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whiskeynwriting · 2 years

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A Bond to My Soul

Din Djarin x Female Reader

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Word count: 3.3k

Warnings: 18+ (minors DNI) king!Din, possessive Din (Jesus yes), size kink, breeding kink, spanking, brief choking, female masturbation, semi-public sex, mentions of battle, brief mentions of death.

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A/N: good lord this was so fun to write, also co-written with @phnyx. Shocker, ikr? There’s some Mando’a in here too, but I have the translations for y’all in quotations after the sentences where it’s used ♥️

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It should scare you, the noises in the background. But for some reason, they don’t; if anything, they excite you. Then again, they’re just that, background noise. Your main focus right now is him, how he feels and sounds, the way he moves, the way he touches you.

This is important to him, he needs to do this before he leaves. If he doesn’t come back, he wants his lineage to last. Foundlings were important to the Mandalorians, of course, but if a bloodline could be passed down, that would be ideal. It wasn’t just about that though, it wasn't just something he saw as his duty. He liked it this way, it was always a preference to him, finishing inside you. The feeling was sensational for him, both during and after. Knowing he was inside you, filling you with warmth and the possibility of carrying… that excited him beyond reason.

“You’re so delicate,” he rasps out, “Orikih.” (Tiny)

“Do you like it, Din?” you return with a satisfied grin, tilting your head so you can press passionate kisses to his neck.

“Ner laandur dala… I love it; you know this.” comes his immediate response, grunts spilling from his mouth as he punches himself up into you. “It’s so easy, too, so easy to sit you down, move you around like it’s nothing.” (my delicate girl)

Din had pulled you forward onto his lap, forcing your chest to rest against his cuirass. Immediately, your arms wrapped around his neck, feeling Din’s primal urges begin to take over; you could sense it just by the way he moved. And when he was dressed like this, you felt every movement he made, his flight suit allowing the two of you the opportunity to be as close as possible without being naked. He wanted you to be, though, he’s always wanted to take you completely bare on his throne.

“I want to be deep inside, I want to be inside your womb.” He’s groaning and he smiles when he hears you whimpering.

He’s grinding into you, deeply, firmly, fully seated inside. You gasp out pitifully, holding onto him with your head ducked down by his neck. He feels so strong and broad and sturdy and firm, his influence forcing you to become breathless while you whine. You’re crying out into his neck, lips parted as he holds onto you, repeatedly bucking up into you, and he fucking loves it.

Off to the side, you can see the shine of his beskar, sitting in the throne room alongside the two of you. His beskar face shines just barely in the dim light, the outside environment smokey and black from the fight.

“A part of me,” Din says to you gruffly, eyes trained on where you’re continuing to connect. “Will forever be inside…” He leans in closer to you, turning his head and running the curve of his nose along your cheek. It’s slow, tender, and it washes you in waves of goosebumps. “Do you want that, mesh’la? Be honest with me…” (beautiful)

“Yes,” you squeak out with a nod, leaning back to look at him. At this, he gives you a small yet harsh thrust, grinning as he watches your mouth drop open.

He chuckles deeply, the sound almost wicked as he continues shoving himself up into you. Din’s thumb then rises, pressing down on your lower lip before dipping it inside your mouth. And happiness blooms inside his chest when your lips close around his thickest digit.

“I can’t wait.” he sighs lowly with a quick, single shake of his head.

His eyes are trained on you, dark and predatory as he takes you. You were left in your underclothes in the hurries of his passion, stripping you just enough to get inside and uncaring to any other details. And throughout the entire event, his passion doesn’t subside. Both of his feet are planted firmly on the ground, using this as leverage to punch up into you. His arms are wrapped around your back, keeping you in place. And while he holds you, his fingers press into your sides, his love for you and your body uncontrollable in every sense of the word.

Outside, you can hear your Mandalorians fighting, the noise becoming louder as the conflict approaches you. They’re defending your home, the throne, waiting for Din to lead them. But he has to take you, if it’s the last time he ever does, he has to take you.

