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absurdthirst · 1 month

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Unexpectedly Mated {Alpha!Mando x F!Omega!Reader}

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 6.1k

Warnings: Alpha/Omega dynamics, heats, denying biological needs, religious creeds, removing your helmet, jealousy, territorial aggression, fingering, first kisses, vaginal sex, rough sex, knotting, mates, marking

Comments: Forbidden to remove your helmet by Creed, Mandalorians deny their basic biological needs as Alphas and Omegas. The helmet blocks the scant of their true mate. Until an open air vent leads Mando to discover that you are his omega.

Co-written with @storiesofthefandomlovers

*** When reblogging or talking about Omegaverse, please remember that ‘a/b/o’ without the slash punctuation marks (/) is considered a slur for the Aboriginal people in Australia.

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|| MasterList || The Mandalorian MasterList ||

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

“You must never remove your helmet.” The creed and these words drilled into you at a young age and you have never forgotten, would never be allowed to forget. The creed comes before all else. The covert comes before the individual. In a galaxy full of alphas, omegas, and betas…Mandalorians stood alone. Defying their biological status to better the covert, to keep the numbers up. You wear the helmet to not only protect your face but to keep you from recognizing your mate. The scent recognition of a mate is instant so the Mandalorian solution is to wear helmets with filters so that one can breed with anyone they prefer. Their minds are clouded with scent so the desire is the driving factor. The younglings are raised by the covert as a unit so the aim is to repopulate Mandalore. You suppress your omega urges with supplements and you’ve yet to breed. Too busy with bounty hunting alongside a certain Din Djarin. You’re drawn to him, that’s for sure, but you’ve never bred with him. He’s not interested in a family, in an ad. He wants credits. He wants to protect the foundling under his care and you’ve gone along for the ride.

“Din.” Your modulated voice calls out to him as he strides ahead of you after you reunited the frog woman with her husband. “The kid needs to eat.” You tell him, knowing you need to find the nearest cantina.

The sigh Din gives you is one of frustration and resignation. He likes the kid, he’s risked a lot to protect him, even his covert. The sins he has committed weigh heavily on his shoulders and he nods. “Come on.” He grumbles to the little one. “I know you’re hungry, we’ll get you something to eat.” Hopefully the Crest will be fixed soon. Unable to take off his helmet unless he is in his bunk is starting to frustrate him, the hermetically sealed space is starting to feel stale with the cycled air and he longs for a single breath of fresh air. He had also hoped to slip away for a moment, needing to find a medical facility to replace his implant. It had been damaged from his fight with Moff Gideon and he’s not had time to have it seen to. While he doesn’t visit a brothel or find a sexual partner often, he can feel the need to rut building up in his system. The alpha side he tries to suppress starts to bleed through his normally calm demeanor.

You sit with the kid in the cantina, snorting when Din saves him from his own lunch and you glance around at the sailors. They mention Mandalorians and you are surprised to hear of your kind here, especially since Din wants to find them so he can help the kid return to his own planet. “Before we head off, maybe we can freshen up. I need to use the fresher and I’m sure you also want some time out of beskar.”

He groans at the idea of time outside the suit. Letting his skin breath and maybe he can work in a quick tug on his cock while he’s in the ‘fresher. “We’ll have to get rooms.” He reminds you, his head tilting towards yours. “Do you want to do that?”

You nod, “that sounds like a plan. I’m sure this one needs a nap after everything.” You say, reaching out to caress the kid’s ear. He coos at you and finishes his broth with a loud slurp. “Let’s find somewhere.” You say and throw some credits down for the broth. Din nods and you’re soon following him into the inn nearby. You are eager for a shower and some time out of the heavy beskar. Despite wearing it since you were a kid, you have always been weighed down by it. Din gets two rooms and you nod at him when he carries the now sleeping child into the room.

The child’s eyes never open, making Din chuckle quietly as he closes the pod and sets it in the corner of the room. Looking around to make sure the windows are covered before he reaches up and unlatches the edge of his helmet and groans quietly when he pulls it off his head. His hair is sweaty, but immediately the scent of the outside world is much more vivid. Making him inhale deeply and growl quietly at how good it all smells. Being an alpha as a Mandalorian was tricky, his own scent blocked by the helmet, but others could smell him. Making things difficult for him at times, especially when he cannot even walk around his own ship with his helmet unsealed because you are with him. Now, he sits on the edge of the bed, with his eyes closed and breathes deep, unaware that the vent between your two rooms has not been closed.

You hum as you tilt your head under the water. An actual shower instead of the ‘fresher on the ship is a welcome surprise. You don’t realize the vent in your room is open so Din can smell you as your omega scent wafts through the room, warmed up from the shower and the water flowing onto your face blocks you from smelling Din.

It’s subtle at first. A teasing waft that caresses his nose and makes his cock twitch. The beautiful, heady scent of an omega. Making him groan quietly until the next wave hits him. His omega. The scent overwhelms him and he’s immediately hard, aching and desperate to claim the omega who is meant to be his mate. His mate. His eyes widen when he sees the vent opened, called to it as he follows the scent. It’s the vent that connects your room to his. You’re his mate.

You can feel a tugging in your stomach when you step out of the shower and you frown, wondering if you’re going to go into heat soon. You’ll need to get some more suppressants since you don’t have the time to spend days nesting while you are with Din. He doesn’t want you to be a needy omega holding him back from his quest. You dry off, shutting the door to the bathroom behind you and you lay down on the bed, unable to stop your hand from snaking down to rub your clit, a whimper escaping your lips.

Din snaps the vent closed. Hand curling into a fist as he pants against the shared wall. You’re his mate, his omega. His mind whirls as he tries to reconcile that new information with the stalwart and steady Mandalorian he has been bounty hunting with. He won’t deny that he wondered about fucking you before, it’s only natural that he would given how close you had been. His cock throbs as he imagines you in your armor, slowly stripping it off and walking around your room nude. Building a nest and begging him to join you. “Fuck.” He hisses.

You fall asleep naked on the bed after making yourself cum, relieving the ache in your stomach, enjoying being out of your beskar. You sleep until there’s a knock on the door and you groan, waking up and immediately grabbing your helmet to slide it onto your head. “It’s time to go.” Din says and you call out, “no problem. I’ll get ready and be right out.”

You redress in your beskar, your stomach still aching but you decide you’ll seek out some suppressants later. Opening the door, you find Din standing there with the kid. “Morning buddy.” You coo to the child and look up at Din who looks tense. “Everything okay?” You ask him, tilting your helmet.

You know that Din can be all business but there’s something off about him. You ignore it and follow Din down the hall to find the sailors who are granting you passage on their boat to find the Mandalorians that are apparently on the planet. Later on, you admire the water as the raft moves along, glancing at Din who is stiff, well, stiffer than normal. “Are you sure you’re okay?” You ask softly, the sailors moving around behind you.

“Let me go!” You growl in anger, swinging your arm to fling a sailor into the water. Using your strength to try and untangle yourself from the ropes when Din and the child are in danger and that’s when they appear: the Mandalorians.

The redhead who introduced herself as Bo Katan shakes her head. “I’ve heard of your sect of the religion but Maker…I didn’t know how far it went in controlling its followers. On Mandalore, we wish for alphas and omegas to find their mate, it makes for stronger bonds, stronger families. We don’t - that is not something we dictate.” You swallow harshly as her words, feeling a tugging in your stomach that makes you want to lean towards Din but you push that aside. “You can remove your helmet and you would not be dar'manda.” Bo Katan explains and you’re so tempted.

Din stands up, angry at them for tempting him, tempting you. He shakes his head. “You are not mandalorian.” He growls, reaching down and takes your arm to pull you to your feet. “We are leaving.” He tells you, turning and striding away from the group angrily.

You let Din guide you out of the cantina and you sigh, “Din. Slow down. Maybe…maybe they are telling the truth. As Mandalorians, we are denying our biological need. We are denying nature itself. Why? What- what good is it?” You ask him, the child in the pouch nestled against his hip.

“What good is it?” Din stops and spins around, crowding you slightly and even though you cannot smell it, pheromones pour off of him in heavy waves. All this talk of mates and finding out you are his has him desperate to claim you. To take what is his. “The Creed. That is what good it is. Our secrecy is our survival. We. Do. Not. Remove. Our. Helmets.”

You shake your helmet, stumbling back away from him. “I do not want to breed with whomever the armorer tells me to. I want to find my mate. I want to feel complete.” You yell, quickly flicking the lock to your helmet and you waste no time lifting it off of your head in public for the first time since you were twelve. It hits you immediately. His scent. He’s an alpha. Your alpha. “You- oh Maker. Alpha.” You address him, your stomach twisting with sudden need for him.

Din hisses, his body jerking at the tone of your voice, the submissive nature of it. Calling to him. His hands curl into fists and he moves, shielding you from any eyes that could possibly see your face. “Put your helmet on.” He demands roughly, knowing that he cannot do this right now. He cannot have this conversation with you in the middle of a spaceport.

Your lower lip trembles, feeling the rejection, and you shove your helmet back on your head, flicking the lock and his scent is replaced with fresh air through the filter. “Clearly you do not wish to have me as your omega so I am going to go back to the cantina. Perhaps another alpha can help with my heat.” You didn’t get a chance to pick up suppressants and the scent of your alpha has your stomach twisting with the sudden heat, the urge to mate and be claimed by him has you sweating already. You need to be touched and as much as you wish for it to be him, it’s obvious that he doesn’t want that. You spin on your heel before he can answer to make your way back into the cantina.

Growling, Din watches you walk off. Sighing when he knows he cannot follow you. The child is still beside him, looking up and cooing at him as if to tell him that he had fucked up. “Come on kid.” He grunts, turning and walking away from you even though his entire body is screaming to follow you. “I need to find someone to watch you.” He knows he cannot have a conversation with you around the kid, around anyone. He needs to find another room, then he will bring you back for a talk.

You want to take off your helmet and down a spotchka or five, but Din’s command to not remove your helmet is ringing in your ears. You sit at the bar when you feel a presence next to you. “What’s a Mandalorian omega doing all alone?” He asks and you snort, “I haven’t got an alpha.” You state despite your chest aching, knowing you have an alpha but he doesn’t want you. On your walk to the cantina, you realized that Din didn’t question being your alpha. Which means he must’ve taken his helmet off at some point and found out. You wonder how long he’s known. Why he had kept it from you. “That’s good news for me, sweetheart. I’ve never been with a Mandalorian before and it smells like you might be needing an alpha at any moment.” He says, leaning closer and your stomach pangs with the beginning of a heat.

“I- I ran out of suppressants.” You confess, turning towards him despite everything in you wanting to run to find Din.

The Frog Lady had agreed to watch the baby, leaving Din to go back to the little inn where you had stayed last night and get another room. He knows that he owes you a conversation, a real conversation and he cannot do that in public. Once he has the key, Din tucks it into his belt and sets off for the cantina. He knows you are angry at him, hurt. He wants to give you time to cool down for a moment, to think rationally again. To remember your creed so both of you can agree that nothing will happen until you can find the armorer again and speak with her. Striding confidently towards the seedy little bar, he is sure that it would work.

You giggle when the alpha leans in, telling you a joke about Jawas and you are distracted for a moment from talking about your heat. He offers to buy you a drink but you decline, not wanting to take your helmet off, but it’s nice to talk to someone without them just giving you a grunt as an answer. You unconsciously lean closer to the alpha, your body heated as your biological need threatens to overwhelm you.

Walking into the bar, Din unlocks his helmet, unsealing it so he can smell you. Attraction and arousal, pouring from you and he follows the scent. Finding you sitting at the bar, another alpha leaning in, obviously interested in touching you, fucking you. The need to protect you roars to life in his chest and his alpha nature rips through his self control. Moving quickly to you, barely resisting the urge to pull his blaster on the cocksure alpha who is grinning at his mate. “Get the fuck away from her.” He growls, shoving between the two of you and puffing up his chest, towering over the other man and trying to be as intimidating as possible.

You gasp at Din’s sudden appearance and you stand up from your stool. “Alpha.” You place your hand on Din’s chest plate to keep him back from the other alpha.

“Hey buddy. Me and this omega were talking.” The alpha says and you wince under your helmet, knowing that he needs to shut up before he gets a blaster in the face.

“Din, just leave him.” You huff, pissed that he is dictating what you can and can’t do.

“My omega.” Din growls, his hand inches away from his blaster and he stares hard at the man from behind his visor. “Move away.” He warns but the man scoffs and doesn’t look impressed.

“She doesn’t seem taken. She seems like she’s real interested in getting to know me. ‘Bout to go into heat, needs an alpha buried in her cunt, knotting her.”

His words make you wince as you know Din, any alpha, wouldn’t allow them to speak about their omega that way. “It’s obvious you haven’t claimed her. What’s wrong, Mando? Not got the balls to do what needs to be done. She doesn’t smell like you. She smells wet. She smells ready for a cock. Clearly you aren’t enough for her. She wants to get fucked.” The alpha smirks, pushing Din’s buttons even more.

Din’s hand shoots out, wrapping it around the other alpha’s throat and squeezing harshly. Enjoying the way his pheromones immediately turned to ones of distress and his eyes bulge while his blue skin turns purple as the airways are cut off by the pressure of Din’s hand. “My omega.” Din rasps out, voice dangerously low and threatening. “Mine. Not yours. Mine.” The urge to kill him is clouding his thoughts, to demonstrate that you are his. That he would protect you.

“Alpha. Alpha. Don’t. He’s not worth it. I’m yours. I’m yours.” You promise Din, knowing that fact deep within your bones but you’re still furious with him. You place your hands on his chest plate, your helmet tilted towards his, “please. Just take me back to the inn. Don’t do this.”

Slowly, Din relaxes his fingers and lets go. Getting immense satisfaction when the other alpha gasps for air and immediately grabs his throat. He grabs your hands and ducks his shoulder down, hauling you over his shoulder like he would a bounty. Ignoring your shrieks as he storms out of the cantina with you.

You are shocked that Din is carrying you back to the inn and, you can admit to yourself, turned on by the primal display. "Din. Put me down!" You demand but he ignores you until he's in front of the room he had gotten for you. Finally putting you down. "I can't believe you did that." You shake your helmet and he opens the door.

"Inside." He demands and you obey him immediately, stepping into the room. Din steps into the room, letting the door close and locking it behind him. “You were going to let him touch you?” He demands, pissed off that you were searching for someone, despite the fact that he had not immediately claimed you.

You feel defiant now despite being alone with your alpha. "I was. I am going into heat. If you didn’t touch me, I needed to find another alpha to satisfy my needs." You declare despite knowing that no one would give you what you need from Din.

“You’ve worked through heats before.” Din growls, remembering how he had heard your whimpering cries from your bunk as you used your toys. It had been hard to deal with, when he hadn’t known he was your alpha. Wanting to offer you his cock the entire time, but he had respected your need for privacy. “Why not this time?”

“Because - because I wanted to feel wanted. I wanted someone to touch me who wanted to touch me, to make me feel something. I know you already knew I was your omega. You weren’t shocked when I found out you were my alpha. You didn’t - you didn’t sound surprised at all. How long have you known?” You ask, crossing your arms.

He leans back from you, surprised that you are attacking him and not liking it. “I-“ he huffs, rolling his eyes under his helmet and sighs. “Yesterday.” He admits quietly. “The vents between our rooms weren't closed. I-I smelled you when I took my helmet off.”

You are placated when you find out it was only yesterday but you’re still hurt that he didn’t tell you. “I didn’t smell you yesterday. I - I was showering and I -” You frown under the helmet. “You weren’t going to tell me, were you?”

“I- we-“ Din shakes his head. “You know what Mandalorians do.” He reasons with you. “The Armorer aligns breeding partners. I-“ He bites his lip under his helmet and sighs. “I was going to ask the Armorer for you, to be paired with you when we find them again.”

You understand where he is coming from but you feel frustrated by him. "Din. We - we are mates. What we have is...it's more than the creed. It's more than just breeding. It's how it is supposed to be. It's primal and raw. We are mates. Destined for each other and you've been by my side for so long yet neither of us knew what the other was meant to be. I want - I want you. I need you. Fuck the creed. Fuck the Armorer. You're my alpha and I - I want you. No matter what the consequences are." You say, "but if you don't want that - want me - I will leave. I'll go back to the covert and you can finish your quest alone."

He wants to argue against your comments, his heart twisting when he hears you say you would walk away. “Always wanted you.” He confesses quietly, breathing deeply and soaking in your scent. “Since the second week together. Watching you wipe the floor with that Twi.” He snorts, smirking slightly under his helmet. “Wanted you all the time.”

You chuckle, remembering that fight when you were both so much younger. You step towards him, "I have always wanted you. Always imagined you when I was in my nest." You confess softly, "I think I knew, unconsciously, that I was yours."

“I thought about you a lot.” Din confesses, taking a deep breath as he remembers what Bo Katan had said about mates being able to reveal their faces to each other. He takes a deep breath and reaches up to slowly start sliding his helmet off.

Your eyes widen under your helmet as Din exposes his face to you and you get your first look at his handsome face. "Maker. You are -" You can see him tense with anxiety and you reach up with your gloved hand to cup his cheek. "Mesh'la." You tell him, unable to tear your eyes away from those beautiful brown eyes. "Do you - you can remove my helmet...if you want."

He’s proud that you find him appealing. His one glimpse of you too fleeting for his own liking, finding you mesh’la as well. “I want to see you, omega.” He hums as he slowly reaches for your helmet. “My omega. My mate.”

You’re nervous for him to fully look at you without your helmets on, and your heart pounds beneath your chest plate. You bite your lip when your eyes meet his without the pixelated visor screen and his brown eyes soften. “Din. Alpha.” You murmur, watching him as he stares at you.

“Mesh’la.” He murmurs softly, staring into your eyes and feeling his cock harden beneath his flight suit as he smells and sees you clearly for the first time. He groans your name. “Omega.”

You ache for him, your heat curling in your stomach, and you wonder what he wants, if he still wants to wait until you return to the covert. “I don’t know what you want from me right now. Do you want us to put our helmets back on and continue on like this never happened until we return to the Armorer?” You ask, a little breathless.

“I cannot pretend I haven’t seen your face, smelled you.” Din groans, his eyes nearly closing in pain when a wave of arousal drifts over him. “I- you’re mine.” He growls again. “You are going into heat, I will take care of you.”

You whimper at his words, your body starting to get overheated with need. “Alpha.” You gasp, starting to work on removing your beskar, needing to feel the air on your hot skin. “I need you.” You pant, efficiently stripping down until you’re in your bra band and panties, boots kicked aside and you slide your hand into your panties, needing to rub your clit for some relief.

“Omega.” He growls, body tense and he steps forward, his need to touch you and take care of you nearly overwhelming his rational sense. He is about to touch you, still completely dressed in his armor except for his helmet. When he sees his gloves, he stops. “Get on the bed.” He orders, starting to strip down himself. Needing to press his skin to yours. “I will make sure you don’t need your fingers. You can have mine.”

You obey his order, shifting to lay down on the bed after reluctantly pulling your fingers out of your panties, and you watch him strip off. “Alpha. You are - you’re mesh’la.” You say, sitting up on your elbows to watch him, seeing the scars from blasters that grazed the vulnerable spots in his beskar and you want to kiss every one of them.

His own groan is one of pride and need, seeing you squirming on the bed, waiting for him. His omega, needy and wet. His hand wraps around his cock and he slowly starts to jerk himself. “You are mesh’la, cyar’ika.” He hums, eyes dark and full of lust. The waves of need and want roll off of you and mix with his own desire to fill the room. “My sweet little, omega. Wanting my cock, needing my knot.”

His voice, unmodulated, makes you shiver, and you watch him with wide eyes. “Yours, alpha.” You promise, reaching behind you to unclip your bra band, tossing it onto the floor to expose your tits to his gaze as he pumps his cock. You are aching for him. “Please. Alpha. I need your touch.”

He’s heard it before. The needy begging and calling to his alpha, but never from his mate. Growling, he scrambles onto the bed, one hand grabbing your breast while the other rips your panties off effortlessly.

You cry out in satisfaction as he quickly pushes two thick digits inside of you. “Yesss.” You hiss, feeling the ache assuage slightly with his digits curling deep inside of you. “Fuck, Din. Alpha. Yes.” You whine, tilting your head towards his.

It will be the first time he’s kissed anyone and it’s fitting that it’s his mate. His lips come crashing down against yours roughly as he curls his fingers inside you. Unskilled, he relies on what he had imagined doing, watching holo vids and jerking off when he was alone in his bunk. His tongue pushing into your mouth when you moan and he makes a feral sound of pleasure of his own.

You moan into his mouth, tangling your tongue with his and it’s unskilled but passionate. Your hands tangle in his hair, tugging slightly and you feel his cock twitch against your thigh. You’ve both had sex before, neither of you have kissed and it’s clumsy but you soon get the hang of it.

He feels like he doesn’t want to ever stop kissing you. Pumping his fingers deep inside your quivering cunt, he groans and rocks his hips against your belly. Loving how eagerly you respond to me.

You pant into his mouth, getting closer to orgasm with the way his fingers pump into you. "Alpha. I'm gonna- you're gonna make me - fuck!" You cry into his mouth as you clamp down on his digits, the ache in your belly satiated for a moment.

The first orgasm from his omega nearly makes him cum untouched. Din moans your name as he works you through the way your walls clench and your juices soak his hand. Pleasured pheromones pour off of you and he ducks his head down to press his tongue to your scent gland.

Feeling his tongue on your scent gland has you whining his name and your nails dig into his back, wanting him to bite you but he won’t until he’s ready. “I need you inside of me. Please, alpha.” You beg, gently pushing him off of you so you can shift onto your hands and knees for him.

Din growls, loving the submissive display, looking at your dripping cunt as you move to your hands and knees. Showing him how badly you need him. “My omega is eager.” He groans, slapping your ass and squeezing your hips as he throbs. He knows this first time will be rough. You know it too. Taking his cock on his hand, he shuffles forward and notches it at your entrance. Hissing when he snaps his hips forward ruthlessly and buries himself deep in your cunt.

Your breath is immediately pushed from your lungs and you gasp as he stretches you out. You fall forward onto your elbows and squeeze your eyes shut as he doesn’t hesitate to start moving inside of you. It’s rough and your body feels like it’s on fire. “Yes! Oh fuck, yes! Alpha. I- shit.” You curse, cunt fluttering around his cock.

You’re perfect around him. Gloriously tight and taking every harsh thrust with a choked moan as he starts to hammer into you. Need and the instinct to give you every piece of himself has him gripping your hips like you might get away from him and rocking deep to push up against your womb.

You grip the sheets beneath you, your cheek pressed against them as he pushes into you over and over again. “Fuck. Oh fuck Din.” You pant, thighs starting to shake as he pushes you closer and closer to orgasm with every harsh rock of his hips.

Suddenly, Din stops. Circling his hips as he lifts your and grinds into you. He was going to cum and he wants to make sure that you are satisfied before he gives into any of his own needs. “Fuck, omega, you are so perfect.” He grunts out, panting as he feels you squeeze him. “Are you going to be a good girl and take my knot? Let me breed you one day?”

You whine, deep from your throat. “Yesss. I’ll let you- have as many as you want, alpha. I want to be good for you. Want you to be happy.” You pant, thighs shaking still as he grinds deep and his hand spreads wide until his thumb is pressing against your clit.

“Good girl.” He growls out, twitching inside you. He’s imagined breeding you before, many times, even before knowing you were his omega. Hoping that working with you would cause the armorer to place you together to breed. It was why he let you on his ship. “Fuck, I- you feel so good ‘mega. So fucking tight around my cock.”

Your nails dig into the sheets and you are desperate for him to make you cum. The fire in your belly is burning and sweat beads on your forehead. “Alpha. Please.” You whine, grinding yourself back onto him. “I need - need to cum. It burns.” You almost sob with need.

“It’s okay,” he coos, rubbing your clit as he starts rocking into you again. “Your alpha is going to take care of you. Make sure your little cunt is happy by the time you leave this bed.”

You grind back onto him, his hips still not moving as he rubs your clit, and you practically sob with relief when you cum. Clamping down on his cock, you moan his name, his designation, and soak him. “Yessss.” You hiss, thighs violating shaking as you ride your high.

“Fuck.” He groans, his hands tightening on you as he feels you cum around him. “It’s so good, cyar’ika. My omega.”

You slump into the sheets, the burning dissipating for a moment so you can catch your breath and Din’s fingers dig into your hips. “Alpha. Maker, I need - I want you to knot me. Please. Fuck me hard.” You beg breathlessly.

“Yes, yes, my ‘mega can take it.” He growls proudly. “Take my cock and beg for more.” As he starts to thrust harder, it feels like he’s going to beat the bed through the wall, knocking the headboard against the panel with a loud clang every time he pushes deep.

“I can take it. I want more. Always want more. Please baby. Fuck me. Fuck me harder, Alpha.” You demand, your hands coming out to stop yourself from being squashed against the headboard.

He wants to bite you, to mark you as his even though no one would ever see your marks except him. His secret claim on you under your armor. His hisses out your name and manages to increase his frantic pace. “Fuck, fuck, Dank ferik.”

You whine his name, “Alpha. Oh Maker. You - it’s - oh shit. Shit. Shit.” You wail as you cum again, clamping down on his cock and gushing around him, feeling his knot starting to catch and you know he’s close. “Cum. Cum for me.” You beg breathlessly, reaching back to touch his hand on your hip.

Din collapses on top of you, Pushing you down to the bed, hips never stopping as he drives into you again and again. Fucking you into the bed as if that was his singular focus in life. “Gonna, gonna cum.” He grunts out, warning you. “K-knot you.”

“Do it. Fuck, I need it. Need it, Alpha.” You beg and he pushes deep just as his knot catches, his seed painting your walls with spurt after spurt. You whine in pleasure, feeling satisfied and you tilt your neck. “Make me yours, Din.”

The audible pop of his knot slipping into you releases a feral growl from deep in his chest. Unable to stop himself, his face turns towards your neck and his teeth sink into your scent gland. Marking you as his irrevocably.

You cum again from the pleasure of being tamed and from him knotting you. You sigh into the sheets when Din licks the mark he left on your skin. “I love you.” You confess, “even before I found out you’re my alpha. I’ve always loved you.” You confess with your eyes closed.

Din sighs softly and even though he could not pull away from you because of his knot, he wraps his arms around you to keep you close. “I had hoped the armorer would pair us together.” He confesses quietly. “That's why I let you join my crew.”

He shifts onto his side and you curl back into his chest, “whatever happens…it’s you and me and the kid. Even if we have to leave the covert. I would like to keep you, to keep you safe.” You promise him and he leans in to nuzzle your neck.

“Kar’ta.” He murmurs, feeling like he is complete for the first time since his nature was revealed. His other half is in his arms and he wants nothing more than to keep you there. “Mhi solus tome, mhi solus dar'tome.” He whispers softly, wondering if you will repeat the wedding vows back to him. “Mhi me'dinui an, mhi ba'juri verde.”

You smile and squeeze his forearm. “Mhi solus tome, mhi solus dar'tome. Mhi me'dinui an, mhi ba'juri verde.” You repeat back, turning your head to look at him, “riduur.” You whisper, kissing his jaw, “my riduur.”

“Riduur.” His spouse. You are married to him now, his - both by your nature and by your religion. “I will keep you and the child safe.” He vows, his hand sliding down to your stomach. “And any who follow.”

You kiss his lips softly, smiling against him as you place your hand over his on your stomach. “We will face whatever we need to face together. My riduur. My alpha. And when we are ready, I’ll happily have your children. Maybe we can settle on Navarro. Get a little cottage and live a peaceful life together.” You vocalize the dream you’ve had for years.

“That would be good.” He knows that it might never happen, but he wishes for it. “First we must finish our quest.” He hopes to find the armorer again and have you declared a clan of three. It will take some time, but you have time. Both of you have implants to prevent a child and his knotted cock twitches inside you as he thinks about filling you with his baby.

“Finish the quest.” You agree, “then we have the rest of our lives together. I love you, Din Djarin. My alpha.” You murmur, kissing his jaw again. “Whatever happens, we will face it together as mates. As partners.” You promise, unsure of the road ahead but you will be together, connected as one, and you will ensure the child’s safety. This is the way.

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the-scandalorian · 1 month

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Pairing: Din Djarin x female sex worker!reader Rating: E, 18+ Word Count: 3.1k Content Warnings: touch-starved Din; reader is blindfolded; smut Summary: Mando makes regular visits to the healing baths. Note: A big thank you to @frannyzooey for always enabling my depravity and finding the dope ass images for my header ❤︎

He always waits for you inside the door.

“It’s the least I can do,” he says, when you’re surprised by the unexpected touch the first time. A light hand cups your elbow, guiding you to the middle of the room, until you can feel the smooth tiles that mark the edge of the sunken pool with your bare toes.

The marble is slick with condensation, heated by the same geothermal source that warms the spring water. The air is steamy and humid, braided with the rich scents of cardamom and argan oil, of rose from the petals you know are strewn across the surface of the bath. Candles flicker languidly in the shadowy corners of the room, but you can’t detect any of their light.

When you lower yourself to the floor—carefully, blindly—he checks the tightness of the black silk wrapped around your eyes with gentle fingers. He reassures himself it’s secure, that you can’t see a thing through the fabric in the dark, hazy room. A reassurance he needs every time.

You come to expect it. To expect him.

He’s consistent. He’s hesitant.

It takes dozens of visits before he lets you join him in the bath. You always offer; he always refuses—politely, always so politely: a no, thank you, eventually paired with a fleeting touch. A warm hand placed over yours. Two fingers stroked down the red silk of your dress. If you’re lucky, a squeeze to the thick of your thigh or a graze of your cheek. His denial is so soft, so warm—so regretful—that you ask every time just to hear him want it.

When he inevitably says no, you sit behind him on a velvet cushion on the edge of the pool instead, swathed in the inky blackness of your blindfold, your feet dangling in the warm water, and work scented oils into his skin and tension out of his shoulders, his neck, his arms, his back, his chest. Your existence is reduced to tactile information, your world narrowed to the sensations in your hands—the textures at the tips of your fingers. The taut muscles of his shoulders, the raised scars that litter his arms and chest, the hair dusted over his pectorals, the callouses on his palms. All slick with water, slippery with massage oil.

The helmet stays on for the first handful of visits. You know by the modulated sound of his voice, by the brush of beskar against your wrist when you work a knuckle into the base of his stiff neck. It disappears somewhere around the tenth visit. When he meets you at the door, your name sounds markedly different. You don’t mention it, don’t draw attention to it, but you do enjoy the unfiltered, raw quality of his voice from then on.

The noises he makes when you touch him are always better than you remember. Their tone and cadence mark a gradual progression from high strung and uneasy to mellow and sedate as the tension coiled in his muscles dissipates under your hands. The harsh exhales devolve into low groans, quiet grunts. Sounds of pleasure waited too long to be had, of physical release so desperately needed. Every once in a while, when you work out a particularly stubborn knot, he murmurs a hushed, rumbling oh, fuck.

Once, when you earn a delicious moan paired with a strained, needy fuck, just like that, he bites off the last word so harshly that you know it was involuntary.

It turns you on more than the touch of any client ever has.

Even with the blindfold, you can feel the burn of his eyes on your skin. Its weight is familiar from the start, when you meet him at the entrance to the baths, the echoing stone entry hall with its gilded fixtures and branches of guttering candles. A balled fist rested on the counter, he nods at you in all his armored glory, a cordial gesture that seems to gain gravity and intimacy each time he offers it. The black visor follows your walk down the long hallway to your rooms, dips to your hips when he thinks you’re not looking. Heavy, substantial. Pressure that could be measured, harsh enough to leave an imprint in its wake.

It stays on you until you shut the door between you, leaving you in the antechamber to tie on your blindfold and him in the main room to undress.

When you knock and enter, you can still track his gaze despite the layers of black silk—the feeling of it like a searing brand. Settled on your face when you smile up at him. Dragged over the curves of your breasts when you shamelessly tip forward to trail fingers through the water and they just barely begin to spill over the low cut of your dress. Trained on the movement of your tongue when you part your lips and lick a slow, gratuitous line over the bottom one. Riveted to the dark space between your legs when you spread your knees unnecessarily wide and the fabric of your thin, short dress rides up your thighs.

You tell yourself not to hope for more.

Then one day he shows up, and you can tell something is off. His usual steady, controlled energy has been replaced with a pent-up buzz. He’s worked up. You can hear it in his clipped words, feel it in the extra touches. The hand on your lower back guides you to the pool almost hurriedly.

His shoulders are even tighter than usual when you get your hands on them, his back a series of stony knots. He groans when you work at the tension in his neck, your thumbs digging into the tautness at the base of his skull. And when you offer yourself this time, feeling optimistic that you’ll get your most reluctant no yet, a strong hand guides you slowly and wordlessly down the smooth stone steps to join him in the water.

