#mando x reader fanfic

[undercoverpena]

i’d look for you

din djarin x f!reader | masterlist

summary: din offers you something else in a field of wildflowers

warnings: 18+, allusion to smut ONLY. soft!din. idiots who have feelings but don't know what to do with them. jo's writing din so it gets weirdly poetic again. wordcount: 2k notes: pairing is the same as other din fics by me. but don’t need to read to enjoy. written for @morallyinept's Flora & Fauna Challenge - this fic has made me smile so much, I hope it does the same for you.

“Can you do something for me?”

The question hangs, burns, in the air of his bed. Your eyes blinking awake, having been roused from slumber by his gloved hand on your cheek.

You’re aware he’s waiting, biting the inside of your cheek, as you nod.

Swallowing the longer answer which burns on your tongue, finding it now tastes of acid and wrongness, having been trapped inside for so long, having let it overstay its welcome.

You suspect he knows it all anyway. Likely as easily able to read you, as you are him. Able to hear the words you don’t say, just from the way you stare at him, like a written passage all on its own.

He helps you up, but doesn’t hurry you. You almost smirk at the purposeful, cautious touches on your side, trailing his gloved hand along the curve of your back as he leads you to the refresher, awakening thoughts more sinful than you suspect is his intention.

It’s then he tells you the time, but shares nothing else about why the ship is quiet.

“What about—”

“He’s asleep.”

Your mouth clamps shut, taking the clothes he hands you as you bury the rest of the questions. Each piece you slide on, you don’t shy away as he stands waiting. Letting him stare, letting him take in the sight of you in more light than he can when your bodies usually writhe.

Are you admiring me, Din? you want to ask. Do you feel the invisible string between us too?

Sometimes, you dislike that he told you the shade of his eyes, because you look for them. Peer through the visor with more hope than you’d allowed yourself to have before.

“Can you turn around?”

It should sound like a command, but his tone is softer, more brittle. Something unspoken within it, tightening around each letter, bending and forging with it—likely things he’ll never admit.

Still, you obey. Closing your eyes as you feel him behind you, his presence crowding and looming—recollecting when he’d been barer than he is now, draped over you.

If you will it enough, you swear you can feel his breath fluttering over your shoulder—remembering how he makes you feel full and sated, content and happy. The last time, you’d been in a haze, fucked out, blissfully aware of the naked fingers resting at the base of your neck as you came down and the way he had tilted your head back and swallowed your whine like he knew it belonged to him.

You do, you think, belong to him.

Not because he has taken, but because he has earned—he has proven. A thing which rises to the tip of your tongue and sears alongside the other words which linger and ferment.

“Trust me,” he says.

Not a question, but an ask. And you don’t mean to, but an unintentional gasp escapes at the feel of the soft, smooth fabric when it slides over your eyes. Light fades as though he clicks his fingers, blanketing you in night in the middle of the day as it tightens around your head—rendering you quiet, shyer, almost smaller, as your sense is removed, willingly given but taken all the same.

Then you stand, breath hitching, anticipation threading through your veins as you wait. For him to move, to speak, to do. Each second stretches into eternity, making a protest wish to appear. A change of mind, a declaration of wishing to do something else, than this.

But, you don’t speak it. Instead, dancing your fingers against the tops of your thighs, waiting, not patiently, but not rushing.

“Relax.”

You snort to smother the shiver that darts down your spine at his voice.

Unsure how one does such a thing when you hear the ramp going down, subtly listening to the sound of water running. You feel lost, adrift in a sea of darkness—of nothingness—with every fibre of your being yearning for a familiar anchor, teeth rolling over your bottom lip as you fight the urge to whisper his name into the void, a silent plea for reassurance amidst the engulfing uncertainty.

Din, you think.

Wondering if he can hear his name in your mind. If he’ll come to your calling, hold your hand; allow you to ask if this is necessary, if this—

“Breathe.”

And you do.

Chest filling, lungs flooding—his gloved fingers sliding between your bare ones, rooting you as he repeats it. Calmness spreads through you inch by inch, in the same way he makes pleasure surge through your muscles.

He gives you a minute, a moment. Likely waiting until your head turns in the direction you think he’s in, before he leads, offering stony orders to be careful—one that almost makes you grin until your steps take your soles to meet something softer than his ship.

The smell greets you first. It’s crisp and sweet—unlike anything you’ve encountered. Then the drizzle, how it forces your clothing to bind to your skin in a way that should feel suffocating, but instead feels freeing. Lips beginning to stretch, teeth showing as your cheeks ache with the intensity of your grin.

It’s then you feel him move behind you, the squelch of his boots signifying it. His chest meets your spine, the ghost of his touch along the side of his neck, before you feel the fabric over your eyes, loosen and light begins to seep in.

Then, it goes from nothing to everything. It being almost too much to take in all at once—the unveiled surprise, the thing he’d wanted you to see in its wonder and not in pieces as you descended.

And—

“It’s beautiful.”

It being the delicate blooms that stretch out before you. Each one a mysterious burst of colour against a backdrop of greenery. Vibrant splashes of colour, all wild and free, rising from the ground like the scenes from books you used to read. With each sway and ripple in the breeze, you spot more flowers. All of them stirred by the falling rain, watching each motion, all in awe; lost for words.

Distantly, you become aware that he’s moved to the side of you, but you’re unable to tear your eyes from the world. Not able to take your sight from the striking array of hues, every colour flower you think you could ever imagine swaying. Because there are iridescent blues and purples; there are some that glow with luminous gold and reds that look stained with blood. Shares you can’t even name, but are drawn to, reluctant to steal your gaze until you spot another.

Fingers reaching out, knee bending, you touch one, find it softer, more delicate than you ever thought. Tears springing to your eyes, chest swarmed with warmth as you admire the way the stems twist and spiral in graceful arcs, all beaded with the sparkling mist that continues to fall.

