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loslentesdepedrito · 3 months

Text

Paleta

Din gif by: @themandaloriansource My Masterlist

Pairing: Virgin!Din Djarin x f!reader (Both Din and reader speak Spanish, and translations are provided.)

Word count: 11.2k+

Summary: You and Din accept a job to extract a flower from a planet neither of you has been to before. The instructions seem easy enough, but they do warn to be careful with the flower's pollen because of its unknown effects. Inspired by the song Paleta by Wisin & Yandel ft. Daddy Yankee.

Rating: 18+ Explicit content (MDNI) Tags and CW: canon divergent, can be considered dubious consent due to sex pollen, Din is a virgin in all aspects, and reader is not, poor Din being horny since the beginning, slight angst, happy ending, reader is shorter than Din and is carried by him in one scene, mami kink?, unprotected piv, oral (f and m receiving), some nipple play, multiple orgasms, creampie, facial, slight cum eating, shy Din then confident Din. To my knowledge, the Star Wars Universe doesn't have a purple planet, so I borrowed the Purple Dimension from Marvel Comics.

A/N: If you haven't had the chance yet, I beg you to check out the artwork by @immarocketman. This specific Din is exactly what I had envisioned for one of the scenes here. Their talent is remarkable, and I plan to explore more of their blog soon. Also, I mentioned that I was considering leaving and promised to provide an answer, but truth be told, I still haven't decided 😅. More on that in the end notes. For now, just sit back and enjoy the story!

In the passenger chair behind you, Din's voice, agitated and piercing, breaks the silence of the ship's quiet hum. "Can you stop sucking on that thing?" His patience has finally reached its limit, worn down by the seemingly endless hours of watching you indulge in that infuriatingly purple lollipop. He's been forced to watch, and his frustration grows with each smacking pop you make.

Seated in the pilot's chair, you remain unfazed. The tone of Din's voice doesn't intimidate you; if anything, it amuses you. With a nonchalant pop, you remove the candy from your mouth, emitting a deliberate sound that only seems to fuel Din's annoyance.

"No," you reply plainly, still refusing to meet his gaze. You slide the sweet back between your lips and continue navigating the ship.

In the aftermath of a recent encounter with a Rancor that left Din nursing an injury on his left side, he reluctantly handed over the piloting duties to you as you traveled to a planet named the Purple Dimension – the location for your next assignment. Clutched tightly in Din's hand was a holopuck, its contents holding crucial information regarding the upcoming bounty hunt.

As the ship coursed through space, Din's growing frustration took its toll on the holopuck. The round object seemed on the verge of shattering under the pressure of his grip. The puck contained a holographic image of the bounty—an exotic flower—its value measured in credits, along with instructions. The explicit instructions attached required the flower to be carefully extracted and returned unharmed, without its pollen, as it was thought that its pollen could contain a substance that might trigger an unknown reaction.

The substantial payoff stemmed from the fact that a botanist sought to study the flower beyond its native habitat, resorting to placing a bounty to facilitate this unconventional research, as the botanist was unable to travel to the planet where the flower exclusively thrived. The job was one of the most unusual ones you've had, but the reward led to you and Din accepting the job.

Your fingers, warmed by the prolonged contact with the ship's controls, grasp the handles. Four fingers curl around the black handles, while your thumbs press firmly on the top. Your focus stays fixed on the pitch-black expanse ahead, where the distant stars provide the only source of light. Absentmindedly, the lollipop remains in your mouth, licked without the need for your hands.

Abruptly, Din interjects, "It's going to give you cavities," he declares, his tone laden with frustration that transcends the mere mention of cavities—his concern sounding more like a personal grievance.

With casualness, you reply, not quite understanding the intensity of his objection, "I brush my teeth thrice a day."

Din persists, his annoyance evident. "It's going to leave your teeth stained."

Unbothered, you respond, "This one never does," as you continue to indulge in the sweet.

Din, seemingly pulling thoughts out of thin air, desperately tries to dissuade you from sucking that godforsaken candy. "Don’t you hate grape-flavored stuff?" he questions, grasping at any argument to put an end to the incessant sucking of the lollipop.

“It’s very berry-flavored. It tastes delicious; I wouldn’t keep sucking if I didn’t like it,” you calmly assert, savoring the flavor while Din, in a moment of quiet frustration, squeezes the puck once more to stifle a groan at the words ‘It tastes delicious, I wouldn’t keep sucking if I didn’t like it.'

“Just stop freaking sucking the lollipop!” Din suddenly roars, his composure slipping away.

“Who pissed on your breakfast today? Lower your voice, would you? The kid is sleeping,” you retort sharply, whipping your head behind to find Din’s metal helmet tipped back against the red cushion of his chair.

He grumbles.

“Why does my candy bother you?” you ask, shifting your attention back to the path ahead.

“Let’s switch,” Din says, getting up with a slight grit in his teeth that you don’t quite catch.

“You’re hurt,” you remind him, part stating the obvious and part expressing genuine concern.

“I'm better,” he insists, placing his hand right next to you on the control panel.

You gulp and, without uttering a word, rise from your seat, seamlessly swapping places with him. The front of the ship isn’t the most spacious, and when you and Din brush up against each other, a subtle electricity passes between you, and he feels himself crumble at the touch. If it weren’t for his entire body being covered in beskar, you would easily see the physical effect you have on him.

“It’s distracting,” Din mutters, attempting to mask and ignore his feelings once he's settled back into the pilot’s chair.

“Oh, just focus on the mission, tin man,” you roll your eyes at him.

Din sighs out in frustration, and his voice modulator emits a gruff tone. “For the thousandth time, my armor isn’t made out of tin-”

“It’s made from beskar,” you interject, mimicking him with a sly grin as you repeat the exact words.

He doesn’t appreciate your tone, and he turns to give you a hard look through his helmet’s T-visor. All Din can focus on, however, is the way your lips wrap around the round hard candy. It’s shiny, and he can hear the sucking and stickiness echoing in his helmet. He's been twitching and growing in his pants, desperately trying to wield away his arousal without resorting to adjusting himself or deep breaths. Fucking miss my codpiece, he thinks.

With an audible pop, you remove the lollipop from your mouth and extend it to Din. “Do you want some of my candy?”

“No,” he replies curtly.

“Then stop staring!” you retort, emphasizing the word 'staring'. “You’re so tense, Maker, you need to get laid.”

At your words, Din's hands jerk, and the ship plummets.

"Din!" you scream, your stomach churning as your heart lodges itself in your throat. The velocity of descent sends a surge of fear through your veins. One hand instinctively shoots out to grip the ship’s side, desperately seeking something to brace against, while the other clutches the child, keeping him from sliding off his seat.

“Shit, shit, shit,” Din mutters, skillfully lifting the ship back to its original height after the sudden drop.

As your heartbeat gradually regulates, you steal a glance at Grogu, finding him still peacefully asleep. You sense you hit a delicate spot with Din, prompting you to let go of the teasing for now.

Wanting to shift the conversation, you say, “I wonder why no one else took the job. It’s great pay for what seems like a relatively easy missio- I mean job.” The planet you're headed to isn't popular; people don’t say why, but not many choose to visit.

“You get the money and don’t question shit,” Din says even though he has the same question.

Choosing not to press further, you turn your attention to the window. Up ahead, there's a thin, straight brown light, expanding seemingly from the horizon and stretching into what appears to be an eternity.

“We’re going to pass through the barrier now,” Din announces. The brown light grows more pronounced as the ship steadily approaches.

You tighten your seatbelt, securing yourself further, and place a protective hand on Grogu. Din steers the spaceship forward, and the moment the ship makes contact with the barrier, it propels forward at a rapid speed.

The sensation makes your head a bit fuzzy, and when you open your eyes, you're mesmerized by the surreal sights. Before you, four massive planets come into view. Oddly, they all appear to be precisely the same size. Each possesses a unique hue: Red, Purple, Green, and Yellow, standing in perfect alignment against the vast backdrop of the black vacuum of space.

Din goes straight for the purple planet, and as you draw closer, you're granted a more detailed view. The Purple Dimension, unlike its counterparts, lacks a ring. Indentations mark its surface, and as you approach, bodies of water and stunning mountain ranges become visible. Din tilts the ship, guiding it into the planet's atmosphere. The moment the ship breaches the surface, sheer awe envelops you. The bodies of water below cast an ethereal glow with bioluminescence, and the entire landscape bathes in an even color due to the indigo-tinted sky.

While you try to absorb the beauty of your surroundings in the darkness, the ship lands on a plain, sending purple dirt flying with the impact.

Din flicks off some switches, and you unbuckle your seat belt. “What do we do with Grogu?” you ask, standing up.

“We take him.”

“Are you sure? I can go and retrieve the flower, and you stay here with the kid,” you suggest.

“No. We’ll all go,” he declares, leaving no room for argument.

“Okay then. You’ve got the tracking fob, right?”

He hums in confirmation and retrieves the holopuck, activating it to reveal a holograph. A large flower materializes, towering at least 8 inches minus its stem. Eight petals surround a prominent style, with smaller styles adorning the central one. The holograph lacks vivid color, displaying only muted hues of blue that make it a challenge to discern the flower's true colors from the image alone.

“The target is on the water,” Din informs, and as if on cue, the child wakes up. You both cast a quick glance at the child, who begins to coo and blink up at both of you. It's a familiar routine for Grogu; he knows when you both have jobs and patiently waits for one of you to leave so he can follow.

“It was explicitly stated that the flower needed to have its roots, so…,” you bend down to retrieve an item you purchased. Unbeknownst to you, Din's gaze lingers, tracing the contours of your form as you unfold a blanket from what seems to be a ceramic container. He tries to maintain composure, but he can't help the involuntary hitch in his breath, his eyes irresistibly drawn to you. You finally stand back up, and with a smile, you unveil a flower pot.

“La compré para plantar la flor por si acaso (I bought this to plant the flower just in case),” you say, the sincerity in your voice softening the edges of your teasing banter. The idea of the flower handing in the flower lifeless after your efforts is not an option.

Din, his gaze lingering on you, manages to tilt his head slightly and inquire, “¿Cuánto te costó?” (How much did it cost you?)"

“No mucho (not a lot),” you brush him off casually, heading towards the exit with the flowerpot cradled in your arms. There's no need to call for the little boy; he immediately follows you in his floating pram.

“Esta niña (this girl),” Din grumbles, hands on his waist, shaking his head. He gives himself a silent pep talk, repeating that he can't entertain certain thoughts about you. Wishing for just five minutes—hell, two minutes—to work himself and spill over his fist, so he could stop the relentless thoughts. The thoughts that have replayed in his mind throughout the entire journey persist, and he knows they'll linger, continuing to haunt him.

After a few deep breaths, Din speed walks to the exit, his heavy footsteps echoing throughout the ship. He finds you and Grogu outside, with you carrying a bag over your shoulders, facing the water.

You're absorbed in the breathtaking sight, and it reinforces why you love your job as a bounty hunter. Yes, you deal with tracking down criminals, and yes, your renowned career is undeniably dangerous. But sights like this one make you believe it's worth it, plus traveling with Din and the baby is an added bonus. Grogu is an adorable kid, and Din is… Din.

You hear the Razor Crest's door closing and quickly capture a mental picture of the landscape. The ship lands on a purplish mountain range, not tall enough to obscure the view of the river below, yet sufficiently elevated. The sky, a dark shade of purple, accentuates the breathtaking brilliance of the stars. All the purple stretches out for miles, and even the majority of the forestation is painted in indigo hues. You turn your head by 90 degrees and are met with plum-colored plains stretching as far as the eye can see. Back to where the ship landed, there appears to be a beach, the sand's natural hue indeterminable against the sky's purple tint. However, the water is unmistakably translucent, a purplish-blue adorned with white sparkles, bioluminescent in nature. A few feet from the shore, a large forest comes into view, and hints of green seem to intermingle within the purple foliage. It's a strange sight, seeing such distinct biomes coexisting within a close distance, a landscape unlike any you've seen before.

“C’mon,” Din says, taking the lead. You and the child follow, catching up to his long strides. The ground beneath you feels somewhat familiar, similar to your home planet, yet you know better than to let your guard down. There's always a chance of something lurking, ready to trip you up, as you've learned the hard way before.

Silence envelops your trio until you reach the edge of the mountain. Grogu heads in a straight line, beginning a slow descent.

“Wait,” Din orders, making the first move to ensure the steps are secure before stretching out his gloved hand. You hesitate for a moment, apprehensive about making a fool of yourself at the slightest contact. Eventually, you wrap your fingers around Din’s hand, shivering at the unexpected warmth beneath his glove's black palm, contrasting with the cold yellow exterior. Din guides you as you land on the flat part of the mountain, offering a mix of instructions in a steady rhythm. “One foot in front of the other, watch your step, cuidado (careful),” he advises. This pattern continues as Din takes the lead, guiding your descent until you reach the base, where Grogu patiently waits.

Once you reach the sandy shore, you follow Din, who has the tracking fob out. He heads to the left, where many boulders create a makeshift wall. From the mountain's top, you had noticed the forest in that direction, just a few steps beyond the boulders and near the deeper part of the water. As you follow Din, you feel the temperature rising, and gradually, a wave of heat washes over you. The sun's intensity beats down, and warmth starts to cling uncomfortably to your skin.

Amidst the heat, a realization strikes you: you have something in your bag that could melt." Quickly unzipping the black bag, you retrieve a chocolate bar, its usual vibrant red wrapper transformed into a different hue by the planet's purple coloring. The word 'Tronky' is written in its original white letters, standing out against the altered shiny plastic. The wrapper displays an image of the candy, resembling a tree trunk with a few hazelnuts and a single leaf. The candy itself is thin, requiring only a few bites to finish.

Din, on high alert, hears a crinkle and turns to look behind. He's met with the sight of you biting into the wafer chocolate bar. As the hazelnut spread hits your tongue, you moan in delight. Din's boot gets stuck between a rock on the sand, and his body lurches forward. Before he can plummet to the ground, he manages to hold himself up with a large boulder. The wind blows his cape as he straightens up. Knowing better than to ask if he's okay, you pretend you didn't see and walk next to him, just in case he trips again. The crunch of the wafer blends in with the soothing sounds of waves crashing on the shore.

“Que rico (So good),” you mumble to yourself, throwing your head back.

Against his will, Din looks at you, captivated by all your features illuminated against the purple light. He plays with his cape, determined to focus on the tracking device to avoid crushing it. Din tries to ignore the sounds you think you’re hiding, silently praying you'll finish that chocolate bar soon. As the forest comes into view, he turns to tell you where to go. However, what he sees nearly has him stumbling again. You’ve finished the bar, and melted chocolate sits on your bottom lip.

“You’ve umm…” Din points at his own lips over his mask.

Confusion clouds your expression, and you stand there, looking bewildered. He points back at his helmet, “your…” he trails off. Still not understanding, you remain puzzled, and he puts the tracker in his pocket before stepping forward.

“Tienes chocolate en tu labio (you have chocolate on your lip),” he says in a low voice, placing one hand behind your head while using the other to touch your lips. You feel the soft and grainy texture of the leather against your skin, and you gasp, parting your lips. Din wipes off the chocolate in one smooth flick of his wrist. In that moment, he's thankful for his training, as it's the only reason he manages to slowly withdraw his hands, fighting the urge to put his finger inside your mouth.

Your brain short circuits, and you're only capable of whispering, “gracias (thank you.)"

Din nods his head and continues walking toward the forest. As you approach, you notice at the edge there's a large flower.

“Hey, is that what we’re looking for?” you say excitedly, pointing to the glowing flower that stands out.

Both of you pick up the pace and eventually reach it. There's no need to delve into the forest since the plant is a good two feet away from the trees, near the shoreline.

“Magellanica sinensis,” Din says, identifying the flower.

“Wow,” you exclaim in amazement as you gaze at the flower. “Wow,” you exclaim in amazement as you gaze at the flower. It's an exact replica of what's on the holopuck. In person, the eight big petals' exterior is a deep shade of purple. When you look closely, the inside of the flower displays a lighter color—you guess it's pink. As you observe, specs on the petals of different sizes become apparent, and you can't help but admire the dark veins running through the petals, resembling ink spilled and delicately bleeding through the vibrant hues of purple. You also notice seven stamens with equally spaced, fluffy anthers forming a circle. Similar to a hibiscus flower, this plant has one tall pistil. You inhale deeply as the pleasant aroma that makes you think of apples hits your nose when you lean closer. The water surrounding the plant captivates you as well. You feel an undeniable impulse to step into the water, but Din's voice pulls you away from that tempting idea.

“You brought the tools?”

“Yes,” you affirm, scrambling to take them out of your bag. Kneeling on the lilac-purple sand, you retrieve the gardening tools: a shovel, a large hand rake, and gloves. As they lay before you, you glance up at Din, finding him looking down at you, illuminated by the soft purple glow. Your breath catches in your throat. He’s so beautiful.

Little do you know, Din is thinking the same thing about you. There you are on your knees, looking up at him, and he can't help but imagine you in that same position in a different scenario. It's what he thought about last night in his room, tugging and tugging at himself, spilling on his sheets. Every time he succumbs to such desires, a pit of guilt and shame envelops him—just like now, snapping him back to reality.

“Please gather soil in the pot, and I'll remove the plant from the ground,” Din instructs, an unusual 'please' slipping from his lips. You nod, and he hands you the rake while he takes the shovel. Not bothering to get up, you crawl a little to the right, away from the flower, and start scooping soil onto the orange pot, careful not to disturb any loose leaves. As you work, a good layer of soil forms on the ceramic, creating a small pile ready for Din once he puts the flower inside.

He asks for the recipient, and you swiftly hand it to him. Watching attentively, you see him gently add the glowing plant to the flowerpot. The roots are surprisingly long, and you're thankful you opted for an extra-large pot. Your intuition about the flower's size was right—it's almost the size of your head, and the roots add even more height.

“Pásame la tierra,” Din requests, looking at the plant and realizing it needs more soil to cover the roots. You comply, handing him more soil while he reminds you to keep your distance since the obvious powder over the petals still needs to be cleaned.

“It’s getting too dark; I’ll take it back, and you take the child to his room. I'll clean the flower before we depart,” Din decides, prioritizing your safety and the kid's.

You collect the tools, put them back in your bag, and finally get up.

“You and the kid go first,” he insists, leaving no room for argument.

After walking back past the boulders and climbing the mountain, you take Grogu to his room, tucking him into bed. A smile creeps onto your face as you recall shopping with Din and his stress about finding the best mattress. You lost count of how many vendors assumed you and Din were parents to the same child, making references to you as his wife. Din was glad he never took off his mask in front of others, as he got flustered every time someone made that assumption.

With the baby quickly asleep, you quietly make your way back down to see what's taking Din so long.

You're walking down the dock when you hear Din cuss.

“Are you okay?” you ask, alarmed at the possibility that he might have hurt himself while carrying the heavy pot.

“Yeah, I just hurt my side, and it’s still tender,” Din grits through his teeth, aware that he can't hide the truth from you; you'd see right through any lie.

“Come here,” you beckon, but it’s you who walks to him. You guide him to sit on a bench and position yourself between his knees. Din avoids meeting your gaze, his eyes fixed on the ceiling. Sensing his discomfort, you ask, “Do you think it’s bruised?” You notice that before you arrived, he had peeled off a small part of his body stocking over his side.

You catch a glimpse of his exposed skin, only the second time you've seen it—the first being when he took off his gloves while you were injured and bleeding out two months ago.

“Can I touch you?” you whisper.

Din can't handle the question, especially with the way you're looking up at him. His arm jerks over the bench. He feels the flower pot and, through his cloudy and hazy mind, briefly remembers he placed the flower there. But it's too late; he accidentally knocks it over, and it plummets onto the ship’s floor.

The pot shatters, and you're both engulfed in a cloud of yellow dust. Shocked, you gasp and inadvertently inhale the powder. Violent coughs rack your body, and you close your eyes to shield them from the unknown substance. The powder doesn’t relent; it keeps engulfing you, and your throat constricts. Uncomfortable sensations intensify and your senses heighten. The thumping of your heartbeat becomes almost deafening, and you scramble to get up.

Din, shielded by his suit, doesn’t feel the same effects, but he sees your struggle and panics. All of his instincts are screaming to do something and in a desperate move, he takes off his helmet with an audible hiss. The powder rushes toward his nostrils, and he can't prevent inhaling it. Quickly, he lifts it off his head and rushes to place it over yours. You feel a cold metal sensation over your head, and your vision darkens. Confused, you raise your hands to your head, realizing Din's helmet is now covering you. The powder is less potent with the beskar helmet, but since you lack the full armor, some dust still infiltrates your system. Amidst the odd sensations and confusion, one emotion surges to the forefront: desire.

Knowing Din's helmet is over your head, you suddenly realize his face is exposed. Though tempted to open your eyes, you resist, knowing his creed means everything to him. You actively fight against yourself to keep your eyes shut.

