#the mandalorian fan fiction | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

hyperactively-me · 4 months

Text

tension

You've seen his face countless times, but every time the helmet comes off, it's as though you're seeing him for the first time over and over again. His expression is more than it's normal stoicism; it's vulnerable, raw. His big brown eyes come into contact with yours as you reach up, your fingers gently brushing through his messy curls. Din closes his eyes for a brief moment, savoring the contact. "Hi there, handsome," you murmur softly, allowing your fingers to linger on his strands of hair. "You clean up well, don't you?"

massaging din’s sore, aching muscles ... leads to ... yeah. I'M SORRY (not sorry at all) PUT ME IN HORNY JAIL FOR THIS IDC. it started off so innocent but then the horny monster came out and took over.

tags: smut, OILED UP DIN DJARIN, I REPEAT, OILED UP DIN DJARIN. established relationship

Din has no issue praising and worshipping you with nothing but love and adoration. In fact, it feels like second nature to him.

When he's the object of your praises, though, he doesn't know how to act. He's caught off guard by your doting attention, your quiet praises, your gentle touches.

The gruff exterior that comes so naturally to him becomes a bit more pronounced when faced with compliments and affection.

His usual response was to deflect and downplay, wanting to be the one in control, the one doing the praising rather than receiving it. It's not that he didn't appreciate your words; it's just that the vulnerability of accepting them was difficult for him.

In those moments, you read his body language like the back of your hand. You could see the conflict in his eyes, a mixture of gratitude and discomfort. He had been alone for most of his time in this cruel galaxy, had spent so long being self-reliant, not needing validation from others, that being on the receiving end of such genuine affection challenged his identity of being the stoic, impenetrable Mandalorian.

So, when he finally comes back to the Razor Crest after catching an elusive bounty, you know exactly what to do to put him at ease, to show him how much you love him, your riduur.

You catch his hand before he can take any of his armor off.

"Don't. Let me do it," you say gently, tugging his hand away.

He stares at you with that ever stoic expression you know he has on his face right now beneath the helmet. A few beats pass, and he relents, letting his wrist fall limp in your grip.

"Thank you," you whisper quietly, now running your hands up his shoulders.

You start with his baldric and belt, catching it in your grip as you unfasten the clasps. It's surprisingly heavy in your hands, and you're already a bit weary to take off the beskar.

Next, you slip his worn brown cape off his shoulders, the rough material scraping across your fingers. You can still feel traces of warmth around the part that was settled around his neck and shoulders.

Din stands before you, now with his baldric, belt, and cape out of the way, the beskar armor still encases his form. You take a moment to appreciate the craftsmanship of the beskar, tracing the shiny metal with your fingertips. The material is cool to the touch, a stark contrast to the warmth of his body you can barely feel radiating off his form. Din still stands rigid, hands flexing at his side.

His gaze remains steady, a silent acknowledgment of your request. You take charge again, delicately unfastening the clasps of his shoulder pads and removing the plates, and you can feel just how tense even just his shoulders are.

You set them gently to the side and start to work on his chest plate, easing it away from his torso with careful precision. The beskar plates release with a loud clinking sound, revealing the fabric of his flight suit beneath. You can clearly see Din's chest rise and fall with a steadiness that betrays the controlled exterior he presents to the world. With a small grunt, you ease the heavy beskar chestplate to the side, shooting Din a look when he tries to take it from your grasp.

"You said you would let me do it," you whisper, a playful yet stern glint in your eyes.

He sighs through the voice transmitter, yet allows you to continue your process of taking his armor off.

His shoulders sag forward ever so slightly as the weight of the chest plate is removed from his body, grunting with relief as he rolls his shoulders back a few times.

Next, you move on to his vambraces, unlocking the beskar from his arms. As you work on removing the vambraces, the sleeves of his flight suit ride up and you notice the subtle scars and markings on Din's forearms. You're careful to not drop the one loaded with bullets and other small weaponry.

Your hands move with a practiced gentleness, and you can sense Din's quiet appreciation for the care you're taking.

As the small pieces of armor joins the growing collection of beskar beside you, the room is filled with a sense of intimacy, a shared vulnerability palpable between you two.

Din stands before you now, the upper half of his body free from the encasement of armor. The warmth of his skin is more perceptible, and you can see a slight relaxation in his demeanor.

You move lower now, unfastening the straps securing the beskar that adorns his thighs. Your hands brush against his skin, and that's when he starts to shift side to side. You smile to yourself as you set the pieces to the side, letting your hands drag from the back his knees down to his shins to remove the final pieces.

Beskar greaves protect his shins, and you get on your knees to remove them. You don't miss the way his breath catches in his throat at the sight of you on your knees before him, but he refuses to move a muscle.

Carefully, you unfasten the straps securing the beskar greaves, allowing them to slide down his shins. Your hands move with a deliberate gentleness as you catch them, setting them on top of the stack of armor. Now that all of his armor is removed, you can clearly tell Din is now more relaxed, not as rigid.

His head his angled directly at you, the black t-visor of his helmet piercing through you. You smile softly up at him, pushing yourself to standing but not without him grabbing your hand to help you up.

You know what he's thinking. You know what he wants. He'll just never say it.

You press up onto your toes, placing your hands on his shoulders. His hands finally move, coming to rest on your waist as you lean into where you think his ear would be.

"Later," you whisper seductively, and he firmly squeezes your waist in his grip.

You take a step back, now turning your focus back to his leather gloves. Taking his left hand in yours, you spread his fingers out so you're able to slip his glove off his easier. The leather glove comes off smoothly, revealing his calloused yet gentle hand beneath. You set the glove aside, repeating the action on his other hand.

Din watches you with that unyielding gaze, his helmeted face betraying no emotions, and the tension in the air does anything but subside.

As you remove the second glove, you can't help but admire his hands; how large they, how strong they are. They're the tools of a warrior: skilled and precise, calloused and graceful. With his hands now bare, you step closer to him, your fingers tracing the lineaments of his palm. The warmth of his skin contrasts with the coolness of the beskar that once covered him. His hands are strong, yet there's a gentleness in the way he allows you to explore them.

You finally look up to his helmet, clicking your tongue with disapproval. You couldn't really get his shirt off without stretching out the neck over his helmet, and we can't have that, can we? Poor shirt, all stretched out. Oh well! Looks like we have to see your beautiful riduur's face!

You run your hands on the underside of his helmet, tracing the hard edges with the pads of your fingers. Suddenly, you latch onto the edges and slowly start to pull it up and off his head. Din's breath catches as the helmet is lifted, his nose twitching ever so slightly.

The helmet comes clean off, revealing his face, his dark hair tousled from the snug fit. You're met with his intense gaze, and for a moment, your own breath catches in your throat.

You've seen his face countless times, but every time the helmet comes off, it's as though you're seeing him for the first time over and over again.

His expression is more than it's normal stoicism; it's vulnerable, raw. His big brown eyes come into contact with yours as you reach up, your fingers gently brushing through his messy curls. Din closes his eyes for a brief moment, savoring the contact.

"Hi there, handsome," you murmur softly, allowing your fingers to linger on his strands of hair. "You clean up well, don't you?"

His lips twitch in a hint of a smile, eyebrows quirking at your playful comment.

"Are you going to finish, cyar'ika? Or are you going to finish undressing me with just your eyes?"

You roll your eyes at his remark, fighting back a laugh at his nonchalant comment.

"I guess I do have some unfinished business," you reply, hands tugging at the hem of his shirt.

You guide his shirt up and over his head, pulling it off his form and letting it fall to the floor. You're met with his tanned, toned chest, marked with scars, the silent stories of the battles he's fought.

You run your fingers lightly over the contours of his chest, savoring the feeling of his tight muscles and soft stomach. He shivers under your touch at the way your nails drag across his skin, pressing into it ever so slightly. Din watches you closely, his gaze never leaving your hands. With a soft smile, you lean in, pressing a gentle kiss to his skin between his shoulder and upper chest.

Din's fingers find their way to your hair, but you pull back, now grabbing the waistband of his pants. You tug them down quickly, helping him step out of the pant legs, but leaving him in his loose boxers.

You reach for his hand, intertwining your fingers with his, and guide him to the bed. There's no rush, no urgency. For both of you, it's a moment to savor, to appreciate each other in a quiet, peaceful moment. Before he lies down, you pull him down for a chaste kiss, savoring the way his lips taste, the way his patchy mustache tickles your face. As he finally moves to lay down, you wordlessly motion for him to lie on his stomach, and he complies. He settles onto the bed, propping himself up with his forearms.

You retrieve a bottle of oil from a nearby table, and the gentle scent of lavender fills the air as you warm the liquid between your palms. You straddle his lower back, and immediately Din is biting his tongue to withhold any premature sounds.

The moment your hands come into contact with his broad shoulders, he's a goner. Your touch is firm yet tender, your fingers finding all of his knots and tension, coaxing them to release.

The room is quiet, save for the occasional satisfied hum or grunt from Din. As your hands move down his back, tracing the contours of his muscles, you slowly feel the tension in his body dissipating.

Your fingers trace the faint lines of his scars, and you can't help but marvel at the beauty of the man beneath you. He finds solace in your touch, a promise that in this moment, he can let go and just relax.

Din's body responds to your touch, his tension gradually melting away. Your hands move with a soothing rhythm, exploring every inch of his back and shoulders. The oil makes his skin glisten in the soft light of the room, and you revel in the way his body looks as though it was carved by the Maker himself.

As your hands work their way down his spine, you occasionally lean down to press soft kisses on his back. The combination of your mouth and hands on him causes Din to shudder, the sensations pulling him into a deep state of tranquility. The rise and fall of his breath shifts into something more rapid, yet you don't catch on quite yet. You lean down, pressing a soft kiss to the nape of his neck, and he responds with a soft hum of contentment

Shifting off his back, you move down to his thighs and calves, continuing to massage his muscles with the same deliberate care. His fingers twist into the thin sheets of his bed, groaning as you knead into his thighs. The tension in Din's muscles seems to subside even more as you move farther down his legs, the oil dripping from your hands creating a smooth glide as you knead his skin.

As your hands move down his legs towards his feet, you notice the subtle tremor in his muscles, a sign that your touch might be affecting him more than he's letting on. You can't see that he's biting the inside of his cheek, stifling every pathetic groan he wants to let out.

You reach the soles of his feet, and he reflexively curls his toes at the sensation. A small chuckle escapes your lips, and you gently press your thumbs into the arches of his feet, eliciting a low, appreciative groan from him.

With a soft smile, you decide to shift the massage to his upper back and shoulders again, allowing your hands to linger in the areas that are the most tense from his heavy beskar. As your fingers work their magic, you lean in close to whisper in his ear.

"Almost done," you murmur, your warm breath sending shivers down his spine. "Does it feel good?"

Din responds with a throaty, affirmative noise, and you can't help but smile at the effect you're having on your typically stoic Mandalorian.

Your hands trace patterns over his skin, kneading, massaging, and occasionally trailing higher than expected. His breathing becomes more uneven, and you can feel the heat radiating from his body.

The atmosphere in the room drastically changes from innocent and relaxed to something more sultry, the air thick with repressed tension. You can sense Din's arousal, the subtle shifts in his breathing, the way his muscles tense beneath your every little touch. A playful smile crosses your lips, realizing the effect you're having on the usually composed man.

The occasional brush of your fingers against more sensitive areas elicits involuntary reactions from Din, his groans growing more audible.

"Enjoying this, aren't you?" you tease, your voice a sultry whisper as you lean down to place soft kisses along his shoulder blades.

"Teasing me, aren't you?" he growls back, looking back at you with a heated expression.

"Maybe a little." You smile innocently. "But the best things are worth the wait, aren't they?"

Din responds with a low, husky chuckle, a sound that reverberates through the room.

"Yes," he states simply, his voice catching in his throat when you slide off his back.

You beckon him to turn over onto his back, and he complies. Once again, you straddle him, now sitting directly on his hips, over his crotch. Taking more lavender scented oil, you lather it onto your hands and start to knead into his chest. His hands reach up to grip your ass, squeezing your flesh.

You feel Din's chest rise and fall faster as your hands start to work over his toned muscles. The oil slicks up his chest, and your fingers glide smoothly over his skin. You can practically feel his desire for you that simmers beneath the surface, threatening to boil over. Din's gaze is intense, and you meet it with a playful yet innocent smile.

"Fuck, cyare," he groans as his hands trail up your sides, the touch possessive yet gentle.

As your hands continue their ministrations on his chest, you lean down to capture his lips in a searing kiss. The taste of his mouth is intoxicating, and Din responds with a hunger that surpasses your own. His hands tighten on your hips, pulling you to grind you down over his crotch, and you can feel the pressure of his cock against your core.

"Easy there, Din," you murmur as you pull away from his lips. "We've got plenty of time."

The sound of his name rolling off your lips never gets old to him, and he shudders at the sound.

You sit back, your hands now trailing down his abdomen as you move to sit in between his thighs. Grabbing his hands, you knead into his palms with your thumbs, maintaining an eye contact that you know drives him absolutely crazy. Din's eyes are dark with arousal, and he watches you with a hunger that sends shivers down your spine.

Eventually, you finish the massage after you feel the tension fully dissipate from Din's body. He lies there, relaxed and content, basking in the afterglow of your touch.

Without waiting any longer, you finally give the man what he wants. You bring his hand up to your mouth, and without hesitation, you stick two of his fingers in your mouth. Your tongue swirls around his thick digits as you maintain eye contact with him, eliciting a low growl to escape from the depths of Din's throat.

"You- you fuckin' tease, mesh'la," he growls as he starts to sit up. You take your free hand and push him back down, not letting him sit up.

You push his fingers deeper into your mouth, sucking them harder as your tongue runs over the pads of his fingers. Your other hand comes up to his thigh, resting dangerously close to his now fully erect yet still clothed cock.

After a moment, you release his fingers with a wet pop, a mischievous glint in your eyes. Din's breathing has become more ragged, his chest rising and falling rapidly with anticipation and arousal.

"Feeling better?" you ask innocently, sliding your hands up and down his thighs.

Din nods, swallowing thickly as he locks his eyes onto yours. Without breaking eye contact, you start to slide off your shirt, slowly revealing your skin beneath. Din's gaze intensifies as you slowly lift it up and off your form. Once your shirt is fully off, you let Din rove over your form, and you revel in the way he looks at you with a thirst that mirrors your own.

He tries to reach out for you again, but you stop him.

"I'm still not done. Be patient," you say gently, wiggling your eyebrows at him.

"Mesh'la, how can I be? I have to reward you; you've been so good to me, too good for me—"

You press a finger up to his lips, silencing him.

"Please, let me make you feel good. Please. You always take care of me. Let me take care of you. 'M gonna make you feel so good."

He takes a beat, studying your face with his mouth slightly agape.

Finally, he nods in agreement, his eyes on fire. You remove your finger from his lips, giving him a sickeningly sweet smile.

Your hands trail over his shiny, slick chest, down to the waistband of his boxers. Din's fingers twist in his bedsheets, a silent reaction for what he wants: more.

With deliberate intent, you dip your fingers beneath the waistband, teasingly close to his cock. His arousal is quite evident, straining against the fabric, and your fingers brush over his length; a feather light, teasing touch. He watches you with a hunger that's impossible to ignore, and you can't help but feel giddy at the way you make him feel so good, so appreciated, so loved.

Din inhales sharply, his knuckles going white at the grip he has on his sheets. You move your hands back up and delicately hook your fingers into the waistband, pulling it down slowly. The boxers slide down his legs, revealing his cock, and you discard the fabric on the floor.

You take a moment to appreciate your Mandalorian naked in front of you, vulnerable, and yet as powerful as ever in his raw masculinity. What a sight for sore eyes. Every square inch of his skin is coated in the lavender oil, his skin shining under the dim lighting of the Razor Crest. His body is sculpted perfectly, strong and lean, the power of his muscles evident from one look. The scars that span his skin, small and large, have their own story. You reach out, tracing the lines of a particularly prominent scar on the side of his abdomen with gentle fingertips.

Din studies you with a soft intensity, his eyes holding a warmth that he reserves for you, and only for you.

Your eyes trail up to his face, studying every lineament and pore, every little hair and freckle. He's so extremely handsome you could pass out.

How he chose you, you're not sure. All you know is that this man who has promised to be your protector, stay by your side, and be your partner loves you, and you love him.

"You're beautiful," you murmur, pure admiration coursing through your veins as your fingers now trace the curve of his jaw and the contour of his lips. "Absolutely perfect, in every single way. My big, strong, handsome riduur."

Din's mind goes blank, face and ears heating up as his mouth falls agape. He just studies your eyes, your lips, your nose, every little unique feature you have. Swallowing thickly, Din nods his head just a fraction of an inch, but you catch it; he's acknowledging your words, accepting them in his own way.

Your fingers finally find their way down the shaft of his cock, shifting your attention to his member. His breath hitches as your hand wraps around the base, and you begin to move in a slow, teasing rhythm. His eyes flicker to the sight of your hand wrapped around his cock, staring at the way you pump your fist up and down. Your thumb brushes over the sensitive tip, eliciting a sharp intake of breath from Din.

You lean in, pressing a tender kiss to the base of his neck, then to his chest. You start to kiss down further, from the top of his chest to his happy trail.

"Kriff..." he mutters, his hands loosely grabbing at your face.