“What do you think?”

“It’s…”

Words fail you, a thing you’re not sure he could ever believe.

The only conscious thought is that you wish to live amongst them. No words exist that can describe how serene you feel; how as wild or as drenched as the petals you admire.

Because it’s then you really notice the rain, coming to sit amongst the living and the flowers. Ground soaked with it, it falling in torrents. Each droplet is a percussion against your skin, seeping through the layers and soaking you to the bone.

It's a different kind of loveliness. It’s all free, raw and unyielding, a mosaic of shades that aren't bowing or converting into a glistening canvas of liquid silver—even if the skies try to.

In truth, you thought you’d seen rain. But this is something different.

It is more akin to the sky having been ripped open, split in two, cracked, all but pouring its tears upon the land in a symphony of water and wind. Your fingers dig into the dirt, feeling his equally soaked thigh press against yours as he joins you, feeling him watching, studying, even if you can't see his eyes.

“My mom used to say that a flower sprouts when a person leaves us,” you say, soft, barely your normal volume. “I always wondered where they did—I guess I know now.”

Shifting, you peel your sight from the flowers to see his legs extended, his body so close to yours. So much so, it would be easy to lean into it. Into him. To press your drenched clothing against his equally drowned frame, seek warmth, and take what he will offer you in the brightness of the day.

“Din,” you continue, tuning in to the gruff noise he makes for you to continue, as you move your shoulder closer.

His head turns, the front of his helmet facing you.

Allowing you to see a bead slide gracefully down the silver, moving like a serene symphony—as others fall, and then another. All being left by the sky above, weaving paths you wish to trace with your fingers.

You shouldn’t, but you want to wipe each away with your touch, rest your palms against the places his cheeks should be and will your hands to remember the warmth you know they can be.

“Can you remember the last time you felt the rain on your bare skin?”

Silence. Rain slides against leaves before rolling down to the soil below. The sound increases and decreases in odd waves as the storm tries to square itself against the sun, against the blossoms which rise like an army unwilling to cower.

“No.”

His reply is rough, croaked out through the modulator—caked in openness you’re not sure he wishes to show.

And, it makes a memory resurface. Sharp and clear. The first time you’d felt him unmasked, the vulnerability etched into his features—frame tense, rigid. Nervousness flowed through him as easily as the blood that races. How you’d kissed him, felt his cracked lips gain confidence against yours as his muscles rippled under your palms.

In a different way than then, you reached out, offered comfort—providing something you’re not sure he easily is given.

“A person could get lost here,” you sigh, the words practically tumbling out.

A stillness follows, one only punctuated by the rain. That is, until he shifts, until you hear him exhale, before adding, “Not you.”

Dragging your eyes from the landscape, you watch as more droplets slide and skate down his helmet, against his armour. Desperate to cling. It’s nothing but mesmerising, making him appear like he’s made of the sky. Reflections of the flowers there, muted shades mirroring.

“No?”

He’s silent for a moment. Just one. “Wouldn’t let you. I’d find you.”

Smirking, you turn back to the view. “You’re good at that—practically a professional.”

He allows a beat, lets your shoulder settle against him—the heels of your boots digging into the ground of this place, hoping a little bit clings on and comes with you.

“I’d look for you.”

Breaking your gaze from the flowers and the falling rain, you rest them on his helmet. On him. On the space you think the brown eyes he’s told you about are currently watching you.

It’s slow to appear, taking its time to spread up into your cheek as the implication of his words ring out. Look, not find; search but not hunt.

“I wouldn’t run to begin with.”

You feel it, the shift, slight tilt of his head at your words.

And you swear you hear him breathe good, light almost airy—before gloved fingers find their way between yours again. Soaked, sodden. But neither moving as seconds become minutes.

“Cyar'ika?”

You hum, preening, almost blooming under the name he’s just begun using. Nestling further against him, watching the flowers sway and turn in the rain before his gloved hands come in front of you—a bunch of flowers held out to you, offered, given.

“My hair is brown too.”

You smile, taking the bunch, bringing them to your nose. “That’s nice to know.”

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

[decembermidnight]

Beskar and Pearls

Summary: Wearing the luxurious gift the Mandalorian gave you while accompanying him on a business trip turns out to be a pleasurable torture.

Pairing: Din Djarin x f!reader

Word count: 3.9k

Warnings: no plot - just smut, 18+ MDNI, teasing in public, Dom!Din, sub!reader, possessive!Din, lots of dirty talk, Din being a sexy arrogant asshole, glove kink, masculinity kink, humiliation kink, hair pulling, unprotected rough sex, mentions of exhibitionism kink, multiple orgasms, multiple creampies (wtf is a refractory period), a hint of overstimulation

A/N: the most coherent thoughts I have while ovulating. I have no excuse. This is FILTHYYYY I hope you enjoy it! Reblogs and comments are always appreciated!! Also a big thank you to @thefrogdalorian for making sure it's written in decent English and to @saradika-graphics for the perfect divider 💕

Masterlist - Read on Ao3

The Mandalorian has just landed his ship on Nevarro after spending an entire month catching quarries in the outer rim. He has been away most of the time, but he made sure he'd make up for it every time he came back, too proud and stubborn to admit with words that he missed you, but demonstrating it by spoiling you with luxurious gifts and his body.

You look at him in reverential adoration as he dresses in his armour – a blend of his Mandalorian heritage and the many trophies he acquired from his victims, dark red in colour and dented after many close encounters with death.

He's just finished strapping weapons everywhere on his marvellous body when he addresses you.

“Hey. Got this for you. Wear it. We’re going to the market, I have some business to attend to,” Mando says as he hands you a small drawstring pouch he was hiding in his utility belt.

You immediately open it and its content leaves you speechless. It’s the sexiest piece of underwear you’ve ever seen – an expensive-looking black lace thong with just a string of pearls meant to go between your pussy lips.