Reflexively, you pull your dress up and over your head, tossing it behind you before the hem can catch in the water. You lose his touch in the process, but a path of goosebumps down your body echoes the course of his gaze as it pulls along your curves. You can feel his attention, his captivation at your nakedness in the fervent tension that snaps taut between you.

His invitation is so unexpected, though, that once you’re standing in the hot, waist-deep water, you’re stunned motionless. Disoriented. You don’t know where he is for a moment; you feel his hot gaze everywhere, all at once. You never actually thought you’d get this far with him, and now it feels daunting—the darkness of blindfold, the ever-changing line of his limits and preferences. You feel untethered.

Until the water shifts and he touches you.

“Beautiful,” he says, damp fingers following the curve of your cheek so lightly you can only just feel them.

You take his hand in both of yours and kiss his palm, soft lips brushing over rough skin. He catches you under your chin, and one fingertip traces your lips, his other hand settling on your waist, flexing.

You don’t want to push him too fast, and you also want to take full advantage of this opportunity while you finally have it.

You part your lips, and his fingers still.

You let your tongue peek out to circle the pad of one finger, inviting. To your delight, he responds by carefully pushing two fingers into your mouth. When you close your lips around them and suck, he lets out a broken, pained sound, pressing down on your tongue lightly before he eases them back out and drags a wet line down your chin to settle his hand around your throat.

You smile up at him, unseeing, as you trail fingers down his chest, the soft give of his stomach, dipping below the water as you reach the ridge of his hipbone. Moving slowly, always slowly, so he can stop you if he wants to.

Sure enough, his hand finds yours, trapping it against his skin. “You don’t have to—”

“I want to," you interrupt. "I want to touch you.”

It’s an understatement. There isn’t enough time to share all the myriad ways you’ve fantasized about touching him.

“I’ve thought about this since the first time I saw you walk in here in your armor,” you say, letting your voice pitch low. “What you’d feel like under all that metal.”

His hand disappears, and yours slips further down the v of his hips to wrap around the base of his cock. Hard, thick, big like you knew it would be.

“I think about it every time I work my way down your chest. How easy it would be to slip my hands lower...to see if you enjoy having my hands on your body as much as I do.”

He breathes out slowly, but his whole body is rigid as you drag your other hand over his shoulder, down his chest, a granite statue under your touch even as you start to work him over in long, luxurious strokes.

“I’ve been dying to know, Mando.”

His cock twitches in your hand, his skin hot and slick as it pulls over his hard length. He isn’t relaxing into your touch like he usually does, and this white-knuckled, shallow-breath, penitent version of pleasure is not at all what you’d intended for him, what he deserves.

You tip your face up toward his. “I need you to relax for me. Can you do that?”

A rough exhalation. Noncommittal, a little wry.

You step closer, gingerly moving into his space. He lets you. The water shifts around you as you move into him, close enough that your breasts brush his warm body and you can place a soft kiss on his chest. His ribs expand in a rapid, deep inhale, a rough hitching breath, and his hand comes up to cup the back of your neck.

You press him backward with a palm to his sternum, and he resists reflexively, his feet planted firmly. A man not so easily moved. Who is used to doing the telling, not being told.

“Sit for me?”

He relents with a hum, going pliant for you as you back him up to sit on the submerged marble bench. He helps you climb up, strong hands guiding your movements, settling you onto your knees in a straddle over his lap.

You dip your head to find the crook of his neck and lavish open-mouthed kisses on his throat, below his ear, automatically respecting the limits of where his helmet would be, as you move your hand between your bodies. You’ve never touched above his neck and won’t change that now, even though you’re dying to trace the contours of his face, to fit your lips to his.

Perched over him, you can feel his body gradually relax under your attention, his posture softening, his breath dropping into a more natural cadence. His hands find your hips, your thighs, slide back to grip your ass, as you begin to increase the pace of your stroke.

“Have you, Mando? Have you thought about this?”

You feel him nod once against the side of your head. Jerky, frantic.

“Good,” you purr into his skin, letting your teeth drag over his collarbone.

He groans, his hips lifting off the bench to push himself into your grip harder. The heat that always simmers in your core when you’re around him grows and spreads. It’s overwhelming—so much of his bare skin on your bare skin, after so long with so little. Almost feverish as you move together in the hot water.

Your hand pauses mid-stroke; his hands tighten in protest, sliding you a tiny bit closer on his tense thighs. “Do you think about me?”

His ragged breathing stalls. He nods again. “All the time.”

You hum, pleased, and resume the tight pull of your fist. Your own arousal is approaching a blistering point, so hot and bright, and he’s barely touching you—one hand on your ass, the other dragged up your body to palm your breast, his strong thighs pressed to the inside of yours. He rolls your nipple between two fingers, and you gasp.

“Feel so good,” he rasps, the heavy weight of his hands reverent as they catalog the slopes and rises of your body. “Just like I imagined.”

You can’t help but think about how easily you could sit on his cock right now. All it would take is a slight shift and tilt of your hips and you could catch the blunt head at your entrance. He’d stretch you so deliciously—that girth and length—but your wetness would let you work yourself down onto his lap until he was filling you completely. You’d fuck an orgasm out of him, riding him until he found his release in the tight clutch of your body, milking his cock until he shuddered from the oversensitivity.

One day. Maybe.

He’s close—you can tell by the strain in his voice, by his ragged breath, by the way his hands tighten on your ass. By the way he wraps one large hand around yours on his cock, tightening your grip.

“Just like that.”

You’d give anything to see his face when you feel the urgent flex of his hips as he fucks into your joined hands, the jerk and shudder of his large frame as it curves over you, his forehead dropping to rest heavily on your shoulder as he moans brokenly through the pleasure. It’s the most intimate part of all of this—so human, so trusting. So tempting to reach up and touch his face, to put detail to what you’ve imagined so many times.

You regret that your hand is submerged in water, that you can’t feel his hot release slide over the dips and swells of your knuckles. That you won't be able to lick it off your fingers—to taste it, for your own pleasure and for his. To listen to the sounds he’d make as he watched you eat his come.

Instead, when it’s over, when he’s finished, the weight of his forehead lifts from your shoulder and his touch abandons your body. You resist the urge to search it out, to ask for it back.

You imagine how he looks unwound underneath you, his head tipped back against the edge of the pool, muscles slack. His body finally truly relaxed.

Your part is done.

He’s never spent this long here, and you imagine he’s hyperaware of that. Always on a timeline. Some small part of you thought maybe—hoped—this time would be different, that maybe he’d linger, that maybe he’d want to touch you. You slide backward off his lap to take your leave reluctantly, but when you reach blindly for the edge of the pool, there’s the sound of quick movement through the water and he closes a hand around your wrist.

Relief courses through your veins.

He doesn’t say anything, just guides you. You can’t tell what his aim is until he arranges your body over his just so—just the way he wants you. He has you straddle his lap backwards this time, your back flush to his chest, your knees opened wide by the spread of his legs between yours.

You think about what he does for work, the command and skill it requires. Those capable hands and sure grip have wrestled so many bounties into submission—into handcuffs, into rope bindings, into his carbonite chamber—and here they are exerting their power and ability for the sake of your pleasure. Blunt instrument, suddenly fine.

His breath is hot by your ear, his heavy hand settling meaningfully on your inner thigh. “Can I—?”

“Yes. Fuck, please—”

You guide his hand between your legs, desperate, and his mouth finds the back of your neck. His mouth. Stubble scrapes across your skin, soft lips molding to the contour of your shoulder. The heat that’s been building in your body, that started as a low smolder in your core, has been growing to a rolling boil the whole time you were touching him. And his mouth on your body? Like striking a match to gasoline.

The reality of the situation, the surprise of this touch, ratchets your arousal to a precipitous height. It’s the sheer brazenness of it—the unflinching way he’s taking such a huge step. In the name of your pleasure, of his desire to taste you.

The offering of such intimacy, a secret shared.

A warm tongue blazes a lazy trail from the notch of your vertebra to your nape as two fingers slip into the slit of your sex, beginning a slow massage of your clit. Your mind goes blank.

It’s almost embarrassing how easily he makes you come, how little time it takes with his hand between your legs and his lips on your skin. He fucks you with two thick fingers, another swirling over your clit, and you wonder vaguely how he knows how to curl the two inside you just right against your g-spot.

You reach behind you to grip the back of his neck as you arch, your hips circling. He hooks his chin over your shoulder and you go molten at the thought that he’s watching himself finger-fuck you to climax.

“Are you going to—?”

“Yeah,” you breathe.

“Good.”

It's said through clenched teeth, a gritted jaw. He’s deriving so much pleasure from your pleasure, it's dizzying.

Teeth close over your shoulder and he bites down as you begin shudder and shake, as you clench and spasm around the thrust of his fingers—as you listen to his voice break on a groan as he feels it and draws it out—until the pleasure wanes and you melt back against him, boneless and sated, his strong body an anchor underneath you in the water.

You pant together, your head tipped back to rest on his shoulder, and all you can think about is how fucking close his lips are to yours. You could turn your face and kiss his jaw. He could angle your head and push his tongue into your mouth so easily. You’re so pliant; you want it so badly.

You consider asking. And then you consider the fact that he’s likely thinking about the same thing—your closeness is palpable, the tension a live, shivering thing—and he isn’t doing anything about it. He isn’t fitting a hand to your cheek to maneuver you just so.

You won’t ask for something he isn’t ready to offer.

When he finally does let you go, this visit that was so different from the others ends the same. He guides you back to the exit and hands you the robe that hangs by the door. As he helps you shoulder it on, he murmurs a sincere thank you, accompanied by a rumble of your name.

There’s one notable difference: as you're walking through the doorway, he catches your hand and squeezes it fleetingly before letting it drop.

The door shuts behind you with a click.

As always, a stack of credits far too high will be left in the room for you, and just like every other time, you’ll wait impatiently for his return.

#din djarin x you #the mandalorian x you #mando x you #din djarin x f!reader #mando x f!reader #the mandalorian x f!reader #din djarin fanfiction #the mandalorian fanfiction #din djarin x female reader #mando x female reader #the mandalorian x female reader

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undercoverpena · 2 months

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cold, lips blue

din djarin x f!reader | masterlist

summary: din takes you to see the snow, and then uses his body heat to warm you up.

warnings: softest smut soft!din. p in v. no use of y/n. loosely season one/two. same reader as isn't it - but no requirement to read. wordcount: 3.1k

With him, you’re discovering wonderlands.

Eyes finding places your dreams couldn’t even manifest, dream or conjure—shades coming to life, appearing in mixed colours and strong hues.

Each sight makes your heart do a double take as you steal extra seconds from plans to take it all in.

Today’s wonder is all white.

It’s littered with occasional grey stones and slightly blued pebbles. The piles of them doing their best to intersperse, to be a break in the rolling snow-covered hills. Provide some form of depth, give something for your eyes to latch onto—to prove there’s vastness.

The first solid thought you’d had when the hull door opened was, it’s bright. Almost uncomfortably, so,

Eyes squinting instantly, forcing yourself to see through your lashes, forearm coming up to shield you further as the wind howled and flakes began their escape into the ship.

Eyes squinting instantly, yet you force yourself to see through your lashes, forearm coming up to shield you further as the wind howled. Its mournful wail echoes through the air and flakes dance in a frantic ballet, their delicate forms swirl like spirits wishing to escape into the ship.

Stepping outside, more snow finds refuge on your cheeks, forehead and nose, resting there momentarily, before vanishing as though they’d never existed. They leave behind only the sensation, a fleeting tickle, like the echo of a memory. Just like a kiss, its presence lingers, an imprint on the skin, brief yet unforgettable.

Just like him, you suppose. Just like all the kisses the two of you have shared.

The last one, in particular.

The softness of it. The way he so cautiously slanted his mouth over yours, cupped your head in his hand and spent seconds, minutes mapping out your lips before he even slid his tongue past your teeth.

You’d made notes of things too—the low grunt he tried to bury in his throat, the way his body slowly relaxed itself on top of yours. All welcome, a weight you’d forever wear.

Forever. An odd word. Seven letters, and yet it expands through space and time. It’s ever-lasting, yet could be gone in a moment.

Turning on the spot, your senses tune in to the sounds of it crunching under your boots. Bits of it find shelter within the worn seams, seeping into the crevices as if seeking solace in the fabric that has weathered so much, all over-worn and loved.

You’re glad, in a sense.

Even if your toes grow colder and liquid begins to slide under the arch of your foot—it just means you can feel more of it. Soak as much of it in, and let it solder itself to you, so a piece of it lives within when the three of you turn your back on this place.

You hear him follow, and all you think is that he's welded a part of himself in you too.

A fragment at first—and now you’re sure he’s carved himself something larger. It's less about ordering you to stay behind, grasping for you in dark spaces that turn into heady nights spent panting. Now, it’s more about crawling in beside you because you know to wait, trusting him to always return. It's more about the way you can map his face with your palms—bask in the sensation of his breath on your collarbone...

Cold stretches there now.

You’re sure if you slide open your layers, the skin would pebble before it would begin to ache—to become desperate for cover. You wonder if your bones would want to shake and shiver; whether your blood would slow, if your mind would become a little less heavy?

“This okay?”

He speaks—making the two words slice through the howl and the heavy breaths you’re consuming.

Asking it as though a smile hadn’t been stitched into your face since the moment he’d told you he had a surprise. A treat. As though he hadn’t watched a twinkle in your eye because you know he doesn’t make half-promises and he does not give without thought.

“More than okay,” you reply, voice gentle, it flowing from your lips as you let your gaze rest on him.

Let it sit there.

Allow your mind to begin to walk away with itself as you recall the way he jolted, the soft murmur he exclaimed when he danced between being awake and asleep.

You wonder if he regrets this. Whether the way you curled into him to soothe had been a step too far; whether your palm flat to his cheek, knuckles tracing the stubble that leaves welcomed burns along your thighs, had been too much for him.

He hadn’t said as much.

Not even once.

Sighing, letting it trickle past your mouth, you stare up—the sight of frost falling seemingly coming from nowhere and yet somewhere. Lost in it. Attempting to trace, to find the origination, only to find yourself struggling to see, to focus—too bright, you think again, chin dropping, eyes closing as you take another deep breath.

It’s why it slips out, is spoken before you realise it’s left your lips. It travels in wispy condensation, hand outstretched, palm upturned, as the words fill the silence: I’ve never felt falling snow.

You hear the sound of his boots crunching snow, the gap between the two of you closing as you flick your eyes to him—not halting him, but rather ensuring he knows you see him.

The dangerous side and the gentler side; the one who hunts and the one who caretakers. And all the rest in the middle.

You drop your gaze to him—the one more beloved than ship, principles or bounties. Snow resting atop his green head, ears twitching when certain flakes make contact.

Then, you stare at the helmet. Silently asking, all done in an exchange, a purposeful distraction—with a reply given in a tilt, a descent of his beskar-covered shoulders before the child was placed on the ground.

“I’ll be gentle.”

“It’s not him I’m worried about.”

You snort. "You trust me, Mando?"

He says nothing, which says a lot.

And you allow a deep inhale to follow—one that flows ice through your nose, forcing it to crash into the sides of your lungs as you almost gasp.

It’s a different kind of cold here.

A lot of things are different now.

You don’t concede to the ache in your bones or the weariness in your jaw from the relentless clenching of your teeth. You hide it beneath a veneer of stoicism and resolve.

Because if you do, the three of you will leave.

Stubbornness, some would say; utreekov he would say.

All under his breath, later translated when your mouth wraps around his cock—when you hollow cheeks and trace the tip of your tongue along the slit as salt kisses the roof of your mouth.

He decides for you when you blow into your gloves. A firm declaration, bold: Grogu needs to sleep.

It is less a question, and more of a statement; not quite an order, but he leaves little room to argue. The child picked up, scooped practically from the ground, leaving you to face the back of them both.

If you were closer, you’d likely see your dismay reflected in the beskar. The ball in your hand melting, before you let it fall in a half-formed lump to the ground. Letting it reunite with others similar to it before your soles flatten it, crush it back into nothingness.

You shiver, with no attempt to hide it this time, his eyes no longer a threat—no necessity to fight it or bury it. Letting it rumble through you as your teeth move on their own accord. Knowing, without touching, that your lips are likely colder than the melting snow that had been in your hand.

It might not have been the case if you hadn’t taken six snowballs to the face in the last so many moments.

The balls had been cupped and formed in your palms before you'd thrown them, only to have them flung back at you. A test, an experiment. A training session for Grogu and another thing ticked off from the list of things you’d ever done.

Yet, still, there are many things left.

A never-ending listicle—but, there alongside the ones for him are even more questions you're not sure you'll get an answer on.

They won't be shared. You won't whisper them to him when you’re both bare and catching your breaths. They'll rot inside of you, leave them tucked behind sinew and held back by stronger muscles than you have anywhere else.

You know the protocol when you are back in the warmth.

Silently disrobing, entering the refresher—followed by dressing and the rest of your usual routine as the other two sit up top, one resting and the other doing his utmost to avoid.

A thing that rarely bothers you, except now, your skull throbs—pounds. A sudden desire to call out his name, to ask him to come, for no reason other than to be held. The back of your hand finds nothing but chill, cold and sweat when it brushes your forehead, an unsteadiness to your walk as you manoeuvre—so reminiscent of the first few days on the ship—his name being swallowed.

Bed, you think.

Moving slowly, each step is akin to a baby's crawl until you finally grasp the comfort of it before sliding up further into it, encasing yourself, wrapping until you’re closer to a ball than a person.

You’re not sure how long you lie, how much time passes, but when he calls your name it sounds distant—far off.

And, so he calls it again, and again. A chant, a melody, it carries around the walls and greets your ear each time. There's just no energy to reply, nothing else inside of you than being curled and willing warmth to stretch out across skin, muscle and ossein.

Maker.

He breathes it. Allows it to flow out. But, it isn’t until his hand knocks away the sheet, fingers brushing over your calf do you hear him hiss.

“Kriff, you’re freezing.”

You murmur something, mind willing for an I know but not entirely sure what hits the air. Barely able to do more than remain still, to stop yourself from shivering.

Worth it, you add. Repeating it, the bridge to the song of your name he'd begun earlier, until you open your eyes and find yourself in the dark.

It's all-encompassing in its cloak of midnight, the darkness enveloping you like a heavy shroud, pressing against your skin with an oppressive weight, suffocating any glimmer of light and casting you into a realm of shadows and ambiguity.

Then you hear him undress.

Able to tell now, able to spot when each item is placed down—like a strip tease you’ve never been privileged to actually see, but the routine is all but memorised.

You want to reply, tell him you'll be fine as a tremble rips through you—finding it’s easier to keep your teeth together. Easier to tremble and shiver and shake.

That is, until you feel him shift, the presence of him looming before his body begins to smother yours.

It's all broad, heavy—heartbeat hammering against your skin as it ripples a kind of tune through your bones. But it's the warmth you grasp for; bring closer. Your fingers digging into skin and muscle, needing him flush to you more than you need to breathe.

It’s not romantic, but in a way it also is.

Even if shrouded in a blanket of faux night, there’s something intimate about the way he feels around you. It's far softer, slower movements.

His fingers find your cheek. Thumb brushing over your lips, likely cold, lips blue, as you bite back the instinct to let it slide into your mouth. Fight hollowing cheeks around the appendage, remind him how good your mouth can feel.

Instead, you focus on him. How this time, neither of you said this wasn’t it. This wasn't the place—isn't it. No entertainment that snowy-topped hills and rolling mounds of ice could be a place he could ever leave you.

You’re thankful, more than grateful.

Wishing to say as much as you shift your body under his, his thigh slotting more gracefully between yours, so much so, that makes you whimper. A sound that makes his head move, shift quickly.

A shyness falling over you, a veil of it, weightless but still there.

You're sure he's reading you, scanning you, deciphering everything the noise could mean even in the dark.

But, it's obvious that you want him. A thing you almost shrug out, but he shifts again, purposefully rocking his thigh, intentionally pulling another whimper that proves that you're throbbing. That you need him. More than a requirement, more than survival—

Warm me. Keep me warm.

Fingers sliding to his waist, resting, thumb stroking as you nuzzle your nose against his cheek. A sign without words, a signal that flashes in its own way.

Your wants rolling, clumping. Not too dissimilar to the snowballs you had made earlier—them all compacting, hardening.

Please, Mando.

Even if he thinks you just want him, you want more than the solid length of him inside of you or his palms on the back of your thighs.

It's a thing which circulates, and you ponder over it. Turn it over when you wake before him and let sit on the back of your tongue when he's showing you what buttons and switches mean on the ship.

Because you want to know his smile, the shade of his eyes—see the faces he pulls when he tilts his head and know the unfiltered sound of his laugh. You want him to never let you go. To never let you slip under, to hold you, to always be—

“Mesh'la…”

You hadn’t known you’d been speaking out loud. Letting confessions fall, like the earlier snowflakes. Except they hadn't landed softly, or gently. But rather laboriously, thickly—making the small space feel much narrower.

Realisation slams your heart into your chest, halting thoughts, and silencing your apparent babbling.

Head turning, silence doubling—air tightening—before you think and speak, “Should be saying that t-to you.”

He hums, it vibrating through him, fluttering over where your chest meets his. “I’m not... not mesh'la.”

“Don’t need to see you to know that you are, Din.”

You’re cautious with it, his name.

Barely used, barely warranted. A thing given to you one night when your face was buried into his neck—a silent promise made when he’d handed it to you. An offering.

You feel his head rise, each of his muscles taut, and you close the gap, moaning your gratitude into his mouth, all messy.

Rustling sheets sounded, suddenly aware of him. Feeling him. Pressed against you, heavy and leaking, as the rest of him remains tense. Caged in his bicep, mouth unwilling to release yours, to be anywhere but reading the rest of your wants straight from your tongue.

"Got you," he moans, signing it against you as he moves, positions himself before you can feel him nudging at your entrance, "I've got you."

And he does.

Slick with need for him, in a slow thrust, he sinks into you. Deeper and deeper. Clutching onto him, hanging more imperatively to him as he pauses, lets you adjust—mouth sliding over yours as he waits for the sign to move, to go, permission to further set you aflame.

You think each time you’ll be used to how he stretches you, how delicious it feels. How you’re so full, so content, and how he feels all warm and soft against you. But this time it’s different. Not just in the way he moves, but in the way he kisses you, in the way he murmurs soft phrases to your neck and collarbone.

Some you make out and make heat rush to your cheeks. Some you begin to try to translate before a drag of his cock sends the words spiralling into a mess of letters that fade as quickly as they were spoken.

Toes curling, fingers digging further into his waist and shoulder—leaving something on him, even if he’ll bury it in armour.

It's a thing you’ll know. He’ll know. A thing which makes him bite down on your shoulder and ask for more.

A demand which makes your back arch, makes you drop a curse as your vision blurs and your toes curl as his pace picks up.

Because you’re trembling for an entirely different reason now. So close to fracturing, to coming apart—letting have it all, the good, the bad and the parts which have rotted before he lay beside you. Seeing stars in a galaxy of nothing all because of him—I’m close, so close.

"Let me feel you."

All gruff, grunted into your neck as you tighten, clench, tangling fingers into his curls for leverage.

It should feel like falling, but it doesn’t. Never does.

It feels like an explosion. A pause—like you’re floating, not rising or descending. Just there. Flames roaring through you, burning away any leftover chill, as you flutter and howl out his name.

You writhe, whine. Moan. Paint the small space with nothing but pleasure and thankfulness and Din, oh, Din, as he tells you how good you are, how well you take him.

And, he’s not far behind. Can tell from the babbling and then the choked back where he emits as you croak back inside. Internally pleading, wishing, crossing fingers and toes that he does so, when you feel him spill into you when your name sounds both sweet and sinful as he groans it.

As he buries a word that sounds similar to mine into your neck, hips stuttering and stammering as you wrap a leg around him in response.

Yours.

There’s a moment.

The air tightens when breaths are caught and heads are clearer. The space the two of you are in is on edge. Subconsciously tensing. While you, after the softness of the moment, are unsure whether you’ll be rewarded with more or something akin to the opposite.

He answers by pulling you closer, no space between the two of you. Just sweat and skin and nil else, as his mouth and hot breath rest against your cheek, your own fingers finding purpose in his curls.

That’s when you hear it, a whisper, barely discernible from his heaving breaths: They’re brown. My eyes are brown.

Smiling, you swallow.

Nodding, something you hope he can feel.

Because a shade is something, far more than you had this morning—and it’s plenty enough, for now.

#din djarin x reader #din djarin x f!reader #din djarin fic #din djarin x you #mando x reader #mando x you #pedro pascal fic #mando x f!reader #din djarin fanfic #din djarin #din djarin x reader smut #the mandalorian #the mandalorian x f!reader #the mandalorian x female reader #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian fanfiction #din djarin fanfiction

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psychedelic-ink · 8 months

Text

𝐅𝐄𝐀𝐑 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐀𝐁𝐘𝐒𝐒.

DAY EIGHT OF HAUNTED HOEDOWN

prompt: cult au + “do you like it when i bleed for you?”

pairing: cult leader!din djarin x f!reader

genre: explicit smut, minors dni

summary: din initiates you into the cult.

word count: 1.1k

warnings: dubcon (power imbalance), manipulation, innocence kink, corruption kink, blood/blood kink, blowjob, soft dom!din kinda

Your eyes follow the man in armor in front of you.

It’s just you and him, no one else. No one to hear you scream or beg while you are initiated. He removes the plates of his arms one by one, the majority of his armor staying along with his helmet. There’s a fire burning behind him. The flickering orange and yellow bathes his armor in light and you stare, mesmerized by how shadows deepen all around his armor.

“You can’t leave after this,” he says, voice modulated. “You will be one of us.”

“Can I see your face then?” you ask innocently, batting his eyes at him. He tilts his head, observing your soft smile and clutched thighs. You want to see him. Be with him. He had been protecting you for years, looking out for you, teaching you the way and how to live a happy life. He’d told you once, how he cared for you, but couldn’t give you a name or show you his face until you were properly initiated. That was the creed.

He stills for a moment. You see the tension building in his muscles and doubt begins to swirl in your chest. You want to please him and the thought of saying something that might upset him makes your stomach churn.

“Yes,” he answers finally, every word pronounced carefully. “I don’t show my face to anyone though, I want you to remember that and know how special you are to me. Understood?”

You nod and he shakes his head, “Use your words mesh’la. Use my name, it’s Din.”

“Yes, Din,” you answer. Your cheeks warm up. His name hits your tongue just right, as if your mouth is made to repeat his name over and over again.

Satisfied, he nods and pulls out a sharp dagger from his waist. The gleam catches your eye and your pulse quickens. You have no idea how the initiation works, your excitement courses through your veins, and pounds in your ears. His visor reflects your wide-eyed expression.

“On your knees,” he says.

You quickly obey, ignoring how the stone scrapes your skin. He displays his forearm, bringing the sharp edge of the dagger to his skin. Din cuts himself slowly, blood trickling instantly from the long wound. Your heart jumps, eyes going wide. You almost feel a cut of your own tingling over your forearm and it pains you to see him bleeding.

But also, you know this is not something he does for everyone.

Your pupils dilate, mouth flooding with saliva with the prospect of pressing your lips against the crimson blood.

“Repeat after me,” he says, drawing you away from your disrespectful thoughts. You nod. The blood ebbs like spiderwebs across his skin, coiling around his bare wrist and dripping from his fingers to the cold stone ground.

He begins, voice soft and words slow, “I swear on my name and the names of the ancestors. . .”

“I swear on my name and the names of the ancestors. . .” you repeat dutifully.

“that I shall walk the way of the mand’alore. . .”

“and the words of the creed shall be forever forged in my heart.”

“and the words of the creed shall be forever forged in my heart. . .”

“This is the way.”

He curls two bloody fingers under your chin and tilts your head further up. You feel the warmth of his essence on your skin, the scent of iron filling your nostrils. “Do you like it when I bleed for you?”

“Yes,” you answer without thought, feeling the blood moving down your neck, following the path between your breasts. He slightly bends his knees, leaning over you as he tugs your bottom lip down with his thumb. You exhale when he smears the tender flesh with his blood, marking you, and you taste him.

He sighs, “Maker, I can’t wait to ruin you.”

Din pulls away and you lick the blood from your lips. Oddly enough he tastes sweet to you, even though you know it’s impossible. Your eyes drop to the front of his pants where he unzips himself, your mouth goes dry at the size of his hard cock. He’s not too long, but the thickness of it is enough for you to shudder with pleasure.

“Have you ever sucked cock before?” he asks, coming closer and tracing your lips with his bloody fingers. Insticeticly, you part your lips and he slips them inside, he groans as you swirl your tongue, cleaning him off.

“No,” you answer. “It never seemed that appealing to me.”

“How about now?”

The drop of his voice, the rasp beneath the words, all of it makes your mind go completely blank. Silent. You swallow around his fingers. He withdraws his fingers, “It’s very tempting,” you breathe out, tongue swiping over your bottom lip.

Din ignores your answer, “Open your mouth. Wide,” he groans and when you do, he pushes himself inch by inch into your mouth. Tears build in your eyes and he cradles the side of your face with one hand, keeping you still. He doesn’t stop until you’re choking around him, a moan echoing from underneath the helmet.

Tears fall one by one as he begins to thrust his hips, burying his cock down your throat with every move. You brace yourself by placing your palm on his thighs. The muscles bulge underneath your hands. Arousal pools between your legs. He’s using you just like you wanted, owning you and making you yours.

“That’s it. You’re doing so well,” his head tilts back, pushing you down until your nose is buried within the dark curls. You can barely breathe. The mixture of precome and blood heavy on your tongue. You feel him pulse as your throat convulses around him, then he pulls back, a growl reaching your ears. “My sweet girl, always so eager to please.”

Din pulls out slowly and you can feel the slickness on your tongue. His hand slides from your chin up the side of your head. His rough thumb traces your lower lip. You can feel his gaze like a brand on your skin. he takes a deep breath and exhales before taking himself into his hand. The head of his cock is an angry shade of red, precome glistening beautifully at the slit.

Before he can command it, you open your mouth and stick out your tongue. He fists himself before spilling his hot cum all over your lips and chin, dripping down your face. His moans and whimpers are beautiful, a sight only you’re allowed to see.

There’s so much of it, his cock continuously twitches and throbs in his hand. He ruins you, just like he promised. Staining you with his seed. Your insides clench when you imagine Din coming inside instead of on your face.

When he’s finished, he tucks himself back into his pants and reaches for his helmet.

“As promised,” he says, voice hoarse, scratching your ears just right.

You finally see the real face of the man in armor.

And he’s beautiful.

#din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin x f!reader #din djarin x fem!reader #din djarin au #din djarin smut #cult leader!din djarin #hauntedhoedown #pedro pascal character fanfiction #the mandalorian fanfic #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #the mandalotian x fem!reader #the mandalorian x f!reader

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beskarandblasters · 1 month

Text

Punish Me, Officer Djarin

Prison Guard!Din Djarin x Inmate!Reader

Main Masterlist | Din Djarin Masterlist

Author’s note: Thank you to @fhatbhabie for the plot bunny and thank you to @pedgito for beta reading! 🤍🤍

Summary: You've been thrown into an imperial prison for anti-empire speech. During your sentence, a new prison guard is hired, Officer Djarin, and you take a liking to him.

Word count: 2.5k

Warnings: f!reader, reader is able-bodied, canon divergent, uneven power dynamic, brat taming, degradation (scumbag), fingering, vaginal sex, creampie, his glove in your mouth lol, no use of y/n

Fic notifs: @beskarandblastersfics Fic recs: @kelbellsficrecs

Bleak, white cell walls. Staring at the same thing for hours on end. Eating the same shitty rations day after day. Frankly, death would’ve been a better punishment than this. This was to be expected, though, when they gave you your sentence at your hearing. Part of you was sort of hoping to be put to death. It didn’t match your crime anyway. Anti-Empire speech… what a thing to be thrown in kriffing prison for.

Your sentence is five standard cycles on this Imperial prison ship. You tried to keep track of the rotations here but it was no use. It’s hard to do that when there’s no rising and setting of the sun, no change of scenery, and no one to tell you when the rotations change. It’s a miracle you haven’t lost your mind here, staring up at the fluorescent white lighting or peering out into the liminal space that is the hallway. It looks like it goes on for miles, a never-ending corridor; sterile and mind-numbing.

If there’s a Maker, you’re praying to him or her for something different, something to break the routine, something other than staring at ugly Imperial Officers who always look like they just smelled a fart.

The Maker answered your prayers.

“Listen up, inmates!” one of the Imperial Officers says, banging his blaster on the metal bars of one of the cells.

