#been thinking about little Din a lot lately
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Lacrosse! Ellie part 3
Summary: You finally get to meet up with ellie on a date! Is it a date? Technically….
Warnings: cursing, mentions of sexual activity, FLUFFFFFF lmk if I missed any
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 4
“Girl no those colors DO NOT match” Dina huffed
“Then what can I wear??” You asked almost getting annoyed. Dina had been at you house since 8 am. It’s now 10 am. You’d both been trying to plan a cute outfit for your little “date” with Ellie. Unfortunately Dina is going overboard and dressing you like your going to the red carpet.
“I’m gonna go take a shower Din, can you just pick something cute and casual for me please?” You asked
“Ugh. Fine. I guess no dress then” Dina said grinning a bit. You rolled your eyes smiling and went into your bathroom.
You looked in the bathroom window to see a small amount of snow on the ground. Winter came a bit early this year. Not that you were complaining, you liked the winter. You removed your clothes and turned on the shower to warm water.
As you stepped in you thought of your meet up with Ellie. You’d be wrong to say you weren’t eager about it. You’d thought of both the meet up and Ellie all week. Maybe Ellie a little bit more. You thought of Ellie at your front door holding a bouquet of roses and giving you that goofy grin she has. You thought of Ellie holding your hand while you two sat in a large fancy restaurant. You though of Ellie’s lips on yours at your own made up wedding ceremony. And guilty enough, you thought of Ellie above you naked and prepared to give you all the love she had for you.
Your thoughts were soon cut off by Dina talking behind the door
“Hey are you almost done? I had a lot of fiber this morning!” Dina said. You quickly finished in the shower and put on what Dina had picked out.
You had some boyfriend jeans with a Nike hoodie and a puffer vest over it. It was cute and simple. You looked at your shoe rack. You’d remember Ellie’s shoes. Crusty, old, torn apart converse. As much as it was kind of disgusting, it was kind of cute and made you giggle. You put on your plain converse, maybe Ellie would notice.
dina unlocked the door and came out of the bathroom and smiled at you.
“You look gorgeous” Dina smiled “thanks to me” you giggled at her weird compliment.
“Call me after okay? And give me every detail too. And I mean I wanna know the exact time she blinked too” Dina said
“Okay okay okay I’ll tell give you how many freckles she has” you replied giggling
“More than 50 and I’ll be concerned” Dina joked back and you both went your separate ways.
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*10:45 am*
You walked in the coffee shop that Ellie had given you the address for. It looked small and family owned. Those were typically the best coffee shops in your opinion.
As you walked in you scan the facility. Would Ellie be here already? Does she like to be fashionably late? Maybe she’d think you were too early.
Your thoughts all went away when you looked and saw a familiar figure sitting behind the counter on the window.
She looked so good. Ellie wore a black t shirt with a red flannel over it. She also wore some faded jeans with them. The jeans has some pain splash’s and…is that charcoal? She also, as assumed, wore those same converse.
You walked towards Ellie and smiled. You tapped her shoulder and she removed her headphones to look at you.
“Hey” You smiled.
“Hey You” ellie smiled back. She turned her body to look at you. You felt her eyes travel up and down your body. You didn’t feel uncomfortable by it, it was almost like she was taking you in. She seemed to have come back to reality and patted on the stool next to her.
“Sit. Um, I ordered you a coffee already if that’s okay?” Ellie asked. She seemed a little nervous. You couldn’t help the small blush forming in your cheeks.
“That’s perfect” You smiled. “So how’s your week?” You asked trying to make small talk.
“My week? Um. Just a lot of practice” ellie chuckled.
Hot
“How about you?” Ellie asked
“It wasn’t bad” You smiled. A waitress came over and brought out the coffee.
As you two sipped your coffee Ellie talked about lacrosse. You didn’t know much about it but with Ellie, she could talk about a single grain of rice and you’d be interested.
“Sorry, am I talking to much?” Ellie asked cringing at herself.
“What? Oh no. I like hearing you talk” You replied. You felt yourself blush once again.
“I just think maybe I talk too much and it like, scares people away” Ellie chuckled awkwardly.
“I like hearing you talk” you repeat. Your cheeks were starting to feel hot. You contemplated going outside and shoving your face in the snow just to cool down.
“Yeah but…I like your voice too” Ellie mumbled. She said it so low, but you could just make out what she said.
“Is that the only thing?” You asked softly.
“Hm?”
“Is that the only thing you like about me?” You asked. You have absolutely no idea where and why this boldness has hit you like a speeding truck.
“….no” ellie replied sipping her coffee. You both looked out the window. The empty road. The white snow covering everything. The way that even though it was the afternoon, the grey sky illuminated the whole view.
“What else do you like?” You asked.
“….I like your smile” Ellie replied once again so softly you could barely make out the words. Your blush grew deep. But not as deep as you saw Ellie’s grow.
“I like your hair” Ellie said.
Oh she’s doing this…
“I like your pretty face” she says looking down in the cup of her coffee. You smiled and looked at Ellie. She turned her head to look at you. Once she saw that you weren’t uncomfortable by her words she smiled back.
“You wanna hear a good song?” Ellie asked.
“Yeah sure” you smiled putting your coffee down.
Ellie got out her phone and plugged in the earbuds. She handed you one as she looked for a song. You blushed and took the earbud in your ear and looked at Ellie with a look that said “I love you”.
Ellie looked at you and smiled. That smile. That grin your always thinking of. Those eyes you can never remove from your memory. Those freckles you wish you could kiss. Is there anything really stopping you from kissing them?
Ellie pressed play on the phone and you both listend to the lyrics
I thought that I was dreamin’ when you said you love me
The start of nothing
Had no chance to prepare, couldn’t see you coming
And we started, from nothing
Ooooh I could hate you now, it’s alright to hate me now
You listened to the rest of the song with Ellie. After it was done she smiled at you
“You like it?” Ellie asked
“Like it? It’s Frank ocean. Who doesn’t like Frank ocean?” You chucked.
“That’s what I’m saying! My friend, Jesse, says he’s mid and it doesn’t even make sense! Frank ocean is a lyrical genius, with the voice of an Angel” Ellie said. You giggled and smiled at her. She returned your smile.
For what seemed like eternity you stared into each others eyes. Her green orbs could light up any room. Her pink cheeks only helped bring out her freckles that were decorated around her face.
“What time do you have to go…pretty girl?” Ellie asked. Your face felt like it was on fire. You looked outside to see it be somewhat dark. Figures, with the winter change. You look at your phone clock
*3:17 pm*
“Hmm..probably now. I promised Dina I’d go to her house” you replied. Dreadfully of course. You wished you could just take Ellie everywhere you go.
“Me too. I have a game today” Ellie replied.
“Oh, you should send me your schedule. I want to go to another game” you smiled. Ellie chirped up and looked at you.
“Really?” She asked “but I thought you said you didn’t know anything about lacrosse?”
“Yeah but I mean…I can learn” you replied.
“Is there….any other reason you’d want to go?” Ellie asks. She knows what she’s doing doesn’t she?
“We’ll maybe…there’s Someone I’m looking forward to seeing” you replied blushing once again. With the amount of blood rushing to your face in this “date” you probably don’t have anymore blood in the rest of your body.
“Maybe someone’s expecting to see you too” Ellie replied smirking. That smile. God that smile.
As you both started to leave you both said your goodbyes at the door.
“Text me when you get home, mkay?” Ellie’s asked.
“Text me when you win your game” you replied. Ellie smiled at you. You stayed there, smiling and staring. You felt yourself leaning in toward Ellie. Like something was pulling you in. Ellie felt it too. You stopped when your lips were inches from hers.
*Dinasaur calling*
What a cockblcok
“Um sorry” you said chuckling nervously scrambling to turn off your phone.
“Oh heh no yeah sorry about that um…text you later?” Ellie asked
“Mhm yeah…bye Ellie” you said
“Bye babe” ellie replied smiling and walking away
after a couple minutes of walking you revived a text from Ellie
*if you could see my thoughts you would see our faces*
Your heart almost stopped. You thought your body was gonna explode. You knew it was yet another Frank ocean lyric, but you couldn’t help but be delusional over the fact that maybe it means something more. Maybe she wants something more.
You picked up the phone to call Dina back
“I’m gonna kill you” you huffed at your professional cockblocker.
I actually LOVEEEEEE this part omg. I hope you guys love it just as much as I do and I sooo wanted more fluff and I know you guys probably do too!Thanks so much for reading and I hope I won’t disappoint with the next part! Bye loves!! Free Palestine 🇵🇸🇵🇸🇵🇸🇵🇸
Tag list: @vqxen @bready101 @vampyangel @gato-chino @a-little-bit-of-everybody @lilylynne11 @lively-blues
Love you all!!! Free Palestine 🇵🇸 from the River to the sea🇵🇸🇵🇸🇵🇸
#ellie the last of us#ellie williams#ellie x reader#tlou#tlou2#ellie tlou#ellie x y/n#the last of us#tlou fanfiction
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Me and My Husband
Chapter Two: Drunk Walk Home
Married!Din Djarin x F!Reader
Series Masterlist | Series Playlist
Main Masterlist | Din Djarin Masterlist
Synopsis: Din Djarin is doing what any typical Mandalorian would be doing after reclaiming Mandalore, finding a riduur and settling down. He’s still a member of the Guild on Nevarro, taking bounties here and there to support his new family. But when he meets you while you’re working the front desk at an inn on Naboo, he finds himself hooked, feeling like he’s found something new and exciting in his now mundane life. How long can he keep up appearances with his riduur? And how long can he keep his little secret with you?
Series warnings: reader is able-bodied, set post season 3, canon divergent (long live the Razor Crest), some liberties taken with Mandalorian culture/weddings/marriages, infidelity, eventual smut (chapter two!), switches between Reader and Din's POV, no use of y/n
Chapter summary: Your friend, Lumya, sets you up on a blind date that goes terribly. When you excuse yourself for some fresh air outside you run into Mando.
Word count: 3k
Chapter warnings: rotations = days, Reader does not know Din's name yet, your date is an asshole, drinking, fingering, semi public sex, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, cream pie, small squabble between Din and your date, use of Mando’a words/phrases (translations included after)
You
It’s been seven rotations since your encounter with the Mandalorian at the Star-Lux. And you haven’t been able to stop thinking about him, of course. During your employment at the inn you’ve met so many interesting characters, travelers from all over the galaxy. But you’ve never met a Mandalorian and he’s been the most intriguing person you’ve met so far. And he wasn’t even a guest.
The way he snatched that bounty up in no time was impressive. Surely there had to have been some sort of scuffle; an unfair fight for the bounty of course considering not only how strong Mando is but also considering his armor and plethora of weapons he has. He’s a walking force to reckoned with… who’s also a bad flirt. His flirting was poor, downright pitiful, but there was also something endearing about it. There’s something sort of sweet about an intimidating Mandalorian who’s also bad with women.
Nevertheless, that’s been the only excitement in your life as of late and it was only for a fleeting moment. Work has been sort of slow lately. The tourist season on Naboo is wrapping up and a lot of the interesting guests at the inn have left. You’ve never left Naboo and listening to the guest’s stories has been your way of “traveling”, living vicariously through the stories they tell.
When you’re not working you’re usually at the library, reading books or downloading information on your holo pad about far off places that don’t even seem real. One day, you tell yourself, you’re going to have enough credits saved up to take a commercial flight to one of the planets you’ve read about, most likely Coruscant since the activities there are endless. But you’ve also had your sights set on Aldhani, but that planet is off the beaten path and really no commercial ships go there. You wouldn’t mind checking out Corellia, Morlana One, Ferrix, or even Glavis Ringworld, a ring shaped space station orbiting a star. The list goes on and on. Basically, you would go anywhere if it meant leaving Naboo for once.
Today is another part of your monotonous routine; waking up, eating breakfast, getting ready and heading to the library, reading about places you’ll never go and feeling sick about it, head to the inn and go to work, go home and go to bed, and repeat. You’re leaving the library and heading to the inn when you bump into your friend, Lumya. A pit forms in your stomach.
“Hey! Don’t forget you’re meeting Davin for drinks tonight!” she says cheerfully.
“How could I forget,” you say with gritted teeth.
“Don’t get too excited,” she responds, rolling her eyes, “Come on! You’ll like this guy. I’m sure of it. When have I ever been wrong?”
“Uhh, with all of the other guys you’ve tried to set me up with.”
“Shh, forget about that. This guy is the one, I’m telling you.”
“Whatever,” you laugh, “I’ll tell you all about it tomorrow,” you finish, waving goodbye before leaving to go to work.
“Can’t wait!” she laughs, walking the opposite direction.
It’s true, her track record with setting up on dates has not been the best to put it kindly. This is the fifth blind date she’s sent you on and you’d rather do literally anything else. She better be right; this guy better be somewhat appealing because you’re getting off of work early for this stupid date.
-
Work is… work. It’s been a slow night. You’re glad to be getting out early but you wish it was for a better reason. A date is better than being stuck at a boring shift you suppose.
You change out of your work clothes in one of the inn’s refreshers, out of the clothes Mando last saw you in. This specific uniform is one of your favorites in your rotation; a dress with a revealing, square neckline that he most definitely checked you out in. You don’t blame him.
You put on another dress, this one being a bit more modest; long sleeves, deep blue, and stopping at your mid thigh. You put your work uniform in your locker and head out, leaving the inn just as Maree, your relief for tonight arrives, You mouth a “thank you” to her as you pass by. It’s starting to get dark out and the streetlamps of Naboo are just about to be lit. It’s a beautiful place and part of you feels guilty for wanting to leave it so bad. But you know there’s more out there for you.
You’re meeting this guy at Triton’s Tavern, closer to the center of Theed. That means it’ll be more expensive. Why did you let him pick the location again? Whatever, maybe he’ll pay. You arrive at Triton’s and wait outside for him. Kriff, what was his name again? …Oh, right. It’s Davin.
“Hey there,” a voice calls from behind you, followed by a hand on your shoulder. You jump in surprise and the voice chuckles. You turn around and you’re met with a face you don’t recognize. It’s gotta be Davin. But what kind of person lays a hand on someone they’ve never met before? Oh great, this is gonna go swimmingly.
“Didn’t mean to startle you. I’m Davin and you must be Lumya’s friend.”
“That’s me,” you say, voice stiff and irritated.
“Shall we head inside?”
“Sure,” the uneasiness evident in your voice. Gotta turn it off if you want this date to work out.
You head inside and make your way over to a booth in the back corner of the tavern. He orders your first round of drinks; revnog, and asks you all sorts of probing questions about you.
“So, Lumya tells me you work at the Star-Lux.”
“I do.”
“Isn’t that place kinda… seedy?”
“Excuse me?”
“You know… run down, some unsavory characters hanging around there.”
“What do you mean by “unsavory characters”?” you ask, head tilting to the side.
“You know… like prostitutes, drug lords, petty criminals.”
I mean Mando did apprehend a criminal there but that’s besides the point.
“First of all, none of that is true. And second of all, what if it was? Are you trying to tell me I’m a bad person because of that?”
“No! No! That’s not it at all. I’ve just heard the reputation and I thought I’d ask you.”
You sigh and lean back against the back of the booth.
“Can you get us another round? I’m just going to go to the refresher,” you say, sliding out of the booth and not even waiting for a response.
You lean over the sink in the refresher, staring at yourself in the mirror and trying to psych yourself up for this disaster of a date. Davin’s not… horrible looking, by any means. But from the brief conversation you just had with him, you’re not interested, not in the slightest. The only solution you can think of is to drink your way through it.
You head back into the tavern and take your place in the booth. The second round of drinks has arrived and you waste no time downing yours. You let him do all the talking, having no interest in getting to know him.
“So do you plan on working forever?”
“…Define forever.”
“Like when you get married and have kids.”
“Who said I wanted to get married and have kids?”
“Well, do you?”
“I mean I’d like to get married but I don’t think I want kids.”
“So what do you want to do with your life?”
“I’d like to travel,” you say, reading your elbow on the table and your head in your hand.
“That’s not realistic.”
“What do you mean “it’s not realistic”?” you ask, head tilting to the side again.
“I mean based on what you make at the inn I doubt you make enough to travel.”
“Well what do you do? Since you’re suddenly the expert on what is realistic and what’s not.”
“I’m a professor at Naboo University.”
“Oh really?” you snort.
“What’s so funny about that?”
“Didn’t think education was a… prosperous field,” you reply, choosing your words carefully.
“It is, actually,” he says, folding his arms, “And if you’ll excuse me, I need to use the refresher as well.”
“Yeah I’m actually just gonna get a bit of fresh air outside for a moment. Kinda hot in here…” you say, once again getting up and not waiting for a response.
The sun has completely set now, the sky an inky black and the streetlamps lit with an amber glow. Pacing up and down along the street you think of a million reasons to get yourself out of this. This is by far the worst date you’ve been on. You can’t even think of any redeeming qualities for this guy. And what’s pathetic is you wish Mando was here right now. At least he tried to flirt with you regardless of how bad it was… if you could even call that flirting.
You turn to pace the opposite direction and right before your eyes is none other than… Mando? This is weird. You can’t be hallucinating, revnog doesn’t do that to you.
Yes, it’s really him. He calls out your name confusedly and you make your way over to him, both of you stopping in front of an alley.
“Hey,” you smile at him, closing the gap between you two and placing your hand on his beskar breastplate. You swear you can hear him gulp when you do that.
“Here for another bounty? Or did you come all the way here just to see me?” you flirt, glancing up into the T-shaped visor.
Din
You can’t know the truth. He made the several rotations long journey just to try and find you. He stopped at the Star-Lux earlier in the evening but you were already gone. So he resigned to aimlessly wandering the streets in hopes of looking for you. And to his delight here you are, pacing in the street.
You palm the growing bulge in his flight suit and he has to fight the urge to let out a strained kriff.
“I want you, Mando,” you say, your eyes glancing up at him, pleading with him.
He’s having a whole moral dilemma in his head. The rational, logical part of his mind is screaming no at him, yelling at him to stop, reminding him he has a wife at home. But the pleasure driven part of his mind is egging him on, telling him to do it, convincing him he deserves this. Ultimately he decides that you came onto him, therefore it’s not his fault.
He practically drags you into the alley, pinning you up against the wall. His gloved hand palms your thigh, trailing up against your entrance. You part your legs for him, letting him gain better access to your cunt. Din’s going crazy right now, imagining how wet you must be. He curses his gloves for being a barrier between his hands and your warm, soft, wet sex. It’s so hard to restrain himself but he must.
You have to be soaked, though, judging by the way a finger just effortlessly slid inside you. He watches your face, watches the way you close your eyes and your lashes fan out on your face, watches the way your mouth falls into a soft O as his fingers play with you. Half of your face is cloaked in the darkness of the alley but the other half is lit up from the streetlamp at the edge of the alley, basking the one half in a warm glow and lighting up one eye. He tries to memorize this moment exactly as it is; your pretty face, your soft moans, and his guilt not being present for once. All under the nighttime skies of Naboo.
He slides another finger inside you, curling them upwards against your walls; against your g-spot. Your moans grow louder so he brings his helmet beside your ear, both of your chests pressed up against each other, and says “Shh, mesh’la. Someone will hear.”
You don’t know what that word means but he knows you’re too far gone in pleasure to ask. He rubs his thumb around your clit and he knows you’re already at the edge, judging by how hard you have to try to stifle your moans.
You cum around his fingers, and he can sort of feel it through his cursed gloves, feeling the way your walls flutter around him. He needs you around his cock now. Back when he masturbated to the mental image of you at his house on Nevarro he never actually thought he'd get the chance to have you. And now here you are, looking up at him with eyes pleading for more, more of him, and everything he fantasized about is in reach. His cock strains against his flight suit begging to be released.
“You want more?”
“Please, Mando. I need it.”
Kriff, you don’t know what you do to him. He’d love to tease you; to make you beg, but he’s far too desperate and horny to try that now. Another time, he supposes, if he gets lucky.
He pulls his hand from you and takes his cock out of his flight suit and you look down at it. He suddenly feels self conscious about not only the size but also the fact that it’s uncut. Circumcision isn’t a practice in Mandalorian culture and sometimes with other women in the past they turned their nose up at the sight. But you look at it in astonishment (or so he hopes), eyes widened and mouth into a soft O again.
He strokes his cock with the same hand that fingered you, spreading your wetness all over it. You turn around and bend over for him, pulling up the skirt of your dress and exposing your ass. He’s gonna lose it now.
He thrusts into you slowly, resisting the urge to do it in one clean motion. He finally gets to feel for himself how soft, warm and wet you are, fighting the impulse to cum already. If there is a heaven, he has found it, here in an alley on Naboo with you wrapped around his cock. His hands hook onto your hips as he begins to thrust in and out of you, feeling the way your plush ass collides with his groin. Your walls grip his cock as he buries it deeper and deeper inside you, expanding your walls as far as they can go. You can’t hold back your moans now, it feels too good. The alley is filled with your moans, your ass colliding with his groin and his own grunts. He feels your cunt grow tighter around him, you’re going to cum soon. And he needs to feel it.
“Gonna cum, mesh’la (beautiful)?”
“I’m so close, Mando. Please,” you moan, voice choked up.
He can’t see your face but he’s almost certain you’re on the verge of tears.
“Give it to me,” he commands.
And you do, hard. Your walls contract and release erratically before falling into a rhythmic pattern. He fucks you through your release, prolonging it even further. Your orgasm pulls his own from him before he knows it. And now his cock is painting your insides in ropes of his cum. This right here is heaven. If he had suspicions before this just confirmed it.
But the bliss is cut short but a voice shouting, “Hey! What are you doing?! You were on a date with me!”
You
You stand upright and pull your dress back down, opening your mouth to yell back. Davin is angry to say the least, angrily storming towards you with a deranged look in his eye. But Mando beats you to it, putting his cock away and wasting no time, charging at him with his blaster drawn.
Mando puts him in a headlock, holding the blaster against his head.
“Leave her alone or you’ll have to deal with me, got it?” Mando says sternly.
“But-” Davin starts. But Mando cuts him off, tightening the grip around his head.
“Do I make myself clear?”
“Fine. She’s all yours, I don’t care. Just let me go!”
He slowly releases the headlock and Davin stands upright. Mando keeps his blaster drawn and aimed at Davin who takes one last look at you and runs away.
That was… hot, the way he effortlessly restrained Davin, the way he protected you. Between the endorphins released during sex and now this, you’re infatuated with him.
“Sorry you had to see that,” he says softly.
“Don’t be sorry. I should be thanking you.”
“Can I walk you home?”
You nod and walk side by side with him, leading the way back to your place.
“Were you on a date when I found you?” he asks after a moment of silence.
“Yeah,” you sigh, “My friend set me up with him and it just… wasn’t going well.”
“I could tell,” he chuckles. “Oh and sorry about you know… coming inside you.”
“Don’t worry! I have an implant. And thanks for helping me out back there.”
“Of course. I don’t want anything to happen to you.”
“Nothing will happen to me as long as I’m with you.”
He doesn’t say anything and you wonder if that was too far, so you change the topic.
“Did you come here for a bounty?”
“…Yeah.”
“Where did you have to go?”
“I had to…” he trails off. You wait for his response but he just quietly says, “I came here to see you.”
“You did?”
“Yes.” His voice is small, like he’s embarrassed.
“That’s sweet, Mando,” you say, stopping in front of your building on the outskirts of town.
You look at him, silver beskar illuminated under the moonlight. Your stomach twists into knots when you look at him. This night could not have ended better.
“Thank you again.”
“Of course. Until next time,” he says, turning and walking towards the fields, cape billowing in the wind.
You hope there will be a next time. You have to learn more about him, that’s for sure.
Chapter Three
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#din djarin x reader#din djarin fanfiction#din djarin smut#din djarin x you#din djarin x f!reader#din djarin#the mandalorian#the mandalorian fanfiction#star wars fanfiction#pedrostories#pedro pascal characters#pedro pascal fanfiction#starwarsficnetwork#pedro pascal character fanfiction#mamh#married!din djarin#married!din djarin x reader
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Carpe Noctem 23
Warnings: dark elements, noncon, age gap, gaslighting, manipulation, violence, blood, other dark elements. Proceed with caution. (short!reader)
Note: Please let me know what you think as it helps me a lot with ideas and I love interacting with you all.
Part of The Club AU
You set out your ingredients, trying to strategize what to do first. You have ideas, lots of ideas, and that sort of anxious motivation that keeps you from sitting still. Maybe it’s a need for distraction from the sudden swerve your life has taken, or your incessant urge to do everything for everyone, or maybe it’s just easier to lie when you look busy.
You don’t owe Lloyd the truth. The more you think about it, you barely really know him. And he said it himself, it’s just sex. Good sex. The best sex you’ve had, not that you have much to compare it to. So fuck your feelings, as he’d so eloquently proclaim.
Scones first. You’ve settled on a white chocolate and cranberry, but think that might be better kept until the festive season. You’re still in the throes of fall so the pumpkin walnut squares will like be the bigger hit. Oh, and the maple croissants. If you have time, you might experiment with some apple caramel creation too.
You prop your phone against the wall at the back of the counter. You put your music on a low din, keeping a base recipe open as you begin your first bowl of batter. The flour puffs out of the bake and dusts your shirt. Too late to remember the apron.
You add the rest of the dry ingredients and carefully stir. You bought a whole set of mixing bowls after you noticed Lloyd’s lack of essentials. You’ll see if you can expense that out with the ingredients. Your surprise might not go over well for your wallet.
You add the butter and carefully mix it in until crumbly. You put that in the fridge and start on the wet ingredients, humming as you focus on the little tasks. It’s easier than thinking of anything else.
Your fatigue nips at your eyelids. It’s been a long day and with all this ahead of you, it’ll be a longer night. You yawn and flick your wrist, whisking the cream and eggs diligently. You feel something tickle up your back before two hands settle on your hips.
You lurch in fright and still the whisk as Lloyd leans into you, peeking over your head. He drones and rubs his crotch against your ass. He clicks his tongue as he brings his hands up to fondle your chest.
“You’re making another mess,” he says as he flicks the bag of sugar, “Really living up to the whole sugar tits thing.”
