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mellowswriting · 2 years

Text

did you miss me?

pairing || Din Djarin x f!reader

word count || 4.2k

summary || Din proves just how much he missed you while he was away.

content || pure poetic smut, rough but loving sex? is that a thing?, blowjobs, deepthroating, face fucking, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms Din is pussy whipped and painfully in love, thorough aftercare, dorks in love

a/n || not me coming back from my mini hiatus with pure smut 🤠 no one is surprised, right?

It’s been too long since Din has felt your lips against his skin. By too long, he means just a little over a week. Call him dramatic but he’s certain it’s a miracle he survived without you at all. He wasn’t meant to be gone for so long. He’s far too used to waking up and falling asleep next to you, teasingly smacking your ass as you walk by, dragging you close and fucking you against whatever surface is available. Din can feel your absence tugging at his skin, pulling him taut and tense. He’s grown… attached. More attached than he imagined himself capable of, in fact.

So when Fett came to him for help, Din was less than enthusiastic to leave the little world of calm you created together. It took a bit more cajoling than usual. It will take two days at most. We can compensate you. Then you can take your pretty little lover out somewhere nice. Din rolled his eyes at the light teasing from his fellow Mandalorian, but he couldn’t deny the prospect sounded like… fun. Something he hadn’t sought out in a very long time. So Din looped you in on the plan, fucked you nice and thorough, and very begrudgingly left you in his bed to help his friend.

Two days quickly became a week. He really should have known that this would happen but Din is a man of his word. He stays and fights by his friends’ sides, and undeniably wins the entire ordeal for them. The celebration afterward would have been tempting if he didn’t know exactly what was waiting for him back home. Fett didn’t even bother trying to convince him to hang around; he just tossed Din a bag of credits and a knowing grin, which Din pointedly ignored. He took a quick shower before he headed off, all too aware that he wouldn’t be wasting a second once he has you in his arms again.

Din sees you before you see him. He half expects you to startle when he wraps his arms around you from behind - an elbow to the ribs, a kick to his shin, something. But you just lean back into his chest with a surprised but happy sound, the blaster you were stripping abandoned on the counter. Your hands rub down his forearms until you reach his hands and deftly tug his gloves off, carefully setting them aside before lacing your fingers with his. Ease trickles down his spine as he takes in the feeling of your skin against his. Din never realized just how much he needed this. He’s so starved for affection that he feels like he just might die without yours. It doesn’t help that you’re just so… you. Soft against his scarred hands, firm against his stubbornness, so understanding of his inexperience.

“Did you miss me?” There’s a thread of humor in your tone that sends a flare of want burning through his body. He wants to sink his teeth into your shoulder, a small punishment for your teasing, but his hands are too busy to reach up and take off his helmet.

“Of course,” He says instead, the modulator in his helmet doing nothing to hide the raspiness of his voice.

You turn in his arms and Din is graced with your beautiful smile. A thread of concern laces through him as he takes in the tension that lingers in your body and the exhaustion-induced darkness under your eyes. You never sleep well without him. It must have been a late morning for you; you’re still wearing the tiny shorts and old shirt you love to sleep in. He catches a glimpse of the peak of your nipples through the thin material of your shirt just before your chest presses against his beskar. “Yeah? How much?”

“Help me out of my armor and I’ll show you.” That’s all it takes to encourage you to lift his helmet off.

Din drags you in for a blinding kiss the moment the helmet is out of his way. It’s a far cry from the first time he pressed his lips to yours. There is a confidence that surges through him - it ignites his need for you into something palpable and ferocious. Unrelenting. He digs his fingers into your thighs as he hauls you up into his arms and blindly stumbles his way into the small bedroom. Your bright laughter fills the air as he drops you on the bed and for a fleeting moment, genuine fondness soars over his lust, mixing into one devastating need. The two of you eagerly strip away each other’s layers, armor and clothes falling into a pile on the floor.

“Come on, get the fuck - get off.” You grumble under your breath as you finally unclasp his pants enough to strip him out of them. Din’s chuckle dies in his throat at the feeling of your fingers around his aching cock. Fuck, it feels so good it almost hurts - but that doesn’t stop him from greedily chasing more. His hand wraps around yours and guides it along his length in long, tight strokes, and the intensity of finally feeling your touch has his eyes fluttering closed. You huff a quiet laugh at his antics but don’t hesitate to give him even more - little kisses peppered along his belly and gentle caresses to his sensitive inner thighs. He’s so lost in the weight of your worship that he doesn’t even notice when you slip to your knees in front of him.

Din jerks in surprise at the warm, wet slide of your tongue along the head of his cock. A guttural sound rips through his chest as his fiery gaze meets yours, his jaw slack, lips parted as the heat of your mouth slowly envelopes him. His hand falls away as you work him further, instead coming to rest on the crown of your head. He doesn’t pull your hair or try to push; he just rests his hand there, gently caressing your hair as you roll your tongue in practiced swirls. Every inch you take further sends him reeling, pulls out those desperate little sounds he knows you love. Pride swells in his chest as your nose brushes the short, curly hair at the base of his cock. It isn’t easy; Din isn’t exactly a small man, in any sense of the word, but you still work him until your jaw aches and drool drips down your chin.

“Fuck… you’re so good,” Din’s voice is gruffer than usual, all deep and gravelly, and it does something to you. He watches with rapt attention as you go all soft and pliant for him, a muffled whine vibrating against his cock. His hips jerk unbiddenly at the feeling and an apology is poised to fall from his lips - but you just whine again. “Oh, is that what you want? You want me to fuck your pretty little face?”

You nod as best you can and Din has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep himself in check. It ignites something almost animalistic in him when these moments align so perfectly; his need to be in control rises to meet your need to be taken, and the two of you become one. Din’s wide palm settles at the back of your head to steady you against the slow, steady pace of his thrusts. His free hand grabs one of yours and laces your fingers together, and the familiar unspoken agreement passes between you.

Squeeze my hand if you want me to stop.

The muscle in his jaw jumps at the sight you make. Unshed tears shine in your eyes as you gaze up at him, your lips stretched around the thickness of his cock. His fingers drift across your cheekbone and the steady pace he’s built falters as you instinctually lean into the familiar touch. Din’s heartbeat stutters. It's so simple, the absolute trust you show him. Even as your throat flutters around the almost too-big stretch of his cock, your eyes glimmer with so much love that Din nearly drowns in the overwhelming wave of intimacy. His stomach tightens, his stamina dashed in the wake of your beauty. It's enough to force him to pull you away. He can’t finish now, not like this. Not until he has you laid out beneath him, trembling and sweat-slick under his nimble fingers. He has been fantasizing about it for days, the idea taking the front stage of his mind and consuming all of his attention.

“Fuck, wait…” Din grits out through clenched teeth. His blunt fingernails dig into the thick muscle of his thigh as he tries to drag himself away from that edge. You just smile up at him, all too aware of the effect you have on him, and Din can’t help himself. He guides you up with a hand on the back of your neck and kisses you fiercely, completely unbothered by the taste of himself lingering on your tongue. He grumbles against your lips, “You’re too good at that.”

You don’t have long to preen under his praise. Din has the body of a hard-working man; he’s thick, all well-built muscle and startlingly fast reflexes as if he was handcrafted by the highest divinity. He’s powerful. And he has no issue in using that power to manhandle you onto the bed. Din kneels on the bed and uses his broad stature to his advantage, your thighs forced to part as he braces them against his own. The opportunities feel endless with you lying so close, so exposed beneath him. Din aches to worship every inch of your body. He wants to tease you with his tongue and fingers until you beg him, until his name falls from your lips, all sugared and desperate and ethereal.

Din hums a pleased sound as he finally lets his touch gravitate between your thighs. You’re so warm, so slick. “I haven't even touched you and you're so wet…”

“Yeah, well,” You chuckle breathily. “I missed you, too.”

That whispered confession makes his heart lurch. He has to sink his teeth into the delicate, already sore flesh inside his cheek to rein in the instinct that rears its head; that old animalistic instinct that screams at him to bend you over and fuck you, raw and unrelenting until he has his fill. He knows he’ll give in to it soon, but first… first he needs to show you the devotion you deserve. A shudder wracks through your body at the insistent exploration of his fingertips as they delve deeper into your pussy, teasing at your entrance before sliding up to brush against your clit. He’s entranced by the petal-soft feeling of your skin; so soft, so warm. He could stay like this for hours.

But then your breathing goes unsteady and you grind against his hand in a feeble attempt for more. “Please, Din.”

The fragile hold on his self control snaps.

Two fingers sink into your pussy and Din moans at the feeling of your wet heat tightening, trying to draw him even deeper as if he isn’t already buried knuckle deep. His other hand braces against the pillowy flesh of your inner thigh to keep your legs spread wide. He isn’t letting you hide from him, not tonight. Those two fingers curl up, driven by muscle memory and an overwhelming need to make you see stars, and he’s rewarded with your cries of pleasure. His fingers are thick and calloused from years of hard work, and he knows just how to use them to make you scream.

Din works your pussy in eager strokes, easing his fingers out of you only to introduce a third on his way back in. He watches with bated breath as you devolve into a whimpering, writhing mess. The sheets are your only anchor against the onslaught of pleasure. Your fingers twist the expensive fabric so tight that your nails threaten to tear right through it, but you can’t help it - not when his thumb is rubbing precise circles over your clit until you see stars. Your hips roll and a strangled whimper falls from your lips, and Din can feel it. He can feel the intensity that radiates from you the closer he draws you to a devastating orgasm.

You’re just so easy for him to read. Every hitch in your breath, every jerk of your hips, every rhythmic pulse of your walls. The siren song of your body is impossible to resist. You whisper his name, lovesick and aching, and Din knows you’re close. Some small, cruel part of him wants to leave you right there on the precipice with euphoria hanging just outside of your reach. The bigger part of him, though? It won’t rest until you break for him.

“Let go,” Din rasps, leaning closer to kiss your thigh. The roughness of his stubble makes you jerk in surprise. He can’t take his eyes off of your face, too enraptured by the sight of you falling apart just from his touch. “Fuck, you look… you’re so beautiful, cyare.”

The praise sends you trembling. You manage to meet his eyes for a mere second before you throw your head back into the plush pillows, a broken cry choking through the clench of your teeth as you rock your hips down into his touch. Din lets you take and take without hesitation until you finally shatter. The violent arch of your spine forces Din upright to give you the space you need, his hand still working you through your orgasm in steadily slowing strokes.

“Fuck, that - you… so good, you did so good for me.” Din trips over his words in his haste to praise you but it still affects you all the same. You give him that love-drunk smile as he presses closer to hover over you, his broad form caging you in against the bed. He knows you’re still lost in the bliss of it all but he just can’t help himself from dragging his lips along your jaw and neck, leaving sloppy kisses and teasing bites in his wake. It has been days since he had the chance to properly shave and the rough feeling of his stubble against your skin makes you squirm and laugh brightly. “You have no idea how - fuck…”

He can’t even find the words to tell you just how much he needed this, how much he needed you, but he doesn’t need them. You whisper ‘I know,” before kissing him, your tongue teasing his soft lower lip, and Din whines. A sound of pure need and adoration. He crowds closer to deepen the kiss and he can’t help the small canting of his hips as his neglected cock nudges your thigh. It isn’t easy to ignore the ache that has been building but he wants to give you time to really come down and recover - he is an excellent lover, after all. But he isn’t the only one who has been impatiently awaiting this moment.

The shock of your fingers wrapping around his cock has Din breaking the kiss with a rough gasp, those dark brown eyes widening as they lock with yours. He can see his own lust mirrored in them as you guide him closer and line him up, too impatient to wait for him to move of his own volition. You’re breathtaking in your need for him. It never fails to stroke his ego, to make him feel like the most desirable man in the world. An unspoken question passes between you, one you answer with your thighs wrapping around his waist, and Din’s willpower to ignore his urges vanishes.

Din sinks into your wet heat, doesn’t stop until he’s buried to the hilt and the head of his cock nudges your cervix. He usually pauses there, just to give you time to adjust to the obscene stretch, but the animal instinct that burns between you is too much to ignore. His blunt nails bite into the soft flesh of your hips as he pins you beneath him, keeping you still and unable to escape the sharp, fast shove of his hips - as if you would dream of trying. The entire bed shudders and jerks under the weight of Din’s strength.

It doesn’t take long for Din’s large hand to find its way to your throat, his forefinger and thumb digging into the hinges of your jaw. He doesn’t restrict your breathing; Din just wants to keep your eyes on him as he fucks you brainless. Your lips part with a small gasp and an awed, pleasure-struck smile blooms across your face, and warmth unfurls through Din’s body at the sight you make. So beautiful, so intoxicated by his touch. He can’t deny you when your chin tilts, your wordless request for a kiss met by a soft brush of his lips. Such a soft, gentle thing should seem out of place in the deliciously harsh treatment of your body, but it doesn’t. It feels so right that his chest aches with it.

Din’s nose brushes yours as he hitches your hips higher and suddenly your back arches, his name cried out right against his lips. He drinks in the sounds of your ecstasy, the very nectar of the gods he needs to go on. The slight shift in angle only deepens as he damn near presses your body in half, your knees pressed back into your chest. The sharp shift makes you feel even tighter, especially as your pussy throbs deliciously around his cock. You whimper a broken sound because you know just how fucked you are. The position isn’t easy for either of you to hold but it just hurts so damn good, a perfect pinch of pain against endless waves of pleasure that makes you gush around him. Din doesn’t fuck you like this until the very end, when you’re both eager for release and clawing for that last little bit to throw you over the edge.

The earnest press of his thumb against your clit sends you reeling, the sensitivity almost too much to handle, but you both know he won’t rest until he hears you scream his name again. It’s sharp and electric, and Din knows just how to play your body until you break. Your hips jerk away on instinct before surging forward once more, driven by greed and pure, unadulterated pleasure. A whisper of ‘just like that’ is all the encouragement he needs to work through the burn in his thighs and keep his sharp pace, his violent thrusts shoving you further up the bed. It’s so fucking worth it just to feel your pussy tighten around him so hard you nearly force his cock out. Your thighs tremble and your hand flies up to press against his chest as you choke out a vague warning, your words nearly unintelligible as the surge of your orgasm gushes from you to wet his thighs and belly.

The feeling makes his rough pace stutter in shock and Din growls your name, fascination and lust burning hot in his tone as realization washes over him. It’s the only thought playing on a loop in his mind - he made you fucking squirt. He’s always wanted to see it, to feel the wetness of your cum on his skin. Delight and pride sing in his veins as he falls into a sloppy pace of short, rough strokes. Your slick drips along his thighs in little rivulets down to soak into the sheets and Din finally breaks. He doesn’t pull out - some filthy part of him wants to see his cum mixed with yours, dripping from your fucked out hole just so he can shove it back in with his fingers. He wants you marked as his, just as you have marked him as yours.

“Was that…” Din asks, his dry throat making his voice even rougher. “Did I really make you…”

“You did,” You answer his half-finished question with a breathy chuckle - as if you haven’t just rocked his entire fucking world.

You welcome the heavy weight of his body sinking into yours. Even with the ache in your thighs and back from his rough manipulation of your body, you let your legs shift back down to his waist and stroke the soft curls at the back of his head. Din kisses the valley between your breasts, a small offering of appreciation as he buries his face in your chest. The exhaustion of the last days - hell, of the last hours - vies to take over. Din lies in the embrace of your arms and your cunt, your overstimulated walls pulsing around his softening cock, and he finally feels at peace. At home, safe in the bed you share. But the urge to care for you is much stronger than the urge for sleep.

Din carefully untangles your body from his. Your disgruntled little groan is shushed with promises of a quick return and a fleeting kiss to your forehead. He has his own little ritual for those moments after he’s fucked you senseless. Water, a soft robe, maybe a snack or two, and a small cloth soaked in warm water. He catches a glimpse of the little smile on his face in the bathroom mirror as he wrings the excess water into the sink. It all feels so… right. For once, he isn’t searching for somewhere, for someone. He feels lucky. Din takes his armful of goods and that little smile of his back to you - and he nearly drops it all at the sight of you.

You are glowing in the aftermath. A light sheen of sweat illuminates your body in the low light, shows off the curves of your body as you lie prone in the expensive sheets he bought just for you. The crook of your elbow hides your face from view, but he already knows the blissful expression that is tucked away there. It is seared into his memory, one of his most beloved memories. Every ounce of tension has left your being; you’re loose and relaxed without a care in the universe. Elegant and beautiful with the evidence of his presence drying on your thighs, darkening the curve of your hips in the shape of his fingers. You are a goddess in your own right and Din knows he will spend every moment of his life worshiping at the altar of your body. He revels in that knowledge, takes the utmost peace in it.

Life may be chaotic and uncertain, but this… this is eternal.

In these quiet moments, he knows you crave his touch more than anything. The warmth of his body pressed against yours, skin on skin as he eases you through the submissive haze. Din settles close to you, propped up on his elbow, and sets about taking care of his lover. You wince just slightly as he passes the cloth along your sore cunt. Murmured apologies are met with dismissive hums. No words need to be said for your message to get across. I loved it. Don’t apologize for giving me what I want. Still, he pays close attention to the marks he left on your body. The soft floral scent of your favorite lotion lingers in the air long after he’s finished using it to ease the knots in your muscles.

Din loves taking his time with his aftercare. Once he has you cleaned up and rehydrated, he snuggles in close and lets his hands wander. His fingers trace nonsensical patterns into your plush thighs, over your belly, and up your sides. You shiver as his fingertips trail over your ribs and shoot him a warning look that he knows all too well. His sweet little woman, so sensitive to his touch. He does know better than to tickle you, so he instead slips his fingers beneath your jaw and tilts you up into a soft kiss. While he has you enraptured by his lips, his hand falls to your chest, cupping your breast in his large hand and groping you shamelessly. It's so silly that you pull away with a playfully incredulous laugh and Din can’t help but smile, one eyebrow raised as he takes in how beautiful you look.

“I really did miss you, you know.” You say as you reach up to brush his hair away from his forehead. Din sighs and captures your hand in his, drawing it up to his lips to kiss each of your fingertips, your knuckles, even your palm.

“I love you.” The words fall from his lips without thought. It startles him, his own candor. The vulnerability of it. But just as anxiety begins to crest, it’s burned away by the bright grin that blooms across your face.

You tug him closer, your lips brushing his as you whisper, “I love you, too.”, like a little secret, just for the two of you - and you kiss him. You keep kissing him, pulling him down until his body is pressed fully against yours. Din doesn’t know how long the two of you lay there, languidly kissing and whispering little confessions of love, but he knows he would stay there forever.

#din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin x y/n #mando x reader #din djarin x reader smut #mando x you #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin smut

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theidiotwhowritesthings · 6 months

Note

What ever you do.. don’t think about how much fun AFS! Reader and Din would have taking Grogu trick or treating.

Din Djarin x F!Reader

Warnings: fluffy, tooth rotting fluff, literally just love and softness. when given the choice of trick or treating, i chose treat.

Word Count: 1.3k

AFS universe, but not timeline congruent

[a/n: i know it's not much. it's short and simple and kind of jumps all over the place, but this was such a cute ask to imagine (plus i feel like an idiot for not thinking of doing this myself sorry work has been a nightmare), but happy halloween, y'all!]

HALLOWEEN SPECIAL:

A CLAN OF FROGS

The tulle framing your hips caught on the kitchen drawer once more and you huffed in annoyance before carefully untangling the material. The moss green dress you wore was hardly a costume on it’s own, but the headband on top of your head with two large frog eyes seemed to make it more fitting for halloween.

“Hop, hop, hop.” You turned at the sound of Grogu’s voice as he entered your view. Just as he announced, the little boy was hopping down the hall toward the kitchen. He wore a light green, hoodie style onesie. Darker spots lined his arms and legs with a yellow belly where it zipped up. The hood was pulled over his head, two frog eyes sewn to the top to stand, and you had cut holes in the side so his ears could poke through comfortably. A tuft of his white hair stuck out from under the hood, curling up around the edge messily. “Hop, hop, hop.” Grogu bounded over until he stood in front of your foot. He held his light blue, stuffed frog to his chest and beamed up at you in excitement. “Ma! We’re frogs!”

“We are.” You chuckled. “C’mere, cutie.”

Grogu jumped up, full of trust and faith, and you caught him with a laugh. He continued to bounce in your arms. The boy hadn’t stopped moving since you picked him up from school earlier with the promise of trick or treating once his father got home.

“Are you excited, baby?” You hummed.

“Candy!” Grogu replied.

Nevarro was celebrating Halloween with a festival. All of the market had been decorated for the season. Stalls and booths were now passing out candy and baked goods for any and all trick-or-treaters. On your way home, you had seen them setting up, but you were excited to see the final result.