You and the other inmates in this cell block peer out into the hallway, looking for where his voice is coming from. But soon enough the Imperial Officer, Officer Baize, is pacing up and down the cell block.

“We have a new officer joining us,” he says, stopping in front of your cell and glancing down the hallway. He motions for someone to come towards him. You’re just expecting another typical Imperial Officer type but you couldn’t have been more wrong.

Sauntering down the cell block is a Mandalorian, wearing full silver beskar and cape billowing as he walks. Your mouth falls open at this threatening presence; donned in various weapons head to toe.

“This is…?” Officer Baize trails off, looking over at the Mandalorian.

“Mando?”

“No, you gotta go by Officer something. Got a last name?”

“…Djarin.”

“Officer Djarin. He may look different from us but you will all treat him like one of us. Got it?”

Everyone murmurs their acknowledgments and retreats to the back of their cells. Except for you. You watch as Officer Djarin paces up and down the cell block with Officer Baize. You catch bits and pieces of the conversation. He’s just giving Officer Djarin some of the basics about working here. But soon enough the red lights to signify nighttime turn on and they disappear between the two sets of doors. The entertainment is over.

Ever since you stepped foot in the prison, it’s been the same. You do everything in your cell; eating, using the refresher, exercising, sleeping— you name it, you’re doing it in your cell. But now that Officer Djarin has arrived, the prison has decided to switch things up.

“Listen up, inmates! The warden has decided to make you useful to the Empire. You’re going to be put to work, assembling droid parts,” Officer Baize says, banging his blaster against the bars of the cells as usual.

“We’re going to release you from your cells one by one and you’re going to stand in a single file line with your hands on your head. Do I make myself clear?”

The inmates utter their unenthusiastic words of acknowledgment, prompting Officer Baize to bang his blaster on the bars again, with even more force than the last time.

“I said do I make myself clear?” he shouts louder.

“Yes, sir,” everyone shouts in unison, standing up straighter.

One by one Officer Djarin lets the inmates out of their cells. But his body language suggests that he’s still unsure of his new role. He’s almost hesitant to grab each inmate by the arm and force them into a neat line. And that gets you thinking…

It would be kind of fun to mess with him.

You move to the back corner of your cell, waiting for him to arrive at yours. Once he does he unlocks the bars and slides them across, he motions for you to come forward but you don’t comply, remaining in the corner with a smug grin on your face.

“Get in line,” he commands sternly.

You cock your head to the side, your smirk never fading.

“Is there a problem, Officer Djarin?” Officer Baize calls out.

Kriff, you didn’t want him involved.

“No, not at all-”

“Don’t be afraid to use some force,” Officer Baize says. A smug smirk is evident in his voice even though you can’t see his face. Officer Djarin walks towards you and the saunter in his steps makes you feel powerless compared to him, adorned in all sorts of weapons and cloaked in armor.

“Get in line,” he commands.

“And what are you gonna do if I don’t? Punish me?” you counter.

“Maybe I won't…” he says, taking another step towards you, “But I can get someone who will,” he continues, bringing his helmet beside your ear.

A shiver runs down your spine. His voice is velvety smooth. And although he’s telling you he’d unfortunately get someone else to come in and reprimand you, you can’t help but melt.

“Well, that’s no fun.”

“Get in line, inmate,” he says, pressing his hand against the wall, right beside your head. He pulls back and his visor meets your gaze, lingering on you for a moment before turning and walking out of your cell. With your knees feeling like jelly you walk to the hallway, taking your place at the end of the line. Officer Djarin is standing behind you and you feel his gaze burning a hole into you.

“Hands on your head,” he says beside your ear again. He’s right up against you, in a motion so quiet that it startles you. You do as you’re old and put your hands on your head, waiting for what he’s going to do next. But he doesn’t do anything. He just takes a step back, leaving you there to follow the inmate ahead of you.

What a tease.

The entire time you’re listening to Officer Baize drone on and on about assembling droid parts you’re thinking about Officer Djarin and his melodic voice.

Maker, his voice.

It’s velvety smooth, modulated in such a pleasing tone that it makes you wonder what he sounds like without the helmet. It also makes you wonder what his voice sounds like when he’s telling you to get on his knees and suck his cock like a good inmate.

A girl can dream.

You glance over your shoulder and find him, standing at the back of the room with his visor fixed on you.

Maybe just maybe he wants you, too.

That starts a never-ending cycle between you two. You get under his skin and he puts you in your place… just not in the way you’d like.

You’d like for him to drag you into a supply closet and bend you over, spanking you while calling you a bad girl. But you’ve been letting go of that fantasy. He cares about his job too much to cross the line. So instead he teeters on the edge of what is professional and what is… inappropriate to say the least.

After another long shift of assembling droid parts and irritating Officer Djarin, you’re in your bed, wishing you were doing anything else besides staring up at the ceiling.

Until you hear your cell door being unlocked.

You shoot up out of bed, ready to attack whoever’s coming in. But then you see a reflection glimmering under the red lights of the cell block.

It’s Officer Djarin, of course.

“Come with me,” he orders.

You don’t need to be told twice. You’ve only been hoping for this moment for Maker knows how long.

You step into the hallway, waiting with your hands on your head. After he shuts the cell door he grabs your wrists, pinning them behind your back before dragging you down the hallway under the dim red light… to a supply closet. It’s like he read your mind.

He opens the door and shoves you inside, leaving you to stumble upright as you regain your balance. This should scare you, being locked in a closet with a tall man made of metal who holds some form of power over you. But it doesn’t. It only excites you. It makes the excitement pool between your legs.

He closes the door behind him and takes a step closer to you, pinning you against the wall. The same red light that’s in the hallway hangs from the ceiling of the closet, illuminating his armor.

“Are you gonna punish me, Officer Djarin?” you ask sweetly, cocking your head to the side.

“Not in the way you want,” he says, bringing his helmet beside your ear like he always does. Your legs buckle underneath you as you press yourself harder against the wall, praying it’ll keep you upright. Officer Djarin places his gloved hands by either side of your head, palms flat against the wall as he continues to taunt you.

“You’re pathetic. You know that, right? Throwing yourself at me like that,” he says, pulling his helmet back to face you.

You’re pathetic.

Those words should hurt but they don’t. They turn you on even more, making your whole body shiver with desire, craving for him to degrade you more. Your mouth falls agape, and he picks up on it, asking, “You like that, don’t you? You like it when I tell you what a desperate slut you are?”

“...Yes,” you admit.

“Say it,” he commands.

“I like it when you tell me what a desperate slut I am.”

“That’s right.”

He removes his hands from the wall and grabs you by the waist, dragging you over to a cleaning cart in the corner of the closet with a forceful grip.

“Bend over,” he growls.

Doing as you’re told, you bend over, standing on your tip-toes and sticking your ass up, hoping that it looks good for him. As good as it’ll get in the unflattering prison garb.

He hands palm your ass, rubbing it over the thick fabric before grabbing the waistband and pulling them down entirely. He takes off one of his gloves, setting it on the cleaning cart before rubbing two fingers along the entrance of your cunt. He collects some of the wetness that’s already built up there, bringing his hand in front of your face to show you the evidence of your arousal. Under the dim red light, you watch as his thumb rubs against his index and middle fingers, spreading your wetness around. He spreads his fingers apart and your wetness stretches with the movement, all while he taunts you.

“So wet for me. And I’ve barely even touched you.”

All you can do is whimper in response, desperate for more of his touch.

“Do you want me?”

Another whimper from you.

“Say it.”

“I want you,” you whine.

“Address me when you talk to me.”

“I want you so bad, Officer Djarin. Please,” you beg.

“Much better,” he says, bringing his hand back to your cunt and sliding one finger inside you.

A small moan escapes your lips, prompting him to tease you further.

“From just one finger?” he mocks, curling it painstakingly slowly against your walls.

“I… I need more,” you whine.

“You know what to do.”

“Please can I have more, Officer Djarin?”

Without warning he slides a second finger in and you feel yourself stretch to accommodate the thickness of both fingers. You moan involuntarily again and he leans forward, helmet beside your ear again.

“Be quiet, inmate,” he commands, doing a “come here” motion with his fingers.

“I’m trying,” you softly whine.

“Try harder,” he says, picking up the pace.

You grip the cleaning cart for dear life, thankful it’s there to hold you upright as he fingers you relentlessly. You bite your lip to prevent any more noises from slipping out. But it’s hard when your orgasm is threatening to spill over. He can feel you’re close, purring in your ear, “Give it to me. Cum on my fingers.”

And then the floodgates burst open, walls clenching and releasing his fingers in rhythmic waves. You bite down on your lip harder, doing your best to stifle any whimpers and moans on the tip of your tongue. It’s not easy. All you want to do is moan, whine, whimper, scream, letting the whole cell block know that Officer Djarin is having his way with you in this supply closet.

He pulls his fingers from you once you’re done coming, only to swipe his fingers again along your entrance to collect your spend. He slathers his cock with it and you can hear the wet squelching sounds he makes as he strokes himself behind you, getting ready to fuck you.

With one hand on your hip and the other on your shoulder he thrusts his cock inside you, burying himself down to the hilt. You were doing your best to stifle your moans before but this is too much, not with his large cock gracing your insides. As he draws his hips back and slams into you, a moan from deep in your throat forces its way out, causing him to go still.

He’s going to punish you for that.

Officer Djarin reaches forward and grabs his glove from the cleaning carts, shoving it in your open mouth.

“That’ll teach you,” he says, returning to fucking you again.

You moan and cry despite the balled-up glove in your mouth, feeling your pleasure build up as he thrusts in and out of you. His grips on your hip and shoulder are tight, fucking you forcefully while making sure you stay upright.

He leans forward, purring into your ear again with a mixture of degradation and praise.

“Such a good scumbag, letting me use her pussy like this.”

His pace never falters, thrusting in and out of you unforgivingly. Tears roll down your cheeks and stars dance in your vision. Your second orgasm is imminent, you can tell by the way your core muscles tense up in anticipation of a big release. It isn’t long until you cum all over his cock, waves of pleasure coursing throughout your body.

The sensation of your cunt squeezing his cock draws his orgasm from him and soon enough you’re filled with his cum. He lets out a deep and guttural moan, holding you still as he releases all of his spend inside you.

But once the adrenaline settles you’re left with the realization of what just happened. You weren’t imagining it. He did want you and he just proved it to you. But how is he handling this?

He pulls out of you and puts his cock away, leaving you to stand up straight and pull your pants back up. You look at each other under the dim red light, staring at him with a blank expression until a smirk creeps onto your face.

Before he can say anything or put you in your place, a voice startles the both of you.

“Officer Djarin? Are you in there? The warden wants to know why you abandoned your post.”

Kriff.

#din djarin x reader #din djarin smut #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin x f!reader #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian x you #din djarin x you #star wars fanfiction #the mandalorian x f!reader #prison guard!din djarin #dark!din djarin #din djarin au #din djarin #the mandalorian

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flightlessangelwings · 2 months

Text

What Was Unspoken, And What We Finally Said

Din Djarin x fem!reader

Word count-3.6k

Warnings- s.mut (18+ ONLY!), sexworker reader (respectfully), mutual pining, reader is said to have been with both men and women but her sexuality is up to you, unprotected sex, hj, finering, oral (f receiving), protective!Din, soft!Din, feelings, no description of reader other than body parts and no use of y/n

Notes- This is part a bonus Valentines fic and part a thank you for 5,000 followers fic! I would have liked to do a full follower celebration but since I'm low on writing time lately, I'm doing 2 gift fics for y'all instead. I just want to say thank you each and every one of you for following and supporting me all these years!

Since this is Star Wars, I looked up if there was anything like Valentine's Day and while there isn't one canonically, there is a "Lover's Day" that the fandom kinda agreed is equivalent so I used that here but it can be read any time of year since it's Star Wars and we can say it's any time lol! Enjoy!

@flightlessangelwings-updates is my update blog so please also follow that and turn on post notifs to stay up to date on when I post new things!

You were exhausted.

If you were honest, you weren’t even sure what day it was… or even what time of day at all. Things had never been busier at the brothel the last couple days, and you weren’t sure why. Especially today it was back to back clients for you. The extra credits were nice, and much needed, but by the Maker were you wiped out. But it wasn’t all bad. The brothel you worked at was safe and respectable and the clients almost always tipped well. You even had a lengthy list of regulars, which was nice. Many of them even came by today too.

The day started with a visit from one of your favorite bounty hunters, Fennec Shand. She was usually more quiet and stoic, but today she had an air of playfulness about her, and the smirk she wore on her face made your heart flutter. Later in the day, Axe Woves came by, and seemed more flirtatious than usual. He always left you with a wink and a kiss on the back of your hand, but today he left a lingering kiss on your cheek… and extra credits in tip.

But there was one person you looked forward to seeing more than anyone else. And he hadn’t come by in some time.

You let out a heavy sigh as you flopped down onto the bed. Wrapping your robe around yourself, you closed your eyes as you finally got some time to rest after a busy day. Just as your body relaxed into the plush mattress and you felt yourself about to doze off, there was a knock at the door.

“Coming,” you sighed as you pushed yourself up, ready to turn away whoever was on the other side of the door. You just wanted to rest for the rest of the night. “Listen, came you come back tomor…” you froze mid word as your eyes landed on the one person you had hoped to see, “Din!” you breathed.

“Did I come at a bad time?” he asked, tilting his helmeted head to the side, “I had a bounty in the area and I thought I would come by.” Since it’s been awhile, he thought to himself, and I missed you.

“No, no,” you ushered him inside before he could walk away, “Come in.”

The Mandalorian walked past you, entering the room while you closed and locked the door, “Everything alright?” he asked, noticing the exhaustion in your voice.

“Fine,” you replied as you crossed the room and sat down, motioning for him to sit next to you, “It’s just been really busy here the last couple days. Not sure why,” you shrugged.

“Want me to come back another time?” he asked plainly, his tone hiding his true disappointment especially after having not seen you in so long. Din truly looked forward to the days when he could come by the brothel and spend time with you.

“I think I can muster up some energy for my favorite client,” you replied with a flirty wink. It took everything you had to not sound like you desperately wanted him to stay, and even if you couldn’t even pull yourself off the bed you would do it for him.

Din tilted his head to the side slightly as a soft amused huff escaped his lips, “Your favorite, huh?”

You heard the smile in his voice. Biting your lip and subtly shimmying your shoulders, you closed the gap between your bodies and traced the chestplate of his beskar armor with your finger, “Don’t tell anyone else. They might get jealous,” you purred as the room started to warm around you.

Din reached in his pocket, pulling out a generous amount of credits and placed them on the nearby table before he leaned in closer to you. He cupped your face, tenderly caressing the side of your head in his gloved hand, “Your secret is safe with me.” Din gently rubbed his thumb against your cheek while his large hand cradled you softly while he pushed his body against yours.

“Din…” you breathed as your eyes fluttered shut and you allowed him to guide you back until your legs hit the bed.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured as his hands moved down the front of your body and tugged at your robe.

A gasp escaped your lips as the cool air hit your skin. But, you didn’t feel cool for long. Even through the darkness of his vizor, you could feel Din’s gaze on you, and you could tell he eyed you hungerly. The way his breath hitched whenever he saw you bare for him, the way his helmet tilted slightly, the way his hands gripped you just a little bit tighter… you knew all Din’s tells by now. And you craved the feeling of being under his touch.

“Beautiful,” Din sighed as he guided your body down onto the bed. He stood in awe over you for a moment as your robe fell open and framed your figure. His pants felt tighter as his cock reacted to the way you settled yourself, spreading your legs wide for him. Din let out a low groan as he tugged his gloves off. They were the only thing he ever removed, and he only ever took them off with you.

“Din,” you whispered again as the bed dipped as he hovered over you, “Let me…”

You ran your hands down his chest once more, imaging what it would feel like to feel his bare skin under your touch instead. You bit your lip when you reached the hem of his pants, and you expertly unzipped and freed his cock without letting any other sliver of skin show. You knew the trust he put in you, and you never took it for granted. You felt honored that he even trusted you with his real name- something else you held near and dear to your heart.

Savoring the groan he let out, you stroked his length slowly. You made sure to squeeze right where he liked it, and you let out a whimper every time a louder growl escaped his lips involuntarily. But you let out another whine when you felt his thick fingers cupping your pussy, and you mewled when Din pushed them inside you.

Pumping his fingers to the same rhythm as you stroked his cock, your moans harmonized with his grunts as you both prepped the other. Heavy breaths filled the room as you fought to keep your eyes open and locked on his vizor. Din rested his helmeted forehead against yours as he thrust his fingers deeper inside you, causing you to cry out louder. But, being a professional, you kept your wits about you and squeezed his cock harder in response.

Din groaned and let out an amused laugh, “Are you ready for me, mesh’la?” he cooed.

“Always,” you whispered back with a smirk of your own.

Another short huff echoed from his helmet as he murmured your name and pulled his fingers out of you. At the same time, you let go of his cock, your hand brushed against his as he reached for it to line himself up with your pussy. The two of you froze for a moment as your gazes met, and for a breath, time felt like it stopped.

A whirlwind of emotions ran through both of you as you stared at each other. It was as if you could both sense the other had something to say, and if you both had a secret you kept buried. Yet, it remained unspoken between the two of you. Your mouth dropped open and a deep breath escaped your lips, like you were about to put into words what neither of you would say.

Before you could, though, Din thrust his hips forward, driving his cock into you in one swift movement. Your head dropped down into the bed as you let out a loud, obscene moan as you felt the familiar stretch of his cock.

“Din!” you cried out as he reeled back and thrust forward again.

“I know,” he grunted as he felt his skin sweat underneath all the armor. You had an effect on Din that no one else did. He lost all control when it came to you, especially when he was inside you. And the way you moan with every thrust of his hips only made him come more and more undone.

You cried out in ecstasy as Din rocked in and out of you in a fast and steady rhythm. Tears filled your eyes as you clutched the sheets. He made you feel something you had never felt before. And every time Din visited you, it became harder and harder to deny your growing feelings for him.

Passions ran wild as Din picked up his pace, thrusting deep into you harder and faster. He growled from under his helmet as he felt your warmth engulf his cock. Grabbing your hips, Din gave one harsh thrust, driving his length as deep inside you as he possibly could.

The gasp you let out when he did that made his cock twitch, and Din knew neither of you would last much longer. Din kept a strong grip on you as he repeated the action, changing his thrusts to slow and deep and deliberate.

“Fuck… Din…”

“I know,” he grunted.

You moved your grip from the sheets to his arms as you clung to him for dear life. With every slow, deep thrust, you felt your climax inch closer and closer and closer until you finally spilled over the edge. With a loud scream and trembling legs, you came hard on his cock. Squeezing your inner muscles as you gushed between your bodies, wave after wave of pleasure pulsed through your body as Din continued to thrust into you, hitting your sweet spot over and over again.

With a low groan of your name, Din came right after you. He spilled himself deep inside you as he drove his cock as deep as he could once more. Din kept his pace as long as he could, riding out both your orgasms as you moaned and groaned together, clawing at each other in desperation as you did so.

After one last thrust, Din pulled out of you. He watched as you collapsed onto the bed while he regained his composure. Heavy breaths filled the room as you both came down from your highs, and Din rested himself on the bed next to you in silence. His breath hitched in his throat as you immediately rolled close to him and nested yourself comfortably against his body.

“Hey,” you breathed, breaking the silence, “Is your bounty urgent or do you want to stay for the night?”

Din let out a short laugh, “He’s frozen in carbonite,” he sounded pleased with himself, “He’s not going anywhere.”

You smirked against his beaker chestplate as his unspoken acceptance lingered in the air like a comforting blanket between the two of you. Together, you laid in silence as Din wrapped his strong arms around you. Your heart pounded at the feeling of being in his arms, and you wished that it could be like this every night. But, he was a Mandalorian bounty hunter, there was no way that was in the future for you.

Suddenly, an explosion of fireworks echoed from outside, making you gasp and jump up with fright. Din tightened his grip around you, pulling you even closer and going on high alert. The two of you looked out the window as another color firework lit up the sky in the distance. More and more fireworks continued as the show went on, and in the distance you heard a crowd ooh and ahh at the marvel of the show.

Then the realization hit you. “Maker…” you breathed as you burst into nervous laughter, “Do you know what today is, Din?”

He turned to you but said nothing.

“It’s Lover’s Day!” you laughed more to cover the nerves. You just spent the evening of Lover’s Day with Din…

He seemed to mull over for several moments, his gaze moving down before he finally said, “So it is,” Din was quiet again as he turned back to you.

Even without seeing his face, you felt your skin warm under his gaze. Somehow, you felt all his emotions just in the way he held you, and as Din moved his hand and cupped your face your world felt like it was spinning. You savored the warmth of his touch, and you let out a deep breath as you leaned into his hand and closed your eyes contently.

“Since it’s Lover’s Day,” Din was the one who broke the silence this time, “Let me take care of you…”

“Din…”

Carefully, Din rolled your bodies so that you laid on your back while he hovered over you. Looking up at him, your breath caught in your chest and your heart fluttered as he pushed himself down and settled between your parted legs.

You let out a whine as heat rushed through your body. All you could do was swallow hard and moan in anticipation as you watched Din lean forward so that he hovered over your exposed pussy.

He murmured something incoherent before he rested his hand on your hips, gently pinning you in place. Not wanting to let go of you, Din used the leverage of your body to tilt his helmet up while he positioned his face over your folds.

A gasp escaped your lips when you felt his breath on your skin, “Din…” you whimpered as you closed your eyes tightly.

Din growled as he licked his lips before diving into you. The cry you let out sent a jolt through his veins, and combined with tasting you, Din almost lost all his composure. “Fuck,” he groaned against you before he lapped at your cunt again.

His hips bucked against the bed as he savored the sweetness of your pussy. Din groaned into you as his hands gripped you tighter, as if he couldn’t get enough of you. And the way you moaned and cried out in pure bliss only added to the overwhelming sensations and emotions he felt.

Not having expected this, tears quickly filled your eyes and your mind and body floated in the pleasure that Din’s tongue brought you. With every lap of his tongue, you felt a shock of pleasure tingle through your veins. And it wasn’t because he physically made you feel good either. It was the act itself, Din putting himself into a vulnerable position just to lick and suck at your pussy, and doing this for you.

It had to mean something, right?

“Fuck… Din…” you whimpered as you moved your grip from the sheets to his wrists, finding just the tiny sliver of skin under his armor.

Din grunted into you as he pushed his face more against your body. His hands shifted slightly so that his fingers curled around yours, holding both your hand and your hips at the same time. As much as he wanted to murmur soft words of encouragement, to tell you to cum in his mouth, he also couldn’t tear himself away. From the first taste, Din was addicted to you, and he already knew he wanted more… Wanted you.

Your legs trembled on either side of his helmet as you felt your body warm as your climax was about to hit. Without warning, you came hard with a loud scream, arching your back off the bed and gushing into Din’s mouth as your cries of pleasure filled the room.

He slurped and sucked at your folds as he tongue hit your clit over and over again, allowing you to ride out your orgasm on his tongue. And Din greedily lapped up every drop of your release, swallowing as much of you as he could. His grip on you tightened as he moaned against your body, lapping at you until you couldn’t take any more.

With one final gasp, you flopped down limp on the bed as Din broke away from you with a huff. His helmet slid down to cover his face in one smooth motion as he sat up and licked at the corners of his mouth from under the cover of his armor. He watched you with captivate fascination as your breasts rose and fell with your deep, heavy breaths as you recovered from your intense climax.

There were so many words on the tip of his tongue. So many things that Din wanted to tell you. The tension in the air was so thick that it almost overpowered the smell of sex in the room. Din ran his hands up and down your body, gently caressing you and letting his touch speak for him instead.

“Din,” you murmured as you broke the silence and blinked your eyes open to meet his armored figure in the low light, “I…”

He moved his hand to the side of your face, not covering your mouth but the motion itself paused your thoughts. He said nothing as he pushed himself up to your face, stopping for a moment to rest his helmeted forehead against your own. As the two of you sat like that for a few moments, he brushed your cheek with his finger tenderly. Din whispered your name as he broke away, moving his hand to cover your eyes as he did so.

Your lips pasted with a gasp, yet you stayed still, fully trusting the Mandalorian. With your eyes covered by his large hand, your world went black. Faintly, you heard a hiss in front of you, but before you could ask what was happening, you felt something on your skin. His breath.

Din pulled his helmet up just enough to uncover half of his face. His lips felt cold as the air hit his skin, but he was instantly warmed again when he pressed his lips to yours. He swallowed the moan you let out as he kissed you for the very first time. Tightening his grip on you, Din pushed himself even closer against you, desperate to feel you as close as possible.

You surrendered yourself to him willingly. Tilting your head, you were mindful to keep your eyes covered as you deepened the kiss by parting your lips for him. Din eagerly accepted the silent invitation, and you both moaned into the other when you tased each other for the first time. The fireworks continued around you, but the only explosions either of you cared about were the ones happening between you.

“I know,” Din murmured against your lips when he reluctantly broke away from you.

You let out a deep breath against his face, and you knew he felt your smile against his skin. Din placed one last kiss on your lips, lingering on yours for several moments before he pulled away and dropped his helmet back down.

Blinking your eyes open, you grinned when you were met with the familiar silhouette in the darkness once more. A soft smile lit up your face, and it made Din’s chest tighten with the sincere look in your eyes. Just as you were about to say something, though, a knock at the door made both of you jump to attention.

Din was quick to stand and shift into attack mode. Out of pure reflex, his hand reached for his blaster, ready to protect you.

“Wait,” you grabbed his wrist with one hand as you reached for your robe with the other, “It might be another client. Hang on,” you slid the robe over your shoulders and wrapped it around you as you moved around the Mandalorian.

He didn’t stray far from you, hovering behind you as you opened the door and recognized the man who stood on the other side, “Hey, I’ve got an overnight tonight,” you told him in a kind voice, “Can you come back tomorrow? I promise I’ll leave a time open for you.”

The man stuttered as he suddenly felt nervous as the Mandalorian glared at him from over your shoulder, “Y-yeah,” he finally said, “Sure… Sorry,” he mumbled before he turned and left.

Closing and locking the door, you turned back to Din and shook your head as you grinned, “He’s a nice guy,” you explained to him, “One of my best tippers too… So please try not to scare away my source of income.”

“Sorry,” he mumbled an apology as he visibly relaxed. Din had no issue with what you did for a living, he only had your safety and best interest in mind. He had seen you mistreated once before, and while he knew it was a rarity, Din never wanted to see you hurt ever again. Especially not if he could prevent it and protect you.

“Let’s lay down,” you said softly as you reached your hand out to him. Your heart fluttered for a moment as he took your hand and allowed you to lead him back to the bed where you both made yourselves comfortable. Din immediately pulled you in close and held you in his embrace.

Settling down for the night, you never felt more safe than you did right now, in Din’s arms. Yawning heavily, you felt the exhaustion start to overcome you once more, and you knew soon you would be sound asleep, “Hey Din,” you muttered sleepily, “Happy Lover’s Day.”

Din’s breath hitched in his throat as you quickly started to snore softly. He looked forward to nights like this, nights with you. And it was pure coincidence that he happened to come to you on Lover’s Day. But perhaps it wasn't a coincidence. Perhaps he was meant to be here tonight… with you. As Din listened to your steady breaking while you slept, he leaned in and whispered, “Happy Lover’s Day, cyare.”

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thetriumphantpanda · 8 months

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feel the rain on your skin | din djarin

Summary | The Mandalorian has never felt the rain on his face.

Pairing | Din Djarin x F!Reader

Word Count | 1.5K

Warnings | Future chapters will include smut, but this one just involves a lot of yearning mainly.

Authors Note | I saw this absolutely stunning piece of work by @plattenbauprinz and I couldn't let it lie, I had to write it. I have never written for Din before, because he's like a comfort blanket to me, but I couldn't resist. This will be part of a longer series which I cannot wait to share with you all. As always, comments, reblogs and freaking out in my ask box are all welcome and if you enjoyed this, please consider supporting me with a donation to my Ko-Fi.

I no longer use taglists - please follow @thetriumpantpandanotifs and turn on notifications to know when I upload fics.

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Ko-Fi

It’s raining. You can’t remember the last time you were anywhere that it rained. The Mandalorian has acquiesced to you wanting the Crest open so you can listen to the drops pelt the ground. It’s comforting. Reminds you of home. Not that you have a home anymore. No family, no base to dream of returning to, but it’s comforting none-the-less.

It hadn’t even been planned like this, The Mandalorian and you, it had just sort of happened. You’d hurt yourself in front of him, thought that the shootout he’d caused was over. You’d moved from where you were cowering, attempting to run anywhere that might be safer than the boxes you’d used as a barricade. You’d been wrong though. He’d been waiting for his final assailant, who you’d later learned was his bounty, to show himself. He’d done just that, almost simultaneously as you’d started running for the door on the opposite side of the street. The blaster had grazed your upper arm – not the worst injury by any means, but you still cried out, crumpled to the ground in pain, and waited for what you’d assumed would be your ending.

You’d listened as the two exchanged more fire until the town was silent again. You’d convinced yourself he’d walked away, and you wouldn’t have blamed him really, he didn’t owe you anything, your injury was your own fault, and in the grand scheme of things, it wasn’t even that bad, you were just being dramatic. But then, his shadow fell over your body, blocking out the early afternoon sun as he bent, picked you up bridal style and carried you all the way to his ship. He’d patched you up silently, left you there on your own whilst he retrieved the body of his bounty and returned.

“Do you have somewhere to go?” He asked, clearing up the mess he’d made cleaning you up.

Technically you did. The small, dark room you called home on this Godforsaken planet. But no-one would miss you, no friends, just the landlord that would miss his money. So, you shake your head.

That’s how it had been for months. Trailing behind him wherever he went. It started as him taking you to the next planet, he was going to drop you there, but when he turned to you and asked if you thought it would do, you’d shaken your head and said no. It was a lie, because wherever it was – you don’t remember now – it would have been fine. It was more of a test, testing to see what he would do. You certainly didn’t expect him to shrug and lead you back to The Crest. This had continued for months, a sort of dance between the two of you, until he’d simply stopped asking you. You think it’s because secretly, not that he would actually admit it, he’s lonely. Even though he has The Child, the little green monster who you think might actually be the real reason you don’t want to leave. He’s more silent than The Mandalorian, but when he looks at you with those buggy eyes and starts to cause havoc, you can’t help but let your heart swell.

He's a man of few words, The Mandalorian – doesn’t like small talk, tends to remain silent when you sit with him the cockpit and chatter away. You don’t really know much about him apart from what you’d learnt about their creed in your younger years.

“You know, if I’m going to stay with you, you’ll have to tell me something about you eventually.” You teased one time, he was sat in his chair in the cockpit, you were behind him, eating some ration pack. All he’d done was huff through his modulator. Sounded more like a challenge to you than anything else.

And so here you were, months later, sitting just inside The Crest, just enough to keep yourself dry, knees brought up to your chest as you let the cool air fall over your body. You can hear his heavy footsteps before you sense him next to you. When you tip your head up, he’s leaning on his right side against the opening of the ship, arms crossed over his chest.

“You know, when I was little, I used to run around in the rain,” You muse, “Get all muddy and wet, I wonder why we never do that when we grow up.”

“I’ve never felt the rain.” It’s a simple confession but one that almost breaks your heart, because of course he hasn’t. Committed to his creed and The Way, this man who you really think at this point was made purely of beskar, of course he’d not felt the rain on his skin.

You stand slowly, taking tentative steps down the ramp until you can feel the drops hitting your skin. It’s cold, is the first thing you register, and then you start laughing when you see him, still leaning against the side of The Crest with his arms folded, helmet tilted in a way that you just know means he’s frowning under there.

“Come on.” You urge, holding out your hand as you walk a few more steps backwards.

When he doesn’t follow you, you hold your arms out and spin, holding your face to the sky as the water hits your skin. You giggle again until you slip, the mud underfoot making you unsteady. You would have fallen if it hadn’t been for the strong arm that wraps around your middle to keep you up. When you pull yourself up, your face is almost close enough to his visor that you could breathe onto him and draw shapes in the clouds you leave behind. He doesn’t let you go though.

You can feel the rain soaking your hair, seeping through your clothes, and there’s something oddly romantic about the way he’s holding you, his hand splayed across your lower back. If this had been anyone else, they’d lean in and kiss you, you just know it. But he isn’t anyone else, he’s The Mandalorian, so he finally unravels his arm from your back and moves to walk away.

“Hey,” You say softly, gripping his wrist, turning him back to you, “Just trust me, okay?”