You keep moving, now pressing kisses on the length of his member. His grip becomes sloppier as your lips trail down his cock towards the tip, pressing a feather light kiss on his leaking slit. He grunts as the sensation, sensitive and aching for your pretty lips to be wrapped around his cock. You give a swirl of your tongue around the tip, earning a sharp, deep moan from Din.

"Kriffing- perfect," he groans, his hips bucking a few times at your touch, begging you for more. His fingers weave through your hair, a silent encouragement.

With that, you finally lower your mouth over his cock, eliciting a long, drawn out moan from the man. You rest your hands on the base of his cock, pumping the bottom half of his length while your mouth takes the top half. Din absolutely revels in the way your mouth feels against his cock; hot, wet, and velvety soft. His head rolls back against his pillow as your hands squeeze tight around the base, stimulating every inch of his length. You take him in your mouth inch by inch, sucking his cock gently at first, but providing more pressure the farther down you go.

"Fuck— fuck- ing perfect, pretty girl," he groans breathlessly, making you hum in satisfaction. His hips involuntarily buck up as he feels the vibrations from your hum, causing the tip of his cock to poke the back of your throat. You choke on it, but you steady your breath enough to keep going down.

Din fights the urge to fuck your mouth, gripping onto his sheets tightly with one hand as his other hand tugs at your hair. You release a quiet moan of your own when he pulls your hair, encouraging you to take him deeper.

Din's eyes are half-lidded now, a primal need burning within them. He watches you with an intensity that makes your own desire flare. His sounds of pleasure, the way his hands feel on you has yourself throbbing with need, your core painfully clenching around nothing. Your panties are surely soaked through by now, your arousal having built up just by making him feel good. You press your thighs together, alleviating the throbbing pressure in your pussy.

You continue to move with purpose, lowering your hands to knead his oily thighs as you take his entire length in your mouth, the tip of cock hitting the back of your throat with each bob of your head. You suck your cheeks in, running your tongue along a prominent vein with each stroke.

His ragged breaths and the soft squelch of your saliva and mouth on his cock fill the room, and suddenly, Din is pawing at you. The need for more becomes undeniable, and Din, unable to restrain himself any longer, pulls you up with a sense of urgency.

"Wanna- come in you—" he gasps, pulling at your neck.

You press your thighs tighter together at his admission, moaning on his cock.

"Kriff, cyar'ika, j- just, please," he grunts, and you lift your head off his cock, saliva dripping down your chin.

When you finally look up at him, his eyes are blown wide with need, and he's fully sitting up now. You feel the sudden shift as he drags you onto his lap, his still erect cock pressing into your stomach. You push up onto your knees as Din's hand desperately claws at the hem of your pants, yanking both your pants and panties off at the same time as he mouths the tops of your still covered breasts. Once your bottoms are off, he unclasps your bra expertly, letting it fall to the side.

Once you're bare in front of him, he laps his tongue over your breast, sucking at your nipple as his other hand squeezes and massages your other. The sensation send an electric jolt through your body, and a soft moan escapes your lips. Din's touch is both possessive and tender, his free hand coming to knead the flesh of your ass.

In one solid motion, Din is lifting you up high by your hips, positioning you over his cock. Utterly desperate and aching for your cunt around his cock, he slams your hips down, splitting you open on his cock inside your dripping cunt. Your hands fly up to his shoulders, a warbled scream and moan slipping from the both of you as he plunges deep inside of you, filling you up perfectly. You give yourself a moment to breath, steadying your breath. When he rolls his hips once, you whimper.

"Maker, y- you feel so good," you moan, biting your bottom lip in pleasure.

You squeeze his cock tightly, back arching as you feel every ridge of his cock inside you. His hands squeeze your hips tightly as your hands run down to his chest, and you start placing open mouthed, messy kisses on his jawline and neck. He lets you adjust around him, giving you some time to feel his cock molded perfectly inside you.

"Take me so good...s- so kriffing p- perfect, my beautiful riduur," he growls, fondling your breasts as you sit on his cock. Your thighs press against his as you try to clench your thighs at his words, darting your tongue out to give his skin kitten licks.

Ever so slowly, you start to roll your hips against his, moaning at the sensation. Din hisses, forehead falling on your sternum, his hot breath fanning against your breasts.

"Riduur," he groans again, darting his tongue out over the tops of your breasts again. "Ride me."

Your hands find their way into his dark curls, tugging at them lightly as you start to lift yourself up his cock. The drag of your pussy against Din's cock makes him shudder in pure ecstasy, moving his head to rest in the crook of your neck.

"You- you're the best thing that's e- ever happened to me," you whisper in his ear, then you sink all the way back down on his cock.

He moans, sucking bruises onto the junction between your shoulder and neck. Din's face is flushed from your words and the way you feel on top of him. You lift yourself up a few inches and drop back down, relishing in the way he feels underneath you.

"Never thought I'd find s- someone like you, cyare," he admits in his gravelly voice, tightening his grip on you. "Someone I- I could c- come back to."

"You're m- my home, Din," you reply, your voice a breathy whisper.

You start to set a steady pace, rocking and grinding on his cock. Din grunts at the sudden change in pace, helping you up and off his cock as his broad hands help lift you up and down by your hips. With each bounce, his cock stretches you out deliciously, dragging along your slick walls with ease.

You move your hand down to your catch your clit, circling the bud slowly, building up the pressure bubbling in your core. Your back arches as you start to tease yourself, pussy clenching harder around his cock. Din's head is thrown back in pleasure, hands firmly on your hips as you keep bouncing, reveling in the way you squeeze slightly tighter around him.

Your walls start to flutter around him at the stimulation of your clit, picking up the pace as you chase your orgasm. You lock eyes with his, the rhythm of your hips against his causing him to paw at every square inch of your body.

With your free hand, you guide his strong jaw towards your face, capturing his lips in a searing, passionate kiss. You don't stop moving on top of his cock as you slip your tongue into his mouth, sucking and nibbling on his bottom lip with each kiss. His lips are warm and demanding against yours, responding with a fervor that has you leaning back.

The taste of Din is intoxicating, yet something you can never quite put your finger on. His low growls mix with your soft moans, your hands threading in his curls.

Din breaks the kiss, but rests his forehead on yours. His pants mingle with yours, warm breath tickling your nose.

"Can't believe I'm so lucky," Din grits, and without hesitation, he deftly maneuvers you until you're lying on your back.

You admire the way his chest heaves with a controlled intensity as he hovers over you, his cock still fully sheathed inside you to the hilt. Moving his hands, he presses your legs up against your chest, angling them in such a way to allow for a deeper penetration. The newfound angle sends waves of pleasure coursing through each of you, each movement building up the pressure in your lower muscles.

"Maker, Din," is all you can say as his cock reaches deeper inside you. You're utterly engrossed in everything about him; how perfectly he fucks you, how he protects you, how he always puts others before himself, how he never backs down from a challenge.

You watch as his mouth drops open when he starts to move again, pounding into you with a slow, measured pace. Every motion has your hot, soaking walls sucking him in greedily.

"Fuck me so perfectly, you're perfect," you murmur as Din pulls your legs up onto his hips, effectively spreading you wide open. His whole chest presses flush against yours, kissing your words away when he leans in.

Your hands fly down to grip his forearms that cage you under his body, nails pressing into his skin as he fucks you slowly. Each thrust is met with a soft whimper into Din's mouth as he takes his time, relishing the way your chest feels against his own. The measured pace of his movements builds a heavy tension in your core, drawing out the pleasure and anticipation with each deliberate stroke.

Din's hand finds your clit again, pressing his thick digits against your swollen bud. The added pressure sends electric pulses through your body, and your back arches involuntarily as the pleasure intensifies. Your pussy clenches around his cock, drawing a throaty groan from Din, who revels in the tight embrace of your walls.

"So strong, s- so good," you gasp, your words punctuated by your unrestrained sounds of pleasure.

"S' perfect, cyare," he murmurs against your lips breathlessly, pressing a kiss on your lips once again. He nips and bites at your bottom lip relentlessly. You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling his face closer to you as you mewl into his mouth. Your fingers find their way back into his soft hair, scratching your fingernails on the base of his scalp.

With each enthusiastic response from you, he quickens his pace, the unforgiving rhythm pushing you both closer to the edge.

The feeling of his cock moving inside you faster and harder elicits a cascade of moans and whimpers from your lips, your clit being stimulated nearly to the point of your impending release. He's fucking you hard into the mattress, unrelenting in the way he wants to feel every part of you.

Din, ever the attentive man, knows you're about to cum just from the way your face contorts, from the way your body reacts to the slightest touch.

You can also feel him nearing the edge, the tension in his body reaching its peak with each stroke. His skin is warm and still slick with the lavender-scented oil, intoxicating your senses and making your mind go blank.

"Please, come in me," you beg, wrapping your legs around Din's waist to pull him closer to you. "Please, please, Din."

His skin glides against yours, your hands travel across the expanse of his back, feeling the flex of his muscles as he moves with unrestrained strength.

Din's eyebrows are pinched in pleasure, mouth parted open as he pants. His fingers find the sweet spot of your clit, causing you to nearly scream in pleasure.

"That's it," Din encourages, coaxing your orgasm out of you as he maintains the pressure around your sweet spot.

Before you know it, you're cumming around Din's cock. The first contraction of your cunt around his cock has Din shuddering from his own orgasm, the feelings of your muscles spasming around him pushing him over the edge. His breathing is erratic, hot against your skin.

You writhe underneath Din, whimpering his name as you ride out your orgasm. Din pulls you in for a messy kiss as he cums inside of you, cupping your jaw with one hand as he guides your lips to his in a searing kiss.

Settling down from his orgasm, Din falls on top of you, burying his face in the crook of your neck.

Your hands run up and down his back, soothing him with the light scratching of your nails against his skin.

The gentle scratching of your nails against Din's back seems to lull him into a state of relaxation, his body going lax on top of yours. His breath and mustache tickles the sensitive flesh of your neck.

Both of you are still panting, trying to catch your breaths from your shared climax. Din's weight atop of you feels grounding, a comforting, welcoming presence that reminds you once again that he is yours.

"Feel better?" you inquire softly, your hands coming to rest around his neck.

Din lifts his head, his eyes meeting yours with a tenderness he reserves only for you.

Din mumbles in agreement, his body completely pliant in your hands. His chest rises and falls in a steady rhythm, the remnants of his panting gradually subsiding.

"Thank you," he murmurs, eyes studying your face intently. "Ni kar'tayli gar darasuum."

Your fingers move from his neck to gently trace lines over Din's flushed cheeks, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

"I love you."

Din's eyes soften even more. His hands, calloused and strong, come up to gently cradle your face. Thumbs brush over your cheeks in a tender caress, as if he's committing the feeling to memory.

He pulls you in for another kiss, a sweet, tender meeting of your lips in the aftermath of your care for him.

A thank you, if you will.

As Din's lips part from yours, he rests his forehead against yours, and you can feel the warmth of his breath mingling with yours.

You snuggle close to him, the scent of lavender surrounding you both. In the quiet aftermath, the only sound that remains is the beating of your hearts.

. . .

Din Djarin (The Mandalorian) Masterlist

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netherfeildren · 4 months

Text

The Cassandra Complex : Chapter X : Geryon

Series Masterlist : Moodboard

(Din Djarin x F!Reader)

Content Warnings: Angst; Lemme say it again for those in the back, ANGST; Hurt/Comfort; Din's kinda being an asshole but he's hot and his dick is 10 inches long and he's also sorry; Dark themes from previous chapters continue

A/N: Hello and surprise and I'm sorry. I promise one day *ONE DAY* they will be happy again!!!

Geryon is my favorite figure in Greek mythology :) He is a very special monster to me :)

Rating: Explicit 18+

Word Count: 8.1K

Read on AO3

CHAPTER X : GERYON

Who can a monster blame for being red?

Anne Carson, Autobiography of Red

“We have got to stop meeting like this.”

He’s been pacing back and forth across the hull of the Razor Crest, the metallic jilting song of his heavy gait, the clank, clank, clank, threatening to lull you back into unconsciousness. There should be no comfort to be found in this moment, and yet, just the sound of him is enough for a measure of peace. You can’t believe you’re here right now, lying in your pile of blankets as if no time had passed at all. His anxious pacing stirring you back into wakefulness, your head all muddied and muffled, your ears seeming to pop into a pressurized silence and then ebb back into clarity.

You feel, suddenly, that you’re more tired than you’ve ever been in your entire life. A bone deep tiredness after a life that’s been too long and too heavy for someone who is, for all intents and purposes, so young.

He whips around at the sound of your voice, snapping forward to loom over you, voice deep with the intent to intimidate, maybe even hurt. “How did you know about him?” He demands without preamble, picking up right where the two of you had left off before you’d stupidly fainted from pain and exhaustion. You shiver and shrink back into the blankets, pressing the tips of your fingers against your mouth to stifle the too loud hiccup of your breathing. You’re not going to be afraid of him, he doesn’t deserve that.

You try to gather yourself, swallowing the bitter nausea that sits heavy on your tongue and push yourself up into a sitting position on shaky, weak arms as he falls with a heavy thud to kneel before you, spits your name, sharp and angry, quickly losing patience. “Who told you about him? What have you heard?” You hold out a warning palm as he leans forward, trying to bully you into compliance with the urgency of his tone.

“Don’t touch–” you warn, and then all soft, helpless hurt and accusation, “You have a son?” And you wish your voice didn’t sound as it does, like a child begging for the truth to not be what it already is, and you won’t cry, you’ve already promised yourself you wouldn’t, but your mind is so weary, your heart so vacant, it’s hard to remember the things you have and have not promised, the things you should and should not do.

“Who told you? You promised you wouldn’t ever rifle through my head, and I swear to the Maker–”

“I can sense him in you,” you snap. “I haven’t been rifling through anything! You’re so annoying. And get back–” you bare your teeth at him in a tiny snarl, nose scrunched with the exertion it takes to push a weak tendril of the Force against his chest and shove him back just barely. If there were a well within you, measured by the will of your strength and power, the Force, it would be bone barren dry right now.

He’d gone and had a child, a son, without you. He’d left you, or let you leave him, what did the details matter anymore – and he’d had a child with someone.

He snatches you up by the elbow, dragging you towards him, weak and shapeless as you are, barely any strength to hold yourself up, much less defend yourself, and his grip is tight enough, punishing enough, that you know it’s meant to cause pain. Harsher than he’d ever handled you before, on the verge of hurting you in a very real way. And after everything that’d been done to you… you’re like a raw, scalded nerve, nowhere left to touch that isn’t covered in hurt. Every inch of your skin screams in pain, and you swallow your moan of agony, trying to suppress your animal sounds. His other hand comes up to grip your jaw, stopping you from twisting away and squeezing the frame of your face so tight in his strong fingers, you feel your bones creak. “Explain. Now.”

“Please, Din,” Please, don’t touch me. “I can– I can sense him– inside you,” you gasp. “He’s strong. He – he has the Force?” You shake your head in his grip, brow folding in on itself, trying to make sense of what it is you’re feeling, the confusing amalgamation of Din and the Force and memories of something, someone young and innocent and pure beyond imagination. Like a well of the Force, of greater depth and strength than you’ve ever encountered before, but viewed, or felt through the veil of his memory, from afar. “You– you still carry him with you.” A child, his child. A little boy, the picture gains clarity in your mind, and then more confusion, as if there were a block in his mind, some protective encasement that keeps the truth of his precious secret safely guarded.

His hands tighten around the curve of your jaw, jerking your face up to force your eyes to look right at him, and he holds you trapped there for one breathless moment, his gaze like this is worse than any torture you’ve endured thus far, burning but hidden, and then the miniscule shift of the helmet, and you feel the light brush of a single finger against the gem of your earring, and you think: It’s so scary out there. Do you recognize me? We used to know each other.

“What the fuck happened to you?”

“Look how strong you’ve become,” you say by way of an answer through your smooshed cheeks and clenched teeth Like an insult more than anything else. “Whatever it was that was done to me… something far worse has happened to you. The great Mandalorian, come to save the poor little Sith, huh?”

His fingers dig into the tender skin of your cheeks, your upper throat, harder, hard enough to squeeze a moan out of you before he’s shoving you back with a revolted scoff, pressing up to his feet to pace away from you again. You’d told him once you didn’t like it when he treated you like this, roughly, all that time ago, and he’d always remembered before now, had always measured himself, but it seemed that two years was long enough for him to forget this.

“You are not a Sith,” he reminds you without turning back, that reminder that he knows what you truly are, perhaps, even better than you yourself know, and you panic for one second that you’ll vomit. But then he gentles: “There’s blood on your earring,” and you sag forward, trying to breathe slowly through your mouth, stretching your eyes as wide open as they’ll go, forcing yourself not to blink so that the tears brimming there won’t fall. I hate you, you mouth the words silently down into the blankets, unsure who it is you’re directing them at.

“You’re going to tell me where the fuck you’ve been,” he says, turning back to pace towards you, hands on his hips, the snap of his cloak as he whips away again, as if he can only stand to look at you for so long. “And what in the Maker’s wrong with you?” He continues. “Did you get into a fight or something?”

You shake your head slowly down at the weave of the blankets. They’re the same ones from before, he’d kept them, and you are so sad and scared and terrible, and when you lift your head back up to look at him, standing just there looking so defeated and suddenly so singularly powerless… You can’t remember what the point of all this was supposed to have been.

“I’ve been here,” you say, for the truth is the only thing left to you now.

“On Corellia?”

“Yes.”