The sound of the door opening, Din’s voice greeting you both, and Grogu wiggled out of your grip to sprint toward the door, “Buir! Buir! I’m frog!”

“I can see that, ad’ika.” Din’s chuckle rolled through the air and you came around the kitchen counter to greet him. His visor landed on you and though the helmet covered it, you could feel his smile. As if the beskar couldn’t stop that warmth from radiating out. Din had scooped up Grogu, who was using his father’s shoulders as a jungle gym, and drifted closer. “I like this look on you, ner karta. You make a very cute frog.”

You smirked and reached back for the counter where the frog hat rested, “Guess what, honey.” You held up the frog themed bucket hat. Din tilted his head at the sight of it. “You’re gonna make a really cute frog too.”

“Buir, be frog like me and Ma!” Grogu tried to bounce on Din’s shoulder, and the Mandalorian lifted a gloved hand to stabilize the boy easily.

“Alright.” Din rumbled and bowed his head down. You situated the bucket hat over the top of his helmet, it was a snug fit, and when he stood back to his full height you snickered at the sight of him while Grogu chirped his happiness. You cupped your cheeks with a teasing grin, “Oh, my two handsome boys.”

“No, Ma.” Grogu shook his head. “Not boys. Frogs.”

“Of course. I’m sorry.” You replied.

Din nodded, “Yeah, Ma, get it right.”

Grogu eagerly begged for the three of you to go. You grabbed the clean pillowcase you laid out to carry Grogu’s spoils, and on the way out Din automatically slid his hand into yours⏤ tangling his leather clad fingers with yours.

“Ad’ika! Don’t swallow that whole⏤ chew it.” Din scolded through the throngs of people and Grogu spared his father a quick glance before swallowing the brownie handed to him whole. You chuckled from beside Din who shot you a look you knew to be withered. Though taking the Mandalorian seriously in his hat was difficult.

“Grogu is making out like a thief.” You commented. Din’s arm lazily rested around your shoulders. The two of you were trailing behind Grogu who was dragging his half full pillowcase of goodies to stall after stall. He had technically already seen everyone once, but the second time around it seemed everyone found him too cute to deny giving him more.

Din shook his head. “They’re spoiling him.”

“Yeah, okay.” You snorted. “You’re one to talk.”

“I don’t spoil him.”

“Mhmm.”

Din lifted the hand hanging around your shoulder to lightly grasp and tug down on your ear making you laugh. It was a known fact that Grogu had Din wrapped around his little, green finger. Din could be in denial all he wanted. You held the boy’s stuffed frog to your chest. Grogu had trusted you with the task of carrying the comfort toy while he held his pillowcase himself.

“You know,” You bumped your hip against his lightly, “We make a cute little family of frogs.”

Din hummed in agreement and you felt him pull you closer into his side, “Not just when we’re frogs.” The words came out mumbled under his modulator, but you caught them all the same and glanced away from Grogu pleading for more snacks to stare up at the bucket hat wearing warrior. There was something that made your heart just ache in joy anytime Din referred to the three of you as a family. He must have felt the gaze as he turned to look your way. Din cleared his throat and shook his head. “You know, I just mean…”

“I know.” You nodded and turned back to stare at Grogu who was scarfing down another brownie. “I think so too.”

Din didn’t respond, but you felt him squeeze your shoulder.

“Not sleepy.” Grogu mumbled in your arms as you cradled, finally home once more. He had wiped himself out running around gathering treats and playing with the other kids. His sugar high nearly had him vibrating at the time, and now he was only barely clinging to consciousness. Grogu had his own frog back in his arms as Din dumped out the goodies from the boy’s pillowcase. You stood in the living room just gazing down at the adorable boy fighting sleep in your arms. You chuckled and Grogu scrunched his nose with a pout. “Not funny. Not sleepy.”

“I think you are sleepy, little frog.” You whispered and lifted a finger to drag down the length of his nose. His brow grew more heavy as you repeated the motion and when he realized what you were doing he whined and squirmed.

“Wanna play more.” Grogu’s words mumbled and muffled together, laden with sleep.

“Time for bed, ad’ika.” Din replied. His voice was unmodulated and when he stepped up behind you, Din pressed his head to the side of yours while wrapping his arms around you and Grogu both. The curiosity around Din’s features always existed in the back of your mind, but you had no qualms with keeping your eyes locked on the little green bundle in your arms. Grogu whined at Din’s words, but he also nestled deeper into your arms and against your chest. You went back to tracing over his brow and nose lightly with the tip of your finger and playing with the tuft of white hair still sticking out from under his hood. Eventually, Grogu slipped into sleep, losing the battle, and his soft snores filled the air. You still didn’t move. Din buried his face against the crook of your neck, peppering kisses along the skin there, before murmuring, “Do you want me to take him and put him to bed?”

“No.” You replied. “I don’t wanna put him down yet.”

A part of you was sure you could stand in this one spot for the rest of your life. Grogu cuddled to your chest, safe and warm, as Din’s strong arms wrapped around you both. Din chuckled, you felt the rumbling sound, and when he spoke he did so with his lips brushing against your skin, “Now, who’s spoiling him?”

You let out a soft sigh of content and let your weight lean back on your heels to rest against Din. The Mandalorian just rested his head on your shoulder and the three of you savored the moment of quiet and peace.

buir: father ad'ika: little one ner karta: my heart

For notifs on updates, as I no longer do taglists, please follow @theidiotupdates

dividers by @saradika

#din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #a fresh start #reader insert #mando x reader #mando x you #mando #din djarin fluff #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin x female reader #the mandalorian #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian x reader

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din-miller · 1 year

Text

Keldable Kisses

Pairing: Din Djarin x f!reader

Word count: 1.7k

Summary: Din forgets to give you a kiss in the morning and you take it personally and decide to get payback by wearing a hat with a visor preventing his much needed marketplace keldable kisses.

Warnings: the plot is literally just about keldable kisses, It's all fluff, His first name is Din, married couple, female reader, reader is a tease, mentioned protective Din, reader has hair but length is never mentioned, stupidly soft din, swear words, does star wars have hats? Baseball caps? They do now and they're the bane of Din's existence

A/N: Din's cloak gets a bigger supporting role then Grogu because like all great writers I forgot about him three paragraphs in.

It's petty, you know so, but that doesn't stop you from pulling out an old dusty hat you found years ago on some backwater planet during a hunt with Din.

It's nothing special, no eye-catching design. It's black with a white visor to protect your eyes against the sun. Definitely not fashionable but it's practical, which leaves you with no good excuse as to why you're wearing it on a planet with no sunlight.

And you're definitely going to need an excuse when your husband sees you wearing it. You could opt for the truth; tell him that he forgot to give you a kiss this morning before putting on his armour and you're petty enough to deprive him of keldable kisses for the rest of the day.

Yeah, no, that wouldn't go well. He wouldn't let you leave the ship until every part of you has been kissed – twice over.

Okay, that doesn't sound like the worst punishment and if you didn't need supplies from the local marketplace, you'd let your husband manhandle you into next week.

The sound of the ramp hitting the ground echoed through the ship shortly followed by Din's voice, "Cyare, you ready? We're on a time limit, remember?"

"Of course, we wouldn't want to waste precious daylight." You tossed one of Din's old cloaks over your shoulders, clasping it together at the front and left the room.

"I know you're joking but in case you're not, I want to remind you that there's no sunlight here. Make sure you dress accordingly-," His helmet tilted up and you know he's staring at the hat, "What are you wearing?"

"Oh, this old thing?" You canted the visor down, fingers sliding along the rim, "It's just something I found. Why, you don't like it?"

He shook his head, bundling together everything needed for the short trip, "I never said that. If I recall correctly, I was the one who picked it out."

"You blindly grabbed whatever hat was closest to you because you found the seller creepy and wanted to leave."

"I knew I'd regret telling you that," Din sighed and placed Grogu in his pram, "And he was creepy. He kept flirting with you, his eyes barely left you."

"My knight in shining beskar armour." You teased him.

Din hummed in agreement. You know he secretly loves it when you refer to him as yours. He tilted his head down, bringing his helmet to meet your forehead in a keldable kiss, the first in what he assumed would be many throughout the day.

You bit your lip when your visor prevented him from doing so. He growled, displeased at not being able to rest his forehead against yours in a kiss. He stepped back and reached up and you're quick to grab Din's arm stopping him from taking off your hat.

Din shook his arm, trying to wiggle out of your grip, "What are you doing?"

Your hand tightened, eyes blinking up at him innocently, "What are you doing?"

"Trying to take off this stupid hat."

"Oh, it's stupid now? Maybe I'll go get a second opinion from the creepy guy."

"Just take it off, mesh'la." Din puffed out his chest. He's totally peacocking and it's unfairly attractive. He knows you wouldn't actually track down that creep, but the thought probably has his possessive side reeling.

"No, no I don't think I will," You ducked out from under his grasp, your fingers slipped into his and you pulled him towards the ramp, "Now come on, we're on a time limit, remember? Wouldn't want to waste precious daylight!"

You had seen the lights from the Razor Crest, but being planetside, underneath the glow of orange lights you find yourself speechless.

You were originally a little worried about how well you'd be able to see in the darkness of sky. Having one of your senses dulled in this line of work made you feel on edge, anyone could be lurking in the shadows. Din had reassured you that he'll keep his helmet's night vision on until the three of you are back in the safety of the ship.

But that no longer felt necessary underneath the marketplaces string lights. When you told him such, he just shrugged and replied that it's better to be safe than sorry. He's never been one to risk the safety of you and the child, so you don't argue.

"You know, you'd be able to see the lights better if you took off your hat." Din said, his hand resting against the dip of your lower back as he guides you through the near empty market.

You rolled your eyes. You've been waiting for him to bring up the hat again. It's not hard to tell he's still upset over not being able to kiss you.

"I can see them just fine, thank you." You're lying. Din is one hundred percent right. Your neck is going to be sore tomorrow from tilting your head back to see the lights properly.

Din shook his head with a sigh but didn't say anything else. You took his hand and brought it up to your lips making what you assume is eye contact as you pressed slow kisses to his gloved fingers.

"Cyare." His fingers twitched and his other hand reached up to your head. You make a gross wet noise as you loudly gave his ring finger one last kiss before dodging his attempt at taking off your hat.

"C'mon, we need supplies."

The two of you walk through the marketplace grabbing the much needed supplies. You're hoping to get everything here and not have to make another stop.

Out of the corner of your eye you see two twi'lek engaged in what you could only describe as a passionate lip-lock. They're young, not that you could see their faces with each other's tongues shoved down their throats. You turn away, a blush on your face.

"Hey, you two osi’kovids," Din barked, startling them and you, "There are kids here-,"

"Okay," You quickly interjected, grabbing Din's arm and dragging him away. You call out over your shoulder to the couple as you go, "Sorry, he's not himself when he's hungry."

Din grunted at your words and you turned to face him, "Was that necessary? Grogu's the only child here and he's unfortunately seen worse. And calling them shitheads, seriously?"

He huffed, "Mandalorians' view public display of-,"

"-what are you talking about-," The corner of your lips turned up, "Oh my gosh, you're jealous! No, no don't argue, you totally are."

"I am not jealous, mesh'la. Mandalorians'-,"

"Is that right?" You grinned cutting him off again, hand daring to trail down his arm, fingers lingering a little too long where his armour doesn't cover his flight suit, "All these years of marketplace keldable kisses, you've been disrespecting the Way. I guess it's a good thing I'm wearing my hat."

You know keldable kissing in public is not breaking any Mandalorian laws. In fact it's encouraged to shower your riduur with the love and affection they deserve. Din is just being a big baby and taking his frustration out on innocent people.

You chuckled at his defeated silence and sauntered away adding an extra swing to your hips as you went. Behind you Din mumbled something to Grogu and the tone of the child's coo made it clear that he's taking your side.

"Oh thank you! This is my riduur's favourite fruit."

Truth be told, you're enjoying the way his self restraint chipped away with every seller you spoke too.

The gentle squeeze of your hip following your words has you hiding a grin in the fabric of your cloak.

"Do you have this in a smaller size? My ad'ika would look so handsome in it!"

Behind you there's a sharp intake of air and you know if you were both in the confinement of the ship he'd be pressing his lips against the skin of your neck, telling you how amazing of a mother you are.

Surprisingly it only took those two comments for him to finally break.

"You-," Din forced out through clenched teeth. It's most definitely supposed to sound like a warning, but it comes out more desperate than anything else, "-need to stop."

He led you into a small alleyway and you stepped as close to him as possible without knocking your hat off, "Stop what?"

"Saying things that make me want to kiss you."

You licked your lips slowly, not missing the way your husband's hand flexed against the top of his thigh, and nonchalantly shrugged your shoulders, "Well, if you had kissed me this morning before getting ready-,"

"That's what this is about? Because I forgot, for the first time ever mind you, to kiss you?"

You nodded, "Yeah, pretty much."

Din reached his arms up and back, fingers closing around the fabric of his cloak and brought it up and over to cover the both of you.

"What are you doing?"

"Setting things right," He replied, nudging your foot with his own. Normally he'd wrap a hand around your back but since he's unable to, he'll settle for any form of contact he can get, "Take off that stupid hat, then take off my helmet."

"But babe we're in public, there are kids here and you know how Mandalorians view-"

Din growled, one hand shifting to hold the cloak up and the other carelessly knocked your hat off before gently cupping the back of your neck, gloved fingers curled underneath your ear to settle in the softness of your hair. His helmet met the warmth of your skin. You jumped a little bit at the sudden coldness against your forehead.

He chuckled and pulled you flush against his body. It made it harder to take his helmet off like this, but you managed. You reached up, fingers curling beneath the top of your husband's chest plate and pulled him down to you.

Din surged forward, not patient enough to wait for you to kiss him, his lips brushing against yours in the softest apologies, swallowing your groan of approval.

#i didn't include it but din totally burned the hat before they left the planet bc hes also really fucking petty #din djarin x reader #din djarin x female reader #din djarin #fluff #married couple | the mandalorian #married couple #the manadalorian #Justice Joy Writes

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absurdthirst · 1 year

Text

Simply Din Djarin {Mando x F!Reader}

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 6k

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

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

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

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

Co-written with @storiesofthefandomlovers

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

****

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

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

****

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

****

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

****

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

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

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

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

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

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

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tommysversion · 1 year

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The Space Cowboy punishes you for being a bad girl, using both of his belts, making sure that Mythosaur buckle really leaves a mark.

There’s an old saying about how nobody can hear you scream in space. You’re not entirely sure how true that is, but you’re hoping it holds some merit, otherwise you’re about to be embarrassed as hell.

Din has you sprawled out over his lap, entirely bare to him except for the thin beskar choker that envelopes your throat like a permanent glove. It’s a simple piece of jewellery that holds far more meaning than one would assume at first glance; it’s a piece of him, marking you as his, marking you as under his protection.

There’s nobody to protect you from him, though. And that’s exactly how you like it.

He has both his belts off, looped in his hand, angled so that the embossed creature on the metal buckle makes contact with the soft skin of your ass whenever he lands a blow to you. You can’t see it, of course, but you’re starting to get the feeling that you’ll have the creature imprinted into your ass for days to come.

He may as well just fucking brand you at this point, but that’s not a thought you’re about to verbalise. Mostly because you just know that the second you do, it’ll give him ideas. Ideas you’re not exactly opposed to. Din can be a sadistic bastard when the mood takes him, and you’re a perfect little masochist.

Truly, you shouldn’t be allowed to encourage him.

There’s a faint swish as the belt whistles through the air, a satisfying slap when the leather and metal collide with your red ass.

“Did you lose count?” Din sounds amused; he knows he’s distracted you, knows you’ve disappeared into your own head. A rookie mistake.

“… Yes.” You admit, a little sullen. You pride yourself on being good for him, but you can’t claim to be if you can’t even keep count of his punishments.

“So not only will you disobey me, you don’t even have the manners to pay attention when I’m teaching you a lesson.” There’s a cold amusement to his voice, low and dark. You can feel how hard he is, pressed against your stomach.

“I’m sorry, sir.”

“You aren’t, but you will be. Let’s start again, shall we?” He doesn’t wait for you to answer, knows you won’t argue as he raises the belt again. “Try and keep up this time.”

#my writing #din djarin x reader #din djarin #dark!din #if you squint #answered #Pedro Pascal #din djarin smut

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roguetonorth · 2 years

Text

Through the dark

Requested by: @jbbuckybbarnes - #1. "Stay." & #10. "Is that a drawing of me?"

pairing: din djarin x reader

warnings: tons of fluff, the helmet comes off, kissing, and all the soft stuff we love so much <3

summary: You hadn't seen din, but when his features become familiar to your touch, your imagination wonders what laid under the helmet; though the last thing you expected was him to find that out.

word count: 3.486k

a/n: i have no idea what this is but there's so much fluff it barely makes sense

• masterlist • send me a request! •

First, he gave you his name.

Then, the first time he kissed you, it was through beskar.

But the first time you saw him, it was in the dark.

And you saw him with your touch, with your heart.

Your palm met his skin, soft, warm and welcoming skin. Little curls swallowed your fingertips at the nape of his neck. And you felt Din's pulse run as wild as your own under your touch.

Soft pants of breath tickle where they meet your wrist, setting your chest aflame and seeding a wave of haze through your veins. Peaceful silence dangled between you and Din as he let you map out his features at your own pace, his eyes ever locked with yours despite the lack of light. You held back for a few moments, scared of somehow pushing him, yet too afraid of missing the moment you found yourself in.

Before you realized gravity pulled your thumb to brush against the length of his jaw, strong and curvy angled, the stubble your digit ran over made you smile. You stroke his neck, struggling against patience, wanting to know more of what you thought you’d never have. Your mandalorian stripped bare of his beskar for you, the protection of the dark as the only dome for his creed. He had trusted you wholeheartedly and you wanted to show him he could keep on doing so.

Feeling your hesitancy, Din chuckled softly, the sound rumbled deep in chest as he brought your hand to cup his cheek. He shivered when your fingers found the spot below his eye. Your warmth was overwhelming in contrast with the cold heavy feeling of the beskar— the only welcome touch he’d had in ever too long. Even as you repressed your touch, meeting his skin ever so lightly, it was as if you had the entire galaxy right there.

Din leaned further into your touch, until you felt short lashes as you brushed carefully over his eye. Little wrinkles framed the corner of them and they were a little bit hooded, you realized as he blinked beneath the pad of your finger. His brows lost its concerned furrow as your thumb traced them. He did frown a lot as you had thought, the evidence of it remaining there even as he leaned further into your touch, amused even. Though not even forever would be enough for you to absorb all of this, you moved on to his nose, tracing its delicate yet firm curve. Bridge to tip carved in your brain as you pictured it to be the most remarkable feature of his. Then your fingertip found its way to his lips. Dry and plush, the bow of it spaced and curvy. They met your thumb in a tiny motion, your mouth fell agape both from the kiss he pressed upon your thumb and because of the scruff that adorned his upper lip. And you bit the stupidest smile ever to yourself.

Though it was hard to make out something in the dark, you felt like his cheeks had grown red.

Time carried on leisurely— it could have been an age and it could’ve been a second. Right there, as din pulled you closer, leaning to rest his back on the wall of your now shared cot, you were sure you were the closest to heaven you’d ever be. You accepted his arms on your back, finding a way to be as close to him as possible without making yourself embarrassed. You sat next to his form, still facing him, the awe you found yourself in so strong your brain was still short-circuiting. Din, though, was still silent, lost in the moment just as you were. It was only when you lifted another hand to his face that you noticed he’d been holding it, causing you to chase your breath once again. You ignored the heat creeping to your cheeks upon the realization of his gaze burning through you to lift your intertwined hands to hover over his face. As your skin meets his for the second time, it feels natural.

You take his face in your hands to bring him back to reality. And you were so close to him. Strands of fluffy hair fell over his forehead as you leaned in the furthest you dared, leaving a reverent kiss between his brows, "You, Din," you whispered to him, brushing the unruly curls back into place, "You’re my star."

"Yours?" he whispered back, tenderness sparking through his tone as he let out a breathless little chuckle.

"Umhm," you hummed positively as you nuzzled into his neck, hand cradling his hair.

And this time it was Din's turn to smile to himself.

The next morning you felt fluttery as a summer breeze. The flashbacks of him wrapped in secrecy within your being even as sleep left your system. As you shifted from your spot in the cot, It took you some minutes to realize if that had really happened or if it had been a fever dream— until you felt comforting warmth in the sheets that could only be Din's.

Then, you saw him in the hull, sitting on a crate, addressing his vambraces to his wrists, and when his helmet tilted up to look at you, you felt like something had shifted between the both of you.