Now, it's Din who is the most exposed. He holds his breath to avoid inhaling the substance, but he quickly discovers that not breathing only intensifies the burning sensation in his throat, forcing him to open up his breathing—what the powder wants.

Din can't endure it any longer. He takes you by the hand and pulls you urgently, all his instincts urging him to claim you as his own. As he guides you to his room to escape the relentless pollen, he can feel himself growing harder with each step.

The slightest friction from his suit elicits a sigh of relief. You hear him, and it causes the dampness between your thighs to intensify. Both of you, eyes still closed, manage to reach Din’s room.

He pushes you inside and closes the door. For a fleeting moment, he questions whether keeping you in the same confined space as him was a mistake. Then, he hears your sweet voice.

“Din, it hurts,” you say, on the verge of tears.

“What hurts, cyar'ika?” he questions, feeling a pain of his own. He recognizes the ache he's experiencing—a longing that hurts, the pain of not being able to reach you, entwine his body with yours. He wonders if the powder is affecting his virgin ass differently.

“I-” The words catch in your throat, and with eyes shut, you sit down on Din’s mattress. It's so soft, and the scent of him surrounds you. With trembling hands, you lift the helmet off your head. “I just… I feel like my body hurts,” you reply vaguely.

“Where?” He rasps, eyes flying open as he sees you lying down and squirming on his bed. His resolve crumbles, and he has to physically restrain himself against the wall to resist walking toward you.

“Uhh,” you breathe, the sound morphing into a moan. “Between my thighs,” you admit, unable to lie. Your entire focus is consumed by the desperate need to touch yourself, to feel Din's touch.

“Din,” you whine, and the plea only makes him clench his fists, fighting the urge to go to you. “You should leave.”

“Can’t leave you alone,” Din chokes out, his gaze fixed on you as you start unbuttoning your pants.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” you repeat, your hand finding its way down to your core. Despite any potential embarrassment, the overwhelming sensation induced by the pollen outweighs everything. With Din in the room, you can't resist the burning desire.

As your hand slides underneath the soft fabric of your panties, instant relief washes over you. Rubbing circles over your clit, you thrash on Din’s bed, succumbing to the frenzy of desire that the pollen has ignited.

Din can’t bring himself to close his eyes. A little voice demands him to keep his eyes open and to touch you. He hears your whines, and he feels his body temperature rise. Bringing his hand to his mouth, he bites the leather, tasting its texture briefly. He doesn’t dwell on it too long; he rips his head away, and the glove dangles between his teeth. Frantically, he repeats this for the other hand. Now, his hands and head are bare. Din's gaze is on you again, and he sees that now you’ve got your entire hand between your thighs. A strangled noise escapes his throat, and you keep moaning, causing sweat to bead on Din’s forehead without any physical exertion.

With your eyes still closed, you don’t know what Din is doing. Following your instincts, you have your entire hand between your thighs, your index and middle fingers delving deep, while your thumb works on your pearl. Wet squelching sounds, along with your moans, fill the room.

“So wet,” you mutter unconsciously. It’s true; you have so much slick that it’s dripped onto your underwear, feeling uncomfortably wet.

“‘M so-oh!-sorry.” Tears prickle at the corners of your eyes as the relentless effect of the substance refuses to subside. Frustration mounts with each attempt, as you’ve tried every flicker on your pearled nub that would usually get you to your climax at this point, but nothing.

You huff and slide your free hand underneath your black shirt. When your hand makes contact with the bare skin, goosebumps erupt across your body. The scalding warmth of your hand travels to your right breast, and as your fingertips hit the smooth fabric of your plain black bra, you bend the cup to reach your nipple. It's pebbled and sensitive to the touch. You hiss but find some pleasure when you roll it between your thumb and index digits.

“Din, I’m so sorry. I can’t stop,” you confess, apology evident in your tone as you work both hands in a feverish attempt to reach your peak. Feeling it build and build, it doesn’t come. Mortified by the silence you think, I’ve made him uncomfortable; he’s going to hate me and kick me o-

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” he pants, and amidst the haze of desire, you hear the distinct clatter of metal hitting the floor.

“Din? ¿Qué estás haciendo? (What are you doing?)” you ask, not panicked by the idea of him being naked, but rather concerned that the drug might be compelling him into actions he doesn't want to take. You can say with full confidence that you’ve certainly entertained fantasies involving Din, though not this exact scenario, but the thought of him touching himself has fueled countless fantasies that ended in a mess on your bedsheets while you stifled your own cries with your hand.

Your curiosity battles with respect for his privacy; you so badly want to open your eyes and see him, but you know he's never allowed you to see him before. You won't risk making things worse by breaching that boundary.

“Din?” you ask again.

“Uhh,” comes his broken moan. “Cyar'ika- ahh,” he pants, “p-perdóname, perdóname (forgive me, forgive me),” he utters apologies, and your heightened hearing sharpens. The wet sounds of skin against skin reach your ears, and your heart rate spikes as you realize what he's doing – fisting his dick between his hands.

When the realization crosses your mind, you sit up suddenly. Din takes in your disheveled state – hair tousled, chest heaving, pants unbuttoned and unzipped. He's scared that he might have crossed a line and spooked you. But in your mind, it's quite the opposite. You feel the need to go to your own room; if you stay with Din, you'll break.

“I should go to my quarters,” you say, attempting to get leave. However, you take two steps and stumble.

“No, please. I… I need you,” Din pleads. He's terrified of what this situation means for him, yet he can't bear the thought of you leaving.

“Din, I don’t know what I’ll do if I stay,” you confess. Conversations about your sexual lives have remained nonexistent, as any attempt to bring up the topic with Din has been met with him tensing up.

“Tell me if you want me to take you to my bed. If not, I’ll leave, I promise,” Din says sincerely.

Your mind spins at the thought of finally being with Din, but then, logistical concerns invade your thoughts. You bring your palms over your eyes, ready to shield them just in case you open them involuntarily.

“You don’t have your helmet,” you point out.

“I want you to see me,” he says, and you hear him walking over to you. He gently touches your hands, slowly prying them away. You can feel the heat radiating from both of you, your bodies near boiling. Even though your eyelids are closed, you sense a soft blue light hitting your eyes.

“Mírame (Look at me),” Din whispers.

"Din, your creed… it means everything to you," you murmur with your eyes shut, your concern and care evident in your voice, not wanting him to sacrifice a fundamental part of himself.

He lifts his gaze, and in the soft glow of the room’s blue lights, his eyes speak volumes. "It’s not my creed that means everything to me. It’s you.” He's more than just a Mandalorian at that moment; he’s a man longing to share a part of himself with someone who understands—someone who means more to him than any set of rules or traditions ever could. He’s a man eager to bare every fiber of his being in a way he has never done before to the woman who holds the key to his heart.

"Din," you whisper, your voice carrying a subtle tremor of emotion. The weight of his admission washes over you like a gentle wave, a profound realization of the depth of his feelings. Your heart skips a beat, and a cascade of butterflies takes flight in your stomach as you grasp the tenderness of his words. As it dawns on you that he's opening up, willing to share this intimate part of himself that he's guarded so fiercely, it feels like he has unlocked a door to a chamber of his heart that few have entered. You find yourself standing on the threshold, touched by the privilege of being allowed in.

Your eyes flutter open, and a rush of emotions floods your heart as you see him for the first time. He's older than you, his black hair carrying beads of sweat on his temples. His eyes, a captivating shade of brown, reflect your own gaze back at you. You're drawn to the aquiline nose that gives his face character, and you have a fleeting desire to trace its pattern with your finger. His lips, the lower one slightly plusher, hold a subtle pout, and above them, a well-groomed mustache adds a touch of rugged charm. Stubble decorates his strong jaw, and you notice patches of bare skin, hinting at his inability to grow a full beard – a delightful detail you can't wait to tease him about later.

As you take in the sight before you, Din notices your expression but struggles to decipher it. Your parted lips and tear-filled eyes stir a fear within him, a nagging doubt that he's made a grave mistake. She hates what she sees. This was a mistake. I never should have told her-

"You're so beautiful, Din," the words flow from your lips in a breathy whisper as you tenderly caress his face. His rugged features soften under your touch, but in the midst of this beautiful moment, an involuntary twitch stirs within him.

In the corner of your eye, you catch the movement and let your gaze fall to his lower half. A gasp passes through your lips as you take in the full extent of him. Din, however, misinterprets your reaction, and he finds himself entangled in self-deprecating thoughts. Insecurity gnaws at him as he wonders, Maybe she's seen better. Am I not big enough?

A sudden impulse takes over, and before you realize it, you find yourself on your knees, looking up at Din with blown pupils. The groan that escapes from deep within his lungs is a mix of surprise, desire, and fulfillment. His mind races with the realization that his once-confined dirty dreams are now becoming a reality. A fleeting question crosses his mind: Should I tell her?

"Can I?" you ask, your eyes fixated on his erection, your mouth watering. "Can I touch you?" You clarify.

"Yes, please," he responds, his heavy-lidded eyes looking down at you intently.

Taking a moment to admire Din, you notice the trimmed patch of dark hair leading to his belly button. His thickness is accentuated by veins running along, but your focus zeroes in on a prominent blue vein down the middle, forking at the end. He's cut, and whether it's the blue light or the effect of the powder, you notice a purple hue at the tip, where he's leaking pre-cum. From above you, Din pleads for you to do something.

You oblige, and you take him into your hands, smearing the liquid down to his base. There's an abundance, allowing you to thoroughly coat him. At your touch, Din's head falls backward, and his thighs tremble under the intensity of having another person’s hand on him for the first time.

"Uhn," he breathes out at the sensation of your warm hands enveloping him in a tight grip. Your fingers struggle to wrap fully around his thick length, Oh, he doesn’t fit in my hand, you realize. Adjusting quickly, you bring your left hand to join, both hands working together as they move up and down, utilizing his pre-cum as natural lubrication. Mindful not to cause any discomfort, you bring your mouth closer, preparing to add saliva to further coat him.

"Umm… I've never done this before," Din confesses in a tone you almost miss.

His words cause you to pause, confusion evident on your face as you squirm on your knees. The yellow dust in your bloodstream seems to intensify your need for him by a million.

"Handjob?"

Din appears panicky, realizing he admitted to something he wasn't sure how you would react to. There's no taking the words back, and he opts for honesty. "Everything," he confesses, looking away from you.

It takes a while for you to process his admission. "Oh!” He's a virgin?

Din exhales, his voice tinged with embarrassment. "I just killed the mood, didn’t I?"

"No, no, no, I didn’t mean it in a bad way. Really, I'm just shocked. It’s just, it’s you. You’re so beautiful. I mean, I was, um, attracted to you when I met you. I wouldn’t have guessed.” Your voice turns into a hushed whisper. "Although things make sense now.” You tap on his side to make him look down at you. "I’m sorry for assuming," you say, fully honest and apologetic, and then get up.

He looks at you with eyes filled with shame and embarrassment.

"Come here," you say with a reassuring smile and slowly guide him backward until the back of his legs are touching the bed. You raise your hands, place them on his shoulders, and gently press down. Now with Din seated, you kneel once more.

Your eyes can’t help but be pulled to his glistening dick. "Do you want this? Are you sure it's not just the powder? Because I feel it too," you pause, exhaling as the ache in your cunt intensifies. "But I need you to want this with me. It's okay if you don't. We can do other stuff until the effects wear off."

"I do, I do want you," Din nods desperately.

You can sense the sincerity in his words, and the mutual need between you two becomes increasingly difficult to resist. Knowing you can't delay both of your desires any longer, you lower your head slightly and purse your lips. Once you feel a decent stream of saliva accumulate in your mouth, you spit on Din's cock.

"Uh, fuck," he moans in a pained voice. The sight of you spitting on him triggers primal feelings within him, desires he never realized he had until this moment. Now that he's seen it, he knows he wants you to repeat it, as long as you're willing. The urge to tell you to do it again is strong, but when he sees you opening your mouth and guiding his cock into it, coherent thoughts are replaced with pure gibberish.

His head breaches your lips, and the immediate warmth that surrounds his length is otherworldly. "Oh, oh," Din chants, the sensation feeling entirely foreign but undeniably pleasurable as your tongue dances along his sensitive tip.

Sitting back on your knees, you take a moment to admire the man before you. Din throws his head back in pleasure, but as soon as he realizes he can't see you, he quickly brings it forward to look down at you. Despite his best efforts to keep his eyes on you, they occasionally flutter close. Each time they do, he pries them open, forcing them back open, but against his will, they shut again.

He must feel overwhelmed, you think. You want to take it slow, build up to it, but the drug-like substance won't allow for such restraint.

Din opens and closes his mouth, clearly wanting to speak. "You can say it," you encourage him, though your words come out muffled. You peer at him through your eyelashes, continuing to suck.

"It- ah… feels good. You make me feel good."

"Oh, Din, good boy," you praise in your head, his words causing everything in you to flutter, making you more determined to bring him even more pleasure. To reward him, you take a deep breath through your nose, attempting to relax your throat. Once you feel sufficiently relaxed, your hands find Din's hips, careful not to press on the red-blue bruise on his left side. Gripping him firmly with both hands, you rise on your knees, sitting taller, and push your mouth against him in one swift motion.

Din jolts, sitting down abruptly, and “Nngh,” a strangled growl escapes him at the sudden sensation of having his entire dick shoved down your throat. His breathing intensifies, unsure of what to do with his hands. He resorts to gripping his sheets, and sweat begins to dampen his hair, falling onto his forehead.

Maintaining him in the depths of your throat for a few moments, you try your best to stifle any urge to gag. As you begin to pull away, Din lets out incoherent mumbles.

Your fingertips ghost over his injury, then press gently, eliciting a broken groan. "Does your side hurt?" you ask, retreating your fingers.

Din felt a surge of desire when you pressed on his bruise. Though he's embarrassed to admit yet another thing, considering how you tried to hold back for him, he decides to be honest with you. "A little, but… I like it.”

“Oh?” you say, surprised. “Well, we'll explore that next time,” you tell him, quite excited to discover more about what makes him reel.

You remove your hand from his left side and bring it to his shaft. Your fingers sprawl across the thickness, and Din feels them move over his veins. The sensitivity makes him pant out, “Yes, yes, yes.”

With his dick pointing up, you bring your head to the level of his pecs and envelop his tip with your lips. “Oh, fuck, ohh,” he grunts, then loses control of his hands, and his elbows give out. Stumbling backward, his back hits the mattress.

“Din!” you gasp in concern, but your words come out incoherent since you still have him in your mouth. Before you can rise on your legs and lean over to check if he’s okay, he sits back up, his stomach moving. Observing the way the slight roundness of his stomach jumps, you find it attractive and groan into him.

“Ah,” he says, mouth dropping and eyes fluttering.

You relish the effect you have on him, bobbing your head over the tip repeatedly. Instead of going further, you focus on licking his slit every once in a while, savoring the pre-cum that's leaking onto your fist.

While he's a mess above you, Din is captivated by the color and shape of your lips. Her lips… over me… it’s, uh, so good.

Desiring some friction, you rock your hips, though it's to no avail. You whine into him, the vibrations causing Din to groan. Shit, shit, shit, he pants in his head as the heat in his stomach snaps.

Feeling him pulse in your mouth, and judging by his sounds, you know he’s about to cum. Your slick sticks to the inside of your pants at the thought of swallowing his load. Din frantically tries to warn you to get off, “Cum! I’m- ahh,” you don’t let up; you just increase your pace. In the blink of an eye, hot, salty liquid explodes in your mouth. You try to take as much as you can, but you can’t swallow everything fast enough. Gulp after gulp, there’s more, and it spills from your lips onto your right hand that’s wrapped around his base, even landing on the dark patch of hair on his pubic area.

“Oh, fuck,” Din moans, drawing out the K, his hips unconsciously raising ever so lightly, rocking more of him into your mouth.

Once his high subsides, you remove yourself from him and rise from your knees to touch his face, looking to the side. “Din,” you call, and since he doesn’t move his head, you shift to the side of the bed to be face-to-face with him. Your heart breaks when you see his coffee eyes brimming with tears.

“Baby,” you say softly, and it prompts Din's tears to fall. “Why are you crying?” you question gently.

“I’m sorry,” he says, “dank farrik, I’m so pathetic,” Din shakes his head.

“You’re not pathetic, Din,” you assure him.

He inhales sharply. “It’s just that this is the first time… the first time I’ve, um, orgasmed from the hands of another person. For so long, I could never do anything because I was taught it was wrong. I even felt guilty the first time I touched myself, and I just can’t help but feel like I’ve committed some big transgression.”

For a moment, you're stumped. You want to comfort him but are unsure if you'll make things worse while he’s vulnerable.

“Thank you for sharing this with me,” you decide to say. You sit next to him, mindful not to touch him. “I hate that you feel like that. Because what we did shouldn’t make you feel bad. We’re two consenting adults—well, as much as we can think straight because of that weird pollen,” you say, and Din laughs, making you smile. You continue, “Single adults. You shouldn’t feel guilty, Din; it’s natural. We can stop if you want. I won’t think any less of you, I promise,” you bring a hand to your chest and make an X over your heart.

"I still want to continue," he says, reaching for your hand. "I know I shouldn’t feel this way, but everyone has always instilled this belief in me. It feels good hearing from someone else that I shouldn’t feel guilty."

"Okay, baby," you tell him. "What do you want to do next?" You want to make sure the ball is in his court and that you’re not guided by the drug in your system.

"Well, I’m still hard," he says, and you look down to see that, indeed, it's true.

"Oh, wow. I’d take that as a compliment, but I’m pretty sure it’s because of the flower.”

"I want to do something for you now," Din says, rising to his feet and pushing you to lay down on the soft mattress. You instinctively part your legs, and he's the one on his knees now, playing with the unbuttoned button. "May I?" he asks in the sweetest voice.

You lift your hips, and Din hooks his fingers on the waistband of your pants. He begins to slide them down quite fast, leaving you in your panties. Maker, I can see through her underwear, Din mutters in his head, melting at the sight.

"Your thighs, they’re all wet," he comments out loud.

You giggle and cross your hands at the hem of your shirt, pulling it over your head. "That’s all ‘cause of you, baby," you say in a sultry voice as you unhook your bra and throw it behind you.

Din loses his train of thought when he sees your exposed chest. He stares, mouth agape.

“They’re so…pretty,” he says, mesmerized and blushing. Suddenly, he begins to paw at your panties, rips them off you, and hooks your legs over his shoulders with ease.

You gasp in shock, and it turns to a whine when Din dips his head between your parted thighs, licking an experimental stripe from your tight hole up to your clit. “Ah! D-Din!” you sit up a bit and tangle your hands in his black curls. He groans into you, driven by pure instinct and fragments of recollection from what he had heard when he was working by himself. Attempting to recall bits he had gathered here and there from conversations in bars.

He laps at your juices, his tongue dancing over your most sensitive points, closing his eyes, fully enjoying the taste, moaning out so lovingly almost as though he was the one receiving pleasure. Shit, Din growled in his mind, she tastes so good. You were a moaning mess above him. He was a little sloppy, but his eagerness and hot tongue more than made up for it.

“Mmm…You’re doing great. Just here,” you say and tell him how to touch your clit. After a few words of guidance, Din has it wrapped around his lips.

“Ohhh!” you yelp and rut your hips against his mouth as he sucks your bundle of nerves. His eyes shut in sheer pleasure, the sultry sounds of your moans fueling his desire. You are surprisingly close, and your entire body is covered with a sheer layer of sweat. Your arms and abdomen tire, and you lay down. You raise your head a little, just enough to see Din use his tongue against your pearled nub and bring one hand from your hip to your thighs. You watch in excitement as he lets go of your right leg over his shoulder and flips his wrist on his ventral side. Very gently, he takes his index and middle finger and presses them against your entrance.

"Is this okay?" he rasps, pushing more of his fingers into your slick warmth.

You nod your head fervently, loving the way his thick fingers stretch you open. “Mm… I love your fingers," you gasp. "So good- they feel so good."

Din thrusts his fingers deeper, feeling your warm, wet walls clench around him already, feeling you sucking him in further.

"You're getting wetter," he observes, his voice a low growl, not expecting a response.

"Th-that's ‘cus you're," you pause to huff, "making me feel so much pleasur- ah!" you scream when he presses against your sweet spot and you continue to tell him he's doing a good job. "You can try opening and closing your fingers," you suggest.

He scissors his fingers and unexpectedly wraps his lips around your sensitive bud, sending electric pulses of pleasure coursing through your entire body.

You moan and writhe, lost in the pleasure he’s providing. "Your mouth, Din! Oh, Maker- fuck!" The words tumble from your lips, a symphony of desire, as your body quivers with impending release. "Din!" His name escapes your lips in a sharp, forced breath as you shatter into blissful climax.