“Oh, I’ll clean it up,” you try to ignore how he kneads your tits.
“Hope this isn’t all for me,” he growls.
“Actually, no,” your pulse piques as you summon your preconceived lie, “it’s for the kids. At the daycare. Just doing something nice.”
“Mmm, you’re so nice, Mimi,” he lilts his tone mockingly, “you wanna be nice to me, mommy?”
“Lloyd,” you push your elbow back into his side, “please. Later.”
He exhales, ot breath fanning over your scalp. He bends to nuzzle your head, gritting in his throat. “I’m not asking.”
You stiffen and grip the whisk, putting it back into motion.
“I’ll be done in a bit, I really can’t let this rest–”
“Something’s up. You’re not telling me something…” he brings his hand back to your waist.
“I’m baking. What would I lie about?”
“Come on,” he grinds into you, “you know our deal.”
“It can’t wait?” You clang the whisk off the side of the bowl.
“No,” he says firmly. “I’m tired of waiting and lately, you’ve been making me do a lot of that.”
He pulls you back and you let go of the whisk as it clinks against the metal. He leads you back as you latch onto his wrists, trying not to lose your balance. He spins you to face the island and crushes you against it.
“Lloyd,” you squeeze his forearms, “you’re being… pushy. Please, let me at least put everything away–”
“No,” he snarls and twists free of your grasp.
He grabs your wrists and brings your hands up to the marble countertop. He presses your palms flat under his large and leans his weight on you, a warning. Suddenly, you’re all too aware of his strength and size.
He nuzzles behind your ear as he growls again, “don’t move, mimi.”
“Lloyd,” you push your fingertips into the marble and try to shove yourself back.
He keeps you penned in as he trails a hand up your arm. You reach up to follow his touch, brushing your fingers along his bicep as he curls it around your neck. You raise your chin to keep from being strangled. What the hell is he doing?
“Please, give me some space,” you feel the panic surge in your veins, so hot it beads over your brow, “I’m a bit claustro–”
He hushes you as he flexes his bicep against your neck. You gulp as your eyes round and you stare at the pristine walls. You shudder in horror as your powerlessness sets in. Not only in that moment. This man holds your life in his closed fist.
“I won’t be long, sugar tits,” his other hand creeps back and he feels along your side and hip. He curls his fingers beneath the back of your pants and tugs, yanking harshly until the button pops loose. “Something about the whole mother hen shit gets me going.”
“Lloyd,” you eke out, eyes wetting as you quiver, “please, I don’t want this right now.”
“That’s too fucking bad. That’s not our deal.”
“Wha– No–”
“Shhh,” he forces your pants down roughly as he kicks your feet apart, “if you’re not screaming my name, keep your mouth shut.”
Your body locks up in terror. You can’t make a noise, you can’t move as he peels down your panties. You’re trapped in the heat of his body and the crush of his weight. This can’t be happening.
You close your eyes, blocking out the kitchen, trying to tune out your reality. Your ears zero in on the low drone of music still buzzing from your phone.
Go on and be a big girl
You asked for this now
Go on and be a big girl
Well, everybody's gonna drown you out
#lloyd hansen#dark lloyd hansen#dark!lloyd hansen#lloyd hansen x reader#drabble#au#series#the club#carpe noctem#the gray man
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let neptune strike ye dead
merman!din djarin x lighthouse keeper!reader - chapter two
wc: 4.4k
summary: you confront the inevitability of your insanity, and finally meet the elusive entity that's been leaving you gifts
cw: nsfw, female reader, DUBCON based purely on lack of communication, paranoia, isolation, oral (f receiving), once again lighthouse keeping inaccuracies, biting, ummmm... monsterfucking?
chapter one, read on ao3, divider by cafekitsune
You hadn't thought too much about the mythosaur since Captain Fett had told you about it. It had been a short conversation, really, something easy to forget. But you remembered it, always clinging to his stories to think back on later when you truly have nothing to do.
“That? That’s pounamu,” he’d said initially, gently picking it up to show it to you. “Greenstone, if you like. It was my father’s.”
“Ah,” you’d responded, not disinterested in the material but more focused on the carving itself. “What's the symbol?”
Captain Fett had given you a vague huff of amusement. He handed it to you, and you’d gently trailed the calloused pad of your thumb over the surface. “It’s a mythosaur.”
“A mythosaur? That's creative.”
“A great sea beast,” he’d continued on. “Said to be extinct. But the story goes that when they were running amok, it was merfolk that tamed them, or culled them to extinction. Spared both the land and the ocean of their dominion either way. The skulls are supposed to be their symbol now.”
“Merfolk?” You’d echoed with a chuckle, handing the mythosaur back to him. “So it’s not real then?”
“Well, now, I wouldn’t rule it out completely. Can’t say I’ve ever seen a mythosaur myself, but then they’re meant to be extinct.”
“What then? You’ve seen a mermaid, captain?”
He had smiled, that mirthful chuckle that had been plaguing your late night fantasies rumbling in his chest. “Never can be quite sure what it is you’ve seen out there. Sailors are a mad lot.”
You remember blithely telling him that you must be a sailor too, then.
You stare intently at the cowrie shell cradled in your hands, trying to force yourself out of what surely must be some sort of hallucination. But you can feel it, you can trail your fingers over the carving and feel every little notch that seems to have been etched with such care.
(You think tactile hallucinations are a thing, aren’t they? But you’re not certain they're meant to manifest like this.)
There’s obviously the potential that it belonged to another sailor, that it had dropped off their ship and washed up onto your dock in the chaos of the storm. That’s perfectly reasonable. Maybe it’s the answer you would settle for if not for the seaglass and the fish and that tail you’d seen in the water.
With all that in mind, and the echo of Fett’s words in your head, you know there’s only one answer.
You don’t know if you can let yourself accept that, though. It would be an irreversible acceptance of your complete insanity. There’d be no calling your mother to trick your brain into believing you have company. No satiating the lonely ache with Captain Fett’s occasional company. You’d be well and truly cracked.
But even so, even if you accept that there may be some degree of merperson out there, that doesn’t explain the offerings. You’re not exactly an expert on the extensive lore regarding merfolk, but from what you can tell they’re elusive and solitary creatures. It doesn't seem exactly in their nature to leave gifts to a human. You briefly consider the option of some sort of siren– but then why not just sing to you, drag you to your watery death and be done with it?
No, it feels like… you’re being wooed.
This doesn't feel at all like a creature baiting you into a horrible death so they can store you away in their lair and eat you. It feels borderline romantic. Pretty gifts to decorate your home, fish to feed you.
(The cowrie shell feels a bit like a proposal, doesn't it? Or is that your fractured mind, making sense of the senseless?)
The morning after the storm, the weather isn't much improved. Though the wind has died down some, it still rains lightly and the sky remains overcast. It’ll be clear enough for the fishing boats to go back out, so it's clear enough for you to get to work. No doubt the storm has wreaked some havoc, and you’ll need to tidy up and ensure everything is still in working order.
So you tuck the shell into the pocket of your raincoat, pull on the matching hat that always makes you feel a bit like a toddler, and head out into the pattering rain.
You wander through the mud and down the hill that the wretched tower sits on, watching as your boots get covered in the muck. Sometimes there are puddles, and you indulge yourself by jumping in them. But today it's all just sludge, begging for you to step wrong and slip right onto your backside.
You make your way along as carefully as you can bear, feet carrying you to one of the cliffs at the edge of the island. One of the shorter ones, short enough that you could probably jump and the only risk would be rolling your ankle if your foot landed wrong between the rocks. It's the same cliff the seaglass had been on.
You gaze out at the watery horizon, hoping to catch sight of any passing ships. A fishing boat, maybe. None would be so close as to be able to see the people aboard, but the implication of their presence would be enough.
At this point, just the notion of other people existing would ease your mind.
You don't find anything but the empty horizon and the somewhat tumultuous waves and you sigh, lowering your gaze to the bank of water beaten rocks below you.
Sometimes there are seals there. You like to throw fish to them, enticing them to come back and entertain you with their ridiculous little behaviours. You’d like to start naming them, and you would if you could get close enough to tell them apart.
You think that's something that people on the mainland would call crazy in a quirky way. In an ‘I’m so crazy, I talk to my cats!’ way, a way that indicates they have no understanding of what it actually is to descend into complete and utter madness.
You can be assured that you know exactly what an actual descent into madness is, because there's no seals on the rocks today.
There's a merman.
You’d be inclined to think he hasn’t noticed you, or else he’d have disappeared back into the waves to avoid detection, if he weren’t looking right at you. He’s staring, eyes intent and boring right into yours.
He’s gorgeous, mind you. His skin is tan and his wet brown hair is slicked back by the rain – and presumably the ocean. Though you hadn't been able to make out a face from high up in the lighthouse, he’s almost certainly the head and shoulders you’d seen last night in the water. His tail, huge and strong, lays against the rocks, and as your gaze trails down to his tailfin, you recognise it as the very same one you had thought you’d hallucinated off the dock. His body of his tail is massive, about three times the length of his upper half. The whole thing might even be longer than you. It’s a dark, teal colour– it’s really no wonder you were hardly able to spot it in the waves. His top half looks almost entirely human, the only deviation being the gills that cut along his ribcage.
Slowly, on the edge of the cliff, you crouch, closing the distance between you both by a few meagre feet. It feels too close, and at the same time it feels like miles apart. You move slowly, wary of spooking him and scaring him away. Even as you inch into a crouch, he shifts, looking as though he’s about to make a break for the waves.
(You’re not certain why he’s so shy if he’s the one that’s been offering you all these gifts for so long. Though, you suppose you’re much the same when it comes to flirting. And generally, you don’t flirt so much with species that have a mythology of hunting and killing your own either.)
You still when you’ve fully crouched above him. He’s close enough to touch now, if both of you were to reach out. You’d like to. To touch him, to know that he’s real.
(Tactile hallucinations, you remind yourself. It would feel just as real as any visual and auditory hallucination might.)
The two of you stare at one another in silence for a while longer, and you assume that he’s trying to take in the sight of you up close as much as you are to him. You feel a bit jealous, knowing that he must have been watching you so long, getting to enjoy the sight of you when you didn’t even know he was there.
If this had happened maybe six months ago, you’d still have been sane enough to be frightened by this prospect of a silent watcher, leaving you dead fish and most certainly hearing you pleasure yourself loudly at night. Now, the horror you should probably feel doesn’t even occur to you.
“You’re the one who’s been leaving me gifts,” you say, quiet as you can manage in the pattering rain, wanting to be heard but not wanting to startle him. “Right?”
The merman gazes up at you, and there’s only a slight incline of his head in response. You’re not sure how to take it, but it’s not really a question you needed much answer to. More of a conversation starter than anything. Otherwise, he doesn't reply. You wonder if he even speaks your language, if he’s even capable.
You reach into your pocket, movements slow and cautious. You’re petrified of startling him as you take the cowrie shell from your pocket, turning it over in your hands before holding it out to him. He seems to perk up at the sight of it, shifting slightly so he’s propping himself up on his arms. You look down at the shell again, running your thumb over the mythosaur, before stretching your arm out, offering it to him.
His expression shifts minutely, into a frown. His dark eyebrows pull together, and he reaches up a hand. You think he’s going to take it back from you, but when his webbed fingers touch yours – he’s so warm, part of you expected him to be cold blooded – he closes your fingers back around the shell. You meet his eyes, and his intent gaze has never left you. His hand lingers on yours, and for a moment his thumb rubs over the side of your hand. His gaze finally drops, taking in the size of your hand cradled in his. His fingers are tipped off with dark talons that brush over the calloused skin of your hands.
He feels so real. Something so real, so warm and wet and rough and perfect, your brain couldn't make that up. He’s here, in front of you, touching you. It has to be real.
Then, he murmurs something so quietly that you almost don’t catch it over the soft patter of the rain.
“Mesh’la.”
Your eyes dart to his mouth, you catch a glint of sharp teeth behind soft lips before they pull into a smile. And his smile… God, unsurprisingly it’s made him even more gorgeous. It may be the most beautiful smile you’ve ever seen.
Mesh’la. It’s certainly not any language you know, but it’s a sound you could make. So he is capable of speaking human tongues, maybe he just doesn’t know any of yours. You think briefly that mesh’la might be his name, but the way he said it doesn’t seem that way. It seemed like he was saying it to you, about you. On his tongue, it must mean something.
“Mesh’la?” you say back to him, unsure of how to convey your confusion without overwhelming him with words he doesn’t know.
He only offers you a hum in response, still trailing his fingers over your skin, as though he fears the thought of pulling away.
“What’s your name?” You ask him softly, clearly as you can manage. You place a hand to your chest and slowly recite your own name, hoping he’ll understand.
(You think, if it turns out he’s perfectly able to understand you, you probably look like a complete idiot. But then, with how long you’re certain he’s been watching you, he’s likely watched you make a fool of yourself several dozen times.)
He seems to catch the hint you’re throwing and after a moment’s hesitation, he speaks again, “Din.”
You breathe the name in a murmured echo, adoring the taste of it on your tongue. You dart your tongue out to wet your lips as though you might catch a lingering taste of the syllable. Part of you had expected something difficult to pronounce, using sounds you’re not even able to make, but Din is simple. It’s beautiful.
You think you hear a soft rumble from his chest, but it’s hard to tell over the rain. He lowers his hand, leaving droplets of water on your skin. Instinctively, you go to follow him, tilting forward a bit and losing your balance. You yelp, and wave your arms around as you desperately try to avoid toppling onto the rocks below.
You manage to regain your balance and fall onto your backside, but when you look back down Din is backing away, slithering across the rocks and toward the water. You startled him, just as you had so desperately hoped you wouldn't. Foiled by your own centre of balance. You scramble to get back on your feet as he pulls himself away, eyes wide.
“Wait!”
He glances back at you just once before he disappears into the foamy waves, leaving you alone on the edge of the cliff. Leaving you reeling, and suddenly desperate for his return. Din, the merman.
Part of you is imagining telling Captain Fett what you’ve seen, but a bigger part of you knows that you can never tell a soul, lest they think you a madwoman.
(Which you most certainly are, but they don't need to think it.)
You stand back up as the waves crash over the rocks, erasing all traces of Din except for the droplets on your hand and the memory of him that you’re sure is reflected in your eyes. You’d love to dwell on it, to wish him back and stare out at the waves forever, but there’s still work to be done. So you have to go about your day as though you haven't just met a merman.
Din makes no more appearances for a week. He leaves you no gifts, and drops no hints that he’s there at all. It’s devastatingly lonely, even with a phone call to your mother. It only lasts fifteen minutes this time, as you have nothing to update her on and the drama with your aunt has simmered to a cool cold shoulder stage.
(Of course, you could update your mother on the merman, but you would like for her to think you’re only slightly unhinged at most.)
You’ve completely integrated Din into your fantasies, at least, and that's added an impeccable spice to your nights. There was even one night, when you were fighting particularly hard to reach a new record for amount of orgasms, when you included both Din and Captain Fett. You went blind that night with how hard you came.
Funnily enough, it's the next day when Din finally makes another appearance. You’ve got a spool of rope heaved over your shoulder and you’re trudging up to the shed when you spot his head at the end of the dock. It takes all the dignity and sense you have not to drop the rope and sprint toward him like he’s your long lost lover. No, this time you won't startle him. So instead, you wave to him and calmly make your way down the old dock.
He seems to hesitate before he waves back, as though he’s unfamiliar with the gesture. You surmise that he’s seen it before and guessed that it's a human greeting, but he’s simply never had the need or opportunity to use it.
“Din,” you greet as you make it to the end of the dock. Today’s a clear day, the clouds are sparse and the sun is blessing the both of you with its warm shine even in the frigid salty air.
He murmurs your name, webbed hand resting on the dock. He looks infinitely more stunning in the clear sunlight, his skin somehow sunkissed, despite his dwelling somewhere with so little sunshine. You crouch slowly and set down the rope, smiling at him.
“You disappeared,” you say, thankful when your sudden proximity doesn't make him retreat. “I’m sorry I scared you last week. I guess I got excited, and… you can't understand me, can you?”
Din smiles at you again, giving you a full view of his sharp and pointed teeth. They’re almost sharklike. He reaches up, taking your hand carefully, like he’s nervous.
You think he might be– you think that might be the explanation for his strange behaviour. Maybe it isn't just the nature of merfolk, maybe Din is just shy. The thought makes you smile, the idea that this gorgeous, dangerous creature could be shy or nervous. It's more than a bit endearing.
Then he speaks again, and even the rough timbre of his voice can’t ease the shock at the word coming from his soft lips, “Fuck.”
Your brows knit together as you tilt your ear toward him, certain you’ve misheard. “Sorry?”
He says it again, seeming insistent. He gently grabs your ankle, guiding you to sit down on the dock. You’re still reeling from his sudden cursing, too shocked to stop him as he moves you so your legs are dangling off the edge of the dock.
“Where did you learn that?”
(He probably learned it from you, shouting it late at night while you touch yourself, but you don't really have the brain function to piece that together while you're still reeling from the fact he's learned it at all.)
He says it again, and as he begins to tug your shoes off you begin to think he may know exactly what it means. He sets your boots down on the dock and looks intently at you, resting his hands on your clothed thighs. For a creature you’ve decided is shy, he’s being awfully bold. You stare at him with wide eyes and parted lips, willing him to suddenly know your language so he can confirm your suspicions.
“Yes?” He prompts, and it's well enough.
And really, you should probably say no. You don't know him. You don't know where he’s been. You don't know his actual intentions. He could be asking permission to drag you under and eat you. But it's obvious what he’s asking, right?
And god you want it, you want it bad. It's been so long since anyone else touched you, and at this point you’d take it even if it meant drowning. Especially coming from such a gorgeous creature. There are worse ways to go.
So you nod, hurriedly undoing the clasps on your overalls and shifting away from him so you can take them off, leaving you only in your t-shirt and panties. They’re not exactly sexy, but judging by the lust darkening Din’s eyes, your fishy partner doesn't much mind.
He trails his wet hands over the expanse of your thighs, taking in every inch of them. It takes you a moment to realise that he's probably never been this close to any legs before. He’s admiring them and amazed by them, and you shiver when he drags his tongue over the skin.
(Or, he’s seen plenty of legs before from drowning and eating people, and he’s savouring the taste of them before he bites a chunk out of you. He’s got those sharp jaws for a reason. Still, you somehow don't mind if that's your fate.)
His tongue is long and wet, noticeably longer than any human tongue. It would be easy, from this angle, to forget that he has the bottom half of a fish until he opens his mouth. But his tongue laving over your thighs and the slight scrape of his teeth wrenches you back to the reality that you may be about to let this supposedly-mythical beast eat you out.
Or… maybe you’re just letting him lick your thighs. He doesn’t seem to be paying much mind to your pussy at all, actually. You think it’s possible he may be fooled by the concept of underwear. So as he damn near gnaws at your thigh, you shift slightly to tug them aside. Din sees your movement and pulls away from your leg, brown eyes filling with lusting curiosity.
His eyes are on your fingers as you pull your panties aside and tuck the crotch of them between your pussy and your thigh. Din’s eyes dilate, and you can tell he recognises just what it is. It's just what he was after, to eat in one way or another.
Before you can do much else Din grabs your legs, talons digging ever so slightly into your thighs but not breaking skin, and tugs.
You yelp, scrambling for purchase as he yanks you off the edge of the dock– this is it, you think, you’ve just invited this creature to drag you to the depths to your unfortunate wet death.
As you begin to come to terms with your imminent end, though, he stops, leaving your top half still above the surface. You’re distantly thankful that it's a somewhat warm day so you won't get hypothermia from the water if you end up surviving this.
With more careful hands, like he heard your frightened yelp, Din turns you around so you can brace your arms comfortably on the surface of the dock.
Oh, you realise. He wasn't trying to drown you. He was only trying to do this in his domain. If you had the brain for it you might think it were some territorial thing, which it is, but any thoughts in your head are melted away by the sudden drag of his lengthy tongue through your folds.
A strangled sort of noise leaves your throat, and your eyes pop open at the hot muscle dragging appreciatively along your pussy. Even if he hasn't ever seen a human pussy before, it evidently can't be much different from a mermaid’s from the way he seems to know what to do with it. His arms wrap around your thighs to hold you in place, and you’re left digging your nails into the worn down wood to hold you up.
Because you’ve forgotten how to be, you’re far from quiet. You cry out when his tongue brushes over your clit, the strange feeling of it being played with underwater like this heightening the feeling.
(Somehow it's so much more than when you touch yourself in the bath, maybe because the water is cold, or because it's a foreign body, or maybe because the man doing it is used to doing it underwater.)
His tongue is rough, like wet sandpaper (but of a low, worn-down grit), and it laps reverently at your clit. Din’s mouth refuses to leave your pussy, and the delighted shouts of pleasure refuse to stay in your mouth. You think that he can probably hear it beneath the current, because he only begins to suck at it more fervently.
“Fuck!” You hear yourself scream, before Din finally leaves your clit so just his nose bumps against it. He gives you barely a second of soft licks at your hole before he’s plunging his tongue into it. Your nails drag against the dock as your scream of delight is trapped in your throat.
How is it that Din’s tongue delves so much deeper than your fingers ever have? It prods deeper than anything that's gone in there in months, fills you more perfectly than several of your fingers ever have. It’s like his tongue was made just to fit in your pussy, to find the spot that drives you insane with such little effort. You can't even begin to wonder about his cock.
He laps at your hole, his large nose prodding against your clit as your entire body goes tight. Your thighs clamp around his head and you sob his name.
“Din!” You scream, body trembling. “I’m-”
There’s no sense in warning him when it hits you so suddenly, probably more surprising to you than it is to him. Your vision goes white and you let out a guttural groan, forehead banging down against the wood as you writhe in pleasure, pussy trying to milk Din’s tongue.
(You won’t have the cognitive function to realise it until hours later, but his tongue has stopped moving for how hard your cunt is clamped down on it.)
When your vision returns in spots and you find the ability to breathe again, Din’s tongue continues. You whine, scrambling against the dock to pull your oversensitive cunt away from his mouth. His arms only clamp down harder on your thighs, holding you in place.
You gasp, tears blurring your vision as you manage to reach down into the water and tug harshly on his hair. That seems to give him the hint he needs to give your poor pussy a moment to breathe. In a second, his mouth has pulled away and left you dreadfully empty. With gentle hands and strong arms, he lifts your body back onto the dock and rolls you onto your back.
You stare at the blue sky, panting. His hands trail gently over your thighs again, rubbing them in soothing circles. You lift your head just in time to see him press a kiss to your sensitive pussy, like a kiss to a lover. You can't help but feel a bit charmed by the gesture, until he suddenly clamps his jaw down on your inner thigh. You yelp in an odd mix of pain and offence, but before you can say anything, he’s slithering off the dock and back into the water.
You want to scramble after him, but your limbs feel like lead– which is quite the accomplishment considering you’ve built up the stamina for several orgasms in one go. So, instead of fruitlessly trying to draw him back to the surface to tell him off, you flop onto your back and close your eyes, too pleased to really process that you just came on a merman’s tongue.
#to the person who said they'd love a slow burn sorry but we r eating pussy!!#din djarin x reader#the mandalorian x reader#din djarin/reader#merman!din djarin#din djarin#my work#the mandalorian#the mandalorian/reader#smut#din
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ephemeris
Din Djarin/Reader | 3.4k | Rated E | afab reader, no y/n, modern setting, voyeurism, accidental voyeurism, masturbation, mutual masturbation (technically), pining, neighbors to lovers, single parent Din Djarin, slight/vague age difference, slight mention of blood, Din is lonely and doesn’t want to admit it
Din is not excited about getting a new neighbor.
--
Modern Din/Scholar!Reader
a/n: Technically the same scholar!reader as in my other fics. This can be read alone/separately.
read on ao3
The first emotion Din has when he sees the building manager changing the lock on the apartment door is idle confusion, which is then replaced with annoyance. Changing locks means that someone is moving in next door.
Din likes his privacy. He likes the security of being the only person living on this floor. He chose this complex over all others because it was in a part of the city that didn’t get a lot of traffic and it was within walking distance to Grogu’s daycare. It wasn’t fancy, but it suited him just fine.
His last neighbors had been a couple who liked to watch the television on the highest setting and then have competitions on who could scream the loudest over it. Thankfully they had moved - or been evicted, he wasn’t sure - and it had been blissfully silent ever since.
That was about to change though, he thought sullenly. The local university had recently announced a housing crisis, so college-aged students were moving in all over the city. This area was near enough to the train station and had cheap enough rent that he knew it was only a matter of time before he had rowdy young adults to deal with, keeping him and Grogu up all through the night and leaving trash everywhere.
“‘Mornin,” the building manager grunted at Din, pulling himself up with a huff. Din nodded shortly in response, trying to get his key into the lock as quickly as he could to avoid talking.
“Yer gettin’ a new neighbor,” the man continued, obviously not perturbed by Din’s lack of interest in holding a conversation. “Though you probably figured that out yourself.”
“Great,” Din muttered, finally getting the key into his lock and letting himself into his apartment. “Can’t kriffing wait.”
—
It’s a few more days before his new neighbor moves in - long enough for Din to just start hoping that maybe no one will be coming after all. Those hopes are dashed one late summer afternoon when he returns home, Grogu in tow, to see a mountain of boxes stacked outside the apartment next to his.
He eyes them, trying to get a clue of who the incoming nuisance might be. All the boxes are packed neatly, not giving away much about whom they belong to.
“Da!” Grogu points at the boxes, big eyes wide with interest. He’s been going through a phase where he loves opening things and pulling everything inside out for his father to put away again.
“No touching,” Din warns him, recognizing the gleam in his eyes. “Come on, let’s go insid-“
“Ah, shit!”
Din looks up to see a stack of cardboard boxes walking toward him. The boxes are dropped heavily onto the ground, revealing a young woman panting from the journey up the stairs with them (the elevator has been ‘out of service’ since before Din moved in, another deterrent to new neighbors that had failed). He pauses, key in his door, curiosity winning out over his desire to retreat.