You had always cared for him, and him for you. You saw the way he was kind, brave and everything else. He was something you wished but thought could never have. You felt like he shared such thoughts. Though you wouldn't care to admit, the greatest of your fears in this moment was that Din regretted letting you get so close, letting you know him.

You approached him silently, and he didn't say anything either. His mind was running a thousand miles on everything you could have thought of him amidst the dark. Was he like you expected? Well you hadn't exactly seen him. But it actually did feel like you did. Din hadn’t received such affection ever since he was a child. And he was sure it didn’t make a difference for him— But then he met you. Maker, he’d started craving it.

Since the beginning he knew you were different. It started off with some mutual liking, but then he started feeling shy. Every smile, every brush of hands and every glance you’d give him was enough to have his chest warming. Right now, as you offered him a small smile and placed a hand on his shoulder, you had him feeling a whole new way.

The hardest thing he’d been through was to fight sleep with his arms around you. But if he was to be honest, he hadn’t gotten any rest at all. Din of all things was also an overthinker, and every possible reaction you could’ve had upon actually seeing him —which you hadn’t— trundled to his mind.

And he thought about you seeing the real him more often than he thought he should.

Of course you had been curious naturally, but you never had asked him about the helmet. You had never wondered too much about what he looked like underneath it, above all because you respected him. So It didn't feel right. And now that you had that precious bit of him, though you wished to have more, you couldn’t be happier.

You didn’t think seeing or touching him would change something between the both of you as you loved him in any and every way. But now, after he had given you more of him than you thought he would, Din felt a little bit more real. A little bit more yours.

Rising up from the crate to grab his stuff, he stopped in front of you. And you held a sweet smile on your face as you took a grab of his arms to bring him closer. Din mirrored your actions, bracing himself with a hand on your side. The pace of his heart was almost settling when you pulled him for a hug, which he embraced eagerly.

You felt him unconsciously leaning into your touch.

“Everything’s alright?” you ask, pulling away just enough to stare at him, trying to somehow catch a glimpse of the softness hidden by the dark visor.

He draws in a breath as if he was going to say something, but decides just to nod at you instead before moving his arms to pull you closer again. “I have to go,” he says almost inaudibly, more of a reminder to himself than to you.

“I know. I'll miss you.”

“I’ll miss you, cyare.” You feel him give you a kiss in your temple, with warm lips you could only long to have against your own. The motion is soft and tender; it almost feels like you're melting onto him. “a lot.”

You searched his eyes again and you could feel din staring at you the same way you did. You didn't know where you gained the courage from, but before you knew you placed a peck to his helmet, where you thought his mouth would be.

"Come back.”

The next thing you heard crept to your mind hours after he left the ship; his shaked, timid voice, the beskar barrier failing to hide the shift in his tone as he gave you a tiny nod in his flustered manner. "always."

—

The following nights were somewhat difficult.

It had been one night. One night embraced and drowned in your mandalorian's scent and warmth and not having him for the next one was maddening. And you found yourself longing for the darkness of his bunk each day more. That night, submerged in the dark you didn't have the stoic, intimidating mandalorian who threw bounties in carbonite you’d heard of in the streets of Nevarro. You had din— a gentle, tender lover whose presence had become your anchor in such a stormy galaxy way before than you overstepped the line of being friends.

And in the dark, with din, not even the light of all of the stars could light up your heart brighter than he did. You had dreamt of that moment before it happened, and you kept dreaming of it after it did. Even in your sleep, you couldn't get enough of tracing every feature of him. And you felt pretty much like drawing a map of territory you had claimed your own.

He'd been gone on his journey for days now, and besides the child’s coos, when the silence within the crest had grown loud as ever, that thought came back to your mind.

You were familiar to his skin. you knew every line of his under the pads of your fingers, you missed him like your loving memories had just been a dream, and you had just woken up.

It was a little odd to try to picture him like that, though it was more like translating. You already knew him, and the idea materialized to action when he was gone, and your only distraction was to relive the memories you'd kept sacred locked within your very soul. Though you didn't know exactly how he looked like, you were sure din was the sweetest creature you’d ever lay your eyes on. If you ever did.

It started naturally. You had your sketchbook in your hands, and you were human. Although it took a bit of work, you put all of those memories into that page, every line of his you could remember translated into lines of coal.

Of course you knew the treacherous situation you were getting yourself into. Wondering about what din looked like under the helmet, and further than that, leaving evidence of it in your sketchbook. You didn’t think it would put up much of a problem anyway.

Replaying your favorite moment with him made you dizzy. Those moments he'd let himself be soft with you. But especially the night his helmet was nowhere near—It kept you trapped under a spell, one so good that worked even when all you got of him were mere daydreams. You didn't even hear the ship's ramp lowering as your mind focused solely on two tasks.

At first, din was confused when he stepped up the ramp and found you nowhere in sight as he scanned the hull. You must’ve been up to something, he concluded, stripping out of his weaponry while he stared at the ladder, waiting for any kind of movement.

If he was to be honest, he was a little bit disappointed you weren’t the first thing he saw as he entered the ship.

It had been a long hunt. He might have some wounds to be patched, though he hadn’t stopped to pay mind to them just yet. Din waited a little longer, pacing in the hull trying to decide whether he should go after you or not. Then, with a long suffering sigh he decided to go look for you in your quarters. You were definitely up to something, he thought to himself.

You jumped when you heard little pats against metal.

With your heart pulsing in your ears, realizing the noise was din coming up the ladder, you teared the page you were working on from your sketchbook the quickest you could, putting it in the nearest book you found struggled to get all your material hidden beneath your pillow before you closed your book over the drawing, rising from the bed to find shelter for it.

The second the doors slid open and the sight of him blessed your eyes, your hand loosened and the book fell onto your feet with a thud.

You quickly bent down to grab it as you felt the heat rising to your cheeks, turning around to put the book in place. You just forgot to mind the edge teared piece of paper floating to din’s feet the moment you did so.

You only noticed the tragically comic scene after you stared back at him, following the direction of his visor with wide eyes. his glare fixed in the ground. The drawing next to his feet.

Din was frozen like an statue. he- was it? there was no way- right? You couldn't- you wouldn't-

"Is that a drawing of me?" Din blurted out before he even realized.

First things first, he wasn’t supposed to see that drawing. Second, if he did, he wasn’t going to question it. And last, both were happening. You stammered, opening your mouth to answer but nothing came out.

You gazed at the t of his visor for what felt like an eternity awkwardly as ever, thinking of some excuse for that. But the truth was that you hadn’t any. Your mind went blank. You weren’t prepared for this. All you knew was that you had no idea how you got into this situation and how to get out of it.

It was only then that his words hit you. And you stuttered a gasp, “d-does it look like you?”

He remained silent, staring at the drawing. It did. You had always seen him. Though he also knew you’d understand if he decided not to deny or confirm it.

But you were wrecking him. Standing there with your face contorted in a look somewhere between regret and anxiety, he embraced the thought he had been fighting for longer than he thought it was right to— the thought he had every time he looked into your eyes.

This was nothing like din had planned it to be. And had he planned it. He still had two more fobs. He'd do it after the third, longest and hardest hunt. He would come back to you on the ship and he’d give you all of him. This, because he wanted it so badly, but courage would fail him every time he’d think about it.

You wrecked him, you ruined his plans and still, the feeling that grew in his chest was the best he ever had. All din wanted right now was to let you see for yourself his reaction, which you seemed scared of; but all the feelings he kept from you as he sustained the silence were obvious in the foolish smile din held beneath his beskar.

A shaken sigh fell from your lips as you casted your gaze everywhere but to the mandalorian. Despite you being used to reading him even through the dark, that silence was doing no good to you. You were already bracing yourself for the thick tension that would follow you for months, or maybe even the worst; the end. And it would be your fault.

As your cheeks burned torrid as well as the nervous tears you held back, a different kind of heat crept to your skin when you found his visor turned in your direction.

Din’s hand was hesitantly holding the lip of his helm as he was going to lift it off. “Din, no—,” You trailed off, panic suddenly fogging your brain, “I'll—.” Following your instincts you didn’t let yourself finish the thought as you sought to leave your bunk. That was when he stepped in your way, blocking the door with his broad frame.

“Stay.”

You oblige, freezing in front of him, your heart pounding in your throat before you found the courage to force your words through it. “I don’t— you don’t… have to do this, I wasn’t—, listen, I know I shouldn’t have-”

“Do you not want to look?” Din cut your lisped words softly.

“No! I mean, kriff, din. I do. it’s just… you shouldn’t. It feels like I'm pushing you and that’s not how this is supposed to happen. I'm thankful for every bit of you I got to have. You don’t have to do this until you truly want it.”

Though his voice comes out small, there’s just pure honesty in it. “I’ve wanted it for a long time, now.”

Din watches your gaze lit up, your mouth falling open in a breathless gasp before you stop to give yourself a moment to process what you’ve just heard.

“Only if you're fully and completely sure, din."

And was he.

You could never not be mesmerized. As the edge of his helmet revealed him, bit by bit, the warmth within your chest grew to be overwhelming. You knew what din’s decision meant, how hard it was and everything he was waiving off for you. Little did you know, he never thought it would be so easy to let go of everything he held onto his entire life. Little less would he think that it would feel so right.

Your gaze trails down to where the dim light of your bunk touches his scar-littered skin. His lips —which you had touched and longed to kiss ever since— framed by the amusing short stubble he kept, to the curve of his nose.

It’s only then that your gaze meets his for the first time ever as he lifts off the helmet completely from his head.

And Din’s eyes looked as kind as you knew his heart was.

As their warm brown shade gleamed back at you lovingly behind its little fleck of light, —though you knew it from the start— you realized you were right. You’d always known his features suited the duality of who your mandalorian was; a contrast of soft and sharp. Din Djarin actually was the most enchanting, intensely beautiful thing you’d ever lay eyes on. And something, whatever it was, just as intense drew you closer to him in a way that you’d thought he could hear the moment all remaining air you had was drawn from you wholly.

“Does it look like me?” Din quietly broke the silence, his voice, softer than it usually sounded through the modulator of his helmet, made your stomach swirl.

“No art could ever capture how beautiful you are, Din.” You shook your head, smiling widely at the sight of the man you adored so much grinning back at you for the first time of many. “Both here,” you placed your palm on his beskar covered chest, where his heart galloped underneath it. “And here.” you added, settling your hand above his cheek.

There was silence as the both of you savored that moment, your eyes never leaving din’s. He smiled wider, touching your foreheads together. “I could kiss you right now.”

“Shouldn’t you have had, already?”

“Yeah.” He nodded with a smile you could almost feel, a gloved hand settling upon your cheek.

And then Din kissed you. Not in your dreams, not through beskar— he really kissed you. It was a little bit tentative, his lips shallow and lingering before sealing them slowly and fully just as passionately against yours.

And just as everything about Din, the kiss felt as sweet and real as the love you shared, whether it was through the dark or burning bright as the stars.

#i love him #din djarin #the mandalorian #din djarin x reader #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin fluff #din djarin x reader fluff #din djarin x you #the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian x reader #mando fic #fanfic #star wars #pedro pascal

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xzaddyzanakinx · 4 months

Text

The Maker’s Angel pt. 1

Din Djarin/Mando x Female Reader

Warnings: suggestive speech, possessiveness, mentions of marking/claiming/owning.

Info: reader is tattooed with a tribal fertility symbol, I made up my own lore bc fuck it I ball. Smut coming in pt. 2.

The one where Din’s idea of foreplay is accidentally seducing himself into marrying you

His gaze locked onto yours, the softness of your smile capturing him in a way few things have. His hand reaching out involuntarily to adjust the tactical belt on his hips as He approached you. You found yourself tracking his hand as it moved, eyes lingering a bit longer than they should at the soft bulge between his thighs.

He stopped right in front of you, your bodies close enough to feel the warmth emanating from each other. The scent of your alluring perfume fills his nostrils and it's then that he decided to take his chance.

"Mesh'la," He whispered softly, keeping his voice low with a hint of breathiness from the helmet's voice modulator, "Are you alone here?"

“I am.” You answered, crossing your ankles as you leaned against the counter.

The wide legs of your harem pants swishing as you moved. You looked up at the tall man in beskar and took a sip of your drink, bringing it down to rest in your hand against your exposed stomach. Your bandeau top displaying the slightest hint of cleavage, paired with the low slung waist of your pants the entirety of your abdomen was exposed.

His eyes wander over your exposed skin, noting the tattoos on the side of your hips. His mind races with thoughts as he considered whether to push further or retreat back into his stoic shell.

"Cyar'ika," He utter quietly while keeping his helmet tilted, reaching for a drink nearby without looking away from you, "Do you know what it means?"

“No, but I do know it’s Mando’a.” You answered, keeping your gaze on the dark visor of his helmet.

He nodded slightly, understanding the curiosity in your tone. In response, he decided to explain further.

"Mesh'la," the breathy sound comes from the voice modulator as his hands grip tightly on the glass, "‘Mesh’la' means beautiful and ‘Cyar'ika’, darling. It is how we express affection towards someone."

“How sweet.” You teased with a playful smirk. He was confident but you noticed subtle signs of nervousness, like the way the leather of his gloves creaked from his clenched fists.

"Are there more stories behind those markings? Or are they just decorations?" He quickly changed the subject back to you.

“The tattoos?” You asked, tracing over the matching designs on your hips and sides. “They have meanings.”

He leaned in slightly, breath barely audible through the vocoder of his helmet as he spoke softly.

"So tell me more about them." His hand reaches out to lightly brush against one of the tattoos on your hip before pulling back quickly.

“These are traditional. Something we do on my home planet for femininity and fertility.” You said, looking down at my abdomen.

“This one,” You traced the ink above your cleavage. “is a symbol of strength and prosperity.”

His eyes drifted down to your exposed cleavage, taking in the curve of your breasts beneath your top.

"It suits you well," He muttered under his breath before turning attention back to your conversation.

"And these?" He asked reaching out to touch one on your side near your hipbone.

They’re part of these larger ones,” You said, watching as he glanced down at the swirling patterns that went over your hips and up the sides of your stomach.

You tapped your other hip. “The blank space you’re touching and this one here, we leave unfilled until marriage.”

He nodded, understanding the significance behind your tattoo. His fingers trace around its edges as if considering what it would mean to fill those empty spaces.

"It's an honor reserved only for one?" A hint of jealousy crept into his voice, "Or could there be exceptions?"

His gaze flickers back towards your exposed cleavage before returning to meet your gaze once again.

“It’s reserved only for one. No exceptions.” You said firmly. “once I’m marked, it’s for life, a sign of possession and loyalty.”

The thought of such commitment sends shivers down his spine, a primal thrill in it that piques his interest.

"Intriguing," He mumbled under his breath while maintaining eye contact, "If you were marked by me... would you continue wearing these revealing clothes?"

Your fingers tighten slightly on the glass as you tried to gauge the seriousness of his response based on body language alone.

“Mhm. It’s like a wedding band.” You finally nodded.

“They’re meant to be displayed to show dedication to our mates. It’d be insulting, disloyal… if I hid them.”

A wry smile quirks the corner of his hidden mouth at your answer.

"Hmm," He replied, letting out a soft chuckle beneath the beskar helmet, "You would wear such displays even if that mate wasn’t standing beside you? If they weren’t present?”

“Of course.” You responded.

“Women of my tribe never cover these tattoos, whether they are filled or not. It would be punishable by my mate if I covered them willingly. It would be disrespectful.”

A hardened edge crept into his voice, reflecting a mixture of fascination and unease. "And if you refused to wear them?"

A sinister grin spreads across his lips as he leaned closer, his helmet mere inches away from your face. He was challenging you, trying to provoke you.

“If I refused to let my chosen fill my tattoos?” You asked in surprise. “I wouldn’t be permitted to marry.”

“I can date and what-not… but once I’ve chosen someone and they ask to fill my tattoos, if I accept, then I’ll be mated to that person for life.”

The concept leaves an unusual taste in his mouth, and yet there's something exhilarating about it.

"And what if your 'chosen' tried to force you?" He asked his query coldly. His voice echoed in the confined space between your little bubble among the other bar-goers, "How would they be punished?"

“If my chosen tried to fill my tattoos without consent, they would be brought before the tribe leaders and put to death.” I said plainly.

“Disrespect of a woman, or of any possible partner is considered worthy of death.”

He nod slowly, taking in your reply. A silent respect forms for the severity of consequences within this strange culture.

"And what if you were to breed with another man despite being marked?" His words cut through the heavy silence like a sharp blade, "Would they meet the same fate as one who attempts to fill your tattoos without permission?"

“It would depend on their status.” You said in a serious tone.

“If they were also marked, yes he would be put to death.” You said cooly.

“But if I were marked, and ‘bred’ with someone un-marked, it would be possible that I could be put to death. It’s up to the discretion of my mate.”

His eyes narrowed slightly behind the visor as he heard your sweet voice repeat such a primal word back to him, but he pushed aside those thoughts for now.

A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips, impressed by your commitment to tradition as it closely mirrored his own.

"Sounds fitting," He whispered softly, still processing this new information while keeping an eye on the pulsing lights reflecting off your body in intriguing ways, casting shadows and highlights across your curves.

"So telling lies within our relationship... would that be tolerated?" His eyes flickered back to yours, searching for any signs of dishonesty in your gaze.

“No, honesty is more valuable than any other virtue.” You said plainly, raising an eyebrow at his choice of ‘our’. “If I were to lie to my mate, they could punish me as they saw fit.”

He nods slowly, understanding the gravity of your words. His gaze roams over your body again, taking in every curve and contour.

"And if I were to lie?" He asked casually, my voice holding a hint of curious lust.

“I would be allowed to punish you as I saw fit as well.”

A chuckle escapes him, finding humor in this twisted game of power dynamics that had fallen so perfectly into his grasp. After years of cruelty from the galaxy, he was being gifted the perfect woman on a silver platter.

"So it appears we both have leashes," He said with a sly grin widening across his face, "But only one is adorned by truth and honor."

His fingers trace the pattern on your tattoo again before pulling back abruptly; hunger gnawing at the pit of his stomach like an insatiable beast.

“Not true, the males also get marked after filling their mates tattoos.” You grinned.

His helmet tilted as he furrowed his eyebrows slightly at your correction, intrigued by the complexity of this ritual.

"So both parties are equally bound?" His voice sounding even deeper in close proximity, "The difference lies merely on who draws first blood?"

“It’s traditional that the female gets her tattoos filled first.” You reach your hand up to touch your neck and circle the blank space there. “Then she gets to choose a symbol of protection for her mate, and tattoos it right here.”

"Could this protection symbol also be one of love and devotion instead?" He asked, his tone truly serious.

“Of course.” You nodded. “but you are a bounty hunter correct?” You raised an eyebrow in question.

A faint scoff left his lips as if amused by your quick change in topic.

"That I am." He confirmed nonchalantly while keeping eye contact steady, "But what does it matter for our current conversation?"

“Well you asked about the different symbols a woman could choose to mark their mate with.” You stated with a smirk. “you’re a bounty hunter, so I would choose a symbol of protection for your tattoo.”

You brought your hand up to softly brush against his neck.

“So you’d be safe. Even when I’m not with you.” You purred.

A low growl rumbles in his throat at the thought of you being just as possessive over him as he was beginning to feel over you.

"And what symbol would you choose for me?" The question comes out huskier than intended, confirming his growing fascination with you.

“The most powerful protector of my people, reserved only for the strongest of warriors. The sigil of the Manticore.” You said confidently.

He hummed, the admiration for your bravery and faith in him clear. "Thank you," His voice cracked slightly, revealing the inner turmoil he was suffering. "that... means a lot to me."

Slowly, you remove the glass from your hand and place it back on the countertop, your heart races faster as he tilted his helmet closer.

“Though, you are a Mandalorian. Your tattoo would need to be displayed permanently… since you don’t show your skin, it would need to be etched into your armor.” You said matter of factly.

“Does the Manticore hold meaning in Mandalorian culture as well?” You asked.

Din paused for a moment, pondering over your question.

"The Manticore is known among us." His fingers twitch unconsciously at the thought of engraving such an image onto his armor,

"However it's not celebrated or revered like within your culture." He admitted gruffly. "But its symbolism aligns with one of protection which suits our conversation perfectly."

“How convenient.” You grinned.

He can't help but chuckle at your assertion, finding amusement in his luck at this truly perfect situation he’d fallen into.

"Yes, convenient indeed." His gaze locks onto yours once more as a sudden idea strikes him,

"Then when we reach an agreement for our mating rituals... I should start by engraving that symbol into my armor." He asked, a hint of excitement in his rumbly voice "A show of good faith from both sides?"

“Yes.” You blushed.