If he wants you to wear it while in Nevarro, a lawless planet full of dangerous bounty hunters, you will wear it under the shortest skirt you have. The mere thought of his eyes glued to your ass, hoping to get a glimpse of it while being vigilant of other men at the same time, makes your head spin. You let out an aroused sigh and look at him, impassive as always behind the dark visor.

“That should keep you busy,” Mando chuckles and tilts his helmet.

You immediately wear it along with that short, flowy dress that also happens to be his favourite one on you.

“Let me see it,” he says as his hands grab you by the waist. He brings you closer to him and immediately lifts your skirt. He kneels before you and lets out a satisfied hum when he sees the tempting way the pearls disappear into your slit. The Mandalorian lingers there, dark visor trained on that heavenly view as his gloved hands caress your thighs. The sharp contrast between the coarse leather and your delicate, soft skin gives you a thrill of pleasure. You guess – you hope – the trip won’t take long.

His chestplate rises and falls as he struggles to catch his breath and maintain his composure at the sight of your perfect cunt dressed in pearls. It’s incredible to see how something so dainty could turn out to be so perverse and sinful.

“Come on. Let’s go now,” he says as he stands up. Now at his full height, his imposing figure resumes towering over yours. You admire him in awe, taking in the broadness of his body and the way his armour magnificently highlights it.

He offers you his hand to descend the ramp and as soon as you start walking, you understand why he said that it would keep you busy. With every step that you take, the pearls pleasurably rub against your clit. You can feel yourself getting wet already. There's an aroused expression on your face that Mando does not miss.

"Are you enjoying it?" he asks teasingly.

"Yes," you answer and bite your lip.

"Good,” you can hear how pleased he is seeing you like that after you’ve barely taken a few steps out of the ship. You know the thought of you being so aroused in public while having to control yourself is making him hard. You decide to play his game, see where this leads.

Mando is walking right behind you, strutting proudly as he stalks you like a hunter follows its prey. You feel his gaze trained on your butt, so you accentuate the swaying of your hips to get more friction from the pearls and to seduce him even further, hoping to get a reaction from him.

"Shake your ass as much as you want, you're not getting anything until I'm done here. You're only getting this scum to see how pretty you are. I like it," he slaps your ass and chuckles. You bite your lip to muffle a whimper.

"See the way they're looking at you? If they dare even think of touching you, their dead body will touch the ground before they lay one finger on you," he whispers in your ear as he grabs your hand and positions it over his blaster.

"You are mine," he growls in your ear as he wraps his other hand around your waist. He pulls you close, until the flustered, naked skin of your back touches his cold beskar chest plate. A thrill of excitement traverses your whole body and goes straight between your legs.

No one would be so stupid to touch you, not when a Mandalorian is claiming you as his, not when you can feel his erection against your ass. The whole thing is making you light-headed with arousal, so much that you start to shamelessly rub your ass against his cock. His hand tightens its grasp around your waist as your head rolls back to rest on his shoulder. You sigh in his neck and his hand trails up and wraps around your throat.

"Behave now," the Mandalorian growls as you feel his fingers tightening their grasp, trying to restrain himself from giving into lust already.

“I want you,” you whisper in his neck.

“I know,” he replies confidently before releasing you. What an arrogant motherfucker. You want to make him so hard he’ll want to bring you back to the ship and fuck your brains out, putting his desire for you before his stupid pride and his business. You want him to surrender to his carnal instinct.

The more steps you take, the more desperate you become for relief from this agonising, yet pleasurable torture. The pearls are stimulating your clit mercilessly, without ever getting you close to an orgasm. Your cunt spasms and clenches and what's worse is that he knows. Mando has spent so long quietly studying his bounties that he can tell by the irregular way you're breathing that you're struggling with the sensation. You bet he's enjoying every second of it, smirking under the helmet.

Just before entering the market area, he pulls you closer to him one more time, making you gasp.

"Now be quiet. You wouldn't want to fuck up my business. Be a good girl," he whispers softly in your ear as you feel his hand on your lower belly—close, so close to where you want him the most. Maker, he’s rock hard. You can feel it. You can’t think of anything else when his erection is pressing against your ass and his arm is tightly wrapped around your waist. He lets you go and you enter the market area together.

You try to divert your attention on whatever item they’re selling in the stands but it’s mostly weapons and things for bounty hunters that you couldn’t care less about. You can feel your arousal starting to drip down your legs, making your inner thighs slippery. Your swollen clit is pulsing and begging for attention, but Mando has been clear - you’ll get nothing until I'm done here, and you know nothing could make him change your mind, unless you play your cards right.

He grabs a seat in a beat-up wooden booth, his legs spread wide due to the massive erection trapped in his pants. There is an undeniable air of confidence and arrogance to him when he sits like this, looking so imposing and authoritative. You wish you could just drop to your knees and please him in any way he wants.

"Be my good pretty whore and sit here," Mando invites you to sit on his thigh and you immediately comply. You're so damn wet, you can't keep your legs closed.

"Hmm? Sitting here like this with your legs spread open? Do you want everyone to see your pretty cunt? Better let them know to whom this belongs, don't you think?" he coos in your ear with his husky voice. He knows you're both perfectly concealed and no one could see what's going on under that table. He's doing that just to prove a point—that you belong to him.

You nod mindlessly as his hand cups your cunt and stays there, still, without moving.

"Mando. Mando I need–" you whisper in his neck in a trembling voice.

"Oh. I know," he says, pleased when he sees how flustered you're getting. "Not yet," he growls as one of his gloved fingers trails your slit. He stops right before your clit, making you whimper and grip his arm tight in response. You dig your nails in his flightsuit as he feels how unbelievably wet you are.

"Hey. Behave now," he whispers as a Rodian approaches the booth and takes a seat, greeting him with a nod of his head. He immediately hands Mando a puck.