In the depths of his mind, Din revels in the satisfaction of making you cum. The only twinge of regret is that he couldn't witness the ecstasy on your face, still occupied with his fingers buried inside you, working with his tongue on your swollen bud. He’s panting and you tell him to come up. Unaware of your plea, he continues his fervent attention, his fingers and tongue working together. You tug at his hair, urging him to rise. When he lets up, he slowly withdraws his digits and relishes the gasp you elicit.

Face to face with you, like a sculptor admiring his masterpiece, he adores the way your hair sticks to your forehead, and your expression is drenched in post-orgasmic bliss.

"Kiss," you command, pulling him closer, lips hungry for him.

He complies, and the moment his lips meet yours, it feels like a burst of lightning goes off in his head. His heart leaps wildly in his chest, and inside your stomach, a flurry of butterflies suddenly and furiously takes flight. A low groan escapes him when your tongues meet.

The air seems to dissipate in his lungs, and reluctantly, he tears his mouth away. Panting, his forehead touches yours as he confesses, "I've never tasted myself before."

"Do you like it?"

"From your lips? Yes," he admits, a shy tone lingering in his voice.

You've decided you like making him blush, so you lean in and whisper into his ear, "Maybe you'll like it even more when you're licking it from my pussy."

A low groan escapes Din, and he pushes you back into the mattress. Catching your mouth, the first kiss you shared had been softer and hesitant, but this one is all-consuming. He pours every pent-up feeling he's harbored for you into the searing kiss. You feel his hard length pressing against your hip, prompting you to break the kiss and spread your legs as far as you can with Din hovering above you.

"Are you ready, baby?" you ask Din, running your fingers along the contours of his face.

Not trusting his words, he nods, his eyes filled with a hunger matching yours.

“We should stay in this position so you can control the movement," you suggest, still feeling the lingering effects of the flower, though now slightly subdued after Din made you cum.

“Are we okay to um…” Din hesitates, not knowing how to initiate the conversation about protection.

“I’ve got an implant, oh, and you can come inside if you want.”

Din looks down at you, a near-helpless expression on his face. You wrap one leg around his waist, and he grips himself in his hand. His breathing hitches as he guides himself to your entrance. You notice some hesitance in his eyes, so you lift your head to kiss his nose and whisper that it's okay.

Din presses his tip inside you and lowers his entire body to yours, careful not to crush you. His mouth seeks yours to muffle the noises he's sure will escape his lips any second now. Ohh, Maker. How does she f-feel this good? Din asks himself, unable to believe that such pleasure exists. Of course, I can only find it in her, he concludes.

Meanwhile, you feel your body temperature rising. He's unbelievably girthy, and you feel all of his veins and ridges as your body molds to his. Din presses his knees on the mattress and thrusts more of himself into you. Your breath is stolen from your lungs when your body works overtime to open up. Din felt you tense and muttered apologies after apologies, but you reassured him that you were okay; it was just taking you a while to fully take him. He stilled and slowly withdrew himself as much as he could. Your body was not letting him go, and he was only giving you less than half of his cock to open you up. When you begged him for more, he complied, and he pushed more of himself faster this time. You spread your legs wider, and when he bottomed out, "Ah! Uhn…Di-Din!" you cried, and your eyes shut closed, overwhelmed.

“Hah– fuck,” Din spat out, hips suddenly stuttering, feeling your soft, velvety walls tightening. No, no, not yet, Din scolds himself. He grits his teeth and stops moving to get himself to calm down.

When he stops pounding you, you close your legs around him, making you tighter.

"B-baby, don't do that," Din chokes.

You open your eyes and see that he's looking at you intently, so you spread your legs apart once more. When they touch the mattress, Din pulls out, leaving just his head in, and quickly thrusts himself back into your pussy.

In response, you squeal and claw at his back. That seems to give him more motivation, and he continues to brutally take you. The room is filled with the sounds of wet squelching noises, moans, grunts, you calling out his name, him calling out yours, and skin slapping skin as his balls repeatedly hit against your cunt.

With the ferocity he's taking you, he sees your breasts bouncing, and he can't resist lowering his head to catch a nipple in his mouth. His hot tongue is flickering over your pearled bud, and you tell him, "Bite- uhn- bite it gently and… and then run your tongue against it.

Din follows your command eagerly. As he ruts his hips against yours with unrestrained fervor, his teeth sink into the tender flesh of your nipple, biting gently before his tongue dances over the aroused bud. The initial pain transforms into a pleasurable sensation, prompting you to wrap both legs around his hips, meeting his wild thrusts. As the crown of his head brushes against the deepest part of you, you can't help but wail.

"Oh!" you moan, feeling your body shudder as the tension in your stomach reaches its peak. Clinging to Din, in a matter of seconds, waves of pleasure cascade through you, and a steady stream of liquid pours out, covering both your thighs, his abdomen, and the bedsheets. Simultaneously, Din cries out your name, his hips losing their rhythm as he feels you clenching around him like a vice. You feel him pulsing, and immediately after, he spills. Rope after rope, he fills you up with his warm seed. His body collapses on top of yours, and for a moment, his vision blacks out. His hands rest next to your head, and he moves his head to mumble incoherent nonsense directly into your ear.

Both of you catch your breath, and you soothingly run your hand up and down Din's back. He responds with tender kisses on your forehead before raising his head.

"Thank you," he pants, his breath still ragged, and quickly adds, "Was that okay for you?"

You laugh lightly. "You made me squirt."

"Oh," he blushes, "It's probably due to the flower."

"Maybe… I mean, it's never happened with someone else and certainly not this much by myself.”

Your mind is still hazy, and you don't hear his response. "I wish you'd cum on my face," you say, not mindful of your words. Then you feel him twitch inside you. You gasp and ask him, "Din, are you still hard?"

He doesn't reply; he just looks down sheepishly at where you and him are connected.

A mischievous smile plays on your lips. "Can we try something?"

He brings his gaze back up and nods. You untangle your legs from him and bring your arms to slowly push him off you.

He gets the message and slowly pulls out of you, causing both of you to groan at the loss. Once he's no longer inside you, you sit up and ask him to get off the bed. Without an explanation, he's confused but does what you ask.

You scoot up to the edge of the bed and then get on all fours in front of him. "I want you to fuck my face."

Din's mouth parts into an 'o' as you take his hardened length into your hand, guiding him between your lips. When you taste yourself on him, you moan, and so does he. He feels heavy against your tongue, and the sounds coming from him are heavenly.

You pull back to tell him, "If you don't like something, let me know." Then, you begin to take him deeper until you reach the thickest part of him.

"You-" he begins but stays quiet. Does he want to say something? you question in your head but go back to moving your head at a steady rhythm. Very lightly, you scrape your teeth carefully to avoid biting him or drawing blood. At the sensation, Din bucks his hips forward, and he whines. Again, he sounds like he wants to talk but decides against it. You want to hear whatever he needs, so reluctantly, you pull back but keep stroking him in your hand.

"¿Por qué no me quieres decir lo que quieres? (Why don't you tell me what you want to say?)" you ask, looking at him through your lashes.

"I-" he groans when you use your thumb to circle the slit at his tip, "'M not good at the dirty talk."

"Say whatever comes to mind. You won't scare me off," you promise, and then envelop him in your mouth once more. To get him more comfortable with showing him you can handle him being rough, you take one of his hands that are awkwardly at his side and bring it to the back of your head. His large hand sprawls like he's holding a small ball, and experimentally he moves your head closer to him, making you move further on his length. He hears you struggle and is about to remove his hand in fear, but you raise your hand to hold his in place. You relax your throat and slightly move your head further, then let your hand drop. Din understands and begins to guide you to take him deeper. Feeling your hot mouth wrapped around him was causing him to spew curse after curse, still not confident enough to say what he so desperately wanted. Take her, Din. Rómpele el cerebro con maldad. She wants you to be rough with her. But if you don't want her, another man would certainly happily take her off your hands and make good use of her mou- and just like that a switch flipped in Din.

"Is this what you want, Cyar'ika?" he asks and then in one go, presses your face into his pelvic area. Thankfully, your throat had already been opened up by the time you silently asked, more like begged, for him to fuck your face so it wasn't too painful to take him down your lower throat suddenly.

"Mhm," you whine, and you do everything you can to stimulate a nod.

"Good, baby," he answers, and in an animalistic pace, he thrusts his hips over and over. Your eyes water, but you love it. You love the way he looks blissed out, with his eyebrows lifting every time his cockhead touches the back of your throat. You love the way he’s letting go, and you love that you’re the first person to see him like this, and if you play your cards right, the only one.

This time when your nose hits his dark patch of hair, you take an arm to still his movements. Once your hand cups around his waist, you inhale his smell—it's musky and somewhat sweet. The scent intensifies your desire for his cum, so you drop your hand and resume your ministrations.

“Fuck!” he grunts in surprise when you massage one of his balls with your fingers. "Good girl."

He didn't give you any indication he didn't like it, but still, you look up at him and see him already peering down at you. “Shit, you look so pretty with my cock in your mouth," he praises, fueling your moans. The vibrations reverberate through him, and he opens his mouth to tell you, “Your mouth feels fucking fantastic. This is why I was jealous of your stupid candy."

"What?" you muffle into him.

"When you had that bright purple lollipop in your mouth. You-ah-you kept on sucking it, making all of those noises and saying how good it tasted. I kept thinking about having your mouth on me, and it was driving me crazy.”

You giggle, thinking about the ridiculous idea that he was jealous of some sugary treat.

"¿Crees que es chistoso? (Do you think it’s funny?)“ He doesn't take your laughter lightly and harshly snaps his hips against your face. His lips curl into a snarl, and wet sounds along with Din's grunts echo throughout the room. Amidst his brutal pace, his hazy mind thinks, Is she okay? Quickly, he opens his eyes to see if he didn't take it too far, only to see one of your hands in between your thighs, fingers working deep inside of you. It only encourages him to keep slamming his cock, driven by the pleasure coursing through his veins and seeing your oh-so-pretty lips molding him perfectly.

“Oh, fuck, I’m close-“ he warns, releasing the grip he has on your head. You scramble to detach yourself from Din, causing a long string of saliva to form once you pull off him. Your jaw is a bit sore to continue sucking him off, so you resort to taking his base into your hand and angling his dick with his tip pointing upwards. His eyes bore into yours, waiting for your next move.

Instead of your lips wrapping around his dick, they lower to his sack. You suck his left ball, and your hand fondles the other one.

"Fuck, yes," he moans, his eyes fluttering shut. You love that he’s gotten more vocal; it makes the heat between your legs burn hotter. When you alternate your actions, it causes him to whimper out your name in a broken moan. You feel him pulse, and since you don’t want it to be over yet, you kneel in front of him and trail your lips upwards, licking the veins on the underside of his dick. His cockhead is leaking again, and you can’t help but run your tongue there, collecting the liquid that has dripped lower, almost to your fist.

“Chúpale ahí, mami, así, así (Suck it in there, mami, like that, like that),” Din whines, and his words cause you to whine too. You want his cum now, you decide, and one last time, you wrap your lips around his purple tip and run a hand down to his base to play with his balls. You feel him pulse, his stomach tenses, his thighs shake, and “a- uhn!” You close your eyes and stick your tongue out. His hot seed comes out in ropes. It paints your breasts in white iridescent cream, and it hits just below your eye. With your mouth open, some of his cum lands on your tongue. He’s panting and letting out strings of your name along with curses. Once you’re sure you’ve milked him for every last drop, you let your grip off and swallow his spend. Mmm, he tastes salty and like apples, you muse. When you open your eyes, Din’s just finished composing himself. His lashes flutter open, and when he sees you peering up at him, he gives you a smile brighter than the hottest sun.

“Ven aqui (come here),” he beckons, and you rise to his height, throwing your arms around him. He meets your lips for a kiss and quickly scoops you up to carry you. With you in his arms, he walks to his bathroom with the intention of taking a shower. You separate your lips from him to talk.

“So, the mami thing,” you start, and he buts in with a groan. “Escucha pues (listen to me),” you scold.

He playfully rolls his eyes. “I’m all ears,” but then his expression changes. “Wait, did you not like that? I’m so sor-“ You cover his mouth and kiss his nose.

“You’ve really gotta let me finish my sentences, baby,” you say, playing with his sweaty curls around the nape of his neck. “I loved it. I was just wondering if papi was on the table for you.”

“Woman,” he exhales like he’s in pain. “Let’s shower and then go a few more times.” He feels himself grow again and quickly opens the bathroom door.

You grin at his response. “Did you know that shower sex is a thing?”

Extended A/N: In my previous post, I mentioned that this story might be the last one I share before leaving this website. I haven't had the time to finalize my decision yet. I appreciate those who reached out – thank you 🩷. To give you some context, I considered leaving due to some negative interactions I received. I often portray my characters as Spanish speakers, and unfortunately, that has led to some unfavorable responses. However, as I mentioned earlier, I haven't made a final decision yet. Anyhow, thank you for reading, and have a lovely day 🫶🏽!

#Din Djarin x female reader #Virgin!Din Djarin #Din Djarin x reader #Din Djarin smut #sex pollen #The Mandalorian fanfiction #Din Djarin x you #Din Djarin x f!reader #pedro pascal characters #loslentesdepedrito's writing #my writing

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justagalwhowrites · 1 year

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Master List

What I've been working on lately. All works are 18+, minors DNI

Now accepting requests :)

A note on tipping (AKA please read before you tip!)

Joel Miller x Female Reader

Oneshots/Requests

Undone (Dom!Joel Miller x Sub!Female Reader)

Homecoming (DBF!Joel x Female Reader)

Lavender No Outbreak AU Masterlist

Sick Leave (Joel Miller x Female Reader from Lavender)

Date Night (Joel Miller x Female Reader from Lavender)

Girl Dad (Joel Miller x Female Reader from Lavender)

Long Day (Joel Miller x Female Reader from Lavender AU)

Long Distance (DBF!Joel Miller x Female Reader from Homecoming)

Pick Me (Joel Miller x Female Reader)

Proof of Life (Darkish!Joel Miller x Female Reader, QZ era)

The Watch (Joel Miller x Female Reader, QZ era)

Fucksgiving 2K23: Gray Sweatpants

Game Time - A New in Town College Football One Shot

Wonderland - A Lavender No Outbreak AU One Shot

Yearling

After years of surviving in the wilds of Wyoming after the cordyceps outbreak, you find yourself in Jackson. It's a town filled with friendly faces and the kind of world you hardly remember, let alone can connect with or understand. But one man - Joel Miller, another loner, like you - makes you think that trying to find your place in society again might be worth it.

A slow burn friends-to-lovers fan fic.

Masterlist

Halcyon

When your life falls apart, you find yourself back in your hometown of Austin, Texas for the first time in more than a decade. Eager to make your own way after a rough divorce, you reconnect with your high school best friend Joel Miller - a man you never thought would be in your life again.

Things have changed since your falling out just before you left for college but friendship with Joel comes easy. His life isn't in any better shape than your own and the two of you make a vow to get your acts together - personal, professional and romantic - in the span of a year. But will your burgeoning connection make it so you can figure everything out or will your history together get in the way?

Masterlist

Run Rabbit

It was just over a year after the world ended that you were captured by Joel and Tommy Miller. They’re harsh, they’re cold and they’re killers. But, as a nurse, you’re a valuable person to have around and they’re not the worst thing wandering the wasteland that was the United States. And there might be more to these men than meets the eye.

Masterlist

Holly Jolly

Joel Miller has never been a fan of Christmas. It's stressful, it's expensive and it's depressing. But a chance meeting in line to take his five-year-old daughter to see Santa might just change that.

Masterlist

New in Town

When you move to Austin for work, your best friend Sarah recommends that you hang out with her dad, Joel, to get to know the area. Sarah just never mentioned the fact that her dad is just your type.

Masterlist

Haunted House - A Halloween one shot

Manic Monday - A New in Town Drabble

Lavender

An age-gap grumpy/sunshine friends-to-lovers (and eventually friends-to-lovers-to-enemies-to-friends-to-lovers) fanfic that starts pre-outbreak. Will be long running and updated regularly and run through the outbreak and at least season one of TLOU.

Lavender Masterlist

Lavender No Outbreak AU Masterlist

My casting of the OCs

Found Family - Fan Art

Joel & Doc - Fan Art

The Mandalorian x Female Reader

Excerpts and previews of Beskar Doll (found in total on AO3), an enemies-to-friends-to-lovers slow burn fic.

Tumblr Chapter Master List

Buycika - a Beskar Doll Drabble

Growing - A Beskar Doll Drabble

For You - A Collection of Requests Benefitting Palestine

Featuring Joel Miller, Oberyn Martell, Din Djarin

#fanfic #mandalorian fanfic #din djarin #enemies to friends to lovers #smut fic #slow burn #mandalorian x female reader #joel miller #joel miller x reader smut #the last of us hbo #tlou #smut #masterlist

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rosepascal · 1 year

Text

Pedro Pascal Character Masterlist

Key

F - Fluff | A - Angst | S - Smut (Must be 18 or older to read/interact with)

oneshots

Trust Issues A F

how many times do i have to tell you you can trust me?

Long Long Night * S

"I'm not done with you." or big dick joel miller fucks you hard

NSFW Alphabet* S

Can't Break a Promise A F

of course the one patrol you're on without Joel is the one that lands you with a knife in your side.

Taken It Easy* S

“Don’t fucking stop, baby.” or you ride a cowboy (even if Joel says he ain't one)

Call My Name A F

Joel is bleeding out and he calls out for someone, but it's not you.

Put On a Brave Face A F

Joel Miller almost loses you the same way he lost his baby girl.

On His Time S

Joel isn't nice and to him you're just a willing cunt to fuck.

You Don't Belong A F

You really like Joel, more than you've ever liked someone before. But the most important person in his life absolutely hates your guts and you have no idea what to do.

I Have No Use For Rings Of Gold A F

The citizens of Jackson have already made their mind up about Joel Miller and the sins of his past. But you don't think the man who sits by the sheep can truly be that bad

A Wound That Never Heals A

For the last twenty years you believed your parents to be dead. But after stumbling upon Jackson with Joel and Ellie you come to discover that's not true at all.

Desire S

You need money and a offering your body for some mutual pleasure doesn't seem like a bad idea. If only you could know the man behind the wall who is set on ruining you for anyone else.

Crave S (Part of the Joel Miller Rated XXX series)

After the mysterious man you now know as Joel Miller leaves you his address and a message to find him, you do just that. How will the man who ruined you be in person?

Strangers ((NON CON/DUB CON WARNING (Part of the Joel Miller Rated XXX series)) S

an attractive man on a crowded train leads to an experience you've never thought you'd ever have

Venom A F

Joel says things he doesn't mean but he's might have pushed it too far this time.

Ups and Downs F

sat next to each other on a rollercoaster as strangers

Kiss and Tell ((Stepdad!Joel) (Part of the Joel Miller Rated XXX series)) S

Joel is your stepdad and your mom goes away for the weekend. Guess its back to normal for the two of you. Normal being fucking behind your mothers back.

beekeeping age F

Joel reads thirst tik tok comments

drabbles

my hero (pre!outbreak Joel) F

best medicine (pre!outbreak Joel) F

beating heart F

dance with me F

rained out F

bad first date F

nursing kink S

squirting S

Series

Joel Miller Rated XXX

A series of joel smut shots based on porn tropes

Say Something (complete) A F

Joel is overprotective to a fault and when he can't express how he feels you leave. But then he comes knocking on your door with a teenage girl and a plea for help. Is it too late to fix what you had before?

The Light Of All Lights (Teacher!Joel x Teacher!Reader) A F

Joel Miller is an AP English teacher on thin ice with administration and a past that has turned him into a cold, withdrawn man. You're the new English 1-2 teacher who didn't get off on the right foot with him. But being forced to work together could change things between the two of you as you learn more about him and about the school.

Bookstore Universe (Bookstore Owner!Joel x Single Mom!Reader)

Miller's Bookstore F

Who knew that taking your daughter to a story time at a local bookstore could lead to meeting its handsome and slightly intimidating owner.

oneshots

Bucket of Bolts F

The dad and the dog he didn't want but its Din Djarin and a BD unit.

Aliit ori’shya tal’din F

Aliit ori’shya tal’din: Family is more than blood

oneshots

You'll Always Find Your Way Back Home F

20 years ago you left your home town to pursue your dreams. Now you're back after your grandmother's passing and you're reunited with your old bestfriend Frankie Morales.

drabbles

sub!frankie S

franking feeling insecure F

frankie going down on you S

Other Pedro Characters

Headcanons

pedro characters getting their dick sucked S

how I think different pedro characters would eat pussy S

pedro characters when you don't feel well

#joel miller #din djarin #joel miller x reader #din djarin x reader #mando x reader #pedro pascal

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multific · 1 year

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Memories of You

Din Djarin x Reader

Summary: He was only trying to protect you and the kid, his family, but as a result he lost something near and dear to him, his memories of you.

"He hit his head really hard, Miss. He remembers his kid... but not you."

"Me?" you looked at the droid, confused.

"Yes. He said he had no recollection of a... travelling partner."