His heart beats rapidly against against chest, anticipation filling every fiber of his being, he felt as though his heart would beat through his beskar at any second.

"Then let us make this arrangement official." He reached out to cup your chin gently, turning your face towards his, "Do you consent to be marked by me?"

“Are you serious?” You gasped. “That’s not funny Din.”

“D-don’t say that if you don’t mean it.” Your eyes watered.

Relief washed over him at your response, a bit of remorse welling up inside from causing you momentary stress.

"I am serious." His voice is soft and sincere now, "And I promise to respect whatever decision you make next."

“W-will I ever be allowed to see your face?” You asked quietly.

The question catches him off guard, causing him to pause for a moment before answering honestly.

"After our mating rituals are completed... yes." A smile evident in his tone, "You may see my face then. However, this is non-negotiable; it's part of our agreement."

His eyes search yours once more, ensuring you understand the stakes involved

“I accept.” You nodded, a serious expression plaguing your face.

A sigh of relief escapes him as he slowly lowers his hand from your chin, returning it to the countertop. A contented hum vibrates in my throat.

“The Maker has finally sent me my angel.” He whispered huskily, grabbing your hip firmly and pulling you against his chest in a crushing hug.

Din’s List

TagList:

@wickedtactics @tsugumiholic @kingdomhate

@burnthecheshirewitch@cherrylooney@star611

@tahliac11 @exquisit?corpse @jeldog @arzua10

@bby-imasociopath @depressed-kay

@aliciaasky@naty-1001 @mrsmikaelsxn

@illiethefairy @slut-4-ani @offthethirlwall

@slutforhayden @ausskywalker @angelsadmired

@slut4starwarssmut @chocolatepalacecloudhoagie

@starkiller419 @hearts4mitski4 @no1klet @lethargic

@allhailbuckybarnes @shadowhuntyi

@bobtheturmpetman29 @mortalheartache

@fallinlovewithevil@sythethecarrot

@joshfutturmansrighthand @chaoticantihero

@vadersslut @luvvfromme

#din dijarin fanfiction #din dijarin x reader #din djarin #the mandolorian x reader #the mandolarian #mando x reader #mando #mando x you #mando fanfiction #starwars fandom #star wars x reader #star wars smut #star wars fanfiction #star wars anakin #anakin skywalker

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javierpinme · 2 years

Text

Heat Signature

Pairing: Din Djarin x f!reader

Word count: 3.7k

Rating: Explicit (18+ ONLY, minors this is not the fic for you)

Warnings: unprotected sex (this is fictional wrap it up irl), cum eating, Mando’s manspread is its own warning tbh, attempted assault (grabbing your arm until Mando intervenes), f! masturbation until interrupted how dare, the helmet doesn’t come off until it does, cursing, I think that’s it but as always let me know.

Summary: You realize Mando has a feature in his helmet that lets him see how hot you are at a really inconvenient time. That’s it. That’s the plot.

A/N: Some of you may recognize this as a sneak peek I posted months ago and never posted. So yes, it’s finally here.

Masterlist:

It didn’t happen all at once.

The whispered name and choked moans the Crest held secret within her vessel each night for the only name you’ve come to know over months.

It was a series of instances where the seemingly impenetrable tower broke down the walls you built since joining his crew to take care of the child and any small level fixes on his pre-imperial gunship.

The child being the better showcase of your skills and less of a fire hazard—so far.

It was the close quarters giving you allowance to see the man beneath the beskar, the man you had previously suspected was one of the very droids you learned later he has a deep seeded hatred for.

It was the tentative affection that he held for the child that now extended to you—the latter less obvious but silently present. Most would part for the Mandalorian and the few others that didn’t learned after being on the receiving end of his fierce protective instinct.

Those same hands that held a delicacy that seemed unfitting for his weighted armor when patching up your injuries—the combination of sharp and soft edges filling in the blanks for most nights spent in your bunk with your hand between your thighs.

You rise from the darkness of your bunk, the black undershirt that didn’t belong to you rising up your bare thighs during a long stretch, a pleasant hum rising from within your chest. With how early it still was you expected Mando to either still be asleep or hidden up in the cockpit like he usually was. Your path to the ‘fresher clear to clean up after waking up with an ache you’ve grown familiar with over the past few months.

Until you pause at the open doorway of your bunk at the sight of your employer sitting on a crate.

The swoop in your stomach causes bile to rise up your throat at the possibility of him having heard you. Even stronger when his visor meets your wide eyes and he just—stares. Even without the luxury of seeing his eyes, you can feel them burning into you. You wring your hands together in a nervous tic and croak out a good morning, before cutting through the silence by opening the pod across the room to bleary tired eyes.

“Aw. I’m sorry for waking you up, baby. You hungry?” The responding chirp answering your question and you’re grateful for the distraction.

You pick him up and extend your arms up in the air, a delighted giggle coming from above, ignoring the slight breeze you feel on your ass, unaware of the creaking of leather gloves and the hitch under his modulated breath.

You kiss the top of the child’s head and feed him a ration bar and turn to the still silent Mandalorian finding your voice.

“So, I’m going to clean up real quick before we leave okay?”

You walk towards him for the transfer of his foundling, the beating of your heart still not recovered from seeing him so soon after your release. A shiver having nothing to do with the cold within the Crest runs up your spine and you swallow a strangled moan before it surfaces when the sound of his trousers catching on the wooden crate directs your attention below—your core clenching around nothing as he widens his legs, creating a perfect V for you to fit into.

His hands linger on yours as you hand over the child and escape to the ‘fresher when he nods. Not to trail your hand between your thighs like you wanted to, but instead turn the knob on the coldest temp you can manage hoping to erase the visual you just created.

Maker. This was going to be a long supply run.

The time spent in the shower doesn’t have its desired effect, your muscles still taut and full of tension when you cover up with mixes of beige and cream to combat the heat of the twin suns on Tatooine.

You watch the little green head of the child poke out the satchel his adoptive father has around him and respond with a wave to the child’s toothy grin from in front of you, letting out a chuckle when you see his three little fingers waving back. You stop when Mando’s helmet tilts in question and shake your head in disregard. He stops walking until you catch up with him.

He resumes once you’re next to him and he hovers his hand on your lower back, not quite touching you and it takes everything in you to not stop until his hand presses into you.

“Stay close, Mesh’la.”

The market is busy considering how early it was in the day, but more than likely trying to beat the unbearable heat just like you. You fall a little behind Mando when trying to weave through the crowds, pausing every few stalls to find anything of interest for the three of you.

You’re distracted from your surroundings and reminded of your recklessness when you feel someone’s bare hand grab onto your arm and pull, turning your head towards your attacker—human—opening his mouth to voice whatever he wanted from you until you see immediate panic followed by his face being shoved onto a vendor table, his arm being twisted in an unnatural position behind his back.

Pulled out of your delayed reaction you look up at your expressive Mandalorian—not in the way of speaking but by the creaking of his gloves from his tight grip, almost vibrating with anger when he towers over the man despite his pleas to be let go. He doesn’t respond to the upset vendor when pallie fruits begin to fall off the table and into the sand.

Your mouth gapes open at the show of strength he exudes from manipulating the man’s joints and a heat simmers in your belly once again, arousal slicking your panties.

“Mando.” His name coming out far more breathy than you intended before trying again after clearing your throat.

“It’s okay. I’m okay.”

You tentatively grasp the fabric of his flight suit from under his pauldron and his helmet snaps towards you, keeping his visor locked with your pleading eyes until he bends down towards the man with a snarl filtering through his vocoder, shoving him off the table.

He apologizes to the vendor and drops a substantial amount of credits into their hands and curls his hand around your lower back, his side brushing against yours when he pulls you in step with him—unaware of your building need for him to shove you down onto one of the passing tables and take what he wants.

Your chest heaves when the images you’re creating start to be too much and feel the need to escape to the ship.

“You know. I think the heat is starting to bother me so I’ll meet you back at the ship.”

Concern drips from his tone and he closes the distance between you again, extending a hand towards your shoulder but dropping just as quick. “Are you sure? We can l-”

“N-No. I’m fine. We need supplies. I’ll just meet you back at the Crest.”

You stroke the child's ear from inside the satchel and his visor never breaks from his attention on your face searching for distress, nodding his head when he doesn't find any and you speed towards the hangar.

You needed to get back to the Crest. Now.

You sigh in relief when gunship comes into view and greet Peli who dismissively waves back until she returns to yelling at her droids. You push the button to direct the ramp down to the sand and press it closed after rushing up the gangplank. You need privacy so every minute counts until Mando returns from gathering supplies.

The cold temperature of the hull is a welcomed feeling after being out in the hot suns for most of the morning. You squeeze your thighs together to create some sort of friction before you can step under the water of the ‘fresher.

You haphazardly throw your sweat soaked clothes onto the floor and step under the lukewarm water washing away the dirt and sand quickly just in case he returns immediately after you finish. The warm water makes your mind blank until the throbbing of your pussy brings you back to why you went here in the first place.

You replay your tried and true fantasy while trailing your hand down your stomach, your free hand circling your nipple until it stands at attention, creating a zap of pleasure that shoots down to your toes.

He’s railing into you on top of the control panel, uncaring of you accidentally hitting a button—his prized possession and that only makes slick pool from your entrance even more, mixing with the water that trickles down your inner thighs.

You press your fingers on your swollen clit, still sensitive from your release earlier in the day. The thump of your head on the wall and the soft moan spilling out of your lips is almost muffled by the running water when you rub slow circles where you’re throbbing for release.

You can almost feel the friction of his chestplate on your bare breasts, keening from the phantom burn of it on your nipples—until he moans out what you've grown to enjoy in the almost affectionate tone it holds regardless of being unaware of the meaning. Cyar'ika.

You clench around your fingers when you pump them in and out of your entrance and rub the heel of your hand on your clit, your chest heaving in heavy pants. Your thighs tremble and you lean your body against the wall to keep your knees from buckling, wincing from the cold tiles against your back.

He’s moaning out your name so sweet, tone dripping with desire and spilling out praises of how good you feel with him inside.

A knock breaks you out of your haze and you’re mortified when you realize him calling your name was in fact real. You wince when you pull your fingers out from where you’re still throbbing and place your palm on your chest to calm down your breathing from the ruined orgasm—your pulsing temples matching in synchronization with your erratic heart rate.

“J-Just a second. Give me a minute.”

You curse under your breath and rush to throw your clothes back on wishing that you had brought some clean ones with you instead. The shifting of his boots tell you that he is waiting outside the door and is confirmed when you end up chest to chest with beskar.

His helmet flickers up and down your frame in a slow motion from your chest to the apex of your thighs where it stays. Embarrassment creeps up again that he might have heard you moaning out his name and you stare with wide eyes into the black slots of his visor.

He makes no moves to allow you even space to breathe and your pants begin to fog up his helmet. You press your thighs together and try to hide the hitch in your breath when the seam of your trousers catches on your clit just right.

You clear your throat and tap the side of his helmet to lighten the mood. “What’s going on in that bucket of yours?”

You walk past him in an attempt to try to escape to your bunk once your question is met with silence.

“Heat signature.”

Your hair stands up and goosebumps prickle all over your skin at the drop of his voice, pausing your desperate pursuit to hide under your threadbare blanket for the rest of the day.

“Heat signa-” Your mind splutters to catch up with what he said and your heart threatens to crash out of your chest when you understand the implication. You take a deep breath before you turn around to face him.

He clenches his fists in a tight white knuckle grip and his intense stare from behind the helmet has you scrambling to ask for forgiveness. Resigned already to being dropped off on the next planet after his next bounty or parting ways back at Nevarro.

Your stomach bottoms out when instead he tilts his head as he looks you up and down again, ogling you achingly slow. Embarrassment fades to white hot arousal and now you’re sure it’s being reciprocated. You walk towards him with a deliberate sway in your hips and his visor follows the motion, sliding your palms up his chest plate until your fingers find a spot from under his pauldron that isn’t covered by beskar.

So you take a risk.

“Want to know what I was thinking about?” You purr.

He nods and towers over you when he presses you against the wall and you have to tilt your head up to meet his gaze from behind the helmet.

“I was thinking about you bending me over that vendor’s table earlier. Claiming me in front of everyone. Then I was thinking about us in the cockpit and you thrusting into me on the control panel so hard that I have to press my hand onto the transparisteel to keep myself from sliding.”

“Maker…” He whispers under his breath barely picked up by his vocoder and rolls his hips experimentally against yours.

“Fuck, Mando.” Your eyelashes flutter when his growing bulge glides against your clothed clit perfectly. You grip on the soft fabric of his cowl for leverage, meeting his grinding with heavy pants and pull it down as best you can.

Skin reveals itself and you can’t resist digging your face in. He smells of blaster residue, leather, and something earthy that is just him when you breathe his scent in selfishly and press your lips against his neck.

The feeling of your plush lips and hot breath on his bare skin makes his head dizzy with want and one of his hands grasps the back of your head when he thrusts hard with a broken moan. He tilts his head back to allow you more room to explore with your mouth and you’re not unaware of the trust he’s giving you by letting you touch him.

He grabs your thigh and wraps it around his waist, the new angle allowing the head of his cock to bump against your clit. You keen with each building thrust and your eyes flutter closed when his loud groan echoes in the hull.

It’s not enough and too much at the same time.

“More.” You whisper in hot breaths on his jaw and alternate with nibbling and sucking on the revealed skin, discovering the stubble that peppers his jawline. He has facial hair.

“You’re so fucking warm. I can-fuck-I can see where you’re hot from my helmet cyar'ika...”

You should be embarrassed that he could see how much you ached for him all this time, but you’re too turned on to care. The nails of your free hand travel up his neck and coax their way under the back of his helmet until you selfishly discover his curls.

“Mando, ‘onna cum.”

“No.” He growls and pulls away his hips from yours, a dark chuckle coming out of his vocoder when you glare at him.

He doesn’t allow you time to complain when he towers over you again, this time directing you walk backwards towards his cot, his gaze unbreakable from yours even when covered by his helmet.

As soon as he crosses the threshold of his bunk, the door closes with a slam of his gloved hand, his chest plate glinting against the light with every heaving of his chest.

Maker, he’s really riled up.

“Do you want this…me?” He breathily exhales.

You pause at the nervousness radiating from him, a complete change from the confident man just a few feet away from where you’re at now. It’s almost as if he’s-

“Mando, have you never?”

Your hands stroke where the beskar isn’t on his forearms and he flinches at first but relaxes from your touch.

“I have but I’ve never had it…mean something.” He trails off.

Oh.

You walk close to him until your hips meet again, a grin crossing your face when you hear the hitch through his modulator, and your fingers find their way to his cowl again.

“Yes. Want this. Want you.” You purr, peppering kisses between each declaration, gently biting his neck and licking the salt of his skin to soothe the pain.

You yelp when he quickly grabs your thighs to drop you onto his bunk and giggle at his haste to remove his beskar plates when you spread your legs displaying the damp spot on your trousers.

“Sweet girl.” He brokenly moans and trails his fingers on the hem of your shirt, rubbing circles just above the waistband of your trousers.

“Please. Can I?”

A shiver runs through you that this hardened warrior is begging and you coo. “Yes, baby. Waited so long for you.”

He urgently pulls off your shirt and your breasts spill out of the fabric of your breast band when it gets thrown blindly. He pauses to admire the curves before pulling off his leather gloves and you sigh in pleasure at the warmth of his calloused hands as he cups them.

He gets encouraged from your noises and circles his thumbs on your nipples, pressing you into the mattress pad, his cock twitching with every roll of his hips. You whine at the stimulation, the coil building below but never quite falling over the edge so you pull on his pants to convey what you want.

He gets the hint and pulls his cock out, swirling his thumb around the head as a pearl of pre-cum beads. He pumps his cock in faster strokes when you pull off your trousers, not expecting for you to be bare and glistening underneath him.

He leans down and presses his helmet against your forehead, unknowing of the meaning but intimate all the same. You push his hand away from his cock, greedily pumping him a few times before lining him up with your entrance.

His cock stretches your pussy as it breaches your core, just on the edge of pain from his girth. He gasps once he’s finally buried to the hilt and triumph fills you when his elbow buckles as he struggles to keep himself up.

“Fuck. Fuck. Give me a-sweet girl you feel so good. I need a-” He gasps and crushes you when you clench wet and hot around him, an apology immediately spilling out of his modulator.

You roll your hips to prompt him to move and he thrusts into you with a snarl, his cock brushing against that spongy spot from within your inner walls and pulling a moan out of you.

“How long?” He groans.

Your eyes flutter close and you bite your lip until you can taste something metallic on your tongue. “Since Cantonica.” Since you met.

He leaves the warmth of your cunt when he pulls out immediately and you whine from the emptiness, your hands searching to pull him back in. “Mando?”

He backs up from you and you’ve clearly said the wrong thing and-

His hand flicks off the light switch and suddenly you’re bathed in darkness, unable to even see your own hand in front of your face.

“Din.”

“What?” You respond blindly.

All you can hear is rustling of fabric and something heavy landing on the floor. It’s not until you feel his breath hot against your ear and the dip of the mattress pad as his knee leans on it that you realize he’s not wearing his helmet.

“My name is Din, sweet girl.” He purrs and you grip his shoulders to ground yourself, unexpectedly feeling his bare skin instead of his flight suit.

Your breath hitches at how warm he is and you greedily trail your fingers over his scars and promise to kiss every single one of them until all he can remember is the feeling of your lips. He interrupts your praise and crashes his lips against yours—sloppy and unpracticed but equally as eager in his fervor to inhale every bit of you.

He may not talk much, but that doesn’t apply in how he touches you, grips your hips like a vice and pushes himself back into your wet heat with an obscene groan. You hope it bruises, needing a physical reminder when you wake up sore and sated tomorrow morning.

Your nipples brushing against his chest is even better than you imagined now that he’s equally as naked as you are and his cock brushes against something amazing within you and he slams his hips in that spot when he feels your cunt pulse around him.

“Feel so good, baby.” You whimper and bury your fingers in his unruly curls, mussing them up even more with his harsh pace.

Every tinge of pain from your pulling at his hair sends pleasure shooting up his spine and his hand finds your clit, circling it in tight strokes to push you over the edge as he hammers into you.

“D-Din-” Your orgasm slams into you, your cunt pulsing around his cock and he almost slips out by the force of it as your thighs tremble with the intensity, white hot pleasure behind your eyes and your cum dripping onto the pad.

He grinds into you to work you through your climax before following you into bliss, spilling his cum inside of you and gently thrusting to prolong his own. When he pulls out his cum leaks out of you and joins yours on the mattress.

He hums and runs his finger through the lips of your cunt and you hiss from the overstimulation. His thumb pulls at your bottom lip and you open wide, humming with pleasure when he sinks his finger into your mouth to taste both of your cum together, swirling your tongue around him until it’s completely soaked.

He pulls his finger out of your mouth with a pop and pulls you into his side, laying your head in the crook of his neck. The tips of his fingers softly stroke your back and with his free hand he holds your own over his heart.

His soft touches and peppered kisses begin to lull you to a deep sleep, curled in the warmth that is the previously untouchable Mandalorian.

"Oh god, the kid." You leap up before being pulled back into Din's strong arms, his cock twitching back to life as it slots between your ass cheeks.

"He's sleeping. Now get back here, Mesh'la. I'm not done with you yet." He growls into your ear and your pussy clenches in anticipation of what's to come.

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wheresarizona · 2 years

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Deeply Devoted

summary: It’s your first time on an ice planet, and Din didn’t warn you about the dangers of snow. Luckily, he knows just how to warm you up.

rating: E (18+!! Soft!Din Djarin, unprotected p in v (wrap it up!), creampie, first kiss, love confessions, Din taking care of you, protective!Din Djarin, Din being a consent king, feelings, softness, blindfolds.)

pairing: Din Djarin/f!reader

word count: 2400+

a/n: A fic for my follower celebration for @secondalto, who requested Din Djarin and the prompt, “Stay here, and I'll run you a bath.” This one kind of took on a life of its own. Reader in this one was born and raised on a desert planet and has very little knowledge about snow/ice planets. I know I said I'd post Tuesday, but I was feeling it. Shoutout to @juletheghoul, who helped with ideas and is amazing. Thank you to @invisibleismyname for the beta!

Masterlist

You’d never seen snow.

It’d been fascinating, coming out of the Razor Crest to see the white wisps falling from the sky, the ground and everything surrounding it bright white. You’d also never been somewhere so cold, either, pulling your jacket closer to your chest, hugging yourself as Din led you through the snow-covered streets of the small town, people moving out of the Mandalorian’s way.

It always made you smile how he intimidated people without doing anything, when you knew he was actually very soft and sweet under all that shiny beskar.