You have no idea what they’re talking about – you can't focus on anything else apart from the way Mando’s gloved hand holds the puck. You look at his fingers with pure lust, thinking of them touching your clit, pumping inside your cunt, the coarse leather caressing your skin. 

You let your hand trail on his inner thigh and he stays surprisingly calm, not flinching one bit as your fingertips slowly slide higher, until they finally meet his cock. He is so unbelievably hard, you feel him throbbing underneath your fingers as you trail them all over his length. The Mandalorian won't betray any emotion, which turns you on even more. He's perfectly calm and collected on the outside, but you bet he'd love to throw you on that table and bury himself in you.

As soon as the Rodian hands Mando a handful of credits as an advance, he leaves.

"Please. Please, I need you," you whisper in his neck.

"I'm not done here. Be patient."

The throbbing need between your legs causes you to ache so badly that you don’t notice another man has approached and taken a seat until he begins speaking with the Mandalorian.

They're speaking in a foreign language, and Mando’s interlocutor does not seem happy. Judging by their tones of voice and gestures, they appear to be negotiating the fee for Mando collecting a certain bounty that the man needs capturing and he is displeased that Mando commands a high price. You’ve learnt over the time you’ve spent with the Mandalorian that there's not much room for negotiation with him. He has leverage since he's regarded as being the best bounty hunter in the outer rim. The way he speaks is so confident, it makes you even wetter how he does not lose composure while the other man is basically yelling at him. 

He starts running his thumb on the string of pearls digging in your slit, feeling how wet you are for him as he keeps talking to his client while you're sitting in his lap, doing nothing but looking pretty. You're his slut and he wants everyone to know it, but you have to act cool even as he teases you under the table. You have to control the way you breathe, you can't let even the smallest whimper out. Why is this so hot? Why is he so hot?

In the end, the man hands him a hefty amount of credits and rises from the table with a huff, muttering and cursing as he goes.

"Please, take me back to the ship and fuck me. I won't ask for anything else, please," you whisper sensually in the crook of his neck.

"I'm not done here," he tries to appear impassive, but as soon as you resume your touching between his legs, he jerks slightly. You smirk, satisfied.

"Mando…" you trace the outline of his cock with your fingers, feeling how hard his erection is while purring in his neck. His pants are thick, but as you stop right at the tip, drawing circles on it with your fingertips, you can feel the fabric getting slightly damp.

“You’re so hard…” you sigh sensually as you keep rubbing his cock. You hear a choked grunt from him, now that he can’t focus on his job anymore, now that he’s at the mercy of your teasing. You’re so tempting, acting so shameless in public, the thrill of someone noticing the two of you drives him insane and you know it. You’re finally getting your revenge. You can bet he's close to losing control. Mando is twitching in his pants, his breathing getting heavier and heavier...

"Fuck it." He grabs you by the arm and you rush out of the market and back to the ship.

The Mandalorian doesn't even wait for the ramp to close behind him to bend you over the first crate he finds, kicking your legs open with his feet and freeing his throbbing erection. His gloved hands run up your skirt and position themselves around your hips, keeping you steady for him as he slams into you all at once. He meets no resistance from your drenched cunt whatsoever, leaving you breathless as you exhale in a loud moan. You're crushed between the crate and his beskar body, pleasurably forced to take his thick cock. You're only able to let out ragged groans and clamp tightly around him as he finally gives it to you just like you wanted.

"You. Fucking whore. Couldn't wait for me to finish my business. Wanted this dick so much, hm? Are you happy now?!" his thrusts are furious and relentless, his hips crushing your body against the crate with a devastating force. The angle at which he's hitting you is deep, so deep that you can't even prop yourself up on your shaky elbows. You're just getting brutally fucked without dignity.

"You get so disobedient when you want this cock. Maybe I should just tie you up and gag you?"

You can't even mumble words, too absorbed by the feeling of his cock thrusting inside of you, so aroused at the idea of him using your body for his pleasure.

"You're so wet. Damn. It must have been such a torture, right? To be so wet and turned on? Hearing you beg like that made me so fucking hard. Feel it. Feel what you do to me," he rasps as he rails you deep and hard.

The way the pearls are rubbing against your clit and the perfect rhythm of his thrusts are driving you close to the edge already.

"Mando, Mando, I'm–" you can barely mumble as you helplessly drag your hands against the crate.

"Yeah. Come. Seems like it's the only thing that will make you obedient. You wanted it so much, you can have as many as you want today."

'Thank you, thank you, tha–" your blissful chant is abruptly cut as the orgasm takes control over your body. Your cunt clenches hard around his thick cock and your legs jerk uncontrollably, barely touching the ground as he keeps you still and never stops drilling into you as you ride your high. The pleasure is so intense, it leaves you breathless as your cunt keeps involuntarily spasming around him in aftershock. You're panting against the metal crate beneath you, overwhelmed and reduced to a trembling, feeble mess, the coldness of it is a relief against the hot, flustered skin of your body that won't stop begging for him.

"Is this what you wanted, hm? For me to stop everything I was doing to come here and take care of you? Needy girl. You desperately wanted attention, hm?"

You can only mumble in assent, feeling the way he takes out his rage on you.

"Bet you would've let me fuck you in a dirty fucking alley if I wanted to."

"Y-yes–" you reply in a breathy groan, drenching yourself at the mere thought.

"What a slut. What if someone heard you screaming like that? What if someone heard how wet this pussy is when I fuck it? Fuck, you're dripping!"

For a man who barely speaks in normal circumstances, he sure does like to run his mouth when he's buried deep inside of you.

"Yeah. I bet you'd like it if someone saw me fucking you like the slut that you are," he pants and you start whimpering and clamping around him at the idea.

"I knew it. You're such a whore. But you are mine, and I won't let anyone hear these pretty moans and see this perfect cunt. They belong to me. To me," he growls.

"Yes – yes. I fuck–ing b-belong to you," you repeat mindlessly.