"At least he is still alive." you told yourself and the nurse. But it still didn't help the empty feeling in your chest.

---

You have been travelling with the Mandalorian since he took the child into his clan.

A clan of three. As the armourer often referred to you. Even if back then, you weren't married to Din.

But he forgot it all.

Everything.

Every moment he shared with you is gone. He didn't remember you.

He didn't remember the months and months you two spent dancing around your feelings. He didn't remember the moment you finally confessed, driven by a couple drinks to give you courage. He didn't remember how he made you close your eyes so he could remove his helmet and kiss you. He didn't remember your wedding and your vows.

He didn't remember you.

All thanks to a blow to the head and a great explosion.

You looked at Boba, tears in your eyes as the nurse left. he offered you a warm hug and the words 'Everything will be fine.'

But nothing was.

Once Din was able to walk again, he got the kid, not even looking at you as he was about to board his ship and leave.

Din didn't understand why the kid was crying so loudly as he put him into the ship. The kid kept on jumping out and running away.

"We have to go." Din said but the kid didn't listen, and so, he let Grogu go and followed him.

He followed the child right back to Boba's palace where he found the kitchen and in there, a young woman.

Her eyes filled with tears. Din watched as the kid ran to her leg and hugged it. She knelt down and picked him up, Din watched as the child had a tight hold on her.

As if- As if a baby grabbing onto their mother.

"I'm sorry about him. He is stubborn." Din said as he tried to take his son back from the stranger but he wasn't willing to.

"It's okay." you smiled at your husband as you looked down at your so. "Now, Grogu, you have to let go okay. Everything will be fine." you placed a kiss to his temple before giving him back to the Mandalorian. You felt tears falling from your eyes as you quickly turned and ran off. Din's helmet followed you as you exited the kitchen.

"What a strange woman." he said as the kid cooed.

---

Din had been gone for a month. And he couldn't shake the feeling of something missing. He often looked at his ship, looking at all the seats and he couldn't help but feel someone was missing.

He did recall the droid telling him of a woman waiting outside. But he didn't travel with anyone. It was a clan of two, him and his son, no one else.

Then he couldn't stop thinking about the woman in Boba's palace. She looked so beautiful but also extremely sad, as if she lost someone.

His mind was filled with all these thoughts. And he couldn't shake any of them.

He was in a rented room, the kid sleeping soundly in his brand new hover stroller that he got for him.

But Din couldn't sleep.

Every time he closed his eyes, he saw her. But strangely, he saw her smiling, smiling at him. When he finally managed to fall asleep, he dreamt.

"Din! I told you not to let him in the mud!"

"He wanted to play there."

"But now look at him, he needs a bath and his clothes need washing." Din watched as you quickly walked to the bathroom, taking care of your son. Soon, Grogu was sleeping on the left side of his chest, while you were cuddled up on his right. Your hand running up and down the kid's back, occasionally running down Din's stomach, under the beskar.

"Stop tempting me, the kid is right here." he said, making you flinch as if you were expecting him to be asleep.

"Tempting? I thought I was calming you."

"You are... making things difficult."

"Oh." you pulled your hand up to your lips, smiling. "Sorry, Riduur. It has been a while." you looked up at his helmet as he didn't move.

"We will find time. Sleep now, Meshla."

"Goodnight." you said.

Din woke with a start. Suddenly his mind flooded with memories. Memories of how he got to the medical in the first place. He remembers grabbing you and putting you and the kid to safety. He remembers you telling him to be careful and he promised he would be.

He wanted to help the people inside the building. But he didn't expect an explosion.

But his memories went further back.

He recalled your first meeting, then your first kiss. He swore he could still feel it on his lips.

Din jumped out of bed.

"Shit."

Then a wedding. You walked to him, under that beautiful pink tree as you smiled so sweetly. There, you have been pronounced his wife and he, your husband.

He felt happiness was over him, then a sense of dread, pain.

He left you.

He forgot you.

When the kid went to you, you looked so sad. Now, he knew why.

He forgot you.

He quickly grabbed the child and ran to his ship.

Hopping in, he had a clear destination.

"I know! I don't know how I can forget her!" he replied to his son who looked very disappointed at their father.

Soon, they arrived to Boba's palace.

"Can you find her?" he asked Grogu as the child began running. Well, running for him was like ten steps for Din.

"Oh." he heard your voice as the kid entered a room. "Hi, Love." Din arrived just as you picked him up. The door closing behind him as he looked at you.

You looked sad still and now he knew why.

"I remember." he simply said as you lifted the child to your face and kissed him, you looked at Din.

"What do you remember?"

"You. I remember you, Riduur. Everything. I hit my head, and I'm so sorry for forgetting you." just as he spoke, Grogue grabbed your necklace under your shirt and pulled it out. It was his sigil.

A clan of three.

"I'm not angry, Din. Is it true that you remember or are you just saying it?" Din walked closer to you, putting his hands on your shoulders.

"The day I kissed you for the first time you smelled like cinnamon. On our wedding, you received the sigil and became my wife. My Riduur, I don't know how I could ever forget you. I'm sorry."

You put the kid down on your bed before lifting your hand, putting it right below his helmet, slowly pushing it up and he let you.

Soon, you came face to face with your husband.

His helmet in your hands, his hands found your shoulders and soon, one went to the back of your neck.

"What did I tell you when you asked me to marry you?" the question caught him a bit off guard but soon he smiled, and he looked into your eyes.

"You made me promise to remove my helmet and kiss you more often. You said you enjoyed my kisses so much, that if you were to marry me, I'd need to give you more kisses." you nodded and smiled.

"So?"

"So?" Din looked at you, confused.

"Kiss me then." and he did. His hand pulled you close as you dropped his helmet on the floor, letting your hand roam his hair and shoulders. "I missed you."

"I'll never forget you again, My Love. I promise." he said as he looked into your eyes.

Din has made many promises during your marriage, and one thing about a Mandalorian is that they always keep their promises.

Taglist: @fleursirvart @greenarrowhead @thisismysecrethappyplace @sincerelyfan @theoneanna @aestheticsandmarvel @rororo06 @castellandiangelo @destynelseclipsa @spilledinkindumpster @capsiclesdoll @puknow @alwayshave-faith @alex12948 @lxdyred @imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl @anonymoussherlockandmarvelgeek @praline357 @trshngyn @avengers-r-us @violet-19999 @top1bbgloak @manduse @jacalineiscomingforyou

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

DO NOT STEAL, PLAGIARIZE, REPOST OR TRANSLATE ANY OF MY WORKS

#din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin x fem reader #din djarin x female reader #din djarin imagine #Mandalorian #the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian x fem reader #the mandalorian season 3 #mandalorian imagine #mandalorian imagines #the mandalorian imagine #the mandalorian imagines

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theidiotwhowritesthings · 1 year

Text

A Fresh Start [7]

Din Djarin x F!Reader

Warnings: angst, medical trauma (nothing graphic, if you can watch a hospital TV show you can manage this), nightmares, blood and injury, think that’s it for this one

Word Count: 5,415

Summary: When you made plans for your future they never involved being hired by a Mandalorian to baby-sit his adorable, green gremlin of a child. However, after your life fell apart in the span of one disastrous night, you found it to be the only feasible option you had left. Nevarro was a far cry from Coruscant, but the thriving community turned out to be exactly what you needed. Every day you spend in Nevarro you fall more and more in love with your new life, but when your past rears its ugly head you find that perhaps peace wasn’t meant for everyone.

Ch. #07: SORAN

Chapter Summary: Your past visits you in your sleep, but you find comfort in the Marshal’s bed.

"The woods are lovely, dark and deep,

But I have promises to keep.

And miles to go before I sleep.

And miles to go before I sleep."

- Robert Frost

You stared down at the large vomit stain that covered the side of your white coat. With a grimace, you shrugged out of the item and held it in your hand not knowing what to do with it now. A sharp whistle had you glancing over your shoulder to see Lee making his way toward you. The Zabrak pointed at you with the holopad in his hand. “You just gonna stand there all day, doc?”

“Last patient threw up on me.” You replied sheepishly. “And I think my brain has short circuited.”

“You’re only on hour 7 of 12. If you’re losing it now then what are we all gonna do for the next 5 hours?” Lee questioned with a grin. Down here in the Emergency Department, Lee was, without question, your favorite nurse. He was good at his job, fun to work with, and he was intimidating looking enough to scare any of the patients who tried to cause trouble. The complete package. “How about this? I take the gross white coat,” He took the jacket out of your hand, “And you go to room 14.”

You took the holopad he was holding out to you and shot him a skeptical look. “What’s waiting for me in room 14? Is it worse or better than a vomit covered white coat?”

“Oh come on, what’s the fun if I tell you?” Lee smirked. He wandered away and you typed in your physician code into the holopad to pull up the patient’s intake information. As you read over the chart, you chuckled. Plain old sprained ankle. Much better than vomit. You made your way down the busy hall toward the room, but you were only passing room 6 when an alarm began to ring overhead. Trauma alert. Something big was coming in. That meant the ankle was going to have to wait. You hurried back the way you came and⏤

“Cyar’ika.”

You startled awake, but a hand on your shoulder kept you from sitting up. Mando was kneeling beside your bed and he was wearing his full suit of beskar. The room was dark. Moonlight spilled through your window, through the blinds, and it was the only reason you could see him. Your eyes darted to the nightstand where the alarm clock read ‘2:04’.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“What’s wrong?” You asked and grimaced at your sleep laden voice. “Is Grogu⏤”

“He’s fine. I have to go to work.”

You sat up slowly and Mando pulled his hand back to let you. “Is everything alright?”

“You remember those pirates from four days ago?” Mando asked. You nodded. “They’re back. It’s okay though. I just wanted to let you know in case. Grogu’s been coughing more tonight than usual.”

It took a second for you to wrap your brain around all of that information at once. You nodded though as everything began to click. “Umm,” You rubbed your face with your hands, “Okay. I’ll walk you out. Grab the pram from the office and bring it in here so he can sleep close by⏤”

“Just sleep in my room.”

“Huh?”

Mando held a hand out to you, and for a moment you thought you had to be misunderstanding what he was saying. Still, you took his hand and let him pull you out of bed. He scooped an item off your night stand and led you out of your room⏤ your hand still in his gloved one. Mando took you into his room and when you entered you could hear Grogu’s soft snores. A little bout of coughing interrupted the snoring momentarily. Mando lightly took your by the arm and you focused back on him as he attached the communicator there. That must have been what he grabbed from your night stand.

“Call me if you need anything.” Mando said. He carefully maneuvered you backwards until the back of your legs stumbled into his bed. You fell into a seated position on his mattress and if you weren’t still so groggy with sleep you’d be mortified with embarrassment at the heat that filled your belly while staring up at him. Mando guiding you to his bed, standing over you at his full height. When the sun rose, you’d play this moment in your head over and over again.

You just sat there, blinking up at him, and Mando cautiously set his hands on your shoulders to guide you back. He squeezed your shoulder once then pulled the blanket over you. Before he could turn away, you reached out to catch his wrist. He glanced down at you, and this time you were the one squeezing him in reassurance. “Be careful, Mando. Come back safe.”

“I will.”

Slowly, your hand fell from his as he walked out. Mando’s bed was soft and warm. As you took in deep breaths, the smell of his sheets began to lull you back to sleep. You were too tired to pinpoint exactly what the scent was, but it was him. It smelled like him and you couldn’t help but associate that smell with safety. You were warm and you were safe. Grogu’s soft, rhythmic snores pushed you over the edge right into sleep.

“What do we have?” A senior physician asked. You had gotten to the nursing station just as a handful of other doctors and nurses did. All awaiting the same news as you. The transporter on the comm unit began to call out patients. After they began to describe the fifth patient, the senior physician of the emergency department cut in. “Whoa, whoa. What the kriff happened? Where are all these injuries coming from?”

“Starship collision. It rained down into the middle of the city, took out two buildings and we have three currently up in flames.” The entire crowd around you grew quiet at these words. This was a mass trauma. Oh Maker. “We got half the patients going to Grand Republic Medical Facility and the rest are coming to you guys.”

The senior physician immediately slipped into the role of team leader. He began to bark out commands of what to fill the rooms with and there was a flurry of movement as everybody began to prep. You helped clear out the main trauma bay which could fit four patients total and relocated the patients in the rooms closest to the transport door. There was no time to take a breath after getting things set up. The transport doors kicked open with the first patient and it didn’t stop. Back to back, screaming patients were brought in. You worked in a flurry beside your co-workers in a blur of blood and pain.

You didn’t even have the time to be tired. It was as if you shut down a part of yourself and just burned through the actions. One patient after another. It didn’t matter how many you saw, how many you saved, there was always another. Always one more.

“I dropped an order for the patient in bed 3.” You announced it to the nursing desk. “He needs to get to imaging STAT, please.”

“Yes, doctor.”

That one settled you moved toward the transport door where the next patient came rolling through. The transporters asked what room was open and you barked back that they could take the patient into room 5. It was the next one open. You paused to take a steadying breath. Just one thing at a time.

You hurried toward room 5 where a few nurses were helping transport get the patient from their stretcher to a hospital bed. As you entered the room, your feet stumbled to a stop.

Despite all the chaos, despite the flurry of bodies and flashing of monitors, you could only stare blankly at the woman lying on the bed covered in blood. The patient’s usually tan skin was pale and ashen. Blonde hair was matted from the blood oozing out of a head wound. Clothes were burned and torn, stained with red.

You drifted a step closer. Your heart was beating in your chest so hard you were sure you were about to go into cardiac arrest yourself. It was getting hard to breathe. People were shouting at you. Nurses were calling out for orders, but you could only stare.

“I⏤” You opened your mouth to try and help in some way, but only her name tumbled out, “Soran?”

This time you didn’t startle awake. A familiar voice was calling out and it brought you back to consciousness. “Buir! Buir!” Grogu was calling for his father. A few coughs interrupted him. “Buir!”

You rolled out of Mando’s bed and rushed to Grogu’s side. He stopped crying out when he saw you and held out his arms with a whine. “Hey, buddy.” You pulled him out of his hammock and he curled into your embrace. You slowly began to rock him. “It’s okay, you’re okay. Buir had to step out and take care of business.” Glancing over your shoulder, Mando’s clock in here read ‘2:47’. Not even an hour had passed but you still found yourself worried. “He’ll be back soon.”

As you hummed and lightly bounced Grogu, your dream lingered in your mind. Ever since his appointment you had been plagued every night. They weren’t nightmares. A part of you almost wished they were. No, it was a memory and knowing that made it so much worse.

Grogu’s eyes closed, but when you tried to place him back into his hammock he immediately woke up again with a fuss. This time, you pulled him into your arms then wandered back to Mando’s bed. You crawled back to where you were in hopes that the smell that had lulled you to sleep would bring Grogu comfort as well.

You laid back down and let Grogu shift around until he was comfortable. When he seemed to have settled you pulled the blanket over you both. You continued to hum a lullaby and scratched Grogu’s back. Every few minutes he’d cough, but it never woke him up. You hoped he wasn’t getting sick. His first day of school was in two days and you didn’t want him to miss out on that. Luckily, the dry cough was the only symptoms Grogu had and it only happened at night time when he was sleeping. Asthma was something that had worsened symptoms at night. You hoped it wasn’t that. Though, you didn’t even know if his kind could get asthma.

As tired as you felt, as cozy as you were, you kept your heavy lidded eyes open. You knew if you fell asleep your brain would put you in that memory right where you left off. You knew how that story ended. You didn’t want to relive it all over again. So, instead, you just hummed and rubbed Grogu’s back as he slept peacefully. Your eyes darted to the clock then to your arm band. You wanted to message Mando, check in on him, but the last thing you wanted to accidentally do was distract him. You’d reach out to him for an emergency only.

Your eyes were getting harder and harder to keep open. The hand you used to rub Grogu’s back now just rested over him protectively. Before you knew it, you had fallen asleep again.

“Soran?” You called out. You were at her bedside now. You scanned her injuries, but none of them registered to you. All you saw was your childhood friend. “Soran!?”

She still didn’t respond. Her vitals on the monitor beginning to fade. A nurse grasped you by the elbow, “What are your orders?”

“I⏤I can’t.” You took a step back and they stared at you wide eyed. You held a hand out. “Just⏤ Just keep her stable. I’m getting help.”

You stumbled out of the room before they could argue, and you began to yell out for one of your physician co-workers. All were in rooms. All had their hands tied. Someone grabbed you by the arms and spun you. You came face to face with Lee. He shook his head. “What’s going on?”

“The patient⏤” You pointed behind you. “I can’t⏤ She’s my friend. I know her. I can’t treat her. It can’t be me.”

Lee dragged you back into the room and his eyes widened at the sight of it all. He barked out a few orders to the others as the head nurse then turned to you. “You have to act.”

“Lee⏤”

“Everyone else is busy. We have four crashing patients, doc.” Lee held your shoulders. “Take a deep breath.” You listened to his words. “You’re a good doctor. You know what to do. If you don’t start now, we’re going to lose her. I’m sorry, but we have to start. She’s about to crash.”

Everything he said was true. Soran was wavering. Her vitals teetering on the edge of death. You took one more deep breath and then began to move. This was something you’ve done hundreds of times over the years. This was something you had already done a dozen times tonight alone. With Lee by your side, you were efficient. He knew every order before you could call it out and he was anticipating things you would call for.

Soran⏤ No. The patient was bleeding out from a laceration on her thigh. Cauterize it. Blood pressure was tanking. Push fluids wide open. Head wound was closed, not open. Needed imaging but only after stabilization. Femur was broken. Set it quickly to ensure no interrupted blood flow or further tissue death. Circle back after stabilization. The patient responded to all your treatments. Her blood pressure improved and her heart rate normalized.

“Good job, doc.” Lee clapped you on the shoulder. “She’s stable. I’m gonna get everything prepped to move her to imaging, alright?”

You just nodded⏤ still numb.

Lee filed out while other nurses rushed to other jobs. While you stood by the patient⏤ by Soran’s bedside, you held her hand and let out a breath of relief. A panicked and panting man reached the door behind you and when you looked back you saw him standing there staring at the motionless but stable woman on the bed. Red hair mused and face flushed as if he had been sprinting a long distance.

“Kurt.” You breathed and released Soran’s hand to greet the young man. Soran’s fiance was a good man. You didn’t know him as well as you wished you did, but that’s because you’ve just been so busy with training. Soran loved and trusted him though and that was enough for you. You trusted her judgment. Hers had always been better than yours.

“Is she?” His eyes filled with tears.

You pulled him into a short, comforting hug then helped him to Soran’s bedside. “She’s stable.”

“I⏤I⏤I was on the phone with her when it⏤it⏤” Kurt let out a shaky sob. “I heard her scream and then the call⏤”

“Soran is okay. She’s strong. Everything is going to be alright.” You rubbed his back. “I have to go, but call me if you need anything. Someone should come in soon to take her for imaging. You’ll be able to walk with her.”

Kurt nodded. You began to leave, but a worrisome chirp rang out in the room. Nervous, you turned and stared at Soran’s monitors. They chirped again. You watched in horror as her oxygen level began to slowly drop. With each decrease it gave out a bone chilling chirp. Then, Soran gasped for air, her back spasming off the bed. Her heart rate rocketed up and Kurt was yelling. You could only take one step in her direction before the rapid sound of her heart rate monitor was replaced with the shrill sound of a flat line.

Soran’s heart had stopped.

If Din never saw one of Pirate King Gorian Shard’s lackeys again it would be too soon. The problem had been taken care of, the pirates either killed or chased away, but they hadn’t gone without leaving him a party favor. As he limped into his house, he grunted as a flash of pain rocketed through him. A pirate got a lucky shot and a vibro blade had caught him right between a gap of his beskar. It was on his right side adjacent to his shoulder blade and he hadn’t even gotten the chance to look at it yet. As if that wasn’t enough a solid blow to his thigh left him with a bruise deep enough to keep him from being able to put his full weight on it.

He quietly made his way through his house and toward his room. He’d shed his armor there and hopefully be able to sneak out before waking you or Grogu. Din pushed his cracked door open and paused. It was a little before six in the morning which meant there was just enough light coming up from the horizon to fill his room with dim light.

You were curled in his bed with Grogu sleeping soundly by your side. Your hand rested on his back as you both slept in peace. Din felt his chest ache at the sight. When he woke you up this morning, he had pure intentions by recommending you rest in his bed. You’d be close to Grogu and oddly it just felt safer to him⏤ not that he had any evidence of that. However, when you sat on his bed staring up at him through your lashes, he couldn’t use the word ‘pure’ to describe any part of him. Din thought surely that mental image wouldn’t be beat out by anything else, but this moment was proving him wrong.

Seeing you in his bed, curled around his son, in the early morning light so safe and sound did something to him. Din had the overwhelming desire to shed all his armor and slide into bed behind you. Revel in this soft moment. If he wasn’t actively bleeding, and it wasn’t a blatant violation of your personal space, he may have given in.