You’d been traveling together for some months now, after he’d stopped on the desert planet you lived and grew up on for a hunt. You had been looking for a way off of the world without anyone knowing, your family having ties to some unsavory people that you wanted no part of, and since you happened to be a grown woman, taught at an early age ways around ship security without detection, you just broke into the Razor Crest while Din was gone, and stowed away.

Yes, sneaking up on a heavily armed Mandalorian was not a good idea.

But you’d been desperate.

Luckily, he hadn’t found you for hours, the ship on course through hyperspace. He’d pulled a blaster on you, which was expected, helmet tilted in confusion, demanding to know how you’d gotten on board, and you made sure he knew you weren’t a threat, and offered a substantial bag of credits for travel.

“I’m not a taxi. You’re off when we land.”

Except, you’d made yourself useful around the ship; helping him make the security better, cleaning, talking to him, and at some point, he’d decided he didn’t mind having you around and said you could stay on as a crew member.

You got to know each other, and feelings developed, one thing led to another, and eventually, the tension snapped. You found yourself bent over a crate, pants down your legs, cool beskar digging into the backs of your thighs with each push of his hips as he made you see stars. He’d told you his name while he was deep inside you, wanting to hear you say it when he made you come, and you’d said it, repeatedly.

That first time had been a couple of months ago, and you’d both jumped head first into the relationship. Din was sweet and devoted to you, and constantly showed you how much he cared; you were so unbelievably happy, giving him the same energy back. You hadn’t seen him without his helmet and understood his creed, he slept with it on, removing the rest of his armor so he could hold you close on the tiny cot at night, and you didn’t mind it one bit.

Now, Din was leading you through the cold streets to an inn, getting you a room. He was going on a hunt that would take an hour or two, and he wanted you to be cozy while you waited for him to return, and for the both of you to have an actual bed to sleep in—the fact he’d thought of such things made you feel all soft and gooey.

“Is it okay?” He’d asked when you’d entered your accommodations.

It wasn’t anything too spectacular, but contained the necessities you’d need—a bed and ‘fresher. You were surprised to see a bathtub, so used to only having access to showers.

You stood in front of him, leaning up to kiss his helmet.

“It’s perfect,” you smiled.

“Good.” He nodded.

“I am so excited about the bed.”

“We’ll sleep well.”

“Oh, I was thinking more space to do activities that didn’t require clothes. Don’t get me wrong, we make the cot work, but imagine all we could do on there.” You pointed with your thumb at the bed behind you.

You heard him clear his throat, the sound staticky from his modulator.

“Fuck,” he breathed.

You grinned.

“Now, you go catch your bounty, and I’ll be waiting for you to come back.”

He pulled you into his arms, tucking your head under his chin.

“I wish I didn’t have to go,” he said softly.

“I know,” you replied. “You’ll be thinking about the bed the entire time.”

“I’ll be thinking about you.”

You felt your chest get tight.

“I’ll be thinking about you, too.”

He moved to press his forehead against yours, hugging you against him. He said goodbye, and when he went to leave, he stood at the door, watching you for a moment like he was trying to imprint in his mind exactly how you looked before he left, and you’d smiled at him, wishing him luck before he left, the door swishing shut behind him.

You spent your time lying on the ridiculously comfortable bed, browsing the holonet on a datapad.

Your eyes kept moving to look out of the window, seeing the flurries falling from the sky, and you thought it might be fun to go look at the town and get a closer look at the snow.

You’d put on your jacket and headed for the outdoors.

You walked around, cold in what you were wearing but not unbearable, browsing shops until you came upon a little park, teenagers of various species bundled up tight, throwing wads of snow at each other. Something hit your arm, and you looked down to see the ice melting as it fell off you.

“Sorry!” One of them said.

You smiled.

“It’s okay. What are you playing?” You asked.

He gave you a funny look.

“It’s a snowball fight. You throw the balls of snow at each other. Wanna play?”

You weren’t too sure.

“What’s the objective?” You asked.

“To try and hit people. It’s fun! Join us. Just scoop up the snow like this and use your hands to make it into a ball.”

It seemed easy enough.

You bent over, getting some into your bare hands and doing what was instructed.

“And throw it!” He said.

You aimed it at him and threw it, him laughing when he dodged.

You played with the teens, your hands going numb and teeth chattering. Your jacket had started soaking through, and even with all of the running, you were beginning to feel the cold seeping into your skin, you’d need to head back inside soon.

All the kids froze, staring past you with wide eyes, and you turned to see what was wrong.

Din was walking purposely towards you, long strides, to get to you as quickly as possible.

“What are you doing?” He asked, worry in his tone.

You frowned.

“Having fun?” Your words stuttered from your jaw moving involuntarily as you showed him the snowball in your hand.

He was in your space, plucking it from you and tossing it, grabbing your hands to inspect them.

“You’re freezing,” he said.

He rubbed his gloved hands over yours as you shivered.

“I’m fine.”

“You’re going to get frostbite. Let’s go,” he said, brokering no room for argument.

He didn’t give you a chance to respond, just pulled you along by the wrist in a hurry.

“I’m okay,” you said.

He grunted in response, making you frown.

“What’s frostbite?”

“Something that happens when your skin is exposed to extreme cold.”

Your eyes went wide.

“Is it bad?” You asked.

“Yes.”

You looked at your free hand, seeing the wrinkled skin, it tingling uncomfortably, like pins and needles. Coming outside had not been your best decision, you were realizing. Nights in the desert got pretty cold, but you could get by in just a jacket—all of the planets you’d traveled to, just that outerwear had been fine. You should have gathered you weren’t dressed appropriately by how many layers the others had been wearing and their gloves.

When you made it back to the room, Din was immediately removing your jacket from your body.

“Strip,” he said.

“What?” Your teeth chattered.

“Get naked.”

“Why?”

He sighed.

“Stay here, and I'll run you a bath,” he said in a gentle tone. “Take off your clothes.”

“A bath?”

“We need to warm you up so you don’t get sick.”

You could hear how worried he was.

“Okay,” you nodded.

Din couldn’t help himself, pulling you into his arms, and squeezing you tightly, the beskar cold against you, making you hiss.

He pulled back immediately, “Sorry,” he said, hands holding onto your arms as his t-visor tilted to look you in the eye.

You smiled reassuringly.

“It’s okay,” you said.

He sighed.

“I’ll let you know when the bath is ready.”

You nodded, and saw him hesitate.

“You can kiss me,” you said, referring to the way he pressed his helmeted forehead to yours—his way of ‘kissing’ you.

He did just that, leaning in, his helmet touching you for a few seconds, before pulling back.

“Give me a few minutes,” his voice was soft.

“Sounds good.”

He left you, heading into the ‘fresher and you heard the sound of water as you quickly removed your clothes and boots, hugging your arms against your naked chest as you shivered uncontrollably.

Din called your name, and you went, him ushering you to the bath and helping you into the hot water.

He was crouched at the side of the tub, his gloved hand stroking your cheek.

“I’ll be right back,” he said softly.

“Okay.”

You were incredibly comfortable under the water, your body warming up and making the feeling come back to your appendages. Din left the room, and you heard rustling, and minutes later, he was walking back towards you in nothing but his helmet.

Your mouth fell open as you took him in, admiring his broad shoulders and chest, his belly that had slightly softened with age, the visible silvered scars scattered on his flesh, and that tantalizing trail of hair that went down and down, your eyes following until they were between his legs, making you gulp. You’d seen him in different states of dress but never entirely naked, and you were drinking him in, mapping out every piece of golden flesh until he was beside the tub.

“Scoot forward,” he said, and you followed his order, Din stepping into the water and sinking down behind you, water sloshing as his legs stretched on either side of yours, his arms wrapping around your torso, pulling you flush against his front.

You leaned your head back against his chest and closed your eyes, smiling as he held you. You were content, happy, the chattering had stopped, and your body relaxed, melting into him.

It was minutes of silence while your body warmed, Din holding you, until he finally spoke.

“You weren’t here,” he said softly, squeezing you a little tighter.

“What?” You breathed.

“When I left, you said you’d be waiting when I returned. I…,” You felt his chest move as he took in a deep breath. “I thought you left.”

You frowned deeply, eyes flying open.

“Left? Like off-planet? Like left you?”

“Yes.” You could hear the sadness, and your heart clenched.

“Din, I’d never. I lo—care about you deeply. I’d never leave you; the thought has never once crossed my mind.”

“Are you… happy?” He asked.

“More than I’ve ever been in my entire life,” you answered truthfully.

“I feel the same,” he said.

“I’m sorry I scared you.”

“I’m glad I found you when I did.”

“I’m sorry,” you whispered.

“Don’t be.” He sighed. “I should have warned you and told you to stay in the room.”

“I just wanted to see more of the snow.”

“My sweet desert girl, almost catching her death from seeing snow for the first time.”

You snorted.

“It’s just so pretty.”

“We’ll get you the right clothes,” he said assuredly.

“I’d like that,” you smiled.

“Can you close your eyes?”

Your eyebrows creased.

“Yes?”

“Okay, close them,” he said.

You did what he said, Din moving behind you, feeling him lean over the side of the tub, and the sound of something set down.

“Keep them closed,” his voice was no longer modulated, and you sucked in a breath. “I’m going to touch you and cover your eyes. Is that okay?”

“Yes,” you whispered.

Fabric was placed over your eyes, a thin washcloth material from the feel of it.

“Lean forward.”

You moved, feeling him tie it securely to the back of your head.

“Does it feel loose at all?” He asked.

“No,” you shook your head.

“Turn around.”

You moved quickly, the water disturbed as you turned around, straddling his thighs, your hands carefully feeling his chest and moving up to wrap your arms around his neck.

“Hi,” he said softly, and you felt his breath close to your lips.

“Hi,” you replied.

Your heart was hammering in your chest, having an idea of what was about to happen.

“Can I kiss you?”

“I hoped you would.”

He chuckled, and the sound was warmer without the helmet and made a tingle move down your spine.

His big hands moved up your back, wrapping an arm around you, while a hand rested on the back of your head.

Lips brushed against yours, softly, tentatively, and you pressed harder into him. A surprised sound came out of your throat when you felt a mustache tickle your lip. You could tell he’d never done this before, and you led him, showed him, and you moaned when he’d licked across your bottom lip, happily letting him deepen the kiss. You could feel him growing hard beneath you, the kisses getting more urgent, Din figuring out quickly what to do. Your body was thrumming, core aching, wanting him desperately.

You broke the kiss panting.

“I need,” you gasped. “I need.”

“Anything,” he rasped.

“I need you.”

He groaned, hands grabbing your ass, lifting you while you moved a hand down to wrap around his length, hot and hard in your palm as you positioned him at your entrance, and started sinking down on him slowly, both of you moaning as he filled you, stretching you open.

You’d never tire of the way he felt inside you—how full you felt, the way it knocked the breath from your lungs when you bottomed out.

You both were feeling something, the emotions taking over, all of the trust and care, the way deep down you knew there would never be anyone else, that he was it for you, and you were it for him, everything came bubbling to the surface, and things got frantic.

You started working yourself on him, his hands helping you move as your mouths crashed together, tongues sliding against one another like you were trying to consume as much of the other as possible. Your fingers were tangled in his hair, surprised at the softness of the thick strands, bodies working together, feeling that familiar pull in your belly winding tighter, everything spurring you higher and higher, the rough sounds of his grunts coming out of his throat.

The coarse hair at the base of his cock was rubbing deliciously against your clit, the added stimulation rocketing you towards your high, and when it happened, when the tension in your body snapped and fell over the edge, it was with his name tumbling from your lips as he swallowed the sound, groaning as you clenched around him. He fell with you, holding you down against him, a rumbling sound vibrating against your chest as you felt him spill deep inside you, your kisses becoming languid until it was just panted breaths against each other's lips, coming down from your highs.

“I love you,” he whispered.

A smile spread across your lips.

“I love you, too, and I’ll never leave you. You’re stuck with me for the rest of your life.”

“Then marry me.”

Thank you for reading! If you'd like to be tagged in future fics, I have a link to my taglist form in my bio or on my masterlist, or you can just let me know!

Tagging: @daddydindjarin @absurdthirst @kirsteng42 @littlemisspascal @athalien @thevoiceinyourheadx @elegantduckturtle @harriedandharassed @girlofchaos @mswarriorbabe80 @spanishmossmagnolia @star017 @javier-penas-wife @artsymaddie @hansolosleftbuttcheek @deadhumourist @pretty-brown-eyess @hotchlover @lalalalemonade11 @eternallyvenus @allfoolsinluv @eppy816 @katareyoudrilling @babykangaemoji @punkerthanpascal @breezythesimp @grimeysociety @bruxasolta @peachyaeger @din-jarhead @lovesbiggerthanpride @loonymagizoologist @pinebeam @spacenerdpascal @padbrookcottage @karlawithacapitalk @trickstersp8 @that-friend-in-the-corner @iamskyereads @pedroswh0r3 @astravoyager @beskarprincessjenny @beecastle @manuymesut @alexxavicry @tiredbuthappy

#pedro pascal #din djarin #din djarin/reader #din djarin x reader #din djarin fanfiction #wheresarizona writes #wheresarizonas follower celebration

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lillian-gallows · 7 months

Text

Kinktober Day 6: Thigh Riding with Din Djarin.

Pairing: Din Djarin x Fem!Reader Word Count: 750 (short but hot) Warnings: Thigh riding (ofc), lotta dirty talk. Kinktober Master(sub)list.

Minors DNI

Your knee bounced as you watched Din go through preparations to take off, pressing buttons and flipping switches, something about it did something to you. Be it the surety with each motion, or the fact that it was him, you didn’t know, nor were you going to overthink it.

Not when the heat between your thighs was becoming unbearable, Maker the man in the pilot’s seat did things to you.

“Keep that up and I’m going to think you want something.” His voice was like a hammer through glass, so sudden and loud it felt deafening, and above all else, teasing.

“Hm?” You managed, not having been tuned in enough to really catch his words, nor able to string together an actual sentence.

You watched him turn to look at you, or rather his helmet, but you could feel the burn of his gaze on your bouncing knee, and in a second it stopped, though it felt like moving a mountain to do so, it was the only thing keeping you from crawling into his lap and begging him to fuck you within an inch of your life.

“If you can wait till hyperspace, we can take care of that.” He offered, and you could hear his smirk, he knew exactly what he made you feel, and he felt the same way, he was just better at hiding it.

“And if I can’t wait?” You asked, sounding clearer than you felt.

His helm turned back to you and you swore you could hear his brow lifting. “C’mere.” He said, patting his thigh.

“Huh?” You said dumbly, not having expected him to actually do something now.

“I said, come here. You’re going to ride my thigh, then I’m going to take off, then I’m going to take care of you properly.” He listed before you could feel him looking directly at your eyes. “Now don’t make me repeat myself.”

As quick as your knee had stopped moving, you were out of your seat and shuffling over to him, his hands gripped your hips to guide you how he wanted you, straddling his thigh facing him.

Your hands instinctively gripped his shoulders for stability, and when he felt you trying to hover over his leg, he kicked one of your feet out from under you, forcing you to rest your full weight on him.

You both stayed there for a long moment before he spoke again. “Go on, Cyar…Take what you need.” He prompted softly, and that was all you needed to begin rolling your hips against him, the hard metal of his beskar thigh guard was smoother than you would have liked, but it was solid enough to make used of your trouser zipper for friction and fuck did it feel amazing.

“There she is…” He purred through his modulator. “Poor thing. You’ve been so needy haven’t you? Couldn’t take another minute…” His words went straight to your core, pussy clenching around nothing, driving you crazy.

“Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of you soon, just take the edge off for now.” He husked and you could feel he was hard, you wanted to bag to open the front of his flight suit and ride him right then and there, but you knew how that would be met, and you weren’t looking for a punishment today.

Instead you pressed down harder, chasing your bliss as best you could, soft breathy gasps falling from your parted lips as you felt the knot low in your belly getting tighter and tighter. “C’mon, you’re so close…Cum for me, Cyar. Cum on my thigh…” He ordered, and like a magic word the knot broke, and you came shivering.

It was no where near as good as when he made you cum on his fingers, or better yet, his cock, but it was enough to get you till the ship reached hyperspace, then you knew you’d be in for it.

Rather than move you back to the copilot seat, Din help you in his lap with one arm wrapped around you while he finished flight prep, then took off with you still curled against him like it was nothing. Once those streaks of light started making their way across the window, he looked down at you, and if a person could see an expression through an emotionless helmet, you’d be seeing his heated gaze seconds before he scooped you up and took you back to his bunk.

He had a needy girl to take care of.

#din djarin x reader #din djarin smut #din djarin fanfiction #kinktober #kinktober2023

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orcasoul · 6 months

Text

We don't talk anymore

This is just a quick angsty drabble that sprang to mind late last night and I just had to write it down.

Summary: Din is struggling with his feelings for you, the woman he hired to be Grogu's carer. He never expected to fall for you, but he did and he fell hard!

Warnings: angst, pining, use of Y/N. The Razor Crest has been replaced by a new one.

"For maker's sake, will you just talk to me Mando!" You didn't mean for your voice to come out so loud but frustration got the better of you. Standing in the cockpit of the Razor Crest with your fists clenched and throat constricting from fighting back the tears threatening to spill, you wait for his reply, any reply but instead all you got was a tense, towering wall of Beskar, unshifting, motionless apart from the rise and fall of his chest plate. Sometimes it seemed as though this impassive Mandalorian was just an extension of his ship, cold metal like the walls surrounding you. But besides his stoic display you know there is a man with feelings under all that armour. You've seen that man seep through the emotional armour he often resides behind when Grogu was in his care.

Gentle touches, soft chuckles, warm words and an endless amount of adoration for his little foundling revealed to you the real person Mando tired to suppress. After a while his aloof conduct towards you began to dissolve slightly too and you found him becoming more receptive to conversations, sometimes him being the one to initiate them. But recently he seemed to have retreated back into his armour and no matter how hard you tried to talk to him, to get him to open up, he would not allow even the slightest crack to materialise. "Have I done something or said something to upset you?-" "Of course not," he cut you off quickly. "Then what is it?" You pled, voice cracking. "You never talk to me unless you have to. Ever since our last visit to Nevarro you've been..... different." You exhale tiredly on the last word and hang your head as if you've been mentally defeated.

Din noticed how you deflated, he notices everything about you. How your eyes light up when something excites or amuses you, the little creases between your eyes when you frown, the gentle sway of your hips when you walk, and your laugh..... stars, it sounds heavenly to him! You are ingrained into his very soul. He's never been in love before but he knows without a doubt that this is the real thing. You are his everything. And that's the problem. He doesn't know how to tell you how he feels. He doesn't know if you would feel the same or if you would reject him. Din found it easier to ignore his growing affection for you while you were looking after Grogu. He was the priority for the both of you and having a shared responsibility made it easier for you both to connect.

Over time he noticed the conversations between you two had gone from being just about Grogu and his next quarry to more personal and private discussions (well most of the personal discussions were about you. He did share some of his childhood memories about his parents, and his early years with the covert but he never delved too far into his past). He enjoyed learning more about you, and the more he learned, the more his love for you bloomed. He hated seeing you hurting like this now and the worst part for him is knowing he's the one causing you this pain. But he doesn't know what to do or say in this moment. Should he reach out to comfort you? Should he just shrug your reaction off and tell you you're being dramatic? Dank Farrik, he doesn't know how to speak to you now that it's just the two of you with no distractions to occupy his mind.

His thoughts drift back to that day on Nevarro; Din watched you in the distance flitting from stall to stall, eyeing up all the local produce and bespoke clothing and jewellery while he sat outside a nearby cantina with Cara Dune. "So how's the little guy doing?" She asked Din while sipping her Spotchka. Din turned to her, a wistful smile breaking under his helmet, "He's actually doing very well. Last I heard he's managed to wield the force without it exhausting him." He couldn't help the pride emanating through his words at what his little one has accomplished in such a short time. "And I see Y/N is still with you," Cara smirked as she pointed to you. "Yep," Din replied casually, looking back over to you to make sure you were still in sight. When he turned back to look at Cara she still had that smirk plastered across her face. "What?" Din asked with a hint of confusion. "Nothing.... just thought you would have told her by now...." she trailed off while smiling into her cup.

"Tell her what?" He knew what she was getting at but decided to play oblivious anyway. Cara rolled her eyes and let out a playful huff, "Oh come on, anyone can see how you two feel about each other." "I don't... she doesn't..... it's not like that." Din has never stumbled over his words before and he hated how small it made him feel. "Haven't you noticed how she looks at you? Seriously, can't you see it?" she pressed. "It's just.... it's not a good idea," Din huffed. "I hired her to care for Grogu. That was the agreement, temporary employment-" "and yet she's still here," Cara clarified. Din was silent for a moment. He hadn't thought about it that way. Why were you still with him? You've had plenty of opportunities to settle on a safe world, yet you seemed to be in no hurry to leave. He felt a spark of hope ignite from the fact that you stayed, and after what Cara had just said. Cara's next words brought a nervous lump to his throat. "You need to tell her, before it's too late." After a moment Din simply nods at her. She's right, he knows she's right but how in the kriffin hell would he even go about telling you that he's in love with you?