You haven’t noticed him yet. He watches as you wipe the sweat off your brow with the back of your hand, before leaning down to grab something off the ground. Your outburst must have been from dropping your keys, which you scoop up along with a packet of paperwork he recognizes from when he himself signed the lease for his place.
You’re younger than he expected, but not as young as he was afraid of, Din thinks.
It’s then that you notice him, and he flinches a little at your soft smile. “Hi,” you breathe quickly, still out of breath. “You must be my neighbor.”
“Yeah,” Din replies. Grogu babbles, holding on to his jeans, and Din pats his head protectively. “That’s us.”
You glance down at the child and frown. “Oh cr-my gosh - so sorry for swearing,” you apologize. “In front of your kid.”
“S’fine,” Din waves you off, opening his front door and ushering his curious child inside. “He’s heard worse. See ya.”
“Nice to meet you!” He hears you call out just as he shuts the door. With a sigh, he leans against the dark wood, kicking his shoes off. Grogu drops his backpack and runs to the kitchen table, the new neighbor and her boxes already forgotten in favor of his after-school snack.
—
You’re thankfully quiet, for the most part. He can sometimes hear you when he’s sitting in his bedroom - your bedroom and bathroom walls are on the other side. Other than that, and some soft music or television sounds every once in a while, you’re a decent neighbor.
He thinks you’re a student. He’s seen you walk to the train a few times - always to the same line. You have a habit of not coming back until late in the evening, and he wonders if you have friends in the city because you never have guests over. The weeks pass, and Din begins to settle out of his annoyance of having someone living next door.
It’s an early fall afternoon when there’s a knock at the door. Din glances towards it, one brow raising in question. He’s sat at the small dining room table with Grogu, helping the child complete his “homework” assignment. He uses the word homework rather loosely, as it’s a coloring page and his kid hasn’t yet mastered the art of coloring inside the lines. Grogu’s daycare teacher had explained that it was supposed to help with building dexterity, but so far all Din can tell is that his kid is probably not hosting an art show any time soon.
Another short knock and Din rises and peers out his peephole. It’s the girl from next door, a nervous look on her face.
He opens the door partly, shielding the view inside of his home out of instinct. You step back as if you weren’t sure if it would have actually opened or not, and blink up at him, saying nothing.
“Hello,” Din says. This is the first time either of you has ever seen each other up close, he realizes.
You clear your throat, and he notices that you’re fidgeting a little. “Hi. Um, really sorry to bother you but I was wondering - can I use your balcony?”
Din blinks. “What?”
“I forgot my keys and my phone - I locked myself out of my apartment,” you explain sheepishly. “And I was wondering if I could climb from your balcony over to mine to get in.”
He should be annoyed. He should tell you sorry, no - but instead, he asks if you’d like him to call building management for you.
You ponder that for a moment. “Will they charge me?”
“Probably,” Din answers.
He watches as you grimace. “No, that’s ok,” you decide. “I’ll just climb over from your balcony if that’s all right.”
Stepping aside, Din allows you to scurry into his apartment. Grogu stares as the young woman marches past him towards the sliding glass door, the crayon he was scribbling with clutched in his hand, forgotten.
Your two apartments are pretty much the same layout so it makes sense you’d know where you’re going, but there’s a weird feeling in Din’s chest as he watches you move effortlessly through his home. He decides to pack that away for later.
Din follows you to the balcony, leaning up against the doorway to watch you heave yourself up the partition with a groan. He wouldn’t consider it a very large obstacle, but you are considerably shorter than he is. To your credit, you manage to get up on top of it rather smoothly.
Straddling it, you look towards your balcony, and then back to him. “Thanks,” you call, before slipping down and disappearing from sight. Din nods in your direction, strangely amused at the whole situation. After hearing the soft sound of your balcony door sliding open and shut, he returns inside.
“Apo,” Grogu gurgles, and Din shakes his head. “Don’t even think about doing that yourself,” he chides. “No more emergency room trips.”
—
Two days later, he’s heading out the door one early morning, already having dropped Grogu off at daycare. You step out of your own apartment, and when you see him you cry out “Oh! Hang on!” before dashing back inside.
Din pauses. You return quickly, a plate wrapped in tin foil in your hands. “Thank you for letting me climb over your balcony.” You hand him the plate. “I hope you like banana bread.”
He loves banana bread, but he’s not going to tell you that.
“No problem,” he says instead.
You smile again. He notices how one side of your mouth lifts before the other, and how your eyes crinkle at the edges. You introduce yourself, and he does the same.
Later that night he shares the banana bread with Grogu. The child squeals happily as he smooshes it into his mouth, and Din can’t help the smile that graces his usual pout as he cleans the kid up for bed.
—
He leaves the next day at the same time and runs into you again. You flash him a smile and a wave as you lock your door.
“I’d better get going or I’ll miss my train,” you apologize, and hoist your bag over your shoulder. You must be going to work. He notices a badge on a lanyard around your neck, the logo of the local university below your ID photo. He follows you down the stairs, noticing your inquisitive glances.
“I’m…headed in the same direction,” he mumbles, and you nod. The two of you walk in silence down the sidewalk.
“Are you…headed to work?” You ask, and he knows you’re trying to ease some of the awkward tension.
“Yeah,” he replies shortly. “Are you?”
“I’m a post-doctoral student,” you explain. “Well…technically I don’t have my doctorate yet, but once I finish my research I will.”
So you were a student…technically. “What do you research?” He’s usually pretty good at figuring out people’s professions based just on how they look, but you’re still a blank canvas.
“Cosmology and astrometry,” you reply. Din raises a brow.
“The evolution and expansion of the universe, and the movement and placement of celestial bodies. Where and why things are where they are in space,” you elaborate.
That wasn’t going to be his first guess, he muses. He was going to guess that you were a culinary student or that you worked in a bakery, based solely off of the decadent bread from the other day. But it’s interesting, and he tells you so.
“It’s certainly not boring,” you laugh. It’s a nice sound, he decides. There’s a lightness to it. You ask him what he does for work, and he thinks about what to say.
“Security,” he decides. It’s a safe answer, and mostly true. Sometimes he works security for Fett. Sometimes he works at Peli Motto’s body shop, repairing old cars no one but he appreciates. He does a lot of different things, most of them under the table - but you don’t need to know that.
You part ways at the train station, and you wish him a good day as you dash away. It isn’t until you’re out of sight that he realizes his job for the day is in the opposite direction, and he didn’t really need to walk the same way as you.
He thinks about that on the long walk back.
—
He hears something crash and shatter outside his door. Getting up from the table, he peers outside and sees his neighbor crouched on the ground.
He opens the door, and you whip your head around, startled. There’s frustration etched across your brow. He notices a torn paper bag and a broken jar of something - honey? - oozing slowly across the dusty concrete.
“Oh, hey,” you greet him. “Sorry about this.” You gesture around yourself. “I’ll clean it up.”
“What happened?” Din inquires, and you sigh.
“I tripped over my own feet,” you confess, and he can see the embarrassment in your eyes. It’s then that he sees you’re dressed up like you were coming from somewhere fancy. There’s a tear on your tights, and he sees that your knee is bleeding.
“You’re hurt,” he points out, and you glance down.
“Oh,” is your response, like you didn’t notice until he told you. “I hate these stupid shoes-“ he fights the urge to find the way you sit all the way down to pull off your heels and throw them towards your door endearing.
“Hang on,” he commands and goes back into his apartment. Grabbing his first aid kit, he comes back out to see you trying to clean up your spilled groceries.
He sets the kit down and kneels next to you. “Leave it,” he says, and you drop the broken glass hesitantly. “Let me clean you up first.”
“Ok,” you say softly. Din opens the kit and takes out some disinfectant. He apologizes before ripping the knee of your tights to get to the scrape.
“This’ll sting,” he murmurs, and he admires how you barely flinch as he pats your scraped knee with a cotton pad. The wound looks worse than it really is, and after cleaning the area he decides it’ll heal just fine with a bandage.
“You’re well stocked on med supplies,” you joke, watching as he applies it carefully to your skin. “I especially like the dinosaur bandaids.”
Din huffs. “Grogu likes them,” he defends. Noticing your curious expression, he elaborates. “My son.”
“Ah. So he is your kid,” you smile.
Din cocks a brow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
You shrug. “Nothing. He just doesn’t really look like you all that much, and I never see anyone else coming out of your place so I wondered if he was like…a nephew or something. If you babysit him.”
“I adopted him,” Din replies quietly. You nod, a solemn expression on your face.
“Must be difficult, raising a kid by yourself,” you comment after a moment. Din thinks about that. He loves Grogu more than anything in the world, and if given the choice would choose to raise him over and over again. Was it difficult? At first, the adjustment to taking care of him was daunting. He had a lot to learn and made more than a few mistakes. But now he’d say that the most difficult part was learning what to do with all the love he has for the child and how to cope with the worry that if something happened to him, Grogu would be alone.
“It’s worth it,” is what comes out of his mouth instead as he finishes patching up your scrape.
You give him another soft smile as you examine your knee. “Thanks,” you say, climbing to your feet. “I owe you - again.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Din waves you off. He watches as you pick up what broken glass you can before heading to your door. You wish him farewell and disappear inside, and he hovers for half a moment before doing the same.
—
The next evening there’s a paper bag on his doormat. Din brings it inside and opens it to find a small cake tin, a note, and a box of space-themed bandaids.
“Thanks again,” is all the note says, signed ‘your neighbor’. The cake smells like oranges and honey. He eats part of it, licking the crumbs off his fingers, tongue swiping over sticky honeyed syrup.
He wonders, absently, if your mouth tastes the same.
—
It’s nice, Din realizes one dark winter evening, as he hears your bed springs creak through the thin walls. Nice having the odd company of someone next door. He’s gotten used to hearing your routines, the sound of your shower coming on, or the low buzz of your toothbrush.
He doesn’t admit that the sound of the bed creaking at night as you go to sleep and in the morning as you rise makes him feel closer to you than he is. He’s not that lonely.
Din closes his eyes and tries to force himself to fall asleep, listening to you settle into your own bed. You’re moving around more than usual. He can hear your sheets shifting around you.
He hears your sigh and firmly tells himself that it was not a moan.
“Mmm.”
His eyes blink open. Ok, that was definitely a moan.
He should get up. He should go into his living room and shut the door and pretend like he didn’t hear it.
Instead, he stills, heart pounding, waiting to hear if you do it again.
“Ohhh.” you sigh out, the end of it turning into another moan. His cock throbs a little, and he rubs over it through his pants absently before clenching his fists in a half-hearted attempt to stop.
You’re alone, he knows. He’s never seen you bring anyone over. That means you’re doing it all yourself.
Another low croon. This time when his cock throbs Din presses on where he’s bulging under his sweatpants. It jumps at the sensation. He immediately feels shame.
You have to know, right? Just as your bed creaks, so does his. You share a wall - you must know that he can hear you.
His mind spins. Either you don’t know, and if he gets up now and you hear it you’ll know he’s right there and only moving after already getting an earful -
Or you do know - you know he’s on the other side of the wall, and that he can hear the way you’re touching himself. And you’re doing it anyways.
He wonders how you’re doing it. He knows he shouldn’t but he does. His hand shakes, and he resists the urge to snake it under the waistband of his sweats, to stroke his cock slowly, in time with your sweet, muffled sounds and the images his mind is creating.
You’re probably on your back, legs spread, hand tucked into your own sleeping bottoms. You’re playing with your clit, soft flesh swollen and puffy.
There’s a pause, and silence, which is then replaced by a low, buzzing hum. Din hears you gasp and chokes down one of his own.
He wonders if your back arches at the way the toy vibrates against you. He wonders if your mouth opens softly, and he wants to know if your tongue swipes over your lips.
His cock jumps as he imagines slotting his body over yours, hiking your leg up his side, and devouring your desperate little pants.
There’s a whine from the other side of the wall, and muffled words. He wonders what you’re saying, as you press your face into your pillow in an attempt to quiet yourself. He imagines you praising the way he feels against you, inside of you -
Shame gives way to desire as he lets himself take his cock in hand. Just this once, Din thinks. He’ll let himself have this, and then in the morning, he’ll move his bed to the other side of the room.
Fuck, he’s hard. He thinks himself silly, getting so aroused just by hearing a pretty girl through a wall. It’s been a long time since he’s shared a bed with anyone. He blames it on that.
More muffled gasps through the wall, and it’s a fight to keep himself from answering. He strokes his cock steadily, determined not to give himself away. The sound of the vibrator increases in intensity, and he thinks you must be close.
He’d fuck you so much better than that toy. He’d give it to you any way you wanted. He’d lathe his tongue over your breasts until you were writhing underneath him. He’d have you face down into the mattress, mouth sealed over your cunt, you begging him to let you come -
“Ah!” There’s a shriek that is instantly muffled, and he wonders if it’s from you burying your face into your pillow or biting down on your hand. He thinks about your lower body shaking, trembling through your orgasm, and he grits his teeth as he comes himself, spilling wetly over his fist.
Din holds his breath. You’re silent on the other side, and for a second he panics, hoping he didn’t make any noise to alert you.
He lets out a breath as he hears your body shift, rolling away from the wall. He waits until he hears you settle before slipping quietly out of bed to clean himself up. He washes his hands in the bathroom sink, avoiding his own gaze in the mirror. There’s a pit in his stomach as he falls asleep, and he eases his shame by telling himself he’ll move the bed in the morning.
—
He doesn’t.
#din djarin x reader#the mandalorian x reader#din djarin smut#the mandalorian smut#din x reader#mando x reader#mando smut#the mandalorian#din djarin
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Could you do a Din djarin x reader with an already established romantic relationship where he surprises the reader by getting another mudhorn insignite added to his armor to represent them like he has for grogu sorta solidify them as a clan of Three. You can add spice if you want but not required.
I love a good emotional Clan of Three moment 🥺
You were just putting Grogu to bed. He’d been an adorable little menace for most of the day, scrambling around the cabin you lived in and pulling down packs of sweets from the higher shelves using nothing but his mind. You could never stay mad at him for long, and would always end up sharing a piece with him before trying to find something that kept his attention.
Din had left early the day before, saying there was an important errand he had to run off-world. He’d been a bit more gruff than he usually was before he left, but you could only assume that the errand was time sensitive and he was worried about being late.
With most of his work, being late was bad for business. Possibly bad for the safety of your little clan.
Your clan. You’d been considering yourself part of it for a while, though you weren’t sure if it was right to do so, and the idea of bringing it up to Din, of there being an official yes or no, was always daunting.
So, you never mentioned it, and instead silently hoped that maybe one day, you would be officially welcomed as a member of his and Grogu’s little family. One day.
Din returned while you were tidying up for the night. You heard the distinct rumble of the N-1’s engines as it landed nearby. Stowing the last basket of Grogu’s toys, you went to the closest viewport and peeked outside, watching Din climb out of his starfighter.
You must’ve watched him for a few moments too long because when you went to make sure the door was unlocked for him, it was already sliding open, and there he was.
“Hi,” you greeted, a bit startled but a smile automatically pulling at your lips in his presence.
He nodded as he stepped inside, bringing the cool night air with him before the door could close. “Hi.”
You tilted your chin toward the rooms further in the house. “He just went to bed. Managed to get his hands on some of the candied fruits and almost didn’t eat dinner. He did draw some very sweet pictures afterward, so, as far as I’m concerned, all is forgiven.”
“I’m sure you didn’t slip him any extra sweets once you found him with the fruits.” There was a touch of mirth in his tone
You made sure to look very offended. “Of course not! I would never spoil a child like that.”
He chuckled, reaching to take your hand. “Thank you for taking care of him.”
“I don’t need you to thank me.” You squeezed his hand. “He’s a great kid. I think we had a pretty good time together.”
“Yeah,” Din squeezed your hand right back, “he likes you a lot.”
You felt warm from head to toe. “I’m glad.”
“The, uh,” he cleared his throat, shuffling a step closer, “that errand…I have a surprise for you.”
You blinked. “Oh?”
“Yeah.” He turned a little, indicating his left pauldron.
Where there was once smooth, unpainted beskar, there was now a gleaming mudhorn signet, identical to the one on his right pauldron.
Your brow creased. “It’s beautiful, but I don’t understand.”
He took both of your hands in his, visor angled squarely at you. “The first signet was a mark of my clan’s beginning. A clan of two. This second signet is my way of marking the start of this clan’s future,” there was barely a foot of space between the two of you and you could feel his steadying breath, “as a clan of three.”
The words buzzed in your mind for a moment as you processed them. “Does that mean…?” You didn’t know what to say.
“I want to offer you a place in this clan, in this family. If you’ll have us.”
Tears burned behind your eyes. “Really?”
He squeezed your hands tight, leaning close. “It’s all I’ve been thinking about lately. I should’ve asked before I left, but I got word of the signet being completed and wasn’t given much time to have it placed.” He was speaking uncharacteristically fast. “It can be removed if you—”
“No!” Your eyes widened at your own exclamation. “No, you don’t have to do that. I would love to be part of your clan. I-I’ve thought about it a lot, too.”
“Really?”
You nodded earnestly.
His shoulders dropped in relief. “So, that makes it official.”
Joy bloomed in your chest and you pulled him into an embrace, too happy to care about the discomfort of hard beskar digging into you.
He laughed in surprise and hugged you back readily. “I love you,” he said softly, tone warm with affection.
You let out a laugh of your own, far more breathless than his, but just as genuine. “I love you too.”
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Stay With Me: Din Djarin x Reader
A/N: we love us some whump
Warnings: injuries, blood, gore, swearing, angst, a helluva lot of crying, death, needles, idk what else lmfao,
Word count: <1200
Fuck, what had you been thinking?
Din himself had warned you against taking the job. He'd taken the time to explain to you all the ways you could get killed or kidnapped or left to die, and you'd taken it anyway, in hope that the money would get the dodgy engine of your ship fixed.
You should have known, Din is always right about this stuff.
Well, partially right, anyway. You did manage to get the bounty - you also managed to shove him in carbonite, although he's at a slightly awkward angle due to your current predicament. Gritting your teeth, you stumble towards the ladder leading to the cockpit and grab the top rung, heaving yourself up with pure arm strength - thank the Maker for the pull up bar Din helped you install. Your eyes water as the various slashes in your arms stretch open, and warm blood starts soaking into your ragged sleeves. Pulling yourself across the floor, grimacing at the red smear you leave behind you, you barely manage to sit up on your knees and stab the button which sets off the distress beacon. Flicking the switch to send a transmission, you wince and wave, aware of how your face must be smeared in blood.
'Hey, Din,' you stutter through your pain. 'I got the bounty, but I - ' You sway, just catching yourself on the pilot's chair. ' - I think I'm going to die.' Heaving yourself up a little, you lift up the hem of your shirt. 'I'm bleeding out, Din. If I - if I don't get to talk to you again, I - ' You wince as pain stabs through you. ' - I just want you to know, I care about you, a lot, and I'll miss it. Whatever we're calling it, I... I'll miss what we had, just between the two of us.'
Suddenly, black roils at the edges of your vision, and the world spins around you before you topple over, collapsing onto the floor.
─── ❖ ── ✦ ── ❖ ───
Din's heart is pounding in his ears as he squeezes through the small space the ramp has made as it lowers, unwilling to wait for it to open fully. Sprinting across the landing bay, he catches sight of your ship and lengthens his stride, putting on a burst of speed at the memory of your words, forced out through your pain.
I think I'm going to die.
I think I'm going to die. I think I'm going to die. I think I'm -
He skids to a halt outside your ship, frantically typing your encrypted mish mash of letters and numbers into the panel by the ramp. Agonisingly slowly, it begins to hum open, and he reaches up and yanks it down, scrambling into your ship and almost tripping over a crate as he makes his way towards the cockpit, where he knows you'll be. There's drops of blood on the floor by the ladder, deep red dotting the metal, and two crimson handprints on the top rung. Fear shoots through him, cold and paralysing, but he doesn't let it delay him for long, not when your life is at stake.
He bursts into the cockpit.
You're lying on the floor, so still he almost thinks he's too late.
Dropping to his knees beside you, right into a pool of your own blood, he gently flips you over. His breath catches in his throat. Half of your torn tunic is soaked red, and his fingers tremble as he lifts it up, forcing himself to inspect the gaping wound for the sake of saving you. The skin around the edges is ragged, and he assumes it's got to be from some sort of jagged viroblade. Blood is still oozing from your wound, and he immediately applies pressure while he searches his memory for where the medkit is. Terror stabs at his heart; he can't let this happen, can't let you go, not when he could have prevented this by persuading you not to take the job.
'Stay with me,' he whispers, his voice cracking. 'Please. Please, I can't - '
Choking down a sob, almost unable to leave your side to get the medkit, he nearly falls down the ladder as he rips open the cupboard to his left and grabs it with shaking hands. Your name on his lips as he scrambles back up into the cockpit, he rips open the neat box of supplies and grabs the bacta shot, praying that he's not too late, that he can still save you.
Carefully, he steadies his shaking hands and lines the bacta shot up so the entry point will be just under your ribs. Biting back his panic, he pushes down the plunger, watching the bacta empty from the syringe. Once it's all gone, he pulls the needle out and drops it onto the ground beside him, desperately watching you for movement. He knows that he could still be too late - there's a certain period of time after a wound where you can apply a shot, but anything after that... well, you might as well be saying your goodbyes.
And he can't say his goodbyes, not with your sweet voice in his head, saying I'll miss it. Whatever we're calling it, I'll miss what we had, just between the two of us.
Not with your sweet voice saying, I care about you, a lot.
Not with his heart begging for you to live, because he needs to tell you how much he cares.
Needs to tell you he can't lose you.
Needs to tell you he loves you. So, so much.
You cough, weakly, and your eyes flutter open. Unable to make a coherent sound, he grabs you in his arms, cradling you to his chest and barely restraining himself from crushing you close to him. He leans the cold beskar of his helmet on your shoulder, his eyes squeezed shut underneath as salty tears drip down his face, shuddering sobs wracking his large frame as he clings onto you, revelling in how warm you are, how alive you are.
'Don't you ever fucking dare do that again,' he growls. 'You should have listened to me, you - you shouldn't have gone, don't ever, ever do that again. You scared me, you fucking scared me so much - '
One of your hands reaches up and presses against the cheek of his helmet. It doesn't matter that there's dried blood on your fingers, doesn't matter at all to Din, because you're alive. So he grabs your fingers and squeezes them, and with his head still buried in your shoulder, he tells you the truth, his voice ragged and broken.
'I love you,' he gasps. 'I love you, I love you, I love you.'
You close your eyes, one hand fisting in his cowl while you bury your face in his shoulder, engulfing yourself in his scent. 'Din, I'm sorry, I'm so s - sorry - ' You cut yourself off, arms locking around his neck as you stare right into his eyes as if the helmet isn't there. 'I love you too, Din. I love you.'
Din rests his forehead against yours, tears streaking down his cheeks, as he holds you in his arms, thanking the Maker that you're still with him.
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How You Two Sleep - BNHA (pt 2)
PART 2
Keigo Takami
As the number two hero, he would probably have very little free time and would probably cherish his time with you, his wings would make cuddling positions pretty limited, but you can bet that wouldn't get in his way!
~ Takami stumbled into the apartment, trying desperately to be quiet to avoid waking you, his day had been long, he wanted nothing more than to go home and be in your arms, but The Commission decided he would be best on night patrol as well.
~ So here he was, struggling to stay awake as he finally gets home at three in the morning.
~ As he made his way to your shared room, he was stripping out of his heavy hero costume, thinking he would take care of the clothes strewn through the apartment when he wakes up.
~ Getting into your room, he sees you, sleeping peacefully, hoping he had avoided waking you.
~ Gently laying himself down on his side, he wrapped his strong arms around your waist, pulling you against him, your back to his chest. He curls his wings around the both of you, leaving a sweet kiss on your shoulder as he settles against your body, quickly losing consciousness.
Aizawa Shouta
We know this man loves sleep, probably because he doesn't get much of it. He's up most nights on patrol and then has to teach in the morning and then will come home and grade papers until late. Any chance he has to sleep, he'll take it and bring you with him!
~ Finally, summer vacation, Shouta wouldn't have to deal with children for another two months. Hallelujah.
~ He would still have patrol but he got the week off like he did at the end of every school year. He would spend this week the same way he'd spent it last year. Sleeping.
~ The only difference from last year, to this one, was that now you were in the picture. You were the newest member of staff, helping Recovery Girl in the infirmary.
~ Walking into your shared apartment, you had moved in recently, so there were still boxes everywhere that you were currently unpacking.
~ "Shouta! Welcome home!" You cheered, Shouta swore he felt his heart melt, he smiled, said hello and the two of you sat down with the cats for dinner.
~ As soon as that was over, Shouta gently took you by the wrist and pulled you towards the bedroom, tucking you in before getting comfortable himself.
~ His preferred position for sleep was on your chest, it was just so comfortable there!
~ So with his head on your chest, his arms around your waist and your legs tangled, he fell into restful sleep.
Toyomitsu Taishiro
I can picture Fatgum losing a lot of energy after he comes home from patrol, either a quiet one or a fight, he would want nothing more than to get comfy with you, in any way!
~ Taishiro came home exhausted, most of the heroes did, but he was still so pumped to see you!
~ He'd brought home a bunch of different take outs and snacks (cause the baby can eat a lot!) and he settled down with you on the couch, the two of you barely talking, preferring to be quiet when you both come home.
~ After eating and talking softly about your days, you had both settled down into bed.
~ Taishiro would prefer your head on his chest, even when he isn't using his quirk, he's still pretty tall and broad, and he likes the idea of being able to protect you even in your sleep.
~ I feel like Taishiro would wake up in the middle of the night often, either from nightmares from his job, worrying about his kids (Tamaki and Kirishima, yay Dadgum) or because he was hungry.
~ You didn't mind him waking up in the night for food, as long as he didn't eat in bed, whilst there wasn't any food left, crumbs attract ants! There had been issues…
Usagiyama Rumi
Rumi loves to be cuddled, as much as she wants to prove that she's strong, and she is, she loves being taken care of! So I can imagine her being similar when it comes to home life and sleeping!
~ When Rumi comes home to the smell of dinner already on the table, she can't help but swoon, she'd loved it since you moved in!