"Does it get this much to get you this wet? Just a string of pretty pearls? Looking so fucking good. So fucking good. Are you enjoying it?"

"Yes, Mando!"

"Shit, you're so tight. You're making me come," he says in a broken voice. His thrusts get erratic, as does his breathing "This cunt is so perfect, so fucking perfect," he emphasises the very last word before bursting, spilling hot and wet inside of you in a ragged groan, whining at how good it feels. His muscles tense and he gets rigid behind you, his head rolling back in pleasure.

"Oh, fuck! You're so hot. Spill all of your cum inside of me. Like this, yes!" you cry and start touching your clit, so turned on at the sight and feeling of his orgasm.

The sounds he makes as he comes are the hottest ones you have ever heard. The infamous Mandalorian – stoic, imposing and menacing – is getting lost in the overwhelming pleasure you’re offering him. Your drenched, tight pussy is making that dangerous warrior crumble. You’re so aroused, you need more.

"Please, please don't stop fucking me!" you dare asking him.

"I won't," he grunts as he keeps burying his dick deep, so deep inside of you.

"Don't stop. Don't stop. Oh, fuck, I need you to fuck me harder, please!" you plead as you feel his cum starting to drip down your hole. "Maker, please!" you say as you start frantically slapping and rubbing your clit as you hear the obscene, sloppy sounds of his cock thrusting in and out of you, of his hips slamming against your ass.

"I won't stop. Fuck, I want more. I can't stop. You drive me fucking insane!" he growls, resembling a wild beast, completely overwhelmed by lust. You feel his cock still pulsing inside of you as you get even wetter.

"Look at this perfect cunt. You're so full of my cum, damn, you can't ever get enough of it, can you? Fucking cum slut. Look what you make me do. Just came inside of you but I can't stop fucking this perfect cunt. You want to drain me. Are you proud of yourself, hm? Making me so fucking hard in public and teasing me like the whore that you are."

"Fuck, yes, I'm your whore. Your slave. I'm so close, please–" you mutter deliriously while your fingers and the pearls are rubbing against your clit in a wet, nasty mess of your fluids and his cum. You come hard around him once again, strangling his spent, sensitive cock in your tight grasp and hear him grunting, his grip on your hips tightens and his whole body jerks, but he really can’t have enough.

"Yeah. Yeah. Come on my fucking cock, whore. Let me feel it." he encourages you, gritting those words between his teeth, fighting his own oversensitivity, so addicted to the way you feel around him.

He doesn't stop fucking you, not even after your orgasm. He keeps railing you relentlessly. You bring your hand to your mouth and suck your fingers, tasting the bitterness of his cum blended with the slightly salty taste of your fluids on your tongue. Its taste is addicting, the scent heady and intoxicating in the best way possible.

"You taste so good, Mando. We taste so good together," you drawl, overwhelmed by pleasure.

"Yeah, I bet we do," he grabs a handful of your hair and pulls it to lift your head up, giving it to you even harder, making your eyes roll back in your head. You are screaming, completely entranced by the way his cock is still pumping hard inside of you.

"So damn loud. You like being fucked like this, hm?"

He hits even harder from this angle, keeping you nice and still for him to use as he pleases. You're so busy screaming that you can't even reply to him.

"Yeah. Scream as loud as you want. Let me hear how much you want it. I like it."

You can feel his cum dripping down your legs with every thrust, hearing the sloppy, squelching sounds your bodies make. Mando can't even restrain himself anymore, he’s moaning and sighing at how much he's enjoying it. Your cunt is spasming around him, turned on at the way he sounds.

"You like it, hm? To reduce me like this?" he says in between thrusts.

The truth is that yes, you do. You love making the Mandalorian falter with your teasing, making him so desperate and boiling with lust, he has to leave business to fuck you hard, so hard that any coherent thought leaves your mind. You love it when you can feel the man under all that beskar, when he makes you feel like the most important and beautiful thing in the galaxy.

"Yeah, you do," he answers himself as he slows his rhythm, slipping out of you completely only to slowly bury himself inside of you to the hilt, enjoying the view and feeling of his cock entering into your cunt dripping with his cum.

You bite your lip to muffle your screams just to hear him moaning and sighing as he feels the welcoming warmth of your cunt.

“Mando. Mando, please,” you beg as you feel your legs impatiently shaking as his shaft rubs that perfect spot inside of you with each thrust.

“What?”

“Harder. Please?” you beg, subjugated by that perfect teasing.

He slams into you so deeply that you feel it pulsing against your cervix.

“What? Like this? Hm?” he says as he starts to jackhammer you.

“Yes, yes, yes, yes,” you chant as you resume touching your clit.

“Greedy whore. Ready for another one? I'm not stopping.”

“Mmmm,” you can only reply as you feel another wave of overwhelming pleasure approaching.

You hear him panting as he gives you a few more violent, deep thrusts, driving you over the edge one more time.

“Yeah. Take it – fucking t-take–” he grunts when he feels your walls clenching around his cock, your orgasm pushing him over the edge, too.

A loud, violent snarl rips through his lips as he comes, filling you with his white, thick load once again. The grip of his hands around your hips turns to steel, your eyes roll up so high all you can see is pitch black as he keeps pumping his cock into you as you both ride your high. The feeling completely obliterates you, turning your body and mind into a helpless, exhausted mess.

A huge, satisfied grin forms on your face as you feel him slowly slip out of you and his cum starts dripping down your cunt and legs.

“Good work," he pants "now be a good girl and wait for me while I go back there. Don’t move one muscle and maybe we will pick up where we left off,” he says as he tucks his spent cock in his cum stained pants, not giving a shit about it, looking at the mess he made of you, disrupted and leaking with his seed. Wrecked, used, marked. His.

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[hyperactively-me]

tension

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I love you."

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

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

A thank you, if you will.

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

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

. . .