“And you… you can sense him on me?” And his voice has gone suddenly soft, suddenly quiet. A father speaking of his child with care, even in the tone used to address him. All the fight’s gone now, and that tiredness sets in deep where the spirit meets the bone.

You nod, full of so much grief, unbelief that the two of you are here again together, swallowing the gasp that wants to force its way out of you, but you surely can’t help the seeping of it, for there is so much held within your heart when you say up at him with those infernal tears so close to falling: “You had a son with someone?”

He whips back around, pacing finally come to a pause. “With someone? What? N– no. No.” He shakes his head furiously, rushing back towards you, falling back to his knees so that you’re pressing yourself back and away from him. “No, cyar’ika. No. He was a foundling. I– He was a bounty, but along the way he– he became…” He shakes his head again, and you watch the tightening of his fingers around the cap of his knee, the creak of the leather of his gloves as he wrangles his restraint into control, trying not to reach for you. Please, don’t touch. Please, don’t touch. If he takes you in hand, if he puts his hands on you in gentleness or care, you’ll lose. You don’t know how, but you know you’ll be lost. But perhaps the battle is already lost, for when he says, “I would never do that to you. Never with anyone else but you,” it doesn’t matter if he’s touched you or not, the hole in the ground, the two years, the endless, endless darkness and the pleas for something worse, for end or a quiet that doesn’t stop, none of that matters anymore because the battle is lost here and now in this moment.

Your breath comes in painful, sharp pants. The icy air gusting out of the ship's vents turns your breath to hurt in your lungs. You shake your head at him, trying to swallow the barren dryness in your throat away. “You should have.” And you don’t mean to hurt him worse than you already have when you say it. You don’t mean to hurt either one of you. These are words only of sincerity. “That’s what I left you for, so that you could have that.” But you miss the way they’d pulled your bones from your skin as you say it anyways. A terrible lie wrapped in the hopeful intention of truth.

“I would never.” You can imagine he’d used this same tone of voice when he’d sworn his Creed as a child. All staunch honor and unwavering conviction.

You whip your head away at that, unable to bear the sight of him, the sound of him. Even if you want to smell him more than anything. To bury your nose in the crevice between helmet and cowl and inhale deeply right there where the scent of his warmth and sweat and skin is the most concentrated. “Well that’s what I wanted. What couldn’t you understand about me leaving you? You should’ve made your own life. Forgotten me.” Snakelike and spitting and full of venom.

“Is that what you did? Forget? How? Tell me. Tell me so that I might remember for next time.” He stands to pace away again, slow measured steps now. Chewing on a thought, thinking, thinking, and then a death dealing sort of blow when he says, “I could have. I could’ve had all that, you know… There was a woman,” and his voice wavers.

So many terrible things in a terrible, terrible life. You close your eyes to it, accept, even now already, that this is how it should be. You think of your time in your beloved hole, all of your choices that lead you there to such a terrible fate, your time with him, so lovely and so full of light. To have been granted the opportunity to love and be loved, even if you’d never said it, it was the greatest gift the Maker had ever granted you. Such a recompense after everything you’d suffered. The death of your parents, a childhood alone and enslaved and abused, that moment when you’d finally put blade against the only terrible father you’d ever known, the creature who’d put you in chains and ensnared you to this dark fate, master and father and monster all in one, even that had been painful, the taking of your so fiercely desired freedom. And so this now… worse than all the rest, but you’ll accept it too. This is what he deserves. This is why you had let yourself be put away.

“There was a woman,” he says again, voice unsure, uncomfortable. Almost like he doesn't want to, but feels he must. “A time back– we were on Sorgan, and she wanted me… she wanted me.” And he says your name again, softly this time like an apology. “To be with her, to stay with her and her daughter. She wanted us to be a family and I– I considered it… for a moment. What that would be like, to have someone want me to stay with them. To want to make an end with me.” He shakes his head down at you again, from his great height and you break. Fuck acceptance. A condescending sigh and, “You ruined that for me too. You wouldn’t let me, your memory, you wouldn’t let me be with her.”

“I hate you,” you spit through clenched teeth. You wish you had the strength right now to get up and fight him.

“That’s fine. That’s your right. It doesn’t change the fact that she wanted me to be with her, and that I thought about it for one brief, delusional moment,” He sounds like he’s laughing through the modulator, “And then just… couldn’t. I couldn’t, cannot even fathom staying for anyone else that isn’t you.” And the laugh fizzles out into a crack. “How does that make you feel? Powerful?... Over me. Does it make you feel like you have power over me? Like you own me? Like I belong to you?” Now tears, perhaps, like he’d cry if you gave him the chance. Like you’ve hurt him enough to drive him to that. The nausea is back. The need for violence is back. The fucking fire in your back and your skin and all over… why, why did you let them do so much to you? You’d been so stupid. It’d all been such a terrible mistake. You should have never let him go.

“No.” You won’t cry. You won’t cry. “It doesn’t make me feel powerful.”

He suddenly seems to lose all strength. Falling back into a crouch, his knees folding in under him, the clash of the armor against the durasteel floor sharp as a cracking bone.

“Because you do– own me, that is. You do.” And he says it so simply. Like it’s the basest thing in the galaxy, as simple a thing as the birth of new life, the birth of a star, a black hole sucking an entire planet and all life into nothingness, death. Things that are really not simple or base at all.

So you shake your head, refute his truth. “I don’t. I don’t want to – I let you go.”

“But you didn’t. Don’t you fucking see that?” And his voice is gentle, but he slams his fist against the steel floor all incongruous rage, and it echoes and rings between the two of you, his violence. “You didn’t let me go, you only took yourself away from me– left me chained.”

“What was she like?” You cut him off, an envious, ravenous thing all tinged the hue of bile – something poisoned, churning within you. “Was she beautiful? Was she kind? Was she good? All the things you could ever want a woman to be? Would she have promised to stay forever?”

“She wasn’t you.” And oh, how you hate him in this moment. You hate him, you hate him, you hate him. This is guilt, this is punishment, this is retribution of the cosmic sort. Something from the Maker sent to remind you that she who sins shall be made to atone. But haven’t I atoned enough? Haven’t I paid my pound of flesh? This man and that soft heart is your punishment for all you’ve done.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” you tell him because there is nothing else to tell. Because it’s the truth, and you are, you’re so sorry that he couldn’t find someone else, someone better, kinder, more alive. And then, because if a thing’s going to hurt, it should hurt all the way, a glutton for punishment but a coward for consequences you ask: “Did you fuck her?”

“I didn’t kiss her.” Consequences. You bare your teeth at him, an approximation of a hiss and a snarl and a howl of grief so ragged it rips through your throat. Folding in on yourself like a dying star you turn your face away, trying to gather yourself and get away from the sight of him.

“I hate you,” you spit the lie again, again and again as many times as necessary until it becomes truth. “I fucking hate you. You should’ve stayed lost, you should’ve gotten sucked into a blackhole for all I care, you fucking asshole. You stupid metal beast! You should have died out there, left me to rot anything, anything but this,” you heave.

“I could’ve had a family.” And you want to ask him why he’s doing this to you. To tell him you don’t deserve such cruelty. But you know that isn’t true.

“Then you should’ve fucking stayed with her.”

“I wish I could have. Instead, I waited for you… I looked for you.”

Blow after blow, and perhaps, you think, this is not cruelty after all, but necessity. There had always been so much left unsaid between the two of you before. Perhaps, it’s finally time only for honesty. “I didn’t ask you to wait for me,” eyes cast down at your hand twisted in the blanket, voice small and pitiful. You have new scars there now, faint and glimmering like cobwebs beneath your skin. They’d wanted to see how much it’d take to leave a mark for good. They’d found their answer.

“You didn’t–” He scoffs, hands braced against his knees he shoves up again and turns in a directionless circle, all coiled tension and so much rage with nowhere to go but the pitiful sac of girl shaped tragedy littering the floor of his ship. He brings both hands up to clutch the curve of his helmet. “You didn’t ask me to? I didn’t fucking ask for this either.” He turns back to shout at you, a real shout this time. One so full of anger it makes you flinch. “You think this is what I wanted? To wait for someone who abandoned me out of pure selfish fear? No. No, it’s not what I wanted either. But how was I supposed to forget?” He asks. “Hm? Tell me. How was I supposed to let it all go? Tell me how you did it, and I’ll go and do the same since you’ve been so successful. Tell me how you did it and I’ll–”

You surge forward on your palms, teeth bared. “I trapped myself in a hole in the ground until I forgot my own name and still I wasn’t able to forget you.”

“What?”

“Oh?” You coo at him, eyes going all wide, you bat your lashes at him mockingly. Your shoulder suddenly feels like it’s about to pop out of its own socket with the way you’re bracing yourself on your arms. “What? You weren’t expecting that?” You sit back slowly, bones creaking. “To know while you were off fucking someone else, wishing for a family, I was trapped in a grave having my skin pulled from my body over and over and–”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“I’m leaving.” You try and push yourself up, clawing at the walls to pull yourself to rights by your fingernails. “I hate you,” you say again, and again you don’t know which of the two of you it is you’re talking to.

He sneaks up behind you, taking you in hand by the elbow again, Maker, your shoulder, and whipping you around to face him, clutching your other bicep to pull you up onto your tip toes and to his level. “What are you talking about?”

You let your weight go heavy and sagging in his grip, head falling back on your neck to look up at him, and he plants his feet firmly apart, locking his arms so that he’s bearing your weight entirely. He gives you a tiny jostle. “You’re exactly as I am, you know? We’ve always been the same. A creature in a mask.”

He’s quiet for a second, confused. His chin tipping to one side and then the other. You know he’s reading you for what you’re worth in this moment, which you must admit is very little. “Is that what this was all about? The whole time? My face?” Your heart goes colder than ice, and you’re glad he’s bearing your weight for you. You think, suddenly, that you’d not have been able to remain upright on your own.

“N– no. No. I don’t care about that. I let it go years ago.”

“Let it go?”

“No. I mean–” Stupid. “Nothing.” Tongue muddled, caught. Terrible.

“But it was something? Then? Answer me.” He jerks you again, harder this time so that your teeth click together.

You shake your head no, but say, “Would you have been okay with it? If it had been you, the one kept in the dark.” Always the dark, again and again. “Would you have been okay never really knowing who I was?”

“You know me, cyar’ika.”

“Don't call me that.”

“You’re the only person in the entire galaxy who ever has.” And his touch is gentle and cradling now, supportive in a different way.

“Would you have been okay with it?” You ask again stubbornly.

“Do you think–”

“You say I’m the one that can’t ever give a straight answer, but you’re just as bad!”

“Do you think,” he repeats more forcefully, talking over you, “That your very first night on the Crest, when I gave you my name, when you told me you could see inside my mind, that I would have stayed had I not understood the reality of what it was we were getting into? What I was getting into? That there was that possibility. You told me, don’t you remember? That you could’ve looked any time. You’ve always had me in the palm of your hand, and I’ve always wanted to be just there.” His thumb starts to move gently up and down the inner slope of your bicep, it’s the first soft touch you’ve felt in two years.

And it was something you’d always known. Of course. The most obvious thing between the two of you, besides the love. You bring your hand up slowly, pinching the lip of the helmet between your thumb and forefinger, tremulous and terrified, you pull him down slowly so that the hard curve meets your forehead in a soft press. The two of you are so still for a moment, shivering, but still. Soaking up the proximity of something so necessary for survival after going so long without. “I should have never left, but a thing isn’t beautiful because it lasts. And I am more sorry than you will ever be able to know. For all of it.”

“Tell me what happened,” he whispers, voice smooth and deep, fathomless through the modulator. You close your eyes and think of the warm cave, the pool of water, the feel of this man that you love moving inside of you, using his body to translate all he’d felt for you with his touch. You think of the amazing ability people have to hurt those they love in ways no one else possesses. It is a cruel realization the business of loving someone brings about, the reality that to truly hurt someone, you must truly know them, and that to know is to love.

“I was taken. Put in a very dark place. Hurt. They tried to make me forget, and I could not help but remember. It was all such a terrible mistake, Din. I made a terrible mistake.”

“Taken? Taken where? By who?” Voice full of panic and urgency. Everything you never wanted him to know. He brings one hand to his mouth, pulling the glove away by the edge of his teeth, and you follow it with your eyes as he lets it fall away, slowly, the dull thud of leather hitting steel, and then his skin, his skin on your face. He cups your cheek in the palm of his hand, and it’s two years of heartache and a terrible noise coming from either one of you, an animal dying or coming to life, something painful and raw. He holds you so gently, and you let so many terrible things happen and now what will the two of you do? How will he ever look at you after he knows everything you’ve done?

Everything you’ve ever done. Your eyes shift upwards again, the black transparisteel T-visor. That last, eternal barrier. That haunting flash of beskar in your mind, buried deep, come to the surface.

“A grave. Zealots. Servants of the Dark side.” You bring your hand up, run a slow, gentle finger along the edge of dark protecting his eyes from you.

“Tell me,” he says gently.

But you shake your head, mouth pursed. Not that. Something else though… “I never looked, you know?”

He knows you mean his face. “Why not?”

“It wasn’t mine to take. Not mine to have. It wasn’t the right time.”

“If there was ever going to be anyone, it would’ve been you.”

“There is one more thing.” Your voice sounds very far away. One of those terrible moments when your life suddenly branches out before you again, and you always know how a thing will end and there was never any other recourse but for the two of you to end up exactly here in this moment from the very first time.

“I killed a Mandalorian once,” you finally, finally tell him. “Many, but there was one worse than all the rest.”

I’ve never met a Mandalorian before, a lie and a truth. You’d never met one you hadn’t killed in the end.

He goes shocked into stiffness, hands rigoring into cold shackles around your arms. They drop from where he grips you. He steps back, and in a way, it is such a relief. The truth you’ve held on the tip of your tongue, the thorn beneath your nail bed for so long, finally come into the light.

“What?”

“Have you– have you ever done something so– so terrible that you regretted instantly? Something you felt in the moment you had no other choice but, and then– and then suddenly clarity sets in, and you realize you could have done everything else but what you’d just done? Wished you could turn back time in that very instant, and go back and change everything?” You press forward to clutch at his cloak, fingers twisting in the coarse fabric to force him to stay with you, but he pulls you away with fingers wrapped around your wrists, steps back again and again.

“I’ve done terrible things–” you whisper, your eyes so wide, terrified of the thing you’re about to confess, of yourself, always, more than anything. “Things that you’d hate me for, if you knew the truth of them. To myself, to others.” You bring your hands up to your throat, wrapping your fingers around yourself there, feeling the patter of your thundering pulse against your palm.

“Tell me,” he says again, and this is the last moment, the last stretch. The end is so near. You will look for relief in this feeling of horror, you decide. Like all other times when you’d been so entrenched in the pain of it all, in fear or loneliness or violence, you’ll look for the relief this confession will grant. Perhaps, absolution will finally be possible by way of confession. Exile, too, surely, afterwards, for you know there’s no way he’ll ever stay with you, look at you, after you tell him of your killing of his people. And you think again, that you have always been a monster, red, but if you’d been given a chance, a choice, then perhaps, you could have served as mantle and protector for a family that had never been afforded to you. You know that he could have been that, that you’ve lost the chance now for good.

“After the fall of the Empire, the Dark and Vader, my master was weak, his acolytes dispersed and felled, their power waning. And for the first time in my life, I saw hope.” Your voice fluttering up with an airy note of that childlike wonder you’d felt in that moment of realization, when you’d recognized what it was you could become in that moment of freedom. “I took it, seized it. I killed him.” You walk backwards, blindly, needing the support of the wall to tell of this. “You know, my first memory is of my master. I can’t even remember my parents anymore. And he was never kind, surely. Never gentle, and caring only in a way that served him. But I belonged to him as any tool, weapon, belongs to a man, and there was something about that, that was meaningful. A child, alone, belonging to someone who would keep them no matter what. Sometimes, I try and remind myself of this, when I think too much on the things he had me do, the things I did for him, sometimes even gladly… I remind myself of this as a way of consolation. What else did I know? What other choice did I have? Death? Perhaps… But strangely, before… or,” You shake your head, your eyes falling closed as you search for the words or answers within yourself, “Strangely, I– I can’t remember when that changed, but it did because I didn’t always want to die. I– I wanted to live, even if it was for him. To please him or serve him or be useful in any way. They hoped to fill me with fear. But fear leads to anger. Anger leads to hate. And hate… leads to power. I was only ever the thing he wanted me to be in the moment I was powerful enough to defeat him. And you can’t know what that means, to live such a fruitless existence, to have no purpose… it’s terrible. But he finally gave me that in the most terrible and glorious of ways.” You open your eyes again to take him in, Din with the heart of a sun.