~ Dinner was lovely, but she wanted to get to the good bit!
~ Cuddles! (What were you guys thinking?)
~ I feel like the majority of your time with Rumi would be cuddling, in every position, but she would prefer being the little spoon, you behind her, cuddling around her waist.
~ But when you're sleeping, it's a bit different, the two of you cuddled up in bed, but even when sleeping, Mirko is still Mirko, filled with energy!
~ She would move around, probably bringing you with her, as she slept, physically lifting you and rotating the positions when she wanted, hope you're a heavy sleeper!
Kayama Nemuri
I honestly feel like Nemuri would be completely the opposite at home, than she would be in public. I feel like it would be very rare for her to be cuddly, even in the comfort of her own home.
~ When Nemuri came home from working long days at the school, or long nights on patrol, she would usually want to be left alone.
~ She loved you with all her being, but sometimes, she did just want to be on her own.
~ So she would eat what had been left over from the lovely dinner you'd cook (or order in) and then have a bubble bath, which she tended to do most days.
~ After a little pampering and treatment to keep herself looking young (though you assured her she looked gorgeous, you told her almost everyday), she would sneak into bed, smiling when she saw you sleeping, soft breath leaving your lips.
~ She would lay beside you, admiring you for a while, before beginning to drift off herself.
~ Getting herself comfortable, she would slide a little closer to you, not completely touching, but close enough.
~ She would leave a kiss on your forehead, seeing you stir ever so slightly, choosing to rest her own head against yours.
~ She fell into a contented sleep.
~ Though she would wake up with you a lot closer, usually cuddling into her chest.
Yamada Hizashi
Okay! Loud Boy! I feel like Hizashi would be SUPER cuddly, like, being on top of you, wouldn't be close enough, but he would damn well try!
~ It hadn't taken Hizashi long to get home, he was far too excited, he would run the whole way if he could, be he knew you wouldn't cuddle him if he was all hot and sweaty, so he casually jogged home.
~ Once he got there, you were sat on the couch, reading a book you had borrowed from Shouta, running over to you, he would be completely ready to glomp you, when you lifted a hand to stop him.
~ He stood, almost like he had been paused on a screen.
~ You finished the page you were on and marked it, placing it down and settling back in the cushions comfortably, giving your excitable love the all clear.
~ Letting out an excited shout (that had you covering your ears), he jumped into your awaiting arms, getting himself just as comfortable.
~ There would probably be small breaks between cuddling, for food and showers, then he'd be back in your arms, soft and sweet.
~ If we're being honest, that's probably where the two of you would drift off most of the time, Hizashi laying on top of you, head in your chest, arms around you and your fingers running through his hair (now not so pointy).
#bnha#bnha x reader#bnha headcannons#headcannons#takami keigo x reader#shouta aizawa x reader#toyomitsu taishiro x reader#usagiyama rumi x reader#kayama nemuri x reader#yamada hizashi x reader#love#cute#sleep comfort#comfort#romance
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like a moth to the flame, part II
Pairing: monster!Din Djarin x female!reader
Rating: E, 18+
Word Count: 7.9k
Warnings: monster!Din, dark!Din, stalking, predatory/obsessive/possessive behavior, creepy shit, hunting and gore, blood, masturbation, size kink + references to reader being small but only relative to monster!Din who’s like 7ft tall and massive, smutty monsterfucking thoughts
Notes: HAPPY HALLOWEEKEND, MY BELOVED MONSTERFUCKERS! Thank you to @ezrasbirdie and @dincrypt for the help! xx
Part I | Masterlist
YOU
It’s one of those summer nights that feels like a sun-baked, scorching noon. The air is hot and heavy and completely still. Even lying in bed completely naked, blankets tossed off and scrunched up below your feet, you’re sweating. All the windows in your room are thrown wide, the drawn curtains unmoved by even a hint of a breeze, the crickets outside chirping rapid and relentless in the heat.
You’ve been tossing and turning for hours.
It doesn’t help that the Mandalorian’s smoke-dark growl of your name has been playing on repeat in your head. You’ve only heard the actual thing three times, but the sound—the tone, the inflection, the cadence—is seared there. And it plays.
Again and again.
It’s been happening a lot lately—forcing its way into your mind like a mantra, especially at night when you’re trying to sleep. Usually, making yourself come helps. But you’ve already done that tonight—while you unapologetically imagined those big gloved hands on your body. Sometimes distracting yourself in other ways tires you out, but you’re too restless to read, too overheated to want to get up and do anything else.
Plus, you’re too busy ruminating on the fact that tomorrow is Saturday yet again, and it will likely be as much of a disappointment as the last few.
Each week, you wait hopefully. You watch him enter the market street—even if you aren’t actively looking for him (which you always are), how could you not immediately notice his blinding glint in the morning sun?—and anticipation draws up tight in your stomach. You tell yourself that you’ll be ready this time. You’ll actually speak to him; you won’t just ogle the devastating spread of his shoulders or think about what he smells like. You won’t be distracted by the gentle but significant weight of his large hand on your cheek if he ever decides to touch you again. No, you’re determined to make a connection with him. He asked what you liked. He asked where you were going. You want to know what he likes, where he’s going.
Except…he hasn’t stopped at your kiosk again.
Instead, every week, you watch him effortlessly part the crowd, moving down the busy street with purpose. He turns his helmet to look at you as his long, decisive strides take him past. You meet his spotlight gaze, and you get a…perfunctory nod. But that’s it. He never stops, never comes near enough to even exchange a verbal greeting. The fact that you get a subtle jerk of his helmet while he never acknowledges anyone else doesn’t soothe the sting of his avoidance.
You want more than this.
And it’s driving you crazy.
A bead of sweat drips down your temple. You sit up in bed and decide you’ve had enough.
Fuck this.
The lake is so close, and the moon outside your window is paperwhite bright.
You climb out of bed to throw on a light dress and pull on your socks and boots, sliding your sheathed blade into the space between your ankle and the leather. The little fawn is tucked in a tight circle in her basket by the foot of your bed, fast asleep. You decide not to disturb her—you don’t want to have to worry about losing her in the dark or protecting her from hungry things if she follows you.
Keeping her wasn’t your initial intention, but she seems to have imprinted on you. You were hoping to help her heal and let her go, and instead you have a dappled nut-brown shadow. After only a few days, you knew that keeping her temporarily was never an option. She’s a baby—old enough to be weaned but young enough to still be unsteady on her skinny little legs—and she’d never have survived alone, even without the injury. So during the day, she trails behind you as you go about your work, sifting through the undergrowth to nibble at the softest shoots as you harvest or prune or fertilize or weed. And at night, she curls into that same tight circle, her dark nose tucked against the white bandage on her healing ankle. She’s sleeping soundly tonight, her tiny belly moving almost imperceptibly as she breathes slowly and deeply.
You decided to call her Luna because when she looks up at you with her big, bright eyes, you think the inky depths could contain a night sky of their own.
You toss a flashlight and a towel into a bag, sling it over your shoulder, and you’re out the door. Outside, the air is just as stifling and oppressive. Not a single leaf or blade of grass is stirring. You don’t really need the flashlight. The moon illuminates the landscape, and even if it didn’t, you know your gardens and orchards and the nearby forest by heart. Your feet follow a familiar path through your vegetable patch, down a row of cherry trees, and into the woods. After a few minutes of picking your way through the ferns, the trees open up onto the lake.
Moonlight paints the glassy surface in long, luxurious strokes of silver. The water looks black and deep, though you know it’s not. You skirt the edge until you reach the most inviting stretch of pebbled shoreline and slip out of your dress, shoving your things into a pile on a boulder. You step over the smooth rocks with bare feet, careful as they shift underfoot, until the water laps against your toes. You splash your way toward the deeper water, falling forward into its inviting embrace, reveling in the instant relief.
You swim laps in the moonlight until you’re satisfied to simply float. You let yourself drift and enjoy the cool.
You’re not thinking about the Mandalorian.
You’re not thinking about what it would be like to remove his armor, piece by piece, and coax him into the water with you.
Would he ever let you? Would he ever trust someone else with that power?
A branch snaps somewhere in the forest, the loud sound jolting you out of your reverie, and you right yourself immediately in the water, looking to the place where the sound came from.
You hold still and strain to hear anything else.
Something is definitely moving; a black shape shifts in the shadows between the trees for a moment then stops. You can’t make out any details, its silhouette obscured by the darkness, but you can tell it’s large. And all you can think about is how long it would take to swim to the shore and reach the boulder where you left your things. And your vibroblade.
Fear slips a new filter over your surroundings. The grasping dark around you is hungry now. You start to paddle your way to the shore as quietly as you can, your gaze still fixed on that spot in the trees.
Panic churns hot in your stomach when an even worse sound rends the silence. There’s a low, rumbling growl, an even louder snarl, and then what might be the scuffling of clawed feet on the forest floor—no, you’re sure of it.
You freeze for a second, treading water again, feeling intolerably vulnerable. There are two indiscernible shapes moving in the shadows now, the larger one approaching the smaller until they’re a few feet apart.
A standoff.
You're almost to the shore, and whatever is out there seems occupied for the time being, so you force yourself to swim the rest of the way toward the shallows as quickly and quietly as you can and hurry out of the water, painfully aware of your naked body. You snatch up your dress to pull it over you and grip your blade, shoving your feet back into your boots.
The whole time, you keep your eyes on the place amidst the dark trees where you witnessed what looked like the start of the skirmish.
It’s silent.
All is silent.
All is still.
Then, for a moment, a strange, dull glow emanates from amidst the trees…but when you blink, it’s gone. It’s over so fast that you’re not sure if you imagined the light and the familiar shine of silver that reflected it. But when you blink again, the shape is imprinted on your eyelids—you can see the negative space around that imposing silhouette.
It’s him. He’s here.
Like you conjured him straight out of your fantasy.
Some combination of confusion and excitement and apprehension whirls around in your stomach.
Why is he here?
What else is out there?
What if your eyes are playing tricks on you in the dark?
What if it isn’t him?
What if it is…and he isn’t as harmless as you want him to be?
It’s too much—too risky, too overwhelming. Your blade still clutched in your hand, you back up slowly, only turning when you reach the place you’d cut through the forest on the way to the lake.
Then, you turn and run.
***
The questions eat at you for the rest of the night. The sky outside your window lightens from midnight blue to cobalt until a smudge of rose gold breaks across the horizon. The rising sun brings a reluctant morning breeze.
Was it him?
You’ve decided one thing by the time you get up, dress, gather your things, and head into town for the Saturday market: enough is enough.
You’re tired of waiting for him, and you have to know.
Was it a crazy coincidence that you ended up in the same place at the same time?
Was he watching you?
Was he even there?
You’re determined to find out.
You decide to catch him on his way to the market. It means you have to stick a Be back in 10 minutes! sign on your stall in the middle of the first morning rush. But he always shows up around 10:30, half an hour after the market opens. So you help the first group of customers as quickly as you can—you have to hurry Terek, your regular who always lingers to remind you he could date anyone in town he wants but isn’t, through his usual string of slightly intrusive small talk—then slip away when there happens to be a few-second lull, setting out your sign and zipping off toward the entrance to town.
The Mandalorian shows up right on time, like clockwork. He’s coming through the stone archway that marks the entrance to town just as you’re coming down the side street that intersects the main one.
You fall into step beside him, lengthening your strides to keep up with his gait.
He doesn’t startle. He isn’t surprised. As far as you can tell, at least.
You realize that’s what you want from him—it’s the bare minimum of what you want from him. A break in his composure. You’re desperate to get something from him—a reaction he can’t hide behind his beskar. Something he can’t choke back.
You want to know him.
“Hi,” you offer, looking up at his helmet, which is still trained forward.
“Hello,” he says, inclining his head to nod in your direction without actually looking at you.
You walk in silence for a moment, waiting to see if he’s going to say anything else. He doesn’t. He just continues stalking down the street, his gloved hands clenched into tight fists at his sides. His pace seems to flag just the tiniest bit, though—as if he’s noticed that it’s hard for you to keep up with him.
You want to ask him about last night, but just the thought makes you clam up. It would be a ridiculous accusation if he wasn’t there.
You decide to take a different tack.
“So you hated the peaches.”
He swings his helmet down to look at you, betraying a little surprise. “No?”
You smile up at him, pleased. “Well, you never came back, so I had to assume that meant you didn’t like them.”
“There are other places that sell produce,” he points out, his calm composure returned, visor pointed forward.
“Not ones that sell better fruit than I do.”
“Oh yeah?”
You can detect the slightest hint of amusement in his voice.
“Yes.”
“You’re sure?”
He’s teasing you.
“Of course, I’m sure,” you say.
“How?”
You scoff and peer up at him again, and he’s looking down at you. “I mean, do you disagree?”
“No.”
“So you agree.”
He bows his head slightly. “I do.”
“Okay, so then why go somewhere else?”
“None of the other vendors harass me about the quality of their fruit.”
You crack a wide smile and look up at him. “You just made a joke.”
He hums in a noncommittal way.
You can’t help but wonder if he’s actually looking straight ahead, where his helmet is staunchly pointed, or if he’s watching you from the corner of his eye. Something tells you it’s the latter.
As soon as the market street comes into view, Mando stops in his tracks, turns toward you, and as if he just realized, asks: “Shouldn’t you be at your stand right now?”
“Of course,” you say, looking up at him with another bright smile, “that’s where we’re going right now.”
It feels so fucking good to have his full attention, even just for a moment, his body squarely facing yours, his black visor fixed on your face. It feels like stepping outside into the warm embrace of the spring sun after an especially cold winter, like you can finally thaw. You wonder how rare it is in a context other than a fight—how often he actually engages this directly with another person outside of violence.
He looks down at you, completely still but for the rhythmic expansion and contraction of his chest. What would it feel like to rest your head there? To feel the steady rise and fall of his beskar plate against your cheek? To be constantly reassured that there is a beating heart under all that metal? To know that it endures.
You stand there, drinking him in, and an uncomfortable truth unfurls in your mind: you hope he was at the lake for you. You hope he followed you there. You have to suppress a shiver when you think about him watching you from the trees. You hope he saw all of you.
It’s fucked but it’s true: what should scare you, what would scare you about anyone else, makes him all the more alluring.
“Come on,” you beckon, jerking your head toward your stand. “I have something for you.”
He cocks his head in question but turns to follow when you don’t explain.
DIN
He watches the hypnotizing sway of your hips as you head up the market street, staying close in your wake. His presence parts the crowd, and he likes keeping everyone at a safe distance. He likes the illusion of having you to himself. Watching and protecting you without anyone else knowing is one thing—having you know, having others know is something else all together. It feels good. Too good.
Like a claim and a warning.
Din shoves the thought away.
He watches you and wonders if you know. If you saw him at the lake.
You’d say something if you did? Right?
When he wandered his way to your house last night, you weren’t there. The windows were all open, the sheer curtains drawn, but the only detectable heat signature was the tiny snug fawn sleeping at the end of your bed.
You were always there at night.
You had been there every single time he’d shown up.
Until last night.
Panic had slid into his stomach like molten metal as he’d gotten closer to your house than he ever had before—close enough to stand by your open bedroom window and look down at your empty bed through a gap in the curtains. If he’d reached out, he could have touched your rumpled sheets. He thought about slipping his glove off to see if they were warm, if you were there recently. He didn’t.
He didn’t know why that felt too invasive after all the shit he’d already done, but he honored the arbitrary boundary.
All he knew was that it was midnight, and you were gone. There was no sign of a struggle. Your front door looked secure. And you wouldn’t leave permanently with the fawn still inside. The fact that you did plan to leave for good rankles at the back of his mind all the time these days, but it couldn’t be that. Not yet.
Maybe you were with someone.
A growl rumbled through his chest. He didn’t like that idea one bit.
Throwing caution to the wind, he had eased his helmet up and off his head and taken in a lungful of balmy air. He could smell you. It confirmed his suspicion that you weren’t home but told him that you had been recently…and you’d left.
He followed the delicate, lingering traces of you, retreading your path across your vegetable patch, down one of the lines of the cherry orchard, and into the forest. He followed the hints of you that clung to the curving ferns and low-hanging tree branches, the ones that had skimmed your legs as you’d walked, until he found you at the lake.
Alone and vulnerable.
Din watched from the cover of the trees as you made quiet ripples on the surface of the dark water, your bare shoulders just visible enough to tell him you weren’t wearing anything at all. That knowledge made his armor feel heavy. Tight and suffocating. You shouldn’t have been out there—alone and far away from him—like that.
He watched you swim, free and happy, and he wanted to strip off his beskar and join you, to splash into that black water and capture you, hold you against his chest and kiss your cold-water lips breathless. He wanted to scoop you up and carry you out of there.
He thought about warming you up, about laying you out on the moss-covered edge of the forest under that perfect spilt-silver moonlight and licking the beads of water from your skin until your shivering ceased and he could feel—and taste—the heat of your blood pumping through your veins.
He’d slide his tongue over the dips and rises of your body until you begged and whined, your grasping fingers tangled in his wet hair, your back arching, and he’d growled: What is it, sweet thing? Tell me what you need. And he’d wait until you were so desperate that you said it aloud, spelled your need out in words for him and told him to drag his mouth down—
Din’s spine had stiffened then, the hairs on the back of his neck standing at attention as he realized yes, you were vulnerable, but no, you were not alone out there. He had picked up the scent of something else—something close, prowling the forest edge on the opposite side of the small lake.
This one wasn’t a fawn. He could tell right away.
It smelled territorial and hungry—warm-blooded and predatory. A hunter. And it was stalking you, pacing back and forth as it waited for you to emerge from the water, circling the end of the lake where you’d stowed your belongings on a rock. Din didn’t have to wait long for the creature to notice him. A breeze stirred lazily through the trees, and the distant orange shape stopped its patrol to stare in his direction. When Din flipped off the thermal readout on his helmet, he could just barely make out the two yellow pinprick eyes gleaming through the black curtain of night.
And when he lifted his helmet just a little and breathed deeply, filling his lungs with the night air again, he could detect others not far off. The pack, ready to come when called.
He didn’t give the thing the chance to come to him or to call for reinforcements. He wouldn’t risk wasting any time when it was closer to you than he was, when he wasn’t sure when you’d decide it was time to go home and walk right into its trap. Din made his way quickly and silently through the forest, the dark saber in hand, a brutal satisfaction roiling in his chest. The idea of killing this thing for you was pleasing to him. For once, the hilt in his grip didn’t feel unnaturally heavy. It felt right—balanced and poised for action. It wanted blood.
The creature met him halfway, waiting for him between two wide tree trunks.
They assessed each other for a moment.
It stood on four legs, with thick, dark fur, hackles raised in warning and pointed ears pinned back. It was tall, looming over the undergrowth, its head almost as high as Din’s chest. Definitely an apex predator, the top of whatever food chain existed on this planet. Its viciously clawed feet looked the perfect size and shape to make the gouges he’d seen in the ground and the tree trunks.
The beast growled, its snarling lip revealing a jagged set of white fangs, and without intending to, completely on instinct, Din answered. The sound tore out of his chest like thunder, as he automatically fell into his defensive stance, feet spread wide and muscles tensed for a fight.
Right away, he knew you’d heard it.
It was loud. The sound had carried.
He wanted to look at you, to assess your reaction, but he kept his gaze trained on the creature before him. He knew you were in the middle of the lake. He had time before you could get close enough to see either of them.
But..if he slaughtered this thing like he wanted to—like his salivating mouth was begging him to do—he would risk drawing your attention even more than he already had, would risk completely exposing himself. He needed to take care of this quickly and quietly. So he gritted his teeth and forced himself to silently scare it away instead, flicking the activation on the hilt of the saber. It hummed to life, and Din dragged it back and forth in a quick motion, slashing the dark air with the lightning-struck blade. The beast hesitated immediately, the beam of light reflected in its blown pupils as it fell backward a few steps.
Din pushed his advantage, surging forward and letting out another growl—this one much lower. A subtle, seething warning.
It was enough.
As soon as the creature turned-tail and raced away from him, Din retracted the blade and turned back to the lake.
And there you were.
You were standing at the edge of the lapping water, wearing a white dress that clung to your wet skin, staring at the place illuminated mere seconds ago by the saber. Staring at him. There was no way you could make him out from that far away though, not when he was under the dense cover of trees.
Right?
If he could see every tiny detail of your body limned in moonlight—down to the pert attention of your nipples through the damp fabric—then he had to admit that you might have been able to make out the general shape of him in the dull glow of the saber. But he couldn’t be sure. His eyesight was excellent, better than the average human now.
He waited, remaining completely still, and watched as you backed your way toward the forest, turned, and broke into a run. Din let out the breath he was holding. After a moment, he followed, lagging behind to ensure you made it home safely. He didn’t leave until he heard the click of your front door lock.
Now, he watches you walk down the market street in front of him, and he wants to ask.
And he can’t, of course. He won’t.
But he wants to.
You slip around the back of your kiosk and smile brightly up at him when he settles his gloved hands on the counter in front of you.
“What can I get for you?”
“You said you have something for me.”
You smile again and drop a pint of shiny red cherries in front of him.
Of course.
Sweet and ripe and perfect.
“Thank you.”
“Need anything else?” you ask.
He nods and looks around, starting to gather his weekly staples. You watch him as he does; he can feel your gaze fixed on his helmet. He works quickly; he needs to get out of here, needs to put more distance between your body and his, more than just this wooden countertop—one that would splinter so easily if he put any weight on it. He looks down at the pile of produce he’s gathered, reaches into his belt for credits, and holds them out to you, hurrying the transaction along.
You ignore the proffered credits and reach for the pint.
You select a perfect polished-garnet cherry from the top of his box and bring it up to your mouth, the thin stem caught between your fingertips when you pop it between your lips. Din’s helmet follows, like the cherry itself is a magnet for beskar. You know you have him—Din can tell you know—so you make a show of trapping it between the white lines of your teeth and biting it slowly, piercing the flesh until berry-red juice bleeds freely, staining your teeth and seeping onto your lower lip.
Din is standing, outstretched hand frozen in midair, transfixed. The air is thick with what neither of you will say but both of you know.
This is spiraling.
You watch his visor, eyes dark, as you dip your fingers into your mouth to pucker your lips and suck the fruit away from the pit, making a soft, borderline obscene sound that he feels in his cock.
You’re doing this on purpose. You know. You know you’ve trapped him.
Does this mean you know he’s been following you? That he wants you?
How much do you know?
You make it all even worse when you swipe up the lingering drop of juice from your bottom lip with your thumb and flick your pink tongue out to lap it up. Slowly.
The glint in your eye and quirk of your lips when you swallow tells him you absolutely know what you’re doing to him. You’re teasing him. Testing him. Torturing him. And having fun while doing it.
He likes it just as much as he hates it—likes that you’re doing it for him, hates that he can’t do anything about it.
Most of all, he’s mad at himself. You feel like you’ve figured him out—because you have figured him out—and you’re comfortable enough to push him. He should have been more careful, less friendly. He shouldn’t have let this get so far out of his hands.
The fire of this burgeoning obsession is just a fraction of what it could become if you know how to stoke it. It will devour you both if he doesn’t snuff it out now. What started as a spark will rage and burn if he lets it—if you learn to feed it so generously.
Din slaps his credits on the counter and shoves his purchases into the bag slung over his shoulder, pointedly looking anywhere but your face.
You shouldn’t feel safe enough to tease him.
You have no idea what he’s capable of.
So he swallows back his thanks and leaves without a word. He doesn’t turn around as he stalks away, even though he’s desperate to see the look on your face—to rush back and soothe you if you seem hurt, to be furious and bitterly satisfied if you don’t.
Instead, he angles his helmet toward the ground and lets his feet follow the familiar path to his house, to the dead part of the forest where he can be alone.
***
Din grits his teeth and steps through the drill again, his muscles straining against the reluctance of the blade in his grip.
The quiet of this place was supposed to help him clear his mind, to settle his thoughts, to allow him to make a plan. Instead, it’s starting to sit heavy on his shoulders and ring in his ears. Oppressive and ever-present and irritating. The perfect silence of the forest isn’t peaceful when he can’t focus.
And it seems like he can never focus these days.
There’s always something vying for his attention: Grogu, his covert, his constant hunger…you.
Right now, thoughts of Grogu are winning.
Is he happy? Is he safe? Are they feeding him enough?
Din knows he won’t get the answers to those questions for a long time. He is unwilling to let himself visit the kid—no matter how much he wants to—until he feels like he has a handle on whatever is scratching so incessantly at the inside of his skull. Until he knows for sure he isn’t dangerous.
So he tries not to dwell on the kid, which means his thoughts wander to other things.
…to you.
A droplet of wine-dark nectar on the perfect bow of your lips.
A white dress, almost translucent with moisture, clinging to the secret curves and planes of your wet body.
All of you, your familiar silhouette, edged in the soft halo of moonlight.
Din finds himself taking breaks from his drills to roam for miles, thinking and seeking…something. Anything but the burden of silence. He walks until he can hear life. The titter of birds and the rustle of leaves in the wind.
And when he can stand it, he picks up the dark saber again, and forces his way through the drill.
Ehn.
Solus.
T’ad.
The blade is still fighting him. Or he’s fighting it?
He can still hear the crackle and drag of the saber against the metal grating of that catwalk. He can still hear her words.
You are too weak to fight the dark saber. It will win if you fight against it. You cannot control it with your strength.
What the Armorer had tried to explain to him then has not become any clearer in the months since. He thought something had clicked into place the other night—hoped that meant he was making progress—but all he knows now is since that shining moment of its cooperation by the lake, the saber has been just as heavy and unyielding as ever. He thinks back to the Armorer’s exact words, trying to parse them for the thousandth time.
Your body is strong.
But your mind is distracted.
She wasn’t wrong about that. And that’s still true now. The part that doesn’t make sense to him is why that matters. Why is an inanimate object dissatisfied with his concentration?
Why does his state of mind have any bearing on the behavior of a stupid fucking laser sword?
Din does sense some fuzzy, amorphous presence on the edges of his mind when the dark saber is humming in his hand, though. It’s the blade itself, he thinks. It brushes against his consciousness faintly, like a spiderweb he can’t see in the dark. But when he flips the proverbial lights on and tries to grasp it in his hands, there’s nothing there. Even the spider herself has skittered beyond the ring of gold.