Din let out a soft breath and walked over to his dresser to start unlatching his armor. He got halfway through shedding his beskar when he heard you gasp. Din whipped around worried he had woken you. He found instead that you were still sleeping, but your peace was interrupted. Your face was scrunched in pain as you began to twitch. He set down his chest piece and walked around his bed. He knelt on the side Grogu wasn’t laying to cautiously set a hand on your arm. You began to cry in your sleep, hyperventilating, and Din made up his mind then.

“Cyar’ika.” He shook you lightly. You thrashed under him, and he wrapped an arm around your waist to pull you away from where Grogu still snored. You were on your back now. “Cyar’ika⏤”

“Soran!” You gasped, eyes snapping wide open. Din lifted the hand on your arm to cup the side of your face. He had already taken off his gloves so he could actually feel your flushed skin under hand. Your breathing was calming as you began to settle. You had called out your own name. Din wondered what that was about. He couldn’t focus on it long because your eyes snapped to meet his. “Mando?”

“You were having a nightmare.” He whispered.

Your hand raised to rest on top of his, squeezing it once, “Are you okay? What happened with the pirates?”

“It’s all fine. They’ve been handled.” Din replied.

“And you?”

“What about me?”

“Are you hurt, Mando?” Your words were hushed but filled with worry. Din paused. He didn’t want to worry you, but he also didn’t like the idea of lying to you. The silence was answer enough for you because you immediately sat up with wide eyes. “You are, aren’t you?”

Din cleared his throat. “It’s not bad.”

“I don’t believe you.” You pointed at him and he climbed off the bed. “Bathroom. Now.”

Din chuckled at the authority that filled your voice. You carefully slipped out of bed and tucked his comforter around Grogu. Din watched you lean over to press a soft kiss to his forehead before padding out of his room. Din's heart ached. He took the time to stroke one of Grogu’s ears. Seeing the boy sleeping so peacefully settled his soul. On his way out, he stepped out of his boots, leaving them with his gear, and grabbed a clean shirt and pair of sweatpants from his dresser.

When he got to the bathroom, he saw you sitting on the toilet’s lid rooting through a first aid kit. Din tilted his head. “That’s not mine.”

“Nope.” You replied. “I figured since yours would probably only have Bacta and a Cautery that I should grab mine instead.” Din was amused, but he couldn’t argue. You were entirely right. “Can I… Can I see your injury?”

Your quiet question was the exact opposite of the command you had hissed minutes ago. Din wondered if it had anything to do with waking up further or being out of the dim light and in the bathroom’s bright ones. Din nodded and turned around. You stood from your seat and he felt you cautiously pull aside the torn edges of his flight suit.

“Dank farrik.” You hissed.

“Since when did you get a dirty mouth?” Din joked.

“It’s your fault.” You replied. “You’re rubbing off on me.” Din hated that the first thought he had at your statement involved a more physical interpretation of the word. Maker, he was the worst. “Alright, I’m gonna clean this, and apply Bacta.”

Din hummed. “Are you sure? I hear Bacta has some faults.”

“Funny.” You grabbed your kit once more. “How come you make more jokes while injured than not injured?”

Din shrugged, winching at the movement, “Blood loss maybe.”

He could hear you laugh under your breath and it brought a smile to his face. You bent over a bit before rising again. Din glanced over his shoulder to see you trying to find a comfortable position. He turned around and you raised an eyebrow at him. Din motioned to the bathroom counter.

“Oh. Good idea.” You mumbled.

You walked over to climb up, but he reached out to grab your hips. The quick, sharp gasp that left your lips sent a chill down his spine. Din realized he had acted without even thinking. “Jump.” He said. You listened, no hesitation, and he helped you settle on the bathroom counter. Din now stood between your legs and his hands were still on your hips. He pulled them away quickly. Maker, maybe he did lose too much blood. “Better?”

“Y⏤Yes.” You nodded then motioned with your hand for him to spin. Din turned around so his back was facing you and pulled half his shirt off so his right arm was out of the sleeve and his back on that side was exposed to you. “This might sting.”

The first thing Din felt was your hands and after the battle he just walked out of the gentle touch was intoxicating. His eyes fluttered close and he took in a slow breath⏤ melting under your careful hands. The first few minutes were spent in silence as you cleaned out the vibroblade wound. Just as you had warned, it stung something awful whenever the cleansing solution touched raw skin, but even with the pain Din found himself beginning to drift off. He had to lean back on the counter for support and rested his left hand on the counter’s edge on the outside of your thigh, trapping it in place.

“What happened?” You asked.

“Pirate got lucky.” Din mumbled. “It happens sometimes.” You hummed in acknowledgement and your hands left his skin. He missed the connection. Maker, he wanted more of it. The price he would pay to have you lean forward and just envelope his entire back, wrapping your arms around his torso, was absurd. Luckily, your touch returned and Din could tell from the gel texture that you were applying Bacta now. He sighed, “You said your own name.”

“Hmm?”

“The nightmare you were having. Right before you woke up, you called out your own name.”

“Oh.�� You replied with no indication that you were going to speak further on the matter.

It didn’t bother him. Din had his fair share of nightmares and haunting memories that plagued him when he slept. There weren’t many he was willing to share with the world and he didn’t expect you to be any different with your own ghosts. You didn’t owe him that. He shook his sleep heavy head, “I’m not looking for clarification or an answer. Just…” Din paused. “If you need to talk, I’m available. I know what it’s like…”

‘To be haunted.’ He couldn’t physically bring himself to finish that sentence audibly.

You finished with the Bacta and he could feel you taping a large, gauze bandage over the wound. After another beat, you spoke up. “It wasn’t a nightmare.” Din wanted to turn around to look at you. “It was a memory. Just a really bad memory.”

He felt you begin to tug his shirt back down and took that as his opportunity to turn. Your hands fell back to your lap as he finished pulling his shirt back down in place. Din rested his hands on the counter beside you. He didn’t touch you again, but he was close enough that he could if he wanted.

“Those are worse, aren’t they?” He asked. You nodded, a small smile drawn on your lips, but nothing about your features screamed anything other than sadness and exhaustion. Din was sure that none of the sleep you got had been beneficial. He had those nights before.

You shrugged. “Sometimes I wish I had a normal nightmare. Some kind of monster or jump scare.” The chuckle you breathed out was lackluster. “Reliving your worst moment over and over again is… disheartening.”

“I know.” Din replied. Your shoulders were slumped in defeat, but the fact that you tried to keep a smile on your face anyways was admirable. Din’s eyes scanned over the features of your face, ones he had already memorized some time ago, and they trailed down the length of your throat. The shirt you wore to sleep in was a size bigger than you usually wore and the way you were seated had the scooped neckline pulled to reveal the skin of your shoulder. Any thoughts he had about sinking his teeth in, tracing the contours of your skin with his tongue, were interrupted as he took in the sight of your collarbone. There was a scar there on your left side⏤ as long as the collarbone itself. The jagged shape told him the wound had been deep once, and he’d guess a blade of some kind.

Din wondered if that was the memory you had been forced to live through last night.

“I’m really glad you came home in one piece.” You lifted a hand tapped your fingers against the side of his helmet. Din loved hearing you call this home. Obviously you lived here, what else would you call it, but after seeing you sleeping in his bed with his son it felt like the word had a different meaning. Din would be honored and blessed to come home to you and Grogu every night.

A soft cry startled both of you. Din leaned back, not even realizing how much closer he had drifted toward you, and glanced over his shoulder. Before he could make his way out, you set a hand on his arm and slipped off the counter carefully.

“Wash up a bit. Change clothes.” You squeezed his arm. “I’ll get him.”

Din watched you step out, closing the door behind you, and let out a sigh. Grogu’s cries stopped a second later. He wanted nothing more than to go see his son, but the moment he entered his room he was going to pass out. He just knew it, and it’d be nice to fall asleep in his bed with fresh clothes. As quick as he could, Din pulled his helmet off to wash his face and clean up. His entire body was tired, but he barreled through the routine in record time. The only thing he paused to do was rub some of the Bacta you had laying on the counter onto the ugly, dark bruise that decorated his outer thigh. Satisfied that he was successfully cleaned up, Din grabbed his helmet and held it in his hands for a hesitant moment.

He didn’t have time to ponder and pour over thoughts about his identity right now. Din just wanted to settle into his home.

“You don’t have to fight sleep, kiddo.” You mumbled to Grogu in your arms. It seemed the sleep he got last night was just as restful as yours. Waking up alone in bed must have spooked him because he was still tearfully rubbing his face against your nightshirt as you tried to reassure him. “Your buir is home. He’s safe.”

The words were meant to reassure the child, but they felt like a relief to you as well. Thankfully, his injury, though large, wasn’t too severe. Nothing needed suturing and the bleeding had stopped on its own by the time you saw it. You went back to softly humming and rocking the child in your arms. Every time you glanced down you could see his eyes began to drift close, but he’d open them again without fail.

“Ad’ika.” Mando’s warm voice said from behind you. Grogu’s eyes widened and he sat up in your arms with a startling speed. He began to fuss and cry again. You turned around so Mando could cross the room to scoop him out of your arms. Grogu immediately buried his face on his father’s shoulder, mumbled a few soft words, then passed out. He had been fighting sleep just to see Mando. You didn’t blame him one bit. “How was he while I was gone?”

“He woke up crying for you once.” You whispered. “I got him back down, but he was restless. I don’t think he got any good sleep after that.”

“That seems to be the case for all of us.” Mando replied.

You chuckled then motioned past him. “I’m gonna go. Grogu’s probably gonna be passed out with you for a while so I was gonna start on some laundry.”

“You need to sleep, cyar’ika.” Mando shook his head, aghast at your suggestion.

“I’m not tired. I⏤” You began, but the tilt in Mando’s helmet told you he wasn’t buying any word coming out of your mouth. Yikes, did you really look that rough, right now? You sighed and decided on the truth. You were too exhausted to come up with an excuse. “I could go to my room and try to sleep, but I’ll just… The outcome won’t change. It’d probably be better for me to just chug some caf and hope for the best.”

Mando was rubbing Grogu’s back and his helmet’s modulator made his whispered words sound huskier than they usually did. “Stay here.” You blinked in surprise. “The bed is big enough. I’m a light sleeper. If you start to toss or turn again, like before, I can wake you.”

“Mando, you need to get your own rest.” You said. “If I stayed... you’d have to leave your helmet on.”

“I’ve slept in it before.”

“But⏤”

“Lay down, cyar’ika.”

Too tired to argue, you laid furthest from the bedroom door so he could have his usual side. Mando walked over to his room’s window to draw the blinds so the only sunlight coming in was through the thin slates. You curled up under his blankets as Mando climbed in on the other side. He carefully laid Grogu between the two of you and once again the boy’s rhythmic snoring was like calming, white noise. Mando laid on his side so he could watch his son. You faced toward them so you were witness to Mando’s bare hands rubbing Grogu’s back like you had done much, much earlier.

“Thanks, Mando.” You breathed, your heavy eyelids already fluttering closed. Sleep was already starting to envelope you so you weren’t able to fully grasp the words that Mando whispered to you. You registered it was entirely in Mando’a, but you were unconscious before you could question it.

This time, your sleep wasn’t plagued by memories or nightmares. There was only peace.

mando’a translations:

cyar’ika: darling, sweetheart

buir: father

#the mandalorian #din djarin #din djarin x you #din djarin x reader #mandalorian x reader #mandalorian x you #mandalorian fanfic #din djarin fanfiction #reader insert #Female reader #star wars #mandalorian and grogu #grogu takes a break from being a menace #he's a sleepy angel in this #mando x reader #mando x you

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oliviajdjarin · 2 years

Text

Din Djarin: A Lucky Shot

Pairing: Din Djarin x female!reader (she/her)

Excerpt: “You felt your hands beginning to shake in unwanted frustration. His breaths continued to stay labored as he slouched over himself, pressing his palm against his bleeding side.

‘What happened?’ you spat.

He breathed deeply once. Twice. The strain in his lungs made your anger waver just so. ‘A lucky shot.’

‘“A lucky shot,”’ you mimicked, lowering your voice to mock him. “I never get tired of your understatements.’

Warnings: rusty Razor Crest and mando’a talk, bleeding, swearing, descriptive wound care (stitching) (probably incorrect I am definitely not a nurse lol), heavy needle talk, Din fainting, reader panicking and screaming and crying, major panic attack, she kind of accepts his death for a second, softness, comfort, allusions to kissing and sex.

A/N: I am sorry for not sticking to my username for the past few months. My mind has been a bit elsewhere, but the weather is getting colder, and that means that Din is getting closer. This was also in my drafts as “Din wound cleaning sobbing” so hopefully this is coherent. I love you all dearly. Thank you for allowing me to do what I love :)

A/N 2: Mando season three trailer…Din girlies are you okay because I’m not.

If you’d like to leave a like, comment, reblog, or any other form of support, it would be much appreciated <3

Pedro Masterlist

(gif not mine credit to owner!!)

You felt his blood before you smelt it—the heat of it, not the stickiness. It pressed against your palm and sunk your stomach down to the floor.

“Din?” you whispered.

“Just—” he started, pushing past you. “I just need to sit.

You would have slapped him—should have slapped him—but his beskar would have hurt you more than him.

“Need to sit?” you questioned, anger underlining your tone.

“Yes,” he shot back, and you huffed in annoyance, closing the Crest’s hanger-doors with a press of a button.

You knew something was off the second his speeder-bike came into view. His normally straight-shot driving began to serpentine ever-so-slightly on the Tatooine sand before he shook his head and straightened himself out. You’d never seen him do that before.

He then parked the rust-covered speeder, and winced as he dismounted. You could hear his grunts of pain in your mind, only hearing them faintly and rarely in your time on the Razor Crest.

You never expected to stay as long as you had, and you never expected to grow nauseous at the thought of leaving.

He began his walk over to you, holding his left hand gently over his stomach. You noticed a slight limp as well, but not the worst you had seen from him. Not by a long shot.

You watched and waited for him as he returned, just as you always did, but you could not help your eyebrows creasing in concern. The sand blew, blowing him off his course, and he stumbled over his feet, visibly wincing once again. You squeezed the sides of the doorframe and leaned forward, as if you could catch him from this distance, but he carried on. With every step he took, your anger rose higher and higher, based purely on your fears of him never returning, or only returning long enough for you to watch him fade away into the afterlife.

You just wished he wasn’t so kriffing good at faking being okay. He was like that from the moment you met him.

“A partner?” you questioned. “You’re kidding me, Karga.”

The leader of the Bounty Hunters' Guild rolled his eyes and chuckled in response, leaning further back in his Cantina chair. “I am not having my best profit killed off by mercenaries. You know their violence better than anyone. You need someone on your six.”

He wasn’t wrong. You had dealt with this group before, and the fob he had given you was no easy shot. But you had handled it before.

“So you just don’t want your cut of my profits disappearing, huh? No concern for me?”

“None at all,” he said with a glint in his eye and a tone slicked with sarcasm. That was the closest to an “I care about you” you’d ever get from him.

“Besides, it’ll make this job a much lighter load,” he said, and you took a sip of your drink as you analyzed the situation.

You were a flexible woman, if you did say so yourself, and Greef was making somewhat of an arguable point. Besides, it was only one job.

And you’d rather be caught dead than showing a weakness in a Cantina of all places.

“Alright,” you responded, setting the wooden mug back on the sticky table. “So where are they then? Where is my ‘partner?’”

And that’s when the Cantina went silent, because none other than the fucking Mandalorian walked in, wearing armor worth more than you’d ever see in your life.

You couldn’t help your mouth dropping. Just a little.

You had heard of him—it was impossible to not, especially as an acclaimed member of the Guild—but you didn’t know he would look like…that. Broad shoulders, sinched waist, strong walk, large guns. Fuck.

The look of him only partially excused the fact that he had been taking his pick of the best pucks in Karga’s lot, therefore stealing the opportunity from you. Only partially.

But damn did he look good doing it.

He continued his walk forward, keeping his gaze locked on the general area you were sitting. Eyes bore into him as he walked, causing your heart to race for him.

You wondered if he enjoyed it—the stares, the looks. You wouldn’t find out until much later that he did not, and if you would have looked only a few inches down from his sculpted chest, you would have seen his hands squeezed so tightly it was stretching their leather coating. The tell-tale sign of his discomfort.

He made it to your booth—not bothering to hide his gaze burning a hole through your body—before turning towards Greef and saying, “I want my next job.” His deep voice sent a tingle down your spinal chord.

Greef proceeded to bounce his eyes between you and the Mandalorian’s tall frame, taking his sweet old time. You saw the flicker in his eyes the second the idea came to him, and he opened his arms towards you.

“Right on time,” he said to you, and nodded his head towards the Mandalorian. “Your partner.”

Your eyes widened, your body froze, and you have never left his side since.

Even as you watched his stubborn ass limp through the Tattooine sands, you would never go back on taking that job. Not for a million credits.

Well, maybe two million. And a guarantee he would always come home safe.

He made it to the end of the Crest’s entrance ramp, and you straightened up ever-so-slightly, eyebrows still creased together.

He began walking up the ramp, the old metal squeaking with every step, and you took the opportunity to search each and every visible inch of him for injuries. His armor was in tact, his weapons were unchanged, and the sides of his undershirt looked unstained. He kept his hand floating above his side though, and his breaths became more and more labored as he came closer and closer to you.

He was inches from you when you said his name delicately, trying not to let your anger show through in your tone. “Din? You okay?”

You’d never get over the taste of his name.

He sighed loudly, and you brought your hands to his solid chest when he finally reached you. His familiar scent of sweat and metal hit you instantly, and you felt the one spot your eyes couldn’t see from far away, a space of revealed undershirt just underneath chest piece. His weak spot.

That’s when you felt it—the heat of blood against the pads of your fingers, and he proceeded to storm past you. He stumbled over to and sat on a random storage container to steady himself as you closed the doors to the Crest, and you turned back around with your arms folded. You felt your hands beginning to shake in unwanted frustration. His breaths continued to stay labored as he slouched over himself, pressing his palm against his bleeding side.

“What happened?” you spat.

He breathed deeply once. Twice. The strain in his lungs made your anger waver just so. “A lucky shot.”

“‘A lucky shot,’” you mimicked, lowering your voice to mock him. “I never get tired of your understatements.”

He groaned in response. “I’m fine. Just need some—” he winced as he spoke. “Just need some help.”

You nodded and walked over to your First Aid drawers, grinding your teeth, and crouched down in front of them, muscle memory carrying you through where each piece of equipment was whilst your mind traveled elsewhere.

“You said this would be a quick one,” you spat.

“It should have been,” he replied.

“Yeah, you should have been back two days ago.”

“Says you, of all people,” he countered. “Last time you were gone an extra week.”

You exhaled through your nose. “I told you it would take longer. That’s the difference between us Din, I communicate. I actually use our kriffing comm links.”

You grabbed one last roll of gauze and shut the drawer forcefully, more forcefully than you initially intended, and stood up to turn to him.

“I couldn’t risk them tracing our location,” Din said in reply. His counters to your comments were knocking the wind out of him. “You know that.”

“Yeah,” you began, walking to the fresher to fill a bucket of water. “I do know that. But I also know that I’d rather be put at risk by knowing you’re alive than thinking you’re dead for two days straight.”

He went silent at this, and you ran the faucet over the bucket, filling it up to the brim. This awkward silence was what the air in the Crest was always filled with for the first month or two you had taken him up on his offer to join him. Before the two of you had become…whatever the hell you were.

Despite your tone, you valued bickering and arguing like this more than you could even describe. It meant the two of you had progressed past the stage he was in with everyone else in the galaxy—cold, calculating, silent. With you, he could show his underbelly, he could call you out on your shit, he could show you his weak spot, and he could let enough of his personality show to match your wit with his own.

And, most importantly, it meant that he was alive.

Your Mandalorian was still alive.

You closed your eyes and let this thought coat your insides, filling you with relief instead of anger. You exhaled and turned off the sink, lifting the bucket from the hollow metal. Your rage turned to elation at the fact that he was still breathing, and your focus switched to making sure he stayed that way.

“I’m sorry Din,” you said, and held the bucket with one arm while turning off the fresher light with the other. “You just always manage to scare the shit out of—”

You were cut off by a thump. A loud thump, metal bouncing off metal, and your blood turned to ice.

“Din?” you questioned, pupils dilating as you felt the first drops of panic begin to drip into your stomach. You turned out of the fresher, only to find his body splayed on the Crest floor. Chest unmoving.

The bucket and First Aid dropped from your hands, coating the entirety of your pants and the floor in water, and you ran to him, falling to your knees at his side.

“Din!” you yelled, feeling where his undershirt was now soaked with blood. Its normally dark brown was now crimson red across the entirety of his stomach, and he was out cold.

“No no no Din,” you said, shaking his body with as much strength as you could. “Din!”