He gives a short nod. You stand in front of him, close your eyes, and put your hands on his helmet. You don’t add any pressure, you’re not going to force him to do this, but you’re going to give him the choice. Eyes firmly pressed shut, you wait. It feels like an eternity, but then you feel his gloved hands cover your own, some kind of mechanical sound you’ve never heard before, but then your hands are moving with his own, moving the helmet from his face.

You keep your eyes closed as your hands fall from beneath his own. You don’t know why but you place them on the cool metal of his chest as you tilt your head back up to the rain, letting it cleanse you, although from what you don’t know. You don’t know how long you stay like this, your hands on his chest, but it feels like hours. Then, you feel the gloved hand that isn’t clutching his helmet meet the skin of your face.

You gasp when he cups your face. It’s soft, gentle, and he just rests it there for a moment, letting your cheek tip further into his touch. Then, his thumb starts to move slowly across your skin, rubbing a line across your cheek that feels like it might set you alight. Then, his gloved thumb pulls down and drags across your bottom lip. You think now about how easy it would be to flutter your eyes open and look at him, look at the man he really is under all his metal, but you don’t, you wouldn’t dare. You just stand there, letting him take you in with his naked eyes.

“Mesh’la.”

You have no idea what it means, but you think it must be important, something he’s not yet ready to tell you, if he speaks it in his own language and not the one you share. But his voice, oh his voice, it’s so pretty, you think. Then, his warm touch is gone. You breathe out air you hadn’t realized you were holding onto.

“You can look now.” His voice is back to what it usually sounds likes, meaning his helmet is back on.

You slowly blink your eyes open, letting them adjust to the light. He’s stood in front of you, stoic as ever, as if he hadn’t just been the most vulnerable he’s ever been in front of you. You want to run to him, wrap yourself in him, ask him to touch you again and never let go. You don’t though, you just follow behind him back into the dry cover of The Crest.

“You’re cold.” He observes simply when you start to shiver, sodden clothes sticking to you.

“I-I’m f-fine.” Your teeth chatter, betraying you.

He rummages through a box, pulling out clean clothes. They’re his, they’ll drown you when you wear them, but something about this feels like turning a corner, all of this does, so you take them when they’re offered to you. Set them gently on the counter in the fresher as you wait for the water to warm enough. And as you stand under the slow fall of warm water, you wonder what other firsts you might be able to show The Mandalorian.

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misspearly1 · 1 year

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Ner Cyar'ika Baar'ur

Secret Santa Event by @pedrostories

My giftee: @taro-666

Pairing: Din D'jarin x F!Medic!Reader (use of Y/N).

Summary: Working for the Mandalorian as his personal medic, it has become apart of the daily routine to battle against people who threaten his safety, or yours. You're apart of the chaos that comes with the bounty hunting life, but how does one particular quarry change everything between you and Din D'jarin?

WC: 8k

Warnings: 18+ Content. Minors DNI. Fic is set in season one, between episode one to three. Slight changes in the storyline from the TV show. Cursing. Use of Mando'a (with translations). Friends to Lovers. Mutual Pining. Violence and Injury. Angst with a happy ending. Smut. Mentions of wet dreams. Unprotected PIV. Praise kink. Fluff.

AN: Taro! Omg, I've been so excited to share this story with you and to finally come off anon. Hey friend! 👋 I hope you enjoy the read, my love ❤️.

@supernaturalgirl20 Thank you so much for the beta, beautiful! You're a star 🥰.

There aren’t a lot of things that surprise you these days as a trained medic; you’ve been through a lot and have seen nearly twice as much. Having said that, it’s almost as if you’ve grown used to the mayhem that comes with treating the sick and the wounded because of your line of work.

For instance, it doesn’t surprise you anymore when your boss requires your medical assistance considering he is actually in need of your assistance quite often, and it’s the very reason he hired you in the first place.

The Mandalorian is your boss, or Mando as he is known to some, and his involvement in the bounty hunting business was never in your interest at first - your a healer, not a fighter - but where there is a fight, there is almost always a need for someone to be patched up afterwards.

There’s never a dull moment working with the Mandalorian, his daily life is mayhem, more so in the last several weeks since his workload has been busier than usual and seeing that you’ve already adapted to the chaos around treating the sick and wounded, especially on war-torn planets, you quickly adopted his chaotic lifestyle as well.

There wasn’t much difference truthfully, only that you were treating one patient instead of several a day, and rather than coming to you for medical treatment, Mando offered you to move into his ship as an alternative. You didn’t oppose the idea and accepted his offer, not only because the pay is better, but the company is welcome too.

As well as this, you didn’t mind moving into Mando’s ship because he used to visit you regularly for medical attention back on Nevarro. That's where The Bounty Hunter’s Guild is situated, it’s their home base, and although you only stayed in the city for seven months, you didn’t particularly enjoy your time on the volcanic planet. It’s a world of black sand, rocky terrain, and rivers flowing with lava instead of water.

While it was beautiful to gaze upon at night, it was also deadly as the Reptavion's used the darkness to their advantage, hunting anything it could carry before taking flight. Nevarro provided work opportunities and credits, but it wasn’t a place to call home.

However, the volcanic planet is where you met Mando for the very first time. During the months you were staying in the city, you were working in a small medical clinic, and there were plenty more suitable facilities for the man to visit, but he chose your place of work instead.

At first, you assumed it was for discretion as the clinic's unspoken rule was ‘ask no question, hear no lies’, but sometimes he would come to see you with minor injuries that could be treated by his own hands, thus leading you to believe that he was interested in more than just your help. Besides, you enjoyed the man's company when he would come to visit you. He wasn’t much of a talker back then, but as time passed, he gradually opened up.

Moving into the man's ship brought you closer to each other. You became his partner more than his employee, and you love your job because it simply doesn’t feel like a job. It feels like you're working with a trusted friend, sharing the riches and helping each other out.

Whether or not he was actually in need of your service back on Nevarro doesn’t matter. What matters is that he saw an opportunity with your skills and presented a deal to make your working life better - which it has.

Ever since you moved in with him, your life has become better in so many ways; you now have a place to call home, and you have a friend you can rely on without the niggling doubt of betrayal in the back of your mind.

Since you were always on the move before, you adopted a cautious nature with everyone regarding every little detail in your life. You never did fully trust people, but you do with Mando. Things are different with him, and one of the many reasons why it's different with him is because you know the man underneath the beskar.

Many people have heard of Mando. They’ve heard the stories about his reputation in the Bounty Hunters Guild, about how he is the best in the parsec, but his past and identity remain a mystery. Even to you, to some extent, but you’ve heard the stories too, heard ‘warrior’ in the whispers and it’s true. He is a fine warrior, one that fights with grace and loyalty to the cause. His cause; his culture and his religion - the way of Mandalore.

While many call him Mando, or the Mandalorian in the Guild, you know him as Din D’jarin. You have not yet had the pleasure to see his identity, but hopefully one day you will have that pleasure and the honour. These are just some of the many reasons why you love your job, but to put it simply; it’s because of Din.

Since there aren’t a lot of things that surprise you anymore in your line of work and partnership with the man, that doesn’t mean there’s nothing that surprises you. Take these last few days for example, it started off with the same regular chaos, but eventually became something you’re not familiar with.

The loading bay of the Razor Crest is almost packed full of quarries, frozen solid in the carbonite blocks with one more space remaining for the Mythrol. You helped Din as far as your abilities could, and since the tracking fob for the Mythrol led him to a public house on the icy planet, Pagadon, you stayed back on the ship and waited for his return.

And of course, it came as no shock when Din returned with the Mythrol, thankfully without any injuries, but the blue-skinned man tried to pull a fast one. However, it wasn’t fast enough as the Mandalorian was two steps ahead of the trickery. He always is.

Still, just like the normalities in the bounty hunting life, you made your way back to Nevarro and met with Greef Karga in the cantina to offload the carbonite blocks, receive your payments and gather more tracking fobs leading to more quarries.

The surprise began when the words ‘off the books’ were uttered by Greef himself and from the moment Din took his next job, you had mixed feelings. There was no chain code on the quarry, all you had was their age. Then, Din wouldn’t allow you to accompany him when meeting the client and the very fact he was protective of you in that sense, made you worry about their business.

In the Guild, it’s common knowledge that you don’t ask questions about the criminals you hunt. You just get the job done and let the proper authorities serve justice, but something was gnawing at your gut. As the day went on and the chaos continued, the doubts slowly began to fade as you settled back into normality.

The tracking fob led you to a desert planet, Arvala-7, where you met with a kind man named Kuiil working on a moisture farm. It was especially fun watching Din trying to mount the Blurrg and learn to ride them, but you, too, had to learn in order to join his travels to the Nikto Hideout - where the quarry was.

By the afternoon, you and Din had mastered the art of riding the creatures and you set off to capture the quarry. Just like any other day in the bounty hunting life, there was nothing surprising or out of the ordinary. You worked together like you always do and after leaving you at a safe distance away from the hideout, Din moved forward on his own.

As battle ensued, you watched from afar and used comms to help the man out. He fought magnificently. More often than not, his skills leave you awestruck. Mesmerized. You prepared yourself and stocked up on the medical supplies before leaving the moisture farm earlier, but remained hopeful that there wasn’t a need for them.

When the fight was over, the enemy threats were eliminated and Din was unharmed, you made your way to him and entered the hideout together to find the quarry, but when you first laid your eyes on the target, that unsettled feeling returned to your gut. It was an infant baby, a little green baby with big ears and the cutest eyes you’ve ever seen.

Although you remembered that you don’t ask questions in the Guild about the quarries, you couldn’t help wondering, and worrying, about what the client wants with the child. It couldn’t be anything good if Din didn’t want you present in the meeting with them on Nevarro.

You had many doubts and suspicions, so many that you couldn’t find a single rational explanation as to why a baby had a bounty on its head. Naturally, you asked Din all of the questions you had, but he didn’t have any answers.

Now, as you both make your way back to the Razor Crest with the baby through the mountainous canyons of Arvala-7, you still can’t shake off the nerves around this whole ordeal. Din is many things; a fine warrior in battle, a man of few words, emotionally shielded and well guarded, cold and merciless to those who threaten his safety, or yours, but careless? No, never.

The man isn’t careless. He cares greatly, and deeply, and he, too, knows that something is off about this job. You’ve known Din D’jarin for the last two years and you can sense when the man is nervous. He’s quiet, too quiet, and you don’t like when his mind is on overdrive because if he is worried about this job, then you should be fearful.

“Alright. What is it?” You finally break the silence to ask, eager to make sense of his sudden edgy state of mind. Halting your walk and turning to face him, you perch both hands to your hips and tilt your head to the side in question, adding emphasis to your desire for answers.

The baby situated in his floating pod remains close by, right between you and Din as a matter of fact, and he looks up at you both with curiosity. You fight the urge to look at him, to avoid his influence on you as a woman with maternal instincts. The little guy's presence has undoubtedly caused a heavy bout of uncertainty over your heads, a little rift between you and Mando. Not something of the bad kind, but something unfamiliar and foreign. He’s a child, just an innocent baby, so it’s a confusing and an extremely foreign feeling for you both to be transporting him like he’s just another quarry when he isn’t like any other quarry you’ve ever transported before.

“Din, talk to me,” You shake your head now, frustration evident in your tone, “What is it? What’s got you nervous?” You ask again, although the answer is obvious. It’s because of the baby and all the questions he has for the client, but you want to hear him say it.

To hear Din himself say that something isn’t right will validate your reasons to be worried, but you were met with silence yet again. The man wasn’t even paying attention to you, he was too focused on the little lizards scurrying across the sand. “Mando.” Stepping forward and calling him the name that everyone else uses, that usually gets his attention, you open your mouth to speak but the words didn’t even make it past your lips as he shoved you back.

You fell down and watched as he turned swiftly, gun in hand at the ready to shoot, but a blade whacked it out of his grasp, a blade wielded by a Trandoshan. You and Din both lock onto the tracking fob on his hip, the flashing red dot and audible beep familiar, before he then shoves the floating pod away, keeping the baby out of harm's reach. There’s more than one tracking fob, therefore there’s more bounty hunters looking for the child. Bounty Hunters who are careless and don’t ask questions.

Neither one of you can allow the baby to leave your sight or allow him to fall into the wrong hands, thus causing your legs to act before your mind can think. You quickly rise from the floor and move in to help Din wherever you can. He smites the Trandoshan and they tumble to the floor. Then, he takes the blade from him, before turning around to throw it toward you.

“Stay with the baby.” He orders firmly, and you listen to his instructions. Trusting his fighting skills better than your own, you take a few steps back and give him the space he needs to wield his weapons without hurting you.

However, another Trandoshan jumps out of cover. “Behind you!” You yell, giving Din a heads up just in time to evade the direction of a blade coming down in his path. The fight continues, and you take a few more steps back to look up, checking the surroundings to ensure there aren’t any more hunters hiding in the shadows. But there was. “Another one, on your left.” You call out. Again just in time as another Trandoshan jumps down from a ledge.

With one enemy on the floor, but recovering quickly, the odds weren’t in Din’s favour. It wasn’t a fair fight, even though you’re pretty sure he can handle himself, you worry for his safety nonetheless. And although you're not a fighter, you’ll be damned if you don’t try to help even out the odds against him.

After checking that the baby was safe in his pod, you move toward the closest Trandoshan and raise your weapon. His back was turned, giving you the upper hand to land a blow without deadly consequence. Using the blunt side of the blade, you struck the back of his legs, causing him to stumble forward just at the right time for Din to throw his arms out and punch him in the face, knocking him unconscious as he fell to the floor.

Now that the odds were evened out, you watched Din’s movements with laser-like focus and only intervened when you saw the right moment. You were sure he could handle himself, and you were right, but the element of surprise was the only advantage the Trandoshans had over him in the beginning. He fought the remaining two easily, eventually leaving all three unconscious and regretful for ever trying to take on a skilled Mandalorian.

He turns to you, nodding appreciatively. “Good moves there, mesh’la - thank you.”

“Don’t mention it,” You shake your head, “You did all the heavy lifting. I was just lending a hand.” You mumble with a sheepish grin on your lips.

“But I know how you don’t like to fight,” He argues gently with a slight chuckle in his modulated voice. “You fought with me. Accept my gratitude, sweet girl.”

“Ok, ok - you’re welcome, Din.” Your smile deepens with flattery as he stands before you with what you can only describe as pride. It was the way he looked at you; his helmet slightly tilted to the side, displaying the reflection of your own face, and his hands resting on his hips with a puffed out chest.

Since you can’t see the man's facial expression, all you’re left with his body language and tone of voice to understand how he feels. And right now, you not only feel a sense of pride from him, but a flicker of attraction too. It’s in the air. The chemistry, the spark, it’s surrounding you both, and it’s something you feel quite often, but never have the courage to act on.

You’re almost certain that the friendship between you and Din means something more, or at least, it’s heading towards something more. But the intimate moments you share with each other, brief moments like this, make you wonder why he doesn’t make a move.

You don’t even have to see the man's face to know that he’s eyeing you up and down. Upon feeling him lean in, something you’ve felt him do many times before, you muster up the courage to lean in as well.

However, the confidence escapes him at the last second and he pulls back, clearing his throat awkwardly. “We should leave now, mesh’la,” He says, breaking the silence and just like that, the moment is over. “ We need to get back on track and complete the job.”

What? You ask yourself as your mouth falls open and your eyes widen, exhibiting your shock and disbelief. After everything that has happened today, especially after a brawl against three Trandoshans, you're shocked that he is still going to hand the baby over to the client. Din picked up on your reaction instantly and straightened his back, as if preparing himself for a dispute.

“Excuse me?” You scoff, your cheeks burning up again for an entirely different reason now. It wasn’t flattery, or attraction, it was anger. “Din, you can’t be serious. We can’t hand the baby over to the client. Especially now that we know other hunters are after him too-” You walk over to one of the Trandoshans laying on the ground and retrieve their tracking fob before presenting it to him, “-The client gave you the job, but handed out more fobs? It doesn't feel right and you know it.”

“Cyar’ika, please don’t do this.” He sighs while running his gloved hand over the scruff of his neck, the pleadings in his voice for you to not argue about this falling on deaf ears. You are most certainly going to argue about this with him. You cross your arms and shake your head, like you had already settled the argument without even uttering another word. But, the dispute was nowhere near settled. “Need I remind you of the code in the Guild?” He asks with a bite to his tone of voice, “If you don’t like this job, I’ll finish this one on my own.”

“On your own?” You laugh humourlessly while waving the tracking fob. “Good luck with that when the whole Guild could have these! What happens if you get hurt? What then?” Biting back with your own set of questions, you watch as the man huffs a short breath and turns away from you, evidently maddened with your bickering. “Don’t turn away. Answer me -” You give him a second to answer, but grow impatient as you're met with a lengthy silence once again. “- What happens if you get hurt, Mando? You can’t do this alone.”

Din turns to you now and stands close, his voice raised to a level that hurts. “I was doing just fine on my own two years ago, Y/N.” Turning away again, as if he couldn’t stand another second looking at you or spend any more time arguing, it didn’t matter anyways as you had ultimately lost the dispute. You give him another second, another chance to make things right and take back what he said, but he doesn’t turn around or mutter a single word.

“Okay then,” You mumble, lowering your head, “Am I just the medic? Is that all I am to you?” You ask, and still, the man doesn’t turn to face you or answer your question. The silence spoke for him and that was all you needed to know before turning around to walk away. You gave him plenty of chances to fix his mistake, but only until your back was turned did he try.

“Cyar'ika.” He calls out for you, finally coming to his senses, but it wasn’t quick enough as you didn’t respond to him. You made your way towards the baby and the sound of your muffled cries made his head hang low with shame. No matter how quiet you tried to be, your cries were audible to his ears, enhanced by the mechanics in his helmet.

Although you were quite visibly sad, he watched you put on a fake smile and talk to the baby like nothing was wrong. The warmness of your soul shone through the misery, causing the little guy to beam and babble baby nonsense. It was a sight so beautiful to witness, so beautiful that it was distracting.

Din can’t allow himself to get too wrapped up in the emotions that the child brings. It’s conflicting, confusing and… foreign. He’s never felt this way before. Never felt this way before with any woman around a child, but it’s different with you and it clouds his mind, throws him off balance and disrupts his focus so much that he doesn’t pay attention to what’s most important right now. Like the danger lingering in the immediate surroundings.

“Y/N!” The man calls to you again, his voice was laden with urgency. “Behind you! Y/N - behind you.” Sprinting toward your position while swinging the strap of his amban rifle around his chest, Din takes aim at another Trandoshan and fires, obliterating the reptilian humanoid to a thousand dust particles.

You fall down, your knees hitting the sandy terrain below as your pained cries penetrate the sound of his beating heart deafening his ears. You took a hit from the Trandoshan, his blade had cut through your clothes and marked your skin before he was blasted into organic matter.

“Mesh’la.” He choked. Rushing over and kneeling on the ground behind you, he reaches out to hold your arms. The injury you sustained was across your back, diagonally, at least three inches long and almost half an inch deep. A clean cut, but angry red and weeping with blood. “Easy now, sweet girl. You’re bleeding, just take it easy.” He reassures you with a slight tremble in his tone, his worry for your well-being perceivable.

“The disinfectant,” You hissed in reply whilst shaking your head, “Get the disinfectant. It’s in my satchel, Mando.” Gently removing your satchel over your shoulder, he places the bag onto the floor and opens it up to search through your medical supplies. Supplies that are normally used for him. There’s irony in the fact you became a medic to treat others, not yourself, and the man despises that his involvement in the bounty hunting business has caused you harm.

And although he is helping to the best of his knowledge, you’re directing him on what to do. “Open the cap and pour a generous amount over the wound.” You explain, then grab his hand on your hip to hold onto for comfort. He begins to ask if you’re sure, but couldn’t even finish his sentence as your sobbing plea cut him off. “Yes-yes! Just get it over with. Please, Din.”

Listening to your instructions, he held his breath and prepared himself as he began dousing your back with disinfectant. You bawled with agony, your back arching away from him naturally with the instinct to stop the pain, but to his regret, he pulled you towards him and continued to pour. He clenches his jaw as you cry, his fingers almost turning blue from the force of your grip on his hand. “I’m sorry.” He apologizes, to which you don’t accept and stutter in reply. “This isn’t y-your fault.”

Releasing your hand to place his thumb and forefinger on your chin, he tilts your head to look at him before leaning in. “I’m sorry, Y/N - for this, for yelling at you, for saying that I was doing just fine two years ago and… and you’re not just a medic.” He rests his helmet against your head and whispers, though his voice breaks with remorse. “You’re so much more than that, mesh’la. You mean so much to me.”

“Din, I-” You open your mouth to object, but he cuts you off by holding his thumb over your lips while shushing you. “Don’t speak and conserve your energy, we’ll talk about it later. Just let me take care of you first.” He says.

“No, Din…” You sigh, eyes blinking slowly while slurring your words. “I was going… going to say that I… I can’t keep my eyes… I don't feel good…” Your body becomes limp as you fall into his arms. Your vision darkens quickly, and the last thing you saw before everything went black was the baby's eyes looking at you as he peaks over the pod.

The next time you awoke, it was a brief moment of consciousness. The familiar sound of Din’s amban rifle could be heard as he fired off multiple rounds and your eyes glimmered open to see his legs, the bandolier of cartridges wrapped around his calf. You saw his gloved hand reaching for ammunition to load into his weapon and worried as to why he needed them.

“It’s ok. Everything is ok,” he says upon noticing you were awake and were fighting to keep your eyes open. “We’re safe here. Go back to sleep, cyar’ika.”

Eyes closing once again, you couldn’t keep them open no matter how hard you tried to, and his voice soon faded as you slipped into a deep slumber. The silence took over and, oddly, it felt comforting. Although it only felt like minutes had passed, you knew it must have been longer as your surroundings were different.

There was no longer a warm breeze, but the cold presence of steel pressing into your side, and beneath you, it felt spongy and soft, thus indicating you were laying on a bed. The unmistakable sound of Kuiil’s voice could be heard in the distance as he makes the baby laugh and you open your eyes to confirm your assumptions on your whereabouts, but are met with locks of brown hair instead.

It’s Din. He’s the cold presence of steel pressing into your side as he sat on the edge of the bed and it’s his hair that you were currently staring at with wide eyes. His back was turned, but you could still see the back of his head and instantly shut your eyes, fearing that if you spent one more second looking, you wouldn’t be able to turn away.

“Mando,” You whisper immediately, panicking, then feel him moving around. “Mando, why don’t you have your helmet on? Stars! I could have seen your face.”

You begin to shift your position to turn away from him, but are reminded of the wound on your back. The pain struck you suddenly and harshly, causing Din’s hands to dart out to cover your eyes just in time as you opened them with instinct. He was gentle but quick. “It’s ok, mesh’la. You can’t see, it’s ok.” He reassures you through the strained whimpers slipping past your lips.

“Where is your helmet?” You ask, getting your teeth. You close your eyes again once the surge of pain passes over and the soothing properties of bacta gel takes over. You can feel the substance on your back, feel the stuff working to heal your injury. “My eyes are closed now. It’s safe but… Shit, Din. I saw your hair.” You say apologetically.

“It’s fine, sweet girl.” He chuckles softly, the sound making your mouth fall open with shock as you retort. “It’s not funny. I’m not allowed to see you - or your hair! What… W-what happens now?” You ask, to which he laughs again and startles you unintentionally when reaching out to cup your cheek. You weren’t expecting to feel his gloved fingers on your skin, but you quickly leaned into his touch as his gesture brought consolation.

“Look at me,” He requests, “It's safe to look, I promise.”

Rolling your eyes behind closed lids, you make a surprised sound when he caresses your cheek with his thumb. Again, you weren’t expecting the comforting gesture, but deeply appreciated it. And whether or not it was the bacta gel or Din easing the discomfort in your back, you chose to believe it was the latter.

A short moment passes before you finally open your eyes and find relief in the T shape of his helmet. Although you would love nothing more than to see his identity, the face of his helmet is what you know, it’s home. Your face softens as you relax into the palm of his hand, but the importance and worry around your question still lingers, thus causing you to ask again. “What happens now? I thought I wasn’t allowed to see you without the helmet, doesn’t that also mean I can’t see your hair?”

“You didn’t see my face, nor did you remove my helmet, mesh’la,” He shakes his head, his voice soft like honey, “It’s okay and besides-” He turns his head, displaying the brown locks of his hair at the base of his neck, “-You can see my hair with the helmet on.”

“Oh,” You whisper with intrigue, “Surprised I didn’t notice sooner, but your hair is…” Lifting your hand with a desire to touch his hair, you back out at the last second and retract your arm, but Din felt your movements and quickly assured. “Go ahead. I trust you.”

You reach out again and caress the base of his neck, your fingertips massaging his scalp which draws out the heaviest sounding exhale you’ve ever heard from him; a sigh of relief, filled with endearment and relaxation. It was a gratifying feeling, seeing and hearing the man lean into your touch without fear of betrayal in this moment of vulnerability. Din is vulnerable at this moment, his guard is down and just the mere thought of removing his helmet sickens you. It never crosses your mind.

“Your hair is beautiful, Din.” You murmur sweetly, a smile on your lips displaying your satisfaction and joy from something so simple. The action of touching his hair which you’d love to do again, to feel him melt in your arms like soft putty and feel a sense of home from your touch, like you feel a sense of home when looking into the T-shape of his visor.

You gently squeeze the base of his neck, a way of reassuring him, before pulling your hand back, however, it was apparent that he wanted more as he sharply held your wrist and directed your hand back to his hair. “Please?” He asks in a whispered breath, hopeful and optimistic, desperate. “Keep playing with my hair, ner cyar’ika.”

You laugh, a mixture of surprise and confusion obvious in your tone. The difference in his pet name for you was confusing, and his request for you to continue playing with his hair was surprising. Though, you granted his request gladly and began playing with his hair. “What does cyar’ika mean anyway?” You ask, tilting your head with interest while wondering what faces he was making under the helmet from your massaging movements. “Is there a difference when you say ner cyar’ika?”

“Yes.” He groans in reply, the sound drawing out another laugh from your lips as your smile deepens. You open your mouth to ask another question, until he turns his head to face you and leans across your body. The pause in his manoeuvre speaks of hesitancy, unsure on whether or not you were comfortable with what was about to do.

The question you had vanishes from your mind as you nod to the man, nodding with confirmation for him to lay down and rest his head in your arms. The bed in which you lay on didn’t feel small until Mando lay on it with you. Not that you minded anyway, but it really detailed the size and stature of the man, especially the broad expanse of his chest and back.

He raised both hands to his helmet, and before he could even ask, you closed your eyes with baited breath as he removed it to optimize the comfiest position. The position he chose however, was burying his face between your neck and shoulder. You didn't release the breath you were holding, it was snatched from your lungs.

Somewhere in the back of your mind, you thought this day would come, but doubt is what kept it at the back of your mind. You never entertained the idea of laying in bed with Mando too much as it felt like a pipe dream to have the man in your arms like this, and now that you do, it feels better than you ever could have imagined.

The pain in your back is practically non-existent now, almost as if you never even sustained an injury, and that’s because of his presence, his proximity and his comfort. It wasn’t a struggle to keep your eyes closed as you basked in the sensation of him carefully laying his weight over you like this.

Something else you’ve also thought about in the past, but tried not to think about too much, is Din laying over you for an entirely different reason. And perhaps it’s because of the level of intimacy in this position that brings those thoughts back to the surface, or maybe it was the electrifying feeling of his lips pressed against your skin.

The man wasn’t exactly kissing you per se, but the bare contact of his lips placed against your neck like this felt like a kiss. Besides, the vest shirt that you wore left a lot of skin on your chest on display, thus providing Din, and yourself, to relish in skin-to-skin contact.

You could feel his beard, it was a light amount of hair, grazing against you with every little movement of his head. Soon, though, all of those little movements from Din became obvious that he was uncomfortable, as if he kept moving slightly to adjust his comfort.

“Want me to stop?” You ask, wondering if he has had enough of you playing with his hair, but to your delight, he shook his head as he inhaled deeply. He smiles against your skin, thus piquing your interest. “What? What is it?” You laugh bashfully.

“You smell good, ner cyar’ika.” He replies, nestling his nose into your neck to inhale the natural scent of you. The smile on your face is yet to fade, his actions are what keeps your lips turned upwards, that was until you felt something wet dart onto your skin. It was brief, too brief, but you felt it nonetheless.

It was Din’s tongue, and your smile disappears as you bite your lip, leaving a hankering desire to feel it again. Your skin heats up beneath him as you entertain those thoughts about him lying over you like this for a different reason. You think about how you’ve yearned for his gloved fingers to touch other areas of your body, and as well as wondering about his identity, you’ve also wondered what he looks like nude. A mind is an imaginative place, and you’ve imagined him naked more than once. You sigh softly with the ache between your legs, wishing Din to be the one who eases it.

“Mesh’la,” He mumbles, grabbing your attention, and when you hum in reply to him, he asks: “Is everything ok? Your heart is racing -” Your eyes spring open with worry, feeling like he could see your dirty thoughts, thus causing your heart to pound harder, “- Hey, hey, relax. I can move, am I making you uncomfortable?” He asks, blaming himself for your panic. Although he is to blame, it’s not for the reason he thinks.

“No, it’s just…” You falter with finding the right words, but the patience to wait for him any longer escapes you. “It’s just that I felt your tongue on my neck and if… Stars, this is going to be embarrassing if I’m wrong… and if you did it purposely, then I want to feel it again, but…” You gulp, gathering your courage to admit your feelings, “...But if it was just a mistake, then I think that we should maybe stop what we’re doing because I’m attracted to you Din.”

“You are?” He asks, to which you reply firmly. “Yes. Yes, I am.”

“So…” He smiles, “You like this?” He asks before placing an open mouthed kiss to your neck, his tongue darting out onto your skin again, thus eliciting you to sigh breathily. “Y-yes. Yes, I like that.” Your eyes close naturally as he plants another kiss on your skin, still with a smile on his lips, as he begins to pant. “I’m attracted to you too. Have been for a long time, ner cyar’ika.”

“Oh, Din.” You moan. With arousal and relief, his admission makes you moan, the sound acting as a catalyst as he moves down your body, his head disappearing under the covers eagerly to hear you moan again. “Are you able to lay on your back?” You hear him ask, though his voice was muffled, you heard him clearly and nod frantically with excitement.

Shifting your position to accommodate him, you couldn’t feel the pain in your back anymore and slipped your hands beneath the covers, your fingers finding his hair with ease. “It’s ok, I’m comfortable lying like this.” You say while focusing on his every move with anticipation. You could feel his breath fanning across your lower stomach, his fingers hooked inside the waistband of your pants as he leans in to place another kiss on your skin.

You lift your hips up with a silent request, one that he understood without a need for words, and begins pulling your pants down, along with your underwear. He leans in and presses his lips to your inner thigh, nipping a path toward your sex. You unintentionally begin gripping his hair by the handfuls, evidently desperate to feel his tongue delve into your slick folds. The man doesn’t waste time and gives in to his own desperation.

“Din!” You whine upon feeling the tip of his tongue meet your clit. He teases you at first, moving his tongue in a circular motion with a feather-light touch, the action making your hips lift off the bed to search for more. You feel him smiling against your inner thigh, clearly satisfied with your reactions, before he closes his lips around your sensitive bud and sucks gently.

You let go of his hair to hold the back of your palm over your mouth, quieting your mewls of pleasure to a respectable level. Considering all the noises Din himself is making was driving you feral, it was a struggle to try and keep quiet. He sounded hungry, like a man starved for a taste of your sweetness right from the source, as if he had dreamed of this moment and was making the most of it now that it’s a reality.

Your hands abandoned his hair to grip handfuls of the bed sheets instead, your back arching as you tilt your head to the side and bury your face into the pillow. Your orgasm crept up on you, started off with a happy cramp in your stomach but quickly became bliss as he eased a finger inside your entrance, soothing the ache in your velvety walls. Din grunted heavily, needily, as he drank your desire.

He continued to flick his tongue against your clit while angling his finger into a come hither motion, caressing that sweet spot deep inside. The stars behind your eyes and the goosebumps rippling across your body never felt so good before, especially from the simple act of receiving oral. It’s been a while, a long while, since you’ve last felt the pleasurable touch of your own hands, let alone a man's pair of hands.

You needed this, needed to release all your pent up sexual energy, though it only made you insatiable for more. “Din,” You call to him, calling on his help to your frustrations, “Din, I need you.”

Suddenly, his hand emerges from the quilt, “Here,” he says, handing you a blindfold. “Put this on for me, sweet girl.” He asks, to which you oblige and pull the item over your eyes hastily. “Ready - now get up here, I need to feel you.”

Moving up your body without having to tell him twice, he travels slowly and plants kisses on your skin along the way, his smile never fading as he takes in the sight of you beneath him. “Gar’re bid mesh’la… (you’re so beautiful).” He growls wantonly, “...Bid, bid mesh’la (so, so beautiful).”