I am focused, he had insisted. He had lied.
The blade says otherwise. The Armorer had seen right through him.
It doesn’t make sense.
None of it makes sense.
Din had been so tempted to ask the Armorer more about the saber, as they ran through those impossible drills, to ask if she had any real idea what was happening to him. To ask if the dreams and the pain were normal.
He might have. If they were truly alone.
But Paz was there. Watching, listening, waiting in the wings.
Paz had waited until he’d witnessed Din struggle with the blade. He’d waited until he’d felt confident enough to stroll in and challenge him. Classic Paz—only willing to bluster and provoke when his victory was all but assured. It had made Din’s entire body sing with defiance. In that moment, he’d have done anything to keep the saber from Paz’s hands.
He did.
Din shakes his head, letting the saber zip closed. He can’t relive the rest of that right now.
After an hour of continuous drilling, his head is pounding, and his body is sore. The trees ringed around him are scored by deep lacerations, some of which are still flickering orange and red as they smolder. The ground, too, is torn up from the places the blade dragged against the hard-packed dirt. The air smells like wildfire.
He makes the long, slow walk back home. He limps inside and rips off his armor and his clothes, letting it all fall into a heap, before stepping into a scalding shower. The hot spray feels soothing on his tight, overworked muscles, so he stands under it until it starts to run cold.
When he emerges, toweling himself dry, he can’t bring himself to put his armor back on right away—even his soft underlay or his flight suit. He looks at the pile, knowing he needs to put it all on anyway, and he balks. It’s so rare that he spends any time without it anymore. It’s not safe without it. He’s not safe without it.
Being trapped in a beskar prison when his body is aching to change is more painful than anything he’s ever felt before—but it works.
But, right now, his sore body and pounding head are screaming for reprieve, so he pulls on some loose sleep pants and sits on his bed, back straight against the headboard and lets himself be unweighted.
He’ll relax for a little while, just a few minutes, and then he’ll put everything back on.
It’s a mistake.
***
Din wakes up, completely splayed out on his bed, lying face-down.
Before he even opens his eyes, he knows two things:
One, he’s changed.
He can tell by how heavily he’s sinking into the give of his feather mattress, by the fact that he’s too long for his bed, his feet hanging off the end. His once-loose pants are tight across his hips, stretched taut over his quads. Each inhale through his nose brings with it a bevy of nuanced information: a hundred different scents of the house and the forest outside, each of which he can untangle and identify. Copper pipes. Old, dry cedar wood. Moths. The apple on his kitchen counter. Pine needles. Dusk.
The twin spots on his head, just behind his temples, are throbbing. He flexes his clawed hands, and his sharp, half-moon nails catch on the fabric of his blanket. He stretches out his wings, extending them until he can sense complete darkness close over him, even through his closed eyelids.
And the second thing he knows? He’s ravenous.
He’s vibrating with hunger—the type of need that won’t be ignored is singing through him, making his jaw ache and his palms itch. He doesn’t even entertain the idea of changing back before he finds something to eat. He’s in the perfect form to hunt like this. Why deny it?
He’s not sure he could change back if he tried, but he doesn’t want to think too hard about that. He doesn’t think too hard about anything aside from his base instincts—food, water, sex, sleep—when he’s like this. It’s like his rational mind is muffled, buried too deep to hear, and his hindbrain is brought fully online. The animal in him is awake. And in charge.
Din hauls himself out of bed and pushes his way out of the creaky front door. He doesn’t even need his helmet or its night-vision setting. It doesn’t fit when he’s like this anyways. And he’s so sure that no one could ever catch him off guard like this, sneak up on him and see his face, that there is no risk whatsoever to his Creed.
The forest outside smells like possibility. Like snuffling midnight scavengers and rich, damp soil, and searching vines. It smells like life.
They’re not close—all the things that make his mouth water—but his sense of smell is so acute when he’s like this. He can pick up the faintest whiff of a beating heart within a several mile radius. Hot blood calls to him, drawing him in like gravity.
He stalks through the tall trees, silent as he moves through the shadows, and something else—something aside from the base allure of a pulse—beckons him. His clawed feet are ignoring the siren call of a sure kill in favor of a familiar path, one he’s tread almost every night. The monster inside him isn’t bothered by this, though. In fact, that growling, snarling beast in his chest seems to be sated just by the fact that he’s moving closer to you. It doesn’t make sense.
Maybe this hunger he’s feeling isn’t all physical.
The forest lightens around him slowly. Distant stars blink in the coal-black sky visible through the ever-thinning canopy above him.
He passes a myriad of small game, things too insignificant to warrant his attention. A rabbit isn’t worth his time. He needs to sink his fangs into something substantial tonight, something that will twitch and struggle bodily when he severs its carotid artery with his canines. Something he has to hold down with his own weight while it thrashes.
Not yet, though.
First, he needs to see you. He needs to be sure you’re okay.
It’s become almost too easy to watch you when he’s himself—and when he’s like this? It’s laughably easy. There are no barriers for him—nothing he can’t sense, no creature he can’t kill.
Stalking has been his job for decades. He perfected the art of hunting when he was chasing bounties. He’s always been a hunter by profession, and now he is one for pleasure. And by physical design.
He hovers on the edge of the trees, lurking in the dark safety of the shadows, when your cottage comes into view. It looks so tiny tonight, like something from a fairytale, nestled in a little hollow amidst the encroaching forest and orchards and gardens, like it could be swallowed by green in the blink of an eye. Your bedroom window is half open, and no lights are on anywhere in your house. It’s hours before dawn.
He takes a deep inhale, filling his lungs, and amidst the tangle of scents he can pick out several distinct things: you, which is a scent he has yet to name, something like rain and lavender and sunshine; the warmth of the fawn and some other little things that scurry in the night; and of course, all the richness of the orchards. Fruits and flowers, pollen and honey, vegetables and wriggling worms.
The moon is shrouded by thick clouds tonight, so Din lets himself get a little closer to your house than he usually would. He steps through your yard and hugs the gnarled oak that stands sentinel outside your window.
Your curtains are not completely drawn. He can see you through the small gap, fast asleep in your bed, the tiny fawn curled up in the crook of your bent knees. That makes him smile. You look serene and comfortable. Safe.
A warm contentment settles in his chest. Despite his ever-present physical hunger, he almost feels sated. Standing here, watching you, he feels still.
He wants to stay.
But, eventually, he forces himself to pull away and do a perfunctory circuit of your property, his usual perimeter check. All clear.
Satisfied, he finally moves toward something that will slake the gnawing hunger in his gut. The farther he gets from you, the more acute the feeling becomes.
He stalks through the woods with purpose. He doesn’t just know what he wants; he knows which he wants. He wants the thing he didn’t get to kill that night by the lake.
He wants the one that wanted you.
It’s easy enough to find the pack, to follow their pungent scent all the way to the place where the flat ground of the forest buckles and rises into rolling hills. They’re grouped loosely around the mouth of a wide cave, asleep. Even in the dark, he identifies the one he wants right away—it’s the biggest of the group, its fur the color of pitch, swallowing the wan light of the moon. Din is too hungry to enjoy the long, satisfying fight that would inevitably involve all these creatures if he woke even a single one. He’d get the bloody brawl he truly wants—he’d get that brutal satisfaction that comes with barely walking away with his life—but he’s waited too long.
Plus, he can’t eat all of them at once. It’s smarter to pace himself.
So he moves through the group silently and snaps his target’s neck before it even detects his presence. He’s gone, the limp body of his still-warm kill slung over his shoulder, before the rest of them even wake. He listens to their far-off mournful howls as he makes his way back home, content in the knowledge that there is one less thing in the night that poses a threat to your safety.
He’s already looking forward to picking the rest of the pack off one by one, slowly, until they’re gone. He’ll savor each one. For as long as he can, for as long as you’re here, he’ll clean out the forest of anything that could hurt you.
Another idea occurs to him halfway home, and he changes course one last time, heading back to you. Some innate part of him knows what to do. He sets down his kill and walks the wide perimeter of your property one more time. He slashes his blood-wet claws across random tree trunks, carving through the rough bark almost as easily as the dark saber would. He rustles through the underbrush, ensuring his natural musk will cling to the leaves.
A warning. A claim.
He doesn’t know how he knows it will work, but he does.
He marks his territory in blood, and then he shoulders the carcass again, turning for home.
***
None of the beast remains by the time Din gets home. He has left a scattered trail of shredded hide and cracked bones and ribboned viscera in his wake—a path no creature would want to follow—and eaten the rest. His hands and forearms and face are sticky and tight with drying blood, his claws encrusted with it.
He closes his front door behind him, and the old house shakes with the impact. He doesn’t have control of his strength like this; it seems like he’s always misjudging it and leaving things broken.
Right now, he doesn’t care.
He strips off his pants and pushes his way into his bathroom, into the shower, turning it up to a scalding heat. Now that his hunger is sated, he can only think of one thing again.
You.
Din’s resolve is paper thin, his self control a single fraying thread, when he’s like this. He doesn’t even bother working up a sense of guilt when he steps into the shower and wraps his hand around himself.
He has to keep his wings folded tightly against his back to fit in the small tiled alcove. His head looms higher than the shower head, so he bows slightly to feel the hot spray on the crown of his head. He lets it rush through his tousled hair and run down his forehead, his brow, his cheeks and jaw.
The water picks up traces of the tacky blood drying on his face and races faint red lines down his throat and chest. Steam fills the confined space, and Din closes his eyes, bracing one hand against the slippery wall in front of him, as his other works himself with a tight stroke.
He thinks about how you looked tonight, safe in your bedroom, your features soft and sweet in sleep.
For a thing so much smaller than he is, you spread out in your bed a surprising amount, your limbs splayed and relaxed, fingers tangled in rumbled sheets. He thinks about what it would be like to gather you up, to feel you stir molasses-slow from sleep, and wrap himself around you, to pull you on top of him and hold your weight on his chest, your thighs bracketing his hips.
He can hear the drowsy, contented noises you’d make as you roused to find him under you, the gentle smile that would pull on your lips as your eyes fluttered open, the way your hands would start to wander his shoulders, his arms, his chest—the pass of your fingertips leisurely, then exploratory, then greedy.
He thinks about how easy it would be to wrap an arm around your waist and flip you both, to hold himself over you, ducking his head to graze his teeth over your fluttering pulse. He’d be able to taste the iron tang of your blood, even through the thin layer of your skin, if he slipped his long tongue out to tease you. He thinks about how you’d look trapped under his huge body. How you’re his perfect opposite—soft and good and sweet—and that’s everything he wants.
You’re not just sweet, though, and he likes that. He thinks about that knowing look you gave him at the market, a challenge in your darkened eyes, framed by fanned lashes. You’d wear that same expression if he let himself want what he wants, if he let you see how mad you drive him.
You’d be thrilled to watch him unravel over you. He can picture so perfectly how you’d smile up at his black eyes in invitation. In encouragement. Your small hand would slip down to stroke his throbbing erection, where it rested heavy against your inner thigh.
Din tightens his grip and moves his hand faster. His cock is slick with water and diluted blood running in rivulets down his forearms.
He’s bigger like this. Bigger everywhere. He thinks about how small your hands would look wrapped around him, how easy it would be to slip two of his fingertips under the edge of your panties and snag his claws in the threads of the thin fabric, tearing them away from your body. He’d brush the torn scrap out of the way and retract his claws to slip just the pad of one finger into the slit of your sex, rubbing gently against your clit.
How long would it take for him to work you open, he wonders, petting and licking and biting and coaxing, until you were dripping and ready to take him? He wonders if you actually could.
If you’d want to.
He imagines what your lips would look like forming the words, “Please, fuck me.”
The water running down the drain is still a pale, bloody pink when Din comes over his own clenched fist in a series of hot pulses. He growls his way through it, his abdominal muscles tensing and hips stuttering forward, jaw clenched and lip pulled up in a low snarl. The hand he’s leaning on contracts reflexively in pleasure, and he cuts a series of short, deep scratches in the white tiled wall, silver claws gouging easily into stone.
Din leaves himself four lines of evidence, stark proof of his own lack of self control, something for him to stare at tomorrow when the painful clarity of reality returns to him.
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The goth and thembo
Gn
“Detention?! Already?! You just got here a month ago!”
Y/n sighed, already expecting this reaction from their homeroom teacher. Granted, the punishment wasn’t for anything too bad; they just slept in a lot more than they meant to, and the “jet-lag” excuse after moving their whole life across the Atlantic for their parents’ careers must have worn off after the first few weeks. Honestly, with the lack of sleep and stress catching up to them? They thought they were lucky they were making it into school and managing homework at all.
They nodded along as the teacher droned on about responsibility – as if they hadn’t heard it a thousand times over at home already – pretending to listen as the hyperactivity in their brain buzzed and clouded over any form of caring enough.
Hmm, what would they have for dinner tonight? Pasta’s easy, and their parents weren’t going to be back until late in the evening, so they might as well try cooking whilst they could. Maybe clean up and do whatever bullshit homework they were given today so they don’t forget...They should play Animal Crossing, their town was probably itching for all the weeds to be pulled out, maybe a little bit of Pokémon after too, not Crystal though, the battery went all funky on the cartridge...
“...We can work out a way to prevent this from happening again,” came Mrs Stewart’s stern voice through the brain fog and, oh, no, why would she say that? Y/n nodded hesitantly in response, internalising all their complaints. ”Because this can’t happen again, Y/n. You’ve been an excellent student from what I’ve seen and heard so far, and it would be a real shame for this to drag you down.”
“It won’t happen again, I’ll work on it,” Y/n lied through their teeth, hazel eyes attempting to keep to one spot on the teacher’s face, but failing. Mrs Stewart nodded, features finally relaxing. Somehow, she believed them.
“Good, see to it you do. You may go, you’ll be late for second period otherwise.”
“Detention isn’t so bad,” Lucy reassured, making her voice loud enough to be heard over the din of the dining hall. “I had one for a late assignment last semester. It was actually kinda chill, you hear the weirdest stories in there, but it’s really fun.”
Y/n sipped from their drink with a frown, pushing their messy brown hair from their face as they tried to listen. They’d been buddied up with Lucy when they arrived back in January, meaning they were now stuck with all the loud kids at lunch. They weren’t complaining, mind you, the company was nice! It just gave them a headache at best, and at worst so far...Well, they didn’t understand what was wrong with them, but they’d rather not think about it. Anxiety was enough of a diagnosis for them right now.
“Look, I’m just saying, it’ll be fine! Try not to fall asleep in there, though, you might get into more trouble.”
“Thanks, Lucy, real great advice,” they rolled their eyes, voice dripping with sarcasm as they bit into their apple. Lucy just shrugged with a wink.
“Anytime, Y-Y.”
The lunch period continued as usual, and soon enough the bell ringed for the next round of classes to start. Great. Just what they needed right now, two hours sugar-coated history of a country they knew nothing about when they felt like falling asleep at any moment, right before detention. Still, they couldn’t just skip, that’d earn extra punishments. So, they dragged their feet through the halls, somehow staying upright through the hustle and bustle that was 10 times worse than the now seemingly very small Secondary School in England that they’d left behind for this. As much as they hated to admit it, Y/n would love to hear another British accent loudly proclaim someone had cheated on so-and-so in the middle of the corridor, but, alas, that was an experience they’d never burden again. Instead, they had to fight for their life with exhaustion as thousands of students streamed into their classes with the force of a burst pipe.
Somehow, they made it in, grunting at the greeting the person who sat next to them gave – their name was TK, right? They were too tired to remember or care – and flopping down in their chair with a sigh. Curse these huge American schools with huge American student, their poor feet felt like they were going to drop off!
Soon enough, the History teacher – Mr Russel – started his droning on about some time when alcohol was banned across the nation. Or, uh, something like that, Y/n wasn’t really paying attention, doodling on the corners of their pages instead. They did the work! They just didn’t soak in the information. Mr Russel said it was good work later on, so clearly they were doing something right regardless.
Suddenly though, in the middle of the lesson, the door slammed open and a pissed off, lanky ball of edge strode in. The teacher frowned at the intrusion.
“Well, good afternoon, Mr King! Would you mind explaining where you’ve been?”
The student just kept walking, grunting something about being dress-coded, which, uh, yeah that seems likely with that thin mesh shirt in the middle of February, Y/n thought, not realising they were staring by the time the kid sat in the vacant seat next to them. He caught their gaze as Mr Russel continued the lesson, narrowing his piercing, bright blue eyes.
“What?” he snarled, making Y/n flush with embarrassment at getting caught staring.
“S-Sorry,” they quickly whispered, trying their hardest not to look his way again, catching glimpses of him looking bored throughout the lesson.
Little did they know, that wouldn’t be the last they’d see of him.
“Who was that?!” they blurted to TK once the lesson ended, seeing as the goth kid had already left. TK looked up at them from their packing, startled.
“W-Who?”
“Goth kid with the attitude! How come I’ve never seen him before?!”
“Oh, him,” TK grimaced, turning their attention back to their bag. “Yeah, uh, that’s Peter King. Gets into fights and stuff a lot, and honestly that’s what he’s like on a good day. In fact, that’s gotta be the calmest I’ve ever seen him. You have detention, right? He’ll be in there because of the dress-code violation, try not to stare again.”
And so, once they both said goodbye, Y/n trudged along to their doom, knowing they couldn’t stop themself from staring again if the opportunity came about.
Because, honestly? As intimidating as he was, this “Peter” character was rather intriguing. They’d wanted to get into gothic dress themself recently, maybe if they miraculously befriended him, he’d say where he got his gear from. Maybe not the mesh tee...Maybe. At least, not until the Summer...And definitely not without a tank top or a binder...
Soon they reached the classroom detention was being held in, noticing that, well, no one was actually going inside. They spotted the goth from before, swallowing their anxiety down since he was the only one who they really knew of and recognised, and fumbled their way towards him nervously.
“U-Um...” they began, stuttering with uncertainty. Peter looked down with a frown.
“What do you want,” he growled, practically baring his teeth and oh goodness his teeth don’t be into him you don’t know him Y/n you weirdo.
“I-I, um, this is detention, r-right?” they carried on, shrinking under his stare. “I-I’m sorry for staring earlier b-by the way, um, you look c-cool...”
Peter stared a little longer, brows furrowing deeper.
“U-Um...I’m Y/n by the way.”
...That gaze was intense holy shit, Y/n couldn’t help but look away with heated cheeks, sweating nervously. Oh, man, they’d got off on the wrong foot and he wasn’t interested in fixing that, was he?! They didn’t want an enemy! TK said he fights people, God, they hoped he wouldn’t want to fight them ! They couldn’t knock out a butterfly!
“...Peter,” he finally said, making Y/ look back up in surprise. He was looking away from them...Was he blushing? No, no, maybe their eyes were just really tired. “You’re in the right place, teacher’s just late. Uh...Thanks. I guess. The teacher who dress-coded me certainly didn’t think so.”
“U-Uh huh, w-well, what do they know, huh,” Y/n laughed nervously, trying to ease whatever tension they could sense emanating off of the other in droves. “T-They’re teachers, they aren’t the best as, um, fashion, I guess?”
Peter scoffed, shoulders relaxing a little as he pushed some of the long, dark hair out of his face.
“You’re tellin’ me, first day back after suspension and they pull this shit.”
This drew a more earnest giggle from Y/n (really, Y/n, giggling ?!), making Peter chuckle a little too, tension fading away more with each passing second.
Soon enough the assigned teacher showed up, apologising profusely and letting the students in. They answered a brief roll-call, and soon enough there was a muted chatter among the kids, some choosing to work, others ignoring all school-related possibilities. Somehow, Y/n had already befriended the lanky goth enough for him to instantly sit at the desk next to theirs, and they found themselves being watched as they attempted the bullshit Math homework that had been assigned earlier in the day. Not that they minded, they figured the other didn’t have much to talk about, and that was fine with them. It gave them more of a chance to focus, after all.
After about 20 minutes, however, Peter finally spoke up.
“...So what’re you in for?” he asked, voice gravelly and interrupting Y/n concentration. Oh well, it was fun while it lasted. “You definitely didn’t get coded, and you look way too small to fight anything.”
Ouch, harsh, not everyone is over 6’ and can fight God. “Um, it’s not that special,” they shrugged, choosing to ignore the slight insult. “I, um, I just slept in a whole lot.”
“Huh,” he nodded, looking away absently for a moment, as if he were thinking of what to say next. “...Not a great sleeper, huh?”
“Nope, haven’t been since I was, what, 5?” Y/n sighed, trying to make sense of the equation on the page in front of them.
“Ah.”
The two were silent again, but y/n couldn’t help but feel it was much more awkward now. It felt like they both had things to say but didn’t know how to string the words together.
“...So, um...” they began, fumbling for a topic. “...Where’d you get your choker?”
“Oh. Uh, just Hot Topic,” he answered, looking away almost sheepishly. “It was on sale, so...”
“Cool, I’ll have to get one,” Y/n hummed, quickly writing it down on their hand.
The conversation came and went throughout the rest of the remaining 40 minutes, but soon enough the detention ended. The class of kids streamed out, Y/n and Peter being the last ones to leave as they trudged out of the school and into the crisp, late-Winter air, clunky shoes and warm boots crunching the powdering of snow on the ground beneath them. They reached the gate, Y/n pointing to where they were going, and the boy paused.
“Hey, uh, you have a cell?” he asked almost hopefully (almost). Y/n looked up at him in surprise; they hadn’t expected to befriend him so soon!
“O-Oh! Yeah, hang on, let me, um-” the fumbled in their coat pockets finally producing the little pink flip-phone, little rainbow and star charms attached and all, clicking through to their contact and holding it up to offer him a view. “Um, here!”
“Mhmm,” he nodded, quickly typing in the contact details on his own, clunky little phone. He looked back at them, almost pouting. “Uh...You were fun to talk to...I’ll talk to you later I guess?”
y/n smiled brightly up at him with a nod, waving cheerfully as they walked away.
...How did this happen to him?
There he was being pissed off at the world when suddenly... They got all fucking cute. How could this not happen to him?!
As he watched them walk away, clutching his phone desperately, he began to grin sinisterly.
He may as well make sure that...his new Darling got home safe, right? He’d get to see their home in the process, after all, and, oh, it was always so dark so early on February nights like these, he wouldn’t want anyone getting any bright ideas, would he?
And so, he stalked after them silently as the sun set, y/n blissfully unaware of the Hell they’d brought upon themself that day.
(I saved this story file that got deleted original from inkblot_skyz)
#your boyfriend game#peter dunbar#yb#yandere#yb peter#your boyfriend#ybf#tw: yandere#yb fandom#yandere games#yandere shitpost#yb your boyfriend#yandere boyfriend#your boyfriend fanfic#yandere song#ybgpeter#peter yb#yb game#goth peter#goth yb
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—CASUALTY
pairing: din djarin x transmasc!reader
a/n: my apologies for such a late upload! i’ve been tired ;( also realized i made this way longer than it had to be, but oh well! i tried to take my own spin on the request!
REQUESTED BY @rottedmolarx
content: sci-fi related violence, injury, mild cursing
word count: 2.2k
premise: you and din stumble into some trouble on a bounty hunt and you get seriously hurt near the chest area. din needs to help patch you up, but he has yet to find out whatever it is that you’re hiding.
Din had been out since morning returning a favor to a friend who had helped you guys out once. You knew the work involved capturing a creature of some kind and the effort would be long and strenuous.
It was dark out and you waited patiently in front of the opening with Grogu in your embrace.
The sound of the crest’s doors opening made the young one coo in your arms. He stretched his little arms out, signaling for you to put him down; someone was excited to see their father.
You smiled and carefully placed the little one down before Din came through the opening. Almost immediately, Grogu was at his feet.
“Nice to see you too, buddy.” he chuckled, tiredly through the modulator.
At once, he picked him up and you watched the adorable father and son moment.
You found their relationship to be the absolute cutest! Din was not related to the young one in any way, however that didn’t stop him from traveling and escaping to the ends of the galaxy just to protect him.
In the time that you’ve spent with Grogu, you’ve grown to feel the exact same way.
Bounty hunting for a living while also having to take care of a small child together had caused tensions to rise between the two of you. The odd family dynamic had made them bound to happen.
You would catch him stealing glances at you and even finding ways to brush up against you or put his hands on you. For instance, you passing him tools and him grabbing them from your hands and letting his fingers linger for a split second before moving on.
It wasn’t too much out of the ordinary for you to ever question, but you liked his touch.
You would stare too, though you never noticed he could see you.
You had even grown close enough for him to reveal his real name. It made you feel guilty for hiding a part of yourself, but you knew everything had to be done at its own pace.
Your eyes were laid on the mandalorian since the day you two met, but you kept to yourself. You two just completed jobs together, nothing more.
You couldn’t stop yourself from admiring him anyhow. His prowess, his strength, his monotone yet charming voice, his surprisingly humorous personality, his…quite literally everything had you thinking about him nonstop.
Not only did you admire him in those ways, but you also wished you could be a bit like him. You wished you could possess the same amount of coolness he carried.
Those two thoughts were meant to stay hidden though. You shook your head slightly as to shake away the feelings and not get caught awkwardly, staring at Din.
He looked up through his helmet and nodded as a way of greeting you. You gave him a soft smile and he carried the child to the cockpit before taking a seat in his chair. Grogu moved onto his lap, cooed again, then snuggled ever so gently into his armor. You wondered how the small one could find the beskar so comfortable.
“Got us another bounty. Hoth. This one covers weeks worth of fuel and food. You up for it?” the mandalorian asked as he turned to face the monitors and look up said bounty.
The bright, luminous screen appeared suddenly over the control panel.
You sat in the co-pilot seat and closely analyzed the bounty. She was not of human race and appeared to be of some alien species you’ve never seen before; and you’ve seen a lot.
You examined her stats and noticed there was no reason given as to why she was wanted. You figured she was affiliated with some sith lord or something.
“Yeah, what do you say we head out tomorrow?“ you asked, turning to face him.
“Alright, first thing in the morning.” he sighed as he agreed.
“You should definitely get some rest first. You’ve had a long day.” you noticed how tired he looked, even through the beskar.