The sensations Din delivers through this intimate act are entirely overwhelming; he never ceases to use his size and strength against you. And this unbelievable sense of euphoria now heightens in you, feeling both of his hands fall to your backside. The expanse of his palms, the strength of his digits, they grope you, feeling your plump muscles jiggle while he bounces you on his lap. He’s grunting and puffing out hot breaths and he’s smiling every now and then, his face mostly stern as he focuses on you. His mouth hangs open while he grunts, using every muscle he has to force himself inside. And every time he does, you feel that incredible stretch, feel him hit the deepest and most sensitive parts of you. You want to do more for him, want to move and contribute to this, but you can’t. He doesn’t mind though, he likes it like this. He likes making you cockdumb on his lap.

“Take me,” he grits out, hammering into you. “Yes…”

“Din!” you cry out, your eyes pinching shut as you pulse around him. “Din,”

Your king ignores those beautiful cries, his words coming out breathless yet genuine. “You feel so good, so good cyar’ika… letting me fuck you open on my cock, on my throne.” (sweetheart)

“Yes… my king…” your mouth hangs open, your words spoken like a quiet prayer.

There it is, that word, that glorious title that he’s been blessed with. It always sounded best coming from your lips.

“Let me see,” comes a sudden grunt, and when you open your eyes, you see his trained on your chest.

Immediately, you remove your arms from the loop you’d made around his neck, fingers falling to your shirt’s hemline. Working quickly, you remove it, taking off your bralette as well. He smirks at this, a half-grin, an expression that’s smug. He likes that you took it off without him even asking. You know what he wants. You each lean forward, your hands sliding to the back of his head as Din’s lips find your chest.

“Yes…” your head drops back, hands cradling him while he mouths at your curves, sucking one of your nipples into his hot, wet mouth.

“I want to taste them,” he mumbles over your breasts, “Wanna be able to taste your tits on my tongue.”

“Maker, Din… I love when you lick me, baby.”

“Tell me, ner mesh’la dala…” Din’s voice makes you shiver, feeling the rumble of it over your chest. His stubble scratches you, too, a sensation you’re going to miss while he’s gone. “How does it feel when I sink into you?” (my beautiful girl)

“Ner cyare,” you breathe out, eyes finding his when he lifts his head. “It feels - it feels so blissful. You make me feel… amazing…” your words come out stuttered and breathy, his pace and stamina unyielding. (my heart)

Din’s lips then find your neck, his facial hair scraping you roughly as his teeth do the same. The hands groping your ass spread your cheeks wide, growling briefly in your ear before slapping his hand down over one of your delicious curves. While mouthing and sucking on your neck, he groans, every sound that comes from his chest fanning out over your skin.

“Keep moving,” he commands, “Keep fucking yourself onto me.”

“Yes my love,” you grin, eyes remaining closed as you begin to move. “My Mand’alor…”

“Cyar’ika,” he huffs out passionately, his body shivering when you speak his royal name. “You’re perfect - you’re perfect for me.” (my beloved)

And then he reaches up, wrapping both of his large hands around your throat. You immediately cling to him, choking out desperate gasps while a heated fire ignites within your soul.

“Mine,” he declares. “Always mine; a bond to my soul.”

“Yes,” you nod as best you can in his firm grasp. “Yes Din, my love, my Mand’alor.”

There it is, there’s that cocky grin again.

“I love to hear you call me your Mand’alor while I make you whine.”

And the whines he apparently loves so much now come out when he says those words, your eyes falling shut when you feel his muscles just barely begin to shake. He’s close, you know it.

“Din,” you then quietly plead, the battle now roaring outside. “I will miss you.”

Your lover’s hands remove themselves from your throat, rising to hold your face. His expression softens, still passionate but now much kinder than before.

“I will return to you,” he nods, a genuine promise. “For you.”

He moans gruffly, eyes pinching shut while his brows furrow before you. His fingers slide back down to dig into the meat of your backside, his hips punching sharply against you. Every time he dives inside is like the first, his length filling your channel fully and then some. You hope to feel him while he’s gone, at least for a few days, that pleasurable ache and burn left behind from his love.