Looking up at Din with glassy eyes, you know what you need to ask, and you're terrified to in case the answer you get is the one that'll break your heart. But you have to know now. "Do you want me to leave? Is that it?" you questioned with a shaky voice, while Din's posture became even more rigid. "It's okay if you want me to leave, you only had to tell me. I know this arrangement was temporary. I understand if you want your home back." Din couldn't believe what he was hearing. Of course he doesn't want you to leave! If he had his way he would have melded your bodies and souls together, the two of you existing perfectly in unison for eternity. He opened his mouth to speak but words failed him, instead a strangled "Uh" was all that escaped. The response was all that was needed to confirm your worst fear. He wants you to leave, he just didn't have the heart to tell you sooner.

Your mind told you it's perfectly understandable, after all you were only here to do a job but your heart cried out in anguish. You'd fallen hopelessly in love with this hardened Mandalorian and the thought of now having to adjust to life without him left your stomach in knots. You could almost feel your heart literally breaking apart inside your chest. Now you know what it means when they say love hurts. You had hoped he would stop you, cut you off with a declaration of love... oh you felt so foolish now. "Okay," You whisper sadly. "I'll get off at the next planet. I'll just...... I'll go pack my things." Before Din could react you'd turned away and made your way down the ladder to the hull of the ship where your makeshift sleeping quarters are to collect your belongings. His fingers twitched anxiously at his sides while the rest of his body remained frozen to the spot. He can't let you go, not like this, not without you knowing the truth. Taking a deep breath he forced his legs to carry him forward, to where you are. He realises it's now or never.

As he descends the ladder he can hear the faint sound of weeping and sniffling. His heart aromatically constricted, replacing his blood flow with the need to console you, protect you, make everything right, just so he can hear that exquisite laugh of yours again. He never wants to hear or see you in such distress ever again, and you won't be if he can help it. Your back is turned as Din approaches from behind. He knows you can hear his footsteps and are deliberately avoiding him, focusing on packing away the last of your clothes into your backpack. "Don't go," Din begged quietly. "Mando..." you voice sounded exhausted, "I'm sorry but I can't do this anymore. I can't stand this constant silence between us." The tears were flowing freely now, your voice betraying that fact. "Please just listen to me. I can explain everything-" "Oh now you want to talk?" you deadpanned while turning to him. You didn't realise how close he was standing, his tall frame making you look up to meet his visor. "What could you possibly want to talk about?" Din's gloved hand slowly made contact with your cheek, the soft leather of his thumb brushing away a single tear.

"Us," he stated simply, yet at the same time his gentle caress told you there was so much more to his meaning. Your heart skipped a beat and you dared to hope. "Us?" you asked, perplexed. "Yes.... that's if.... if you want there to be an us. Because I do, cyar'ika." You gasp and for a moment you thought you must be dreaming, but no this is real and the joy you feel now is enough to make you want to burst. Din's unexpected confession had instantaneously erased all of your sorrow and anger, like a wave washing over fire. You look lovingly into his visor and tiptoe to gain a little more height. You gently press your hands to both sides of his helmets' cheeks and bring his forehead down to meet yours in a keldabe kiss. You know exactly what this gesture means to him after he told you all about Mandalorian customs. It was Din's turn to gasp now, the sounds etching out a wide grin on your face. "Of course I do," you burst, while reaching for his hands. Din let out a shaky breath as you pulled your head away and you could tell he was smiling like a fool under his helmet, much like you are doing.

"I'm sorry cyare. I'm not very good at talking about my feelings, but I will try for you and I want you to know how much I love you." You close your eyes and sigh in contentment, knowing this is the start of something amazing. When you open them again you ask softly "What do those words mean? Cyar'ka, cyare?" "Darling, sweetheart, beloved," Din cooed stroking your hair. "I love you too, cyare," you repeated his native word back to him. Din felt a gush of pure ecstacy ripple through his body with your reciprocation. "Din," he breathed into your ear. "What?" you asked him with a confused smile. "My name is Din Djarin." Your smile quickly grew into one of affection and adoration. You know he doesn't usually give people his name and for him to give you this piece of himself just shows you how much he loves you. "I love you, Din Djarn," you purred passionately. "I love you too Y/N Y/L/N."

#pedro pascal #din djarin fanfiction #mando x you #din x reader #the mandalorian fanfiction

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aliorsboxostuff · 1 year

Note

Sooooo you know in one of the most recent episodes when Din in like forced to his kneels by storm troopers and he’s like kinda tied up could you do something with that maybe please.😉

INSANE how that episode got a chokehold on me. It’s both so sad and so action packed like omggg anyhow gents and gensn’t we’re here to simp and SIMP we do! Honestly the scene got me crying throwing up sobbing bcuz Din got taken away from Grogu, but leave it for a day and i came back kinda 👀 abt it, so here it is! Short drabble since i don't think i can explore this as much as i would like, either way, enjoy dear anon and readers! (MAYBE I'll make a pt.2 if y'all like this) <3

Ner Mesh’la

Tags: Din x gn!Dom!Reader, Drabble, -500 words, he/him prns!reader, husband!Din Djarin, helmetless Din, softdom!Reader, ambiguous ending, ropes, bound hands, sub!Din, those brown eyes!, Dom/Sub undertones, Praises, Mando’a translated at the end

—

“You have your safeword?” He gulps at the man hovering above him, layers of clothes still on his body while Din shivers, knees planted on the floor.

“Yes,” Din’s chest struggles with even breaths, his modulator making static sounds with each inhale. He smiles, a soft reassurance, yet the darkness hidden behind those eyes deceives it.

“Not too tight, right?”

“No.” The rope around his wrists were secured, and loose enough for him to break free, he’s skilled enough to know. It wont leave burning marks unless he wants them, unlike those annoying times on his bounties where he’d unfortunately get tied up. The bounds reflect his trust on you, your promise to serve him. Din lets out another huff.

“Alright, now…” Those skilled fingers trace the side of his helmet, to the jutting mandibles, then stopping just below it, the Beskar that hovers over Din’s jaw. “I’m going to take this off, is that okay?”

“Yes.” Din shudders.

“Good boy,” He smiles, eyes burning through his visor. The visor that won't separate him between the darkness of his Beskar and the colors of his husband's eyes.

A short hiss, then his vision goes dark for a second, before he blinks away the blur and adjusts to the low lighting. Your smile grows, setting the helmet on the table, before you take in an eye full.

Din, your husband, your riduur, expanse of golden, scarred skin displayed, on his knees with his hands bound, lidded brown eyes looking up to you. His cock leaking precum onto the floor below. Lips parted, the weeks old stubble across his jawline. You couldn't resist tracing a hand there, feeling the short hair as his eyes flutter, then bending down, giving a taste at those soft lips, before you pull away and hear him whine.

“Din, ner mesh’la Din,” He leans into your palm, eyes closed as he inhales. Your eyes soften, one hand tracing above his ear, before it moves to brush back messy curls, and he preens under your touch, sighing contently. “How are you feeling?”

“Good,” He answers, eyes still closed as he feels your nails slightly scratch at his scalp, making him hum and push into your hand. You smile, both hands now holding his jaw as Din slowly opens his eyes again, a dark pool behind his lashes.

You hum. “Ready?”

“Y-yes,”

Translation: Ner mesh’la: My beautiful

Requests are open!

#din djarin x male reader #din djarin x m!reader #din djarin x gn!reader #din djarin x gender neutral reader #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin drabble #lio writes #star wars fanfiction #din djarin #x male reader #x m!reader #mandalorian x reader

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pedrito-friskito · 2 years

Note

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

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

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

ANYWAY ENJOY THANK YOU!!! ♥️

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

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

✨kay’s 300 follower celebration✨

Din’s still making sense of it all.

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

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

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

He first notices you the day of his coronation.

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

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

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

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

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

You’re beautiful.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You returned to be a servant?”

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

“Your name?”

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

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

And then you’re gone.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Did he just call you beautiful?

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

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

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

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

Watching him interact with his son is another thing entirely.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You blink. What? “It is?”

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

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

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

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

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

Din. Din Djarin.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then he starts to move.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then you both start laughing.

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

A knock at the door makes you both freeze.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You see him again the next night.

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

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

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

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

You love him.

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

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

And then, one night…

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

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

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

—————

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grippingbeskar · 1 year

Text

unearthed

chapter four - fitted

warnings— canon typical violence, swearing, a slow slow build up and it’s painful i hate it here.

a/n— thanks for all the support guys!!! i’m trying to get these up as quick as i can, because i feel like this will read better if it’s all done together but that’s okay!!! we will get there! also i didn’t realise how short this chapter was i’m sorry next one coming super fast i promise xx.

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“Can you just run me through it one more time?” You ask, eyes unsure of where to land. The man in front of you bites back a sigh, and you remind yourself to actually pay attention this time.

“All you have to do is walk up the stairs. You’ll kneel in front of the Armourer, and the King will stand at your side. She’ll say the phrases, and you repeat them.” You swallow, already having forgotten what you were supposed to say. “This is before you meet the King and say your offical vows.”

“Right. And that… that was happening in the…” He isn’t able to hold back his sigh this time, though he keeps himself in check The people here seem to respect you— or tolerate you enough that they’ve become accustomed to your presence.

“The greenhouse. It’s our most secluded area. It will be safe for him then, to reveal himself to you and intertwine the two halves of a whole that is your union.” You choke, spluttering the bottle of water you were sipping on.

“I’m— I’m sorry, what?”

“Well, you are in love. In Mandalorian custom, this is what is etched in the Old Way. You are to become part of his clan, in a more intimate way than anyone ever will.” Love. Stars fucking help you.

“And he agreed to… that?”

“It is expected.” The man finishes, and your mind freezes up like you’ve down a glass of blue milk too quick. “Are you alright, my lady?”

“Yeah! Yep. Super… that’s all— so great! Very much in love. I actually have to— go. I have to go and do something. I’ll be back—“ You were basically running now, despite the man’s protests, the door shutting behind you when you were already halfway down the hall.

It was too much.

Tomorrow, you’d be marrying him— joining a way of life you knew frighteningly little about, and now you were just supposed to… to see him? With anyone else, it would of been the first thing you’d done, but with him it feels like a way bigger deal. You know it is. You can’t help but feel like an imposter… like you’re stealing something from him he clearly does not want to give. Something that should belong to someone he truely cared about… not part of some contract.

The way he talked about it that day in the city, as brief as the conversation was, you could tell he cared. You hardly knew him, but you could read him better now. He actually wasn’t that hard to understand once you’d watched him for a little— his body language betrayed him too often. You imagined under that helmet he made all kinds of faces, unable to hide the emotion that you almost knew flashed across it.

It was hard not to think of what was under there. Often. Too often to be simple curiosity.

When you finally see the door to your room, you were about ready to pass out, but a giant shiny metal blockade slammed into you just as you rounded the corner.

“Fucking hell!” You shout, your palm flying to your now throbbing head. “I swear I’m gonna get you a bell or something. Stars.”

He laughs quickly, the sound soothing the ache in your head, but it’s gone too soon. When you come to, your eyes opening, it’s a sight for sore eyes. The gentle stream of moonlight coming from the hallway bathes the silver armour in a soft white, the beskar lined floors twinkling like stars.

“I was looking for you. You need to come with me— the Armourer wants to see you.” You try not to groan, your eyes closing again. “She needs to choose your armour. For tomorrow.”

Tomorrow. Your wedding day. And induction into the way of the Mandalorian. Of course. That.

“Right— okay, I can… let’s go. Lead the way.” You sigh, going to take a step. He surprises you when he reaches out, gentle hands wrapping around your wrists.

The gesture stops you in your tracks, breath catching in your lungs. He scans you, helmet moving slowly across your features while his hands bring your own away from your face. The exhaustion you were just feeling seems to seep out of you the longer his attention is undivided on your eyes, adrenaline rushing to your heart.

He was so overwhelming. He took up every tiny space in your vision and your mind when he was looking at you. It was impossible to think straight around him. You were too busy thinking of… of the way his hands were tight but gentle, something you could easily get out of if you wanted to. You also think about how you… don’t want to get out of his hold. Not anytime soon.

“How long has it been since you slept?” He asks, his voice as gentle as his hands holding you in place.

“Do I look that bad?” You try to joke, and his head just tilts. It’s not one of his ‘okay, you got me there’ head tilts either. No, this one is more… calculating. Systematic. Not very fun. “I don’t know— I just got up early this morning. We’re getting married tomorrow, and apparently there’s a lot more planning involved than I thought.”

“You don’t sleep well here.” He was still holding you. You flexed your fingers, knuckles brushing lightly against the cool chest plate of his hard armour. “These past few weeks, you haven’t slept.”

“I have! I just…” Your shoulders sag, but you manage to keep looking into the black lines of his helmet. It was weird to think his eyes were right under there. “I don’t sleep well anywhere. It’s not just Mandalore. Scouts Honour.”

“I don’t know what that is.” You laugh, and somehow a small conversation with him wakes you up enough to snark back.

“Yeah. Hard to imagine you as a Boy Scout.” He says nothing about how he knows you haven’t slept, but instead holds you there for just a second longer. In the silence, you try to imagine what he’s thinking.

If he wasn’t buried under a helmet, you would think this was a move. A way to pull you closer, hands at his chest, so he could easily lean down to kiss you. But him being…him, he must just really be examining you. Studying you.

Your palms were sweating a little, and he finally lets you go, air whooshing back into your body when he steps away.

“We’ll be quick.” He says simply, leading you towards the end of the hall. You shuffle behind him, your fingers wrapping around the small part of your wrist where his gloves held you. The skin tingles, and you shove your hands in your pockets after that, refusing to look at them.

Din watched you. He found himself doing that a lot these days. You stick to the edge of the room, not nervous or intimidated, but it’s like you were trying to respect the space.

The Armorer had managed to get the Forge looking in some what good condition— at the very least, she was back to what she did best. Making armour that would protect the next generation of Mandalore.

“Din Djarin. You have what I requested?” She speaks, and you watch curiously, taking a step forward as he hands over a stack of beskar ingots. The choice was clear— if you were going to stand with him, you’d be in nothing but the best of what he had to offer.

When the Armourer calls your name, you step forward, your eyes flitting between the giant metal sphere of the Forge and the stack of beskar Din just handed over.

“You are to take the helm. To join Din Djarin as a part of his clan. Do you accept the offer presented?” She asks, her voice the same monotone it always it. When he looks back to you, you weren’t focused on any of the parts of the room. No, you were staring straight at him.

“Din Djarin.” You try the words out in your tongue. He never told you his name. Something sinks in his gut at that, and the fact that you never asked. “I’ve never heard a name like that before.”

“Do you accept?” The Armorer repeats, and you finally look away. He can’t help but feel confused— the way his gut twists and his hands clench even at the memory of the way you say his name. He wants to hear you more— wants to ask you questions like you do to him so freely. Instead, he stays quiet.

“Yeah— yes. I accept.” You say the last part as a question, looking to him. When he nods, you repeat it more firm. The confidence clings to you well. It suits you.

As the Armourer works, he remembers what his people were saying about you in the city. How you were fitting to the planet so well, it’s like you were born here. You had a way to never seem out of place— not like he was when he first came. Everything that took him so long to figure out, you navigated with ease.

They were right. It did suit you— the planet, the beskar… everything.

They were right about something else, too. The part Din conveniently left out when you asked him what he’d heard through the helmets’ receiver. Those women in the city… they couldn’t stop speaking of how beautiful you were.

Din swallowed. Of course he’d… noticed. It was impossible not to. You were a princess— now a Queen, always dressed in glowing colours, your hair flowing freely, a wild look about you like you’d just as easily spend your days navigating Hoth as you did sorting paperwork.

When he’d first seen you, his mouth had gone dry. He thought it was because he knew what was to come— the inevitable marriage, the closeness that would ensue. But looking at you now, being fitting into pauldrons of armour, he realised it may not be the dresses or the winning royal decor— it might just be because those women were right. You were beautiful.

“This is the Way.” The Armourer recites, and takes back the pieces of beskar to place them in the Forge. “The suit will be ready for tomorrow.”

Din nods, his chest tight at the reality. Tomorrow, you would be his wife. He’d bring you into his clan, a part of his planet, potentially tying himself to you for the rest of his life.

He turned and left the room without another word.

You were pacing. The small balcony attached to your room didn’t allow you a lot of room to move, but you needed to get this nervous energy out.

You’d already holo’ed Kaylen, four times in the past hour, and as many times as she’d offered the best advice she could, there was only so much she could do. No matter how many well placed words she chimed down the line, you were still getting married tomorrow.

It was stupid. You’d pictured this day— all kinds of ways, really. A practical part of you had imagined something like this. Alone, a man you couldn’t put a face to, just as reluctant as you are standing at the end of the isle. You knew it was coming, but a part of you was still holding onto that stupidly fragile sliver of hope that you’d marry someone you…loved.

It wasn’t that you were upset about who you were marrying, though. Just the circumstances. In fact, the past few weeks have made you think that in another world, where you were given the time, you could even see yourself growing to like… Din.

Din. That was his name. Another part of the mystery unfurled. When the Armorer had called it out, a thrill rushed through you, and you’d felt like you’d been let in on some giant secret. You weren’t going to ask— not that you didn’t want to know, but it was more about the conversation you had with him on that first day. To give his heart was to give his trust. He was already giving up so much of himself when he clearly didn’t want to. His name was his, and it would come when he was ready. Or, apparently, when the Armourer was ready.

Just as you were going to crawl back inside and attempt to get some sleep, a familiar voice called you out. When your head shot around, you couldn’t see him straight away, and you could not believe he’d snuck up on you again. But where the hell was he—

He called your name again, and you looked up and to the right.

“What the fuck?” Your eyes widened, seeing him lean over a much larger balcony, helmet tilted to the side. “How long have you been up there?”

“I live here.” You sigh loudly.

“Right...”

“You still aren’t sleeping.” He says, something in his voice making you feel the same way as when he was holding your wrists in the corridor.

That’s how he knew.

“You’ve been watching me?”

“I could hear you pacing.” The helmet tilts to the other side, every one of his movements slow and calm.

“Sorry.” You look outwards, the dark midnight of the planet obscuring the entire city. It was almost impossible to see any of the swirling stars and expanding buildings from here. The only person you could see was Din.

“Don't apologise. I was already awake.” You laugh tiredly at that, looking back up to him. “Are you still…okay, going through with this?”

“Scared I’m going to leave you at the altar?” The quiet response you don’t receive makes you feel a little guilty. “Don’t worry. I’ll be there.”

He shifts on his feet. Even this far away you can read his body language. How his hands clench at his sides, his legs stand straight and boots turned inwards, like he's preparing for a hit that won't come. It nearly makes you smile. Another little bit of mystery unfolded for your eyes only.

“I was meaning to tell you. I heard back from my friend in the Outer Rim. She may be able to tell you about some of the serial codes if you can identify the droids. We would have go to her, though. She doesn’t travel much. And she's paranoid about working with me over comms.” You squeeze your eyes shut for a second, and you feel entirely selfish.

Of course. Your parents. The droids that your father was interested in. You’d been swept up in it— in him. He was taking every slice of your attention, occupying every inch of your mind, there’d been moments where you’d forgotten your purpose here.

“Of course! When can we go?!” You are suddenly wide awake, leaning over the railing and stretching to look up at him.

“We could tomorrow, after the… ceremony. We have time before things are settled. We could see if there’s a lead. When you return to your home, you follow it and report back. Once we have numbers, I’ll talk to Bo-Katan.” Stars— real hope was building in your chest, and it was all thanks to him.

“Thankyou, Din. You don’t… you don’t know how much that means to me.” You’d been searching what felt like your entire short reign for something… anything that could lead you to your parents murderers. The New Republic scrapped anything related to the Empire, and anyone that knew anything was definitely not going to speak to a new ruler of a powerful planet. “I don’t know how to thank you.”

“If you do what you said you would— help my people recover what we have lost, there’s no debt.” With the short words, he turns around, and you lose sight of the face of the helmet you’d started to actually like. “Try to sleep.”

“Yeah…” You fade off as he disappears, something in your heart telling you to call after him.

You don’t know why. There’s nothing left to say. He’s doing exactly what he said, and there’s no reason to continue this very professional conversation—

“One more thing.” He calls, and you nearly trip yourself with how fast you turn back around. “It would be good if we keep this trip between us. People can get… uncomfortable, with Empire technology. We don’t want to spook anyone with information off.”