“Can you really tell?” he asked incredulously.
“Oh, please. Your two sighs away from passing out.” you joked, but you both knew it was true.
“Well, you had to watch over Grogu all day. I’m sure you’re tired. Someone has to get us to Hoth.” he countered.
“Din, I may be a little tired, but I don’t mind getting us there. Like I said, you need to get some rest.” you insisted.
“Do you even know how to get us to hyperspace?” he asked in an unsure tone.
“Yes, I can manage just fine. Now go to sleep.” you ordered.
He eyed you once more, “are you sure?”
“How hard can it be?” you shrugged as you shooed him out of his seat.
Din had no choice, but to obey and he put the child to sleep before falling soundly asleep in his small cot.
༶•┈┈୨୧┈┈•༶
Only hours later, Din was awakened by Grogu’s loud cries and the crest's violent, turbulent shakes.
He immediately got out of the cot and reached for the child. He frantically searched for you before remembering you were still flying the ship.
“What’s going on?!” he shouted over the blaring alarms.
“These starcruisers started blasting us out of nowhere! I’ve been fighting them off and trying to get us to Hoth! It's not that far now!" you shouted back.
Din pressed a few buttons on the control panel, then flipped a switch that finally ended the noisy alarms.
You were struggling to keep the cruisers off and fly at the same time. Din quickly placed the child on the co-pilot seat, then took control of the huge blaster and aimed steadily as the cruisers flew in front.
"Just get us there! I got these two!" he yelled, then fired a few shots to the back of the first cruiser.
You tried to focus amidst the chaos, but with every blast the crest took, the more your worry grew and the more your concentration broke.
"We're taking too many hits!" you shouted hectically.
"We're fine!" he shouted back, not wanting to face the fact that the crest was most definitely done for.
Lucky enough, you were nearing Hoth's exosphere and Din managed to fire one final blast to the first cruiser's pilot.
The second pilot, however, remained hovering nearby and followed the crest as you dove headfirst into the planet.
The immense turbulence you faced now was nothing compared to the potent shakes you guys were experiencing just a few moments prior. You were sure you were going to crash. The crest was in horrible condition.
You tried to steer as much as you could, but to no avail. You simply let go and mindlessly, reached for Grogu and Din, so you could tightly embrace them while bracing for impact.
The crest was subjected to a harsh landing on Hoth and you three flew out of your seats.
You fell to the ground from the impact to your head and though in much pain, you smiled in relief once you noticed the child was not hurt; you held onto him pretty tight.
Din was groaning in pain beside you. He turned his head to make sure you both were okay.
"You alright?" he asked, weakly.
"Sort of, just hit my head pretty hard." you managed to respond.
He took a pause before stating, "That pilot followed us here. Bet he crashed too and is lurking around."
"I'll go." you sighed as you tried to get up, but Din placed his hand on your shoulder.
"Uh-ughn, you stay here." Din was quick to oppose.
For some odd reason, he couldn’t help the feeling of wanting to protect you even though you had put yourself in danger many times before.
"You don't look so hot, either." you scoffed, then slowly got up anyway.
Grogu cooed at your feet, and you pet his head before helping Din stand.
"Let's both get him." he said, and you couldn't agree more.
You left Grogu inside, so he wouldn't have to face the cold weather.
You gathered all the muscle strength you could while Din walked as if he felt no pain at all.
Freezing bits of snow hit your face as you two trudged through the worsening blizzard.
It was difficult to see anything; only close obstacles were in view.
Din led the way and you followed close behind, scanning for a wrecked starcruiser.
You had begun to question whether or not the pilot had really survived the fall or not. You and Din had trudged for about 3 miles already.
Suddenly, a round of blasts were fired and you took a solid hit straight to the chest. You fell onto the thick snow and Din yelled for you.
You winced in immense pain. You tried to feel for the burning flesh, but you felt almost paralyzed.
The mandalorian turned his back and surged forward before adeptly unloading his blaster and firing at the cruiser.
He heard a grunt, then trudged forward a bit to see if he was down.
“You..will never get away with the child.” the pilot breathed out.
“I already have.” Din simply said as he fired a final blow.
At once, he picked you up and trudged as fast as he could back to the crest. He was worried sick.
Your eyes were shutting as he carried you back.
He placed you on the floor of the cockpit and went to go grab the bacta spray. He came back and was ready to take off your cloak and top.
Your eyes widened before blurting out, “I’m good! I’ll apply the spray myself, Din!”
He was confused. You were injured and you always allowed him to treat you.
“You’re hurt. Let me do it.” he proceeded to lift your undershirt, but you moved his hand away.
“It’s small wound, it barely even grazed me! Now let me do it.” you excused yourself.
“It’s gonna be hard to wrap the wound yourself.” he brought up.
Shit. This is it. you thought. There’s no other way.
“Fine.” you sighed as you gave up.
Din took off your cloak first, then slowly removed your undershirt. You watched as he noticed your binder, but to your surprise he didn’t comment.
He understood now and wanted to respect your privacy.
“Here. Apply the bacta yourself, then turn around so I can patch you up.” he finally says and hands you the bacta bottle.
Your brows furrowed as you took the spray reluctantly.
“You’re not going to question me? After all this time you’ve known me?” you asked, stunned.
“You don’t have to explain to me anything if you don’t want to.” he answered, reassuringly.
“It doesn’t bother you?”
“Why would it?” he asked with furrowed brows, though you could not see.
You remained silent and slowly turned to apply the bacta yourself.
“Could you help me remove it?.”
Din complied and took off your binder for you. His hands were gloved yet his touch was still soft.
You sprayed the bacta onto your fingers and lightly massaged it on the wound. You winced as you did so.
Afterwards, Din wrapped the gauze gently around your chest and you whispered, “thank you.”
You turned back around and put your cloak on once again.
You noticed he was staring, so you spoke again, “I was not born a man and I’m sorry for not being truthful.”
Din titled his head to the side before saying, “You have nothing to be sorry for. I admire you even more for your bravery.”
You looked up at him and smiled.
“The mandalorian admires me?” you jokingly asked.
“Yes, he does.” he chuckled. “Unfortunately, he admires a strong fighter who for some reason can’t properly fly a ship.”
You rolled your eyes at him and exclaimed, “Dank ferrik, it was those cruisers’ fault, not mine!”
He let out a chuckle again and you laughed too.
“So, you admire me?”
“Your nature and determination are what I like the most.” he complimented you.
He moved from kneeling to sitting beside you on the floor.
“Without your company, I don’t know how I would’ve survived these past few months.” he confessed.
“But, you’re doing most of the saving.” you said, puzzled.
“You and Grogu saved me from a life of loneliness, c'yarika."
You smiled at the nickname, though you had no idea what it meant.
"I'm assuming that's mand'oa? What does it mean?" you asked.
"It means...darling." he replied, and your heart swelled.
"I can't believe you just called me that. Say it again." you giggled.
"C'yarika?" he wondered.
"Hmm, I like it." you admitted.
You looked into his visor for a second before placing your hand on the side of his helmet. The beskar felt cold in your grasp.
"Thank you for accepting me the way I am." you began.
"I wasn't sure if I could disclose this part of myself. The galaxy can be a cruel place."
"I see you no different than before. I like you just as you are." he confessed once more.
Before you knew it, Din had pressed his helmet so he could lift it up a bit. Only the lower half of his face could be seen.
You moved your hand and placed it on his jaw. You leaned carefully to kiss his rough lips.
He moved in and you both took in the blissful moment as your lips connected.
#reader included#reader insert#x reader#pedro pascal#pedrostories#din dijarin x reader#din dijarin fanfiction#din djarin x you#din djarin x trans!reader#din djarin x trans!masc reader#coming out#star wars x reader#star wars x you#star wars din djarin#stars wars fanfiction#the mandalorian#mandalorian x reader#din djarin x male reader#mandalorian x male reader#mandalorian x trans!reader#din djarin fanfiction
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WIP Wednesday!
✨Featuring: a taste of smut and a poll✨
Tagged by @beskarandblasters today (thanks Kel!) and @burntheedges literally like 4 weeks ago but I’ve been working 80-hour weeks and am really behind with interactions (so thanks Kate and sorry this is late!) 💙
They’re slightly different templates, so I’ll use the one with more detail and a poll because that’s always fun…
STEP ONE: post snippets of the fics you’re working on (can be a summary if there’s no snippet)
STEP TWO: put them in a poll and let people vote on which one you should work on
There’s some NSFW content, so under the cut if you please…
As usual, I’ve given you far more than is strictly necessary, but you can’t shut me up, so here you go…
1. From To See A Thousand Things (guns n’ angst – the winner of my last WIP poll):
“What was that word you just said? Did you call me something rude?”
“Kaan’goran. It means ‘weaponsmith’ in Mando’a. I don’t know your name and that’s what you are.”
Oh. He says it matter-of-factly, but you’re strangely disappointed somehow. Maybe it’s time you introduced yourself to the man you’ve been anonymously fucking for over a year. This is a night of firsts, after all. “Well, you can call me—”
“Don’t,” he insists, surprising you.
Your face instantly falls, wondering why the hell that’s the arbitrary line he’s drawing in the sand tonight.
But he sees your dejection and sighs, offering an explanation. “In my culture, names aren’t used flippantly. They’re titles, and they’re used as such: a full name to denote one’s clan when necessary, but otherwise rarely spoken. Those individuals who have a job of high standing are referred to by their professional titles – jobs that provide for the whole tribe rather than just their individual clan. To a Mandalorian, a weaponsmith is a noble profession. You forge the implements we defend ourselves with.”
Okay, that’s… weirdly sweet. Oh… no. Oh hell no. Fuck off warm fuzzy feeling that’s rising in your belly. This will not do! You furrow your brow, confused and slightly annoyed about… well, basically everything, from his intentions to your emotions.
Time to clarify. “You’re... complimenting me?”
“I’m… respecting you,” he counters carefully.
You can’t help the small snort of amusement that makes its way unbidden through your nose at that. This is definitely a night of firsts.
2. From an unnamed lengthy oneshot (starts a little angsty but builds to fluff and a helmet reveal):
“Din?” you try. His helmet jerks slightly at his name, but he doesn’t look. You deserve more, so you demand more. “What’s wrong? Talk to me.”
He shifts uncomfortably and shakes his helmet a little. Was that a response? A refusal to talk?
Try being more direct. “Hey. That’s not fair. You don’t get to touch me like that and then pull away without saying why.”
“That’s the problem,” he responds, voice like steel. “I know it’s not fair. I shouldn’t have touched you like that.” There’s something bitter in his tone, and it poisons the air between you.
But you still don’t understand, and the ache in your chest festers higher. “I wasn’t complaining,” you try. “Do you know how long I’ve wanted you to do that?” For some reason, your hesitancy about crossing this line with him has vanished. You think he erased it when he groped your ass just now.
“Yes, I know,” he snaps loudly, suddenly sounding angrier than you’ve ever heard him. “Do you know why it can’t happen?”
You shake your head, too surprised at his sudden fierceness to respond verbally. Actually, you have some idea (a lot of ideas), but you’d rather hear his explanation.
But you don’t get an explanation. You get a dismissal.
“Then you don’t know me very well at all.” And with those acidic, modulated words, he turns his back on you and marches into the canyon.
3. From Final Sanctuary (interestingly, this was the second-lowest rated in my last WIP poll, so I’m giving you a whole little smutty section to see if that’s still the case):
He takes several bites before he remembers she wants his opinion, and he swallows and resets the helmet, glancing up at her. She’s watching him, chewing slowly with what he can only describe as a smug smile on her lips.
“Good, huh?” she prompts, punctuating her question with another bite.
He’s about to respond when her bite causes a bit of the white dip to ooze out of the bread and smear across the corner of her mouth.
Dank farrik, his brain instantly leaps into motion and flashes a full and detailed sexual fantasy before his eyes in a matter of milliseconds.
…his hard cock between her warm lips, pressing deeper into her mouth as she moans and sucks his length…
She clearly feels the rogue smear of dip, but with both hands clutching the bread, she utilises her tongue to recapture it, a wanton pink delight darting out of the corner of her mouth and Din swells in his pants.
…she licks and flutters around his cockhead, massaging the sensitive spot underneath and undulating it along the bottom as she sinks lower again…
But the viscous white liquid has dripped farther than her tongue can reach, leaving a smear a little way down from the corner of her mouth, and he intently focuses on it.
…the perfect confluence of pressure and suction brings him right to the edge of ecstasy, and he orgasms hard, filling her mouth with so much cum that it leaks and spills down her chin…
Before he’s even aware he’s doing it, Din is reaching for her. He sees his hand extend across the crate between them, but he can’t stop it. She’s hunched low to reach the food, and the crate is small, so he doesn’t have to learn far, and although her eyes widen in surprise, she doesn’t flinch or pull away.
His thumb only hesitates for a second before wiping up the dip, but it hovers there for longer afterwards, coated in white and unsure how to proceed.
…she swallows his cum, and he wipes up what spilled out, pressing his thumb into her mouth so she doesn’t miss a drop, and her tongue eagerly licks it up…
Just as he makes the rational decision to withdraw his hand, she turns her head, aligning her lips with his thumb, and a rush shoots through him… but he’s already in motion, retreating back to his side of the crate.
It’s too late.
Would she have done it? Licked his thumb? Dank farrik, he’s so hard over the possibility. Thankfully, he’s pretty sure that between his loose pants and the cross-legged position he’s in, nothing’s on display, plus he’s sitting close to the crate anyhow.
Neither of them has spoken yet, although he’s not sure if his voice works right now. Still, he has to answer her question about the meal, so he rasps out the only word that comes to mind. “Delicious.”
I have several others, but these are the fullest, although they’re incomplete and unedited.
Feel free to send me an ask or leave a comment if you want to discuss these any further!
A few NP tags: @ceapa-mica @penvisions @papurgaatika @for-a-longlongtime @draculasfavoritewife @whxtedreams @alltheotps
I'll just get comfy and wait for the poll results...
#wip wednesday#wip poll#star wars#the mandalorian#pedro pascal#din djarin#din djarin x reader#mandalorian#the mandalorian x reader#the mandolarian#mando#din djarin smut#mandalorian x reader#mando x reader#din djarin x you#the mandolorian#pedro pascal characters#din dijarin x reader#star wars fanfiction#the mandalorian smut
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Beskar Doll - Ch. 47: Plans
You and the Mandalorian work with your allies to save your son. A continuation of Beskar Doll ch. 1-46 found on Tumblr here.
Pairing: The Mandalorian/Din Djarin x Female Reader
Warnings: Smut :D No use of Y/N. Minors DNI 18+ Only
Length: 3.8k
You were relieved when Sosha dismissed Pell and a handful of assistants who were hovering just outside the door. She closed you, Donné and Din into the salon and hugged you again, tightly.
“I’ve missed you,” she said quietly. “I never should have sent you away…”
“It was the smart move,” you said, holding onto her, the one person left who knew you before you became what you were now.
“It wasn’t the right thing to do,” she pulled back from you and took your hands before looking at Donné. “Have the others here by morning, we leave first thing. Arrange for the fastest cruiser we have to be ready.”
Donné bowed her head and left the room, too.
“Well, since this is just between friends,” Sosha smiled a little toward Din. “Including some new ones, let’s get you out of those wet clothes and start finding your boy.”
She led the way down a grand hall - all gleaming stone and soaring ceilings - to her chambers.
“Normally, I wouldn’t allow a man back here but, given that he’s your husband, I think we can make an exception,” she led the way to her dressing room and paused, getting you a towel and a robe. It was disconcerting, having Sosha get things for you, look after you. Not that she never had, of course, but the nature of your relationship the last time you’d seen her had been decidedly reversed. She hardly treated you like a servant but you regularly helped her dress in the elaborate robes of the queen - including making sure there enough protective fabrics and plates to keep anyone from taking her out too easily.
“It looks like we’re still the same size,” she said absently, going to her massive closet. “But I’m guessing you don’t wear the kinds of things we used to much anymore…”
“Can’t say I’ve had much of a reason to,” you laughed a little as you toweled off your damp hair and started taking off your wet clothes. “I’ve been spending more time in the… less reputable parts of the galaxy lately. And we’re bounty hunters…”
“You’re a bounty hunter?” She raised her eyebrows. You nodded. She laughed once. “Can’t say I expected that!”
You wrapped yourself in a robe and she pulled a gown out of the closet, one that you knew was simple by the standards of a former queen but was more elaborate than anything you’d worn in years.
“Once you’re dry, so you have something appropriate for dinner,” she said. “Of course, we have more… practical options for when we leave.”
“You mean the things we used to wear to sneak around on Imp bases?” You asked, smiling a little. She smiled a little back.
“So he knows about all the trouble we used to get into?” She asked, looking at Din again. He just looked at you.
“He does,” you said. “We ran into Teav a few years back…”
She nodded slowly, going to something that looked like a vanity. But she pushed a button on the side and it opened to reveal screens and panels. She keyed in a code before stepping aside.
“This has all the information the rebellion had known Imperial bases,” she said. “It’s a lot of data but if you have an idea of how to narrow it down?”
You sat at the vanity, Din standing at your shoulder. He put one of his hands in the middle of your back, his fingers splayed wide, like touching you was making him feel better.
“We can start with research facilities,” you said, looking up at him. “Those are going to be more limited…”
“Anything tied to genetics,” he leaned over, his body curving over your own. “Was there anything you saw? Either when you were on his ship or through Grogu?”
“Not that I remember,” you sighed, adjusting the search parameters and drumming your fingers impatiently against the surface of the vanity. “Do you know what they wanted him for? Besides the obvious?”
“The obvious?” Sosha asked. You felt Din stiffen at your side and you put a hand on his.
“Grogu is… special,” you said. “Remember when my mother told us stories about the Jedi she knew when she was young?”
“Of course,” she smiled. “Handsome sorcerer warriors? Like I’d forget that.”
You smiled a little. Sosha had hung on your mother’s every word when she talked about her time with Amidala. Like she’d known, even when you were both just five or six, that she’d one day be queen, too.
“Grogu is like them,” you said. “He has powers and the Empire wants him. We’re not sure why, outside of research…”
“Who has him?” She asked, coming to sit beside you on the small bench. You moved to the end of the bench, pressing yourself against Din.
“Gideon,” you said. “He’s also particularly interested in old Rebellion information, he wants to know how we moved information, how we embedded spies into Imperial systems…”
“He’s got to be planning something big, then,” Sosha said absently, shifting to information gathered on specific Imperial officers. She pulled up the information on Gideon and a chill ran down your spine when you saw his face. “Looks like he had an interest in cloning…”
She switched back over to the information on bases.
“Just two cloning facilities,” you leaned in closer to the screen.
“That narrows it down,” Sosha frowned. “Any way you can tell which…”
“It’s Phindar,” you said, looking up at Din. “It has to be Phindar. I can feel it, he’s there.”
“How…” Sosha began but you felt Din’s fingers on your back tighten against you.
“He’s taunting us,” he said. “It’s in Mandalorian space. He took him to Mandalorian space. Because he knows I don’t have other Mandalorians to call on for help.”
“Made another Imperial enemy?” Sosha asked, brows raised.
“Something like that,” you ground your teeth.
“Good,” she said. “All the more satisfying when we destroy him.”
“He’s ours,” you said, looking at the image of Gideon on the screen. You let the heat of hate soak you. You wanted him, you wanted his blood, you wanted his pain. He took what was yours, the most precious thing. You wanted to make him pay. “No one kills him but us.”
“He’s yours,” Sosha said, putting a hand on your arm. “All yours.”
She turned her attention to the Mandalorian.
“I’m afraid that during chaos of your arrival, I didn’t catch your name,” she said, looking him over.
You went to give an excuse but he spoke before you had a chance.
“Din,” he said. You looked up at him, surprised. “Djarin.”
“Would you like us to find something for you to wear to dinner, Din?” She asked. “I’m afraid I’m not sure what Mandalorian traditions are, we didn’t have any dealings with your people during my reign so it’s a bit of a blind spot…”
You half smiled at that and wondered if you’d have gotten over Din’s armor sooner if you’d known better.
“I don’t remove my helmet in the presence of anyone but my wife,” he said. “But I appreciate your offer.”
“Really?” Her brows went up. “In that case, I will have something sent to your room after, assuming you’d like to accompany your wife to dinner?”
“I would.”
“Good,” she smiled. “But I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to excuse us while we dress for dinner. I’m sure Captain Pell would love to discuss some finer points of the plan of attack. He always hates it when I sprint things on him…”
“Please tell me you’re not still causing trouble!” You gaped at her. She shrugged. “Sosh! You can’t just…”
“I can do whatever I want,” she smirked a little. “And I believe I’m no longer your concern.”
You glared at her but she just looked proud of herself. You turned your attention back to Din.
“I don’t have to…” you began but he cut you off, cupping your cheek and tilting your chin so his eyes could more easily meet his own.
“Stay, Cyare,” he said. “I’ll see you soon.”
You watched him go for a moment, a knot forming in your stomach at the distance. You knew you were both safe here, that nothing would happen to him here, but so much had happened within the past few days. The only secure place you had was with him. You’d lost so much, you couldn’t lose him, too.
“You love him,” Sosha said. You spun to face her and she was smiling softly.
“I do,” you smiled a little back, the most you could bring yourself to smile under the circumstances. “I really, really do.”
“I wasn’t sure you’d ever find that again,” she said, getting up and changing the vanity back into a vanity with the press of a button. “I’ve been worried that you were alone but you’ve found someone who is more your match than you could have ever found here.”
She picked up a brush and started running it through your hair.
“Sosh…”
“Oh hush,” she cut you off. “I did your hair now and then when I was queen, too. Let me do this, it’s been far too long.”
You closed your eyes for a moment, focusing on the feeling of your oldest friend untangling your hair and starting to plait it. It was a comfort, the knot in your stomach easing.
“So,” she said conspiratorially. “The helmet…”
“Yes?” You asked brows raised, a small smile on your lips.
“Did he really leave it on for EVERYTHING until you were married?” She asked.
“Sosh!” You elbowed her lightly.
“What!” She laughed, pinning a braid into place. “I met a Mandalorian, a few years ago. I think she takes a different approach to the creed, though, as her helmet came off rather quickly… she was plenty talented with her tongue, though…”
“You met another Mandalorian?” You spun, eyes wide. “When? Where? Also, a talented tongue? How fast do you work now that you don’t have to meet the standards of royal decorum?”
“Just fast enough,” she winked before putting her hands on your shoulders and turning you back around. “Now stay put or I’ll never finish. I can find all the information for you, but it was at least four years ago…”
You deflated a bit at that.
“Have you been in touch with her since?” You asked. “I know most of the Mandalorians Din knew were wiped out about a year ago…”
“Oh no,” she frowned. “We haven’t kept in touch, it wasn’t exactly that kind of relationship. But I hope she’s OK…”
“Me too,” you fidgeted with the sleeves on the robe before meeting Sosha’s eyes in the mirror. “How have you been? Are you happy?”
“Now I am,” she nodded a little, focusing on a braid. “It was hard, after the war. You were gone, my reign ended not long after, Naboo was still in tatters when it did… I had a hands on role rebuilding which was a blessing, it kept me busy. Gave me purpose. But I’ve since become the Ambassador to the New Republic, which has been fulfilling. And I’m not married yet but… Well, there is someone.”
“There is?”You smiled turning to look at her.
She rolled her eyes and gripped your shoulders again, facing you to the front.
“Stay put,” she said, stern but smiling. “But yes, there is. Maybe, once we find your son, you can meet him. You’d like him, I think. He’s a flyboy, just your speed.”
You laughed a little.
“You never answered the helmet question, by the way,” she said, sweeping some of your hair back. “Was it really on the whole time?”
“I didn’t see his face until the day we got married,” you said, cheeks hot. “But… he took it off in the dark plenty before that.”
“Good, because I’d have tried to talk you out of marrying him if you were going in that blind,” she teased, pinning the last chunk of hair into place. “Who knows what kind of bad decisions we’d make without each other.”
You laughed once.
“Who knows.”
***
Din liked Pell. The man was smart, thorough, dedicated to Sosha’s safety almost as much as Din was dedicated to yours.
“I’ll have 20 men with me,” he said, pulling up a schematic. “This is what we know of the facility. With the firepower of the ship, we should be able to brute force our way in at this point, it should be away from any holding cells and ensure that your son isn’t in danger.”
“That will put us in a funnel,” he frowned below the helmet.
“Which is why you and I will be the first in,” he said. “We’ll be able to take out the first volley of troops and get Her Highness and the Ladies in quickly. They can disperse from there, searching the facility. I’ll leave five men to hold the entry point, we’ll send three with each Lady. I’ll stay with Her Highness, you will stay with your wife. We’ll keep them in one piece, find your son, kill Gideon and get out.”
Din nodded.
“Gideon is ours,” he said. “He’s too dangerous to leave alive and he’s taken too much from me. He’s ours.”
Pell nodded once.
“I don’t care what makes the man fall as long as he falls,” he said.
“I appreciate…” Din started to say but the words died on his tongue when you came into the sitting room.
He’d never seen you look quite like this, even when you’d gotten them into the party on Coruscant. Your hair was mostly up and back with some hanging in curls around your bared shoulders. He wanted to remove his helmet and trail his lips over those shoulders to your neck, your cheek, your lips. The gown you borrowed from Sosha fit you like a second skin, highlighting every curve, your breasts full and soft and all but spilling over the structured top of the gown, the skirts flowing around your legs while hinting at your shape. You’d done your makeup, too, your lips lush and dark, lashes long. You were living art, something too beautiful for him to touch. But you smiled when you saw him.
“Cyare,” he said, going for you. It was automatic, an instinct. The anxious ache in him eased when his hand went around the back of your neck and your hand held his wrist, your eyes finding his below the helmet. He felt some of the tension leave your body at the contact.
“How’s planning?” You asked, your unoccupied hand finding his waist.
“As far as we can get it for now,” he said. “We’ll need to go by the Crest before we leave. There’s something I want you to have before we leave.”
You frowned a little but nodded once.
“Then, as long as Captain Pell is OK with it,” you glanced around Din. “I’d like to borrow my husband.”