“Will you keep it?” Din asks you, gritting out the inquiry. “Will you keep me inside?”

“Yes,” you instantly reply, nodding quickly while you look into his eyes. “Always.”

“I love you,” Din says breathlessly, unable to tear his eyes from you. “You’re meant for me.”

“I’ve always been meant for you.” leaning forward, you rest your forehead over his, feeling yourself pulse inside.

Din suddenly grabs one of your hands, quickly guiding it to your core.

“Cum with me,” he demands roughly. “Cum with me, cyar’ika.” (my beloved)

“Oh,” you moan, fingers beginning to rub slowly. It’s almost too much; with Din, it’s always too much. But you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Already, you can feel yourself leaking onto him, your release dripping onto his lap as you fall apart in his arms. And Din holds you through it, your climax prompting his own as your walls squeeze tight around him. The groan that exudes from his chest is animalistic, his body pumping wave after wave of adrenaline into him. He feels his release as it finally enters you, the white stream seemingly never-ending. It lasts longer than normal, at least it seems that way; and for both of you, too. Maybe it’s the conflict rising outside that makes your senses more amplified, maybe it’s the fact that he’ll be gone for Maker knows how long. Regardless of your surroundings, it’s him, you know it’s him. You’re completely and entirely consumed by him.

You’re heaving desperate breaths by the time you come down, both of you holding onto the other like your lives depend on it. You don’t want to think about it, what’s to come soon, too soon. But you can’t help it.

“I don’t want you to go.” it’s quiet and sad and you know he can’t ignore what he has to do.

“Cyar’ika,” he responds, his voice kind and low. He rubs your back slowly, lovingly, holding you closely. “I have to.” (My beloved)

“I know you do.”

You married Din before all of this, before he was king. It was quite the change, the environment and responsibilities not exactly easy to get used to. And even though Din didn’t originally want this, he rose to the occasion. His people need him, you both know this. They need him now more than ever.

After a few more moments of holding your quiet, tender embrace, Din speaks.

“Come,” he says, hand gently tilting your head up. “Ner riduur. It’s time.” (my wife)

It’s a ceremony, a private one held just by the two of you. Carefully, he removes himself from you, lifting you from his lap. He makes sure your feet settle firmly on the ground, knowing you might be a little wobbly after what he’s done to you. When you’re steady on your feet, you descend the steps to his throne, turning to approach the sacred armor that belongs to Din. He descends behind you, too, walking to stand beside you.

Before the two of you sits a table, beskar elements laid out alongside two fur coverings. Lastly, decorative jewels sit scattered upon the table, each one for you. The first to begin is your king, reaching out to retrieve one of the fur skins. And then you turn toward each other, him facing you, and you to him.

“Cyare,” he breathes out, gazing deeply into your eyes as he holds out the fur, an offering. (my beloved)

You smile, stepping closer to him and allowing him this devotional act. A multitude of expressions cross Din’s face, worry and sadness for leaving you, but pride and joy from knowing that you’re his. Carefully, he reaches out, slinging your queenly pelt over both your shoulders. Two thin chains hang over your chest, Din’s bare fingers now moving to connect them so your covering does not fall.

Din then retrieves your first piece of jewelry, working his way up from your feet. He kneels before you, placing an anklet around either of your feet, the chains made up of beskar that sparkle dazzlingly under any light. He then moves to your thighs, placing thick beskar cuffs around each of them. This signifies your ties to the Way, the warrior society you’ve chosen as your family. Another thin chain, much like those on your ankles, is looped around your hips, and then your waist, Din’s bare fingers brushing lightly over your skin. You take a breath, storing the sensation as a memory to look back on when he is gone. Your fingers are adorned with multiple rings, one with a Mudhorn to signify your tie to Din’s clan, one with a Mythosaur to resemble your devotion and respect for the culture of Mandalore. Bracelets mirroring the chains on your hips, waist, and feet, now loop around your wrists, Din turning your hands over to kiss the tops of both your hands.