“I don’t mean it as an excuse, but– but I think it’s important to remember. That he was ever the only one… it feels that, before I met you, he was the only other person I ever really knew. Only ever him, but then I met you, and then I knew you. And can a girl ever be more animal than girl? I don’t know… but surely if it was possible, then that’s what I was. So when I escaped, when I killed the only father I’d ever known, who was also a monster, yes, but also all I’d ever known, I was more animal than girl in that moment. You understand, Din?” You ask, but he gives no hint that he does, more droid than man now, and so you continue on anyways. “I killed the remainder of his following. I was stronger than them, stronger than him sometimes, and I know he feared that. I escaped to Corellia. The chaos of the planet was easy to hide within, but you must remember, again, I was more animal than anything else at that moment.” You give a short laugh, “I don’t know why all of my tragedy always seems to start and end on that planet. Perhaps, it’s why I keep going back there. And he–” You want to turn away, but force yourself to remain facing him. “He ended up joining me in that tragedy. He tried to help me, the Mandalorian, found me broken and discarded, waiting to die in the gutter like a street rat, entirely unaware of what it was to survive without the guiding hand of someone else.” You’d been so terrified, delirious and confused and reborn again – like an infant, come straight from a hostile and poisoned womb, newly birthed unto the galaxy and left to fend for yourself. Mind and body, savaged, yes, but with a soul that sang and howled with victorious growing pains at your newfound freedom. It had been so long, trapped, so long you’d forgotten the sound of your mother’s voice, the feel of your father’s strong hand on your child softened cheek, but you’d been free then, and you’d thought that even if you were to die like that, in the slums of Corellia, on the street like a pauper, at least you’d die clutching freedom in your hand. And then he’d found you.

“But I had never known help, Din. Never. I couldn’t recognize such a thing. He led me to safety within the city, saw me for what I was, a broken, haggardly thing, perhaps, and he helped me. And once he was done showing me his kindness, I killed him. For no other reason except mistrust and habit. I– I didn’t know there was another recourse, that that wasn't what I had to do. I didn’t know I had other choices besides violence. And I’m sorry. I’m sorry I killed him, Din. I’m sorry I never told you. I’m sorry I am the thing they made me. I’ve tried to be better, I’ve failed bitterly, and I’m sorry.”

You hope he understands that you hadn’t thought before you’d acted, more animal than girl, you’d performed on base instinct. And worse than anything else, he’d had a son, that Mandalorian, like Din does now, and you can still bring forth the memory of the child’s face in your mind even after all this time. You’d seen him as you’d ripped through his father’s mind, pilfered and savaged his memories and left him for dead in a filth strewn, back alleyway. An entire life torn apart in a single moment, and in the very millisecond before his soul had left him, the last thought you’d laid eyes on within his mind had been the image of his own face reflected back at him as he’d seen it earlier that day just before he’d hidden behind the protective helm of his Creed. You’d stolen his future, stolen a child’s father, and desecrated a life’s worth of dedication all in one single foul, unthinking instant. You’d not even given him the dignity of dying with his Creed intact.

After all this time, you still felt that was what made the sin all the worse. That unintentional theft, to openly spit in the face of his benevolence and generosity, an unforgivable thing.

And it would be easy to say that you hadn’t recognized that which he’d been offering – the sight of a merciful and helping hand extended to you without malintent or pretense. That you hadn’t recognized it, and perhaps, it was the truth, but you were sure it didn’t really matter at the end of it. A thing worse than all the death and destruction and pain you’d dolled out in the name of the dark side, that one act was singular in its unencumbered horror for you’d not had the farce of your master's orders to hide behind, the helm of the dark whispering in your ear, stealing you of your choice. This had been wholly your own action, entirely your doing.

The first thing that had ever belonged only to you in your entire life. And strange because during your time as a Sith, you’d undoubtedly killed any number of the beskar covered warriors, but this last one, it had been a kill without thought, without necessity, without influence. Only as yourself. Perhaps it had set the stage for all the rest. Perhaps it had set the stage for your own fall.

You aren’t aware you’re crying until you feel his mouth on your face, his throat vibrating with low growls as he licks at your tears, the hollow thud of the helmet hitting the floor finally registering in your ears. Stop, it’s okay. Please, don’t cry, little one. You squeeze your eyes shut tight as you can, trying to pull away, escape him again, but he pulls you close. The long, uncompromising line of him pressing all the way along your softness, inciting the chill of death inside of you back to life.

“Do you really think,” he starts low, the sound of his unmodulated voice for the first time in so long, “that there’s anything you could ever do, that I’ve not forgiven you for already a thousand times over?”

You begin to thrash in his grip, feral and wild and not wanting to be tamed this time, but he does not let you run, not again. His arms like bands of iron around your waist, stitching you to the cold steel of his chest and crushing your protests from your lungs. The two of you fold slowly to the ground. Huddling you between his crouched thighs, you try and push back, but he cages you between his knees and arms, and you turn your face away from him, trying to escape his wet mouth, the damp of his lips catching against your tear soaked lashes. “I never wanted to be this– this thing,” you gasp by way of another apology. “I never wanted to live like this – strange and violent and obscured in the shadow of something I was too young to ever understand until it was too late. And I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I lied or deceived you or made you feel something for someone that never really existed. Most of all, I’m sorry that it could not be true,” you gasp. “I’m sorry that I could not be true. That I couldn’t be something else.”

“You have nothing to apologize to me for. You think…” he says very slowly. Measured. “You think that I haven't done terrible things, as well? That I haven’t killed when I, perhaps, could have been merciful? That I’ve never been afraid or lost or weak? That I’ve never let violence overtake me? Worst of all, that sometimes I even liked it. We’ve all done things to be ashamed of. We will all, at one point, do things to be ashamed of. That is what it is to be human.” Human. You don’t know if you’ve ever truly been that. “What means more to me is honor and loyalty and character – these are things you’ve shown me.”

“I haven’t,” you cry.

“You have,” he growls, and he takes you between his hands violently so that you’re crying out in pain from your wounds or shock or fear of what he’ll do to you now. Crushing you to him so fiercely you feel as though he’s trying to squeeze your very heart from your chest so that he might look upon it with his own two eyes. “You exist. You exist, and you are here and you are mine. You were never given a choice. You were a child, stolen and abused and turned into something you were never supposed to be. The Force within you is a gift, and they tried to corrupt it into something it should have never been, but they did not succeed.” You try and shake your head at him, push him away, scream and cry and tell him that he’s wrong, that you are bad and poisoned and that even he, the great warrior, cannot save you. But he grips your jaw in his long fingers, grinding your bones between his strength, and halts your disagreement. He snarls at you, so furious at what had been done to you. You realize, suddenly, that he is vibrating with barely restrained rage. For you. Not at you.

“They did not succeed. Your presence here, your regret, your wish for more, for better, your very escape, proves to me that they did not. You were too strong, too good.” I am not, you moan, starting to thrash and claw in his arms again. You don’t know, you’re wrong. “I know your true heart, I see you. As much as you hate it, as much as you wish it were otherwise, I know the true desires of your mind. As much as it pains you to be seen, to be known, I do. I always have, from that very first moment in the darkness, I saw you.” And his voice holds so much conviction, so much surety, you’re left with no other choice but to believe him, for Din is good and honest and true, and if he says it’s so, then it must be so.

You go loose and weak suddenly, eyes pressed together tightly, squeezing tears out through crinkled lashes. Din is good and honest and true, and if he says it’s so, then it must be so. Your entire body is trembling, fraught with nerves and a surging of truth inside of you so overwhelming your heart beats in your ears, behind the fragile membrane of your eyelids.

They’d done such terrible things to you, over and over again, and you were nothing but a single blip in the galaxy of stars, a singular pinpoint of terrible pain. That’s what they’d turned you into, but here, in his arms, you’re beginning to realize they’d failed at their goal.

He pulls your face into the space between his jaw and shoulder then, so tenderly, and you finally open your eyes to take in the skin of his throat, the growing stubble there. “Come here, sweetheart. It’s okay. We’re together now.”

“I’m not sweet, don’t call me that.” But there is no conviction behind your words, and you clutch at him more tightly. Your fingers twisting into the folds of his cape, clawing at the skin of his cheeks.

“You are for me,” he says. And it’s true. There’d always been something about him that’d made you fragile in the face of his strength, in a way you’d needed, in a way you’d never had before.

“No. No.” You try and push and pull at him weakly, fruitlessly. “I’m leaving soon. I just need to catch my breath, and then I’m going.”

And he clutches you tighter at that, fingers twisting through your hair to jerk your head back painfully. You snap your eyes shut, mouth falling open on a gasp. “You’re not going fucking anywhere, do you hear me?”

He’s being so careless with his face, dangling it before your closed-eyed face. “I won’t open my eyes. I don’t care what you do.”

He gives a rough sound of frustration, pressing his panting mouth to your cheek, growling against your skin, “Try to leave me again and see what fucking happens,” and there’s no doubt or wavering in his voice, only a great sort of conviction laced in terrible fury. “Go anywhere in the galaxy and see how long it takes me to find you again.”

“Please, Din– it hurts.” You can’t help it, he’s being too rough for the state you’re in now, barely holding yourself together at the seams. His hands leave you immediately, pulling back so that you’re sagging between his crouched thighs. You listen to the sound of him picking up the helmet, the hydraulics engaging once again as he fits it over his face.

The two of you are quiet for a moment, catching your breaths. Your lungs feel set to burst, your vision jumping from bright light to murky dark and your stomach twists a sharp, brutal pain. Everything hurts everywhere.

“How long?” And you know he’s asking about your time captured.

“I don’t know,” you say, bracing your hand against the hard strength of his thigh, barely able to keep yourself upright. “I lost track of time, but it was winter when they took me away.”

“It’s winter again now.”

“Yes.” And the truth sits like a heavy smog between the two of you, a very long time. “I don’t want you to forgive me,” you say then. “I don’t deserve it.”

“Which is why you won’t look at my face.” He pets your head so gently, and you lay your cheek against the beskar over his thigh, letting the coolness of the metal settle the flames running beneath your skin, and think it is terrible, sometimes, to be understood so deeply. Tears drip over the bridge of your nose and lose themselves in the weave of his pants.

He shifts, settling on a folded foot beneath himself, bringing you in closer to his chest, careful, careful, as if you’d been made of nothing but breakable hurt. Silence swells, fraught and unbearable, between the two of you, and your heart beats in rebounding thumps. You feel you know what he’s going to say before he even says it. “I told you that there’s nothing you could ever do I’d not forgive you for. I think… I think that love allows for forgiveness.”

You choke on your breath. “Don’t say it. Please, don’t say it,” you beg. He continues to pet your hair slowly.

“I love you. And you’re going to listen to me say it. If I have to live with it, then so do you.”

“This doesn’t feel like love, this feels like punishment,” you whisper, tears falling faster, soaking the duraweave beneath.

“How would you know? You’ve not had it before.”

Your eyes snap up to the face of his helmet, and you try and jerk away, but he holds you in place with a hand fisted in your hair. His voice is still gentle, not meant to hurt. “Fuck you,” you spit, hurt anyways.

“But neither have I, and yet, I know that’s what this is.” You shake your head in his grip, so full of confusion, listening to the wheezing whittling of your breaths pass in and out of you. You can’t understand. You don’t. Or you don’t want to.

There is something humiliating about the easiness of his forgiveness. He forgives you now, and so what was all that for? Where does the point of all your suffering go now that he’s so swiftly given you that which you’d craved for so long?

“I don’t give a damn what you’ve done. I’d let you stab a knife through my heart if it pleased you and die still loving you.” He cups the side of your tear soaked face, drags the warm, dry pads of his thumb gently beneath one swollen, aching eye. The callus of his trigger finger catches on the paper fragile skin, and there is a writhing, howling pain working inside of you, inside your heart.

I love you too, you mouth up at him, words made only of air, but no less true. “But I can’t look yet,” you tell him, “I’m not ready yet.” Not strong enough to grant myself that.

“I know.” And you’re grateful. Grateful for this, for his understanding, even if it is terrible. Grateful he’d not kissed you yet; you’re not ready for that yet either.

“How can you not be angry with me? How can you not hate me?”

“The only thing I’ve ever been angry at you about, is that you forced me to betray you.”

“I didn’t–”

“I should have never let you go.”

“I didn’t want you to,” your voice breaks. “I wanted you to fight.”

“I know, cyar’ika. I should have seen that.”

There is, with startling clarity, the realization that there was no point at all. That there is never any point, justification to suffering. It just is, and then it is not.

“Why did I do all of it?” You plead, cry.

“Why did you do all of it?” He asks you instead, for at the end, you’re the only one who can say.

And there is no justification, and no point, and it all just is. “I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry.”

“You did what you had to. Or what you thought was right. I know. I see who you really are. I understand.” And absolution is a very specific sort of thing, and it lives here between the two of you. It always had

Chapter XI

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calumance · 1 year

Text

The Interview

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: cussing, it got angsty for a millisecond, talking about throwing up, doesn’t actually happen, slight mention of panic attacks

Summary: She is an actor who is embarrassingly and openly obsessed with Pedro Pascal, but when she gets invited to be a guest on the same talk show as him, it doesn’t go the way she planned.

A/N: holy moly, I haven’t written in FOREVER so I apologize now if this is absolutely horrible. And this is also the first time I have ever written anything for Pedro Pascal so go easy on me!

This was not the first time she was asked to be on a late night talk show; she had been on a couple for her smaller roles. But this was the first time that she knew absolutely nothing about what was going on. No one was telling her who the other guests were, when she was to go onto the stage, where she was supposed to sit, what they were going to talk to her about, nothing. It was all kept a secret from her. So when she showed up to the studio, she felt like she was running blind.

“They’re just going to ask me about my movie that is coming out soon, right?” She asked her brother, Jeremy, who was standing behind her through the mirror.

He was the one who set this whole thing up, and he was being the most secretive. “Yeah, sure, something like that.” His phone started to ring and he left the room while putting it to his ear.

“What the hell does that even mean?” She mumbled to herself while she finished the final touches on her makeup.

Jeremy didn’t come back any time soon, in fact, no one had come and talked to her since the moment she arrived. Out of boredom, she pulled her phone out and started to scroll through her twitter. She read her latest tweet to herself: “Watched the most recent episode of #TheLastOfUs; is anyone else obsessed with Pedro Pascal? Just me? Okay.” The tweet had thousands of likes and retweets, and so did the other handful of tweets where she gushed about how obsessed with Pedro Pascal she was.

It was true, he was, IS, a brilliant actor, funny, the most respectful and charismatic man in Hollywood, and absolutely drop dead gorgeous. She was wrapped around his finger, embarrassingly so, and, as far as she could tell, he had absolutely no idea who she was. And she was absolutely fine with that, especially with her tweets about him. “I need to stop tweeting my innermost thoughts.” She said to herself before tossing her phone to the side.

It was a couple minutes later when there was a knock at the door and one of the stage crew members stuck their head through the door, “They’re about ready for you on stage, are you ready?” She nodded as she stood up, running her hands down the skirt of her dress to flatten it out.

No one talked to her as she followed behind the crew member to the stage. This was getting weird, and it made her stomach sink into her ass. What the hell was she about to walk into?

Her hands shook slightly as she waited for the host to finish introducing her, talking about her new movie and the release date. She relaxed a bit, maybe they were just talking about the movie, and this show just happens to not communicate with anyone. The door opened up for her to walk through and she waved at the cheering crowd and made her way to the couches next to the host. The second she caught sight of the other guests, her heart stopped.

Holy shit, he’s right there.

She continued to smile and make her way to the couch, Pedro Pascal and Helen Mirren standing and clapping for her.

You’re a fucking actor, ACT like you’re not having a panic attack.

Helen gave her a tender hug, and a soft kiss to the cheek. Pedro pulled her in for a hug as well, could he tell how badly she was trembling? She moved to sit on the other side of Helen, away from Pedro, when the host stopped her, “Oh no, no, there’s a spot and a drink for you right in between Pedro and Helen there.”

Dear god, this is why it was all a secret. I’ve been set up.

She smiled and switched to sit in between them, but she leaned towards Helen.

Can they tell I’m about to vomit? Holy shit, DO NOT vomit.

They started off by asking her about her new movie. It was her first big role and she was more than happy to talk about it and answer the few questions they did ask her. When they switched the focus to Pedro and his absolutely bombshell success of his shows, she tried her hardest to keep a happy face, but oh god did she want to run screaming.

The host began talking about the attention Pedro has been getting from the success of his shows and if he liked it or not. He bashfully answered that he did. “The internet sure loves you.” The host said, and she felt her heart fall into the empty pit of her stomach. “This tweet here says ‘I need to stop referring to Pedro Pascal as daddy, it’s becoming a problem.’” Everyone laughed, including her, trying to act like she wasn’t about to pass out.

But then she saw it on the screen, the username was blurred out, but it was absolutely her tweet. She knew it was based on the emoji’s she put at the end; and even though the username was blurred, it wasn’t blurred that well. She took a staggered breath that hopefully no one noticed. “This one here says ‘Just caught up on The Last of Us…should I be concerned that watching Pedro Pascal kill that many people turned me on?’”

Please don’t reveal who tweeted that. Maybe I’ll make it off this stage alive.

Pedro laughed, and before he got a chance to comment on it, the host directed his attention back to her, “Are you alright there? You look a little flustered?” The smirk on his face told her everything. They were absolutely going to reveal who tweeted that.

“I’m great.” She said with a smile, but as sarcastically as she possibly could. She was sweating profusely.

“Good! Because, I felt like I recognized the username on this tweet,” The screen with the screenshot of the tweet suddenly unblurred the username and revealed her twitter handle, “Oh my god, that was your tweet!” That was it, she was going in hiding after this interview.

Unfortunately, that wasn’t the end. They showed three more of her thirst tweets for the man sitting right next to her. After the second she leaned forward and placed her hands on her face just so that her fingers were covering her mouth as she told herself over and over to not cry.

Perhaps Pedro could tell how uncomfortable she was starting to feel because he quickly spoke up with a chuckle, “I mean, you should see some of the things I’ve tweeted. I barely even know how to work twitter.”

