “Moff Gideon came to see me. He wanted… the darksaber. So he had his troopers raid the palace and they found it. And once he wielded it, he became the rightful ruler of Mandalore. And, I still don’t have it back… I’ve-- I’ve never felt so helpless. And responsible for the murder of my people.”

You were crushed. You thought by admitting all of this, it would take the giant burden you’d been holding this entire time off your shoulders, but it didn’t. It only made you dread all the built up pain and anguish you had in your heart… for letting this happen and for lying to Din. You really had failed everyone around you, but most importantly, you’d failed yourself.

Bringing your hand to your wedding ring, you twiddled it around your finger and took a shaky exhale. “Din, I understand if you want nothing to do with me anymore. I can leave, and you’ll never see me again. I promise you that much. But I will get the darksaber back and I will be the rightful ruler of Mandalore. These were my people he killed. He stole it from me. And I won’t let the Imperial’s take anymore than they already have. Not without a fight.”

Compiling all the remaining bravery left in you, you turned back around to face Din and opened your eyes.

And your heart stopped.

His eyes were big and brown and sad. He had short, shaggy brown hair and a light stubble which grazed his jaw. His pink lips were parted slightly as he looked at you with his own eyes. No visor modifying his vision of you. This was raw, and completely him. He’d taken off his helmet.

You tried to ask him why, but no words came out.

“So that’s why the Imperials were chasing after you?” His jaw ticked but Maker, his voice without the helmet was as soft as silk. Rich and velvety.

He was handsome too. More handsome than you could’ve ever even imagined. In a rugged way, not in your typical Prince of Mandalore way. But you liked it a lot.

“Yes,” you swallowed thickly. “Moff Gideon imprisoned me in the palace and he never wanted me to leave. He made me promise to never tell anyone that he had the darksaber, because no doubt, any Mandalorian who found out the truth would venture after him to try and reclaim it for themselves. I was forced to live this lie. But I had to do something. That’s when I sent out the distress signal to coverts around the galaxy. That’s when you came for me, and helped me escape.”

Din tried his hardest to process your words. It… made sense. His gaze fell from your face and he looked down at the ground. He looked so sad and your heart ached. If there was a way you could fix this, you were pretty sure you’d do anything. In that very moment, you didn’t even care about the Mandalorian throne or the darksaber. You just cared about Din.

“Din, I’m so sorry.” you began, preparing to fully beg for his forgiveness, but before you could say anymore, his lips came crashing into yours.

He didn’t have anything to say to you, really. He was just so enamoured by you, that he didn’t care. You could lie to him a million times over and he’d forgive you, because you were just too perfect. You were, without a doubt, the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. And he loved you.

He should be mad, he knew that much. But he couldn’t bring himself to hate you when all he could think about was just how beautiful your lips were. The entire time you were talking, he was fighting the urge to kiss you. Until finally, he just couldn’t resist anymore.

His mouth was soft and fit perfectly against yours. Your eyes snapped shut and a surprised moan fell from your lips as he took you in his arms and held you. You loved the way it felt… his hands on your body and caressing your skin. Was this… the first time he’d kissed? He was so passionate yet gentle, and Maker, you didn’t want it to end. He was absolutely gorgeous, and such an amazing kisser. When you thought he was going to break away, you raised your hands to his face and cupped his cheeks, swiping your tongue over his lower lip and signalling for him to continue the kiss. He did so, and you opened your mouth, granting him deeper access.

A minute or so later, when the both of you were practically gasping for breath, he pulled off you and rested his forehead against yours. If he was unsure about his feelings before, he knew for certain now.

“We’ll have to leave at dawn,” Din said eventually, huffing and looking into your eyes. His hands were still planted firmly on your hips and he nudged his nose against yours. “There’ll be less Imps around, the earlier we leave.”

You were baffled. “I don’t… I don’t understand.”

“We’re getting the darksaber back,” he confirmed. “You’re getting the darksaber back. You are the rightful ruler of Mandalore.”

You couldn’t believe it. He still wanted to help you, even after admitting to him that you’d been lying. He no longer had a duty to protect you, and yet he was doing this not because he had to, but because he wanted to.

“Are you sure?” you gasped, completely exasperated. “Are you sure you still want to help me?”