“He’s all yours, My Lady,” Pell bowed his head a little when he finished addressing you and you smiled a little before taking Din’s hand and leading him toward the dining room.
“The other handmaids will be here overnight,” you said, pressing yourself against Din’s side. “I feel so… foolish, getting dressed up and eating and doing anything else right now…”
“We’ve done what we can for the moment,” he gave you a squeeze. “It’s your first visit home in years. We’re getting him back. That’s what matters.”
You just nodded, your hand slipping around his bicep.
“You look beautiful, Cyare,” he said, knowing it was an understatement. But he wasn’t sure how else to say it, especially now. How could he say that stars you loved so much paled in comparison to you? That, in all his travels through the galaxy, you were far and away the loveliest thing he’d ever seen?
“Well I have to try to hold my own against all that beskar,” you gave him a small smile. “You’re always dressed to impress…”
“Not like you,” he tugged you closer. “Never like you.”
Dinner, Din was surprised to find, was a pleasant affair. The other handmaids were still on their way so it was just the two of you with Sosha and Donné.
“Normally, this would have been a much happier evening,” Sosha said. “Reuniting with our sister this way is bittersweet. But, since I know we’d like to know what you’ve been up to and I’m sure you’re only able to think about your son, please, tell us about him.”
You looked at Din and laced your fingers through his below the table.
“Din saved Grogu from an Imperial bounty,” you said, looking at him, your hand tight in his own. “And he’s just the most precious little boy.”
“He’s a troublemaker,” Din smiled a little below the helmet. “Obeying is not his strong suit.”
“And he’s very good at letting you know exactly what he wants,” you smiled broader. “If you don’t get it for him, he’ll figure it out on his own and Maker help you if that happens…”
It felt good to talk about him, to focus on him. It made it easy to forget, for a moment, just how afraid he was. How much he hated standing still, even though he knew that this was the best way to help him.
A meal had been delivered to the room that you were led to after dinner and you closed and locked the doors. Din removed his helmet and caught your arm as you passed, bending and trailing his lips over your shoulder to your collarbone to your jaw.
“Din,” you breathed.
“Just needed to kiss you there while you looked like that,” he whispered against your ear, your cheek against his. You were so close. It was right that you were so close. Having you close was the only safe thing.
You took down your hair and he watched you while he ate. He thought the food must be good but it was hard to taste anything, between the fear and stress and you.
“Are we ready?” You asked, looking at him. “At this point, I don’t care if we are or we aren’t, we have to go get him, I can’t wait anymore…”
“I know,” he said, glad that he could look at you without having to look through the mask right now. It would feel wrong, having that barrier between you when you were this distraught. “But we’re ready. Because of you, we’re ready.”
You nodded, fisting the fabric of your dress in your tense hands.
“Come here, Cyare,” he said, getting up and going to the end of the bed. “Let me help you take that off.”
You just nodded before going to him, sweeping your hair over your shoulder and exposing your back to him. The gown laced up and he removed his gloves before he untied it, sliding his fingers into the spaces between the ribbon, loosening the corset and brushing against your skin as it became exposed.
When it was so loose that you had to hold it up, he slid a hand over your shoulder to your chest, splaying his fingers wide over your rib cage and tugging you back against him, your head on his chest as you looked up at him.
“Do you think you can rest tonight, Cyare?” He asked, his nose brushing yours.
“No,” you breathed.
“Then let me help you,” he said.
You dropped the dress and stepped out of it, exposing your all but naked body to him. He nudged you back down on the bed and slid your underwear - your last remaining stitch of clothing - off your body.
“Din,” you moaned.
“I know,” he said, removing his armor quickly, followed by his flight suit. He left it all with the dress, crawling up your body. He brushed your hair back, searching your eyes.
You were afraid, like him. Hurting, like him. You were his mirror and he was yours and he needed to be one with you.
He kissed you, gently, his hand tracing down your body to the apex of your thighs. He lightly brushed and teased your clit, making you whimper.
“Promise me it will be OK,” you begged him, your lips brushing his own. “I need you to tell me it’s going to be OK…”
“It’s going to be OK,” he said, not sure he believed it himself. He believed you’d given them the best chance, the best hope, of it being OK. He knew he wouldn’t rest until it was OK. “I promise, it will be OK.”
You clung to him and he worked your clit faster, sliding two fingers into your wet heat. Your velvet walls gripped him tight and he groaned, ready for it to be his cock inside of you like this instead of his fingers.
He pressed his fingers into the soft space inside you that he’d claimed as his own over and over again until you came with a gasp around him.
You ran your fingers through his hair, looking at him, your eyes wide and pupils blown.
“Need you,” you were panting. “Please, need you close…”
“Need you, too, Cyare,” he said, taking his swollen cock in his hand, spreading your wetness over himself. He notched himself against you for a moment before sinking into you, your fingers digging into his back as he entered you.
Your back arched and he slipped an arm below you to hold you closer, your skin impossibly soft against his. You rocked your hips up against him, hooking a leg over his hip as he pressed into you as deeply as he could, your body tightening around him.
“Din,” you panted, holding your whole body against him, like you couldn’t be too close. “Please…”
“It’s going to be OK, Cyare,” he managed, so focused on how you felt it was hard to be aware of anything else. “It’s going to be OK. I have you, we’re in this together, it’s going to be OK…”
You came with a strangled gasp and the tightness of you set him off, filling you.
He held onto you, your body all but completely wound around his as he enveloped you. He liked it this way. That you needed him to be this close, too.
“I love you, Cyare,” he panted, holding your face in his hand. “I’ll protect you. We’ll save him. It’s going to be OK.”
“I know,” you took a shaky breath and nodded. “I know.”
#fanfic#smut fic#mandalorian fanfic#the mandalorian#din djarin#the mandalorian x female reader#the mandalorian x reader#the mandalorian x f!reader
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well it's love, make it hurt - chapter seventeen
well it's love, make it hurt series
seventeen: it's you I can't deny
series masterlist | prev chapter | epilogue
dom!Din Djarin x sub!f!reader
Words: 4.7k
Summary: You and Din learn to know each other again.
Warnings: bdsm, d/s dynamics, enthusiastic consent, preestablished safeword etc, dom!din djarin x sub!reader, soft din djarin, din djarin is a good dad, long distance relationship, vaginal sex, oral (m & f receiving), communication, angst, major life decisions, author plays god with the timelines (sorry), canon adjacent?, canon divergence?, no use of y/n
a/n: my friends, this is the end. the epilogue will be posted on December 18.
i love you, and thank you for spending time with these two. it means more to me than you'll ever know.
also um just bear with me about what I've done to the canon timeline. it's only a little wonky.
also on ao3
dividers by @saradika-graphics
9 ABY - Fall
Despite his intentions, you don’t talk every day. It’s just not feasible. And maybe nights pass when you’re already asleep when he calls, but if it happens, he doesn’t mention it. You think he’s still afraid to scare you.
What scares you is how much you wouldn’t mind, and even that isn’t so frightening these days. This is easy, far easier than having to be stuck in hyperspace while you learn how to know him again.
When you ask him to tell you the story of how the kid became more than a bounty, you can hear the smile in his agreement. Can hear how glad he is that you want to talk to him, that you want to know.
He tells you the whole thing, and another night, he tells you about the Purge.
You didn’t ask about that one, could never have. It’s an awful, agonizing story, and it leaves you raw. But it feels important that he shared it with you, allowed you to take on some of his pain, and bear witness to his sorrow.
One night, after a few of radio silence, he calls to tell you he’s in a town on Tatooine. There’s a sick anger in his voice as he describes the man who was not a Mandalorian and the agreement they made.
“Should have just killed him and taken it,” you grumble.
“I think he might be a good man,” Din admits.
It’s high praise, you think, coming from him. He might be the only good man you’ve ever met.
He promises to call after, and you don’t worry, even when several days go by.
You don’t.
The way your body feels warm for the first time in days when he finally calls has nothing to do with it.
You roll your eyes at his story, of how Vanth almost ruined the whole thing by refusing the Tuskens’ drink, of how he blows off defeating a krayt dragon as something simple. It surely wouldn’t have been without him, from the sounds of it.
Later, when he tells you the full story, you take back all of the compliments you had given his strategy and competency. (But you forgive him. He wasn’t wrong, really. You weren’t ready to hear it then.)
9 ABY - Winter
You tell him the things you held close before. The things you kept stitched up, that you thought would make you more of a person than an idea, if he knew them.
Some of them were the building blocks you knew would betray you—the day your parents died. The first time you sucked cock for food. Your first kill.
Stories you’d never shared and tried your best to forget.
Moreso, though, you try to share the little things. The things that you wouldn’t have had to share before when you lived your days side by side.
You bitch about bounties.
You gossip about your neighbor Moshi’s on-again-off-again relationship with the Rodian couple down the street (they’re on again right now—you know because you get a lot less sleep lately).
You tell him how you went to the market for new shoes and came back with a little gorg-shaped instrument that makes croaking sounds for the kid instead.
(“How loud is it?” he asks, with no small amount of apprehension. “Loud,” you tell him with a grin.)
He sulks a little the next time he calls. He wanted to see you before moving on, but the next lead was time-sensitive and drawn out.
“That’s too bad,” you say, voice soft and low.
“Yeah? Why’s that?” He almost restrains the hope in his voice.
You’d laugh, but you’re honestly a little nervous. But it’s easier to say this than any of the other things haunting your mind during those sleepless nights. “Oh, I don’t know. Been thinking a lot about having your cock in my mouth again.”
There’s a strangled groan from the other side of the comm. “Cyar’ika,” he warns.
“You don’t want me to get on my knees for you?”
“I do, but I can’t talk about this right now.”
“You don’t have to talk,” you say. “You can just listen.”
In the end, he has to lock himself in the fresher. When he can’t help but cum, you think you might understand why he likes to have power over you.
He does promise to get you back for it, though. If it’s supposed to be a threat, it’s not a very effective one.
But Din being Din, he throws you off balance. “Don’t you dare touch yourself until I get there,” he says after. “If—if that’s still alright.”
A shudder runs through you. “Yes, sir,” you whisper. It aches in your throat on the way out, but you’re not afraid.
He means to tease you next time. Instead, you know something’s wrong as soon as he calls.
He deflects. He’s not ready to think about it, about Bo-Katan Kryze and what she had said about his people. You let him change the subject without pushing it, but he knows you’re not happy about it.
And he knows that not knowing will be worse for you. That you’ll think he just doesn’t want to talk to you. That you’ll simply shut him back out.
So he tells you. He tells you how angry he is at them for their disrespect. “It’s got to do with why our people were so divided before,” he admits. “I can accept that they have different beliefs about what it means to be a Mandalorian. But—”
“But they didn’t have to be such bitches about it! She straight up said ‘cult’?”
He laughs. Your righteous indignance soothes his anger. “You going to fight her for me, sweetheart?”
“What, you don’t think I could take her?”
“Well, she’s got head-to-toe beskar.”
“But she takes the helmet off, so all ll I have to do is punch her in the face.”
He can’t help but laugh again, grinning foolishly in the empty hull of the Crest.
“You know, you’re being pretty rude to someone ready to fight a trained warrior for disrespecting you.”
“I’m not. I just—thank you.”
“You’ve lost it.” You roll your eyes when he just laughs again.
“I might have,” he admits when he’s settled down. It wasn’t really funny, after all. But the abrupt switch from betrayed fury to the overwhelming affection made him feel happier than he had in a long time.
“Hey,” he says, suddenly soft and serious.
“What?”
“I miss you.” It was the first time he had said anything of the sort on these calls. But the danger of setting off your alarms, of causing you to run, seemed so much less these days.
You’re quiet for a moment. You let the feeling sink in and breathe through it. It’s okay, you remind yourself, it’s not a dangerous thing. He’s not asking you to run away with him.
He’s not asking you for anything.
“Yeah, I miss you, too,” you say. You’re quiet, like it’s a secret, and you guess it kind of was. A secret you’ve spilled now, and can’t just wash away.
He doesn’t know what to say. He said it because he wanted you to hear it, not because he ever imagined you’d admit it, too.
But he doesn’t have to figure it out. You surprise him again, and ask, “How far is Corvus?”
“From Batuu? I’m not sure. I’ll look it up later.”
“No, I meant from you, like how long until you get there.”
“Sweetheart, I’m not going there first. I’m coming to you.”
“Are you sure? Don’t delay your mission just because I—”
“I’m not delaying it because you miss me. I’m delaying it because there’s time and I miss you. The nav was set before I called.”
You meet him at the docking bay. Well, you time your dinner around his estimated arrival, but it’s basically the same thing. A compromise you made with yourself.
Rather than waiting there, feeling stupid in public, or waiting in your apartment, still feeling stupid but alone, you’d just get something to eat. Still, you can’t help but watch out for the Crest on the horizon. When you spot it, the nausea you’ve been fighting in the four days since he told you he was coming returns tenfold.
It doesn’t take him long to find you, sliding into the seat beside you. It’s all very smooth, the way he wraps an arm around your waist and presses his helmet briefly to your forehead.
You flush and try to focus on your tip yip and grains.
“You know,” he says, letting you go so you can eat. “If you want to fight people for disrespecting me, start with the di’kut trying to pass that stew off as Mandalorian. It’s a joke.”
You cover your mouth when you laugh so you don’t drop rice all over. “Oh, I know. I told him there was no way it was really Mandalorian. It was edible. My face didn’t even come close to melting off.”
He shakes his head, bumping his shoulder against yours. “It’s not my fault you can’t handle it.”
“Maybe you’re just a bad cook.”
“You never complained about anything else I made.”
“Well, yeah, almost anything’s better than ration packs.”
“It’s supposed to hurt,” he insists. “That’s what makes it tiingilar. It can’t be called tiingilar if it doesn’t make your sinuses burn.”
You grin up at him, eyes bright, before the look falls abruptly off your face, and you turn back to your food.
He’s not sure what he’s done.
But you take a minute, take a breath, and swallow down the terror. “Sorry, I got a little overwhelmed. It’s still weird, you know. To see you,” is what you finally say.
“It’s okay.”
From anyone else, you’d bristle at the platitude, but from Din… well, you know he means it. It really is just okay. You set down your spork. “He asleep?” You nod at the closed pram.
“Yeah, just fell asleep before we landed. Should be out for a while.”
Another grin creeps across your face, sly and pleased. “So, we’ve got a few hours?”
His fingers twitch into fists for a moment. “You, um. Are you done eating?”
You laugh, standing up and closing the lid of the takeout box. By the time he stands, you’re walking down the road. “You coming or what?”
He catches up with you easily, the pram trailing silently behind. “You first,” he promises, taking your free hand in his.
After he parks the pram in the living room, he stops and studies you, head tilted. “We don’t have to,” he starts. “I didn’t—I want to spend time with you, it doesn’t—”
“Din,” your voice is soft as you approach him, winding your arms around his neck. “I don’t think you’ve been talking to me practically every night for months, all just to get your dick wet.”
“I don’t want to screw this up.”
You don’t know what to say, so you pull down on his neck until he leans forward. You press your forehead to his helmet.
His hands find your waist and hold tight. For a moment, you find peace in the solidity of him after only having his voice for so long.
His embrace feels like coming home.
After several reassurances that yes, you did want this, he finally beckoned you to your bedroom without a sound. You found yourself knelt between his thighs at the end of the bed, moving on instinct with him and reading his intent in the line of his body.
“Open,” he says, voice soft but firm.
You obey. The command has you a little dizzy, and how is this so easy? So easy to slip right back into your place at his feet, so easy to just listen.
“Oh, cyar’ika,” he lifts your chin with two gloved fingers, “You want to be so good for me, don’t you?” He’s close enough like this that you can hear the way he croons, voice velvet beneath the crackle of the helmet.
You give a small nod, not wanting to knock his hand away. He rewards you by sliding it up to cup your cheek in his palm. You waver, but don’t melt completely, not yet.
“I know,” he says, running his thumb over your tongue. The glove is rough and metallic, and you whimper with the effort of keeping your jaw stretched open, aching to take whatever he’ll let you. He chuckles, shoving it further into your mouth.
“Go on then,” he says with a slight tip of his helmet. Immediately, you wrap your lips around his thumb, gently licking and sucking on the coarse tip, pushing it deeper so you can reach the leather at his knuckle.
“That’s it. You feel better already?”
You groan around your mouthful, eyes falling shut. He shifts his grip on your chin to the other hand in order to thrust the digit deeper, brushing against the roof of your mouth. It tickles in the worst way, and you attempt to choke down the cough by swallowing more of him. He pulls his thumb from your mouth.
Your heart sinks, but the whine that sneaks out is muffled by two long fingers, two long, bare fingers that are unceremoniously shoved down your throat. He curls them a little, pressing down on the back of your tongue, and lets out a soft groan when you fight the urge to gag by swallowing hard, the soft walls clenching around his fingers.
“There you go,” he whispers, bringing the other hand—now also bared—to hold the side of your face. Between the feeling of his skin against your cheek and the salty taste of his fingers on your tongue, you don’t even notice as you start to slip. Eyes fluttering shut. Drool leaking between his fingers from your stretched lips. He continues to murmur, but you hear little beyond the rumble of his voice.
He taps his hand lightly against your cheek, just firm enough to be on the sharp side. You blink, taking in the way he’s leaning back, head cocked to the side. He pulls the fingers out of your mouth and just sits there for a second.
Oh kriff. He asked you something. “Um,” and your voice creaks a little, “what?”
He shakes his head, neither cruel nor dismissive. “Cyar’ika,” the baritone is a notch lower, “I need you to stay with me for now.” His thumb rubs circles on your cheek. “I’ll help you down when we’re ready.”
“Okay,” you say, little more than a whisper.
“What do you say?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good girl.” His cock throbs a little when a shudder runs through you at the praise.
He can’t wait any longer. He doesn’t think you can, either. You're staring at the line of his cock through his flightsuit.
Despite his urgency, he moves slowly, making sure you’re following his hands as they rub over his length through the fabric. He chokes back a moan and is rewarded for his silence by hearing yours.
Your mouth is still open. Waiting. Your hands are on your knees, fingernails digging in through your trousers.
He pulls his cock out, and you whimper, but don’t falter. “Look at you,” he murmurs, holding himself in one hand and your chin in the other.
He doesn’t make you wait longer, can’t. He holds you in place, groaning as he settles himself on your tongue.
You moan at the taste, and he takes the opportunity to grab your hair and thrust in. You gag but don’t tap out, instead pushing forward to take him deeper.
“Fuck,” he moans, already panting with the effort to hold back. He tries to hold still, to let you take what you need from him. He can feel the way you’re still trying to pay penance for a sin he doesn’t think you’ve committed. He doesn’t like it, but it’s less desperate than when you begged him to hurt you for it, so he lets you offer yourself this way. It’s safer, controlled.
And he can’t say he’s not enjoying being the focus of your worship.
You think fleetingly of him asking you to stay present, and grab at his hand while you drool around his cock. With his fingers in your grasp, you tug a little and whine, throat fluttering around him.
“Go ahead, ner kar’ta,” he says, clasping your hand in his and stroking the other through your hair. “I’ve got you.”
So when you start feeling like you’ll float away, you let it happen. Your mind quiets in the way only he has ever helped you achieve, and with his hands tethering you, you give yourself to him completely.
He fucks into your mouth roughly, now. You take everything he gives, and more, still licking and sucking when he allows. When he abruptly pulls out, you whine but don’t move, swaying a little where you kneel, eyes closed.
“Up, cyar’ika,” he says, and helps you climb onto the bed. You peer up at him as he arranges you how he wants, arms above your head with your hands clasped, knees bent and spread wide at the end of the mattress.
He turns the light off.
“Oh, fuck,” you whisper.
The hiss of his helmet follows. Your window is closed, curtains drawn, and no light sneaks into the room. His hands find your thighs and squeeze, reassuring you of his closeness, and giving you warning as he sinks to his knees and licks from your cunt to your clit with no hesitation.
His hands slide down to hold you open, and it doesn’t take long before you’re begging. You had already been soaked from sucking his cock, anyway.
He pulls back minutely. “I don’t know, cyare, you weren’t very nice, teasing me the other night.”
“Please, sir, I’m sorry,” you cry.
His thumb flicks at your clit. “I’m just teasing you, pretty girl. Cum all you want tonight. I’ve got five years' worth to collect.”
And who the fuck just says things like that? But you don’t consider it long, because the second his tongue is back on you, you cum, crying his name.
It sounds just as irresistible as he imagined. He’s already starving, but it makes him ravenous.
He pulls two more orgasms from you before he stands up and sheathes his cock in your warm cunt, swearing as you bear down around him, pulling him in.
“Such a good girl,” he bends over you, your legs around his waist, and presses his lips to every inch of your skin that he can reach. His teeth catch on the line of your neck and the curve of your breast before capturing your bottom lip, pulling you open for him to push inside your mouth. He consumes without restraint, gorging himself on your moans and cries.
When he buries himself as deep as possible and cums, you join him, enveloping him in the heat of your release. He stays rooted inside you, looming over you, as you shake and start to cry.
It’s wrong, though.
It doesn’t feel like the way you used to crack open under his fingers and let him carve out all your distress. It’s not a burst of catharsis or a moment of blossoming under the deluge.
“Cyar’ika,” he cups your cheek. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m sorry,” you plead between sobs that wrack your whole body. “I’m sorry. I thought I could do this, but I can’t.”
He carefully extracts himself and lays beside you, gathering you into his chest. “It’s okay. I understand,” he says, even though he thinks maybe something inside him isn’t going to survive this.
You don’t hold him back, arms folded into the space between you. But you do bury your face into him and sob until you can breathe again.
“Din,” you whimper. “I’m so sorry.”
“Can you tell me why?” he asks. He presses a kiss into your hair, though he knows he shouldn’t, not now.
You let out a shaky sigh that threatens to crack into a new round of cries. You shouldn’t let him; you should stop him, but the sobs get stuck in your throat and fade when he kisses you.
It gives you the nerve to speak. “I love you.”
He freezes, baffled. “What?”
“I love you, Din. I thought I could ignore everything and be happy with whatever you could give me, but I can’t do it again. I can’t.” You also can’t stop talking, now that you’re finally admitting it all to him and to yourself. “There’s no place for me in your life, and I just. I’m not doing that to myself. I can’t watch you leave again.”
“So come with me,” he whispers, both your hands clasped in his. It’s still flawlessly dark, but he has his sweaty forehead against yours, and you can feel the curve of his nose with your own. He steals a kiss. “Please, cyare.”
“My whole life is here,” you tell him again, but it feels like a lie with the way your lips chase his for more. Your apartment is here. Your possessions are here. But there wasn’t anything you couldn’t walk away from. That wasn’t really the issue.
“So keep it. Keep the apartment, the connections. We’ll come back after.”
“Din, I—” you try again. The words are scrambling to leave you, only restrained by the horrible anxiety of having to hear the truth spoken aloud.
“Tell me exactly what you’re afraid of, cyare. I can help. We’ve always been stronger together.”
“What happens after?”
“After what?”
“I don’t know. After. When you go home, and I can’t go with you. I can’t do the same thing again, Din; I’m not made for it. Not for what you’re asking me to give in between.” It wouldn’t—couldn’t be casual, this time. Not with the way his love for you has survived the last five years. And if you’re really honest, not with the way your love for him has survived, too.
It’s a petrifying thought. Except it isn’t quite. Not anymore. Maybe it’s why you’re confident in these boundaries, ready to admit you aren’t capable of the same untethered companionship. You’ve loved and lost him enough to know it has to be all or nothing.
And he can’t give you all. So it has to be nothing.
His shaky breath floods across your lips. “What if you could go with me?”
You sit back a little, but don’t pull your hands from his. His thumb is tapping against your knuckle. “What do you mean?”
“I don’t want you to think I’m putting any pressure on you. I just want to—it’s just an option, okay?”
“What’s an option, Din? You’re making me nervous.”
He takes another deep breath with a slow exhale. “I think I’ve told you before, but being a Mandalorian is a Creed. A choice. There are no rules about who can or can’t swear it, as long as they’re committed.” He pauses, and when you don’t react, he adds, “and you can walk away at any time. It doesn’t have to be until death. You just can’t come back if you leave.”
You do let go of his hands, now. Not because you’re pulling away from him, but because what you think he’s trying to say is overwhelming. You bury your face in your palms and try to parse his words.
“I’m sorry, that’s—I shouldn’t ask that much of you.”
You put a finger up and remember that he can’t really see. “Shh, just give me a second, okay?”
You mull the concept around. It seems like such a monumental thought, an idea of incredible ridiculousness.
But really, what would change about your life? You would hunt. You would carry a small arsenal of weapons.
What would you lose? The ability to show your face?
It meant nothing in comparison to what you could gain.
“What if I went through everything, and then you decide you don’t want me?”
“That won’t happen.”
“Din. I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
“No, ugh,” you grind your teeth. “I need to know, realistically.”
“Realistically? Then when you kick my ass for it, you’ll be in full beskar, and it’ll be a fair fight.”
You can’t help but laugh, even if it's a weak, shaky thing stolen from your breath.
“Cyar’ika. I have no intention of being apart from you if I can help it. But I promise that if something were to happen, there would still be a place for you with the Mandalorians. We don’t abandon our own.”
It doesn’t quite compute. He knows that. Knows the way that even before your parents died, there was no one else. Everyone always willing to cut you open and take. But, if you do this, you’ll learn.
And he wants so badly to give that to you. A family. One way or another.
He takes advantage of your silence, rolling onto his back and pulling you against him, tucked into his arm, where you should be. He kisses your hair and rubs a hand over your back, nails gliding gently over your shoulder blades. Every touch you let him steal while you think over his proposition gives him hope.
You’re not running. Not yet.
Maybe not ever.
But you don’t answer him that night. Instead, you let yourself be lulled to sleep by his warm body and soothing motions. He takes it as a good sign when you drift off.
The kid wakes first in the morning. It’s for the best, since he forgot to put his helmet back on when he fell asleep. Din regretfully slips out of bed, tucking you in. He helps himself to your kitchen and starts a pot of caf before working up a breakfast.