She felt a wave of relief when the attention was finally not on her and her absolutely embarrassing obsession with Pedro. However, the feeling of wanting to simultaneously vomit and cry still lingered. But, she put on a brave face and acted as if the entire interview didn’t even faze her.

Once the show ended and she politely said goodbye to everyone around her, she made her way to her dressing room. It wasn’t until she heard the click of the door shutting that she finally broke into tears. She ended up in a squatting position while trying to pull herself together, but the tears just kept coming. Jeremy walked through the door with a huge shit eating grin on his face until he saw his sister nearly in the fetal position on the ground. Before he got a chance to say a single word, she stood up and poked a finger in his direction, “You did this, didn’t you? You were the one who set up this interview, you were the one who told me over and over again how good it would be for my career for me to come on the show. You set this whole thing up, didn’t you?”

“Why are you upset with me? If you didn’t want something like this to happen, maybe keep your thirst in a diary, not on the internet where everyone can see it.” Jeremy pointed a finger back at her.

The worst part was that he was right. She couldn’t even argue his point, because he was fucking right. Maybe it was time to delete her twitter and go into hiding after her movie came out. Slowly, she wrapped her arms around herself and let out a sigh, “Can you just go out there and tell me when everyone is gone? I want to be the last one to leave.”

Jeremy huffed as he walked out the door. She turned to look at herself in the mirror and started to clean the makeup that had run down her face. It was as she threw the final makeup wipe into the trash when she heard the knock on her door. It couldn’t be Jeremy, the dude never knocked once in his life. The feeling of wanting to throw up suddenly came rushing back.

When she opened the door, she had to swallow her heart. Pedro was standing there, a soft smile on his lips. “May I come in?” He asked softly.

As badly as she wanted to tell him no and slam the door in his face, she didn’t. Instead, she nodded and silently opened the door further to allow him to walk past her. She shut the door behind him and before he got a chance to say anything, she started spewing her thoughts, “Pedro, I’m so sorry if I embarrassed you. I promise I am going to delete all of the tweets, probably even my entire twitter account. I didn’t know any of this was going to happen, I didn’t even know you were a guest. Literally the entire thing had been kept a secret to me and I am so, so sorry if this damages or, or puts a hiccup, or whatever in your career. You are entirely an amazing actor and you deserve to be treated better than that, and-”

“No, no, no,” he softly cut her off and stepped closer to her, putting his hands on her arms. “I came here to ask if you were okay; to tell you that you deserve to be treated better.” She didn’t even know how to respond to that, so she just stared at him. “Interviewers can be brutal and I, even though I promise I had nothing to do with this, wanted to apologize to you.” He looked deep into her eyes and slightly shook his head, “I’m sorry they upset you enough to make you cry.” Dear god, was it that obvious? She looked away from him and he dropped his arms back to his sides. “I’d like to make it up to you by taking you to dinner tomorrow night”

Excuse me, what?

“What?” She whispered the question.

A small smile graced his lips as he looked down at the ground, his cheeks turning a light shade of pink. ”I should’ve said something a while ago,” He started before looking back up at her, “I’ve been following your career for a few years now. All the tweets they showed today? I’ve already seen them. I’ve followed you on twitter for at least a year now.”

EXCUSE ME, WHAT?

How had she never noticed he followed her? She was too stunned to speak, so Pedro continued, “I feel like if I had had the guts to talk to you sooner, then none of this would’ve happened. Which is why I would like to take you out to dinner tomorrow, I’m just sorry that I’m asking you after what just happened.”

Her heart was beating so hard she was sure it was about to jump out of her chest. The blood was rushing through her ears so fiercely, she wasn’t even sure she heard him correctly. Her mind was reeling and it took him letting out a soft chuckle for her to realize she was staring at him like a deer in the headlights. She shook her head to stop her mind from spinning and let out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding, “Yes, yes, I’d like that.”

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againstacecilia · 4 months

Text

No Words Needed

Pairing: Din Djarin x gn!Reader

Word Count: 1.3k

Warnings: Canon-typical violence, blood, near-death experience leading to emotional confession, mention of alcohol but in a simile so no drinking.

A/N: Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays to @sweetercalypso! I had so much fun writing this and I hope you like it. It isn't really holiday themed, but you said "partners to lovers" and my brain ran with it because it's such a good trope. 🙈

“Din, look out!” Your voice bounces through the cockpit, hands flying over the controls of the borrowed U-wing as the Mandalorian next to you struggles to control the ship. Unyielding winds buffet every side and puffs of labored breath escape Din’s helmet.

“I’m-” he coughs, wet and sticky- “I’m trying.” Arms shaking, he finally pulls the yoke up to level the U-wing over the barren landscape of your unlikely sanctuary.

It wasn’t your first choice to land on Nentan; nothing but rocky spires and unchecked winds greet you through the viewport. It was becoming more and more clear, however, that making it all the way to Station 88 wasn’t going to be possible if whatever injury Din had sustained fleeing Baltizaar wasn’t taken care of. Usually the best pilot you knew, Din’s flying had diminished significantly since leaving your pursuers behind on the small planet.

Taking charge of the flight controls, you keep one eye on Din as you lower the ship to the planet’s dense surface. His hands never loosen their grip on the yoke, but the tension radiating off him shakes his entire body. Sweat darkens the cowl covering the skin of his neck.

The moment the ship is settled and engines are cut, you yank him from his chair and support him down the few steps from the cockpit to the crew hold. No other people came on this run, they would’ve just slowed you down, but the reinforced bench in the middle of the room was kept in place. The full weight of man and beskar collapse on the padded surface with a groan.

You aren’t sure what happened. The blur of running full out to the ship, blaster bolts whizzing past your head, heart pumping adrenaline through your limbs, it all drowned out everything not happening immediately within your line of sight. Grabbing the first aid kit, you fall to your knees next to Din’s prone form.

“Tell me what happened,” you demand, rolling the Mandalorian onto his back. “Where are you hurt?”

Silence is the only answer you receive.

“Din?” Your hands still on the latch to the first aid kit. With the lights on in the hold, you have a better look at what you were observing in the cockpit. His body still shakes, and more blotches of dark fabric show just how much he’s sweating under all the armor. Your eyes light on his cowl, now noticing just how dark the fabric is there compared to the rest of his body…

Reaching your hand up to move the garment away, you notice the shock of red painted along the pads of your fingers. What you mistook for sweat is actually blood, and a flare of panic courses through you.

“No,” you whisper, pulling the cowl away fully and exposing a frightening slice stretching around Din’s throat. Without pausing, you fumble with the bindings of his armor, needing access to more than the sliver of skin you can see. You know about his Creed, you know you can’t remove his helmet, but he never said anything about the rest of his armor.

While your fingers desperately try to work the clips and buckles securing his chest plate, tears burn the corners of your eyes. “Come on, Din, not like this. I need you to say something. I need you to wake up and tell me what to do…”

Finally slipping the layer of armor off his chest, you tear the fabric of the cowl to get it away from his neck. A base layer long-sleeve sticks to Din’s body, sweat and blood indistinguishable as they mingle and drench the fabric. You rip the collar down the middle, not caring about what you were ruining as the full wound is exposed. The tears finally fall free as you survey the damage.

A nasty gash haunts his bronze neck. Someone must have gotten a lucky swing with a vibro-blade as the two of you ran from the group protecting your bounty. How Din had even managed to get to the ship, let alone gotten you into sub-light without you even knowing he was wounded, completely mystifies you. The blood loss alone…

Setting your hands moving again, you rifle through the first aid kit to find the tools you need. Soaking a sterile pad in the disinfectant, you steady your hands to get cleaning when orange-tipped fingers wrap around your wrist.

“Din!” You exclaim, eyes searching the dirty visor for any sign of lucidity.

His words barely register through the modulator in his helmet. You watch his throat work through a painful swallow before he says, “Where are we?”

“Nentan,” you answer. “Don’t speak, I need to take care of this cut. You’ve bled too much, you need to just focus on staying awake.”

“Cyare,” he says, the word unfamiliar to your ears, “it’s dangerous that we stopped. They’ll be looking for us.”

You shake your head. “They didn’t follow us off-world. We’ve been alone since we broke atmosphere. Now hush.”

As you try to remove your hand from his grip, he squeezes tighter. “I can’t let them hurt you, we need to-” that sickly cough wracks his body again, blood again oozing from the wound- “we need to go. Now.”

While he talks, his chest begins to heave. His breathing becomes shallow and fast and panic seems to grip at him as surely as he holds onto you. He even goes as far as to try to sit up with a cry of pain. Placing your free hand on his chest, you gently push him down and look into where you assume his eyes to be, saying as confidently as you can, “We are safe. We were not followed, and I need to take care of this wound so please let me do that. Let me take care of you.”

His fingers cling to you for another heartbeat before letting go and dropping to the bench. You work in silence, counting every one of his too-shallow breaths as you clean the cut along his throat. Once you’re satisfied with your handiwork, you open a bacta patch and apply it to his fevered skin.

Hating to leave his side, you begin to clean up the mess of the hold. Garbage gets bagged and the first aid kit gets put away, security measures are triple checked, and all seems to settle for a moment.

After the longest half hour of your life, Din begins to stir.

“Hey, be careful,” you whisper, dropping again to his side. “You shouldn’t move too much yet.”

He nods, his chest rising and falling with a cautious full breath. Relief floods your veins at the sight. At least the bacta was working. You lean your back against the bench and let your muscles relax, breathing deeply to ground yourself. He’s safe, you think to yourself. We’re going to be fine.

In the stillness of the hold, your mind starts to wander and his words creep back into your memory. “Din, can I ask you something?”

His helmet turns to look in your direction.

“What does cyare mean?”

The silence continues for another handful of heartbeats. You begin to wonder if he’s fallen asleep, but then he’s slowly sitting up, brushing off your attempts to help him. Gently, so gently, he takes your hands and pulls you onto the bench beside him.

Angling his body to face you, your hands still wrapped in his, Din begins to speak. “Cyare is a term of endearment in Mando’a, the language of my people. It means…” He pauses, shoulders rising and falling with a slow, intentional breath. “It means beloved.”

Confusion and something akin to hope flares in your chest. “Din…”

“As we were running for the ship, one of the guys chasing us was catching up to you. He slipped by me while I was distracted fighting off one of the others. I managed to get the guy off me after he got my neck, but I didn’t care about the wounds. All I cared about was keeping this guy away from you. So I ran. I ran as hard as I could so I could catch up to that bastard. I didn’t even think to use my blaster because my instinct was to use my own two hands to protect you.

“In the end, I slid my knife between his ribs and left him lying on the ground, following you as you leapt into the ship.” The cold fury in his voice as he describes what he did settles into your bones. You had no idea all this had happened right behind you not more than a couple of hours ago.

“What does this have to do with-”

“I’m telling you this,” he says, voice instantly warmer and softer, “because you have to know that I care for you. When he threatened you, I realized that everything I’ve been lying to myself about not feeling… It was all real. And you needed to know.

“I should have told you sooner,” Din’s voice catches and he clears his throat, “but I was scared. Scared that telling you how I feel about you would change whatever it is we have. But after today…” His head drops with a sigh.

“Din,” you angle your head to try and meet his gaze through the inky blackness of his helmet, coaxing him to lift his head again, “we’ve been working together for months. Been stranded on planets and ripped away from people we love… Did you think I would run away from this? From you?”

He goes still as night as your words sink in, visor finally lifted to you again. You pause to consider all of the emotions barreling through you, to figure out how to explain that the thundering of your heart isn’t from fear or that the tears lining your eyes aren’t from pain; it’s all from joy. Joy filling you like honeyed wine and warming you down through your very soul.

While scanning his helmet, you remember a story he told you once. About a way Mandalorians show affection when other displays weren’t possible due to their Creed. As the memory sparks, you realize words aren’t needed to tell him how you feel.

Closing your eyes, you gently rest your forehead against the cold beskar of his helmet. Din’s fingers tighten around yours, the warmth of his hands seeping through the worn leather and settling into your skin. A shudder runs through his body.

“We’re in this together,” you whisper, opening your eyes and pulling away with a smile. The sun starts to peek through the windows of the ship, warm light bathing the hold and sparkling off the armored man in front of you.

He nods, pulling you into his arms. “Together.”

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peterparkersnose · 1 year

Text

Merry (Din)mas

pairing: Din Djarin x fem!reader

word count: 1k

warnings: none, din is grumpy but whats new, small sexual reference ?

a/n happy holidays!

summary Din learns and celebrates about Christmas.

masterlist

join the tag list

read time: 3 mins 41 seconds

“And the issue is…?”

“There is no issue. I just don’t think we should spend our time focusing on the old holidays.”

Din sat at the lousy refresher table feeding Grogu. You stood on top of one of the chairs, balancing your best and attempting to stick a branch with some leaves from the ceiling.

“That’s not gonna stick,” he sighed, taking a bite of his food. “Yes it wi-”

The branch fell on the floor in front of the chair.

A tiny smirk arose on his face.

Annoyance rose on yours. “I’m just trying to give him the natural experience of a holiday as a child,” you argued, hand reached out towards Grogu.

“He doesn’t understand, do you?” Din asked the baby. He was half asleep in his makeshift high chair after finishing his meal. “My point,” he said, finishing the argument.

The next morning Din woke up early to the sounds of brush and grunts from the kitchen.

He opened the door from his chamber and found you wrestling a tree you seemed to have chopped down and dragged into the Crest.

“Maker Y/N, what is this?” he sighed, his hand rubbing his temples. “Christmas…tree,” you struggled, pushing branches down to reach the stem of the tree.

“It needs to go back outside.”

“But Din!”

“Back. Outside.”

“It’s Christmas!”

“I don’t give a womp rats ass what it is. The outdoor belongs outdoor and it will stay outdoors.” he demanded, pointing towards the open hatch.

You sighed, defeated. Maybe Christmas was an old holiday for a reason.

“It’s too early for this shit,” Din mumbled, slumping back into his chambers.

When he awoke, he was met with the scent of what seemed like bread- only sweeter.

When he rose from his chambers once again, he was met with the blasphemous sounds of what seemed like sirens.

“Turn it off!” he yelled, planting his hands over his ears.

He saw your confused face sitting at the table with Grogu once the music stopped. “What in the worlds was that?” he asked. “Christmas music. From a long time ago, the traditional stuff.” you shrugged, stirring a spoon in one of the pots.

Din looked at the colorful paste you had in your hands. It seemed like red goo.

“Oh, come on Din. Just sit with us,” you begged, kicking out the chair opposite from you.

Reluctantly, he agreed.

“Why is he red?” Din sighed, looking at Grogu thoroughly for the first time that day.

He had the red goo all over his hands, various places on his face, and somehow the tip of one of his ears.

“What even is that?” he asked, carefully swiping a bit off of Grogu’s forehead.

“Taste it,” you smirked, amused at his disgust. “Taste it?” Din replied, his nose was crinkled at the meer suggestion.

You swiped your finger in the bowl and sucked a hefty amount of it off your finger. That totally unintentionally turned Din on.

His eyes seemed to pop out of his head. “It’s only frosting,” you teased. The makeshift cooker beeped. You turned around, excitedly taking the sweet smelling things out.

“Christmas cookies.” you said, carefully placing them on a plate.

Grogu extended his tiny hand and began to levitate a cookie off the plate.

“No, not for Grogu. Too hot.” you said, catching the cookie mid air. You dropped it back on the plate quickly.

“Did you see the rest of the ship?” you asked eagerly. “Please tell me there isn’t some magic rabbit sitting in my living room ready to spread Christmas joy.” Din said, crossing his arms.

“That’s easter, wrong holiday. Come on,” you sighed, scooping Grogu up. The apron you had on wiped him clean on your way to the living space.

Grogu cooed as the two of you entered the room. A much smaller tree sat in the corner, decorative lights covered it. “And Grogu helped, didn’t you?” you asked, tickling the child ever so slightly.

Tiny decorative balls hung off the tree. “He’s gonna have a field day with those,” Din muttered. “Already did,”

The cardboard box near the trash was filled with broken bulbs. “And we’re not going to do that again, are we?” you asked the baby. He just whined and looked up at you with his sweet eyes.

“What’s that?” Din asked, referring to the tiny box on the ground. “That is your gift,” you smiled, sitting next to the tree with Grogu in your lap.

“A gift?” he asked, joining you. “I was going to save it for the solstice, but…”

You handed him the wrapped gift. “Open it,”

He carefully tore away the paper and revealed a small box. He opened the lid.

A tiny brooch sat upon white fluff paper. It was a skull, similar to the Mandalorian crest he often wore. This one had three sparkly stones engraved in it, one for each of you.

His lip began to quiver as he stared silently at the beautiful gift. “Do you like it?” you asked, patiently waiting for his response. The silence made you suddenly doubt your gift choice.

“It’s… beautiful,” he said, completely touched by the gift.

“One for me, you, and Grogu. Isn’t that right, buddy? I let him pick the color out.” you smiled down, looking at the baby now grabbing for stray pieces of your hair.

“This is just…”

Din was at a loss for words. He didn’t know how to tell you that this is the first gift he’s ever gotten. Or at least remembered getting. And it was perfect.

“Are you okay?” you asked, reaching over touching his shoulder. He lifted his head from looking at the box in his lap. A smile was on his face as his glossy eyes met yours.

“Don’t cry,” you said, embracing him in front of the tree.

“This is the best gift I’ve ever gotten.” he whimpered, wiping a stray tear away.