“Sounds like a plan, Din Djarin.” He keeps staring down at you, helmet masked in the dim light of the planets moons.

“You keep saying my name.” He says it, but it doesn't sound like he's angry. Almost like he just wants to know why.

“I’m planning to wear it out, considering how much you wanted to keep it from me.” Even from a level up, you can hear him breathe out— and then he laughs. Just once, and the sound makes you stand up on your toes, like you’re leaning towards it.

“Goodnight.” He says, then disappears, the lock of his door sounding obnoxiously loud.

You wanted to ask him more questions. Listen to his voice— the low, vibrating tone of it soothing your screaming thoughts. He was right, of course. You knew first hand how quickly people shut down when being questioned on old tech. Only, people knew your face, and would dismiss your questions.

But now you had something; someone new on your side. And not a single person in the galaxy knew he was coming but you.

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weird-writes · 6 months

Text

Spare Change (The Mandalorian, E)

Title: Spare Change (10k)

Series: Part four of Creed, a non-linear series about Din Djarin and his favorite... distraction.

Description: When bad dreams wake you the night before your wedding, you find only two things will make you feel better: a certain helmet - and your future husband.

Pairing: Din Djarin x Female Reader

They'd won in the end, as you'd known they would. The big one had held you down while the tall woman wearing armor tightened the restraints around your wrists and ankles. Then your thighs and waist and - horrifyingly intimate, close enough that your breath fogged the beskar of her helmet - your neck. Once the last buckle flipped shut you nearly passed out, immobility so much worse than the comparatively straightforward act of being kidnapped.

You threw up again, this time without the encouragement of a boot to the gut. With your neck strapped to the chair you couldn't lean over, and had to suffer the indignity of gloved fingers sweeping through your mouth to check your airway after you were done heaving.

The yellow helmet said, as if you weren't even in the room: "Be careful. We need her alive."

Warnings: torture, trauma, revenge, slightly more than canon-typical violence, PTSD, sexual content implied, canon what canon, no betas we die like men

Tropes: battle couple, angst, hurt/comfort sorta, "want me to kill him for you?", happy endings, the helmet comes off but not like you think, is dark fluff a genre option?

Author's note: GUESS WHO'S BACK LIKE A HEART ATTACK

***

You haven’t had a night like this in so long you've forgotten what it’s like. The images aren't as vivid as they once were but the panic is the same, the adrenaline spiking through your bloodstream still enough to hurl you back to consciousness without warning. There's only the dream - a blur of yellow, the snap of your head going back, the smashed porcelain feeling of teeth coming loose - and then awake: warm blood replaced with sweat, your clenched fists wound tight as magcuffs in the sheets.

It takes a few seconds before you can untangle yourself without screaming.

It's late. Din and the kiddo must still be asleep. In the bad old days, you'd make noise. Sometimes you woke yourself; sometimes Din's light touch pulled you out instead. But that was a long time ago now. You haven't needed him to guard you from your dreams in years, hadn't even had that particular dream at all in what... ten months? Twelve?

Last time it had been no more than a few quick flashes. Half-formed faces, the taste of sand - then gone, drowned in mundanity as your sleeping mind sorted through the events of an unremarkable day.

This time was bad. This time details you'd thought were gone had found you, slicing into the soft meat of your memory with the precision of a surgeon reopening an old wound. Hands holding you upright. A damp cloth moving across your cracked lips. Bacta knitting you back together under the padding of the restraints, cool compared to the warm desert night. Tell us where he is, and none of this has to happen again. You heard him-- you don't owe him anything. Your throat, dry and swollen, barely able to swallow water. So you spat it instead, tinged with blood and mucous, right into the face that was telling you such tempting lies.

Then the one constant, the moment that replayed every night for months after your captivity ended: the helmet. Beskar, though Maker knows where they'd gotten it. Scored and dented by heavy combat, yellow paint peeling and flaking to show the metal underneath, dangling carelessly from the hand of the woman who'd plied you with questions and later with pain. Even if you hadn't known already, the state of her armor would have been enough to tell you that this little collection of nobodies was far outside of tribe and clan - if they'd ever had them in the first place. You didn’t believe a word they said, because what good was the word of a Mandalorian who was no Mandalorian at all?

That was right before she'd raised the helmet, fingers hooked casually inside the visor, and smashed it across your jaw.

The dream ends there, the impact of the helmet jolting you awake. But you don't need to be asleep to remember what came next. After the blow, an instant of reflexive amazement: somewhere out there in the universe, someone in charge had made a mistake. Nothing could hurt this much. Then hot on the heels of astonishment had come something much worse. Realization. It could hurt this much, you'd feel every bit of it and would go on feeling it even after they decided to stop.

You had just opened your mouth to scream when she hit you again, with the visor this time, and your teeth snapped shut so hard you were sure you'd bitten off your tongue.

You'd blacked out after that, the force of brain meeting skull erasing you from existence for a while. Ironic that right before you'd lost consciousness is when the dream always spits you out. No rescue, no resolution, just the slam of beskar into tender flesh and bone and then reality. Launched back into the present with all the kindness of a missile strike.

Even without the blankets tangled around you, your bunk feels too small, too much like - but there's nothing good at the end of that thought, so you breathe out hard through your nose, pull the curtains back, and listen. Silence except for the comforting hum of the ship's usual routines, recycled air sighing past your feet as you dangle them off the edge of your bed and drop lightly to the floor.

Standing up helps a little, but only a little. You must have been quiet, though, because Din hadn't come to find you. For the past few weeks he's taken to sleeping with the sliding door to his own bunk wide open. He called it a gesture of trust. You called it tempting fate, or at least you had the first time he'd leaned his visor against your forehead as he did every night and then crawled into his rack.

You followed his cue, moving to fold out your bed from its niche. You'd been just about to climb in when you'd heard the shuffling click of Din's helmet unlatching, loud in the soft hum of hyperspace.

"Hey," you'd called softly, making sure to keep your eyes on the bulkhead. "Did you forget to close the door?"

"I didn't forget," Din answered back, equally soft, and then in his typical Mandalorian way said nothing else, leaving you to work out the implications.

You hesitated. "Din, is that... wise?"

When Din responded, his voice seemed almost strange without the modulator - too warm, too human, more like one of the embarrassingly tender daydreams you used to have about him than the real thing. You'd heard his unfiltered voice before on rare occasions: through a wall; when you stuck your head into the 'fresher to ask a question with the door of the sonic firmly closed. Never like this, though, never so close.

So when he said, "I trust you," as simply as he would state that water is wet or planets orbit their suns, you had to clamp your hands down on the edge of your bunk to keep from... from what? Shouting at him that he's being stupid, maybe. Anything that would push against the weight of the thing he's just handed you with as nonchalantly as he would caf or Grogu's favorite toy. When Din decides, he decides, and then he stares down the galaxy until it bends to his will.

You already know he won't spend another second worrying that you could end his entire way of life with an accidental turn of your head.

That, of course, is why you're marrying him.

But it doesn't mean you're not nervous about it.

And maybe that's what's brought ancient monsters out of the deep. How many brides before you haven't been able to sleep the night before their wedding? If you even are a bride - Din has been somewhat vague on exactly how the Children of the Watch solemnize their bonds, saying only that the process is simple and requires no special preparation. His reassurance only goes so far, and something in your chest has been cinching tighter as the numbing routines of long spaceflight bring you closer to Mandalore. No wonder you're not sleeping well, your jangling nerves drawing out the old familiar enemy. You may have forgotten the dream, but it clearly hasn't forgotten you.

It would be a bad omen, if you believed in bad omens. You don't. You've never really believed in anything you can't see or hear or smell or touch - except for love, and probably not even that before a certain bounty hunter.

Which is why you grimace at the smell of your sweat-damp shirt but make for the galley instead of your chest of fresh clothes. You haven't needed it in months, not since the last time you had this particular dream. It had been in the cabinet full of spare parts but things on the ship don't tend to stay in one place, not with the womp rat around, and you're almost sure you saw it somewhere in the galley when you were looking for pirjanad.

Easing the cabinet doors open quietly enough not to wake your companions is hard enough, but easing them closed again when you don't find what you're looking for is harder. The last one bangs just a little as the cheap polymer latches and you pause, listening closely for blankets rustling or the telltale coo that means Grogu is awake for good. You let go of your held breath only when all you can hear is the soft hiss of the vents. Your solitude is safe for a while longer.

It's while you're frozen, head cocked towards the corner that you know contains the Child's cradle even if you can't see it, that you spot it. A flash of yellow, shoved behind the plasma heater and the kettle and the battered tin pot that you should really replace, since Din never will. You shove the cooking implements aside, still trying to stay quiet.

Somehow you’d forgotten that it takes both hands to lift it, the beskar nearly as heavy as its contents. You cradle it in your cupped palms like an offering bowl.

It's absurd to compare the helmet in your dream to the real thing. In the dream, it's enormous, weighty with despair, the hand that holds it all-powerful. But awake, in the dim light from the sensors that are the galley's only illumination, it's nothing at all. Still heavy - but awkward, a thing meant to be worn, not wielded. The paint has flaked away even more, leaving only ragged patches of yellow behind. Din keeps your spare change in it, small denomination credits as well as the bits and pieces of local currency that aren't worth the rates to exchange but might still be useful. The metal rattling around inside has done nothing to keep the padding intact... but it's been years. You're probably all a little worse for wear.

Years. At times when you look back it’s almost impossible to believe you're still here. Impossible to imagine the bloody, gutting details of all you’ve been through fading into something as mundane as this: Din, breathing soft and even in the darkness of his rack, sleeping as soundly as he would the night before a battle; you, awake, alight with nerves and memory, unable to contemplate tomorrow and so thinking only of yesterday. The painfully ordinary helmet in your hands, a reminder of one of the worst - and best - days of your life.

You carry the helmet out into the cargo bay, settling on the floor with your back against a crate, and contemplate the visor between your crossed knees.

***

They'd thought you were your fucking sister. Again. Just like the last bounty hunter had, months ago - and just like him, it didn't end well, although at least Mando had restrained himself to only breaking your heart and no other important bits. This lot jumped you six on one and kept knocking you down until you went limp enough to drag. They hadn't thought to check your fingerprints or your retina or the scattering of burn scars across your palms, unique evidence of a lifetime of mucking with sharp wires and small explosives. They shoved your whole head in front of a facial recognition scanner instead, then made smug, self-satisfied noises when it confirmed what they thought they already knew.

Considering the amount of inconvenience she was still managing to put you through, sister was maybe too generous. Clone would be more accurate, although you'd never liked the word. But it was true that even if they had sequenced your genetic material instead of relying on your bone structure, the information that flashed across the screen would have been the same. Your father had been a little too curious about military technology, a little too adoring of the Old Republic, and possessed of a little - okay, a lot - too much money with nothing else to spend it on. And there you were, one half of his pet project, more than fifteen years out from under the family name and still paying the price. Eating sand as your newest captors hauled you through the back alleys of Mos Eisley.

The blood dripping into your eyes kept you from seeing much. After a while, the hands that had been pulling you by the ankles finally dropped, and you heard the sound of a heavy metal door banging open. Then the grip on you returned. Your smeared vision went from glimpses of desert sky to darkness, the smell of rust, the sense of a cavernous space above you. A warehouse?

As soon as you were sure you wouldn't faint you'd be on your feet, making for Pelli Motto's hangar and the relative safety of the docks, which had to be nearby. Clearly the Guild had finally reassigned your bounty: the tall figure who'd taken you down first was wearing armor that looked suspiciously Mandalorian. Considering the terms of your puck, they probably wouldn't kill you if you tried to escape, and if you got to Pelli's she'd hide you and you could stow away on a ship outbound after repairs. You'd done it before. It had been a while since you'd last disappeared, but you had the knack.

If you hadn't just been thrown repeatedly into an alley wall, you would have realized the implications of that warehouse. Bounty hunters would turn you over for the reward, not take you to an empty building in a decrepit part of town. And even if the warehouse had escaped you, the chair wouldn't have. Heavy steel bolts held it to the floor, and it had the same padded straps that a medtech might use until the sedation spike hit. There was only one use for a chair like that, and it wasn't one that bounty hunters would ever require.

Of course, you'd figured out the chair just fine when they'd levered you upright long enough to try and sit you in it. At the first touch of metal your body worked out what your brain hadn't and reacted accordingly. There had been a bad moment where you thought you might lose control of your bladder, but you'd lost control of the rest of you instead: kicking and biting everything in reach, smashing your forehead into the nose of the man who leaned over you so hard that you both reeled back in an explosion of mutual stars. By the time they got you under control you weren't the only one dripping blood, and a sample from the right place on any of them would have yielded both your DNA.

The yellow helmet said, as if you weren't even in the room: "Be careful. We need her alive."

***

It's the nightmare that upset you, or at least that's what you tell yourself. But it's not a convincing lie, even to you. You know it's not just the nightmare; it's the nightmare and the uncharted territory of tomorrow. The stress of the - the phase change, from one thing to another. No matter how much you reassure yourself that you and your Mandalorian have been together for years and that's the same as married, it's not true. It's the thought of Din without his helmet for the first time and every time after that. It's the idea of his face - will you love it? Of course you'll love it. Will you hate it? You could never hate it. Oh Maker, what if you hate it - standing in for the promise of a shared future and all the uncertainty that entails.

After a while it isn't even the nightmare and tomorrow anymore, it's everything: your family and your past; your close calls; your narrow escapes; decades worth of bumps and bruises to your soul. You get down to the business of crying as quietly as you can, tears rolling down your cheeks and dripping into the assorted coins inside the helmet. You're not even sure you're sad. Not exactly. You only know that something huge and tender inside you is trying to get out and it seems to require quite a lot of lubrication to do so.

Eventually you stop sobbing with every inhale. The small details of a ship at rest begin to return: green status panel. Red emergency shutoff. You try to straighten up but clearly whatever's inside your chest isn't the only thing that's now well-lubricated because the helmet, slick with old grease and fresh tears, slips out of your grasp. You lunge for it but miss. It clunks to the floor, the noise as loud as a bomb going off in the silence.

Din finds you, of course, about five kriffing seconds later. He's far too much the bounty hunter to ever sleep so heavily an unexpected noise won't bring him out of his rack in record time. For a childish moment you hope if you hold still he'll just go away; you could really live without your immediate-future husband seeing you clutching a stupid helmet with snot all over your face. But he can't help finding you despite the dark any more than he can help being a light sleeper.

His own helmet must mean he sees every detail of your expression. He doesn't ask questions, just sinks to the floor beside you and hauls you into the protective circle of his arms. "We don't have to," he says soothingly, burying his visor in your unbound hair and letting it rest against your skull. "We don't. We can go to Batuu instead - pick some fights, lose some credits at the tables. You love spending my money."

A guess. A good guess, and an offer more generous than you deserve. You're crying again, which is absurd, but tonight your tears have their own agenda. In fact, you're crying so much that you can't even tell him he's wrong, that you do want to get married tomorrow. All you can do is shake your head in denial.

"No? Mos Eisley then," jokes Din. That only makes you cry harder. His grip on you tightens. When he speaks again, his voice is pained, uncertain. "Mesh'la? Tell me what's wrong." He's upset too and trying to hide it. He thinks you don't want this, that you've changed your mind after all, but you know he'll never admit it.

"Not you," you finally hiccup. "I was sleeping-- the dream--"

"Oh." You feel most of the tension leave Din. He sounds relieved even through the modulator, which you find forgivable under the circumstances.

"It was bad," you confess. "The worst in a long time."

The helmet behind you makes a sympathetic noise. The helmet in front of you is still staring, the inverted T of the upside-down visor empty and silent.

"Din," you say abruptly. "You've been-- at night. Without the helmet. Does it count if I can't see?" You really don't know. He's never taken the helmet off in your presence before, not even with you blindfolded or in total darkness. His Creed doesn't work like that. To a Mandalorian, to do something halfway is to do it completely, in spirit if not in fact. And the spirit is what matters. "Can you take it off now, if I promise not to look?"

He doesn't wait for a promise, doesn't even hesitate. His arms leave you as he reaches upward. There's a hiss and a click and then the silver helmet is in your hands, as heavy as the yellow one in your dreams. This time the weight is comforting.

"Does it help?" His voice feels like you're still dreaming: rough with sleep, low and velvet and only inches from your ear. You shiver. You could get used to this.

"Yes," you say contentedly, leaning back into him. You put the silver helmet on your lap and let your fingers wander over it: the smooth transparisteel, the curves of the cheek guards. Your mouth twitches as you trail up to the ridge of metal running over the crest. You have fond memories of that ridge.

More than anything else about him, the helmet is Din to you. When you think of his face, you think of the helmet. It will be strange to learn a new face, another Din - but you realize with a warm flip of your stomach that you're looking forward to it.

You give the helmet one last caress then hand it back back awkwardly, careful not to look over your shoulder. You wait for the rustle of adjustment and the buzz of the modulator as Din puts it back on, but neither comes. There's a quiet thump, as if he's set it down beside him, and then his hands return to find yours. His voice, still unfiltered: "Better?"

"Better. You know I want tomorrow, right?" It comes out a little flat, but if you cry any more you'll dehydrate like freeze-dried rations.

Din doesn't answer. He picks up one of your hands instead and pulls it over your shoulder and kisses it. The first press of his lips to your skin feels - ordinary. Just a brief, dry pressure, breath warm compared to the cool cargo bay, the soft strands of his mustache tickling your palm. It's clearly meant to be comforting, not seductive.

You think you might lose your mind. You have to close your eyes hard to keep from looking. Fuck getting married, you could die right now. You can't die right now, you have to make it at least through tomorrow so he can do it again. So he can do more. No, don't think about that, not when you can't do anything about it -

With you tangled together like this, you're sure he feels your reaction. You can certainly feel his broad chest quake as he laughs at you. "Mesh'la? Is something wrong?"

"Shut up," you say, not meaning it, and Din laughs again, a quiet puff of air in the dark. You cast around for a lifeline to preserve your dignity and come up with a complaint: "I don't know anything about Mandalorian marriage. Is a wedding public or secret? Do you wear any sign of being pledged to each other?"

"Public but only within the tribe. And you won the right to wear my clan signet a long time ago, so that won't change. Why, do you want a promise ring? We already have each other's tracking beacons."

"How romantic." But that's your Mando, practical as ever. "I thought for sure there'd be something else, something... intense. A tattoo or something."

"A tattoo? What would that do?"

It seems obvious to you. "You know. A sign of 'til death do us part' or whatever. Your people are always so committed. It seems... very Mandalorian."

Din sounds confused. "A tattoo would be inappropriate. Tattoos are meant to be permanent."

Have you fundamentally misunderstood the nature of this arrangement? "And marriage isn't?"

"It's a hope, not a requirement," Din says, as if he's explaining something you should already know. This, too, must be part of his religion. "Mandalorians don't believe in an unbreakable marriage bond. There's no honor in something you can never walk away from. The Way is in the choice to stay together, made over and over, and in the struggle to keep each other, always tested. Every day made new."

Your heart stops for a moment. You sometimes forget he can be like this: your sensible, hard-headed Mandalorian. Din isn't a sweet-talker, and he doesn't waste time wooing you with words unless it's in bed. He doesn't need to. He knows he has you, as surely as you know you have him. But sometimes you forget what drew you to him in the first place - his hard-fought skill, his well-earned pride, his sense of honor. His Creed. He believes, simple as that.

And now he believes in you, too.

There's so much you've never done together. Never bathed together. Never eaten the same meal at the same time. Never slept next to one another except out of exhaustion or in forced proximity. You know the exact trigger pressure of the IB-94 blaster he prefers. You know that when he's feeling philosophical he likes to coax you into the cockpit with him, one arm around your waist as he pulls you into his lap to quietly contemplate the stars. You know the shame he still carries from the time, years ago, when he considered Grogu a bounty and not his son. You even know about the stash of cheap adventure holonovels he keeps in his crate for when he thinks you're not looking. You would know him in the pitch black of deep space from the warmth of his body and the raised constellations of his scars.

You've never seen his face.

Tomorrow will change everything and nothing at all.

***

Your captors weren't so stupid that they thought they could keep you restrained indefinitely. They pulled the straps off you every few hours, as though they were acting on advice from the same clinician who donated the horrible chair. The smallest one kept a blaster trained on you from a few paces away as one of the others hauled you upright and made you stumble outside into the alley to stretch your tingling limbs and relieve yourself. The first time you crouched against the wall for as long as you dared, hoping that a stray passerby might spot you. The second time you fell over, unable to feel your feet. The third time you didn't even pretend anymore, just stood dripping blood into the sand until they forced you back inside. Some of the fear you'd felt at first had faded, replaced by buzzing numbness. You'd spent all your endorphins enduring the first twenty minutes and now static was the only thing left.