Din Djarin (The Mandalorian) Masterlist

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[thepascalofus]

Supply Run - Exchange (part three)

AO3

Part Two

Pairing: Mando/Din Djarin x afab!Reader

Summary: You’ve been Mando’s crew partner for a year now. Throughout that year Mando has warmed up to you and given you signs that your heart throbbing crush on him is reciprocated. There’s one thing making you hesitate. The condoms he bought on the most recent supply run.

Word Count: 19.1k (HAHAHAHAHAAA)

Chapter Summary: Previous feelings for each other are revealed, and then those feelings are explored. An exchange, if you will.

Content Warnings: 18+ only, MDNI, nervous!reader, soft!!!!!!mando, reader loves facial hair, fluff fluff fluff, helmet comes off, cuddling, SMUT: making out, grinding, PRAISE kink, lowkey size kink, big dick mando, consent king mando (consent king mando is the hottest mando, it is law), m and f masturbation, dirty thoughts of reader and of mando, piv, unprotected and protected piv, fingering f receiving, ass grabbing, a lil nipple play, half naked and naked mando, lovey dovey sex hehehehehe, physical descriptions of reader are as neutral as possible but reader has a vagina

A/N: I cannot thank you all enough for your responses on the first two parts. I also cannot thank you all enough for your patience for part three. It is longer than part one and two combined (y’all voted for me to post in one long part, ya get what ya ask for!), so I think it was worth the wait. Also I didn’t proofread this because I was too excited to post it. Will read over it later though! ENJOY!!

THREE MONTHS PRIOR

A thudding sound was produced by Mando’s footsteps up the Crest’s ramp. Looking up from the article you were reading on your Holopad, your eyes were trained on the lowering ramp. You nestled a bit further into your reading nook–a pile of blankets and some pillows stacked against the wall–as you anticipated the outside air hitting you.

Mando entered the Crest covered in mud. His footprints left a trail up the metal of the ramp. That’s another thing to add to the list of chores, you thought. The planet’s surface was half-swamp, so of course he would come back looking like he just rolled in bantha shit. A struggling bounty that Mando was dragging by the cuffs snapped around their wrists only made the mess worse. 

With a grunt and a push, the quarry was frozen in the carbonite cell before Mando could finish the harsh grit of his, “Dank farrick.” His muddy, gloved hand left a mark on his vambrace when he touched it to close the ramp. 

Silence.

A modulated exhale.

He stood with his expansive shoulders slumped and helmet turned downwards a bit. An apologetic tone crackled through the helmet, “I’m really sorry about the mess,” he slowly said as he used his hands to gesture around him.

Yeah, it wasn’t the most fun chore in the galaxy, but the alternative would be sitting and reading an article on your Holopad. Or sitting next to Mando in the cockpit, the streams of light gleaming off of his armor as you two have a sleepy conversation. They do sound like better alternatives, but you wanted to maximize your time with Mando.

You knew that Mando would help you clean up the mess. More time with Mando greatly sweetened the task of scrubbing the hull.

“I’m going to uh,” he glanced down at the muddy ensemble that covered his body, “go rinse off real quick.” He began his path towards the fresher door and stood still in front of the door. The helmet turned towards his right shoulder, like he was lost in thought. You could tell he concluded his reasoning as the helmet turned back to face the fresher door and he reached up to unlatch his armor. 

First the chest plate was placed on the floor.

Tung.

Then the thigh guards.

Tang. Tang.

Vambraces.

Ting. Ting.

Pauldrons.

Dunk. Dunk.

It wasn’t unusual for Mando to remove his armor outside of the thresher. Occasionally the planet he needed to hunt on was sweltering hot, and removing the armor helped him cool down. Other times it was the inverse, the armor was too cold and he needed to heat up. It made sense to you this time as well. His armor was dirty so removing it before stepping into the fresher helped him clean up easier.

You didn’t realize he would apply the same logic to his mud-soaked flight suit.

Reaching up, his gloved fingers fiddled with the buttons at the top of his shirt. Eventually he was successful in undoing them and brought his hands behind his neck. He gripped the collar of his shirt and pulled it up and over the helmet. Off of his torso and onto the floor.

Plap.

The saturated long sleeve clung to his upper body like a surgical exam glove. Every muscle. Every ripple with his movement. They shined in the light of the Crest and displayed every lean curve of the Mandalorian’s body. Once more he reached up, this time undoing the buttons on his long sleeve.

Oh kriff.

Hands gripping the back collar of the shirt, the removal of the wet, black fabric revealed golden tan skin. Scars littered the expanse of his back from the years of combat he’d endured. The muscles that previously rippled underneath black fabric now gleamed under tan skin, coated with a layer of sweat.

Plap.

Oh kriff.

You were behind the nearly beskar-less man. Knowing he couldn’t see you, your jaw dropped.

Mando stepped out of his shoes, which revealed clean black socks. Hopefully his boots were equipped with mechanisms to keep his feet dry. Lastly, he slid off his gloves.

Plap. Plap.

Veiny, golden hands–matching his torso–were ungloved. His fingers were thick with well kept nails. You supposed that longer nails would make hand-to-hand combat difficult. As he opened the fresher door you watched his hand flex around the handle. His biceps bulged in the process of pulling the metal door open.

Once he was inside the fresher, you heard shuffling. After a minute or two, the door opened slightly. A large hand and toned forearm reached out and discarded his pants and underwear on the floor.

Plap.

The water began to run in the fresher and the pattering of liquid hitting the fresher floor filled the Crest. Occasional variations in the pattering occurred when Mando moved his body underneath the stream of water. 

Then the pattering stopped. Mando must have been drying himself off, the slight shuffling sounds made their way to your ears. Those sounds ceased as well.

The Mandalorian cleared his throat and called out your name, “Um. Hey.”

Blinking a few times, you snapped out of your daydream-like state, “Yeah?” You called in response.