Grogu quickly jumped in his lap next to the gift.

“Besides you two.” Din smiled, patting Grogu’s little head as he admired you on his side.

tag list: @dani5216 @uwiuwi @alohastyles-x @samanthacookieone @maddieinnit0 @alexxavicry

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janghoefett · 1 year

Text

A little snapshot into giving Din Djarin head. 18+ only below the cut, f!reader.

———————

He’s slumped against the pilot’s chair like a limp rag doll, hips sitting forward with spread legs at the very edge of the seat. Gloved hands grip the armrests in an iron grip as his head falls slack against his shoulder until, with a strangled groan, he lets it fall to the other side with a relieved sigh.

The Mandalorian would have appeared to be in distress if it weren’t for the woman kneeling between his legs. She is half-naked, covered only by pretty, lacy bits of lingerie, while the Mandalorian sits armored from head to toe apart from his swollen cock, which sits heavy in her hand.

Din Djarin doesn’t speak in a moment like this — he knows his mind is too far gone from his body, that his pleasure will make him say something regrettable or foolish. He wants to praise her, to tell her how beautiful she looks right now, to tell her he would die for her, to tell her he would leave everything behind if she asked it of him… and just as his lips part to speak, her swollen lips sink down to the base of his cock in triumph.

“Fuck!” he grunts instead, through gritted teeth.

She pulls off of him with a tear beading at the corner of her eye, breathing deeply with parted lips, and still, he’s silent. His gloved hand reaches for her soft, heated face, and his thumb runs reassuringly across her cheek before wicking the tear away. She smiles up at the masked man, just softly, just for a moment, before nestling her lips around the head of his cock once more.

This time his hand finds its way to the back of her head. Her jaw aches and the back of her mouth had already bruised, but still, she feels his gentle fingertips moving in soft circles against her scalp and she continues. She peers up at him through her lashes, into the expressionless t-shaped visor where she is met only with her own reflection. This was wrong, of course — everything about being with this bounty hunter who never showed his face was simply wrong — but with every touch she had felt his kind nature and his affection for her, and she leans into her desire without hesitation.

“Din,” she whispers.

That’s all she had said as she came up off him; just his name. His name.

The Mandalorian sits up, leaning forward to lessen the gap between them. Her breath hitches in anticipation and she closes her eyes when his fingers reach under the rim of his helmet, and as she keeps them shut, the Mandalorian reveals his face to press a kiss firmly to her lips. He lingers there, never using his tongue or deepening the kiss, but through it she feels his sweetness and his sincerity, and together their hearts thump loudly within their chests.

She opens her eyes when she feels him lean back in the seat, and she falls back into her rhythm of bobbing her head on his length. Outside of this metal ship, the Mandalorian would be guarded, guarding her, guarding himself, and his freedom, but within these cold walls he’s exposed to her like a nerve. He gives himself to her gladly, and she gives herself in return, each of them so blindly unaware and insecure of it all. They’d continue like this, content to make love in the evening and hide that love when the suns rose, but maybe it was all enough for now. Maybe they already knew it was love without needing to say a word.

#the Mandalorian x reader #din djarin x reader #the Mandalorian fan fiction #din djarin fan fiction

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icecreambeach · 1 year

Text

home again, for the first time

Mandalorian gen-fic (spoilers for s3 finale!)

Relationships: Din Djarin & Grogu

Word Count: 2,065

Rating: G

Tags: Post-Finale, Fluff, Comfort, Rest & Relaxation, Home, Returning Home, new home, Domestic Fluff, Domesticity, Din gently shaking a support beam in his new house like the dad he is, "oh yeah this is well built.", new dad, Fatherhood, Grogu's Bottomless Stomach, Din's Undying Patience, Good Parent Din Djarin, The Helmet Stays On, Star Wars CRIBS, My Sims interior decorating skills are finally coming in handy, This cabin fucking rules, Familial Love, Safety, Father and Son

Summary: It's time for Din and Grogu to rest, but not before Din does his Dad diligence.

**SPOILERS FOR S3 FINALE**

Excerpt below:

Even more surprising are the plants. Two leafy species dangle above the nook while three smaller pots sit in one of the windowsills. Din picks up one that looks like its thorns would pierce through his kute if given half a chance, turning it in the light. Its stem is pale green, but grows darker at each bulbous appendage. He’s seen similar plants growing in the deadlands far out from the city, where water rarely reaches. This one is comparatively smaller, but he knows they can grow taller than the house itself. He puts that plant in the middle of the nook’s table. Maybe, when it’s bigger, he’ll plant it outside. More surprises: the small conservator is full of food. Fruits, vegetables, meats. Some of it is even cooked, wrapped in matte paper just as intentionally as the pillows arranged on his bed. They put all of this here for me, Din realizes. Me and Grogu. He’s still for a long moment. Then he turns to look out the window, but Grogu is not by the pond where he left him. Din looks down, scanning, and spots Grogu right next to him, climbing up a ministation housing tools. Something falls off and clatters to the ground. “Hey,” Din leans over to scoop him up, “Let’s get a look around first.”

#the mandalorian fan fiction #mando fanfic #din djarin #grogu #a clan of two #my fic #mandalorian gen fic #the mandalorian #the mandalorian spoilers #mando s3 spoilers #spoilers #star wars

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mandalorianfantasy · 1 year

Text

Ch 1: Paths Crossed

Summary: This is the start of a slow burn story between our favorite mandalorian and a girl who crosses his path when they both show up looking for the same bounty. It’s written alongside the series and will eventually become your favorite sexually frustrating fic. But first, we build the story:

“Where are you trying to go?” The raspy voice of an older orange alien.

She was standing in a shipping yard watching the alien yell at droids about which crates go where in the cargo port.

“Planet Arvala-7,” she said blatantly.

She sees the alien raise an eyebrow. “And what kind of business could a young lady like you have on Arvala-7? I don’t know if you’ve heard but that planet is crawling with mercenaries now.”

“Look, I have a hefty bag of credits here.” She reached down to a bag that was attached to the speeder bike resting beside her. “I know it’s a bit out of your route, but I’ll make up the difference and then some. So long as you have room to store my speeder.”

She threw the bag to the man. He proceeded to feel the weight of it and after a few moments turned to the cargo ship and waved her along over his shoulder.

- - - -

It’s been so long since I’ve seen Quill, I wonder if he’s still on that dirty sand planet.

- - - -

She got dropped off a few hundred miles west of where she was headed. A Nikto encampment she heard had a very special bounty in their possession. A bounty she had been tracking for a few weeks, desperate to find before the empire. After riding her speeder for a few hours, she ditches the bike behind a sand dune and continues on foot. Coming up on the outskirts of the compound and nestling down to watch the hustle of activity around the camp. After watching for sometime and tracking every guards post, a loud uproar sparks.

- - - -

What the fuck is going on down there… *squinting* oh no is that?

…A damn IG unit.

- - - -

Shooting, yelling, explosions erupt from the center of the compound. She uses this time to run the perimeter to the back buildings where she can sense the faintest influx of the force in that area of the building. Most the guards are being dispersed among the front, giving her the perfect opportunity to make her way around back and find a way in.

Then quiet. Things have settled some. She follows her senses down hallways, sure that she’s about to find the being she’s been seeking. Light on her feet as not to make noise. She rounds a corner, blaster drawn. Just in time to see a mandalorian shoot the IG unit from earlier. Some of the best people she’s known have been mandalorian, but among some of the most ego driven as well.

“HANDS UP,” she gives a stern warning.

The mandalorian doesn’t know this voice but he can tell it’s someone of confidence that won’t hesitate to get what they want. His hands slowly raise. “I have no intention of harming the child,” he responds to the threat of the blaster, which he sees out of the corner of his visor is aimed at a break in between his armor. She’s not playing games. If she pulled the trigger he’d be badly wounded.

“You should be happy I believe you,” she can sense no malicious intent coming from the man hidden behind the helm. She lowers her gun and approaches the little green alien sitting in his port. “I’ve traveled a long way to find you,” smiling at the infant. She turns back to the mandalorian, “If you truly don’t want the child harmed, then you should know what the empire plans to do with this bounty once they obtain him. First, I think we should get out of this compound while it’s still quiet.”

- Mando -

….There’s something about this woman I can’t exactly pin. I’ve heard Carga talk about a female bounty hunter who picks up all the hardest pucks. He’s said that she’s the only other hunter who keeps up with my return rate in the guild. Trust should never be given over so soon into meeting someone, especially not if she’s the mercenary that Carga is talking about. But she has this aura about her…

- - - - -

When they get some distance from the camp, she retrieves her bike. Once she sees the mandalorian in the distance pulling a blurrg, she knows exactly whose help he had finding this compound.

“Are you planning on returning that to Kuiil?”

“You know Kuiil?” The mandalorian is caught off guard.

“Kuiil is an old friend of mine. When I heard the bounty was bringing me here, I wondered if his farm was still in the same place.” She found herself giving more information to the mandalorian than she usually would to a stranger.

“Our arrangement didn’t include the return of the animal, but I am going to use it to return to my ship. It is in the direction of his farm,” the mandalorian tied up her speeder bike to the blurrg. Motioning for her to sit on her bike, to be pulled alongside the animal.

After she takes a seat, he hikes himself up onto the blurrg, “brief me on the bounty?”

“Well the empire has been hunting this kind of… being, for some time now. They want to experiment and extract any… information they can.”

“How would they get information out of a child?” The Mandalorian asks.

“By draining his blood,” she responded dryly and glanced over at the kids pramm following suit. The mandalorian fell silent so she spoke again. “I can see you were excited for that beskar reward.” She raises an eyebrow at the one shiny plate covering his shoulder.

“Mmmmm yeah,” he says lowly, clearly still pondering.

“What if I had a proposition where you get the beskar and you help transport me and the child somewhere safe?” She says.

The mandalorian looks down in her direction, “you want to explain?”

“I’ll allow you to turn in the child for the beskar, if you help me almost immediately retrieve him,” she says it as if it wasn’t going to be an incredibly hard task.

“That’s going to put a giant bounty over our heads.” The mandalorian doesn’t sound very enthused.

She shrugs her shoulders, “how badly do you want the beskar? It belongs back in the hands of the mandalorians doesn’t it? If you choose to accept, the child cannot be there for long. And I must have your word that you will transport us off the planet afterwards... including my speeder.”

The mandalorian is at first in disbelief of this absurd plan.

Silence again. They can see a razor crest ship in the distance. The mandalorian mutters a very agitated “no.” The sight of the ship is mangled. As they get closer and closer they can see just how much has been stripped. Hoping off the blurrg the mandalorian runs up to the ship, clearly distraught and heated.

“It didn’t always look like this did it!?” She yells sarcastically as he’s inspecting the damage.

It happens fast but in a moment he’s running after the Jawas ship. Fighting to climb up. She unties her speeder from the blurrg and starts following behind. Watching the mandalorian disintegrate the Jawas is making her clench her jaw. She never liked seeing creatures of any kind harmed. Of course she wasn’t a saint. But the brutality she’s faced in her life left her having a low tolerance for violence. And when the mandalorian got jolted off that ship falling a good distance to the ground, she couldn’t help but smirk.

“Got the wind knocked out of ya huh?” She said smugly looking down at the mandalorian from the speeder bike.

He grunts, laying stiffly in the sand.

“Let’s find Kuiil, if I can recall he has a knack for bargaining with Jawas,” she insisted. “Then we’ll get your ship fixed. I’m a rather capable mechanic.”

Kuiil is happy to reunite with the girl he once mentored. She was happy to see he was in good health. Kuiil explained to the Mandalorian that after he was released from the empire, he found mechanic work on a small planet. His temporary time there, building up enough money for the farm at hand, is when he met this very young girl. Ambitious to learn how to handle as much equipment as possible. This is where he mentored her on all things he knew. The girl glances at the mandalorians helmet while Kuiil is story telling, once again finding the details of her personal life being explained more to this mandalorian than anyone else in recent years of her life.

After Kuiil speaks with the Jawas and conveys the message back to the mandalorian, he’s furious but left not much of a choice in getting back his ships parts. He must go face this creature they’re trying to describe and bring them back it’s egg. While the mandalorian is eager to get the job done to return his ship in working condition, she is rather neutral and observant with the affairs at hand. The mandalorian, the woman, and the child set off and come to the place mapped out by the Jawas.

“I will not harm this creature for its egg. I understand we need your ships parts but if the plan includes -“ she stops talking mid sentence. She watches the mandalorian march straight into the den.

- - - -

Oh. I guess there is… no plan at all.

*Roaring and shuffling. Then the mandalorian comes flying out of the den.*

Great. Reeeeaaalllll stealthy. Is there a fucking brain under that beskar? He’s about to get handled by this desert mama. There’s a faction of joy knowing he’s about to get a lesson beat into him.

————

A very agitated creature emerges from the den. A fight is inevitable. She must sit solid in her values, after all this creature did not deserve this threat they were bringing to its home. However, as the creature becomes more hostile with the mandalorian - sitting aside is getting harder and harder to do. Fear is welling up in her belly. Fear that the mandalorian may seriously be injured, or worse if she lets this go on any longer. That’s odd… this is really a complete stranger in front of her, why is she having these feelings well up? She knows she has to put a stop to it. The mandalorian is on his knees, ready for a last defense.

She lifts her hand as a mean to stop the situation… but she notices the animals mass lifting off the ground before she could do anything.

The woman and the mandalorian simultaneously look over to the child’s pramm. The small being was using the force to stop the creature and save the mandalorian. Falling asleep after his success. Shock and silence ensure. The mandalorian gathers himself, collects the egg, and returns to where she’s standing with the child. She’s stroking his head.

“Is he okay?” The mandalorian asks.

“He’s okay. He’s just drained.” She responds.

“What… was that?”

“That was him saving your life,” she said gently.

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian fic #the mandalorian fanfic #mandalorian fanfic #mandalorian fanfiction #the mandolorian x reader #mandalorian #mando #the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian fan fiction #the mandalorian fan fic #mandalorian fan fiction #mine

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hyperactively-me · 10 months

Text

sharing a bed

He turns his head at your suggestion, clearly thinking of it. “Or I could leave” you mumble, leaning on the side of the wall. He’s still on the ground next to his bag diverting his gaze from your form. “Mando, I can just find a different place to stay–” “No.”

just wanted to ask you guys to please read this

(asks are open)

happy reading

warnings: none

“So…” you draw out, unsure of what to make of the situation.

Mando lets out an awkward cough, readjusting the heavy bag hanging over his shoulder.

The single bed stands out in the room like a bantha on Hoth, imposing on the comfortable, distant relationship between you and him.

He steps further into the room and drops the bag on the floor of the room. He looks back at you with his ever-stoic expression, unmoving.

Suddenly, he bends down to the floor, fumbling with the zipper on the bag. You watch as he slides it open with ease, large hands digging through the bag, rummaging around for something. You’re sure that he was only going through his bag because of the awkwardness of the situation, to divert from the topic.

“I’ll take the floor” he grunts out, voice strained. You gulp quietly, still standing at the threshold of the door.

“Uh, no. Mando…I don’t think that's going to be comfortable at all” you watch as he turns his head to you, an unreadable expression dons his demeanor. He continues to stare at you, silence permeating the air.

“Why don’t we share it, it's obviously big enough for the both of us” you suggest casually, not wanting to instigate tension in the already tense atmosphere. He stiffens at the thought, hands abruptly halting from their movement.

Well this is just great! You’ve made him uncomfortable, way to go! you think to yourself, internally beating yourself up over your words.

“Unless it's the helmet…” you stumble out, timidly stepping through the threshold and into the small bedroom. “I can cover my eyes somehow” you twist your hands together, unsure of what to say.

He turns his head at your suggestion, clearly thinking of it.

“Or I could leave” you mumble, leaning on the side of the wall. He’s still on the ground next to his bag diverting his gaze from your form.

“Mando, I can just find a different place to stay–”

“No.”

You stand there, gawking at him. His sudden, forceful tone shakes you to your core, his authoritative nature coming out in full force. Your face reddens a bit from this singular word, your brain racking through all of his meanings and insinuations.

“No, I mean…”

He clenches his hands together, his leather gloves creaking from his actions. He stands up abruptly, a small sigh crackling through the modulator of his helmet. You push the door behind you closed and lean on it gently, waiting for his response. He watches you carefully, studying your movement. He slowly walks up to you, bringing his hands up to his belt. The broadness of his shoulders eclipses your vision. You gulp nervously, awkwardly standing in front of him.

“I- ‘m fine with it” he draws out, fidgeting with the belt loops around his fingers.

“All right then” you say matter of factly, brushing past him quickly, averting your face from his view.

You kick off your shoes and shed your jacket, tossing it carelessly on top of Mando’s bag. You pull back the covers of the bed and plop down onto the mattress with a sigh. Mando slowly moves his way towards the bed, shedding his own armor and boots, methodically and thoughtfully. He concentrates on the way he handles his chestplate, gently placing it down near his bag. He does the same for his shoulder plates and leg armor, again placing it quietly next to his chestplate. You lay back slightly, watching him as he strips down to only his underclothes, a soft black shirt and dark pants.

“About the helmet…I have a cloth for your eyes–” he articulates, jumbled by the premise of the situation.

“Oh, of course, I’m sorry–”

“No, it's not your fault–”

“Really, I could just, if you’re uncomfortable with removing the helmet I could–”

“No” he presses out once more, his voice assertive and strained. “Just, put this on. Please” he nearly begs, internally crumbling from the awkwardness of the situation.