Your voice cracked with desperation, more than you had let out in years, but he remained limp as you rocked his body back and forth. You brought your hands to your head, as if that would keep you from crumbling.

“No, no,” you whispered, throat catching on a sob. “What do I—what do I do?”

You were no medic. The only training you had was from experience—stitching your own cuts, cauterizing your own wounds, and doing the same to him—but nothing to this degree. This much blood.

“What do I do!” you whispered firmly, defeatedly. You began shaking him again. “You’re supposed to tell me what to do!”

Tears dripped into your mouth as you stared at his frame. You felt blind without his help—trapped. How did you function before him? Before that deep voice coached you through life in such a way that made you feel seen, not lectured. You wanted nothing more than to just hear his voice through his modulator, maybe a chuckle if you were lucky.

Get up, he would say to you. Get up cyar’ika, you can do this.

Bits of your nerve began to return to you and you forced yourself to breathe. You swallowed grimly, licked your lips, and took a deep breath.

You couldn’t afford to panic. You were a kriffing bounty hunter, and a good one at that. You could do this.

Get up.

And you did. On shaking legs you stood, feeling the blood drop from your head, filling it with lightness.

Hurry mesh’la. Hurry, he would say, and you did.

You gathered the materials as quickly as you could, salvaging the small amount of water left in the bucket, and you returned to him. Tears continued to fall and your throat continued to close, but you were doing it. You were moving.

Good. Just keep breathing.

You took a breath as you kneeled beside him, still moving swiftly.

Now take the armor off, you imagined him saying, but you hesitated. You’ve seen more than enough of me.

This was true. You had cauterized wounds on his shoulders and lower back before, but never on his front. Your heart picked up at the thought of his potentially muscled body, but you stayed focused.

With another deep breath you reached forward and popped his chest piece off, setting it delicately to the side of him. You did the same with his arm pieces, moving quicker and quicker as you went, before finally sliding off his cape and removing his belt. While you remained rushed, you set the beskar down gently, knowing their meaning to him.

You had him down to his undershirt, and the mix of sweat and blood hit you. The crimson had stretched from his lower stomach up to his middle. You threatened to break again, but with the armor removed, a delicate rise and fall of his chest was visible. You let out a cry of relief.

Unzip me now. We don’t have all day.

You brought your trembling hands to the zipper of his undershirt and slowly pulled it down. Once it reached the end you pulled the material down to lay on his waist. You were forced to peel the soaked material off of his stomach and arms, and the vibrant red began staining your hands.

His normally bronzed and scarred skin was coated with red…so much red. You couldn’t lose your nerve. Not now.

The cut in his stomach was deep, deep enough that stitching was a definite. His lungs continuing to fill with air kept you focus, as well as his ever-present voice in your head.

You won’t hurt me cyar’ika, you could never.

Picking the needle and thread from the First Aid, you threaded the eye as quick as you could with your trembling fingers, and leaned over his hot body to begin stitching. Despite the wound, the blood, and the smell, it was still Din you were seeing bare. You didn’t know how he still managed to make it all beautiful.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, lining up the needle. Tears spilled into your mouth. “I’m sorry.” And you began to stitch.

It was not for the faint of heart—watching the thin point work itself in and out and in and out of his skin, pulling the pieces together tightly to ensure they stayed. The cut was clean, yes, but its depth caused for lots of tugging. A part of you was thankful he had fallen under, while the rest of you begged for his return.

You checked his pulse and his breathing routinely as you worked, stitching faster than you had ever done in your life.

I’m still here. I’m not leaving.

“Please,” you whispered. “Please Din.”

With one final loop through, the stitching was complete. You snipped the thread away from his skin and removed your hands from his body. His blood stained your skin all the way to your wrists, but you didn’t care. He wasn’t bleeding anymore. It was done.

You began to get feeling back in your body. You felt the stain of sweat on your back, the cramping in your knees from leaning over him, and a mix of sweat, tears, and snot covering your face. Your panic was starting to bridge its way into exhaustion.

You did it cyar. The hard part’s over. Just need cleaned.

You exhaled and placed your hands on your knees before getting up to quickly rinse off your hands. You then rushed back to him and dunked an extra rag into the bucket of water. You dragged it around his wound carefully, and watched his freckles and scars begin to appear on his skin.

It wasn’t perfect, but he was cleaned, dried, and stitched as best as you could have possibly done. All he needed to do was wake up.

You bit your lip and checked his pulse again, and the pillar of hope that had been unconsciously built inside you crumbled.

It was barely there. His pulse was barely there.

You were too late. Too slow. Too weak.

“No.” You began shaking your head, pressing down firmly onto his smooth neck, as if that would fix it.

“You can’t…not now,” you whined. “Not now. Please not now Din please.”

You would die with him. He would take every part of you when he left, and not leave anything behind.

“Din!” you screamed, shaking him again. “Come on please! Please Din—”

You were cut off by your own sobs.

“You’re—you’re my partner Din I need you,” you cried. “You’re my partner please don’t go. Please don’t leave Din please I tried.”

You rested your head above his wound, practically throwing yourself across him. “I tried.”

The damn had broken. You sobbed endlessly, imagining the life that could have been if you had just moved a little bit fucking faster. His skin was warm against you, but you knew it would eventually run cold, signifying that Din had truly left this life and moved onto the next.

You regretted the last words he heard from you. You wished they were the three words that had been stuck on the tip of your tongue for weeks, but they weren’t.

You were a coward, and now he’d never hear them.

“Please Din.” You could barely whisper. Your body was racked with only agony, and you kept your face embedded into his skin. Your tears slid off his soft skin, and your aching heart pounded relentlessly in your temples. “Please come back to me. I’m so sorry.”

Cyar, I’m right here.

“No,” you whispered, knowing that voice was only in your head. You never wanted to hear it again. You didn’t deserve to. “I’m so sorry. I failed. I failed—”

Cyar, hey—

“—you, I failed you.”

Hey.

A leathered hand cupped your cheek, and you realized that it wasn’t your heart pounding in your head—it was his.

Your neck snapped up, tears continuing to drip down your neck, but his neck was propped up, looking at you.

Looking at you.

“Din!” you yelled, and wrapped your arms around him.

He chuckled and held you close, letting you tuck your chin into his bristly neck. His arms—bare arms—wrapped around you was something you never thought you would ever feel. You only cried harder.

“I’m alright,” he whispered. “It’s okay.” That familiar tingle stretched up your back.

You couldn’t help the tears. Shock and panic were still hitting you, but waves of relief crashed overtop of them, bringing you back down. To this moment. To Din holding you close.

You breathed in his scent as your cries slowed to a stop, and you laid with him. Listening to his heartbeat sink up with yours.

“Didn’t mean to scare you mesh’la,” he whispered with a chuckle, and you laughed almost manically.

“You nearly killed me Din Djarin,” you replied, still laughing.

“Y/N,” he said, and moved your face away from his neck. He framed it with his hands and brushed your tears away from your cheeks. “You’re my partner too, and I’m not going anywhere.”

He took a breath, as if his words were getting caught in his throat. “I—I need you too.”

Your lip quivered and you nodded to him. You knew what he meant.

“You did not fail me,” he said. “You saved me. Thank you.”

You exhaled. “You’re welcome.”

He then brought your forehead to his own, and the stream of tears in your eyes opened up again.

This time, however, it was from happiness. Pure elation. Because you knew what he was doing.

Chills erupted along your back at the feeling of the cold metal against your burning forehead, and you rubbed your nose back and forth against it, invoking another chuckle from him.

He kissed you. Din Djarin had just kissed you, and one day, you hoped to return the favor.

“You need ice,” you whispered against him. “And bacta. And sleep.”

He nodded against you, and you pecked the crown of his forehead. You then brought your mouth down to his neck and kissed his pulse, and the slight groan he let out was anything but pain. It was muffled enough to show that he attempted to hide it, but was unsuccessful. His large hands squeezed your hips, and you smiled against his skin, smelling purely Din. No blood.

“I’ll be right back,” you whispered, and kissed him again before standing and walking to the basement of the Crest. You rubbed your nose and sniffled, still tasting his sweat and skin on your mouth.

Those three words would come. Until then, this was enough.

Translations:

Mesh’la— beautiful

Cyar’ika— beloved

Cyar— beloved

Tag list: (I apologize if you are not tagged/your tag is not working. Please let me know if you’d like to be added!)

@leahkenobi @cityofidek @burned-dorito @tiredbuthappy @punkiwiki @lovesbiggerthanpride @darth-voder @samanthacookieone @torchbearerkyle @stardust-galaxies @c4psicles-blog @joelsflannel @mysun-n-stars @tateelii @kirsteng42 @leithatnight @arson-tm @l0calgoth @thesmutslut @alastorhazbin @grincheveryday @martinsmomo @letaliabane @cathenan @big-ol-boat @niiight-dreamerr @jezebel1945 @call-me-doll-face @yelyahcardella @letskeepthislo-ki @misspearly1 @petals-opento-the-moon @just-a-sewer-goblin @em---r

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danaewrites · 2 months

Text

Helmet Over Heels

part i: the winter of our discontent

din djarin x reader // read it on AO3

word count: 3.8k

summary: When your path literally collides with a beskar-covered Mandalorian one night, neither of you expect how that meeting will irreversibly change the trajectory of your lives.

You’re pulled into his powerful orbit, agreeing to take care of his son in exchange for adventure and freedom– when he’s not off hunting bounties and inadvertently saving villages in need, that is. It’s the perfect plan. Or it would be, if only your quiet crush on the man would stop growing into something more with every hour you spend together. There’s no way he’d ever feel the same, right?

And Din? Well, he’s been trying (and failing) to convince himself that he’s not completely helmet over heels for you since day one. But a Mandalorian can only repress his emotions for so long…

(This fic takes place sometime after Season 2. Din’s back on his bounty-hunting business with a Razor Crest that was never destroyed and an adorable green sidekick who won’t stop chewing on its wires.)

tags: strangers to friends to lovers, slow-ish burn, nicknames, touch-starved din djarin and fem!reader, canon-compliant through season 2 and then Jesus takes the wheel :P

author's notes:

hello and welcome to my first ever mando fic!! i binged the entirety of the first two seasons in a week to get me through tedious internship work and accidentally fell in love with our favorite space dad and his cute green child along the way. oops (i regret nothing)

with the outline i currently have for this fic, it’ll be around 11-12 chapters, although that’s likely to grow as we get deeper into the story. the posting schedule might be anywhere from once a week to once a month, but this wip *will* be finished.

the second chapter's scheduled to upload next week as a little treat for y'all, so if you want to catch it then hit that follow button or ask to be added to my taglist! ;)

read it all here: part i, part ii, part iii, part iv coming soon!

You watched the last of tonight’s drunken patrons stumble out of the cantina and into the bitter Nath night with a relieved sigh. Wiping your hands on the stained apron tied around your waist, you fished a set of bronze keys out of a tiny pocket and began your nightly walk around the perimeter of the bar, locking doors and pulling down rusty shutters as you went. The cantina was silent aside from your quiet shuffling– a welcome reprieve from its usual crowded bustle and chatter so hectic you could barely hear your own thoughts.

You hummed softly as you adjusted booths back to their original positions and swept crumbs off of battered tabletops, wishing that the small holospeaker at the edge of the room hadn’t been broken in a recent bar fight. Swaying to its pre-Imperial oldies throughout your long, exhausting shifts had been one of the only perks of working in this run-down cantina, but without the soothing ambience of music, a chill threatened to sink into your bones and paralyze you with the deep depression this side of the planet seemed to have succumbed to.

You never planned to stay here for as long as you had. No one really did, except for criminals who knew that no one would willingly come here to search for them and locals who had never known anything else. Nath might have been charming, once– all soft snowflakes and peaceful walks under sepia-toned streetlights– but that was before the Empire had destroyed every semblance of comfort and culture and replaced them with brutalist brick structures that were already crumbling under the weight of their makers’ crimes. The fear lingered long after the Imps had finally left the post, reflected in the sad eyes of the fishmongers’ children and the way one would be hard-pressed to find a factory worker who didn’t spend his nights nursing a bottle and the ghosts of blaster scars across his back.

You had your own scars, of course, but you still held out hope that things would change and you’d make it out of here– although that hope was gradually diminishing as off-world shuttles visited less and less frequently and the permanent winter worsened. Five years ago, you’d been unceremoniously dropped off at the town’s dingy port, forced to land after your shuttle to Corellia was damaged by an unexpected detour through an asteroid field. You’d taken the cantina job thinking you’d only stay long enough to pay for passage on an outgoing ship, but soon learned that any shuttle risking the terrible weather to land here would also charge an exorbitant boarding price– one that would take you years to afford with the meager pay you received. And your tentative plan of stowing away on a spice freighter and sneaking off once it arrived at its destination (you weren’t picky about where, so long as it wasn’t Nath) was tempered by the increasingly likelihood that you’d get blown to pieces the minute you entered space by one of the pirate gangs that ruled the atmosphere these days. So– you were stuck here, at least for now.

The smell of something burning in the back of the cantina drew you out of your thoughts. Cursing, you raced to the kitchen, where your dinner was quickly blackening on the stove. Kriff. You shut off the burner, staring at the charred mess before you for a few seconds before dejectedly scraping it into an almost-overflowing trash bin. Well, there went your plan to eat quickly and head to your tiny flat before the storm outside worsened. Your rental pod had barely enough space for your bed and a miniscule bathroom, so you had to use the cantina kitchen if you wanted to stay fed– but the stove here was so old, it took half an hour longer than usual to cook anything. You resigned yourself to another night sleeping in a booth, since the flurry outside would prevent you from navigating your way home safely.

You sliced up a few vegetables and set them to simmer in a pot with the last of the herbed broth and sandseed noodles from today’s lunch special, glancing at the bin next to you. It was probably a good idea to take out the foul-smelling waste before you were sealed in next to it all night. Wrinkling your nose at the unappealing scraps of food threatening to fall off the top of the pile, you hefted the bin up and maneuvered it through the back door of the cantina, being careful not to stain your apron any more than it already was. The harsh winds nipped at every sliver of exposed skin and dusted your hair with a pearlescent sheen of snow, making you wish you’d thought to slip on something warmer than your thin blouse and trousers before leaving the protection of the kitchen.

You navigated through the blizzard to the end of the dark alleyway behind the cantina, your path lit only by two buzzing lamps at each end of the narrow corridor. You scrunched your face up against the cold, willing yourself to keep walking despite your extremely limited night vision. Just a few more steps, and then you’d be free of your compostable burden for the night. You turned the corner, stepping to the left where you knew the trash compactor was, and immediately collided with a giant hunk of metal.

Said hunk of metal cursed loudly as it stumbled head-first over the garbage bin you’d dropped in shock after the impact, falling forward into the snow. “Dank ferrik!”

Your eyes grew wide as the glow of the flickering streetlights illuminated the very-much-alive Mandalorian lying in front of you. It was just your luck that you’d managed to potentially injure the kind of warrior you’d only heard about in hushed rumors, or at least someone who was wearing the armor of one. Okay, injure was a strong word, but all that cold, hard beskar couldn’t be very comfortable to fall on despite the protection it offered.

“Stars, I’m so sorry, let me–”

You reached forward, stretching out a hand to help the Mandalorian up when a small green head suddenly popped up out of a tawny bag slung across their side. You yelped in surprise, losing your balance on the icy road and toppling forward. You winced, bracing yourself and preparing for the inevitable impact– except right as you were about to hit the ground, one steel-clad arm shot out to grab your wrist while the other steadied your hips. You gasped at the warmth of the unexpected contact, pulse quickening as you stared at the–man? person?–beneath you, the only thing preventing you from a nasty collection of bruises appearing across your side tomorrow.

A deep baritone sounded from the helmet– likely modulated, from the slightly grainy tone. “Are you alright?”

Definitely a man, then. You pointedly ignored the butterflies that stirred to life in your stomach at the sound of his voice, praying that he would attribute your shiver to the cold and nothing more. Stars, this was getting more embarrassing by the minute. You tucked away the thought, making a note to do some serious soul-searching later on about the depth of your touch-starvation and its potential impact on your mental state.

You gave a quick nod, muttering your thanks and carefully rolling to the side as you dusted clumps of snow off of your trousers. You looked up at him to see him gently picking up the little green creature you’d been so startled by earlier and tucking it back into the bag, pulling his cloak over its head to shield it from the chill. That was… rather cute, actually. You thought Mandalorians were supposed to be scary fighters, dedicated to nothing but their Creed, but this one was clearly fond of the small thing clinging to him. You couldn’t blame him; the green creature’s big ears and bug eyes were adorably endearing.

The cold winds picked up pace, and you wondered why anyone would be out here during such a storm as you got to your feet. Anyone local would have sought shelter hours ago, and no freighter would dare to land in such conditions.

“Are you... lost?” You tentatively asked. “Can I help you find someone?”

The Mandalorian remained silent for several long seconds, helmet tilted slightly. Whatever he saw in your face seemed to have settled well with him, and he released a quiet huff through the modulator.

“I need to get food. For my son,” he eventually admitted, gesturing to the baby peeking up at you.

“Oh!” You brightened up considerably as you remembered the flavorful soup you’d started earlier. “Well– I work in a cantina back there,” you said, pointing behind you at the rusted door that led to the kitchen.

“We’re technically closed right now, but I’m sure I can work something out.” You winked at the curious child, smiling as he let out a happy babble.

The Mandalorian’s helmet hadn’t moved from its focus in your direction, and you suddenly felt nervous. Which seemed stupid, because–yeah, it felt intense, but was he even looking at you from behind the dark visor of his helmet? For all you knew, he was making the most ridiculous expression at you behind all that beskar and you’d never know. The absurd thought made you snicker softly. If no one could see your face, you’d definitely act goofy at people all the time.

The Mandalorian’s head tilted slightly, and whoops, he’d definitely noticed your little moment now if he hadn’t been paying attention before. Your face reddened and you quickly gestured for him to follow you as you unlocked the door to the kitchen, relieved when you heard the soft clink of his armor come through the doorway behind you.

You placed your hands on your hips, surveying the dimly lit cantina and deciding to lead the duo to a worn table close to the bar. It looked unassuming, but the chairs were the comfiest in the cantina and you figured the baby would appreciate something softer than the coarse bag he’d been in.

Once they’d gotten settled in, you set about finding a mug of blue milk for the kid and some water for the Mandalorian. You brought the drinks over to the pair, hiding a smile at how eagerly the little green baby reached for his.

“You’re pretty thirsty, huh?” You observed as the baby slurped up the cerulean beverage. Shooting the tall, beskar-clad man a glance out of the corner of your eye, you continued, “Must have been quite the trip. Most people don’t usually travel to this side of the galaxy for vacation.”

To your disappointment, the Mandalorian remained as still and stoic as ever. Well, that just wouldn’t do. He was your first visitor in years from anywhere outside of Nath, and you were absolutely not letting him leave without getting a bit of juicy detail on life outside of your current drudgery. You decided to go for another angle.

“You know, kids need good role models in their lives. Ones that show them how to socialize with others and communicate. Display generosity of the loquacious sort, even.” You shrugged innocently in your best attempt to mimic the overly casual air the old women at the tea shop always used before passive-aggressively attempting to set you up with their stay-at-home-nephews. “Never too late to start.”

You got the distinct feeling that he was laughing at you under that helmet. Rude. Huffing, you sat down across the table from him and crossed your arms, trying to guess where under his visor his eyes were. Once you were half-confident that you’d found the spot, you stared intensely at it with your most intimidating expression. Which wasn’t saying much, seeing as you had the firepower of a soggy Lothkitten and probably came off as more desperate than anything.

“Isn’t there some sort of honor code for Mandalorians? One that includes being noble to strangers and whatnot?”

No response. Argh.

“Well, I’d consider it pretty noble to provide a lonely soul such as myself with a bit of storytelling entertainment on this frigid evenin–”

Your final attempt at prying some information out of the armored man was interrupted by the sound of the kitchen timer beeping increasingly louder and louder until you were sure the whole cantina was vibrating with the tinny noise.

“KRIFF, not again!”

You bolted out of your seat towards the kitchen, but not before you heard a thinly disguised huff of amusement coming out of the modulator. Okay, he was definitely laughing at you.

Once you’d successfully saved the soup from imminent destruction-via-cursed-stove and somewhat regained your pride, you finally made your way back to the table with three steaming bowls of noodles. You placed the smallest one in front of the child, who cooed happily and immediately began plopping his hands in the bowl. The Mandalorian huffed in exasperation and began prying little green fingers out of the bowl. “Hey. Quit that, we talked about this,” he grumbled. You winced as broth sloshed out of the bowl, landing dangerously close to the baby’s tunic. The kid’s lower lip started to tremble, a blaring warning sign that a tantrum was going to occur in approximately ten seconds if he wasn’t distracted from his current petulant state.