By then the yellow helmet had made it very clear what it would take for them to let you go, and it wasn't a bounty payment or even a ransom sourced from your father's dwindling estate - not that you would have been able to access it anyway. No, you were just a little fish in their net, and she promised the instant you proved yourself useful they'd throw you back into the murky waters of Mos Eisley. They had a bigger catch in mind.

They wanted Mando.

And they wanted you to tell them where to find him.

You could have argued the point from several angles. You weren't who they thought you were, for one. You weren't sure where Mando was for another, considering he hadn't seen fit to tell you his travel plans before he said he was done with you and then dumped you in this Maker-forsaken town. Presumably he'd turn in the bounty you'd caught together, but after that he could be headed anywhere in the galaxy. You had no idea if they'd believe you, but that was the truth. You could have at least tried to convince them.

You didn't.

At first, before the helmet and everything else that led to you leaking bodily fluids in an empty warehouse, you told yourself it was because you were taking the high ground. He might not want you anymore but Mando had still believed you weren't your sister, taken you in when you needed protection and a place to lay low. He'd often been strange and silent, aloof and hard to read, but he'd never been impatient or rude - at least, not until the very end, not until you'd pushed the matter further than he was willing to go. And regardless of how he felt about his own behavior, he'd never taken advantage of you. You had been a willing participant and in his own way he'd treated you generously, in and out of bed. You weren't in the habit of rewarding kindness with betrayal.

That excuse held up for a surprisingly long time, right up until the first tooth dropped out of your swollen mouth and clinked against the metal of the chair.

After that, it was sheer spite, and you couldn't even decide who you hated more: the tacky, embarrassing excuse for Mandalorians in front of you or the stoic, picture-perfect Mandalorian who left you to be snatched up like an ash-rabbit the first place. You weren't stupid - you'd never been a soldier but you'd certainly been around them plenty, back when the New Republic had dragooned your talents into the service of a cause you didn't even believe in. You'd gotten drunk with plenty of former Rebels and you knew that no one, no matter their motivations, holds out forever under torture. But you were going to make them kriffing work for it.

The medic was their mistake and your salvation. When they'd pulled you out of the chair this time you'd collapsed, your abused legs unable to take your weight. They'd been standing over you bickering about who would carry you outside when a pair of boots you didn't recognize came into your field of view.

"You idiots," was the first thing the new voice said: another woman, you thought, low and clear and confident. "How long has she been like this? You're going to kill her from dehydration, if hemorrhage doesn't get her first." A steady beeping noise came from somewhere nearby. The newcomer was using a handheld medisensor. "Yeah, thought so - look. Dehydration, bruised kidneys, cranial swelling, broken jaw and skull fracture, bleeding into the abdominal cavity. If you're planning to use her as bait you'd better do it quick."

"Kriff," groaned one of the ones you did know by now - the big one who was always the first to unbuckle your restraints and the first to put them back on. He sounded more inconvenienced than regretful. "We tried to give her water but she won't drink it. Spit it right back at us. Keva lost her temper."

The woman you thought was a medic gave an unsympathetic snort. "She's gonna lose her hostage, too, if she doesn't let me help. Let me talk to her."

The sound of boots moving away from you, the squeal of the big iron door opening and closing. Only one of them left to guard you, which would have been the perfect opportunity to grab for a blaster and get far away, if only you could move more than a few pathetic inches at a time.

You'd just geared up to at least try when the door banged open again. You spent a precious bit of energy rolling your eyes instead - fuck's sake, had none of these people ever run a covert operation before? Or were they just so sure no one would come looking for you? Maybe that was it. They'd been following you; they'd witnessed your very public repudiation. They knew they didn't need to worry about a rescue. You were on your own, just like Mando had said.

The thought made you want to lay your head against the stone, close your eyes, and wait for whichever of your fatal injuries would be the first to cross the finish line.

"He's not going to come back for her on his own," came Yellow Helmet's voice, unmodulated. She must have taken the helmet off again. She seemed to spend more time holding it than wearing it, which irritated you an absurd amount considering the circumstances. "If we want to use her, we're going to have to get the word around and wait for him to come to us. It could take weeks."

"She doesn't have weeks unless you get her to a real medbay." The medic again. "Whoever kicked her in the gut about eight times and broke her skull made sure of that."

Silence. You concentrated on keeping your head up and your breathing as even as you could. Whatever was coming next, you wanted to see it before it got you.

"Fine," Yellow Helmet gritted out at last. She sounded annoyed. "We can spare one. That means after this we go easy on her. There's plenty that will make her talk without killing her."

"Lucky her," said the other woman with just a touch of sarcasm, then: "Hold still." This last was directed at you. As if you could do anything else.

You were still digesting the implications of make her talk without killing her when there was a thunk and a rustle from above you. A heavy canvas bag dropped to the floor just in front of your face, marked with the universal sigil for medical supplies. A moment later you felt a heavy sting on the back of your neck. You yelped and tried to roll over but succeeded only in bucking helplessly, too weak to fling yourself against the intrusion. Your heart was hammering in your ribcage - what was that? What exactly were they planning to do?

"That should tide her over." The medic sounded satisfied.

"It had better," Yellow Helmet said. "I'll be damned if she's getting another. We were lucky to get as many as we did."

What had they just given you? A stimpack would explain your heart rate, but stimpacks were for combat soldiers, designed to get them up and fighting again on the assumption that real medical attention would be available once the shooting stopped. And you'd had stims and this didn't feel like that. It didn't feel like a sedative either; no warm haze reached out to pull you oblivion. Instead, a strange sensation prickled across your scalp. It was a little like cool water over a sunburn or the pump of cold air from a ventilation shaft. You found you were suddenly more alert, could feel parts of yourself that you hadn't realized had gone numb. You thought that in another few minutes you might be able to stand, and walk, and talk, and do all the normal things a person does that had been stripped from you in your purely animal pain.

You were considering putting this hypothesis to the test by rolling over when something else happened. Somewhere in your abdomen, a feeling like a balloon popping but in reverse - slowly and then all at once. You blinked and swallowed. You hadn't even been able to tell how unfocused your vision had become; now it was like watching one of those hyperrealistic holovids, colors flooding in so brightly everything seemed oversaturated. It wasn't that you didn't still hurt: you could feel the bruises on your jaw, the cut on your scalp throbbing. And it wasn't that you weren't exhausted because you still wanted to fall asleep right there on the floor.

It was just that, suddenly, it seemed possible you might live.

"Get her up," commanded Yellow Helmet. Hands shoved themselves under your armpits to hoist you to your feet. The big one's touch was familiar at this point, and you found it almost comforting. This time when your feet touched the floor you were able to stand.

"You two, take her out. Deng, keep that blaster handy - we don't know how she'll react."

Good, you thought, with a giggle. She'll react real good. You weren't sure if you'd said it out loud.

"Come on," said the big one coaxingly. "Atta girl. Let's get you outside and you can have a nice walkabout."

Your mouth was too gummed with dried blood to come back with something smart, and you really did want to move even if it was just to see if you could. You concentrated instead on putting one foot in front of the other.

By the time you reached the alley, you found you could not just walk but maybe even run if you had to. Whatever they gave you was humming along your nerves and everything was sharp and clear, from the rustle of your garments as you stretched to the sound of Yellow Helmet and the others arguing about something in a language you didn't know.

Your newfound awareness was what saved you both. You saw the glimpse of silver in the loading dock across the street, tucked deep behind another half-shattered door. Your chemically-enhanced synapses stopped you from reacting almost before you realized what you were looking at. Your two guards were watching you closely. You deliberately let your gaze drift back down to the ground, trying to to look vague and unthreatening. It must have worked because neither of your captors seemed to notice anything amiss.

After a few long seconds your eyes wandered back over to the loading dock, but whatever you'd seen in the shadows was gone.

***

"All right," said Yellow Helmet from startlingly close behind you. It was your fifth time being let out of the chair to pee and this time, thanks to whatever they'd given you, you'd actually passed something resembling normal urine instead of blood. You knew it was the fifth time because you were keeping track. Other prisoners might scratch the days on the walls of their prison; you, in a somewhat less dignified arrangement, kept count via your bladder and hoped every piss wouldn't be your last.

Yellow Helmet was talking to your minder. "Here's the plan. We're getting off this sand-sucking rock as fast as possible, and we're taking her with us. Deng stays behind to put the word out. If Djarin is here, he'll hear we've got his little pet and come looking. Him and his fucking honor, Mandalorians are so predictable--"

The first shot was so unexpected you didn't understand what was happening. All you registered was an ear-splitting crack and a roar from one of your guards before the smaller one, the one who had been assigned to hold a blaster to your head, staggered back and collapsed against the wall as if he had decided to sit down on the job. It wasn't until you saw the dark bloom across his tunic that you realized he wasn't suddenly drunk or insane: he was dead.

Someone was screaming, but it wasn't you. The noise almost masked the whining pop of return fire as you whipped your head towards the alley entrance, despite the protest from your injured jaw, and saw -

A mountain of silver advancing through the narrow passageway, pulse rifle notched against one shoulder and coolly steadied by a familiar, orange-gloved hand.

Your other kidnappers were scrambling across the open ground, finding cover behind ruined walls, ducking behind doors already hanging crazily off their hinges. Two more blaster bolts whistled by your head and you flinched, watching them ricochet off the Mandalorian's beskar chestplate as if they were children's toys.

The pulse rifle fired again, punching straight through one of the doors. The energy field might have lost momentum going through the metal, but it didn't matter. You saw shrapnel finish the gruesome job as the body of the big man - the one you'd almost managed to feel fond of - reeled backward, the flesh of his face and throat no more than shreds of yellow and scarlet.

More screaming. It might have been you this time. You couldn't tell.

Another shot. This close, the sound was incredible to your heightened hearing, so loud it made your eardrums ring like gongs. You were glad to be temporarily deaf; you didn't want to hear what noises the woman across from you was making as she clutched her hands to the river of blood gushing from her side. You'd never been so relieved to see someone in your life and at the same time you were terrified, desperate to run, hide, anything to avoid the eerily calm attention of the man who was coming down the street towards you like a landslide.

The Mandalorian tossed the pulse rifle into the sand and drew the blaster holstered on his hip. A lucky shot from someone - Yellow Helmet, maybe - grazed his arm at the elbow, burning through the duraweave, but he hardly seemed to notice. Your quaking body crammed you into the wall as he went past, making yourself as small of a target as possible. He didn't look at you, didn't seem to see anything past the helmet besides the three mercenaries still returning fire from the end of the alley.

Something in your flailing brain tugged at your attention despite the panic. Three. Three, including Yellow Helmet, still cowering behind their poor excuses for cover. Three more down, one still cursing and two dead.

Where was --

You were up and moving before you even realized it, launching yourself through the door of the warehouse like a badly aimed slugthrower. You collided with someone just inside, kneecap popping ominously as you both hit the floor and rolled with a clatter of metal. You pulled yourself halfway to standing despite the pain, desperately scanning for what you knew had to be there - slamming a shin into the concrete as you lunged -

The medic's blaster was in your hands and her face, which you hadn't been able to see before now, was like a dream below the red dot of the targeting system. She was kneeling too, arrested in the middle of rising after you'd knocked her down. She had a plain face, broad and open, and could have passed unnoticed in any marketplace on Tattooine. Your finger twitched, finding the trigger.

"Don't," said the medic. "Please don't."

"You would have killed me," you said. It was the first time you'd spoken to one of your captors and the words felt strange in your mouth.

"I saved you," the medic said. "They would have let you die." Her voice was perfectly steady.

"You were going to shoot him," you said. Your brain had done the calculation without any conscious input from you, as it had several times in the past few days. Three in the sand of the alley. Three still fighting. One missing: the latecomer, the medic. The smart one, who had stayed in the darkness of the warehouse and waited for the Mandalorian to walk past. She would have taken her shot at his back, aiming for the unarmored arteries in the leg and groin. It's what you would have done too.

"He's killing us," she replied.

"Good," you snarled, so savagely you didn't recognize yourself. "He should."

"It's not personal." She was still talking, the way you would talk to a wild animal: calm, soothing, a gentle stream to let it know you're only human. "Strictly business. It was never about you. We didn't even want your bounty, we just wanted the Mandalor--"

It wasn't that you were an especially good shot. She was just so close you couldn't miss. The blaster bolt took her square in the sternum and she went over backward with the hollow thunk of skull meeting stone. You half staggered, half crawled a few steps, staring at the dead face, the empty eyes. You wanted to say something clever like, Yeah, well, so do I, but you just gaped like an idiot instead, chest heaving as the weapon dangled from one slack hand.

There was a tremendous clang from outside, followed by the scream of metal on metal. You turned to see the warehouse door flung fully open by a silver figure half-dragging, half-supporting a woman in yellow armor -

You pulled the trigger entirely by instinct. Luckily your aim was just as good as last time and the bolt hit the yellow breastplate dead center, ricocheted to ping off the Mandalorian’s silver helmet, and vanished into the ceiling in a cloud of dust.

"Hey, watch it," came the familiar, modulated voice.

Relief hit you harder than any alley wall, pulling the adrenaline out from under you like a rug. You sat down hard on the concrete. Your hands were shaking so badly you dropped the blaster.

You didn't pick it back up. No need, not anymore. You found to your surprise that you couldn't raise your head, couldn't meet the dark glass of the visor. You felt-- you didn't know what you felt. Furious that he was the reason you were here, and grateful to be rescued, and embarrassed to need it... and somehow deeply, obscurely ashamed.

Another clang as the Mandalorian dropped his armored prize like dead weight to kneel beside you. "Mesh--," he started, and then stopped, then started again. "Are you all right? Are you hurt?"

There was no good way to answer that question, so you just pointed at the yellow figure on the floor.

"Yeah," said Mando, sounding more certain. "This one was giving the orders. I saw the cha-- I saw some of the things she did. I thought..." He paused for a moment, as though considering what to say next. "I thought you might like... right of first refusal."

Right of first refusal. What a Mandalorian way to put it. I thought murder might make you feel better. Some part of you wanted to take him up on it but you had already killed today, had already broken your vow, and for a better reason than revenge. You shook your head.

"In that case," said Mando easily, and reached for his holster. You stopped him with a hand on the arm, though it took you another few seconds to find words. When you did, your voice was so cracked your still-ringing ears could barely hear it.

"No," you said. "Enough killing for one day. Leave her on the steps of the New Republic office and let them handle it."

You'd only ever given him orders once before, and never like this.

Mando shrugged. He had an uneven way of moving his shoulders that surprised you into remembering it. It had only been a few days and you were already losing details, the things that made the Mandalorian himself despite his usual silence.

You'd spent so long watching, studying, hoping and you'd just... forgotten.

Something black and awful, worse than the first touch of the chair's straps, opened up in your stomach at the thought. It drove you upright, beyond ready to be done with this place, these people.

"Get her up," you croaked. "You go in front, I don't want to see her. We'll drop her off." You seriously doubted your ability to walk that far, but you would try. You couldn't not try. "And then-- and then take me home."

There was no question of what you meant by home. The Mandalorian didn't protest, didn't argue or even apologize. He just nodded and picked up his captive and went out of the warehouse door in front of you as you commanded, into the blinding sunshine.

***

Din holds you until your breathing evens, silent and patient in a way you've never learned to be with yourself. Your own tolerance gives out long before you run out of tears, and this time you're more exasperated than upset. It makes you careless. "Why I am still crying?" you whisper fiercely to Din, shaking the last of the saltwater from your lashes and trying to sit taller in his grasp. "That was years ago. It's just a stupid fucking helmet."

There's a sound like a sigh behind you, and too late you remember Din's feelings about his own stupid fucking helmet. Kriff. Does it matter? It's not like the yellow helmet came from a real Mandalorian. But maybe it had, once, and you're dishonoring their memory or something by saying it. Kriff. If you try to fix it now you'll just sound stupid and insincere. Not for the first time, you wish you knew more about the Children of the Watch and their customs.

"Mesh'la," Din says from behind you, and the word is slow and heavy in a way that makes your stomach drop. It was a thoughtless thing to say out loud, sure, but you didn't think you'd fucked up that badly.

"About the helmet," he continues, and you're almost sure he's going to say something like, If you feel that way about it, are you sure about tomorrow?

But what comes out instead is, "Do you want me to... take it off?"

"What?" you respond, bewildered. "It's already off. And I haven't looked."

"I know," says Din. "I mean... do you want me to take it off and.. leave it off." It doesn't sound like a question. "So you can look."

"What?" you say again. Then: "What?"

"I will, you know." His unfiltered voice is calm and serious, in contrast to your suddenly sweaty palms. "Turn around right now if you want. You can."

Your mouth is hanging open. You shut it with a click, swallowing hard. "I'm not... I'm not... I don't want to-- Din, why?"

Another sigh. "It would be worse if... I want you to know you don't have to marry me to see my face."

"That's not why I'm marrying you," you say, confused. The implication stings. "That's... Din, you would -- the covert -- the clan --"

"I know," he says again. "I lost them once. The covert, the clan, being a Mandalorian -- I lost everything. And I'd do it again, for the same reason."

For the same reason. Your heart flips in your throat. You know what he means. Last time, for his son... this time, for you.

You could see his face. You could see him. You wouldn't have to do Maker-knows-what tomorrow in front of everyone, endure blank stares from unfamiliar visors. You wouldn't have to tiptoe around his beliefs. You could keep going as you have been, partners and lovers and friends, but sharing the same bunk, the same food. You know he wouldn't offer unless he meant it.

You could have Din to yourself. You wouldn't have to share him with the demands of his Creed ever again.

He would be yours, and yours alone.

You’re suddenly glad you’re already sitting down.

You have no idea what to do next, so you stall. "I already said yes, though. We're six hours out from Mandalore. Wouldn't this... change that?"

Stupid question. Of course it would, in every possible way.

"Yes." Din is still unperturbed. "It would."

"Why?" It's surreal to be having this conversation without looking at him, without even the set of his shoulders to tell you how he really feels. Maybe if you understand, you'll know what to do. "Why now? Why like this?"

The arms around you drop away, letting cold air seep under your flimsy sleep shirt. Din takes a long pensive moment before he answers. "I've broken the Creed before, and returning to it almost killed me. I survived. I could survive again, if I had to. The Way says, Keep your oaths. Return loyalty with loyalty. But above all else, guard your honor. Asking you to marry me with conditions -- letting you think the choice was marriage or never really -- it would be worse. It would be worse than..."

He trails off. You know what he means. Marriage with conditions. He would never really know if you had pledged yourself only to finally see his face. You hadn't, of course... or at least you didn’t think you had. But he would never be sure. And, you realize with a deep ripple of shame, neither would you.

The yellow helmet is still in front of you. The visor seems very dark, the faded paint bright in the dim light, but it no longer has the power to frighten you outside of your dreams. Instead, it's become a fetish, a talisman of your own power. Of what you are capable of enduring, and what your endurance meant to the man behind you. Just like Din’s helmet is a talisman, a tangible symbol of his care: every blaster bolt meant for you his armor has taken instead, every drop of blood spilled to keep you safe.

You'd almost pleaded with him to leave it when he pulled the helmet off your captor's head before tipping her unceremoniously onto the steps of the New Republic Security building. It had taken months for you to be able to look it straight on. On the way back to the ship, you'd kept your face resolutely turned away, walking on Din’s opposite side. Insofar as you could walk; by the time you'd finally made it up the gangway, he had been half-carrying you.

You don’t need to recall what happened next, the memory burned into you as indelibly as a brand. The way you pleaded touch me, please touch me to Din, half out of your mind with whatever drug they'd given you and the need to know he was there for real, not just another means of escape for a mind petrified by terror. The way you choked on a scream when he turned you to face him, the lines of his own helmet echoing across your broken face like another slap from unyielding steel. The way he touched you when he bandaged you, first too soft and then not soft at all.

His quiet words, more confession than request. Stay with me, and let me prove my honor to you.

And just like that, you know what to do. It's not a decision, because there was never any decision to make. You just... know, the same way you know every curve and plane of the helmet before you. You stand up, careful to keep your eyes ahead of you on the empty bay, and reach behind you. Din’s hand closes over yours, warm and callused with a thousand acts in your name. You take a step forward, pulling him to his feet. You still don't look, but you can feel the span of his broad shoulders behind you anyway, his breath in your hair.

"Put your helmet on, Din Djarin," you say softly. "And go back to sleep. I can wait until tomorrow."

***

[series masterlist]

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian x reader #x reader #din djarin #din djarin x reader #pedro pascal #din djarin x female reader #reader insert #star wars

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