He holds out the dark cloth in his now bare hand. His hand is calloused, skin a tanned, golden honey. Your hand brushes his as you take it, skin brushing against skin. You meticulously tie the dark fabric around your eyes, blocking the world out from vision, plunging into darkness. You lean back fully in the bed, your legs straight as a pin under the covers.

You hear the hiss of his helmet disengaging, a sound you’ve only heard once or twice before. Your breathing speeds up, afraid of breaching his trust by somehow messing up, even with the blindfold on. The helmet sounds heavy and hollow as he sets it down. The mattress dips underneath you as he climbs into the bed, his breathing shallow. You hear him gulp, his muscles tensing under the sheets. Keeping your eyes open becomes a battle of its own, and you succumb to slumber as you hear the steady breathing of Mando beside you.

When you open your eyes, you feel something heavy draped over your back. As you stumble into consciousness, you remember the night before, Mando reluctantly climbing into bed with you. Your breathing picks up, shaking any ounce of sleepiness from your mind. As you begin to sit up, his arm shifts around your torso, pulling you towards him and into his side.

“Mando” you hiss out, face reddening at his unconscious actions.

“Mando, wake up” you say louder this time, feeling extremely uncomfortable in this position. His grip on you tightens slightly, your face smushed into his side.

You hear him groan out in acknowledgement, stuck between the state of dreamland and consciousness. His hands flex, a sharp inhale escapes his unmodulated lips. You begin to struggle under his arms, thinking of all the accusations he could make up, thinking of the awkwardness to follow from this night, thinking he might just leave you behind at some outpost after this whale incident. All of a sudden, he shoots straight up, shoving you away from him with a strong force.

You’re nearly thrown off the side of the bed, a small shriek escaping your lips at the unanticipated action. You grip onto the sheets, holding yourself steady near what you presume is the edge of the bed. The blindfold only heightens your anxiety, the darkness providing no insight on what he was doing in the moment. You hear his breathing begin to even out, your own breath slowing down from the past few moments.

“Are you okay?” he huffs out, his voice so very clearly unmodulated, and it sounds wonderful.

You stutter out “Uh, yeah,” gulping at his words.

You hear the sound of his helmet engaging, a hiss emitting from the machinery. Your heart sinks a little, yearning for the sound of his voice to grace your ears for just a little longer.

“I’m sorry– You can take off the blindfold now” he stutters out, floundering around his words.

“Oh” you say stupidly, lifting your hands up to remove the cloth. Your eyes adjust to the bright light of the room, and you see Mando lifting himself out of the bed. You watch him as he hurriedly puts his armor on, rushing to fasten the clasps around his shoulders. He yanks his gloves on then picks up his bag, slinging it over his shoulder. You’re still sitting in the bed, a vacant expression hanging over your face as you watch him.

He looks over his shoulder and mutters out a quick “I’ll be ready outside when you’re ready” before throwing open the door and walking straight out of the room.

“...Okay then” you say, pushing yourself off the bed, a shade of red painting your face.

- - - - -

You lay in bed, eyes drooping, drowsy from sleepiness. You turn onto your back, stretching your legs and arms, a soft groan eliciting from your lips. Your eyes open a bit wider as a figure enters your vision.

Din.

A smile erupts from your face and you stretch your arms out towards him as he stalks over to the edge of the bed. You look up to him, your eyes raking over his form quickly. He’s wearing a soft black shirt with matching pants, and a small smile paints his face. The mattress dips under his weight as he gently climbs into the bed.. He crawls into your open arms, laying partially on top of you. You clasp your arms around his torso, drawing a contented sigh out from Din.

You bring one hand up to his hair, raking your fingers through his dark, curly locks, slowly and methodically. He buries his face in the crook of your neck, his hot breath spanning your skin.

“You’re so soft” Din groans out from your neck, his hands tightening around your torso.

A warm feeling washes over you, your cheeks slightly blushing from the low timbre of his voice. His stubble scratches the skin between your neck and shoulder, tickling your skin. You bring your hands down to his face and lift his head up gently, forcing him to stare straight at you. His eyes are lidded, chin now resting on the soft skin of your stomach.

“Hi” you whisper.

“Hi” he whispers back, a lop-sided smile on his face.

A soft look washes over his face, and he drags himself up to lean in closer to your face.

“Can I kiss you?” he mutters, eyes darting back and forth between your lips and your eyes. You blush, a smile creeping up on you. He’s only a few inches away from your face, you can see every lineament and wrinkle of his skin, the gruff stubble on his face, his wiry mustache, his deep, dark, beautiful, brown eyes. He smells like sandalwood and greenery, the scent peppery and strong.

You lean in, closing the small gap between you two. You press your lips to his, inhaling at the contact. Your hands come up around his shoulders, tugging on him, trying to pull him up your body. His stubble scratches your chin in the finest way, his lips are so soft. Din draws his body farther up yours, pushing you deeper into the bed, the mattress pressing down on both sides of your form. He bites your lip, slowly pulling away as he breaks contact.

It’s like he’s floating above you, the dim light haloing his hair. You’re both breathing hard, flustered from the intimacy of the kiss. Suddenly, he grabs onto you and flips you over, a small gasp erupting from your lips. You’re on top of him, well partly on top of him, and he’s looking at you like you’re everything to him. His eyes widen and your heart flutters, a full blown grin displayed on his face. You put your hands on his shoulders, steadying your position on top of him. You smile back at him, snuggling into his chest. A deep inhale slips away your lips, taking in his scent.

“Hard to believe you’re a big, scary, bounty hunter when you’re so cuddly like this” you beam, staring at nothing in particular.

He lets out a raspy chuckle, hands coming up to rest on your back.

“Yeah, hard to believe” he huffs out, rubbing your back slowly.

You sigh, content, allowing the atmosphere of peace and tranquility, softness and love, to consume you.

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netherfeildren · 6 months

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the cassandra complex chapter 8 : moodboard

the execution of lady jane grey, paul delaroche, (1833)

#TCC fic #tcc moodboard #din djarin fanfiction #the mandalorian fan fiction

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calumance · 1 year

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I’ve been writing a Din Djarin piece for like two weeks….and every time I read through it, I hate it. Send help. 🙃

#din djarin #din djarin fan fiction #din djarin x reader #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian fan fiction

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againstacecilia · 2 years

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Hold Me

Back with another late night Blurb Tuesday. I've been really feeling like ass the last few days so have some self-indulgent comfort from our favorite Metal Man. 💖

No real warnings here, reader is sick and Din comforts her. Calls her "sweet girl" and there's mention of brushing back hair but not a lot of description past that.

"Come on, sweet girl, you need to eat something." Din attempts to get you to eat some of the soup leftover from your last stop in a town big enough to have a tavern. It wasn't that you didn't want to, but the idea of any food in your stomach, even something tasty, was enough to send you spinning.

"Din, I can't I'm sorry," you nearly whine, hunger and nausea making you emotional. You try to sit up but immediately regret the movement and decide to sink lower in your blankets instead.

"Water, then," Din says, settling onto the floor next to your cot and lifting a canteen to your lips. You begrudgingly take a light sip and lean your head back.

The water settles into your stomach like lead but doesn't threaten to come back up on you, so you take another small drink and give the container back to Din. "I hope that helmet filters germs, this is awful."

Din's ungloved hand comes to wipe sweaty hair from your face. "It... It doesn't, but it's fine."

Too tired to argue, you close your eyes and lean into his comforting touch. As a girl, your mom used to let you lay in her lap when you were sick. She'd rub your back and play with your hair and make you mint tea... But that was over now, and you had to learn to be sick on your own.

"What do you need?" Din's voice whispers through the modulator near your ear. Tears spring to your eyes as your knee-jerk reaction falls too quickly from your lips:

"Hold me."

Without hesitation, your Mandalorian removes all his armor, save his helmet, and climbs into the cot beside you. He cradles you gently against his chest, whispering comfort and running his fingers through your hair. His hands trail down to your back and rub knots out of the tense muscles. The tears finally fall and don't stop, your body too exhausted to keep the dam up for any longer. After a few minutes, though, the raging storm inside you has calmed to a light breeze and your body has melted into the man holding you.

"You're definitely getting sick now." You sniffle into his shirt and wipe the tears from your eyes. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry," he pulls back and traces his knuckles along your jawline, "You can always tell me what you need. Always."

You nod and bury yourself back into his chest, the beating of his heart and rise and fall of his chest lulling you into a peaceful sleep.

#Blurb Tuesday #din djarin #din djarin fan fiction #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #star wars #star wars fan fiction #star wars fanfiction #the mandalorian #the mandalorian fan fiction #the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #mando #mando fan fiction #mando fanfiction #mando x reader #ceci writes

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phandoz · 2 years

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Cin Vhetin - Chapter Eight

Pairing: Din Djarin x OFC (eventually…)

Warnings: None this chapter I don't think. It is my writing though so there are probably some swears in there somewhere...

Din and Cara stop for help on their mission.

See notes at the end for mando'a translations.

Chapter Seven > Chapter Nine

Chapter Eight

It was early morning on Tatooine when Din's ship touched down in the Palace's hangar. The temperature was pleasant with the suns still low in the sky, far from the oppressive dry heat that Din knew would only be hours away.

It hadn't taken much convincing to get Cara to agree to ask Sana for help. He had assured her that he would not only vouch for her, but Fett and Shand would as well.

The latter of those two now stood at the bottom of the ship's ramp, hands behind her back as she watched them descend.

"Back so soon, Mando? Anyone would think you crave our company."

"Just one of you for now."

Din clasped Fennec's hand as they met while the two women shared a nod.

"We have a job for Sana if she is interested."

Fennec's head tilted in interestat Din, a knowing smirk spreading across her face. "Oh, I'm sure she will be very interested."

"Do you know where we could find her at this hour?"

"Of course. This way."

Din and Cara fell into step behind Fennec as she lead them lower into the palace. They had gone down so many sets of stairs that Din was beginning to wonder where exactly they were going.

"You're in for a treat." Fennec teased over her shoulder.

"How so?" Cara took the bait.

"She and Boba are sparring. It's always good for a laugh. Those two really know how to push each other buttons."

As they descended down yet another flight of stairs Din could begin to hear the tell tale clack of wood on wood. Spears of some sort then. Sana had said she favoured a staff so perhaps that. Regardless he found himself quickening his step as they finally rounded a corner into an open room. Various melee weapons lined one wall but his eyes were drawn to the fighters in the middle of the room. They arrived just in time to see Sana knocked hard to the floor.

Dust flew up from where she lay on her back in the dirt.

"Where is your mind Verd'ika?" Boba's gruff voice called out to her.

Despite being early in the day, it was already growing uncomfortably warm in the lower levels of the palace. Boba was breathing heavily as he held the training staff out to Sana so she could pull herself up from the floor.

She eyed the staff with distrust, twisting it from Boba's hand before he could use her own weapon against her. "I know your tricks, Fett."

"Not all of them. Where are you today? What is going through that head of yours?"

"Nothing of your concern." Sana replied cooly as the two began to circle each other, waiting for the other to move first.

"I can spar with one of the children if this is too much for you today."

At this Sana was the first to attack, the staff a blur as it swung at Boba's torso. To make the fight even the older mandalorian had shed his armour, making him unable to block with his vambrance as he usually would. Her strikes were relentless, the staff twirling with an elegant precision, but the grunt from Boba with each strike he blocked with his own staff gave an idea of the force behind each blow.

It was mesmerising in a way, watching her move almost as if it were a dance. Her anger had clouded her judgement though and Fett saw the opening at the same time as Din, Sana leaving her right side open as Boba quickly swung back, cracking his staff against her ribs.

Sana dropped to one knee and Dins hand twitched at his side.

"You're getting sloppy. Maybe you can get some lessons, I know a Mandalorian who would be more than happy to help." Boba tilted his head in question.

Fennec was right when she said that the two fighters knew how to push each other's buttons. Sana quickly stood at this with a renewed determination and the pair began circling each other once more.

This time it was Boba on the offensive, raining blows down on Sana in quick succession, her arms shaking with the force behind each hit.

"You're getting worse the longer you stay in that head of yours. I know you're better than this" Boba now blatantly taunted.

Sana snarled in annoyance and now it was Boba on the defensive as Sana advanced. She struck high before feigning low. Boba fell for it, stumbling backwards to protect his armourless legs. She raised her training staff high, looking like she was going for the final hit to which Boba raised his own for a block. It was in that moment Sana swung low and fast, sweeping his legs clean out from underneath him. Boba hit the deck hard and could barely lift his head before the blunt point of a training weapon was pointed at his throat.

"And you're getting slow in your old age." Sana bit out.

His head fell back to the ground with a dull thud, dropping his staff and raising his hands in surrender. "You got me. Much better." he smiled proudly.

Beating Boba was no easy feat but Sana simply smiled back, chest heaving in exertion. Din watched a bead of sweat trail down from her collarbone, her tank top sticking to her like a second skin, until it disappeared from sight. Fuck.

"Drinks on the old man tonight then!" Fennec began a slow clap, finally drawing Sana and Boba's attention to the newcomers in the room.

"Like they wouldn't have been anyway..." Sana laughed under her breath as she held her hand out to Fett. Helping him up off the ground, Boba embraced her in a rough half hug around her shoulders.

"You're not half bad when you pay attention."

Sana just grinned as she shrugged his arm off, rolling her eyes at Din and turned from them to place their weapons back in the rack.

"Mando, Marshall Dune." Fett nodded in greeting and Din's attention was torn from watching Sana's back. "To what do we owe the pleasure?"

Marshall? Sana's back stiffened where she stood facing away from the others. Shit. She didn't think her chain code was linked to anything these days but she couldn't be sure. This woman though, a shock trooper judging by the tattoos that were proudly on display, she looked familiar.

"We were hoping to speak to Sana." Mando finally spoke up as he looked to her.

Well, shit. "Is now the time to say that I didn't do it?"

The Marshall laughed before extending her hand. "Cara Dune. Marshall of Nevarro."

Nevarro. Ah, that would be it. Sana strode forward and shook hands with the woman in blue. She had a firm handshake, enough for Sana to know that she would be hard to beat in a fight without weapons. Hopefully it wouldn't come to that. It appeared that her and Din were friends at least.

"I don't even want to know what I could bring you in for. I'm here on Mando's recommendation. He assures me that you're good for a job."

Thank the maker. "Does he now?!" It didn't go unnoticed to Sana that Mando stood straighter at her raised eyebrow. He seemed... nervous.

"Well, It's disgustingly hot down here already so lets move upstairs, I'll be with you once I've changed. Meet me in my rooms in say fifteen? Mando knows the way."

Boba and Fennec were snickering at some unheard joke between themselves that must've been at Sana's expense. Sana shouldered Fett into the weapons rack on her way upstairs which only caused him to laugh even louder.

"Children..." Sana muttered before she disappeared round the corner.

Sana and Fett were like brother and sister with the way they constantly needled at each other. It was teasing on the surface but Din knew they both cared for the other deeply, just as siblings would. He envied them in a way. He turned from watching Sana leave to find Cara looking at him, brow arched in question to which he simply shrugged.

After Cara spoke with Fett and Shand for what felt like long enough, he and Cara made their way to her rooms. Din had long since been given access to a majority of the Palace by Boba, including the floor where Sana's rooms were. He knocked gently once they reached her door.

At her muffled "Come in!", he and Cara entered her rooms, coming to stand in her kitchen. Sana appeared from her bedroom and gestured they sit through a mouthful of hair pins. Din watched as she tied her hair back, her fingers twisting expertly and placing pins here and there. It was still damp from the fresher and he could smell the faint scent of her shampoo through the filters of his helmet. It smelled of citrus and some spice. Ginger, perhaps. It suited her. He wondered what it smelled like without his helmet.

"So, this job?"

That snapped him out of his, whatever it was, and he cleared his throat, sitting up straighter in the plush chairs where they were now seated.

"Intel." Cara began and Din was glad that she took over the conversation.

"And it's for the Republic?"

"Strictly speaking, no. Not officially at least."

"What do you need?"

"I'm certain we were in the right place for the information we need but the locals were pretty tight lipped. We need someone that will blend in, see what they can find out that we couldn't.

Sana lowered her eyes to Cara's tattoos and badge and back up. "Strange. Between you and the walking mirror over here you're about as subtle as they come."

Din simply sighed.

"Then you can see our problem here." Cara laughed before getting to the serious details. "There are rumours of a trafficking ring..."

The three of them were in hyperspace not even two hours later. Din had a gut feeling that the planet from which they had just left before coming to Tatooine held the information that Cara was after. After all of his years of bounty hunting he knew when to trust that feeling.

From where he sat in the cockpit he could hear the two women speaking back in the kitchen, the conversation broken with laughter every so often. It hadn't taken much convincing for Sana to agree to help them. He thought it was just an opportunity for her to get off world again, but once Cara explained why they were after the intel a look had crossed her face, and Din knew that she would agree.

An emerging trafficking ring in the Outer Rim that was making big enough waves to be picked up on the Republic's radar. The Republic didn't hold as much sway in the Outer Rim as they thought they did. There was an avoidance if not straight out distrust of them so it was no surprise that people were hesitant to speak to a Marshall.

And for Din? Well, he was used to people avoiding him as much as possible. In fact he normally enjoyed it. Until it interfered with his work.

Once he was done checking their progress and that their course was still set correctly, Din headed back to join the others. They weren't far out now.