“I’m not sure what that means,” You giggle, the smile on your lips as wide as ever, “But I like the way you say it.” You reach out carefully in search of his face, to which he helps by directing your hands, and once you feel him, you gasp. “Stars! You’re so beautiful,” you whisper in awe as you trace the outline of his facial features, “Your lips… your cheekbones… nose… jawline… everything about you is beautiful, Din.”

“Thank you, sweet girl.” He breathes, eyes closing to relish in the soft touch of your palms cupping his cheeks. “I’ll teach you Mando’a and soon you will understand everything I say, but I said you were beautiful too. So beautiful.” He explains, causing your cheeks to burn once again with flattery as you pull him closer. His lips press against yours with a bruising kiss, and you couldn’t help but moan because of the raw passion and loving desire to finally feel what you’ve yearned for.

Although there was a hint of desperation in his bid to remove your clothes, Din was gentle with his movements, gentle and respectful. You helped remove his clothes too, and with each inch of skin revealed, you marvelled at the bare touch of him pressing against you. You’ve seen areas of the man's skin before when taking care of his injuries, but never fully seen him naked.

Using your sense of touch to see, you feel his body and drag your fingers along his chest, feeling the brute strength that he holds. The strength of a warrior. Between your legs, you feel his member pressing against your cunt and it was an impressive size. Aching to be buried in your warm. His breath bellowing across your face, hot and heavy, laden with the same sound of relief from earlier when you played with his hair as you admire his body now.

“Cyar’ika.” He groans. Placing his hands beside your head, you feel his body shudder with need, his hips rolling forward ever so slightly to ease the throb that burdens his cock. You slip your hands around the base of his neck, pulling him in to close the gap and kissing his lips whilst parting your legs. As he lines himself up at your entrance, your hands fall to his biceps, holding him tightly as you prepare from the breach.

“Nngh,” you break off to moan, deeply and satisfyingly, “Fuck, Din! Keep going.” You lift your head off the pillow to kiss him again, letting him swallow all the little pretty noises you were making as he carefully buried himself to the hilt. Your walls opened up with ease, stretching to accommodate his size. “It’s ok,” You say, pleading for him to move. “I’m ok.”

“Are you sure, mesh’la?” He asks, to which you nod in reply. “Waited so long for this,” pulling his hips back slowly, he grabs onto your thigh for leverage before burying himself into your cunt again. “Dank Farrik!” He grunts across your face, “So warm and tight. Better than I imagined, sweet girl.”

The sound of his filthy words made you mewl, having never heard the man speak this way before, you were surprised, yet growing more aroused and confident to be honest with him. “I used to think… Shit!” You stutter as he grinds into you, drawing out a moan from your lips, “...I used to think about this. In the night, while you were sleeping in your bunk, I’d think about you making love to me.” You admit.

“Oh fuck.” Din gasps. Picking up his pace while resting his forehead against yours, his moans broken and breathless, his cock reaches a new depth inside your cunt, hitting that sweet spot inside over and over again. “I’m so relieved to hear you say that,” he says, “I took myself in hand many nights thinking about you."

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” You quickly warn upon feeling the peak of your climax racing toward you. “I’m close. Stars! I’m so close. Keep talking to me.” You cry, feeling yourself on the verge of tearing up from the intensity of your pleasure, but the sound of his voice keeps you tethered to the moment, preventing you from floating up to cloud nine.

“I would dream about you often,” He groans while holding the base of your neck, his thumbs dragging across your skin reassuringly, “Wet dreams, mesh’la. I felt so ashamed, but… Fuck, they felt so good. Dreaming about you in my sleep felt so good.”

“More… Tell me more.” You hiss. Wrapping your legs around his back and locking your ankles together, you feel his hips falter as he moans through gritted teeth. “Your pussy, nngh! I’d dream about your pussy wrapped around me, taking my load, mesh’la. Again and again until you couldn’t hold any more and it dripped out of you. Fuck! I’m gonna… Shit, Y/N, I’m coming-” He cuts himself off with a needy whine, throwing his head back with bliss as he feels you clenching around him.

“I-Inside,” You begged him, “Please, Din. Come inside of me.” The man couldn’t stop himself even if he tried to. You felt him reach climax, the warmth of his release spreading inside of you, coating your velvety walls as they pulsed around him, as if milking him of everything he could give. “Mando. Fuuck, Mando!” You mewled directly into his ear, your eyes screwed shut behind the blindfold as his orgasm pushed you over the edge.

White static casted over your eyes as your ears ring loudly, your heart thrums in your chest as nothing but pleasure courses through your veins. You unintentionally dig your nails into his back, clawing at his skin as he reverts to a slow grind into your cunt, the movements pleasuring your clit and prolonging the ecstasy of your high. “That’s it, sweet girl. There you go.” He praises you through it as he comes down from his orgasm, the sound of his voice overstimulating.

Resting your head back against the pillow as you come down, breathing heavily, he plants loving kisses along your jawline and neck. “So pretty like this.” He whispers sweetly, his voice heavy with satisfaction as your hands find his face again. “Are you okay?” He asks.

“How…” Your voice croaks, “How do you say happy in Mando’a?”

“Briikase,” He chuckles, to which you reply with a smile. “Well, I’m briikase right now. Really briikase.”

“Me too, cyar’ika-” He pauses to brush the hair away from your face, correcting himself. “Ner cyar’ika baar’ur.” You open your mouth to ask another question, to ask what difference in his pet names mean, but he leans in to catch your lips in a fervent kiss instead.

Din pulls back, looking to where your eyes would be behind the blindfold while caressing your cheek. “Ner cyar’ika baar’ur... my darling medic. Ni’m ori briikase as pirusti bal ni kar'taylir darasuum gar, mesh’la... I’m very happy as well and I love you, beautiful.”

You make a surprised sound when hearing some familiar words in his language and learning what they mean, that he has said them before in the past. “I love you too, Din.” You say earnestly, the tears staining the fabric of his blindfold, which you now just realized that he’s kept in his pocket in hopes to use with you one day, like today. You not only became Din D’jarin’s medic, but you became his - his darling medic.

There aren’t a lot of things that surprise you these days as a trained medic, but that doesn’t mean nothing surprises you anymore. These last few days have been adventurous and emotional, foreign and unfamiliar, life-threatening and dangerous. It’s been life-changing for you and the Mandalorian, and it’s all because of a baby. The little guys presence not only sparked your maternal instincts, but the protective fatherly instincts within Din too.

And, although neither of you know it now, the baby is only just the beginning of your treacherous journey across the stars in search of reuniting him with his people.

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ilovepedro · 5 months

Text

Woven in the Stars | din djarin x f!reader

Series masterlist | Main masterlist

Chapter 2 - Cosmically Sewn

Rating: 18+ MDNI

Word count: ~4k

Chapter summary: Din returns to town with Grogu, meeting with you to get custom clothes. Getting acquainted with the pair, you strike up an offer that could bring you and Din even closer. Will Din accept?

Chapter warnings: slow burn, mutual pining, dad!Din, flirting, one (1) use of the word “daddy” in a nonsexual way, reader refers to Din as ‘Mando’ (for now 🤭), POV switching, inaccurate star wars info, liberties taken with the Creed, reader is female, no mention of hair type/skin color/body type, NO USE OF Y/N, none really mostly just pining and fluff

A/N: hi everybody!!! tank you for sticking with me, life has been so hectic lately to say the least 🙃 but these two are finally acquainted with one another! the smut will happen eventually so bear with me y’all! i will throw y’all a bone occasionally, but the freak narsty smut happens all at the end. gotta let these two babies pine and let that slow burn burnnnn! can y’all sense i’m a sucker for the buildup? hehehe anyway i hope y’all enjoy! 🩵 not beta'd, all mistakes are my own.

Divider by @saradika

the first emboldened word = Din’s POV

the first italicized word = Your POV

Stirring in the plush, handsewn sheets, Din’s eyes flutter open, adjusting to the beaming sunlight. Groaning, he huffs as he rubs the shadow of stubble growing on his face, as he recalls what he did last night before falling asleep. Dread washes over him as he thinks of how he has to face you at the market later.

With a deep sigh, he rises from the bed and tidily makes his bed before padding into Grogu’s room. Thankfully, he’s still sleeping, still cuddled up with the stuffed bantha you gave to him.

You are everywhere he looks. How have you infiltrated his mind so quickly?

Din heads down the hall and into the refresher, opting to take a long shower while Grogu still sleeps. The scalding water soothes the dull aches that still linger in his body from years of battling. He scrubs hard, attempting to wash away what he did last night, the guilt and shame.

He shuts the water off and dries off before trudging back down the hall and into his room. As he slips on his flight suit, soft coos make his ears perk up. He smooths out the wrinkles in his shirt as he goes to peer into Grogu’s room. The child now wide awake and still gripping onto the bantha. He squeals at the sight of his father, hands up and stretched forward.

Din cradles him in one arm as he walks out into the kitchen, starting their daily routine. One that consists of breakfast for Grogu, and sometimes Din. If he’s not eating breakfast with his son, he’s usually doing some work - whether that be house work or having comm link meetings with Teva or Karga.

Today, it’s just breakfast for the two of them. Grogu brushes the stubble on his father’s face while he prepares their meal. In the past, he’d tell Grogu to stop touching his helmet. Things have changed.

Din no longer wears his helmet around Grogu so long as they’re alone in their home. He’s part of his clan now, having adopted him. Seeing that Bo-Katan and a few others who’ve walked both worlds, and being exposed to different Mandalorians who practice the culture differently, he’s decided to take some liberties with the Creed. He wants his son to see him, all of him after losing him once. Also, Grogu is still far too young to partake in the Creed, so he should be allowed to see his father.

He prepares breakfast for the both of them, sitting Grogu down in his chair as he serves them both. His son squeals as his father serves him and sits beside him. Mirroring each other, the clan eats in silence. Grogu busies himself with his meal, completely oblivious to his spiraling father.

How is he supposed to face you again today? Why did he do that last night? Maker, he needs to regain his sense of self control. He knew domestic life was going to be an adjustment, but he didn’t think he’d let himself slip up so easily, so quickly. For stars sake, he’s already thinking about sharing a life with someone, with you. He has other things to take care of before he can even give that a second thought. Like settling in, helping Grogu adjust to this new life, prioritizing his contract work with Teva, and the occasional tasks from Karga. He hopes he can act normally today. You caught him off guard yesterday, but hopefully he can prepare himself to see your beautiful face.

A whine pulls him from his thoughts. Grogu has crawled into his lap, pouting up at him with those big brown eyes, meaning he’s still hungry. Din hands him his spoon, and turns him around to face the table. Grogu squeals with delight as he rapidly devours the rest of his father’s food.

With a tiny burp, Grogu plops down into Din’s lap and sinks into the warmth of his chest. Din rises to his feet and pads into his son’s room, cleaning him up and changing him into a spare tunic. He settles Grogu in his pram, nuzzling the new stuffed bantha that he’s quickly attached to next to him, and walks across the hall to put on his armor.

As he reaches for his helmet, he calls out for Grogu before placing it on his head. “Come on, Grogu, let’s go.” A hissing sound erupts as he slips his helmet on, and he rushes back into the living room, slinging the sack over his shoulder while Grogu plays in the pram with his bantha. Another reminder of you, he exhales a deep modulated sigh as he braces himself for a day at the plaza. Embarrassment coursing through him as he and Grogu head out the door and off on their journey for today.

Maker give him strength.

The town bustles as the sweltering sun beams down onto the plaza. Setting up the last display at your textile stall, you wipe the bead of sweat that’s formed at your brow. Mando is supposed to return with Grogu today, making you feel particularly giddy about seeing the mandalorian again. You’ve heard tales about mandalorians your whole life, and have even seen some in passing having lived on Nevarro for a few years now. However, something about him was so enthralling.

You couldn’t place it. Perhaps it was the way he was so caring and gentle with his son, or perhaps it was his demeanor which was surprisingly a lot more open than you had expected. Most encounters with mandalorians are short, as they are not people of many words - but not with him. Something about the man in beskar has captivated you, unable to shake him from your head since meeting him yesterday.

Subconsciously, you’ve never taken this much interest in a commission before. You’d even selected an array of fabrics for him to choose from for Grogu. You tell yourself it’s because of the unorthodox, sweet duo. The green baby having captured your heart the second you laid eyes on him, his curious eyes wandering and babbles that escaped him having tugged at your heart strings. You wondered how he ended up with his father, the resemblance between them obviously nonexistent, but you didn’t ask. It’s not your place to know, let alone judge, unless Mando feels comfortable telling you.

You should know better than anyone how complicated familial relationships can be. That family does not always correlate to blood relation, being adopted since birth after your biological parents had given you up to your mother and father. You believe that the stars lead you to people. They lead you to your family - your parents, your brother, your sisters. You are their daughter, their sister despite what biology may say.

Oh how you miss them all so much. What you’d give to see them again. You hope they’re alright, that the krayt dragon hasn’t reached them despite all the time that has passed.

Biting back tears, you shake your head and pack the selected textiles into a box and place them in your home-turned-shop. Working out of your home has its perks - never having to leave. It’s also got its downsides with the lack of space. It can get crammed sometimes, and it’s hard to not bring work home with you - literally and figuratively. Big commissions can be stressful, and dealing with a particularly aggravating vendor neighbor doesn’t help.

Recounting your last encounter with him, it was thankfully diffused quickly by your other neighbors. He’d yelled at some innocent kids who were eyeing the fruits he sells, calling them thieves and accusing everyone of being one after he’d had a few pieces of fruit stolen from his stand. You’d intervened first, scolded him for yelling at children and consoling them by offering them some candy from your stash. Thankfully the other neighbors despised him as well and jumped into your’s and the children’s defenses. He backed off and hasn’t said anything since. Hopefully it stays that way.

Thank the Maker he doesn’t actually live next to you.

The sound of your name pulls you from your recollection and back into reality. You rush outside and your breath hitches in your throat. There he is, in all his shiny glory. If he’s this captivating with his helmet on, you can’t help but wonder what he looks like underneath it.

You wave at them, beaming as Grogu returns a wave with his tiny hand as he holds the stuffed bantha you gifted him just yesterday. Din desperately tries to keep his composure as he approaches you, trying not to think of what he’d done last night. His hands having grown clammy under his gloves, his helmet suddenly feeling hotter as the sight of you sends his head spinning.

You’re radiant, as if you belong in the stars in the evening skies - outshining every galaxy he’s ever seen. Your energy is infectious, making his heartbeat stutter.

“Hi, baby! I see you brought your new toy with you! Do you like it?” You ask, voice full of glee. Grogu happily garbles an incomprehensible response, but you take it as a ‘yes’ and burst into a fit of giggles. Your laugh like music to his ears, he bites back a groan under his helmet.

Is there any part of you that isn’t beautiful?

“Hi, Mando,” you giggle. It sucks the air out of his lungs hearing your breathy laugh and his name from your lips. Sweat forms on his brow and he wishes he could wipe it away. He fidgets with his holster, giving you a nod. “Hi, cyar’ika,” he nervously stammers, the affectionate name having escaped his mouth without thinking. Your brow quirks as your lips pull into a grin. “I’ve never heard that before. Is that your native tongue?” You inquire, fully intrigued by the name.

Fuck. He didn’t mean to let the name slip.

“It is. It’s Mando’a, the language of my people.” Your smile grows larger, making Din’s heart beat faster and body grow hotter. “It sounds lovely! What does that word mean? Should I be insulted?” You playfully tease him. Unbeknownst to you, his eyes bug out of his head as his cheeks grow red. “What? No, it was not an insult, I promise. It means, uh… it means ‘friend,’” he lies. You nod, narrowing your eyes at him as if you don’t believe him.

“Okay. If you say so, Mando,” you tell him, coyly winking at him. He clears his throat as awkward tension fills the silence between you two.

Grogu’s squealing breaks the tension, making you laugh. “You ready for some new clothes, baby?!” You ask him, scooping him up from his pram, eliciting a giggle from the baby.

His heart feels like it’s going to burst through the beskar.

Tickling the child, he laughs excitedly as you set him on one of the tables at your stall. “Wait here,” you tell the clan as you disappear into your studio. You return with a box containing something. You place the box on the table, Grogu cooing in curiosity. Din tilts his head to the side.

“What’s this?” He asks, making you beam.

“I hope you don’t mind, but I selected some fabrics for you to choose from based on what he was wearing yesterday! But also, please feel free to browse around the other selections,” you explain with a sparkle in your eyes as you smile at him, laughing as Grogu grabs one of your fingers to balance himself as he wobbles to the box.

He’s undeserving of your kindness, unable to fathom what he’s done to be on the receiving end of it.

“You didn’t have to do that, cyar’ika,” he nearly whispers. Your face is beginning to ache with the amount you’ve been smiling since he arrived. “It was no problem, Mando. I hope you like some of the selections. You can tell me if you don’t, you can be honest with me. Trust me, I can take it,” you tell him with a coy smile and a wink, making him suck in a sharp breath.

Keep it together, Din.

“Th-they’re lovely, cyar’ika. Thank you very much, I’m perfectly happy with any of the fabrics you’ve chosen,” he tells you. “Are you sure? Because I-I can pick out some more,” you say timidly.

Is he making you flustered? No. There’s no way.

“No need. They’re perfect.” You give him a nod and tuck your bottom lip between your teeth. “How about we let Grogu choose his favorites from the pile?” He says, subconsciously inching closer to you. “O-Okay,” you stutter.

You bend down to meet Grogu’s height. “Grogu! Which one do you like, baby?” You gently ask him as you hold up two pieces of fabric for him to choose from. He points to one in your left hand with a grunt. You repeat the process two more times, the smile never leaving yours or Din’s faces.

He watches quietly as you swipe your measuring tape from your apron, wrapping it around Grogu who garbles in confusion as he wonders what’s going on. He looks up at you with his big brown eyes, tiny teeth peeking out from his mouth. You smile and scrunch your nose at him, speaking to him about different things like toys, candy, animals, anything a child would like. You intently listen to every garble that streams from Grogu as if you can understand him, showing him enthusiasm as he babbles.

Din can feel his body heating up, his chest feeling fuzzy as he watches you interact with his son.

Grogu goes for something in one of your pockets - the pin cushion. You and Din panic, you get to him before he pricks himself on a needle. “No no, baby! Those are sharp, they can hurt you. Here, you can play with this instead,” you say, handing him a spare one sans pins. You remove the one from your apron and toss it onto a table behind you, probably to ensure he doesn’t reach it at all.

How are you so maternal? Is it instinctual or do you have children of your own?

“You’re really good with him,” he says, moreso to himself rather than you. “Hmm?” You say, lifting your head and eyes wide as you meet his gaze. His heart feels like it’s going to combust every time you look at him.

“What?” He asks. A smile splays on your face, teeth poking through your lips. “What did you say? I’m sorry, I didn’t quite catch what you said,” you explain.

“Y-you’re, uh, you’re really good with him. Most people can’t keep up with his hyperness, but you can.” He sees something flash across your eyes.

Bashfulness?

“Oh. Thank you, that’s very kind,” you say, voice hushed and shy. “Do, um, do you have any children of your own, if you don’t mind me asking?” He can’t help, but ask - curious as to how you’re so good with his son, curious if you’ve got a riduur at home.

“No! No children, just me at home. I did have a little sister and have just always had a soft spot for kids, but no… no children,” you tell him, a noticeable deflation in your voice as you bring up your sister.

Did. He catches that, unable to miss the use of past tense. Feeling like he’s already pried from you, he nods. “Well, you’re a natural. Plus, he likes you,” Din says, offering some sort of comfort and shifting the focus of the conversation.

Grogu chirps from below the both of you, making you smile. You boop his nose, making him laugh. “I like him too. We’re best friends now, aren’t we, baby?” You ask him, tickling his sides as Grogu’s laughter grows louder. “Better watch out, Mando. I think I’ve taken the throne as his favorite,” you say through your giggles. Din watches from behind his helmet as you cradle Grogu, his heart taking flight at the sight in front of him.

“I don’t doubt that, cyar’ika.”

“So… can I ask what brings you into town, besides clothes for Grogu?” You ask, marking measurements on the selected fabric.

“Uh, yes, uh, we’re actually also here to gather some things for a fence I’m building. I’ve got a pond in front of our house and Grogu keeps torturing the frogs. I also don’t want him falling in, so I’m buying the last of the supplies to block it off.”

Your heart softens at the mandalorian’s concern. Going above and beyond for his son.

“Those poor frogs,” you giggle at the thought of Grogu messing with them. “Yeah, if he keeps eating them, he’s going to turn into one,” he huffs. Grogu snaps his head up, garbling what seems like a question.

“Have you started building the fence yet?” You through a fit of laughter.

“I have not, I’ve been occupied with some last minute tasks High Magistrate Karga asked me to complete. But I plan to start soon, possibly within the next week.”

You hum as silence settles amongst you three. A thought pops into your head, recounting the time you spent helping your father around the moisture farm back home on Tatooine as a young girl. Building and repairing fences and traps with your brother around the farm, your father adamant on ridding your home of womp rats.

Without even thinking about your next words, they eagerly roll off your tongue. Not sure why you’d go so far to extend a helping hand, but not questioning yourself either.

“Would you like some help?” Mando tilts his head to the side. “W-with the fence! That is,” you say, trailing off at the end. “Oh, that’s quite alright, cyar’ika. It’s a lot of work, and I couldn’t ask another task of you.”

“It’d be no problem! I’m more than happy to help, if you’ll let me.”

You’ve never been so eager to do farm work in your life. Surely, your father would laugh at your enthusiasm.

“Cyar’ika, you’re very kind, but I’d be indebted to you should you help me. In fact, I already am with the garments you’re crafting for Grogu.” You playfully roll your eyes

“Again with the formalities. You aren’t indebted to me, Mando! This is my job. Helping would be considered a favor, helping out a friend.”

“Friend.” Mando states.

“Yeah. Isn’t that what you call me? ‘Cya-cy-cyar’,” you stumble through the pronunciation. Mando barks out a hearty laugh, sending a flurry of butterflies swarming in your belly.

“Yes, we are friends, cyar’ika. You can just call me ‘Mando’ or ‘friend.’ We’ll work on your pronunciation later, don’t want you hurting yourself now,” he teases. Your scrunch your face up, mouth gaped open. “Wow! How rude of you, Mando! Give a lady some grace, why don’t you?!” You squeak, unable to contain the surprise in your voice as a huge smile breaks out onto your face, taken aback by his sudden playfulness.

“I’m sorry, cyar’ika. How can I re-earn your good graces?” A smile evident in his voice.

Your face feels like it’s going to fall off if you keep smiling.

“For starters, you can tell me what that word really means. I’m only fluent in Basic and Jawaese,” you say with a wink, trying to make him feel equally as flustered.

“Jawaese? Are you not native to Nevarro?”

You shake your head as you measure Grogu once more, jotting down his measurements, playfully booping his nose to keep him entertained. “I am not. Tatooine was my home, it’s where I was born and where I grew up.”

He nods, carefully catching a wobbling Grogu. “So what brought you here?” You smirk. “I could ask you the same, Mando… if that is your real name,” you tease. The mandalorian chuckles under his helmet.

Oh what you’d give to see his smile.

“Maybe I’ll tell you… should you ever choose to tell me your given name,” you tease.

“Fair enough. I’ll tell you everything one day, cyar’ika.”

One day. Is he possibly considering telling you his name?

“One day,” you repeat. Your gaze never leaves his, staring into the blacked-out T in his helmet, hoping he can see the desire in your eyes. The silence is broken with the clearing of Mando’s throat.

“I plan on starting next week. Does that work for you, cyar’ika?”

You nod a little too eagerly, automatically agreeing despite not having checked your deadline schedules for other commissions. “It does! I’ll even bring over Grogu’s new tunics next week, they’ll be ready by then,” you excitedly say, folding the paper containing Grogu’s measurements and tucking it into your apron. Tucking your pencil behind your ear, you fold the fabrics up and carefully place them back in the box.

Grogu picks one up and hands it to you, melting your heart. You graciously pout, cooing at him. “Thank you, baby!” You squeal, gently caressing his cheek. He nuzzles into your touch.

He’s got you wrapped around his little green finger.

A pang of disappointment hits your heart, your time with the clan coming to a close.

You sigh as you tuck the box of fabric under one of the tables behind you. Silence hangs in the air, fiddling with your apron as you’re unable to say goodbye.

“Well… I guess we’ll be seeing you next week, cyar’ika?” Mando says, making you perk up at the sound of his voice. “Yes, yes you will, Mando.” You can’t help but smile at the thought of spending time with the duo.

“Good. I can’t wait, mesh’la,” he says quietly. Your brows reach your hairline at the new nickname. “Okay, now what does that one mean, Mando? You better not be insulting me!” You exclaim, poking fun at him, but genuinely curious as to what he’s saying.

“I would never, cyar’ika! Like I said, I’ll tell you one day,” he assures you. You sarcastically hum, reaching for something else in your pocket and hand Grogu yet another piece of candy.

“Here you go, little man. Thank you for being so good today, baby!” You tell him, helping him unwrap the lollipop as he squeals with excitement. He incoherently babbles as you discard the wrapper.

“None for daddy though, he’s being a meanie,” you pretend to whisper to Grogu. Your head snaps up at the sound of a groan.

“You alright, Mando?” You ask, brows pinched together. “Y-yeah, cyar’ika. I’m fine. J-just s-sometimes… this… helmet gives me, uh, a headache. I’m fine though,” he stammers. Your worry not quite dissolving.

“I’m sorry, Mando. Would you like some medicine? I think I might have some inside,” you worriedly ramble. He waves you off. “It’s alright, cyar’ika. I promise. Th-thank you for all your help today, truly,” he nervously says. Taking his word, you nod.

“Well, I’m here if you ever need anything. And of course, it was my pleasure,” you say as you extend your hand to him, smiling as you do so. He quickly glances down to your hand, his large gloved hand fully encasing yours, his thick fingers brushing against yours in the process. He gently shakes your hand, giving it a soft squeeze in between, flashing him a gentle smile.

Is he smiling under there? You hope so.

“See you next week, cyar’ika,” he says, his hand still in yours. “I’ll see you both next week, Mando,” you say breathlessly. He sets your hand down, but doesn’t let go. You can sense his hesitation, but what could he be hesitating about?

“Have a lovely day… mesh’la,” he rasps with a tender, but swift swirl of his thumb on your hand. Sparks of electricity bolt throughout your body, your hand feeling as if it’s ablaze. He quickly drops your hand, gathering Grogu in his arms and settling him in his pram.

“Thank you. You too, Mando,” you nearly whisper, still relishing in the lingering feeling of his hand in yours. “Bye, cyar’ika,” he says with a wave, Grogu mirroring his father’s actions. “Bye, Mando. Bye, Grogu!” You say, returning the wave to the father-son duo. They part from your stall.

There’s a few customers browsing around your stall, but you hardly notice them as your mind swirls from what just happened between you and Mando.

What was that?

A customer comes up to you to ask a question. You shake the thoughts from your head and go about the work day. Anticipation blooms within you as the day drags on.

Next week can’t come fast enough.

we've finally been introduced to our reader (or as Din likes to call you, 'Cyari'ka' hehehe) and now the plot has been set up for some major pining! we've even caught a glimpse of backstory for reader!

i truly hope your suspension of disbelief allows you to picture yourself when reading this, because i like to picture myself while writing! Din wants reader aka you! 🫶🏼

anyway, thank you so much for reading! i'd love to know your thoughts in the comments, my asks, or dms 🩷

tag list: @javierpena-inatacvest @gracieheartspedro @undrthelights @tinygarbage @bastardmandennis @party-hearses @nostalxgic @mandoisapunk @pedrostories @anoverwhelmingdin @diguise7 @survivingandenduring @missladym1981 @stilllivindue2spite @dindjarinsmut @coquettegingette @firstofficerwiggles @christinamadsen @leithatnight

if your name is crossed out, it means i couldn't tag you ):

#fic: woven in the stars #din djarin #din djarin fic #din djarin x female reader #din djarin x f!reader #din djarin x reader #din djarin fluff #din djarin series #the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x f!reader #the mandalorian x female reader #mando monday

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absurdthirst · 6 months

Text

Vivid {Mando x F!Reader}

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 6.4k

Warnings: SEX POLLEN, dubious consent, fuck or die, oral sex (male and female receiving), 69, face sitting, blindfolds, sex in the dark, vaginal sex, rough sex, overstimulation, cream pie, cum eating, masturbation

Comments: A chance encounter in the canyon just beyond Din's little house on Nevarro leads to a sticky situation. A vivid pink flower, a powerful aphrodisiac, and a need to fuck has Mando bringing you home.

Co-written with @pedropascalsx

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

|| MasterList || The Mandalorian MasterList ||

The changes around Nevarro are….nice. The little house that was deeded to Din is far enough away from town that he doesn’t feel crowded, yet it’s close enough that he can walk Grogu to the little school that he had enrolled him in. His journeys needed to include more socialization than bounty hunters, killer droids and Mandalorians. He needed to be able to move throughout many different cultures respectfully and what better place to learn than school?

Din’s own education happened in the Fighting Corps. Effective, but he had a mind to raise his adoptive son and apprentice better than his own teacher had. Especially since Grogu had an advantage that he had never wielded, the force.

“No Grogu,” Din shakes his head and sighs softly as the fifty year old baby tries once again to float his little school pack off the shelf to where he is sitting. Wanting to go to school, even though it’s the weekend. “There is no school today.”

****

It had been a long day so far, you’d run your usual errands and finished a few tasks around your home. A few of the children in your class had been requesting some more painting time during the week, and never one to dim anyone’s excitement for the arts, you couldn’t say no.

You like to make sure that art class is just as educational as it is fun, so you grabbed your book of plants and flowers and got ready to make your way out of town to collect and pick some plants and flowers for the kids to paint and learn to identify.

The cool breeze was welcomed as you began your trip, a wicker basket hanging comfortably from the crook of your elbow as you made your way through the town, greeting everyone politely and with a warm smile as you did so.

You like Nevarro. Especially as of recent, the town was much friendlier and a new sense of community had fallen across the planet.

After a brief chat with one of your overexcited students and his parents you continued your walk while nibbling on some fresh fruit from a stall you had passed.

The kid is passed out in the little bed that Din had bought for him, the Mandalorian steps out of the house, striding off towards the canyon. He needs to tune his blaster, having replaced the plasma cartridge earlier. The domesticity is unusual, but he likes it, a set schedule and a home to make meals in. It’s oddly appealing, even though he does often wonder how the covert is doing on Mandalore.

After a nice breezy walk, your basket is almost full, you’ve picked multiple flowers and plants for the children to paint and learn about. The canyon is quiet, peaceful, the only sound coming from the soft breeze shaking the trees and the occasional twitter from the out of sight creatures.

You’re just about to leave and make your way back home, before it catches your eye and steals your attention. A vivid shade of pink and standing alone. The petals are perfectly uniform and it’s the most perfect looking flower that you’ve ever seen.

Din sighs, seeing someone in the canyon ahead of him. There wouldn’t be any practice unless the person was just leaving. Making him huff under his helmet and hope that it wasn’t someone who is looking for trouble.

You kneel down in front of the flower, appreciating its beauty before reaching into your basket and pulling out your holopad. Unable to resist taking a few snaps of the gorgeous flower.

Zooming in on the photo you notice a figure in the background that you immediately recognise as the father of Grogu - the new and unbelievably adorable little green foundling in your class.

You place your holopad back in your basket, figuring he’ll want some space. He’s polite, not much of a talker but there’s something about him that’s… intense. The kind of intenseness that makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand upright and makes that magic button downstairs pulse uncontrollably until it gets the attention it deserves.

You gently snip the bottom of the stalk and gently scoop up the flower in your hands, inhaling its gorgeous and intoxicating scent and letting it flood your senses.

And then it hits you.

Walking closer, he recognizes that it’s Grogu’s teacher. You are a newcomer to Nevarro, at least, you hadn’t been here when it was a bounty hunter’s hive. One of the more gentle settlers, and it doesn’t hurt that besides him, you are Grogu’s favorite person.

He smiles slightly under his helmet, wondering what you are doing out here in the canyon, although he spies the basket on your arm.

The effect is immediate, within seconds fire is coursing through your veins and pain meets a new type of pleasure in the most delicious way.

Every nerve ending in your body is set alight, and the pleasure center in your brain is working overtime. Arousal floods your core, your nipples harden and your clit is pulsing with desperate need out of nowhere.

You start to whimper as your legs threaten to fail beneath you, you’re still kneeling but you feel as though you’re about to collapse in a heap on the floor. The sounds that leave your mouth are nothing short of filthy, and you become more and more aware of your need for something to quench the flames that are burning stronger with every passing second.