You watch intently as he does this for you, your eyes full of love, adoration, and devotion. He is yours, the one you were always meant to be with, the one who has embraced your soul in every sense of the word. He would go to immeasurable lengths for you, he would fight for you, he would die for you.

Mirroring the signet on Din’s right pauldron, he clasps a beskar cuff around your right bicep. Along the cuff is your clan’s seal, a Mudhorn. You feel so incredibly proud to wear it. As Din continues to decorate your body, he rises from his feet, eventually standing at his full height once again. Lastly, he reaches for a large necklace laced in black obsidian stones. It hangs around your neck, laying over your chest. And once he clasps it behind your neck, his part of this ceremony is done.

Din’s warm eyes trail over your body, naked except for the fur covering and sacred jewels he just placed on you. “Mesh’la.” he breathes out, his voice full of wonder. He wants to reach out, wants to touch you and pull you close. But he had his pleasure with you; there’s no time to act on his physical desires during this preparative ritual. (beautiful)

Taking a deep breath, you smile, appearing heavenly before him. “Mand’alor,” you say once again, fully addressing him.

This begins the true ceremony, your gentle hands now in turn dressing him. Mindfully, you decorate him in each piece of his protective armor, a sign of true respect for your lover and king as you aid him in his preparation for battle. Beginning the same as him, you kneel, reaching for his boots and allowing him to step into them. Each one fits perfectly on his feet, the feet that will carry him into battle as he leads the siege.

You’ve studied Din’s routine for months, wanting to get this right. After all, it is partially up to you whether or not he gets injured in battle. Part of the meaning behind the ceremony is trust, depending on your significant other to keep you safe.

Din’s shin and thigh guards are easy, securing over his flight suit with his knee pads shortly thereafter. You make sure to secure them tightly, though with enough room for him to comfortably move. And Din waits while you do it, watching you from above while you work on your knees. The sight makes him want to take you all over again. He needs to come home to you, he will come home to you.

His codpiece protects his pelvic region, his belt securing it to him whilst also holding a handful of weapons. His cuirass is by far the largest piece of armor, covering both his chest and upper back. When you finally reach this point, you rise to your feet; but your eyes don’t meet his, not yet. Each piece makes him appear bigger, stronger, and you’re honored that he trusts you to handle them with such care. With pride Din watches as you secure his vambraces to his forearms, locking them in place and activating the weapons hidden inside. And then comes his pauldrons, his right adorned with a beskar Mudhorn, his left remaining smooth with a beautiful shine. A sense of honorable fulfillment fills your entire being now that the two of you are dressed this way; your bodies adorned with sacred beskar pieces, each of you wearing your clan’s signet as you stand together.

Turning, you retrieve the second to last piece of beskar on the table, his helmet. It’s only now that you look up at him, inhaling a small breath. “Din.” you whisper to him, looking into the eyes of the one you love. He looks to you with such adoration and warmth; he knows you will lead his people until he comes back. Slowly, gently, he gives you a single nod, one full of confidence and poise. He’s calm, yet determined; he’s ready. So, you move on, shielding the face of the love of your life. He bows down slightly, allowing you to slide his helmet onto his head. Once on, he rises again, and the sight of him completely dressed makes you shiver. Your lips part in awe; he’s godly like this.

In your final act, you return to the table, fetching Din’s most powerful weapon. He’s trained months with this piece, he’s bonded with this piece. He deserves this.

Once again, you kneel, resting completely on your shins. Another deep breath is inhaled. After this, he’s gone, he’ll lead your sacred society to battle. But you can’t think about that, you can’t worry. He will be glorious.

In an act of loyalty and submissiveness, you lift your hands, offering the Darksaber to Din while tilting your head down. He stands above you, strong and dominant, the pure energy of his presence making you feel safe enough to be small beneath him. He feels satisfied, knowing how true you are to him. And with your last word, you send Din off to battle, placing all of your faith into the hands of the one you love.

“Mand’alor.”

Thank you for reading <3

If you liked this fic, check out my Blurred Lines Series (;

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