"So, I left him out front of the very same establishment. Cuffed him to the column closest to the door. I got an extra thousand credits from the Madam for my 'thoughtfulness'."

Cara was broken, in tears of laughter, and even Din was intrigued at the conversation he had stumbled into. "Do I want to know?" He announced his presence.

Sana's face was lit up, eyes bright, when she turned to him from where she and Cara sat at the kitchen counter of his ship. The only explanation she gave him being a "Probably not."

"I'll take your word for it. So," he leaned back against the wall opposite the two women and crossed his arms. "What's the plan?"

Wiping a tear from her eye, Cara finally spoke up. "Well," she cleared her throat before turning to Sana. "Mando and I haven't had much luck getting anything out of the locals, but everything points to this planet being where things started. People must be desperate if they're willing to contact the New Republic in these parts, but they're scared enough of whoever it is that they aren't willing to be seen talking to us. There's been multiple reports of women going missing."

"I can try and get myself picked up?" Sana suggested but was quickly cut off by Mando.

"Absolutely not."

"Give me a tracker," she shrugged, "I'm happy to do it."

"No." Mando was firm. "We need information but not at that much of a risk."

"Right..." Cara glanced between the two of them where they stared at each other. "But I'm with Mando on this one, we just need information for now."

"We're about twenty minutes out. I'll give you the coordinates for a cantina that we tried when we were last here." Din had already started punching buttons on his vambrance. "It was sketchy and the people there were nervous. They know something and they weren't willing to share with us. That will be your best starting point."

"Alright, let me see what I can do."

Sana was perched as daintily as she could manage on the edge of a stool at the cantina Din had directed her to. She'd shopped briefly for a change of clothes that was far from her usual attire and allowed her to blend into the dull planet.

Sketchy was a kind description of the cantina but she agreed with Din. Somebody here knew something.

"Excuse me," She raised her fingers meekly to be served. Once she received her drink, Sana merely sat and observed. Any eye contact she made with fellow patrons she quickly broke by staring down at her feet. Slouched in on herself and trying to project weakness, it made her skin crawl to see how that appealed to at least one of the men here. Fortunately she wasn't the only one who noticed this either.

"You need to be careful around these parts." The old woman next to her at the bar looked down her crooked nose at her. Sana guessed that the scowl on the woman's face was permanent. "A young woman like yourself is an easy target for those who frequent this place."

"I don't know," Sana spoke quietly. "You could probably say the same of any planet in the galaxy."

"You could, but not like this."

Sana's eyes widened slightly in fear and let the silence hang. She had come into the cantina under the premise of asking for work, anything to try and gather the information that Din and Cara were seeking. This woman would tell her what she needed to know.

As if on cue the woman straightened her shoulders, her stern eyes glancing around the room before leaning in closer.

"Folk have gone missing. Well, women. Around the age of you, more specifically."

"Missing?" Sana made her voice quiver. "What do you mean?"

"Taken."

"By who?"

"Smugglers." The old woman looked around again before adding even more quietly. "Smugglers with links to Imperials."

"But- But the Empire is gone."

"And you believe that?"

"I- Yes, yes I do." Sana whispered, keeping up the act.

"Then you're more naïve than I thought."

"But what would the Empire want with a bunch of women?" Sana fished for more.

"Look, I don't know and frankly, I don't want to. I don't have any work for you, but I do have some advice. Don't hang around here. Get yourself off this maker forsaken planet before you end up on Jakku with the rest of those poor souls."

Jakku. Bingo.

Thanking the woman, Sana lifted her cloak over her head and made her way back to the ship where Din and Cara were waiting. Taking the long way and doubling back to make sure she wasn't being followed she finally slipped into the hangar. The ramp was down and waiting for her, Din no doubt watching her approach. Pressing the panel to close the ramp she turned and was greeted by the pair.

"You weren't followed?" Din spoke first.

"No. I took the long way and doubled back. We're clear."

"Good." He leaned back against the wall behind the shock trooper looking far more broad than should be allowed. Why must he insist on standing like that? Maker, it was distracting.

"So, how did you go?"

"Good." She drew her eyes back to Cara.

The Marshall brightened at this, glancing over her shoulder at Din where he pushed off the wall, thumb hanging on the holster at his hip. Fucking hell...

"Jakku." Sana swallowed before adding. "That's where they are taking them."

"And you got that information how exactly?" The modulated voice came from over Cara's shoulder.

"When you look harmless people will tell you anything."

"You are far from harmless."

"But they don't know that." Sana smiled. She could feel heat rising in her checks at his words. "I will take that as a compliment, you know."

"As you should. I highly enjoyed watch you put Fett on his ass." Sana could hear the grin in his voice and smiled more widely back at him before Cara cleared her throat and she was reminded that there was another person in the room.

She needed to get out of here. "I'm going to get changed before we lift off. I'll give you the full run down then." She announced before excusing herself to her usual quarters on Dins ship.

Alone in the hold, Cara broke the silence between her and Din

"Well, that was fruitful."

"It was."

"So Sana?..."

Din simply looked at Cara. He managed to hold in his sigh at the direction this conversation was taking.

"A friend huh?" Cara pushed.

"Yes."

"You look at all your friends like that?"

"Like what?"

"You tell me. You're the one who won't stop looking at her."

"I wasn't aware you could see my eyes." He tried his best to avoid this line of questioning.

"Oh, I don't need to." She let that comment hang for moment before putting him out of his misery. "Come on, let's get out of here before I have to watch you flirt with anyone else."

"Excuse me?" He wasn't flirting. Was he? Din didn't even think he knew how to flirt.

"You heard me, come on lover boy..."

"Imperials?"

They were running through what information Sana was able to gather for what felt like the fiftieth time.

"That's what the old woman said." Sana confirmed. "Was pretty certain of it too."

"I mean it does make sense that if there were any remaining supporters around that they would be hiding out here in the Outer Rim. But Trafficking women?" Cara looked thoughtful. "It doesn't seem like their style. Why?"

Sana was equally as stumped. Cara was right, it didn't add up. "Normally I would agree with you but I really don't think she's lying."

Din was however noticeably quiet at the mention of Imperials. Understandable, given his past, Sana thought. He had excused himself to the cockpit to begin their landing in Nevarro.

"I'll report this to the higher ups and see what happens from there."

The ship jolted lightly as they came to a rest on the barren surface of Nevarro. The two women walked to the ramp, Cara waiting for it to meet the ground in a cloud of black dust before making her way down.

Sana paused before following her. She was almost hesitant to leave the safety of the ship. Nevarro held... memories, and not many of them were good.

"I really can't thank you enough." Cara broke her from her thoughts before they could spiral any further. "Are to sure you won't stay for a drink?"

"I should get back to Tatooine." Nevarro still felt a bit too raw. "Thanks for the invite though. And the invite for the drink."

"You can thank Mando for that first one. I couldn't hut him up from singing your praises."

Sana heard Din's deep sigh from behind her. She hadn't even heard him make his way from the cockpit.

"You know what he's like." Sana played along. "So dramatic." The two of them laughing at Din's expense.

"Are you done?" He grumbled

"Yes, your highness."

"Dune..." Din growled in warning

Cara held her hands up in defence before turning to Sana. "If I need your help again, are you in?

"Of course."

"Good to know." The Marshall hiked her pack higher on her shoulder before casually saluting over her shoulder with an "Until next time."

Sana and Din stood at the bottom of the ramp and watched Cara's retreating form until it was swallowed by the crowds. Nevarro had changed even more from when she was last here. For the better by the looks of things.

"I have to meet Karga briefly." Din spoke from behind her. "He's the Guild Master here. You're welcome to join me."

"Thank you, but I might stay here." She wasn't sure that she could face the town today. "Catch up on some sleep before getting back."

"Of course." He glanced at the busy crowd in the distance. "I'll be back as soon as I can. If you need anything you can comm me from the cockpit. Lock the ship behind you."

"You are such a Dad." Sana smiled until she realised her mistake. Din's shoulders sank slightly and he swallowed deeply.

You idiot, Sana.

"I won't be long." was all he offered in response before striding towards the gate into the town alone, his tattered cape blowing in the suplhur scented breeze behind him.

Notes:

So I haven't posted anything since April...

*pokes head out from under rock*

I have finished off a major project at work now so my life now has significantly more free time and I'm looking forward to getting back into writing.

The last paragraph of this fic just popped into my brain while working the other day and I had to drop everything to write it down. Now I have something to aim for but I also have to get there. Shit...

As always, if you’ve made it this far and would like to read more, let me know and I’ll add you to the taglist for future chapters.

Translations:

Verd'ika: Can mean private as in the military rank or affectionately, often to a child to mean ‘little soldier’. Boba’s nickname for Sana is him being facetious.

#the mandalorian fan fiction #the mandalorian #din djarin #the mandalorian x ofc #din djarin x ofc #mandalorian fanfic #mandalorian fic #din djarin x original female character

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icecreambeach · 1 year

Text

no man's space - CH3

Pairing: Din Djarin/Boba Fett Rating: Explicit Words: 20,274 Chapters: 3/3 Tags: Touch-Starved Din Djarin, Let Din Say Fuck, Din Djarin Needs a Huge, Trauma, Grief, Religious Trauma, Westerns, Space Opera, Unreliable Narrator, Pansexual Din Djarin, Pansexual Boba Fett, in space everyone's pan, Boba on that throne changed a whole generation huh, BDSM, it's light for now, Din Djarin Doesn't Remove the Helmet, for now, Protective Boba Fett, Dom Boba Fett, Sub Din Djarin, Brat Din, brat taming, a little bit, Cultural Differences, Isolation, Din Djarin is Bad at Flirting, or is he?, Violence, Blood, canon with a sepia filter, or maybe a high-contrast one

Summary: Shortly after reuniting Grogu with his own kind, Din Djarin seeks the same. But he needs information. Luckily, he has a friend who has recently come into some wealth and is all too happy to give Din what he needs.

[I can't include an excerpt from this chapter because it's all either spoilers or Nasty. Go with God comrade.]

#the mandalorian fan fiction #bobadin #bobadin fanfic #din djarin #boba fett #the mandalorian #the book of boba fett #star wars

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toomanystoriessolittletime · 29 days

Text

Mine

Summary: A speeder ride with you gets Din more worked up than he anticipated. Good thing there's no one around and he could just... take care of his little problem.

Pairing: Din Djarin x fem. reader

Wordcount: 1.5k

Rating: E

Warnings: established relationship, smut (public sex, unprotected sex), feelings, Din is just really horny for his girl, marriage proposals

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The heat was slowly killing you.

You still weren’t sure why Din insisted you had to come with him to visit Cobb Vanth. Not that you didn’t like spending time with Din. Especially one on one time with Grogu staying behind with Peli.

But hourlong rides on a speeder through the hot desert were something you very much did not like.

No matter how close you got to sit in front of Din while he piloted the speeder back towards civilisation. It would be a couple more hours before you would reach the gates of the city and you allowed your head to rest back against Din’s chest, the Beskar of his chest plate surprisingly cool to your heated skin.

You had pulled a linen cloth over your head after getting sunburned so bad once before, only bacta helped, your head and body now shielded from the sun. Maybe you could sleep. Din wouldn’t let you fall from the speeder.

Din on the other hand was slowly dying.

You were constantly wiggling against him, trying to get comfortable. He heard every single sigh you released, could practically hear your thoughts.

He knew how much you hated being out in the heat and on a speeder.

You had told him about the accident you had with your father when you were younger, how only sitting on a speeder now made you uneasy. And he knew he should have left you back in the city. Maybe pay for a more comfortable room at an inn so you could enjoy some relaxing quiet time now that you were all free.

But the selfless part of him wanted to have you with him on this little expedition. He had planned to ask you to marry him last night when you had smiled at him in the moonlight, but the words had been stuck in his throat, overwhelmed with how lucky he was to call you his.

You continued to wiggle in front of him, most likely trying to figure out a position that would be comfortable for the next few hours.

Which was fine. He wanted you comfortable.

The problem was all your wiggling against his crotch made him hard.

See, last night he had many plans for you, plans that involved celebrating you hopefully saying yes to his proposal, but you ended up being so exhausted from the day long travel that he had to carry you to your bed where he watched over you all night instead of making you scream his name.

It was insane to travel back today but Cobb hadn’t even been there for their meet up and you both decided it was better to travel back and then leave the planet.

Somewhere colder.

Somewhere he would finally ask you to marry him.

„Din?“ He heard you ask. He tilted his helmeted head towards you, feeling you shiver as the cold Beskar rubbed over your skin, the linen cloth falling from your face.

„Can you find a spot for a quick break? Somewhere with shade?“ You asked.

„Of course,“ he promised, already looking around, the many sensors in his helmet looking for a spot, finding one only a few minutes later.

You hummed satisfied as you saw the spot he was approaching with the speeder, a mountain formation with some dead trees in front of it.

Din groaned when you pushed your body back against him and he could hear your gasp of surprise when you felt him hard against your ass.

The speeder slowed down until he parked it right under one of the old trees in the shade and he took a deep breath, enjoying the little shade the mountains and trees were providing.

The spot looked like a dried out waterhole.

You closed your eyes, pulling the fabric that covered your face down completely to take a deep breath, your body resting against Din’s.

He brought one of his gloved hands down to rest on your thigh, squeezing it lightly. Biting your lip you pushed your ass against his crotch and you felt him tense for a moment before his other arm wrapped around your middle, pulling you even closer against him.

„All your wiggling made me hard,“ he groaned and a small smile came to your lips.

„And you driving this made me wet,“ you said and his fingers on your thigh tensed.

„What are you gonna do about it?“ You challenged and you could feel the deep breath he took, his chest rising against your back before his hand dropped down between your legs, cupping your clothed pussy.

„I’m gonna fuck you on this speeder. In the middle of the desert,“ he said and you hummed.

„Yes,“ you gasped, his fingers rubbing against you. Your lips parted, your head falling back against his chest.

The next moment he was off the speeder, turning you around so you were sitting with your back towards the handlebar, his hands protectively keeping you up as he stood between your legs. His helmet tilted, looking down at you and you sucked your bottom lip in, letting go off his hands, to take your top off, hearing him groan through the modulator of his helmet as you exposed yourself to him.

He ripped his gloves off, his hands cupping your tits in his big palms.

„Such a good girl for me. Letting me fuck you out in the open, huh?“ He hummed and you nodded eagerly, and he pinched one of your nipples, making you moan.

„Lay down for me,“ he whispered and you slowly let your back lay down on the worn leather of the speeder, your hands coming to rest behind you, holding onto the handlebar.

Din’s hands ran up your thighs until his fingers hooked into the waistband of the pants you were wearing,

„Up,“ he hummed and you obeyed, arching your back first so he could pull your pants and panties down before you raised your legs and he took them all the way off, leaving you laying completely naked in front of him.

„Maker, you’re beautiful,“ he said in awe and you smiled up at him as he stepped closer, his hands parting your legs, his finger slipping through your wet pussy, humming as he found you wet and ready for him.

Biting your bottom lip you watched him as he unbuckled his belt, followed by the sound of his zipper and finally his hand pulled his beautiful cock out of his pants, his fingers closing around his length, pumping it slowly as his helmet tilted down to look at your pussy.

Your eyes closed as he used the tip of his cock to play with your clit, circling it before he slipped it through your pussy, pushing into you just so the tip filled you before he pulled out again, playing with your clit again.

„Always so wet for me,“ he praised and you whined, one of your legs hooking behind him, wanting him inside of you.

„Please Din,“ you whimpered, looking up at him, „Fuck me,“

And finally he did, pushing his cock into you in one deep thrust, pushing the air out of your lungs as he filled you completely.

„Yes….“ You moaned and he slowly began to move at first, letting you stretch around him, getting used to his girth, because no matter how often you took him, it was always a stretch. His hands pulled at your legs so they were laying over his shoulders before he took hold of your hips, fucking into you faster, harder, making you cry out.

„Wanna make you mine,“ he grunted, his fingers digging into your skin as he fucked you harder.

„I’m yours. Always will be,“ you whined, already feeling close.

„Yeah?“ He asked and you nodded.

„Fuck yes,“ he groaned, changing the angle of how he was fucking into you, hitting that one spot that made you see stars, and you moaned his name.

„There it is,“ he said, and you could hear the smile in his voice.

„You gonna be my good girl and cum for me?“ He asked and you only nodded, your lips parting, gasping for air every time his cock hit that spot. It only took another couple of his thrusts for you to cum, body shaking as he fucked you through your orgasm.

„Always get so fucking tight for me. Gonna make me cum,“ he groaned and you nodded.

„Please Din. Please cum inside me. I wanna feel it,“ you whimpered, clenching around him as he continued to fuck into you, a small smile sneaking to your lips as you felt him twitch, inside of you, pumping his cum into you moments later, groaning your name until he stilled, his cock still inside of you.

You let go of your grip around the handlebars when he reached for you, letting him pull you up against his chest, shivering when you felt the cold Beskar against your skin.

Your eyes were closed when you saw him reach for his helmet, pulling it up just so he could kiss you softly, his lips moving over yours.

„Marry me,“ hummed against your lips and your lips parted in surprise, your arms crossing behind his back, wanting to be even closer.

„Yes,“ you smiled, shrieking when he pulled his helmet off to kiss you properly.

#my fic #Din Djarin #Din Djarin x fem. reader #Pedro Pascal #din djarin fanfiction #Mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian #pedro pascal fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfic #fan fiction

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