Seeing you stumble, Din rushes forward. Hand on his blaster as he tilts his head up, searching for danger. Why else would a healthy woman nearly collapse? “Hey! Hey, get down!”

“The flower,” you say with a breathy moan, “I think it’s the flower.”

He’s already reached your side, grabbing you and your basket and dragging you behind a craggy outcrop in the canyon, getting you to cover. Unaware of your moaned words, they were too unintelligible. The pollen from the flower drifts under his helmet, not pressurized against contaminants and floods his nostrils in a heady rush.

“I don’t know what’s happening,” you babble, as you start to pull on the collar of your dress. The material feels much too constricting and far too warm despite the cool breeze.

“Dank ferik.” Din hisses, his own armor suddenly feeling as if it weighs more than the great forge on Mandalore. “It’s- it’s the pollen.” He croaks out, slapping the basket out of your hand, but he knows it’s too late.

“What’s w-wrong with the pollen?” You gasp out, unsure why your clothes feel heavy and your body is trembling uncontrollably. Your need to be touched now is desperate.

“It’s an aphrodisiac.” He grunts, cock already hardening and tenting the fabric of his flight suit. “It- it lasts for hours and-“ His eyes under his helmet widen as he remembers one particular trait of this toxic flower.

“And?” You ask frantically, “And what?”

“Your heart explodes if you don’t- uh, have sex.” His hand slaps against the rock wall of the canyon and he groans, thinking about an activity that he has long denied himself. He’s been too busy with the kid to seek out any companionship, even for a night.

“What?” You say with a pained laugh, “How is that -fuuuuck- how is that even possible?” The lace from your bra rubs painfully against your hardened peaks and you have to physically fight the urge to free yourself of your dress and bra.

He doesn’t fucking know, but the digital display in his helmet is broadcasting that fact as he looks down at the flower. “What the fuck were you doing with it?” He demands, trying to think about something other than pushing you against the rocks and burying himself in your cunt.

“I was just.. I’m picking flowers for the kids to paint,” you say between labored breaths, “Please, do something. It fucking hurts.” You start to beg, unsure what can be done.

He hadn’t anticipated that response. Groaning, he shakes his head. Knowing that a quick fuck in the canyon isn’t going to do it. Plus it’s too exposed out here. “Hold on to me.” He orders, stumbling next to you and wrapping his arm around your back before he kicks on his Rising Phoenix.

You squeal with shock as you’re shot upwards into the deep blue sky, your arms wrapping so tightly around The Mandalorian that it hurts.

Din’s groans are covered by the sounds of the jetpack and the wind. His cock is throbbing and leaking into the flight suit and he knows you have to be feeling worse. Your exposure was vastly greater than his own.

He senses the moment that the pain becomes too much for you to bear, his arms wrapping even tighter around you as you start to lose your grip. Pain shoots throughout your body as you whimper in his arms.

“We-it’s- it’s close.” He groans, his own body used to pain although he’s never experienced an arousal that might override all his senses like this before. All he can think about is stripping you down, burying himself in your body over and over until relief is finally achieved.

“I can’t hold on much longer,” you gasp, as the aching between your thighs grows stronger and more uncomfortable.

The outline of his small cabin appears and it can’t be a second sooner. His entire body is tense and his jetpack is nearly sputtering as it sets down on the ground in front of the remote dwelling. His star-fighter is parked off to the side and he is grateful that the baby is still asleep in his own little room.

His grip on you stays firm as you reach the ground, and he gently pulls you into his cabin. Spinning you around he presses you up against the door and gently palms your tit with his gloved hands.

“Tell me-“ Din groans and bites his lip under his helmet. “Dank ferik, tell me I can fuck you, Mesh’la.” He begs.

“You can fuck me,” you say with a moan as you press yourself up against him, desperate to feel him inside of you.

His head turns towards the door where Grogu is sleeping, relieved to find it still closed and he steps back to drag you away from the wall. “My room.” He demands, knowing the kid didn’t need to wake up and see anything.

“Yes, sir,” you say as you follow him on shaky legs into the room. Your clothes feel heavy against your skin, but you wait for his command to remove them. Standby patiently but writhing in discomfort as he walks towards you. “I need to take my dress off,” you say, as the material irritates your skin.

“Take it off.” He knows he will rip your dress if it touches it and he needs to get out of his armor. It’s chafing his skin and he’s overheating.

You immediately unzip the dress and let it fall to the floor, before working on your bra and panties. “Need you so badly,” you whine and you climb down onto the bed, and spread your legs. Dipping your fingers into your entrance and spreading some of your arousing through your folds and circling your clit.

“Dank ferik.” The armor clanks to the floor carelessly. Unable to treat it as reverently as he normally does. Fingers fumbling as his cock throbs, visor trained on your cunt.

“Hurry,” you beg, as you circle your clit faster, you’re soaked enough for him to slide right in with little resistance. “Am I allowed to touch you?” You ask as you continue working your clit, you know a little about Mandalorian creed but you’ve never fucked one before and want to make sure you’re respectful and you don’t cross any boundaries.

“I-I’m going to turn out the lights.” He groans, wanting to see you, touch you. And have you touching him. “And I need to blindfold you.”

“Whatever you need,” you say, as you turn your head so he can blindfold you. “I won’t touch you unless you explicitly tell me where it’s okay, and I promise the blindfold will stay on until you take it off.”

“You can touch me.” He is panting as he ties the blindfold and quickly strips out of the flightsuit and his boots. Even though he is burning, he hesitates when reaching for his helmet.

You reach out and let your fingers run across his chest, “Fuck,” you say, as your pussy clenches around nothing, “Want you to fuck me so badly, but I really wanna suck your cock first, Mando. I want to rub my little pussy while you fuck my throat.”

“No.” He chokes out, knowing that your body is screaming for release worse than his own is. It makes the decision easy and the click of the locks is accompanied by a slight hiss as he lifts the helmet off his head and it clatters to the ground.

“Oh,” you say, clearly disappointed but still rubbing your clit as fast as you can and chasing your release. “How do you want me?”

Din knocks your hand away and climbs up on the bed to pull you up and spin you around. A lifetime of training makes picking you up easy and he flips you onto your stomach on his chest. “Suck my cock and I’ll lick you.” He rasps out, his voice unmodulated and clear. “Never done it, but I want to. You need it.”

The sound of his voice is even sexier when unmodulated. Raspy and rough. Each word going straight to your pussy. “Yes, sir,” you say as you feel around and finally get his cock in your hand. It’s thick, veiny and dripping in pre-cum, the room is dark enough and the blindfold is opaque enough that you can’t see it but it feels glorious in your hands. You give him a teasing lick, lapping up all the pre-cum before taking the tip of him in your mouth.

Din groans, his gloveless hands reaching for your hips and his entire body shudders when he realizes that it’s full skin to skin contact. Dragging you back and immediately plunging his tongue inside your quivering and leaking cunt.

“Oh, fuck,” you choke out as you pull off his cock, loving the dexterous heat of his tongue. You take him back into your mouth and hollow your cheeks, your moans vibrating against his cock as he eats your pussy. For someone who said he’d never done this before he’s unbelievably skilled, eating you with such vigor that after a few minutes you can feel your orgasm rapidly approaching.

There have been a lot of holo vids around oral sex in his past, learning and aching to try the things that he saw. Although he’s not got a forked tongue like some species, nor one as long, he still grunts in pleasure as you moan loudly around his cock. Rocking your hips back to taste you more, getting deeper into your cunt.

“Gonna cum,” you croak out around him, before swirling your tongue around the tip of him and pulling away before cumming with a loud whimper of the only name you know for him, “Fuck, Mando!’

Din nearly whimpers at the loss of your mouth but the sweetness of your cum makes up for it. Soaking his face like he’s never experienced before. His cock throbs and he pulls away. “Close.” He chokes out, knowing he’s going to cum from this alone.

You take him back into your mouth and double down on your efforts, sucking him harder and licking your tongue around him. You take him as deep as you can, working the bottom of his shaft with your hands, saliva dripping everywhere as you work him towards his high. Needing to feel his cock twitch and start to flood your mouth with his cum.

It doesn't take him but a few more seconds when your mouth wraps back around him for Din to start to cum. Groaning out your name harshly, it's the only warning you get when he shoots a hot rope of cum down your throat, immediately followed by another.

You swallow around him, humming at the rich yet salty taste of him. Not letting a single drop go to waste, eagerly awaiting each burst as your mouth milks him dry. He’s delicious, salty and musky and you want more. You keep sucking until he orders you to stop and you slowly pull off of him with a groan.

Even though he's cum, his body still aches, his cock is still hard and he knows you aren't satisfied either. "My tongue or my cock in your cunt this time?" He pants out, needing to know where to bury his cock again.

“Your cock, please,” you beg as you lift off of him, “Do you want me to ride you, Sir?”

"For now." He knows you might need him desperately and he wants to see how much you are willing to grind on him for his cock.

His harsh tone makes your chest clench, but you push away that feeling and position yourself over him, slowly sinking down on this thick cock and moaning loudly as he stretches you open. His cock fills you entirely, your walls flutter and hug his cock as you get used to the delicious stinging from how stretched out you are from him. You start rocking your hips slowly, before increasing your pace, grinding down on him over and over. Desperate moans slipping through your plush lips as a wave of euphoria floods through you.

The darkness is just enough that he can see you move. A shadow and he wishes that he could turn the lights back on but he can't risk your blindfold coming loose. It's barely a loophole and technicality of the creed, but you can't see him. Not unless you were going to bind yourself to him.

“You feel so good,” you choke out, as you rock your hips a little faster. “So big. So thick.” You murmur again and again as your pace quickens, chasing a high and feeling a desperate need to have him cum hard and paint your walls with his delicious cum.

"Fuck." Din chokes out, puffing up at the praise. It's better than the moans with his cock in your mouth and he palms your tits, plucking at them and pinching your nipples while you bounce on his length.

“Tell me what you need,” you moan, “Fast or slow? Need you to feel good, baby, want to feel this cock fill me up.”

Din curses again. "Fuck, fast." He hisses, squeezing your tits harshly. "Fucking ride me hard."

You do as he commands, increasing your pace and bouncing up and down on him as fast as you can, moaning in pleasure as he hits that spot inside of you. Your hands cover his as he squeezes your tits, holding on tightly as he starts to fuck up into you, matching your pace with his own.

The loud sounds of sex fill his room. His hips snapping up as you bounce down on his cock. Both of you moaning and cursing greedily as the fire of the pollen rages in your systems. He knows you’re craven for his cum, the only thing that can soothe the effects of the flower.

You reach down and start to circle your clit, as you keep the same pace, wanting to clamp down around him and hear those delicious groans from him. “You’re incredible,” you pant as you near your high, circling your clit with perfect precision as he fucks up against nirvana inside of you. “Gonna cum,” you warn, before pleasure washes over you and squeeze his cock like a vice. Yelling his name as you cum, hard.

Letting go of your tits, he grabs your hips again and starts the hammer up into you. His hold on your body is the only thing keeping you from being thrown up into the air. Harsh punches of his cock that hit deep and wrench a cry out of you every time he hits your cervix, he can’t even care if it hurts you because you gush another wave of heat around him.

“Fuck,” you choke out, as he pushes the air from your lungs with every thrust. You’ve never been fucked like this before, but it’s addicting, you crave more and more from him with each harsh thrust of his hips. “Fill me up,” you beg, each word more strained as his pace quickly overwhelms you.

His arms wrap around you and he’s thrusting up into you like you are his personal fuck toy. “Fuck, fuck, gonna, fuck- fill you up.” He promises, grunting out a word every time he buries his cock into your spasming cunt. One harsh thrust later and a harsh bark of your name, he delivers on that promise. Cumming just as hard and as much as when he came down your throat only minutes before.

Falling forward onto him your face nuzzles into the crook of his neck, he’s still hard and twitching inside of you but a wave of exhaustion starts to make an appearance. You pant into his warm skin, arms tightly wrapped around him and you can’t ignore how tense he is. You’re unsure if you’ve crossed a line, but you need to catch your breath again before you’re able to move off of him and ask how he wants you next.

Din is tense from how close you are to his face. It’s been so long but you don’t reach up to touch it. Your arms around his shoulders and your face tucked into his neck. He rolls you onto your back and starts to rock into you again. Knowing that the night isn’t over by a long shot.

You moan as he rocks into you, his stamina clearly better than your own as you attempt to gather up some strength. But he seems content to pick up the slack as your pussy flutters around him and your walls hug him tight. “Are you allowed to kiss me?” You ask, barely above a whisper as his hips snap forward.

Din groans and he nods even though you can’t see him. “Can I?” He breathes above your lips. He’s never kissed before and right now as he fucking you both through a dangerous exposure to sex pollen seem to be a good time to experience it.

“Yes, please.” You plead softly, wanting to taste his lips despite not knowing what they look like. Not caring at all that you have no idea what he looks like.

Permission granted, he crushes his lips to your in a messy kiss. Much less coordinated than when he licked into you, he had avoided kissing holo vids because he had felt jealous.

You giggle a little at the way he smashes his lips against yours, before lightly touching his chin and taking the lead. Licking his bottom lip gently until he parts his lips enough for you to slip your tongue inside and press it against his own. It doesn’t take long until he’s mastering the art and taking control, his lips now refusing to part from yours as he rocks his hips into you. Kissing you just as hard as he fucks you, changing up the pace every now and then and swallowing your moans of delight.

Groaning into your mouth is like ambrosia. You are the best thing he’s ever tasted and he can’t get enough. His cock steadily fills you with strokes and his tongue mimics the motion into your mouth as he pants his pleasure loudly.

With a few more strokes of his cock, he has you clamping down around him and crying out the name you know him by in pleasure. The stuttering of his hips as your pussy acts like a vice around him makes him grunt your name before pulling you in for another breathtaking kiss. The effects of the pollen start to lessen but the effects of him growing stronger. Everything about him is consuming, his scent, the power he commands and with every snap of his hips and grunt of your name; you want more and more.

Din can barely rock his hips but the clenching and squeezing of your cunt pushes him over the edge. This time he is moaning your name into your mouth while pushing more cum into your pussy. Sliding down your cheeks and soaking his bed underneath you in growing puddle.

“Fuck, Mando,” you say against his lips, with a bright smile. “Picking that flower was the best decision I've made in months.” You love the way he twitches inside of you, your walls still hugging him tightly as he groans against your mouth. You gently run your hand up and down his back as he works on catching his breath.

“Din.” There are plenty of people who know his name now and he doesn’t see why you shouldn’t. Given that he had just fucked the life out of you and still had a few more rounds in him before the pollen is completely gone. “My name. It’s Din.”

“Din,” you repeat softly, “I like that. Din.” You press a light kiss to his lips before repeating his name a few more times. “Do you think I can jerk you off next? My pussy isn’t used to being fucked this good. Give her a little break before you fill her up again?”

“Do you want my mouth again?” He asks, knowing you might still need something. “I can just suck on your clit.”

“Are you sure?” You ask, “I know you said that was the first time you did it, and I don’t want you to feel like you have to do it again if you don’t want.”

“I liked it.” Din twitches inside you as he admits that and kisses you again. “Unless you didn’t like it?”

“I loved it,” you giggle, “Can’t believe that was the first time you’ve done it. Best oral I’ve ever had.”

“Good.” He grunts happily. “Then I’ll do it again.” He pulls out of you and rolls onto his back.

“You want me to sit on your face and I can jerk you off as you eat my pussy, baby?”

“Fuck yes.” Din groans. “Want to taste your cunt filled with my cum.”

“Fuck,” you moan at his filth, “Yes, sir.” He helps you position over his face, and you hover a few inches above his mouth before reaching down and gripping his cock. Giving it a few languid strokes before finding a pace that has him groaning. “I bet you’ve got a gorgeous cock, Din, I can feel how good it is. But fuck. It’s so thick and long and those veins… I.. fuck. It’s so perfect.” You tell him before he pulls you down and starts to eat your pussy like a man starved. You work his cock like it’s the most important job in the work, each flick of your wrist designed to make him groan and grunt with pure pleasure. “Do you like that? Do you like me stroking your cock while it’s still dripping with my cum, Din?”

He huffs, nodding his head as he continues to lick and taste both of you combined. He’d love it if you sucked his cock again but your hand is good too. Tilting your hips up, he finds your clit and sucks it into his mouth.

“Fuck, Din,” you yell out as he sucks on your clit, “Maker- I could get used to this.” You squeeze his cock a little harder, changing the pace from fast to slow. Wiping your thumb across the tip and gathering up the pre-cum to taste on your fingers. He groans as you let him, bringing your fingers up to mouth and licking them clean before gripping his cock again. “Going to suck your cock again after this, you taste so good, baby.”

Din groans and sucks on your clit harder, pushing his tongue against it and releasing it to lick it and suck it back into his mouth to start the entire process over again. He could get used to this too. Eating your pussy every night and having you on his cock.

“Diiiiiiinnnnnn,” you moan, over and over as he works magic on your clit. You stroke his cock over and over as his hips stutter, “Gonna c-cum.”

He pulls away just to gasp out, “me too.” Before he’s reattaching his lips to your clit like a hungry sucker fish.

“Din, Din, Din,” you chant his name over and over like a sacred prayer, pumping his cock until he’s spurting out thick ropes of cum, cum that you’ve desperate to scoop up and lick from your fingers. You feel your pussy clench down around nothing as your orgasm pulses through you, soaking his face with your arousal as he continues his delicious assault on your bundle of nerves.

You stopped stroking his cock, too focused on your own pleasure but you squeeze him. Making him pulse as his balls draw up against his body again.

“Din,” you pant one last time, as he grunts beneath you. You feel his cock twitching in your hands, clearly desperate for more release, and you resume your strokes. Milking him free of his pleasure and loving the way it pants your skin. Your fingers, wrists and arms are covered in his cum. All of it begging to be licked clean.

Letting go of your clit, Din groans your name as you stroke his cock and milk it of every drop of his release.

The second he stops cumming, you gently let it go and start cleaning it from your skin. Moaning at the taste and humming in content as you swallow it all down. “You taste delicious, Din.”

His cock is still hard but he’s not desperate to be inside you. The fire in his veins nearly burned away and it will only take once more before it’s all done. “You taste good, Mesh’la.” He praises roughly. “Could taste you everyday and be a happy man.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” you say with a giggle. “It’s wearing off, I think, it doesn’t burn as badly but I think I can go again. You wanna fuck my mouth or my pussy this time, baby?”

“Is your pussy too sore?” He asks, knowing he’s been rough with it.

“I can take you again, I’m definitely going to be feeling you for a while, but I'm not complaining.”

“Why don’t you ride me then?” He asks, stroking your hip. “You can kiss me this time.”

“Perfect,” you say, wasting no time and getting into position and sinking down on him again. You press your lips against his and start to rock your hips, the ache between your legs getting drowned out with pleasure as he matches your pace.

"Shit, shit, fuck, you are so tight?" Din groans in surprise. "How are you still so tight? We've been fucking for hours." He doesn't stop touching you, anywhere and everywhere he can while you ride him, stroking your back, your hips, sweeping his hands up to your breasts. Greedy for that skin to skin contact now that he's not quite as focused on cumming. "Kiss me, mesh'la." He begs.

You immediately press your lips to his, and moan into his mouth. His hands feel perfect on you, they explore your body with ease as you rock up and down, chasing relief once more around his cock.

This time is less frantic. It’s slower and almost more intimate. It’s almost like you are making love.

“Need you to cum,” you murmur against his lips, exhaustion taking its toll on your fucked out body, as you rock your hips slowly. His thumb pressed up against your clit as you chase some friction

“I will.” He promises. “After you, Mesh’la.”

You move your hips just a little faster, still keeping the pace slow and intimate. His thumb circles your clit perfectly as you grind down on him, cunning with a soft moan of his name, clamping down around him and relishing the groans of pleasure he fills your ear with. “Cum for me, Din,” you plead, as you can come back down.

Now that he feels your entire body melt, he knows the pollen has worked completely out of your system. “Good girl.” He grunts, rocking his hips as he wraps his arms around you. “I’m gonna fill you up again.”

“Please,” you beg, needing to feel his release. “Please, Din.”

He doesn't rush, knowing that you have to be exhausted at this point. Only his ability to go beyond his limits allows him to keep rocking his hips up. As soon as he cums, he knows he will pass out to sleep for a good while. You are almost asleep as he fucks you.

You sink your face into the crook of his neck, unsure how you’re going to find the strength to pull yourself out of bed and make your way home. Rocking your hips more and more, his release clearly moments away, you ride him harder, determined to give him every bit of his pleasure.

"Fuck." He groans and thrusts up one more time to bury himself deep. Throbbing again and feeling your walls grip him tight when he starts to spill inside of you again. Groaning your name quietly as he fills you. Feeling the heat and need of the pollen falling away with the last pulse of his orgasm.

“Din,” you murmured into his skin, “Tha-thank you.” Exhaustion rumbles in your joints, everything aches, but everything feels worth it when you’re wrapped up in his arms.

"Sleep, mesh'la." He hums, his hand sliding up and down your back gently. He's still inside you and doesn't want to pull out right now. He wants to sleep inside you. "I know you are exhausted."

You hum happily into the crook of his neck, letting him move you slightly and wrapping his arms around you. “Goodnight, Din.”

Sleep comes easier than it has in months, safely pulling you into slumber as he gently rubs your back and holds you tight to him.

Sometime during the night, Din wakes up. opening his eyes and letting his vision adapt to the darkness. He's softened and is barely inside you but it was probably the most relaxed and the best sleep that he's ever had. Possibly in his entire life. Reaching up, Din gently unties the blindfold that is still firmly over your eyes. He's decided that he wants you to see him. Or have the choice if you wanted him to turn on the lights. Now he just holds you, waiting for you to wake up.

Waking up, you hum contentedly in his arms, nuzzling your nose into his warm skin. The fact he’d removed your blindfold not fully registered yet as you wish him a ‘good morning.’ It’s only as you pull back and the light hits your eyelids that you realize the blindfold is off. “Din,” you say quietly, “Is it ok to open my eyes?”

"Opening your eyes comes with consequences, mesh'la." He admits quietly. "I am not allowed to let anyone see my face. Or I become darmanda." He explains. "I would no longer be Mandalorian."

“What do you want me to do?” You ask, before pressing your lips against his, “Tell me.”

"There is a way that you can see me and I am still Mandalorian." He tells you, slightly nervous about what you would think. It's crazy, but he couldn't stop thinking about it when he woke up.

“Tell me,” you repeat, “If you want to.”

"If you are my riduur....you can see my face without any consequences."

“Riduur?” You repeat slowly, “What is that?”

“Spouse.” He whispers the Basic word and waits for your reaction.

“Oh,” you say quietly, before bringing your hands up to his chin and gripping it gently. “Riduur,” you repeat, loving the way it sounds, “You could see me as yours one day?”

“You would be mine then.” He tells you. “If you want.”

“I want to be yours,” you say against his lips.

“Then open your eyes, Mesh’la.” He murmurs softly. “You can look at me before we say our vows.”

You kiss him first, pressing your lips firmly against his before pulling back and slowly opening your eyes. Staring deeply into his brown eyes and feeling a smile spread across your face as you take in his features. “Gorgeous,” you say quietly, before letting your fingertips gently run across his face.

His eyes softly and his lips part when your fingers drag across them. He’s been touched by Grogu but this is different. “Pleasant enough? Or should I put my helmet back on?” He jokes self-consciously.

“You’re perfect,” you say honestly, “I can’t believe you’d want me. You’re gorgeous.”

“You are mesh’la, it is Mando’a for beautiful.” He hums, smiling up at you.

“Mesh’la,” you repeat, “You are mesh’la, Din.”

Biting his lip, he says, “repeat after me. Mhi solus tome, mhi solus dar'tome, mhi me'dinui an, mhi ba'juri verde.”

“Mhi solus tome, mhi solus dar'tome, mhi me'dinui an, mhi ba'juri verde,” you say as clearly as you can, eyes still focused on his as you do so.

Din grins. “It is our vows.” He explains. “It means - We are one when together, we are one when parted, we share all, we will raise warriors."

“We are one.” Taking his hand you bring it to your lips and place a small kiss on it. “Yesterday took an unexpected turn… But I’m so glad I picked that flower.”

He snorts and shakes his head. “Good thing I wasn’t secretly a Gungan under my helmet.” He teases.

You giggle back at him before pulling him in for another kiss, “I don’t think I’m going to be able to walk normally for the next few days, you realize that right?”

“That’s to be expected.” Din flashes you a dirty grin. “Make sure you tell them that when we go to Mandalore.”

“So every time you fuck me, I’m going to be feeling it for days?” You ask with a raised eyebrow.

“Not every time, but when you’re fucking to stay alive, I’ll make sure you feel it.” He chuckles, wrapping his arms around you and grinning up at you. “You can pick those flowers anytime you want….riduur.”

“I might just have to do that,” you giggle, “Thank you for saving my life, Din.”

“I think I’ve gotten a pretty good reward.” Din hums. He had settled here for Grogu and it was a nice little place, maybe a little lonely since he’s not so busy, but now he has a feeling he will never be lonely again. Not with you by his side.

779 notes · View notes

prolix-yuy · 3 months

Text

Beautiful Release

Pairing: Din Djarin x F!Reader

Summary: You and Din have an agreement. Simple, clean, easy. But not this time.

Word Count: 4.1k

Warnings: Explicit, 18+ MINORS DNI, IT'S PEGGING DIN TIME! Anal sex (m receiving), rough sex, sex toys, fingering (m receiving), handjob, frottage, blowjob, swallowing, cumshot, mentions of oral sex (f receiving), mild dubcon (Reader isn't aware of Din's mental state and stops the session to re-negotiate boundaries), painful sex, sex as self-flagellation, hurt/comfort.

Notes: Welcome to my addition to the Peg That Middle Aged Man Event 2024! This idea had been bumping around in my brain and this gave me the perfect excuse to write it. Thanks @wannab-urs for organizing this event, making the gorgeous banners, and giving me a chance to live my fantasies after S3 gave us the most delicious kneeling restrained Din image. I will never forget it, it's burned into my brain forever.

Set after S2 and before The Book of Boba Fett.

Cross-posted on AO3

He’s come to you before, but never like this.

Din always treats your encounters like serendipity, but from the first time you’ve known how far from the truth that is. He finds ways to drift into your path, tilting his helmet like he never expected you to be at this spaceport, which you prefer for its discretion, or in this cantina, which serves a hell of a barium fizz. The niceties always devolve into the silent request, which you never fail to fulfill.

But now, there’s a holomessage blinking on your control panel.

Send me your coordinates. Usual encoding.

It’s brisk, cold, mostly to protect you both, but even then something’s off. He’s never admitted to seeking you out. Something stirs deep in your stomach, consulting the encoding slug he gave you ages ago in case you ever needed him. Funny, the first time you’d use it would be because you think he needs you.

Your winding relationship with Din Djarin began at the business end of a blaster, but you can’t fault him for that. The ship you were flying then had all the hallmarks of a slaver vessel, but when he found your crew of rebel sympathizers he lowered his weapon. One escort and a few short-lived conversations later, and you’d forged a razor-thin alliance.

Your paths wound their way across and through each other for over a year, and in that time Din warmed to you. He gave you his name, his allegiances, his contacts if needed. In return you forged documents and built jammers for his ramshackle ship. Mutually beneficial, and after a time pleasantly warm. His laugh always surprised you, a low chuckle when you turned a phrase just right on him.

And the kid! The curious little gremlin that had been accompanying him more in recent times did help to smooth the rough spots. Grogu’s presence always brightened your days, brief moments of pure joy from his tireless antics. Din seemed to be ever the exasperated protector, but when he tucked Grogu into his arm his aura glowed.

However, the times when Din “stumbled” upon you with seemingly no purpose had little to do with play dates or trades. Well, maybe only in the most euphemistic sense.

It was on a cargo run - cargo being more frightened people fleeing under the guise of your fake shipping business - that Din first encountered what would bring him back to you time and time again. There was a man among the stowaways who took an interest in you, the feeling mutual. He wound his way around like a lothcat in heat, and when you whispered how you might be able to pass the time he enthusiastically agreed.

You weren’t much of an exhibitionist, but the ship wasn’t meant for privacy. So when Din happened upon you bending the man over a cargo crate, your strap slickly splitting him open as he moaned behind your clamped hand, you did feel some mild embarrassment. You weren’t sure how long he watched you thrust into the other man, but the little cough that alerted you to his presence made you turn and take him in.

He was clearly affected, hand gripping his belt as the other clenched by his side. Fascinating. The Mandalorian had surprises in store.

The man garbled about sucking Din’s cock, letting the Mando cum on his face while you pounded his tight hole, but you stuck your fingers in his mouth and picked up your rhythm again. You’d met other Mandalorians in your travels, but Din’s particular religion was much stricter than most. He might take hefty offense if you assumed any of the armor could come off. Instead you let him watch without comment as your companion came all over the side of the cargo crate, soothing him through the aftershocks. As you cleaned him up you noticed your audience fled, and you determined never to speak of this.

It would take two months for Din to come to you.

“People like this?” he asked when you showed him your strap and assortment of attachments. You shrugged, picking out the one you secretly thought he’d enjoy.

“Some do, some don’t. It’s just one of many things I like,” you said, leaning against your bedroom wall as he filled the small space with restless energy. “I’m sure you like plenty of things too.”

There it was. The little roll of the shoulders and flex of a hand that told you Din wasn’t as inexperienced as some would believe.

“Never tried something like this,” he mumbled, and you smiled under the knowledge that he was nervous. Din Djarin, feared throughout the galaxy, and dearer friend than you ever expected, had something he wanted and didn't know how to ask for.

“Would you like to try it?” you said, taking the last barrier away. He tilted the helmet down, fingers restless on his hip.

“Yes.”

That first night you didn’t fuck him, though by the end he was so close to begging you almost came from the sound. Instead you opened him up with your fingers, got him used to the feeling of fullness and how to connect it to pleasure, while he laid on your bed and gripped the sheets so hard you thought he’d rip them. His pants bunched across his thighs, you got to admire the cords of muscle rippling as you made him shake and choke. His cock, velvety and weeping on his stomach, made your mouth water, but you only offered to suck it when he was just on the precipice. Your hot mouth wrapping around his head, two clever fingers stroking his prostate, tipped him over into bliss as he shouted his completion. Pride swelled in your chest at his belabored breath, chestplate heaving and thighs quivering on either side of your head.

When you returned from cleaning up he was already dressed again, despite your protests to wait and let you ease him down from this new experience. He thanked you, awkwardly, and left quickly. Lying in the same bed that night, still smelling of him, you reasoned with yourself. He probably had a lot of feelings to sort out, both around his pleasure and the fact that you gave it to him. You hoped he trusted you enough to know you’d be discreet. And, as your fingers slid into your underwear, you hoped he’d seek you out again.

It was only a week before you were at the same spaceport again, his heavy boots clanking up your ramp. You tried to hide your own nerves, but when Din stood before you and let the visor drag up and down your body, a delicious grin crept onto your face.

“Ready to try more?”

Indeed he was.

He enters your ship without preamble, a brief flit of concern clouding your features at how quickly he disarmed your security measures. You weren’t expecting him for another hour. He must have jumped to get to you.

It’s thrilling, to know the Mandalorian’s need is so great.

But when he enters and closes the door behind him, the energy is…off. Not seductive, teasing, edged like the other times. No, he’s holding his body so tight and so still. There’s nothing aggressive in it, but you glimpse why his enemies fear him. Without a face, and with so much obscuring the flesh beneath, you’re not sure when he’ll strike.

He catches you rummaging through your drawer, the strap in your hand. Assessing, you give him a gentler smile than usual, hands visible, softening your stance.

“Hello, Din.”

He nods, quickly, unbuckling his belt and yanking his cape free. Both fall to the floor carelessly. You press on.

“How about you tell me what you want?” you say, watching him carefully as he opens his pants plaquet. The mouthwatering strip of skin you covet peeks from beneath his top.

“Just need…need this,” he says, and while naturally a man of few words you’d taught him to be more vocal in this respect.

“Okay, Din. How about you kneel on the bed and we start there?” Your voice lowers into a soothing register, reaching for his arm.

“No,” he almost shouts, startling your hand back. He recovers. “No, I want…” You can practically hear him licking his lips on a sigh, slowing himself down. “Can you sit against the headboard?”

Brows raised, you nod. He’s never ridden you before, always preferring to let you take him from behind or on his back. Pulling the strap-on over your leggings, you settle against the headboard and wait for him. He doesn’t take long, kneeling on the bed briefly in contemplation before swinging over your lap. Shucking his pants half down his legs, you can’t resist a giggle.