He’s frying eggs when he hears you up and moving around the bedroom. He keeps to his cooking, trying to temper his expectations by reminding himself that you very well may slip out the window.
But you don’t. You come out of the bedroom and sit on one of the metal stools tucked under your countertop.
“Good morning, cutie,” you say to the baby, who is sitting in your sink with the faucet running, filling a bowl, and dumping it out over and over. The drain is open, making sure no water accumulates, and he seems fascinated by the flow. He abandons it, however, when he sees you, cooing and reaching his hands out to you.
“I don’t know, buddy; let me grab a towel first.”
Din tosses you one from your drawer without breaking away from his task.
“Look at that,” you tell the baby. “Like magic.”
Din snorts under the helmet. If only you knew.
Actually, he thinks, he should probably tell you.
But later. When he’s not struggling to keep focus, pretending like his hands aren’t shaking, like he’s not waiting while you hold his heart in your palms and decide what to do with it.
While you dry the kid off and let him climb on your shoulders and head, he plates the meal, setting his own aside.
The kid lunges for the plate, but you catch him. “No way, it’s still hot. Be patient,” you tell him.
Din catches himself staring right as you do.
“What?” you say.
“Nothing,” he shakes his head and pries the kid off you, untangling his little claws from your sleep-addled braid so you can eat in peace.
You thank him quietly when he sets the plate in front of you, and you start to eat, though you mostly just push the food around with your fork.
“Did you mean it?” you ask finally.
“Completely.” His voice is thick and heavy with hope.
“You want me to become a Mandalorian.”
It’s not a question, but he answers it anyway. “Yes. I want you to come home with me. I want to be by your side, always, if you’ll have me.”
You hum, falling back into thought, and eat your breakfast. When you’ve finished, you push the plate away and stand up. “I’m going to get dressed. Let me know when you’re done eating.”
He knocks on your door ten minutes later, having taken an extra few minutes to wash the dishes. When you open it, you’re in one of your go-to hunting outfits, and your pack is strapped to your back.
“Okay. Let’s go.”
“Are you sure?”
“Completely. Take me home, Din.”
*title from "My Blue Heaven" by Taking Back Sunday
#din djarin x reader#the mandalorian x reader#mando x reader#the mandalorian fic#din djarin x f!reader#din djarin x you#mando x you#the mandalorian x you#the mandalorian smut#dom din djarin#make it hurt verse
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To see me
Summary: A head wound can be fatal for a Mandalorian. To not reveal ones face contrasting strictly with a pain that needs to be treated. Yet Din finds himselfs a savior - and is himself shocked at how much his touch starved soul enjoys each and every caress of soft hands.
Warning: Head trauma, blind reader, a lot of pining and a bit anxiety from Mando's side
A/N: Due to request here a little short story about a blind reader/ medic reader tending to Mando.
“It is fine.”
“It is not.”
The Armorers voice was firm and it still made Din quiver like a boy when she spoke in that tone to him.
It also made the throbbing pain on the back of his head worse.
Injuries to the head were not usual for Mandalorians. For reasons that need not be explained. Especially because of that reason they were deadly as well. The motivation to never show one's face was deemed to be greater than the one to stop a slow painful death due to a head wound.
This was the Second time Din had ended up with one.
The first time he’d thankfully been in the presence of a droid that helped him out. This time however, he hadn’t been as lucky. It was at the back of his head too, he was unable to treat it no matter how often he’d tried.
With dizziness and a migraine that drove him mad he’d made it to the others, hoping he’d recover if he’d just rested.
Again, he hadn’t been lucky.
Days had passed and his state had nothing but worsened.
A fever joined the migraine and the vertigo and it hadn’t been long til the Armorer had caught on to it.
“If it’s a head wound it needs treatment. Soon.”, she spoke, her voice still tense and like she was scolding a thick headed child.
“And how am i going to get that?”, Mando asked, looking up at her. In his state, sick with fever and his vision blurred even through the sharpening visor he felt like laying straight back down.
Grugo sat on his makeshift bed beside him. Cooing worryingly.
The little guy had not left his side since it had happened and had that saddened look on his little green face that made Din’s heart melt.
The foundling had tried often enough to get under his helmet, use his healing on him but yet again and again Din had carefully sat him down, telling him it was not right.
The Madnalorian before him crossed her arms, armor shining in its golden hue as it caught the light of the setting suns outside the window.
It caused Din’s migraine to flare up worse than before.
“I would know someone. I have to see if they are still around…”, she said. Her voice lower now, nearly a whisper.
Mando frowned, shaking his head, slowly, not to make matters worse.
“How would that work out?”, he asked, confused by her statement. Yet again, he wasn’t quite fit to think at all lately.
“It does. I’ve sought them out many times before.”, the Armorer explained in a calming tone.
“Is it a droid, then? I still don’t love them but i’d surely give it a go…”, he answered. Even he noticed just how weak he sounded.
“No droid. But it is right for our kind. You can trust me on this, I will make contact. Rest now.”
Din felt her hand on his shoulder. Warm. And reassuring.
His head killed him. He closed his eyes. Trusting her.
Grogu whined.
A day had passed and Din found himself in his cockpit, readying the ship for flight.
He looked over his shoulder, watching the little guy squeal.
“What? I’m fine. I can fly you know.”, he said out loud.
Watching Grorgu’s reaction.
“I can. Don’t give me that look. I’m fine enough. I won’t kill us.”, he muttered, turned back to face the console again.
Sometimes he felt crazy. For talking so much to his foundling, knowing he would get no answer. Maybe all the years of doing missions in solitude had made him mad after all.
Nervous, definitely.
Nervous to meet someone. Nervous about what would happen. About how this would go.
He stared ahead.
The ship was ready to go.
Grugo cooed.
“Fine Fine I’ll put the thing on auto-pilot. Let’s go.”, Din sighted, forcing him to just trust fate on this one.
I. A Gaze
He held Grogu closely, pressed against him.
This was the place. He was sure of it. And yet he had not knocked nor rang for a minute now, simply staring the door down.
The planet was nice. Clean.
Green - bluish flora bloomed around the place. The street seemed awfully clean. No shady alleys, no run down taverns, no greasy walls.
This wall before him was pure white. A house build of strangely white and smooth stone. Strange flying tiny creatures around him, surrounding the flowers in the garden before it that he still stood in.
Grogu, once more, brought him back to reality.
A soft coo this time. As if he was asking if everything was alright.
It caused Mando to take a sharp inhale, his heart still beating fast.
He did not know why he was nervous at all. Maybe because he was about to take off his helmet in there. Or maybe because this place seemed all too wrong for him.
Too clean, too nice.
He sat his Foundling down carefully.
His head spun as he did. It reminded him all too well exactly why he found himself here in the first place. He stared ahead again. The display in his visor telling him once more that yes - this was the location he was ought to be.
Somehow, even though it was the Armorer herself who’d sent him here, he felt his anxiety act up. He’d messed up already. He’d taken off the helmet before.
He’d swore to himself he’d do anything to never have that happen again. And here he was, about to break that promise.
Grogu squealed.
He seemed happy enough. Raising his little hands to touch the blue leaves and then tried to get to the little creatures that sat on it.
“Alright then. Let’s go.”
Din took a deep breath, lifted his hand and knocked.
Three times. Muscles tight. Expression stern.
And then it all changed.
Then She opened the door.
II. A Whisper
It had taken her a while to get the door.
To make her way towards the knocking sound, but as she did, she had surely noticed him standing before it.
Mando stared her down.
Straight up gazing at her soft features. The shine of her hair. The silken dress that hugged her figure loosely but oh so wonderfully.
She was radiant. Dazzling. Mando felt his heart drop into his stomach, his heart picking up. She hadn’t spoken a single word until now. And he hadn’t either. Damn it he hadn’t even moved.
This woman was supposed to take care of his head? How was that going to work out?
Ignoring the fact that her looks bedazzled him, he still did not know how she was to solve this problem that he had. That he was here for.
Mando watched her closely. Taking a deep breath.
He was just about to say something when he noticed her soft smile changing into a confused little tilt of her head as she drew her brows together.
“Hello?”, she asked, uncertainty tainting her voice.
Hello? Mando was the one frowning in confusion now. Why was she asking as if she didn’t see him standing right in front of her.
Grogu squealed on the ground, raising his tiny arms towards the woman and grinning brightly - as if he’d solved the mystery before him.
Mando, following the little one's gaze looked up again and then, suddenly it clicked for him as well.
She did indeed not see him.
It was the certain silver glimmer in her eyes that had given it away.
Only visible when he was truly looking for it.
She was blind. It rang through his head. And so many questions were answered.
Quickly explaining himself, Mando stood up straight.
He cleared his throat, then spoke: “I ah…the Mandalorian. The Headwound. The Amorer send me.”
Not much of an explanation, he noticed quickly.
Feeling a bit shy and nervous and still dizzy before her.
The smile returned to the woman's features none the less and she quickly nodded, making a small and elegant side-step to make room for him to enter the door.
“Of course! I’ve been waiting for you. Please, come in.”, she chimed, the smile on her lips genuine,
Mando did notice now.
In the way the focus of her eyes was just off. She moved so naturally though. So beautifully, swayfully elegant.
The woman had already made him forget the pain in his head for just a minute there.
III. A touch
He had entered the small house.
Had been told to sit down.
Mando did, as usual, exactly as he was told.
It gave him time to look around and calm his breathing.
He was still nervous as hell, even though this turn of events had indeed calmed him a bit.
She could look at him, straight up, no helmet involved, and would not see his face. It was quite the genius concept for a mandalorian medic, really.
Yet again, he asked himself just how good of a medic she was if she could not see what the hell she was doing.
It frightened him a little. As did the fact that he was still to remove his helmet right in front of the lovely woman.
He had asked her where he could sit Grogu down for the time being.
She had shown him to a room. A couch in it. A desk. Not much more.
Yet the cushions were soft enough and with some loving words of encouragement and explanation the little foundling sat perfectly still on them.
Mando bringing his favorite snack along and offering it as a bribe surely had helped as well.
That dilemma was taken care of then.
Only her remained.
Her, the mysterious woman who still sorted things out just behind him.
Her, that made him all so nervous in two very different ways.
“Are the blinds closed?”, she asked, her voice as soft as he remembered it.
He did not need to look at them to know they weren’t.
“No. May I close them?”, he asked, a frown on his features. He’d love to get up and just…move to ease the tight muscles and calm his quickly beating heart.
“Yes that would be lovely, thank you.”, she smiled softly, turning to him.
He watched her again.
Not returning the smile.
She wouldn’t see it anyway. He asked himself if that was making it better or worse for his conscience.
He needed to ask. At least to take the pressure off a little.
Yet he felt it was not very nice to do so. He wavered, then turned over his shoulder as he closed the black curtains before the window, darkening the room.
“I…I’m sorry to ask. truly I am but…”, he started, soon to be interrupted by her.
He was surprised that it turned out to be a chuckle.
A sweet and delightful yet soft chuckle.
“I see nothing. No worries. You can take the helmet off without restraint, Mandalorian. This isn’t the first time I am doing this.”, she explained. Her tone was reassuring and well meant.
It eased him a little.
“Huh…Alright then.”, he agreed quietly, taking his seat once more.
He looked around. The room was pretty barren, a bit minimalistic but apart from that nice and still cozy in a way.
“Anything I can…do?”, he asked, tapping the chair nervously with his gloved fingers.
She smiled at that, concentrated on her silver tray before her with all kinds of useful utensils on it.
“You may undress.”, she spoke.
It made Mando’s skin trickle.
“All or…”, he asked, voice deep, trying his best not to stutter.
“It’s just the head wound, yes?”, she asked, raising a brow.
“Yes, all else iis taken care of.”, he answered dryly.
“Just the helmet, the gloves and the shoulder pieces then. Please.”
Just.
Mando disliked even that quite a lot. Yet got to work quickly.
All felt relatively normal but the helmet.
He wavered at the helmet. Not quite daring to take it off just yet.
She moved over to him then.
And then he felt her.
Soft hands, caressing over his shoulder, towards his chest.
The man felt blood rushing to his head and his skin tingled. He had been so touch starved for so long that even this felt like the most intimate thing he’s felt in months and just like that, he tensed up underneath her gentle hands.
She stood behind him. Her hands on his shoulder, caressing and massaging along the neck.
“Helmet is still on, I feel.”, she teased.
The woman did not judge nor pressure him. She sounded understanding, if anything.
“I..yeah…Sorry it’s…”, he started, stumbling over his words.
impossible. horrid. most intimate. near hurtful.
“I understand. Completely. We’ll take it slow, no need to remove it just now.”, she spoke.
Her tone was so calm and reassuring. So very guiding and careful with him.
Mando found himself enjoying that a bit too much for his own liking and just like that he leaned back a little, enjoying the massage of his strained neck.
A touch most magical.
“Tell me what exactly the problem is.”, she offered, trying to ease him into teh experience.
Mando sighted. Closing his eyes.
“Mission gone wrong. I landed head first on stone. Hard. Usually the helmet buffers each fall but I must've landed in a bad way. Hit my head. Just above the right eye.”, he explained. He was still tense. Still nervous. His heart was pacing quickly and his breathing was irregular.
She only hummed softly. Urging him to go on. Her hands never stopped caressing him. She felt wonderful.
“I…had a bad headache after that. Noticed blood trickling out from underneath my helmet. Checked myself in the mirror. Was too dazed to do something about it myself. It only got worse after I checked back in with the others.”, he continued.
He was easing slightly. Losing himself in her touch and his tale.
“I understand.”, she nearly whispered, “What exactly worsened?”
This time he answered straight away. Way less restrained.
“The pain. Dull and throbbing behind my forehead. Dizziness. Nausea.”, he sighted.
“I am very sorry to hear that. I’ll see what I can do, It might be serious however.”, she warned him, genuine worry and feel in her voice.
Mando nodded.
“I…trust you. I suppose.”
“You can. Many of your brothers and sisters have come here. There wasn’t one yet whom I could not aid.”, the woman spoke reassuringly, squeezing his shoulders lightly as a little heads up.
Mando found himself smiling at that.
“Now. Helmet. Want to take it off yourself or do you want me to do it?”
He froze again at that.
Damn he’d grown quite comfortable just now. Could’ve stayed like that…but there was the matter at hand.
“I…”
Mando had never ever thought that he would ever let someone else touch his helmet. Yet again. Many Mandalorians had come here. He was safe with her. It was alright. It was fine.
Trauma trickled underneath his skin. To be seen. To remove the helmet himself and…
“Would you do it?”
He wouldn’t want to repeat that trauma.
She was soft. And respectful.
Her slender hands found the right button to release the tight grip of the helmet all too soon and with the uttermost care she grasped underneath the metal, lifting it off his head.
Mando still hated and loathed every second of it, yet again, the extreme pain that flooded through his body like a toxin as soon as the pressure of the helmet was released showed him just how much this action was necessary,
“Are you okay?”
She had asked carefully, still holding his helmet in her hands.
“I…Yeah.”, the Mandalorian before her answered.
Sweetly, she reached over him, placing the helmet back into his hands, so he could hold tightly onto it during the procedure.
She still stood behind him. Still, even in theory could not glance at his features.
Din Djarin felt utterly naked nonetheless.
“You have a lovely voice. By the way.”, she then said.
Mando frowned, turning his head over his shoulder to look at her without a second thought.
“What?”, he asked, not noticing he had just turned his features to her right then.
She seemed to look right through him. So sweet, so beautiful she stood before him, a lovely smile on her perfect lips.
“Without the modulator. You sound handsome.”, she repeated herself.
A blush creeped up her cheeks and Mando felt his heartbeat picking up pace once more.
“I…thank you.”
“You are very welcome.”
“You”, , he stopped himself there. not daring to tell her just how wonderful she looked, “It’s…nothing. Sorry.”
“All good then. Let’s get you sorted out.”, she spoke with that smile of hers, closing in again.
Her soft hands running over his bare skin.
He reveled in every last one of her touches. Painful or not.
“You’ll be out of here in no time, Mandalorian.”, she promised.
He could hear the smile in her soft voice.
Hoping she would be wrong.
@animefan3223 @shinymoonstarfish @imokayunlessyoumentionendgame @that-girl-named-alexamed-alex @frau-moon @leeeggggsssssss @beardie-mama @why-always-me-gosh-please @lizziel1410 @momolulukai @hymnofthevalkyrie @sunshinerainbowmurderkitten @sunipostsstuff @louist91syndromedrome @dream-alittlebiggerdarling @danceswithsporks @minetticatinwonderland @sunipostsstuff @sparrowwithaquill @monkeyking-and-liuer-mate @sinon36 @a-rose-of-amber
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Only You
Pairings: Din Djarin x f!reader
Warnings: Smut 18+, explicit, unprotected sex, PinV sex, breeding kink, oral (female receiving), daddy kink, slightly rough Din, cursing.
Summary: second req from my dear @scorpio-marionette, “trust me, you don’t want to know what I’ve been thinking.” For our boy Din.
A/N: I’m gonna be slow to post, after 2.5 years covid has finally got me and I’m not well so I will post when I can but I’m not putting pressure on myself. I’ll try my best because I know I have a lot of requests to get through (from like Xmas 🙊) and my Javi series needs an update but we will see. 🥰🥰
Comments and reblogs really appreciated 🥰
Din was on another planet seeking alliance - one of the many he had been on previously as a bounty Hunter. Now, he was accompanied by members of the Mandalorian council. He hated this. All the formalities of being Mand’alor. The constant negotiations and protocols, it was just too much. All he wanted was to get into the crest and get back to how it used to be. Just him, Grogu and you.
Din had zoned out of the conversation - they were all the same at this point - his mind drifting to you again. His lips curved slightly as he thought of your beautiful smile, and how it always made your eyes sparkle. He’d left you in Mandalore - not that he had much choice - and you ruled in his place while he was away. Something that required a lot of begging on his part.
He loved you and wanted to make you his wife, his queen. He succeeded with the first but you still refused to be called a queen. I don’t like titles Din, they make people think they're above everyone else when they're not. He had argued that you would make a great queen, a compassionate one but it did not deter you from your choice.
While Din was lost in his thoughts of you, Grogu had snuck away and when he realised his son was no longer with him, he panicked. Standing abruptly, he leaves the meeting to his adviser and searches for his son. He finds him in the local market, face glued to a tank of frogs and he can’t help but chuckle. He uses the force to lift one out and towards his mouth when a man shouts, startling him. “Hey, get away from them you little Hutt spawn.”
Din could feel his blood boil, his fists clenching at his side as he stormed over towards his son. Picking him up he grabbed a blade from his hip and brought it to the man’s throat. “Say that again.” The man quivered in fear and began apologising, handing a frog to Grogu. “I didn’t mean it, no harm done.” Placing the blade back in its place, Din turned to leave when a woman appeared out of nowhere.
Her hands caressed Grogu’s ears as her gaze landed on the visor of Din’s helmet. “He is just adorable, is he yours?” Din nodded, unable to speak. Her hands began to roam and landed on his arms as she squeezed his muscles. “You are such a good dad, if you want to have another - I’m happy to help.” Was she flirting with him?
Din swallowed thickly before he came to his senses and pushed her away gently. He didn’t speak. He couldn’t. Walking away he was stopped again by another woman. What in the maker? “That was amazing, what you did back there, protecting your son. Interested in having more?” Din didn’t stop this time as he barrelled back to the ship.
Boarding the crest he removed his helmet and ran his fingers through his hair - Grogu cooing happily as he sat watching his father. This had been happening a lot lately, women throwing themselves at him, wanting to mother his children. It’s not something he ever thought about. Sure he had Grogu but having children of his own - wasn’t something he ever thought he’d have. Now, it’s all he can think about.
He thinks about it every day and at night when he sleeps and now all he wants to do is get home and breed you. You are the only one he wants to be the mother of his children. He just hopes you want that too. Hitting on his com-link he summons his council back to the ship, sitting in the pilot chair and setting the coordinates for Mandalore. His body hummed with desire and his cock ached.
He needed to get home, now.
***
As soon as Din landed he went in search of you, ignoring the pleas of his council to discuss urgent matters. He didn’t care. This was far more urgent.
He knew where you’d be and when he stood outside the door to the library, he could hear you humming inside. A smile spreads over his face and he opens the doors startling you. “Dank farrik, Din you scared me.” The book falls from your hands as he grabs you around the waist tight, pulling you close. “What’s gotten into you? Did the negotiations not go well?”
He loves how you are always concerned about these things but right now his mind is on other things. He growls and you shriek a little as your hands rest on his chest plates. The beskar cooling your flushed skin. “Need you now, mesh’la.” He pushes his hips against yours and you can feel his desire for you, hard and throbbing against his cargo pants.
What’s got him so riled up? “What’s going on in that head of yours?” His grip tightens and he closes his eyes, “trust me, you don’t want to know what I’ve been thinking.”
“I do, so tell me.” He releases a deep breath and his eyes find yours. “Want to…want to breed you… wanna see you round with my baby.” You freeze, eyes focused on his visor. “What?!” He grabs your hands and places them on either side of his helmet, before helping you lift it off him. It falls to the floor with a loud clunk and his brown eyes stare at your beautiful face, a mixture of love and lust swirling behind them.
“I want to…I….” He becomes nervous suddenly and you place your hand along his cheek. “It’s ok, tell me.” His eyes fall to your lips quickly before meeting your gaze again. “I’ve been thinking…what if we had a baby…a brother or sister for Grogu?” His grip on your waist tightens a little and your lips curve into a smile. “You want us to have a baby?” He nodded, his eyes full of hope.
“Ok!” He smiles brightly before his lips crash onto yours. “You're sure?” You nod before pulling him into you again. “But you’ll have to work for it,” you whisper into his ear. “What?” Pulling away you create a little distance. “I want you to chase me, hunt me, and if you catch me - then you can breed me.”
His eyebrows quirk as an amused smile spreads across his face. “What if I lose?” You move back towards the door, “you won’t.” With that, you ran. He removed his gloves and flexed his fingers. This was going to be fun.
***
You moved as fast as your legs could carry you as you run through the palace, knowing full well he would catch you. He always did. You thought about hiding but then you entered the throne room. An idea is formed and you rid yourself of your clothes before ascending the throne and taking a seat.
The beskar was cold against your skin and a shiver ran through you. Your exposed breasts are pushed forward as you sit straighter, waiting for your king. The doors are pushed open and Din stalks towards you, faltering in his step when he sees you upon his throne. His eyes seem to darken and his lips curve into a seductive smile. Din was ravenous, and his desire permeated the air. He stands before you, “My Queen.”
“Kneel.” You command and he quirks his eyebrow at you, the hint of a smile on his face. You know he doesn’t want to play these games but he will if he wants you. “For someone who doesn’t like titles, you sure are bossy.” He drops to his knees and looks up at you with a tsunami of emotions behind his eyes. Sitting forward slightly you beckon him towards you with your finger. He crawls towards you slowly and your heart swells, knowing you are the only one he’d do that for.
His soft plush lips kiss your bare feet as his hand wraps around your leg. “What does my Queen desire?”
“You want to breed me?” Din nods his head as he inches closer to you. “Then strip and fuck me here, on your throne.” A growl emanates from his chest and he sheds his armour and clothes quickly, standing bare before you - chest heaving. He drops to his knees again, his hands tracing up your legs as his lips skim the inside of your thighs before his mouth finds your core.
Your back arched off the throne and your breath hitched as he worked his tongue into you. His stubble and moustache created delicious friction. “Oh fuck…Din..” He adds two fingers and you mewl below him as you come hard, cunt fluttering around his thick fingers. He pulls away and stands, grabbing his cock as he pumps himself. “Up!” He commands and you stand on shaky legs.
“Want you to ride me on my throne. Use me, my Queen.” You straddle his waist and his big hands grip your hips tight as you slowly sink down on him. A groan escapes his lips as he fills you. “So kriffing tight…gonna fill you up mesh’la…watch it take root and…oh fuck…” His head falls back as pleasure courses through him, your hips moving above him. His hand moves towards your breast grabbing it and squeezing tight before he captures your nipple with his mouth.
“Din..oh maker…I’m gonna come…” He helps you move above him, his eyes focused on where you are both joined, watching his cock move in and out of you. “Come mesh’la, come for your king.” You clench around him as you cry out in ecstasy, “oh fuck…yes daddy…”
Din is still below you and his nostrils flare as he asks you what you said. Your cheeks flush in embarrassment, “daddy.” He stands, his grip on you tight as he flips you onto your back. You're bent a little and the position is a little awkward but you don’t care. He pounds into you grunting loudly in your ear. “Say it again.”
“Fuck me, daddy.” Oh, fuck you were doing this again. His hips begin to falter and he moves his hand to your clit, rubbing circles over your swollen bud. “Want you to come again…then I’m gonna fill you up, breed you.”
“Yes…please fill me up Din, make me yours.” He thrusts twice more before spilling inside you, coating your womb with his seed. You’re both panting and sweaty as you come down from your high. “Are you ok, mesh’la? I wasn’t too rough?” You smile up at him as your hand rests on his cheek, “never. I want you to do that again.”
He chuckles as he pulls away slowly and helps you up. You can feel his come dripping down your thighs. “I love you.” His lips meet yours in a soft kiss before the doors burst open and his council stand mouths agape as they take in your naked forms. “Oh, your majesty, we are so sorry, we didn’t know…”
Din pushes you behind him in an attempt to hide you. “Out! Now - and keep your eyes off my wife.” You bury your head into his shoulder in embarrassment as they all shuffle out of the throne room. “I’m never gonna be able to face them again.”
“If any of them say anything I’ll kill them.” He bends a little, grabbing you and lifting you into his arms. “Now, I’m gonna take you back to our room and keep you full of me all night, make sure I have you bred before morning. Would you like that, my Queen?”
“Yes, my king.”
Part 2 / Lactation / Somnophilia
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Din djarin: @paulalikestuff @anaaaispunk @hb8301 @djarinslove @browneyes-issac @dins-cyare @agingerindenial @afootnoteinyourhappiness @stevie75 @almaeunice @readsalot73
#pedro pascal#din djarin x fem!reader#pedro pascal x reader#din djarin x reader#pedro pascal x female reader#pedro pascal fanfiction#din djarin imagine
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