“Oh– hey, bug, don’t do that,” you said as both father and son turned to look at you. You leaned closer to the wide-eyed baby and pointed to his bowl. “That’s pretty hard to scoop up, yeah? Look, there are easier ways to eat it,” you explained as you brought the bowl up to your lips and raised an eyebrow, hoping that he would do the same. The kid blinked up at you for several long seconds before turning to his father with outstretched hands. The Mandalorian sighed, but held up the dish as requested. You hid a smile behind your bowl at the sight.

“Good job! Okay, now we’re going to try something fun–” You mimed slurping up the soup with a silly face at the baby, who burbled something incomprehensible in response but finally followed your example and focused on his food.

When you were sure that the baby’s clothes were no longer in danger of being drenched by broth– and by extension, frozen stiff whenever the pair headed back into the storm–you quietly tucked into your own meal, closing your eyes at the warm memories the comforting flavours brought. Not for the first time, you missed the earthy smell and placid weather of your homeworld, a stark contrast to this icy prison of a planet.

“You are… good with him.”

Your eyes darted up to find the Mandalorian’s helmet angled directly at you. Your face heated at the observation and you gave a small laugh, willing yourself to resist fidgeting under his gaze.

“I– thank you, I’ve always liked kids. Used to volunteer in the nursery back home, actually, before the Empire stole every resource from it they could.”

Your eyes widened with sudden realization. “You’re not Imperial, are you?”

The Mandalorian scoffed vehemently, the most emotion he’d displayed since he’d fallen back in the alley. “No.”

Well, that answered a few questions at least. You were prepared to move on from the conversation when he hesitantly spoke, “My ship ran into a few… asteroids. Is there a mechanic nearby?”

You set down your spoon, thinking. The closest asteroid field was four solar systems away and almost entirely inaccessible if one was traveling through hyperspace, so the likelihood that he’d truly run into one was small. In that case, he probably had damage from some kind of fight— seeing as the average pacifist wouldn’t need that much armor— and would want someone reliable who wasn’t going to ask questions about laser-sized holes in his ship’s hull.

He hadn’t tried to kill or rob you yet, so you figured his personal tussles were none of your business and decided to give him an honest recommendation. You directed him to a small mechanical hub close to the ice huts where there were few ships and even fewer nosy citizens. “The owner, Sanna, is the best in town,” you admitted. “I haven’t had the chance to visit her personally, but she’s known for being very discreet.”

He nodded, entering the coordinates you’d given him into some sort of device on his wrist. You tried to contain your pleased expression at correctly guessing his reason for being on Nath. And it had only taken you… well, four tries, but that was better than nothing!

“What is your price?”

You blinked, confused. “My price?”

There was that increasingly frequent head tilt again. His helmet tipped forward, scanning you. “For the food. And information.” He clarified slowly.

“Oh,” you spoke, surprised. “It’s okay, I was making dinner for myself anyway. And you’d have found out the location of the mechanic from someone else eventually,” you shrugged.

You couldn’t see his face, but from the disbelieving tone of his voice you imagined his eyebrows to be raised. “Not many people would turn down credits.”

You winced, reminded of your costly dream to get off-world, but there was no way you’d accept this stranger’s money for such a small favor when he had a kid he needed to provide for. “Yeah, well. Guess I’m not most people,” you laughed sheepishly.

The Mandalorian muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like no, you definitely are not. You squinted at him accusingly.

“Hey, you better not be making fun of my interrogation tactics, metal man.” You leaned forward to poke his soup bowl emphatically. Hm, that was strange– he hadn’t so much as touched it. Did Mandalorians follow some kind of special diet? You resolved to look that up the next time you had access to a datapad.

“Wouldn’t dream of doing that to a lonely soul like yourself.” He responded dryly.

You gasped in mock offense, forgetting your previous train of thought and internally groaning that he’d remembered that part of your disastrous attempt to weasel information out of him. Yeesh. Not your most eloquent moment. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you cared,” you shot back in the most syrupy-sweet tone you could muster.

The kid grinned up at you with sharp teeth and blew a soupy bubble towards your face in response. You smiled down at him, adding, “But if you really want to repay me, then bring me back a good story about this little guy the next time you crash land through a— what did you call it? Asteroid field.” You highly doubted the duo would ever willingly return, but if making a deal gave this man peace of mind to know his imaginary debt was settled in some future way then so be it.

The lights in the cantina began to flicker and you got up with a frown, walking over to the electrical box behind the bar. The dull grey display, crammed with incomprehensibly labelled switches and flashing lights that would give anyone a headache, alerted you that the main generator had been depleted of power. You scrambled over to a window, prying open the shutters a crack only to be met with a dark swirl of snow that completely obscured your view of the street. Stars, the storm had worsened quickly— there was absolutely no chance you were making it home tonight. You slammed the shutter closed and turned around with a grimace that didn’t go unnoticed by the Mandalorian.

“What is it?” He questioned, modulated voice growing wary at the expression on your face.

“We’re running out of power, the main generator’s down from the storm so these lights are going to have to shut off soon. I think there’s enough in the emergency generator to heat the cantina through the night, though.” You hesitated, not sure how to break the bad news. “Unfortunately, the weather is— unmanageable. You’re not making it out of here to the mechanic’s until the blizzard lets up.”

He didn’t respond for a few seconds, so you continued talking. “I was.. planning on sleeping here tonight.” You muttered, trying to think of a plan. You glanced at the sleepy child resting on the Mandalorian’s beskar chest plate. “I usually keep a couple blankets here for that reason— pretty sure there’s enough to cover the baby, but you might need to be okay with sharing.”

You worried your bottom lip between your teeth, searching your memory for where the emergency supplies were kept. Kriff. How were you supposed to know that you’d be snowed in, and with guests no less? Your grumpy boss really should have put instructions for this type of situation in the closing shift directions instead of the usual “sweep the floors” or your personal favorite: “if the customer creates a corpse, they gotta clean it up themselves”.

The Mandalorian interrupted your musings with a firm, “No need,” gesturing to the charcoal cloak fastened around his pauldrons. You eyed it dubiously, but supposed that the material looked thick enough. That was probably to your benefit, anyway, since you were something of a notorious blanket hog and didn’t think he’d take kindly to having his sheets ripped off him in the dead of night. That seemed like a quick way to wake up with more bruises than you went to sleep with.

“Well— alright then,” you sighed at last, tossing the smaller of your blankets to the man and tucking the other into the side of a nearby booth. “I’ll shut off the lights in a moment. Refresher’s that way, if you need it,” you pointed to the end of a dimly lit hall. The Mandalorian nodded once, then returned his attention to carefully cocooning the child in his lap. You set to work fluffing up your own makeshift bed, folding the cleanest dishtowel you could find into a pillow before trudging over to the light switch and enveloping the room in darkness.

Quietly feeling your way back to your booth, your eyes adjusted to the pitch-black little by little. You pulled your hair out of its messy updo and curled up on the seat, body slowly relaxing. It was strange, hearing the muffled rhythm of breaths coming from lungs that weren’t your own, but oddly soothing in its own way.

“G’night,” you mumbled, half-asleep already, consciousness swirled down the psychological drain by the overpowering storm raging outside. The lull-and-hitch of the baby’s soft snores echoing off of solid beskar set you drifting off to sleep faster than you had as a child, so lost to the world that you were sure you dreamed the quiet, belated whisper that sounded back to you.

taglist: @magpiencrow @that-kid143 @lilly-aliyah @itmustbegreattobecalledtheitgirl

comment if you'd like to be tagged for any of my works/fandoms in the future! :)

read on: part ii, part iii, more coming soon!

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gasolinerainbowpuddles · 8 months

Text

Pedro memes pt 6

previously, on "Puddles has a problem": ✨part 1✨ ✨part 2✨ ✨part 3✨ ✨part 4✨ ✨part 5✨

I got some requests for more fic reaction type memes, so those are down there somewhere :)

ca-cawww ca-caawwwwwwwww

yah he has two mouths and two noses. so what? it was a creative choice that i will stand by.

Pedro-chu, I choose YOU!

shocked Pedro-chu

float like a buttahfly

Have you ever had a dream that you, um, you had, your, you- you could, you’ll do, you- you wants, you, you could do so, you- you’ll do, you could- you, you want, you want them to do you so much you could do anything?

me after I read @netherfeildren's I Urge You: Bite Me

sneaky sneaky wood go creaky // aight imma head out

you're gonna hear my feedback whether u like it or not (said w love). [[AHEM]] this one's for you: @cavillscurls @frannyzooey @haylzcyon @hier--soir @tieronecrush @ezrasbirdie @pascalisbaby @pascalsbby

sad swirlz 4 sad gurlz

still sad but also in luv

dramamine all day, bb, it's a bumpy ride 'round these parts. @cool-iguana im raising anchor to your dom!Din. "I BRAKE FOR MERMAIDS" is for @psychedelic-ink. "I <3 MY SEAMAN" is for @walkintotheriveranddisappear hahaha

put some motion in my ocean cuz there's se(a)men in that ship. @thetriumphantpanda this is for you for many, many reasons. you, too, @jrrmint

there's 3 of these

no seriously

bc I'm obsessed any nobody can stop me not even myself

HO-HO-HOrny

nurse Pedro has such good bedside manner. sending @fuckyeahdindjarin all the love in the world

i'm fine. this is fine. I LOVE IT.

see?

THIS JUST IN! @chloeangelic this is your line cook!Joel influence

additional sidebar if you care abt the integrity of journalism. @iamskyereads all the extra words are in honor of Compulsion, featuring my fave verbose slut Ezra

y'all. I went back and counted, and in just under two weeks I've posted just under 100 (97 to be exact) original Pedro memes. what in the actual FUCK is wrong with me hahahahahaha.

I'm gonna focus a bit on my writing (yeah, I write fic, too lmaoooo) for a little bit before posting more memes. bc there's always more memes where I'm concerned. in the meantime, you can check out ✨✨✨ MY MASTERLIST ✨✨✨ if you want more from my beautiful goblin brain.

catch ya later, ♥Puddles♥

(mostly) tagging anybody who reblogged the last one:

@innerpersonunknown @talaok @atinylittlepain @hecatombix @thesummerpetrichor @atticrissfinch @joelscruff @your-slutty-gf @bonezone44 @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @toxicanonymity @pedrit0-pascalit0 @pr0ximamidnight @zohaaan @chaotic-mystery @goodwithcheese @wannab-urs @sin-djarin @drewharrisonwriter @lucyeyelesbarrow @angiees-things @tbeep @tonys-fav-bitch @lovers-liability @pedroswife69 @pedropascalfan221 @lalosbxtch @bubblepopneurotic @vee-bees-blog @admirxation @daniegraceg @swiftispunk

↓ additional tags in comments ↓

#a word from puddles #memes n tingz #pedro pascal memes #im back on my bullshit

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thefrogdalorian · 3 months

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Hiiiii can you please do a din djarin fic where he is helping the reader with her injuries and she is nervous and insecure

Hello there, dear anon. It would be my pleasure! I started off writing Din tending to your wounds and an actual plot sort of developed out of it. Might've gotten a little carried away, but I hope this is something like what you were looking for.

Hope that you enjoyed it and thank you for sending me a request! ♡

Word Count: 2398 Rating: General Summary: You have spent the last few months caring for the son of a mysterious Mandalorian who moved to Nevarro. Along the way, you found yourself developing a crush on him. However, when you arrive for your latest shift, you are stunned to discover that rather than caring for Grogu, Din wants to spend the day with you. Although it doesn't go entirely as planned, you both end up with a little more than you bargained for. Content Warnings: Brief descriptions of bloody injuries to reader's hands and knees.

The touch on your throbbing hand was so achingly gentle that it was difficult to believe the man currently tending to your injuries once had such a notorious reputation for violence and destruction throughout the galaxy, thanks to his time in the Guild. The Mandalorian that you so admired had assumed many roles throughout his life: first he was a son, then a Mandalorian foundling. During adulthood, he had been a mercenary and a Bounty Hunter long before he was a father. There was even a brief time where he was technically Mand’alor, before his current role working with the New Republic. But today, Din Djarin took on a new role: nurse.

The day had started off promisingly enough. You arrived at Din’s cabin on the outskirts of Nevarro for your usual shift, expecting to take care of Grogu while Din ran some errands in town. But instead of answering the door like he usually did, clad in a full suit of armour and holding Grogu in his arms, Din's appearance was noticeably different. While he wore his usual helmet and gloves, everything else was unrecognisable. Instead of his unpainted Beskar, Din wore a form-fitting brown shirt with matching brown shorts and what appeared to be hiking boots. You were instantly curious, fearing you had perhaps gotten the time for your shift confused.

But even more intriguing than Din’s appearance was that Grogu was nowhere to be seen. Before you could question Din on his son’s whereabouts, he explained that he had already left Grogu in the care of High Magistrate Karga. You turned to leave, realising that, clearly, your services would not be required today. But Din gently grabbed your wrist to prevent you from walking away so that he could explain his actions. It transpired that Din wanted to spend the day with you and that leaving Grogu had been the first step of his plan. Now, it was time for the two of you to spend the day exploring the volcanic planet you both inhabited.

As the two of you had set out on a hike across the lava flats of Nevarro, you found your head was spinning with questions. Why in Maker’s name did Din want to spend time with you? What had you done to be worthy of his time? After all, you were initially employed to look after Grogu because Din was often so busy during the brief time he spent between missions that he wanted to enjoy his time and run errands that could be difficult with a child tagging along. Why would he waste a day on you?

Despite the questions spinning around in your mind, you were too shy to vocalise a single one of them. It was to be expected, as you found that you were always nervous in Din’s presence. You found him equal parts intimidating and mesmerising with his hulking, looming presence as he shimmered in all of his unpainted Beskar glory. You loved his deep, raspy voice and the way he held himself so confidently.

After so many months of getting to know him and caring for Grogu, you found that you had developed somewhat of a crush on the mysterious Mandalorian who you had taken on childcare duties for. Although some of your nerves had dissipated the more time you had spent with Din, there was still a feeling whenever you were around him that you could not quite explain. You just knew that whenever you left him, you ached to be in his presence. Any amount of time with him would never be enough.

Was it a possibility, given his sudden desire to spend time with you, that Din reciprocated such feelings? It was a thought that had caused you to almost fall over your own feet several times, so giddy were you at such a prospect. You had mentally chastised yourself each time, reminding yourself that you needed to focus and keep your balance. There would be nothing more embarrassing than tripping over yourself because you were too busy daydreaming about what being on the receiving end of Din Djarin’s affections would feel like.

So, instead, as you followed Din across the planet’s surface, you tried to focus on the purposeful, even steps that he was taking by staring at his weathered brown boots. But even that proved difficult, given the fact that above his boots were his legs, which were, for once, bare. You found yourself unable to tear your gaze away from his muscular calves as he strode along Nevarro’s grey-black volcanic surface. The firmness of his skin and how tanned it appeared fascinated you. You wondered what such skin would feel like beneath your hands. Would it be soft and smooth or weathered like the leather of his boots? You wondered, too, whether the smattering of dark hair on his legs was any indication about the hair on top of his head. You knew that removing his helmet in your presence would violate his creed, but you wouldn't lie and say that you weren't curious about what he looked like. You often wondered whether Din's face matched his gorgeous voice.

You watched in awe as Din's muscular arms reached up to adjust the bag that was slung across his broad shoulders. You were just appreciating being in his presence as much as you were his physicality. Ever since you had first met Din, you had felt inexplicably drawn to him. You would follow him anywhere in the galaxy, should he only ask.

As it happened, today he was asking you to join him on a hike up one of the volcanos that littered the Nevarrian surface. You had been a little daunted at the prospect of such an endeavour, but Din promised you that the views would be worth it. So despite your reservations, you began to follow him to the top of the volcano.

Things had been progressing nicely for the most part. Although you had struggled to keep up with Din at first with the long strides he took, he had adjusted his pace and the two of you had fallen into step at each other’s side.

Your heart felt as though it was beating out of your chest. You weren’t sure if it was because of the exertion from hiking up a volcano or at the realisation of how close the man you harboured a crush for was to you. Although the temperature was beginning to rise as it approached the afternoon, you were actually starting to enjoy the hike. The frequent water breaks that you took were welcome, too. You and Din would sit for a few minutes and share sips from the canteen of water he had brought. Din used a long straw to take his sips, a sight that you found impossibly adorable. There he was, such a mountain of a man, using a small straw to take small sips of his drink.

As you set off from your most recent water break, it appeared that the path ahead of you narrowed. You and Din resumed walking in single file, treading a careful path across the surface. Din warned you to mind your step as there were rocks up ahead, but in the couple of seconds you took your gaze off the path to look at what lay ahead, your foot snagged something.

Everything which followed seemed to happen in slow motion, you put your hands out to brace yourself, which proved to be a painful mistake.

“Din!” You screamed as you tumbled to the ground.

For a few moments, you thought that you had avoided any injury. Your pulse was racing, your heart pounding in your head as you lay there disorientated. The first thing you heard once your senses returned was the crunch of the gravel underneath Din’s boots as he raced to your aid. Then, the T-visor of his helmet came into view. Din placed his hands underneath your shoulders and gently helped you into a seated position. It was only then, with him in front of you, that you finally felt the extent of your injuries.

You howled in pain as Din held your left hand carefully in his. Finally, you felt the way it stung. Your palm throbbed, it felt as though you had just been cut by shards of glass. Although the cuts weren’t deep and, luckily, you had avoided any stones getting stuck in your skin, blood was seeping from the cuts on the palm of your hand.

“Oh dear. That looks painful,” Din offered sympathetically as he assessed the extent of your injuries. “Hold on, I have a medkit in this bag.”

As Din swung the bag over his shoulder, you looked down at the rest of your body to check for further injuries. You felt your stomach drop as you noticed more blood oozing from your leg.

“Din, it’s my knee, too,” You whined, as your left knee joined your hands throbbing with pain.

“It’s okay, I have some Bacta patches and spray. I’ll have you patched up in no time,” Din said softly.

You sat back and watched as this enormous, hulking man removed his gloves and began to tend ever-so gently to your wounds. Perhaps, if you weren’t in so much pain, you would have appreciated the fact that the two of you were touching skin-to-skin, with no barriers between you.

Din's broad shoulders hunched over as he carefully examined the damage and began to apply the Bacta spray to your hands. You had been privileged enough to witness the softer, caring side of Din Djarin on multiple occasions since you had met him during the time the two of you had spent together in his cabin. However, the caring side of him was usually reserved for his interactions with Grogu. But today, it was your turn to experience this tender side of the Mandalorian that you had once been so intimidated by.

Now the Bacta spray was beginning to take effect and lessen the thrumming pain in your hand, you found that nerves overtook you. Your heart raced with anxiety. You were so nervous that being in such close proximity would reveal the extent of your feelings for Din.

But you were distracted by such thoughts as Din applied the Bacta patches to your injured hands. You bit your lip to stop the tears that threatened to fall down your cheeks, moved by how much care he took with his ministrations. With your hands successfully cared for, Din moved to address your injured knee.

“You probably think I’m a clumsy fool,” You scoffed as Din tended to your knee, suddenly embarrassed at how careless you had been in his presence. The man just wanted to spend his day off hiking up a volcano, he had invited you to join him and you had ruined those plans by being such a bumbling idiot.

“Never,” Din shook his head with absolute conviction in his voice. Din raised his helmet to look at you and softly added: “I could never think such a thing about you, cyare.”

The tears you had been holding back then flowed freely down your cheeks. You found yourself so moved by his reassuring words and the kindness and warmth in his voice. The word Din had used meant nothing to you but you supposed it was from his native tongue.

“Come here,” Din sighed as he inched his way to sit closer towards you. He moved his hands to cup your jaw gently, wiping the tears that began to feel with his thumbs.

The comforting words and actions had the opposite effect, however, as more tears trailed hot paths down your cheeks.

“I’m sorry for ruining your day, Din,” You sniffled apologetically as you struggled to meet his helmeted gaze.

“Ruin it?!” Din exclaimed, incredulous at such a notion. “Never.” He asserted. “Any day I spend with you is a day to be treasured. I enjoy your company.”

“Really?” You asked, stunned at his admission, wiping your cheeks with the backs of your hands as the tears finally began to subside.

“Of course,” Din nodded. “I’m sorry today didn’t work out. I wanted to show you the most gorgeous view on Nevarro. As it turns out, it appears it was right here in front of me all along…”

Your mouth hung open and your eyebrows shot up your face as you stared at the Mandalorian by your side in stunned silence.

“Oh, Din…” You whispered, voice full of emotion. But you were still a little confused. You furrowed your brow and sought clarity: “Do you… I mean…” You stammered, unable to form coherent thoughts following the implication of his words.

“Let me be clear: I intended for us to hike to the top of the volcano so that we could finally have some time alone,” Din took a deep, steadying breath before he continued: “And once up there… I could tell you that ever since I met you, I haven’t been able to shake you from my mind. I think you’re an incredible person and, if you’d allow me to, I’d like to get to know you better.”