“Might be better to take them off,” you tease, letting your hands lay featherlight on his hips. A huff crackles through the vocoder but he doesn’t move to disrobe further.

“I’ll open you up a bit first,” you say, one hand reaching for lube while the other snakes its way to his hole. You encounter surprising slickness, but he’s nowhere as warmed up as you get him.

“S’okay, I took care of it,” he mumbles, both hands coming up to grip the headboard above your head. Slicking lube on the dildo, you move to finger him enough to ease your way in.

“Just a little more…”

“I’m fine.”

The curt retort snaps your face to the helmet, now more of a cowled chin and shining halo of beskar above your head. There’s something bubbling uncomfortably under the surface, something you feel the need to drag out by the scruff of the neck, but it’s Din. You never talk feelings with Din. Frankly, you barely talk at all during, or after, any of your nights together.

“Sorry,” he breathes, forcing relaxation. “I’m ready. Please.”

Your eyes linger for a moment longer, then you circle the base of your cock in waiting.

He descends slowly, gritted breaths and sharp blasts of air from his nose echoing above you. You watch the strain in his thighs as he sinks and sinks, his cock only half-hard against his stomach. Leaving a hand on one hip, you stroke soothing paths up and down his lower back, watching for discomfort. Instead he’s marble around you, coiled, body not releasing as usual. Normally when you fuck him he dissolves, rolling his hips back onto you and choking out praises of how good you feel.

None of that comes. He meets the base of your cock and immediately slides back up at an almost punishing pace. He can’t be that acclimated yet, and his pained hisses and grunts only make that more apparent.

“Din, slow down,” you request, hands firmer on his hips to try and even his pace. If he heard you he says nothing, now slamming his hips down on your cock. “Din,” you beseech again, nails starting to dig in. His grunts grow to growls, something from the heat of battle, your headboard creaking from his crushing grip.

Clarity overtakes you, the shudder of his stomach and forceful downstrokes only getting more intense. There wasn’t pleasure in this. Something is eating up Din inside and he’s trying to fuck it out of himself. And he’s using you to do that.

“Din Djarin, STOP.”

The echo of your voice, strong and steely, finally brings Din to a stop with your cock buried deep in his ass. His chest heaves in front of you, limbs quivering from the exertion, but he’s as still as he can be. Gripping his chestplate, you push him back enough to look him in the visor, your anger righteously reflected back.

“You don’t punish yourself with my cock,” you order, teeth clenched and seething. “Do you think so little of me, that I’d just let you rip yourself to shreds without a word?”

Din freezes, but this time you know it’s shame. If you were in a clearer headspace you might have tried reassurance, or asked him to lay beside you and talk about what’s destroying him, but you’re just too upset.

“Is that all you come to me for?” you spit out, knuckles aching from gripping his armor. He’s silent for long enough that you consider throwing him out before he speaks.

“Something happened. And I just want to…be empty. To not think about it every moment.” He leans forward and your visage warps as he presses his forehead to the crown of your head. The anger thrums but starts to ebb as he folds around you. “I didn’t know where else to go. You’ve always taken care of me. More than I deserve.”

The sadness in his voice is palpable, and even with your mouth still sour from his deception you find the compassion to wrap your arms around his middle. The chestplate presses into your cheek, a metronome for Din’s slowing breaths.

“If you have any care in your heart for me, don’t ever do that again,” you grit out. Din’s breath catches.

“I care for you,” he says, and a door in your heart you never realized was cracked widens for Din’s admission.

“I care for you too, you karking asshole, which is why I want you to say something instead of trying to hate fuck your feelings out.”

Din’s chest begins to shake again, but you’re sure it’s laughter this time. You manage a giggle of your own, letting him lean back and look at you again. The motion shifts your cock in him, and his sharp sigh arches your brow.

“If you wanted to forget, you could have just told me,” you say, rolling your hips sensuously up into his clenching hole. Din’s head drops back, grip tightening on the headboard again as you grind into him.

“Please,” he begs, so soft and vulnerable you can’t help but give him what he needs.

Slowly you press up into him, guiding his hips to rock on your cock. You love the feel of his ass in your hands, well muscled and perfect for grabbing, manhandling him just enough to show he can let go. He follows your direction reluctantly at first, but as you plant your feet and start thrusting with more range he loosens. You can feel it in his arms, holding on to the headboard for dear life, and the building rhythm of his hips meeting yours. For a man whose life is violence, you never want to bring that into your sessions. But a light swat on one asscheek pulls the most delicious moan from deep in his chest.

“Fuck,” he groans, bearing down on you even more. Tilting your hips, you arch his back enough that you’re sure to hit his prostate on the next thrust.

“Maker!”

There it is.

“Close your eyes,” you whisper. Waiting a moment, you zero in on that perfect spot inside him and hit it with every one of your thrusts. “Do you feel that? Feel how good I’m fucking you?”

“Yes, fuck,” Din curses, one hand flitting down to squeeze the base of his cock. He’s at full attention now, head bobbing against your stomach. You swell with pride that he’s having to stave off his orgasm so quickly, but you’ll be the one to make those decisions now.

“All I want you to think about is how good you feel,” you purr, tugging his hand away and replacing it with your own. You long for his skin against yours, so you pull up your shirt to skim the head of his cock against your soft belly. He chokes, stuttering away but he’s trapped between your hand and thighs.

“Wait, Maker, I’ll cum if you…” he garbles, but his body keeps meeting your grinds. You shush him gently, stroking from base to tip and smearing precum over the head.

“You will, but only when I let you. You know I’ll make it good for you, make nothing but this pleasure you’re feeling fill that head of yours.” His rapid nod almost knocks you in the head with the beskar, but he manages to tuck into your neck instead. The helmet is a shocking cool against your skin, but the act of burrowing into you must be rewarded. Bringing your arms around him, you press along the length of his body, trapping his cock between.

“I’m gonna pound into this tight ass until you cum all over us. You like that?” The wail Din lets out shoots heat to your cunt, wishing more than anything that you’d opted for a toy that gave you a little stimulation too. Instead you hammer fast and hard, barely pulling out. Your hips and thighs burn with exertion at his bulk on top of you, but he’s frantically bouncing back and rutting his cock into the wet mess your bodies make.

“Don’t stop,” he gasps, and you’re not sure if it’s the vocoder but you think his voice sounds watery. “Please, cyar’ika, don’t stop.”

Cupping the back of his neck, damp with sweat, you whisper, “I’ve got you.”

With a handful of final pumps you’re coated in his cum, sliding around your belly as he seizes over and over. Pressing deep, you hold strong against his shuddering body as he finishes. Each weakening thrust draws him down on you, heavier and loose-limbed.

The armor makes it hard to find the soft spots, so you take to kneading the back of his neck and palming his spine. Before his last aftershock, you urge him higher on his knees so you can slip your cock out - slowly, so as not to shock his jellying body. Easing him down, you hold his head in the crook of your neck and settle him on your lap. His hands slide down from the headboard to your shoulders.

Then you hear it. A tiny sniff, then another. You can’t pretend you didn’t notice them so close to your ear. So you gather the broad man in your arms and hold him. His hands don’t know where to rest, finally winding loosely around your lower back.

“It’s okay, I’ve got you,” you tell him again, and the sniffing starts to recede. His body, however, slumps against yours, and it takes all of your strength not to start giggling.

You fucked the Mandalorian right to sleep. Bravo to you.

When Din finally stirs, a deep rumble in his throat, it’s been almost an hour. Your toes are half numb and you’re dying to shift into any other position, but much like a lothcat falling asleep on your lap, you couldn’t bear to move Din. Especially when he started snoring, one of the most endearing and hilarious sounds you’d ever heard him make.

In the time he slept you wondered what happened. What terrible thing hollowed him out and haunts him. Something keeps him up at night, if the depth of his sleep is any indication. Recent, possibly. Traumatic.

Your breath caught in your throat. If something happened to Grogu you know he would have told you. You ask after him all the time, teasing that you’ll be his Auntie (Din always says he has plenty of them across the galaxy).

Had you seen the Razor Crest fly up? Where was that old bird anyway?

What happened in the time since Din last saw you?

The cycle of possibilities always ends the same. Maybe he cares for you in some way, but not enough for you to ask. No matter how much you want to.

A shift on your lap alerts you to Din waking, kneading his shoulders and neck lightly to alert him to your presence. He’s never slept with you before, but it wouldn’t surprise you to learn that he’s quick to draw at unexpected circumstances. Of which this one definitely is.

“What…” Din croaks, and if not for the helmet you would have offered him water.

“It’s okay, you’re on my ship. You’re okay.”

It takes Din another minute to realize what’s happened. Him, half naked on your lap with your strap pressing against his ass. You, covered in drying cum beneath him. In a flash he’s swinging his leg off your lap, attempting to stand but obviously they’ve gone as numb as yours because he stumbles and crashes out of sight.

“Oh kriff, are you…?” you start to ask, but as quick as he’s out of sight he pops back up again, tugging up his pants and tucking himself away.

“Sorry, that was…I didn’t mean to…do that.”

All of the heaviness and anger and lust fizzles away to laughter as you try to suppress the ridiculousness of the moment. After a moment of indigent head tilting Din’s shoulder also shake, chuckles fuzzing out of the vocoder.

“Oh Maker, what an understatement that is,” you sigh, wiping your stomach with the edge of your bedsheets. Din visibly cringes, hands on his hips.

“Sorry for the mess,” he apologizes, but you wave it off.

“I’ve had much worse, believe me,” you shoot back. Clean enough, you sit on the edge of the bed and look up at the inscrutable man.

“Want to talk about it?”

Din’s stance shifts, helmet tipping down for a moment before coming back to your face.

“...Not yet.”

You hum and nod. “Well, you know how to find me if you do.”

Din nods. “Thank you.”

As he picks up his effects you shimmy off the harness at the foot of the bed, mentally ticking through the steps to clean everything. Din watches you set it down, stilling until your eyes come back to him.

“It gives you pleasure as well?” he asks, which raises one of your eyebrows.

“I mean, about as much as rhythmically hitting your hips against someone can do.” His posture changes into something hard to decipher, so you continue. “I’ve got a few that do more for me, but it depends on the person I’m with. Comfort, boundaries. As you’re well aware.” You gesture to the armor, his chin tucking down to look at it.

“So you’ve never cum with me?” he asks, and a sudden feverish heat blooms under your skin. Din has a sex appeal you appreciate, but have never acted on beyond what he’s asked for. Now, something’s changed so dizzyingly fast you’re scrambling.

“Well, you’re pretty spent after our sessions. And you leave quickly. I don’t ask for more than you can give.”

Din takes a step towards you, putting his belt and cloak back down.

“What do you ask of other people you fuck?”

Your heart hammers in your chest. How can he turn the tables so quickly and spectacularly? Trying to gain the upper hand, you pull a confident face on and speak as breezily as possible.

“Most can’t get it up twice after I fuck them within an inch of their life, so fingers, tongues, toys, any and all of the above are excellent ways to repay the favor.”

He’s even closer now, and the facade is barely holding up. It’s like the vulnerability he showed you can’t possibly be returned.

“You’ve never asked me,” he says, and you can’t believe there’s a note of regret in his voice. The bed hits the back of your legs, and you steady your voice even though those words make your pussy throb.

“I didn’t think it was allowed.” Your voice drops low as Din steps into your space.

“Difficult, but not forbidden.” Din’s hands come to your shoulders. “Sit down, please.”

Your knees fold so fast you bounce on the bed, looking up at him. He joins you on one knee, hands coming to rest on your thighs.

“I broke my Creed. I would do it again, for the exact same reason, but now that makes me an apostate.” His hands come to the helmet, thumbs tucking underneath the lip.

“Din, what happened?”

He pauses, and you swear you can feel his gaze through that smoky visor.

“Close your eyes.”

Darkness surrounds you, then a hiss and a thunk.

Then the voice of a man you care for, unfiltered and bare.

“I’m not ready for anyone to see my face. But I want this, with you. If you can forgive me.”

You could be dreaming still. It would make just as much sense.

“I forgive you, Din. But just this once,” you sneak in at the end just to hear how melodic his laugh sounds. Then his hand splays over your stomach and urges you to lie back.

“I hope you don’t mind teaching me this. I don’t have much experience,” he says, fire licking through your body as he tugs your leggings and underwear off.

“Don’t worry, you’re a quick learner,” you say breathily.

And when he finally kisses you, sweet with your musk on his tongue and your orgasm dripping from his fingers, you teach him how to do that as well.

END

"I need some distraction Oh a beautiful release Memories seep from my veins Let me be empty Oh and weightless and maybe I'll find some peace tonight.

Sarah McLachlan, Angel (yeah I know I used the sad dog song)

#PMAMC 2024 #din djarin x you #din djarin x reader #din djarin x female reader #din djarin x f!reader #mando x reader #mando x you #mando x f!reader #the mandalorian x f!reader #the mandalorian x female reader #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian fanfiction #mando fanfiction #din djarin fanfiction #prolix fics

207 notes · View notes

undercoverpena · 3 months

Text

isn't it

din djarin x f!reader

summary: at first, it had been you who had found a problem with each one he’d landed at. but, at some point between your clothing being around your ankles, you’re sure he’d begun to find problems with you leaving too.

warnings: mentions of smut/alludes to smut. bad star wars writing (probs, i'm new forgive me). no use of y/n. brief mention/allusion of hand necklace (thanks @rhoorl for the term), m!oral, p in v. loosely season one/two, although likely au. wordcount: 1.7k an: a huge massive thank you to @saradika for firstly convincing me i could do this, and then letting me show her this so i could be assured i didn't butcher him. ily so much 🤍

It’s beautiful.

The sound of wind rustling through it, how it waves in spots up and down the hill—moving side to side like a cosmic wave.

You thought you’d known green until now; thought you had known silver too, assumed you understood the way reflections worked and how quick movements could be. But that was before him.

Before you’d known the feel of his solid body lay on top of yours.

Then, you discovered a lot of things. Like how easy it was to spread your thighs on either side of him. For your fingers to seek in the dark—how they effortlessly hunt and find the parts he’ll expose to the night, but never to the light.

You even found you don’t hate the sound of your name when he says it. Somehow makes it longer, more impactful—like it has meaning when it comes from his mouth.

All of which were things you’d never known before you convinced him to bring you.

A promise, a barter—an exchange. Your hand clutching his blaster slugs, tears clutching to your lashes, flowing from your eyes—aware of what you look like, aware of the desperation you reek of.

Just take me to a different planet. A suitable one. Please.

At first, it had been you who had found a problem with each one he’d landed at.

A bogus reason, a ploy—all stemmed from a rising infatuation with the man under beskar. But, at some point between your cheek against the wall of his ship and your clothing being around your ankles, you’re sure he’d begun to find problems with you leaving too.

But, this place is a gift—it’s a slice of heaven.

It had been a stop gap you’d almost pleaded at him not to make, a pause in the travel plan. Now you’re not sure you want to leave it.

Because here is a sea of greens, a variety, a never-ending display of every shade between the letters which make up the name. Some are more saturated, some are deeper; some are tinged with yellows and others are blotted with dark spots that aim to discolour, but just make them more unique.

There’s no bounty here—no collection to be made.

Just a sight for your eyes and a moment for him. And, you think you could sit here for hours and bask in it. Take it in. Allow the air of this planet to fill your lungs and carve a space inside of you that no one will ever be able to rip from you.

Stroking your fingers through the ground, you feel how your tunic presses to your spine—how it’s held there by the perspiration on your spine. The fabric desperate to blow, to whip around your ribs and the sleeves to float around your arms.

You don’t care that it’s warm—don’t mind that you can feel your skin prickling under it.

Because you’re lost in it, the limitlessness of this place. How surreal it is that each blade points north to the sky, all upright, anchored pleasingly to the ground it came from.

Things had been beautiful earlier too, you remind yourself.

When you had been enveloped by darkness, not a slither of light—not that there’d be the space for it in the small cot. His hands, forever a staple, an anchor, to your hips, determined to pin you there.

He’s a man who chases after those who run, and you suppose it’s ingrained in him. This belief that everyone, at some point, will leave—will go. You think it’s why he holds you tightly when you’re nothing but bare; you suppose it’s why after, when he unsheathes himself, he always traces his thumb over the places his fingers have been, reminding your skin he’s kind, just in case you need another reminder not to leave.

“We should go.”

You hum because you should. Yet, your mind rationalises that the baby is still asleep and there are more minutes to sit in the silence, to not dwell—you suppose it’s why your hand reaches up, and brushes over the gloved fingers instead.

Action is easier than words when it comes to him.

A game the two of you play, one of silence and strategy—wondering who’d be the first to crack and speak more words than necessary. You suspect it’ll be you in time, likely soon enough.

It’s why you clutch, cling. Weaving and working until you’re holding his fingers at an odd angle, a silent plea there, a wishful hope spoken without using syllables or your lips and mouth.

“One more minute.”

“Okay,” you respond.

Watching the strands move again, swaying, dancing.

A content sigh rolls from you, and briefly—in the back of your mind, you wonder if you’re really awake. Whether this is some form of peace your brain has concocted after the sight of him stained in crimson; his palms flat in the air, modulator expelling he’s fine, it isn’t his, he’s okay, it’s okay—

For a while, you’d believed him, until you felt the bruises—all pulsing and colouring in shades you can’t imagine. An image being drawn, shaded in—forever in black and white, just outlines and half-concocted feelings you have on what lives under his armour.

He sighs next to you, it rattling out through his helmet.

And you wait to hear it, the confirmation he normally hands you. Deep, even through his modulator that this “isn’t it” either.

It’s been a routine ever since the two of you began this dalliance. Ever since you’d smuggled yourself aboard his ship with the promise that you’d never ask him for anything else.

Neither realising how false that would be.

You beg for a lot. For more, for his lips, his fingers and his cock. You wait for the darkness, count down to it—thrum with excitement for it when he steps down the ladder and his helmet is aimed in your direction.

Somehow, no words are said, just mutual acknowledgement, acceptance. Or that's what you call it. It being seemingly better than admitting that you crave it—him. That you care, that the sight of him smeared in ruby still haunts you—lingers there, bleeds into good days and casts shadows while you wait in the hull. The child in your arms, soothing him—telling yourself you’re giving him comfort, when you suppose you gain more from the small being than you could ever provide.

“This isn’t it,” he eventually says from above.

His helmet turned, and you imagine the eyes that live under it. Question if they’re almond-shaped or hooded, whether they’re brown, green or blue. You also wonder if he looks at you with curiosity or want, whether it’s with a thousand thoughts running or none at all.

“No?”

“No. Not this one.”

That’s when you close your eyes. Let your ears do the seeing.

Allow your other senses to kick in, to swallow the lack of sight and make do. You end up lingering on the gloved hand in yours—the one which sometimes slides around your neck, lightly pinches either side as you moan at the feel of him. The same hand which slides down your spine to aid your motion, or lingers there when the terrain isn't trouble-free.

It's the remembering which makes you let go of it, of him.

Quickly managing to pretend your hand doesn’t feel cold when you do. Stuff down the emptiness that begins to drown you in the space you put between you, as you stand up. A part of you admitting defeat, silently saying goodbye to tall stands of green and the rolling hills adorned with shades.

“Thought you’d be sick of me by now.”

It rumbles from you. All heavy, laced in its own metal—ready to slam into him and take him down.

It doesn’t. You’re not sure any words ever could.

You suppose it’s why he says nothing, silently following, not too far so that you’re alone, but not close enough that you can feel the ghost of his touch. The distance measured, all purposeful. It remains so until you’re back aboard, until the door closes behind you and you’re once again surrounded by metal.

A part of you knows you shouldn’t grow used to him, shouldn’t be waiting for him to flood your spine with his chest. But you do—you really fucking do.

It’s why you don’t move, don’t take a step closer to check on the baby or even unclench your hand from around the strands of green you’d stolen. The ones you’d ripped up from the ground, roots tickling your wrist—the rest remaining tucked closely between curled fingers and a sweaty palm.

Yours. The smallest piece of a place you’ll likely never see.

“You should sleep.”

It’s an order. Direct—practically thrown at you. Followed by a tight grip on your waist, fingers finding the same place they always do. His place. The one not needing a mark, but he leaves them all the same, ownership, a possession.

Sometimes in the throes of it, you hear him hiss mine, jus’ mine—your head nodding in the dark, because you are, you know you are, the same as you suspect he knows he’s yours. It’s another thing which festers behind your teeth, keeping lips clamped shut, knowing it requires no confirmation, no words in exchange for the momentary slip-up he lets escape. But then, you offer nothing when you trace mine against him with your tongue, when you muffle the words around his shaft as your mouth widens to take more of him.

It’s just pleasure, an easy-to-choose solution to another body being in proximity—a lie you tell yourself.

One you bargain with when he sleeps and you’re coated in the dark, convincing yourself until sleep carries you away and you wake to find yourself either alone or the very opposite.

Because it’s easier, simpler. Far better than admitting your heart does a double take when he returns, that you yearn for him in the days that pass when he leaves you on the ship.

It’s less complicated than asking him if you’ll ever be worthy of seeing him.

And you’re not the type of person to question. So you don’t.

And so the routine continues.

an: you don't know how long this has been burning in my head.

#din djarin x reader #din djarin x f!reader #din djarin x you #mando x reader #mando x you #mando x f!reader #the mandalorian x f!reader #the mandalorian x female reader #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian fanfiction #din djarin fanfiction

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moondirti · 1 year

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all the ways i can have you

pairing: Din Djarin x f!Reader rating: explicit (18+ mdni) word count: 1.3k summary: he's hooked on making you feel good. warnings: naked female clothed male, edging, overstimulation, fingering, pussy slapping, squirting, unprotected p-in-v, blowjobs, hickeys, biting, cunnilingus, rimming, face sitting, this is so filthy don't look at me. notes: here's a little thirst i wrote in my down time. It's not affiliated with The Remedy in any way; i just really needed to get all my thoughts about our favourite beskar man out tbh because the slow burn with those two is killing me

The Mandalorian is absolutely filthy.

It’s not something you expect. He’s awkward at the best of times – pointedly avoiding any possibility of social interaction by the drawing of his blaster or an elongated silence. Honestly, for the first few months that you’d known him, you actually thought he hated you. Sure, you were never the unfortunate soul skewered onto his spear, nor had he ever threatened to throw you into his carbonite freezer, but he always had a handy excuse at the ready when you tried to make conversation. It was torture until you learnt not to take it personally; you figured he was probably used to being alone, and that’s no fault of yours. His lack of social skills could not be your burden to bear. So, eventually, when he gave nothing but a grunt to your occasional bizarre musing, you’d simply shrug it off and go back to playing with the kid.

In hindsight, maybe you should have picked at the source of his reticence. It certainly wouldn’t have taken you as long to get to this point if you had. Because now, it occurs to you that he’d probably been so tense from withholding the desires that the two of you, in fact, shared.

It seems so obvious once the dam had lifted, but keen deduction has never been your strong suit.

Back to the point, though. Mando is beyond borderline obscene once you manage to tease it out of him. Truly, he’d have never instigated things had you not been so uninhibited. But when his resolve shatters, it’s like his mind goes into overdrive of all the things he’d do to you. You actually think that, if given the opportunity, he’d lay you out for days on end to enact every fantasy he has. Because life has its way of intruding, though, he settles for the in-betweens of your day to day, taking you in the small gaps where it can just be the two of you.

You think he’s wild when he edges you the first time, his gloved hand palming your front while you stand in nothing but your towel. This is on you, he said, you little tease. It’s deliciously painful; his fingers find your clit with practised ease and he presses down on it, rubbing you in small, tight circles. With the way his hardened body presses into you from behind, clad fully in his armour – a stark contrast to your exposed frame – and his rough praise meets your ear, you almost cum from the miniature ministration alone. But he recognises what your quickening pants mean; he sees how your back arches into him like you’re trying to match the overwhelming pleasure his hands administer, and he pulls away at the last second, fingers returning only to give a sharp smack to your cunt. And of course it echoes – you’re soaked, for Maker’s sake – which only serves to make him repeat the action again and again until you’ve significantly darkened in shade.

By the time you’re on the brink of collapse, Mando has you sitting between his legs, back to his chest, one leg hooked over a strong arm while you sob your pleas into the empty space of the hull. He fingers you fast and rough, delighting in your high-pitched wails and whiney begs, and forces your first orgasm out of you with an expert quirk of his fingers. It’s torturous relief, like white hot embers dancing upon frozen skin, and your vision blurs as you gush over his vambrace. But he doesn’t let up; he continues drawing them from your sopping core, turning in a complete 180 to overstimulate you until you literally have nothing else to give.

He manages to serve you in a way no one ever has before – you're a complete, quivering mess by the end – so, you assume that’s the extent of it. But time with Mando proved that was the least he can come up with.

He revels in spreading your legs whenever he gets the chance, taking his time to pull your glistening lips apart and absorb the sight of your clenching hole. He says it amazes him – how such a tight thing is able to stretch over his length – then promptly digs his cock from within the confines of his pants. You find yourself agreeing with the wonder of how it fits; it’s by far the biggest you’ve taken – thick with throbbing veins that weave up to an angry, leaking tip – but his thumbs always dance in reassuring circles along your inner thighs when he presses it against you. And when he pushes in, you forget all about your worries, because the stretch is divine. Mando absolutely fills you up to the brink, the ridges of him catching along your inner walls, and he pounds into you with reckless abandon, like a man starved. It’s simultaneously too much and not enough as he reaches those hidden parts of you – that spongy tissue at the front, the wall of your cervix – and the sensation becomes absolutely addictive. You go cock-dumb without fail, drooling, eyes rolling to the back of your head, and you think he might disappear someplace else as well, with the way his words pour unfiltered. Good girl. Beautiful. So fucking tight. Cum for me, I want to feel you. He turns reverent when he gets you this way, awkward fronts be damned.

Funnily enough, he’s too impatient for you to go down on him. In the rare moments he forfeits, he has to hold himself back from pulling you up so he can just fuck you already. It’s not that you aren’t good at it, either – no, your tongue is enough to drive the strongest of men wild – but he just… doesn’t put as much priority in his pleasure as yours. It’s something different with you entirely. He doesn’t see sex as a means to relieve his mounting tensions, it’s not the same exchange he’s found in all those brothels. With you, Mando is overcome with the unshakeable urge to wring out every pleasure imaginable. He’s obsessed with the plump of your lips and the folds of your flesh. He dreams of every single part of you everywhere – under his hands, between his legs, in his mouth.

So, he takes off his helmet to put his lips on yours. And you, who’s naive enough to again suppose that the last, world-ending orgasm was the scope of what he could do, experience it as he transforms into something else entirely.

His kisses leave no area untouched. They find your neck, tightening as he sucks purple hickeys onto your skin, then pepper down to your chest, where he pecks your pebbled nipples and bites the swollen tissue underneath. Mando leaves a trail of spit and welts in his venture, and you moan under the calamity, combing through his soft curls with shaky fingers. And when he finds you soaked through your panties, your nails dig into his scalp, your tummy flushing with slight embarrassment. The pain sparks something in him, it seems, because he pushes your thighs up with a renewed vigour so he can press his nose onto your clothed cunt. My favourite, he groans between long inhales, before he rips off the cotton barrier that separates his tongue from your clit.

Mando eats you out like he’d rather be doing nothing else. He doesn’t. It’s his favourite pastime, solely for the way you mewl and squirm underneath him. He licks, sucks, drinks from you, uncovering every patch of skin with his warm tongue, which flicks over your bud until you cry and drives into you to collect the subsequent nectar. He spreads you on the floor like a meal, dominating in every way. He kneels before you on a chair, open as you rub his stubble into you. He even insists that you sit on his face: ‘I need to taste you more than I do air.’ You have no reason to doubt it, though. He fucks into his fist when you grind down on his chin, his free hand directing you forward until he can lap at your asshole as well. Mando wants you surging, spilling onto him; crying out his name, his real name, which he whispers to you as you come down from his onslaught.

Din, he beams. To you, mesh’la, it’s Din.

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gingerlurk · 5 months

Text

Lovers' Crest Masterlist | Complete

Din Djarin x f!Reader Rating: Explicit - 18+ MDNI, slow burn, non-canon (the Razor Crest never gets destroyed, it also gets upgraded with a cabin), canon-typical violence, eventual smut/filth, angst & hurt/comfort, post season 3, Reader is a rich runaway, also a badass, has a back story, (hair type and length suitable for a braid mentioned twice), working on updating specifics for each chapter, smut: masturbation, fingering, hand jobs, unprotected piv (be safe), creampies, multiple orgasms, oral sex (m! receiving), oral sex (f!receiving), slow and sloppy, touch of edging, face-sitting.

Summary: The Mandalorian is off-kilter. This was an unusual job from the off, but it kept getting stranger.

He thought he would be picking up a spoiled little heiress. How she had ended up in the middle of an unsanctioned and bloody conflict, been taken prisoner, and held at an old empire sprawl, didn’t interest him enough to look into, frankly. But he was at least expecting a supplicant and willing thing that would fall to her knees and be grateful to be getting taken home.

Instead, it’s you.

Chapter 1: The Heiress Chapter 2: The Mechanic Chapter 3: The End Chapter 4: The Estate Chapter 5: The Family* Chapter 6: The Boy Chapter 7: The Doubt Chapter 8: The Heist Chapter 9: The Save Chapter 10: The Confessional Chapter 11: The Question* Chapter 12: The Visit Chapter 13: The Stranger* Chapter 14: The Sight* Chapter 15: Lovers Break Chapter 16: The Bounty Hunter Chapter 17: The Forged Chapter 18: The Assassin Chapter 19: The Bloodied Chapter 20: The Confessional II Chapter 21: The Answer* Epilogue

Bonus Honey*

*Smut

Completed on AO3.

Thanks hearts and kisses.

#the mandalorian #din djarin #mandalorian and grogu #the mandalorian fanfic #din djarin x f!reader #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin fic #the mandalorian x f!reader #what else do you put here #din djarin smut #the mandalorian smut

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the-little-ewok · 9 months

Text

Only yours

Din Djarin (The Mandalorian) X F!Reader

Rating : E / 18+

Word count : 3700 (ish)

Warnings : Explicit / PIV (unprotected sex) / praise kink / mild possessiveness / mentions of oral sex (m&f recieving) / dirty talk / thigh riding / brief fingering / mild Dom Din/ fluffyness / pinning / finger biting (idk is that a warning?) / The helmet comes off / consent is sexy/ aftercare

Prompts / Summary : I love it when you talk dirty, Open your mouth, I'd hold onto something if I were you / A second of playfulness leads to a night of passion with the Mandalorian

A/N: Please go easy on me this is the first time I'm writing smut for Din… sorry it got a bit well … you've seen the warnings….

Also I slightly changed one of the prompts because it sounded better. Just changed a word that's all :)

Dedicating this to my absolute angel of a beta @beldroxramscal ! Thank you for putting up with me!

If you enjoy this fic please reblog and tell me your thoughts! Reblogs keep writers writing :)

—--

Honestly, what had you been thinking? Time, place, person, all wrong. Terribly, terribly wrong.

All the Mandalorian had tried to do was shush your chattering, pressing his finger against your lips as he watched the bounty in the distance. And you, in all your wisdom, had decided to open your mouth and playfully bite down on a gloved finger.

His head had snapped around so quickly you're surprised he didn't injure himself. And you, you still had grinned at him, his finger trapped in your teeth, as your reflection in his helmet grinned back. What exactly was the reaction you were hoping for? Certainly not the one you got.

The long moment of silence that followed had made your grin falter, and you opened your mouth to release his finger. The Mandalorian had stepped away from you without a sound, going back to hunting his bounty in silence.

And he hadn't said a word to you since. He'd been silent, stoic, and well, stampy.

Even now you can hear his pacing footfalls ringing out against the metal hull of the ship. Each one seemed to ring out how stupid you were. The Mandalorian. Of all people to do that to, you just had to pick him.

Clunk. Stupid. Clunk. Stupid.

You had tried to go to him and apologise, but he was clearly avoiding you, and each time you tried to speak with him, he made excuses to busy himself somewhere away from you.

After everything, after working your way up to an easy friendship, after finally getting him to relax a little, you had to go and throw it all away because you couldn't help your childish behaviour; because you couldn't stop thinking about him in ways you really shouldn't.

You toss, kicking the covers off for the thousandth time since you went to bed, turning the pillow, punching it for good measure and trying to settle down to sleep.

But sleep isn't coming. And all you can hear is the clunk, clunk, clunk, of the pacing Mandalorian.

Clunk. Clunk. Clunk

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

It's all you can hear and Maker, it's irritating. Can't he go and be mad away from your door, instead of reminding you with every step of your colossal fuck up.