Din nodded his head wordlessly before kissing you again. “We should rest before our escape tomorrow,” Din breathed. “I have a room here.”

“Take me.” you begged, curling your body into his.

Din’s room at the covert was no different to the many other rooms that were habited by other Mandalorians. It was a small boxy room with a bed in the corner. At least it was a real bed though, and not Din’s poor excuse for a bed back on the Crest. He closed the door behind him and turned on the light, although it wasn’t bright whatsoever. It barely illuminated the room in this dull, amber colour, but it was just enough to cast your shadows on the wall.

You gulped, not tearing your eyes from him once. “I think you’re very handsome,” you blurted out, smiling when you noticed a rosy blush cross Din’s cheeks. “And I think it’s a real shame that you have to hide your face. I just know that those brown eyes could charm you out of trouble.”

Din chuckled nervously. “I think you’re very pretty too,” he said. “But you probably hear that a lot.”

You shook your head, the smile never leaving your lips once. “No.”

When Din kissed you, it felt like heaven. As the moment became more and more heated, both of you ended up undressing, and discarding your clothing and his armour into a pile on the floor.

Din carefully laid you down on his bed and hovered over you, planting kisses down your neck, along your collarbones and down your chest. He brought his hand over to your breasts and began with giving them a few experimental squeezes. He brushed his thumb over your hardening nipple and pinched it, earning a moan of pleasure from you.

Not taking his lips from yours, he dropped his hand down your body and to the hem of your panties, dipping his finger under the waistband and feeling just how wet you’d already become. He chuckled to himself, his thick and deft index finger tracing quick and tight circles across your clit. You arched your back into him, a foggy haze crossing your vision as he worked you into a complete state of euphoria.

You chanted his name like it was a prayer, caressing his biceps and holding onto him. After he drew out your first orgasm, he tapped on your thigh. You lifted up your ass so he could pull down your panties and take them off completely. You were an absolute sight to behold, there was no denying that. Your folds were slick with your arousal and Din done everything he could to contain himself. Licking his lips, he knelt down between your legs and began to lap his tongue around your bundle of nerves, even sucking occasionally on your sweet spot.

“Does-- does that feel good?” Din asked, briefly pausing just before you were about to cum again. Your legs were shaking with pleasure and Din just wanted to make sure you were alright. “I’m-- I’ve never done this before.” he confessed.

“Oral?” you asked breathlessly, rolling your head into the pillow.

“Mhm,” he confirmed, nibbling and pressing lovebites into the soft flesh of your thighs. “Never took off my helmet.”

You moaned something incoherent when the curve of his nose rubbed against your clit and you felt the warmth of his breath fan over your core.

“It’s good Din, so good,” you sighed longingly. “You’re doing so good. Please don’t stop.”

So Din kept at it until eventually you were a heaving, quivering mess, and he drove out your second orgasm. When he pulled away from you, a trail of his saliva pulled between your wet cunt and his lips, but he immediately licked himself clean and leaned over your body so he could kiss you again. The way you could taste yourself on his mouth felt so erotic.

You pulled his hard and leaking cock from the confines of his underwear and began to pump at his length. He was hot and heavy, and somehow, he was even better than you had imagined. Even as you stroked him, you yearned for him, and you could feel your cunt clench around nothing as you wished for him to fuck you already.

Din loved how you were a needy, squirming mess beneath him. He positioned himself at your entrance and slowly pushed his engorged tip inside of you, taking a few moments to allow you to adjust to his length. The wet noises as he thrusted into you were lewd and obscenely loud, and if you were with anyone else you might’ve felt embarrassed -- but as Din built up his rhythm and held on to your hips, you couldn’t even think straight enough to feel embarrassed.

“Din,” you cried out, letting your fingers curl in his brown locks of hair. “Oh Din.”

His own hips began to stutter and with a loud gasp, you felt his cock convulse inside of you and a spurt of his creamy hot seed rope your walls.

Din let himself soften inside of you as he caught his breath, eventually rolling off you and laying by your side. He wrapped his arms around you and spooned you, whispering sweet nothings into your ear until eventually, you fell asleep in his arms.

“You will reclaim Mandalore,” he whispered, pressing a chaste kiss to your forehead. “I promise.”

_________________________________________

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