“I’d love that, Din,” You practically squealed. “Although, perhaps for our first proper date, we should do something indoors,” You joked, the pain from your fall already subsiding after the rush of excitement that coursed through your body after Din had confessed his feelings for you.

Din laughed at that and wrapped his arm around you. The two of you shifted to a more comfortable position on the ground, swinging your legs out over the side of the rocky path and facing out to the rest of Nevarro. Even though you hadn’t made it to the top due to your unfortunate accident, you reasoned that it couldn’t possibly be as incredible as this. You were sure the view was even better from down here, especially with Din’s strong arm slung around your shoulders. You smiled as his hand rubbed the top of your arm gently as you leaned against his firm, warm chest.

You sighed in contentment as you gazed across the volcanic planet before you. It may have taken you falling flat on your face to finally force the two of you to address your feelings for each other, but it was undoubtedly a price you were willing to pay.

#my fics #request #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #the mandalorian x reader #mando x reader #din djarin fanfic #din djarin fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #din djarin fluff #me: oh maybe i'll write 500 words.... also me: ends up writing almost 2.4k adhgjk DOWN CATASTROPHICALLY!#inbox

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morallyinept · 4 months

Text

Running in conjunction with my Pedro Character Dialogue Masterlist, I've created this Pedro Character Analysis Masterlist as another writing resource.

It will feature each character Pedro has played, with a full in depth review of the character, including physicality, distinguishing features, personality, attire, weapons used, cars driven etc...

Please feel free to refer back to this when fleshing out your characters for your fics. Or if you simply want to learn more about Pedro's characters. This will align to canon, and I'll include links that may be helpful/elaborate further on each character.

☝🏻This will be updated regularly, and when new characters are added to Pedro's portfolio of works.

*List does not include certain adverts, podcast characters, voiceovers, very minimal roles, guest appearances on shows/SNL, or table/script readings.

Enjoy! 🖤

Buy me a Ko-fi ☕️ If you like my work and enjoy what I put out there, you have the option of buying me a Ko-fi, if you'd like to. It's never expected, but always greatly appreciated. 🖤

In alphabetical order:

TV & FILM:

Billy - Iris

Clint - Freaky Tales

David - Window Shopping

David Portillo - Homeland

Dave York - The Equalizer 2

Dieter Bravo - The Bubble

Din Djarin - The Mandalorian

Ed Indelicato, Detective - Wonder Woman UNAIRED

Eddie The Freshman - Buffy The Vampire Slayer

Ezra - Prospect

Francisco 'Catfish' Morales - Triple Frontier

Frederick Mercer - Charlie's Angels UNAIRED

Greer, Special Agent - L&O SUV

Jack Daniels, Agent Whiskey - Kingsman: The Golden Circle

Jay Castillo - Red Widow

Javier Gutierrez - The Unbearable Weight Of Massive Talent

Javier Peña - Narcos

Joel Miller - The Last Of Us

Juan Badillo, Agent - Graceland

Kyle Hartley - CSI

Kyle Wilson - Without A Trace

Liam - Nikita

Lucien Flores - The Univited

Marcus Moreno - We Can Be Heroes

Marcus Pike - The Mentalist

Maxwell Lord - Wonder Woman 1984

Max Phillips - Bloodsucking Bastards

Nathan Landry - The Good Wife

Nico - House Comes With A Bird

Noah - I Am That Girl

Oberyn Martell - Game Of Thrones

Omar Assarian - Lights Out

Ortega, Special Agent - The Sixth Gun UNAIRED

Oscar Castro Varga - Exposed UNAIRED

Paulino - Sweet Little Lies

Pero Tovar - The Great Wall

Pietro Alvarez - If Beale Street Could Talk

Reggie Luckman - L&O Criminal Intent

Ricky Hauk - Touched By An Angel

Santos - Drive Away Dolls TBR

Shane 'Dio' Morrissey - NYPD Blue

Silva - Strange Way Of Life

Steve - Hermanas

Steve - Nurse Jackie

Ted Garcia - Eddington

The Thief - Casillero Del Diablo Wines

Tim Rockford, Detective - Merge Mansion

Tito Cabassa - L&O

Veracruz, Comandante - Burn Notice: The Fall Of Sam Axe

Zach Goffman - Body Of Proof

Zach Wellison - Brothers & Sisters

AWAITING CONFIRMATION OF ROLE:

Gladiator 2 - Character TBC

Materialists - Character TBC

☝🏻New characters will be added as and when new projects are released.

If I've missed any, or there is one you would specifically want to see, please let me know. 🖤

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal character #pedro pascal characters #PPCU #pedro pascal cinematic universe #joel miller #din djarin #frankie morales #javier pena #ezra prospect #marcus pike #marcus moreno #dave york #javi gutierrez #comandante veracruz #pero tovar #det tim rockford #oberyn martell

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corazondebeskar-reads · 3 months

Text

live to rise - chapter two

live to rise series

two: morning will come soon

series masterlist | prev chapter | next chapter

gladiator!Din Djarin x f!reader

word count: 3.2k

summary: As the Mandalorian makes himself a more permanent addition to the barracks, you get to know the elusive man a little more while grappling with the reality of the arena. [We get to know everyone a little better before things kick up a notch in chapter three :) ]

warnings: dark, dead dove do not eat, captivity, forced proximity, canon-typical violence, prisoner of war, slavery, fight to the death, au where the empire wins, discussions of genocide & war, graphic descriptions of violence & injuries, gore, brutality, religious themes, fictional religion, major character deaths, minor character deaths, angst, helmetless Din Djarin, themes of grief and loss, slow burn

Please heed the warnings.

also on ao3

dividers by @saradika-graphics

He doesn’t notice until his forty-eighth fight, but there are children in the stands. It’s not their mere presence that simmers his bile.

It’s the glee.

Violence is a wet nurse for Mandalorian children. They witness the raw essence of life turned to food and know the gush of a foe’s blood early in life. But they respect it.

They respect the fight and honor the lives they take. They weigh each kill and hang it from their ribs. They know what it means to be capable of exposing a being’s innards to the sun, what it means to hold a creature as blood froths in its lungs.

These children are reared to crave it. They’ll never feel the touch of violence, he thinks, but they’re fed by it. They play with these lives like it's a game.

The distraction costs Din a chunk of flesh but gains him a rotted tooth on the edge of the gash.

You’re in the barracks when they bring him back that afternoon. You go still and quiet, ducking into the shadows, but, as usual, they don’t bother to check the cells. He saw you, though. You’re inside C-6, and he has a clear view through his window into the cell opposite.

Once the guards leave, you pick back up mid-sentence into what must have been an already brewing rant.

“—pride. So stupid. The only—punished when you resist—is you.”

The humanoid grumbles something Din can’t quite hear.

“Yeah, well, —bacta, and I don’t, so—” you retort.

When you slip out of the cell, the automatic lock snaps shut with a resounding clunk. Your hands are wound up in the underbelly of your skirts and come back out dry, at least, if not spotless.

Not that Din notices right away. His mouth had gone fuzzy when you hiked up the layers to reveal the length of your calf. He shoves the feeling away and watches as you check carefully around the corners before slipping into the chamber between the barracks and the rest of the facilities.

He shakes it from his fingertips. It’s the post-fight adrenaline, he knows. Mandalorians are no strangers to fucking out their feelings as the world burns around them. He cannot—will not—entertain these thoughts of you, lest he become more of the monster they make him out to be.

And every part of him is too rough for the likes of you. He won’t be responsible for marring you with his too-tight grip and desperate cock. He wouldn’t press his pain into your cunt and learn to breathe again through your cries and moans.

He wanted to preserve you somehow, press you like a flower between the pages of a book. Even his protection would see you crushed by his selfish desire.

So instead, he funnels the feeling into righteous anger and determination, pushing himself in his exercises until his muscles ache and scream for oxygen. He slumps against the wall, not bothering to go to the cot, and dreams fitfully of his son.

He had made the call in his own chambers. The ship had left two hours ago, tracking along the path with no issues—yet.

“Who is this? How did you get this line?” snaps a voice he does not recognize.

“He’ll know. Tell him we’re going forward with operation esk, and the package is on-route.”

“Message received,” cuts in the voice he was waiting for. “May the Force be with you.”

“May the stars light your way,” Din returns, and cuts the line.

Grogu’s fast asleep when Din tucked him into the pod. He slipped the stuffed blurrg under one of the baby’s arms. It’s to be a short journey, but there’s a canteen and a tin of snacks.

The rest of his son’s belongings are carefully packed in the small cargo hold of the StarSpeeder 1000 they’d managed to salvage, complete with an RX pilot. Din didn’t favor leaving the child’s fate to a droid, but it had been thoroughly reprogrammed to override its tourist-geared protocol.

All in all, it’s an innocuous ship with a registered pilot and route. The chain code would suffice under basic examination, and the manifest is set with a handful of false identities.

He may not understand the Force, but he has to draw faith that it will ferry his son safely into the waiting hands of Skywalker at some destination unknown.

Skywalker had sent the coordinates directly to the droid so they couldn’t be tortured from Din.

A wise decision, Din thinks wryly, but they haven’t interrogated him yet.

It makes sour hope bloom—perhaps they think there’s nothing to be gained. In the darker moments, he worries they know there’s nothing to be gained.

As it was, each of the four of them only knew part of the plan. Din had the main strategy. Vizsla, the backup. Kryze, the route. And Fett—the rendevouz. For a man who claimed no ties to the Mandalorians, he was risking everything.

Even the loneliest striil is loyal to someone, he supposes.

He loses count after 60 fights or so. That’s about when he stops hating the idleness of his off days and starts longing for more rest.

It’s not just the physicality. He does seem to be perpetually bruised and bleeding, but that’s not so much different than his bounty-hunting days. He’s loathe to admit that he’s perhaps beginning to feel the effects of aging. To grow old is an honor for Mandalorians. It means you’ve emerged victorious from your battles. He doesn’t feel he can wear that pride, though.

But no, his weariness is from the killing. He tried to see his opponents as quarry, but it was too hard to maintain. Not when he’d see their sallow faces and sunken eyes. Beings with broken tusks and battered limbs. Rebel starbirds. Shock trooper stripes. Prison numbers and slave brands.

Yesterday’s fight had him facing a Miraluka who couldn’t have been much past her girlhood. And she wanted to live; oh, she wanted it so badly he could taste it.

She didn’t know a thing about fighting. Worse yet, their weapons for the day were flails, something even he hadn’t much experience with. He could wield it, but instead, he let it fall to the sands.

What a terrible way to die.

He saw it before it happened. Telegraphed in the arc of the chain, his brain completing the motion before it became real. She swung her arm out hard, trying to strike him in the chest, but he pushed back on his heel and easily dodged. Without something to crush, the momentum carried.

She grappled at the chain, trying to stop it. If only she had dropped it and moved, Din thought. If only, if only.

Instead, it wedged itself in her back, spikes between her ribs. She gasped, wavering for a moment in shock, and dropped to her knees. The crowd moaned a collective “ooh” at the turn of luck.

He knelt in front of her, grasping her shoulders.

“Just finish it,” she said, the trace of a whimper on the end.

“What’s your name?” he said.

“Biala.”

“Biala, is there a prayer I can make for you? Any rites for your journey?”

She shook her head and coughed. Blood dribbled, and they both knew.

“I’m so sorry, Biala,” he murmured, cradling her head in his hands.

And then it was over. He laid her body down as the bell rang and rose to his feet. Stomps and cheers from the stands fell muffled around his shoulders, and he sneered into the crowd.

It only made them chant louder.

He’s brought back to the reality of today at your entrance, voices buzzing as trays clattered back and forth.

“Come here, girl,” calls a voice from across the way. Din watches as you pause, his own tray of food waiting in your hands.

The gruff old Devaronian in C-4 is reaching his large hand between the bars of the window.

“One sec,” you tell him, making your way to Din. You go to knock before you spy his shadow between the bars and avert your eyes.

“Good evening,” you say, sliding the tray through the slot against the floor. “Need anything?”

It’s the same old song and dance. “No, thank you,” he says.

“Okay, have a good night,” you tell the door politely.

He doesn’t grab the tray right away. He watches instead as you go back across the hall.

“Whatcha need, old man?” you tease. Vrar is your favorite, mostly because he’s been around for nearly a year, and you’ve had a chance to know him.

But something about his expression gives you pause.

Din feels suddenly intrusive as you step closer and let the warrior touch your cheek, his palm much larger than your face.

He can’t hear what’s said, but something terribly sad comes across you as you close your eyes and shake your head.

“No, you can’t just give up,” you say, loud enough that Din can hear.

His heart sinks. He had wondered how many were lost to hopelessness.

“I’m not giving up,” Vrar tells you. “I’m an old man. I don’t want to fight anymore. I’m tired.”

“No,” you say, a harsh but quiet protest. You want to yell, but the guards will make you leave if they hear you. Tears burn at the corners of your eyes.

“You can’t change my mind. I just wanted you to know before it happens. To know that I made this choice, that I will be at peace. You’ve been the one spot of kindness in this life.”

Your voice is softer, breaking, crescendoing at the end as it pitches alongside your urgency,“—how much more you need; I’ll trade another year, please.”

“Absolutely not,” Vrar says. “When your time is up, get out and never look back. Look at me.” He waits for your focus. “You can’t save us.”

You break down into tears. Din feels something sharp pricking at his eyes, too. He shuts them and sits down on his cot, food forgotten.

He doesn’t need to look to know you stay at Vrar’s door until the guards make you leave for the night. You sit against it, skirts splayed out around you like the rising sun, and talk to him, listen to his stories, even the ones you’ve heard over and over before. Especially those, as you try to commit them to your memory, to carry him with you.

When you bring Din his breakfast in the morning, your eyes are bloodshot, and lips cracked from biting back your grief. For the first time, you don’t say anything. You rap your knuckles and slide the tray under.

You stay until they come for him. You wait and stand with your hands wrapped around the bars of his window. When they take him to prepare for the arena, you watch down the hall until he’s gone. As he passes Din’s cell, he looks straight in.

Neither man says a word, but their eyes meet, and Din nods. Vrar returns the gesture, satisfied.

When Din looks back, you’re gone.

When you return two hours later, as his own turn in the arena nears, he doesn’t have to see your face to know.

You’re not crying. But you move so quietly, held so tense, as you open the cell and scrub it clean, fitting it with new bedding. It’s the same routine as a deep cycle, but there was just one yesterday, and your sadness, though smothered, is palpable.

They take him up before you’re done. Din lives to fight another day. He scrubs clean of his opponent’s blood in the cold fresher and tugs on the stiff, starched clothes left behind for him. When they take him back to his room, it’s been cleaned, but you’re gone, and there’s a new prisoner in C-4.

You’re quiet again when you bring dinner, and though you do speak this time, it’s void of your usual softness.

“Need anything?” you say, muted tone bristling his spine.

“I’m sorry,” he says, in lieu of an answer.

You look up at the window out of reflex before quickly looking away. He’s not close enough for you to see, anyway. “What?” you say.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats, “for your loss.”

Your eyes close tight, and you cover your mouth for a moment. “I—thank you,” you whisper. Your voice cracks a little, and he feels terrible, like he shouldn’t have said anything, shouldn’t have upset you.

But you hesitate there, outside his door. You swallow hard against the ache. “Thank you,” you repeat, but it’s stronger, now, and laced with the heaviness of recognizing oneself in another.

Which is why, when you pass by the newcomer’s door, and he tells you to smile pretty for him, Din snarls, “Shut your fucking mouth.”

You freeze and look back at his dark door. The man is saying something idiotic, but Din can’t hear it from the pulse throbbing in his ears and his single-minded focus on you.

You shake your head minutely, and he accepts the request to stand down. Before you turn and leave the barracks, you give his door a small, sorrowful smile.

He worries a little about the newcomer. You shouldn’t have to be harassed and accosted like this.

When you had brought breakfast, the man had tried to reach through the bars to grab your face. You had recoiled and dodged his grimy hands but otherwise ignored it.

It turns out he doesn’t need to worry. The next day, the guards take both him and the creep up to the arena.

When Din returns, your relief is unmistakable.

You never ask about the fights, so he doesn’t have to lie to you. He doesn’t have to tell you the truth, either; doesn’t have to tell you how it’s the first one he’s dragged out on purpose. How he broke the man’s hands in his own for daring to try to touch you. How he broke his jaw for talking to you like that.

It’s unlike him, and he hopes he can shrug it off, that the endless killing of beings he knows are fellow prisoners builds a layer of beskar in his bones each day. But Vrar was right.

You’re a spot of light here, like the yellow blossoms that push up between duracrete. He’s not sure how you’ve kept it up this long, not after seeing how deeply you’re cut when “your” fighters die. But he’s going to do whatever it takes to make sure you don’t lose that. Including keeping lowlife scum away where they can’t contaminate the barrack.

He dreams that night of taking you with him when he leaves and isn’t sure what to do with the thought in the morning.

You paint him, too. Nicolai. The one who made your skin crawl. Even the portrait comes out predatory, and you wish you wouldn’t have to look at it every time until the page is full.

It’s not the first time a resident has made you feel unsafe. Won’t be the last, either, you reckon. Unlike those of you who are serving criminal sentences, the fighters are all prisoners of war. But just because they were an enemy of the Empire does not make them a friend.

Most of them are good. Not all even raised a weapon against the Imperials. Some were support—medics, pilots, suppliers. Some were strangers who stood up to protect a Stormtrooper’s victim in the town square. Some were no one, who had the unfortunate luck of being related to or seen with a known insurgent.

But some, well. Some were grifters playing both sides. Some were mercenaries, assassins, slavers. Some, like Nicolai, were druglords who couldn’t be bought—too busy running their own empires to respect the government.

It’s funny, in that way that makes your stomach bile bite and claw at your throat. Everyone thought you needed to be afraid of the fighters. You have to shut and stow the book, not wanting to smudge Vrar’s portrait any further by thinking of him.

He never liked you being in the servant’s barracks. And for some reason, he never liked your bunkmate. Didn’t like Eli, who had never been anything but kind. Who was maybe your only friend.

“Just something off about him,” Vrar had said. “But you shouldn’t trust anyone.”

You had shaken your head. “I’m one of them,” you insisted.

“Oh, how could I have forgotten,” he deadpanned, “you and your criminal record of… what was it again? Stealing from your own farm to feed hungry children? Being too polite to a trooper?”

“Shut up,” you groaned. “Evading tariffs is considered very serious, I’ll have you know.”

When he was done teasing you, he had sobered right up. “I still don’t like it. Do you even know how to throw a punch?”

“No, but I’m sure they wouldn’t trust someone dangerous as a caretaker.”

He hadn’t been so sure, but it’s not like they let just anyone work down here. You had done a stint upstairs for a while, like everyone else, serving drinks in the sponsor’s lounge.

After all, caretaker neglect could (and did) prematurely kill their stock. And it granted access to much more of the complex than most other roles.

When you deliver dinner, the Mandalorian speaks to you again. You try to take it in stride.

“If there’s another like him,” he says, voice like the creak of trees at night, “are you safe? Can you defend yourself?”

It’s not what you expected. You purse your lips, frowning as you weigh your answers. “Harming a caretaker is prohibited,” you say after a moment.

“That’s not what I asked.” It’s firm and compelling in a way you can’t explain. Maybe it's the regality that he can’t contain, a tone leftover from negotiating and persuading or whatever kings do.

“I don’t have to worry about being hurt by a fighter,” you say.

He hums, accepting your answer.

You wonder if he heard the unspoken words you swallowed back.

You eat with them again at Disdraa’s request, though it’s a quieter affair without Vrar’s booming voice. You find you don’t have it in you to joke around.

She takes mercy on you, setting aside her meal to regale the hall with a story from her childhood on Ryloth. It’s not a happy story, exactly, but it ends with hope.

You feel warm for the first time since Vrar’s death. “Thank you,” you murmur through her bars when you stand.

She makes a show of rolling her eyes. “For what? I just like to hear myself talk, little bird.”

You make a show of returning the gesture, including the solemn smile she gave.

It wasn’t the story, really. It was the way it reminded you of home. When you would visit the families of the dead and dying. When they would share themselves while sharing their love, how they would leap to comfort despite their own grief.

Even for you, a stranger until that moment, someone they could easily hate for only arriving while someone was leaving.

But that was not the way of things for your people. They allowed you, for however small a time, to be the vessel for their loved one, to gather and hold the memories until you could spill them on your canvas. To stand between their spirit and the void of the forgotten.

To love and be loved, even fleetingly.

Did you wish that just once, that love would stay? That you wouldn’t love knowing it was to be lost? In the dark of night, though you’d never admit it, you ached for it.

next chapter

*title from "Prayer of the Refugee" by Rise Against

#din djarin x reader #the mandalorian x reader #mando x reader #the mandalorian fic #din djarin x you #the mandalorian x you #mando x you #din djarin x f!reader #the mandalorian x f!reader #gladiator!din djarin #fic: live to rise #if you see me messing around with formatting again no u didn't #did I mention this was a slow burn? lol

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