A pause. “Would you mind getting me some pants, please?” His voice was tight–possibly in embarrassment.

Your eyes widened and body sat still, “Uh, yeah sure! Where do you keep clean pairs?” You asked.

“Right side of my bunk. First cabinet on the left.” He raised his voice in order to enunciate his words. 

Before you knew it, you were leaning into Mando’s bunk. Your gaze floated around the space in a quick glance. It was clean and organized. After witnessing his wide and tall frame the bed looked almost too small. Or maybe he just looked that large.

Your hand opened the first cabinet on the left and the other hand selected a clean pair of pants off the top of the stack. They were soft, fleece-like. Realizing they were sweatpants you extended your arm to put them back, but then hesitated as your hand hovered over the pile. Mando just came back from a hunt. A swampy, muddy hunt at that. He should get to be comfortable now.

The sweatpants remained in your hand and your footsteps took you to the fresher door. “I got you a pair,” you shyly announced. 

A squeak came from the fresher door’s hinges as the crack in the door allowed Mando’s hand to stick out of the space. His palm was open, waiting for the pants to meet his touch. Your arm reached forward and placed the soft pants into the grasp of his thick fingers.

“Thank you.” The smooth bass of his voice entered your ears and went south. Air moving through his vocal chords produced warm, honey-like vibrations and they made you melt. “I’ll get the rest,” he concluded, and shut the fresher door. 

You stood and studied your bleary reflection on the fresher door in awe at what you’ve experienced. Mando’s actual voice–without the helmet.

Shuffling began and ended abruptly. Lost in the awe, you didn’t realize the Mandalorian opened the door and took a step out. In consequence, his chest collided with your torso and sent you tumbling backwards. Backwards into a small puddle of swamp water and peaty mud.

“Di’kutla,” Mando let out a now modulated grunt.

Useless, worthless in Mando’a. Your heart stung a bit at the word. It’s not like you wanted to be covered in swamp gunk.

“Sorry, I-I didn’t mean to make more of a mess,” you stuttered, nervous at the potential of him being mad at you.

Without a word, he reached down and hauled you to your feet, large hands grasped you at your waist. You became off balance and placed your hands on his chest for leverage. A slight gasp escaped your throat at the sudden movement–and at touching Mando’s bare chest.

His skin was soft, but rough. Thin black hairs littered his sternum and the surrounding skin. A light trail made its way down his soft, yet toned, stomach and disappeared past the waist of his sweatpants. Once you realized where your gaze settled–the soft bulge displayed behind the black fabric–your eyes snapped back up to his visor and your hands returned to your sides. Mando’s hands brushed the insides of your forearms. The skin on his hands was rough and warm, just like the skin on his chest.

The T shape tilted and then shook from side to side, “I’m di’kutla, not you. I’m the one that pushed you over.” 

His head peered downwards and noticed the placement of his hands, he quickly jerked them back to his sides and nodded, “Let’s get cleaning.”

–

The Mandalorian quickly pulled an outfit together, which lacked his usual beskar–the same black sweatpants, a black t-shirt, and a pair of black socks–and you mirrored his actions. Thankfully, he only caused your clothes to get dirty and not the rest of you. Your clean outfit was more revealing, which allowed you to bend and twist to scrub the mud off of the Crest’s interior.

While scrubbing, you would catch Mando out of the corner of your eye as he stole glances at you. An eyebrow of yours raised at his glances. You shot him a quick, “Don’t worry Mando, I’m getting it all,” in a teasing manner.

Looking back at the beskar-less man, he shook his helmet and chuckled, “I’m not worried about you getting it all. You keep the Crest sparkling clean. Was just…seeing if you needed help over there.” His visor returned to focus on the task of removing the mud from the floor of the hull.

–

The cleaning finished after an hour and a half. You were shocked at the efficiency, but you supposed two people cleaning aided in achieving the cleanliness of the Crest. Scrubbing the silver floors and walls tired you out, and Mando certainly felt the same after his hunt and scrubbing.

Sleep permeated throughout the air of the Crest and nestled itself into yours and Mando’s bodies. Fluid motions weaved your bodies past each other throughout the hull. Mando went back to change in his bunk while you used the fresher for your nightly routine. Once you were finished, you closed all the cabinets in the small space, signaling the return of your nightly products to their original places.

Which usually signaled Mando to stand outside of the fresher door.

His footsteps became louder as he strode to his usual spot across from the metal door of the fresher. You weren’t surprised to see Mando leaning against the wall of the hull.

But you were surprised at the bare chest staring back at you. The dark hairs on his chest littered your vision once more. The Mandalorian’s arms were crossed, which displayed every finely tuned muscle in the dim light of the hull.

You wanted to jump his bones. Climb him like a tree. Feel the expanse of his trunk-like arms under your palms.

“Are you all done there?” His modulated bass crackled through your thoughts. Straightening up and snapping out of your daydreams, you stepped to the side and nodded. Mando’s frame became larger as he approached you. Once your bodies were about to pass each other, an ungloved hand settled on your hip and gave you a slight squeeze.

“Thank you,” he said. His visor met your eyes before he closed the door to the fresher. 

You got comfy in your makeshift bed–a nice pillow, a thick sleeping pad, and a cozy blanket–and waited for Mando to finish his nightly routine. You always tried to stay up and say good night to Mando before you drifted off to sleep.

Facing the side of the Crest the fresher was on, your head hit the cushion of your pillow and your thoughts wandered.

Mando looked so fucking good. Deliciously good.

You’ve had thoughts about him before. Perverse thoughts. But they were never this strong. But you’ve also never seen him this bare this many times.

His strong arms could wrap around you and flood your body with his warmth. Broad hands would travel up and down your back, soothing any negative thoughts away. Warm skin against yours could act like a salve for your worries.

You could think of everything vividly. His arms. Hands. Chest. Even his legs.

But the feel and morphology of his lips was blurry in your mind's eye.