With a growl of annoyance, you roll out of bed and slam your hand on the control panel to open the door, letting out a yelp of surprise when you're met with your shimmering reflection in the Mandalorian’s helmet.

You try to recover quickly, fixing him with a stern frown, trying not to glance down to fully take in the fact he's dressed only in his undershirt and pants.

"I-I can't sleep with you pacing up and down!"

"I didn't realise I was keeping you awake. I apologise." It's the most words the Mandalorian has spoken to you since you arrived back at the ship, and it softens your annoyance just a little. After all, this was your fault, and there was no point taking it out on him.

"It's okay. Did you need something?"

"No. I was just… walking past." Both the Mandalorians' hesitation, and the fact your room is the last on the ship with nowhere else to go, tell you that is a bare-faced lie.

You twist your hands nervously in front of you, trying to figure out what he could need from you in the middle of the night, and come up with only one thing.

"Did you want to talk about what happened earlier? Because I'm really so-"

"Open your mouth."

"rry-what?" You frown, watching as he slides off one glove, then the other, slowly.

"Open. Your. Mouth," he states again, his modulated voice dark. It's not a question, it's a command. It's how he speaks to his bounties. It should scare you, but it doesn't, he doesn't.

But even so, your breath catches, your heart hammers against your chest, and you feel a prickling heat creeping up the back of your neck. From desire or concern, you aren't sure.

The silence stretches out for a long moment, neither of you moving, before swallowing hard, you take a breath and open your mouth.

"Good girl."

Kriff. How hard your pussy clenches is almost painful.

Closing the distance between you the Mandalorian raises his hand and slips two thick fingers between your parted lips.

You don't wait for further instructions before you swirl your tongue around his digits, sucking hard before biting down softly, listening to the hitch in the Mandalorian’s breathing.

"I haven't been able to stop thinking about that pretty little mouth wrapped around my cock."

The surprise at his words makes your eyes widen at first, but then a flood of heat follows, the mental image of you on your knees for him making you moan around his fingers.

"You like that Cyar'ika? You like thinking about my cock down your throat?"

His fingers leave your mouth with a wet pop, and he waits. He's actually waiting for you to answer.

You stare at your reflection for a moment before your eyes slide away, looking off across the ship, cheeks heating in embarrassment.

"I just like it when you talk dirty," you admit quietly, all too aware that out of the corner of your vision, you can see your saliva glistening on his fingers. Not that you minded the thought of taking him in your mouth either. But there was something deliciously naughty about the Mandalorian speaking filthy words.

"There's no going back if we do this." The Mandalorian states suddenly, changing topics faster than he shoots. "I won't let you go if this happens."

It's such a strange contrast from the tone he used just moments ago it throws you for a loop. Your brain scrambles to catch up with not only the change in pace, but his words.

At your lack of response the Mandalorian takes a deep modulated breath, his shoulders slump and he turns on his heel to walk away from you.

Panic scrambles up through your chest, making it tighten uncomfortably.

"Wait, Mando, wait," you beg, reaching out to catch his arm. Your fingers grip the fabric of his shirt, keeping him in place but he doesn't turn back to you.

"I don't want to go back," you admit, desperate for him to be close to you again. "I don't want there to be a going back."

The way he slowly turns to face you once more feels dangerous, intimidating.

"There's no going back for me now," you whisper as he steps close to you, crowding you back against the doorframe.

"No," he agrees, raising an arm above your head to lean over you, trapping you in place, as the other reaches up to cup your cheek, "there was never any going back."

Your dazed reflection blinks at you in silver and black as his thumb traces your lower lip. You have so many questions, but none of them seem right to ask now. You hope there will be time for them later, that what he says is true, and there is no going back, that there is only forward now.

"Close your eyes," the Mandalorian commands, "and keep them closed."

You do as he tells you without question, shutting your eyes tightly, accepting the inky black and burst of colour behind your eyelids.

At first, his thumb continues to trace your lips, pressing between them briefly to drag along your tongue before his touch disappears.

There's a hiss, a clunk, then absolute silence. All you are left with is the sound of your own heavy breathing.

As the silence stretches out you start to worry that perhaps this is some revenge, some power play to teach you to listen to instructions, to teach you a lesson for your earlier playfulness. Your eyes flicker, almost opening for a moment before -

"Don't."

You squeeze them shut once more, your breath catching in your throat, forgetting how to breathe as the unmodulated, crisp, deep voice warns you.

"Don't open your eyes." He reminds you again. "And breathe."

You're suddenly all too aware of the burning in your lungs from the lack of oxygen. You take an embarrassingly gasped breath, sucking in all the air you can, desperately, as though you've been suffocating for hours.

"Slower," he instructs. You slow your breathing to a more normal pace, or as normal as you can manage given the sudden change in situation.

You can feel the heat from his body as he steps closer to you, forcing you to try and concentrate to keep your breathing steady. For all the times you've imagined this, him, you had not expected him to have quite the powerful effect on you that he does.

He cups your cheek again, his palm warm against your skin. His thumb traces your bottom lip slowly, and you feel him leaning into you, his breath fanning out across your lips.

"Do you want me to kiss you?" He asks.

You nod, not trusting your voice to waiver with thick desire.

He obliges without hesitation, pressing his lips to yours, gentler than you were expecting, as though testing the waters, expecting you to suddenly pull away and put an end to this.

Instead, you press yourself up against him, moulding your body to his, opening your mouth to press your tongue to the seam of his lips.

It's clear at that moment, he has been holding back, perhaps giving you the space to adjust in the turn of your relationship, but the moment your tongue presses against his lips, he snaps.

His arm slips around your waist, holding you tight against his chest as his tongue presses against yours, his kiss insistent and demanding.

Your hands tangle in his hair, exploring previously uncharted territory. As you tug the soft strands lightly the Mandalorian groans into your mouth, pulling back to bite sharply at your lip.

"I should have thrown you to the ground and let the bounty go," he growls passionately, pressing you hard against the doorframe, slotting his thigh between your legs, drawing a gasp from you as he presses it up against your core. "Is that what you wanted? Is that what you were trying to do? You wanted me to fuck you then and there?"

It wasn't, not entirely. Well, maybe it might slightly have crossed your thoughts that in the heat of the moment, he might have done something. You'd be lying to yourself if you didn't admit that exact scenario had passed your thoughts more than once. So, maybe. Maybe you had wanted that.

"I wouldn't have minded if you had," you admit.

The Mandalorian hums, and without being able to see his face, it's impossible to tell if your answer gives him satisfaction or not. Either way, it doesn't seem to matter as his mouth crashes back into yours.

As his tongue dips once more between your lips and you can't help but cant your hips against his thigh, grinding down as his tongue licks into your mouth. It's like your body has a damn mind of its own and is hell-bent on finally getting the high you need from him.

You groan into his mouth, the friction against your aching core just feeling too damn good. The Mandalorian presses his thigh tighter against you as he pulls away, growling lowly against your lips.

"That's it, take what you need."

You don't hesitate. You grind yourself harder against him, aware of the wetness soaking your sleep shorts, and the stain you must be leaving on his pants. Your breath comes out in short gasps as you feel your body tighten, the coil of pleasure inside you winding tighter and tighter.

"Can you cum like this pretty girl?"

Could you? You're certainly pretty close, the material of your shorts dragging up against your clit in just the right way. His next words almost send you hurtling over the edge.

"Then after I'll make you cum on my cock?"

You whine. Any other time you would have been embarrassed by the noise that escapes, but there's no room for that here. There is only you and the Mandalorian, who is making your body sing in ways nobody else has.

"Let go. Let me see you cum for me." It sounds almost like a beg, but you know it isn't, it's a command. You have to cum for him.

Your body reacts before your brain has caught up. You tremble, crying out as the wave of pleasure takes over, the coil snapping, throwing you high in your climax as you ride it out against his leg, shameless in your pleasure.

You barely have time to come down before the Mandalorian removes his leg, and suddenly pulls away from you.

"Bed," he orders roughly.

For a split second, you go to open your eyes, acting on pure instinct to look where you are going, before he stops you a second time. "I'll guide you."

He takes your waist, and slowly walks you backwards, step by step. You have no choice but to trust him and follow, your legs still trembling from your orgasm.

As he pushes you down, you sit tentatively, reaching out your hands to feel for the edges of the bed, slowly backing up onto it. You feel the thin mattress sink with the Mandalorian’s weight as he joins you.

He takes your chin in his fingers and turns your face towards him before he presses a soft kiss to your lips.

"Do you want this?" He asks softly, keeping your face turned to him. "Do you want me to fuck you?"

Maker, you absolutely were not going to survive the night if he keeps asking these types of questions. Your pussy clenches in anticipation.

"Yes." You manage to pant out.

He wastes no time in undressing you, practically tearing your shirt over your head before guiding you to lie down. You move your hands to remove your shorts but he stops you, pushing them down onto the mattress and hooking his fingers into the elastic, sliding your shorts down slowly, exposing you fully to his gaze. There's a hitch in his breathing and wish you were able to see him, take in his expression, watch him lick his lips as he surveys you.

Instead, you have to make do with your imagination.

You jump involuntarily as his hands suddenly grip your thighs, sliding his palms up your skin until his fingers rest just below your throbbing core, spreading your legs wide.

"You are soaked for me, pretty thing."

There're no words coming that you can answer him with, just the gasped breaths and the lift of your hips to encourage him to touch you.

He tuts at your actions with a sigh.

"Next time, we will work on you using your words to ask for what you want."

Next time? There was already going to be a next time? You almost forget to breathe again, but at that exact moment, the Mandalorian runs two calloused fingers through your wet heat, making you suddenly suck in a gasp of air, your hips arching towards his touch, even though you are still sensitive from your earlier orgasm.

He slips a thick finger into your wet heat, drawing a soft mewl of pleasure from your throat. The Mandalorian hums in appreciation of the noise, pressing a second finger to join the first, twisting and curling them as he stretches you open, filling you better than your own hands can.

"So fucking pretty," he praises as he thrusts his fingers, your soaked pussy making an embarrassingly lewd sound.

Suddenly and without warning his fingers leave you, and for a moment there is silence before the Mandalorian lets out a broken groan.

"You taste divine."

Heat spreads across your cheeks, prickling at your skin when you realise he must have tasted you from his fingers. You squeeze your eyes shut tighter, fisting the covers as your body shudders in desperation. You can't wait any longer. You've waited long enough to be here with him.

"Fuck me, Mando," you burst out, taking his words to heart, that you should ask for what you need.

The Mandalorian lets out a dark chuckle before you hear the whisper of fabric, the soft flump of clothes hitting the floor, and then his weight is over you, pressing you down into the mattress, his thick cock pressing up against your core.

"You can call me Din, when we are alone."

Din. The name rings in your ears. Din. You don't know what this means, that he's given you his name, but something aches in your chest at the trust. There really was no going back now.

"Please, Din. I need you. I want you."

He groans as his name passes your lips for the first time, his cock rutting up against your wet folds, soaking himself in your slick.

"Good girl, finally asking for what she wants."

Lining himself up at your entrance he presses into you slowly, inch by inch, allowing you to adjust as he stretches your walls. Every feeling is heightened without your vision — his weight over you, his arms caging you in, the fullness of his cock as he bottoms out, splitting you open, the wet squelch of your pussy, the way his whisper sounds like a yell as he leans down.

"I've thought about you like this so much. Filling you," he delivers a devastating thrust that tears a moan from your throat before you can stop it. "Made myself cum so many times thinking about how you'd taste. How good you would be, all pretty spread out for me." Another hard, slow thrust. "How you'd cum on my tongue over and over until you can't take anymore. And then I'd fuck you, slowly."

You squeeze your eyes shut tighter, desperate for him to stop talking before you cum too quickly, or maybe to keep talking, you aren't sure. All you know is nothing could turn you on more than the thought of him, cock in fist, whining your name as he thought about eating your pussy.

"Please," you whine helplessly as he rolls his hips deep and slow, pressing up against that one spot that makes you see stars.

"This is mine now. You are mine now," he growls, continuing his leisurely pace.

"Yours. Only yours. Always yours," you agree with a helpless nod, arching your back, pressing yourself against him, taking everything he offers.

Except it isn't enough. The unhurried thrusts press against all the right spots, but it's only enough to leave you frustratingly close to oblivion, but never enough to throw you into the abyss.

"Din, I need…i-i…n-uhh," you cut off into a moan as he delivers another deep thrust.

"I know Cyar'ika," he groans, pausing deep inside you to capture your lips in a messy kiss that's all tongue and teeth. You're not sure if the entire lack of movement is somehow worse.

When the Mandalorian finally pulls away he growls in your ear, a noise that makes your pussy clench around his cock.

"I'd find something to hold onto if I was you."

He pulls back until only the tip of his cock remains inside you, before he thrusts back in, setting a hard fast pace that has you cambering for purchase on the bed. Your fingers curl around the edge of the mattress, trying to hold yourself in place as each hard thrust pushes you further up the small cot.

It's too much. When you think you can't possibly get any fuller, he somehow finds a way to thrust deeper, making your eyes roll behind your closed eyelids.

The pleasure at the pace and depth is more than you've ever experienced. It verges somewhere between pain and rapture. It's consuming, drowning, it's everything you need.

You all but scream his name as you finally cum, your body taunt and trembling beneath him, aching fingers gripping the bed for life. Your blood pulses in your ears, white explodes behind your eyelids, it's impossible to get enough air into your lungs.

You might black out for a moment, because when you finally come back to yourself, limbs heavy and shaky, Din is whispering soft praises in your ear.

"So good for me. Taking me so well. Pretty little pussy so good," he slurs, pressing deeper into you as you bury your whines against his neck, trembling with overstimulation. His thrusts are sloppy and mistimed as he rambles in your ear, whispering filth and praises, before he suddenly pulls out of you, letting out a long groan of relief as he splatters your stomach with hot bursts of cum.

For a long moment afterwards, there is only the sound of heavy breathing between you, then his lips meet yours in a tender kiss.

It's gentle and slow, it's more than just a kiss between lovers, it's a promise, but for what, you aren't quite sure yet.

"Stay here," he instructs gently. This time it actually sounds like a request.

The mattress moves and creaks as the Mandalorian gets up, leaving you alone, sweat drenched and covered in cum. It isn't exactly how you pictured your night ending, but you certainly aren't complaining.

Just as you are starting to get anxious that he's been gone so long, you hear soft footfalls and the bed sinks again.

"I'm going to clean you up," he informs you, before a warm wet towel swipes across your stomach, cleaning up the traces of his climax, before he moves down, to clean your slick from your thighs. You're thankful he doesn't make a meal of cleaning your sensitive cunt, clearly taking note of the way you hiss in overstimulation when he swipes the cloth over your folds.

When he's done he settles himself next to you in the small cot, pulling you to lay on your side, his arm thrown casually over your waist, keeping you close.

"So," you speak quietly, not wanting to disturb the stillness that has settled around you, "you weren't mad about the whole finger bite?"

The Mandalorian chuckles, a genuine amused laugh, that makes your chest ache with affection. You want to make him laugh again. You want to make him laugh every day.

"No, Cyar'ika," he sighs, "I wasn't mad. Just frustrated."

"With me?"

"With myself," the Mandalorian answers quickly, his fingers softly tracing your skin. Since he doesn't elaborate, you decide not to ask anything further. Maybe one day you can both explain how this took so long, but this isn't the time.

"What does Cyar'ika mean?" You question, changing the subject, and if you were honest, using talking as an excuse to keep him in your bed a while longer.

"It's a term of affection. An approximation of darling I suppose. But I can call you something else if you prefer?"

"No," you shake your head passionately. "I like Cyar'ika."

"Good," he answers simply. "Now if you are done with your questions, open your eyes."

It takes a moment for his request to sink in and for the first time, you don't comply.

"B-but-"

"Open your eyes," he cuts in quietly, a hand wrapping around your thigh, pulling your legs open as he shifts between them once more, pressing you to lay back against the mattress. "I want to taste you, and this time, I want to see those pretty eyes when I make you scream."

Your heart jumps, your mouth is dry, your thighs tremble.

You open your eyes.

—-----------

Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed please take the time to reblog and let me know your thoughts! I love hearing from readers more than anything!

#the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x female reader #the mandalorian x f!reader #din djarin x reader #din djarin x female reader #din djarin x you #din djarin x f!reader #the mandalorian imagine #din djarin imagine #the mandalorian fanfiction

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flightlessangelwings · 4 months

Text

His Strength

Din Djarin x fem!reader

Word count- 3.8k

Dialogue prompt- “ hey! get away from them! “ and “ don’t worry about me; are YOU okay? “ Action prompt- [ SACRIFICE ]: sender sacrifices themselves, either fatally or otherwise, in order to save the receiver’s life.

Warnings-s.mut (18+ ONLY!), fwb to lovers, protective!Din, bounty hunter reader, injury, brief violence, brief torture scene (not super descriptive and no needles or anything like that), light angst, happy ending, mutual pining, feelings, no use of y/n, ambiguous on where in the timeline it is but razor crest lives

Notes- We made it, this is the last of my Year of Protectiveness @yearofcreation2023! I actually had a different idea at first, but after some personally tragedy, I wanted to write something a little more angtsy. Don't worry tho it's still a happy ending and no major character death! Thanks so much to those who have supported this year theme endeavor with me!

@flightlessangelwings-updates is my update blog so feel free to follow that and turn on post notifs to stay up to date!

When you first partnered with a Mandalorian bounty hunter in the guild, you never expected how much it would change your life. What started as a one time alliance for convenience turned into a partnership built on mutual respect for the other. And everything changed even more the day Mando came to you asking for help with a child he had taken in. He had told you what happened, and how he made the decision to save the child instead, and it awoke something within you that day. Even as he rescued the child from the Client, you stayed by his side and as the two of you traveled the galaxy, you felt the dynamic shift between you two.

It changed the Mandalorian that day too. From under the armor, he had always respected you, but seeing you with the child made him feel something he had never felt before. He found that his gaze lingered on you when you weren’t looking, and he found himself wondering what life would be like if you and the child could stay with him forever… as a family.

Neither of you were sure when it happened. You were just partners one moment, and the next, became something more. There was never a whisper of it spoken out loud, though, just both of you knew something shifted. Even if it was simply for release, it changed everything between you two. He even murmured his real name to you in the throws of passion- a gift you treasured and kept safe in your heart.

Sweat lined your brow as you writhed beneath the Mandalorian. His low grunts echoed from under his helmet while you bit your lip to stifle your moans. Din, as always, never took anything off, only freed his cock. You stayed mostly covered as well, something you wondered if he did to keep things feeling leveled, as if he didn’t want to feel like he was overpowering you. Only your bottoms came off, and even then they stayed around your ankles.

It started fast, heated, and fiery. The first time you and Din slept together was quick, as if you were both concerned with the moment running away from you. He just pushed your pants down enough and took you against the wall. And even with the rush, it was still a more intimate connection you had ever felt in your life. You couldn’t tell at the time, but Din felt the same way.

Over time, it moved from the wall to Din’s bunk, and from hot and hurried to slow and sensual. Din at times handled you with sure care that you wondered if he thought you would break. The way he caressed every inch of you made your heart flutter in your chest as you looked at him with a glazed over expression. Neither of you were sure when exactly it happened, but something changed as the two of you came together time and time again.

You felt it with every thrust of his cock. Though you never saw his face, you felt the emotions behind his movements and his touch. You looked into the darkness of his vizor, locking eyes with him behind it. A louder moan escaped your lips as he rocked into you again, filling you to the brim.

“Din…” you murmured as you ran your hands across his chest.

“I’ve got you,” he groaned in a low tone that went right to your core.

You whimpered at the care that lined his voice. Moving before you could second guess yourself, you let go of his broad shoulders and reached down for your own top. You grabbed and pulled it over yourself in one swift movement, exposing more of your body to Din.

He paused as his helmet nodded up and down as he soaked in the sight of your bare chest, “You’re beautiful,” he groaned as his hands wandered across your breasts.

Mirroring your action, Din surprised you by quickly removing his gloves so that he could touch your bare skin. Both of you gasped when his large hand cupped your jaw first, then trailed down to your breast. He remained inside you yet stayed still as both of you froze in the moment. Din’s thumb brushing across your nipple was the only movement save for the way both your chests expanded with your heavy breaths.

A whimper escaped your lips as Din caressed your breast, gently pinching your nipple as he fondled you. He worshiped your body with his touch and you could hear the heavy breaths from under his helmet. Heat rose between the two of you as he kneaded your breasts.

Din murmured your name as his hand trailed up your chest and along your arms until he took your hand in his. Leaning forward, Din pressed his forehead against yours as he covered your body with his own and resumed his thrusts.

This time, you couldn’t hold back your moans. Between the way he pounded into you and the emotions that came with the intimacy of the moment, you couldn’t help the way you cried out. Din’s cock hit spots deep inside you that you never felt before, and it brought tears to your eyes.

“Fuck… Din…”

“I know,” he groaned, “Me too…”

His hand clasped around yours as he sped up his thrusts, rocking into you with abandon. You arched your back into him as you squeezed his hand right back, and your eyes fluttered shut as you felt your climax quickly approach.

“Din… I’m…” was all you could get out before your orgasm hit you. Your entire body trembled under his beskar-clad one as you came hard on his cock. Your cries echoed in the small space as you felt Din hit your sweet spot over and over again, making you feel a pleasure unlike anything you ever experienced before.

Din growled your name as his hips became more erratic until he too hit his peak. He dropped down onto his elbows, all while never letting go of your hand as he felt wave after wave of pleasure crash through him as he spilled himself deep inside you.

Heavy breaths filled the small space between your bodies as Din rode out your orgasms together. With one final deep thrust, Din groaned as he stilled himself for a moment until he pulled out of you completely. You let out a soft whine at the loss as you felt your body pulse from the aftershocks of your powerful climax.

He gave your hand one last squeeze before he finally let go, and Din immediately grabbed your shirt so that you could cover yourself.

Mumbling a hushed “thanks,” you maneuvered yourself in the tiny space to dress yourself, slipping your shirt on before shimmying your pants back up. Vaguely, you felt Din’s gaze on you as he helped you move around on the cot. For a moment, you didn’t dare look at him. The emotions were too overwhelming after what happened. Something changed in the air between you two, but neither of you were sure how to address it.

That was when you noticed his hand still lingered on your body, holding you tightly. “Din…” you started in a whisper.

But you were interrupted when a coo from a distance made you both look up. Grugu babbled happily as he made his way outward the bunk and climbed in, settling himself in between you two.

You smiled brightly as you finally looked at Din, “We didn’t wake him did we?” you asked in embarrassment.

“I hope not,” he replied with a soft laugh in his tone, “I’m sure it’s fine,” he reassured you.

You couldn’t help but giggle as the little child made himself comfortable between the two of you. Faintly, you heard his laughter with yours and it made your heart soar.

Din tilted his head affectionately, “Rest now,” he cradled your face, “We all need some sleep.”

Swallowing hard, you nodded. Wiggling your way around where Grogu already made himself comfortable, you laid down on your side and exhaled deeply. Din did the same after you were settled and he placed himself so that he could wrap his arm around both you and the child, holding you both close, keeping you both safe.

“Goodnight,” you murmured before you drifted off. Surprisingly, it took you no time to fall asleep, perhaps because you were warm and comfortable… and safe.

The Mandalorian, however, laid awake for some time, just listening to you and Grugu sleep. Everything he could ever want in the galaxy was tucked safely in his arms, yet it all felt so far at the same time. He knew neither you nor the child were truly his, yet he felt like the three of you were already a family. If you only knew just how much you meant to him…

“I have a bad feeling about this,” you mumbled.

Din glanced over at you, but said nothing. He placed a hand on your shoulder and gave it a reassuring squeeze before he stepped in front of you.

The alleyway felt like it closed in around you. Dim lights led the way as you, Din and Grogu tracked the fob and the bustle of the city faded into the distance. It was quiet, but not calming. You couldn’t put your finger on it, but something felt wrong, and everything in you screamed to turn around.

Din's presence anchored you, though, and you stayed at his side as you carefully made your way toward where the fob guided you. With each step, it beeped louder until you all turned down one last alley that led to a small shack.

“Careful,” Din hissed under his breath to you.

You and Din each hovered your hands over your weapons, ready to strike. Din scanned the area, and when he found no movement, he nodded to you and opened the door slowly. You held your breath as the two of you pointed your blasters into the small space, ready for anything. However, as you inched closer, you noticed that the target laid still. Scrunching your brows, you reached a hand out to check, and with a sigh you turned back to Din, “He’s already dead.”

Din let out a soft grunt. You were right- something was off about this. But, before he could even reply, an explosion knocked both of you off balance. He shouted your name as he instinctively tried to reach for you, but you were knocked too far away from him.

A yelp escaped your throat as you found yourself thrown against the nearby wall. You groaned as your body ached, but you forced yourself up onto your elbows. Grogu’s pram was pushed next to you, and through the smoke in the distance where the front wall used to be, you saw numerous shadows appear. Din laid on the ground on the other side of the space, groaning as he too pushed himself back up.

Acting quickly, you shot up to your feet and grabbed onto the pram, “Get out of here, Grogu,” you told him and you gathered your strength, “Get out of here and get help,” you strained as you pushed the pram as hard as you could, sending it hurling out the window and into the darkness. You watched it disappear for a moment before you turned to your companion, “Din,” you breathed.

He looked over at you, but before he could even say your name, another figure appeared behind you and knocked you unconscious. Din yelled, both in fear and in anger, and attacked the enemies with everything he had, fighting until he too found his world completely black.

You felt the pain before you opened your eyes; your entire body ached. Faintly, you heard voices and clamoring around you, and it took you several seconds to blink your eyes open. When you did, you found yourself in a brightly lit room with several men around you. Gasping, you tried to move, but you found yourself strapped down- your wrists were bound at your sides and your ankles were tied at the end of the table you currently laid on.

“You joined us just in time,” a sinister voice spoke.

Snapping your head in the direction of the voice, you saw a tall man with a rod in his hands. The rod sparked at the end, and you knew immediately what it was for. You spat a curse at him as you struggled to get out of your binds, but that only amused him.

“She’s feisty,” he commented, “I see why you keep her around, Mando,” he moved aside to reveal Din behind him, also bound but in a different way.

The Mandalorian was on his knees, his wrists cuffed together in front of him, and several men strained to keep him in place. His shoulders rose and fell with deep breaths, and you could hear the snarl in his breathing.

“Maybe now you can tell us where the child is,” the man continued as he stepped towards you, the rod pointing right at you.

“Get away from her!” Din shouted, “Let her go!”

He ignored him, the rod hovering just above your skin, “Let’s hear how pretty you are when you scream,” he hissed.

“No!” Din struggled in vain as he tried to break free.

The searing pain from the rod against your skin made you scream before you could fight it. Pulse after pulse of electricity shot through your entire body, and it was the worst pain you had ever felt in your life. Your eyes snapped shut as you tried to wriggle away, but it was no use. You were trapped, and there was nothing you or Din could do.

Your screams went right to Din’s chest, “Stop!” he shouted. Fueled by his rage at seeing you hurt, Din finally broke free of his captors and with a grunt, knocked them out. “It’s me you want. Leave her alone,” Din panted, “Don’t hurt her.”

Din smashed the binders that held his wrists together, shattering it, before he grabbed his small vibroblade that he kept hidden. The room turned into a frenzy as the other men attacked him, but he fought them off until he reached the leader, the one who hurt you.

Amused at the scene, the leader pulled out a blade of his own and countered Din's attack, “Is this… love, Mandalorian?” he asked as he parried Din's attack.

The Mandalorian just growled as rage consumed him. He went blade to blade with the leader a few times, but he soon made a mistake. Din glance over at you, still bound to the table with tears in your eyes. He hesitated for just a moment as the sight of you like that broke him, and that was when the leader stuck, stabbing Din right between the plates of his armor.

“Has a woman made you soft?” he teased in a low voice as he drove the blade deeper, "How sweet," he spat.

Your eyes went wide as your mouth opened to let out a scream, but nothing came out. Instead, all you could croak out was a hushed, "Din..."

Tears fell from your eyes as you wailed and thrashed in your binds, desperate to do something. Maniacal laughter filled the room as Din slumped down, the blade still in his body. You whimpered as you tried to fight through the pain that coursed through your body and free yourself, but it was no use. This was the end. And you didn’t even get to tell him…

Suddenly, the wall on the far side burst open in an explosion and dozens of Karga’s men flooded into the room. They fought off your captors in a heated fight. And through the flames and blaster fire, you saw the familiar outline of the child, who waddled over to you. It was the last thing you saw before you passed out from the pain.

Din woke with a gasp. The last thing he remembered was getting stabbed, hearing you scream and then an explosion. He had no idea where he was, but he did notice that his hands weren’t bound anymore. And the pain had dulled to an ache in his side. But, more than his own injuries, he was more concerned with where you were. Thankfully for him, your voice was the next thing he heard.

“Din,” you gasped, “It’s alright, we’re ok,” you were right next to him.

Din laid back down with a groan as the pain suddenly intensified. But it didn’t matter, you were here, and you were ok. He whispered your name, “What happened?”

“Grogu found backup,” you sounded tired, “Karga and the others found us just in time.”

He groaned, “Grogu?! Where is he?”

“Shh,” you tried to calm him, knowing how much the kid meant to him, “He’s alright. He’s resting in the next room. It took a lot out of him… healing us…”

“Are you alright?” was his next question after a pause.

Your eyes went wide, “Don’t worry about me. Are you ok?”

Din cupped your face, “As long as you and the kid are alright…”

“Don’t say that,” tears filled your eyes before you could stop them. You let out a shaky breath before you added, “Din, you… You sacrificed yourself… For me…” your voice trembled.

He groaned as he slowly pushed himself up to sit. You mumbled incoherent concerns as you helped him up, and once Din was upright, he found himself almost eye level with you due to the height of the cot. Din let out a heavy sigh as his heart skipped a beat in his chest at the way you looked at him. Though he hated to see tears in your eyes, he noticed the care and concern that highlighted your features.

“Din…” you breathed as he cupped your face once more.

As he gently cradled your face in his hand, Din murmured, “Keeping you and Grogu safe,” he hissed slightly from the pain, “Is all that matters to me. You two are all that matter to me.” Din spoke in a sincere voice.

Fresh tears filled your eyes, but not ones of sadness. You longed to hear him say those words, and now that you heard them, the emotions became overwhelming. “I care about you too, Din,” you whispered as you leaned into his touch, feeling his thumb brush across your cheek, “You and the kid… You’re my family. My everything.”

Din let out a deep breath, “I trust you,” his tone was soft, “Do you trust me?”

“Yes,” you breathed without hesitation.

He slid his hand up your face to rest over your eyes. Your mouth dropped open as a sigh escaped your lips, but you said nothing and made no attempt to move. You put yourself completely in his hands, knowing you were safe in them. But, you gasped when you heard the hiss of his helmet, and felt the gentle breath from Din’s own lips.

Din leaned in and tenderly placed his lips over yours, using his free hand to keep his helmet covering the rest of his face. You both moaned softly into each other as you savored the feeling of your lips together for the first time. The kiss was soft and sweet, yet it held all the emotions the two of you held close to your hearts. Now that everything was out in the open, though, you and Din both felt like you could share this vulnerability with each other.

You tilted your head to the side as you placed your hands on Din’s armored chest and parted your lips in a silent invitation. Din eagerly took it and deepened the kiss by darting his tongue past your lips. He groaned into you and pushed his chest more into your body as the taste of you sent a jolt of electricity through his veins. A tear of his own slid down his face as he memorized the taste of you and the feeling of your face against his.

As much as neither of you wanted to break away, you needed air. Reluctantly, you both parted at the same time, sharing the air that you both inhaled. Din carefully pulled his helmet down and covered your eyes, taking a moment to admire the subtle features of your face as you kept your eyes closed.

“Look at me,” he said gently.

You blinked your eyes open, and knew from the way he tilted his head to the side that he was admiring you. Your heart fluttered in your chest as you felt his eyes stare at you through the darkness of the visor. “Thank you,” you whispered, “For saving my life,” you slid your hand in his.

“You never have to thank me, mesh’la,” Din murmured as he squeezed your hand and moved his free one to cup the back of your head, “I’ll always protect you,” he continued in a low tone as he guided your head closer to his until your foreheads touched. Din knew his love for you and Grugu didn't make him weak, despite what the leader said. In fact, it made him stronger than ever, it drove him to fight harder to protect you both.

You let out another deep breath as your eyes closed and you cherished the moment. Being held by Din made you feel safe and warm, even with the cold armor he wore. You felt the warmth of his touch, the warmth of his love, even through the beskar. “Let’s go see our kid,” you broke the silence with a smile in your tone.

Din let out a soft, amused huff that told you he was smiling too, “Yeah,” he murmured, “Let’s get our family back together.”

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