Yet, you wanted his lips so bad–wanted him so bad–that you didn’t mind the unfocused image in your brain.

You wanted his lips to chase after yours like they were a bounty with the highest reward he’s seen. You needed to feel the slick of his saliva mixing with yours. The dancing of your two tongues in a battle of lust. Not only did you pine after his kiss, but you sought everything that would accompany it as well.

Mando’s ungloved hands would run up and down the planes of your body. Squeezing and palming your features as he pleased, expressing his want for you. The comfortable weight of him on top of you as your mouths molded together. His shifting muscles underneath your palms as you copied his wandering hands. You’d trail your fingertips over the never-ending expanse of his firm back. The pressure of his hard shaft would grind against your mound.

And the sounds.

The sounds.

You’ve heard him grunt before, in pain, effort, exertion, while he handled his bounties.

But you wanted to cause the sounds instead.

His lips could slide against yours and vibrate as he lets out a soft groan of pleasure. The bare chest on top of yours would rumble, sending shivers of delight up and down your spine. Your fingers would dig into his back in response, which would only increase the intensity of his groans. His breath would hitch as the head of his cock rubbed against the point in your walls that had you reeling.

And finally his voice.

Modulated or not, you hoped he would reciprocate the want you had for him. Your thighs pressed together in an attempt to soothe the ache between them.

“Maker, you feel so good.”

“Need you right now.”

“You like that, baby? Yeah? Good.”

“Fuucckkk, always so good for m-.”

You were cut off by the squeaky hinges of the fresher door, accompanied by Mando’s footsteps. Still shirtless, he came into one side of your vision and slowly walked to the other side. Your face heated up at his presence and the thoughts you just had about him. He stopped in front of his bunk and looked at you. 

The T of his visor became diagonal, “You okay?” He questioned you.

Realizing he caught on, your face heated up even more as you produced a response, “Y-yeah! Yeah. Just…thinking.”

Nice save.

His helmet returned to its natural positioning. “What’re you thinking about?” He questioned once again. His large hands clasped in front of him just below his waist. Maker, he was huge. Mando put the width of the doorframe to shame as he continued to stare at you.

“Just…” You quickly tried to remedy the one sided awkwardness. “Just thinking about a book I’m reading. The plot is getting more complex.” Your shoulders rose and fell in a shrug to make your answer seem nonchalant.

“What book? Is it the cowboy one?” Mando replied. He leaned against the doorframe to get comfortable.

Your heart throbbed at his thoughtfulness. The cowboy-related book was one you brought up to him a couple weeks ago, when he asked what you were reading. Not wanting to lie to him, you shook your head and told the truth, “No, I finished that one a couple days ago. This one is about,” you trailed off, and then lied, “This is a romance book.” Your face became hot once again. At least you weren’t completely lying.

“Romance?” Mando asked, “What’s this book called?” His helmet tilted in interest. You could pick up a teasing tone if you listened closely enough.

“Oh, I don’t think you’d like it,” you returned. He usually asked for book titles when he was interested in reading them as well. 

His bare shoulders shrugged, causing his chest to flex for a moment. “Was just curious what you were reading.” He sounded a bit disappointed. The door frame appeared to widen as he turned to enter his bunk.

Not wanting to leave him hanging, you made up a book title, “Hunter and Prey.” Your eyes widened at the sheer explicitness of the three words that left your lips. Hunter and Prey? Really? It would have been easier just to tell him what you were daydreaming about him railing you. 

Mando’s broad frame filled the entrance to his bunk once again. “Hunter and Prey?” He said in a teasing tone, one much more decipherable. 

You throw his tone right back at him, “Oh c’mon. The book has romance and adventure. Two birds with one stone.” You’ve told him how much you like adventure books, so hopefully your lie stuck.

The beskar helmet slanted in thought. “I guess so,” he settled his playful response and paused. A playful tone arose from his modulator once more, 

“Don’t get too interested in bounty hunters. I think getting caught is only fun in the books.” His chest, dark hairs splaying across the surface, vibrated as he chuckled.

A slight smile spread across your face at his joke, “You never know, some bounty hunters don’t take their job as seriously as you do,” you stuck your tongue out at him in jest. 

Mando shook his head, probably biting back a chuckle, and faced his torso towards you for the final time that night, “Good night.” 

Still smiling, you responded, “Good night.”

The bunk door shut and only a dim light in the hull remained as a light source. Shadows from different cargo boxes cast themselves across the silver wall. It would take too much work to decipher which reflections on the walls belonged to which items. Warm light from a lamp near your living space casted a blanket of relaxation over the area. You couldn’t escape the feeling, and your body slumped into the material of the sleeping pad.

Once you closed your eyes, you realized your body was the only thing that the warm light seemed to calm down. In your mind, one thought took center stage.

Mando.

The way he leaned against the door frame. A broad expanse of dark hair covered his chest and traveled down past his waist, the horizontal and vertical lines of hair mimicking the T of his visor. Crossed arms were decorated with a smooth topography of muscles. His voice, laced with relaxation and ease. How attentiveness was like second nature to him. 

How far did that attentiveness extend?

You thought about how carefully he listened and remembered details from your conversations. Picking up on things you’ve needed without you even realizing they’re necessary. Like the sleeping pad you’re laying on. The warm, cozy blanket he came back with one day. 

Would he do the same in bed?

Your hand traveled down to your mound. Dipping under your waistband, your fingertips found your clit. Slow motions started to stimulate the bundle of nerves, sending waves of pleasure throughout your body. It wasn’t the first time you masturbated on the Crest, you were human after all. But it was the first time you masturbated without assistance–from a book, video, or picture–and were spurred on by thoughts alone. 

He’d probably listen to your breath hitch as his thick, veiny fingers hooked into a spot on your inner walls just right. And he’d continue, hitting that exact spot over and over. With trained precision. Like it was nothing.

Upper teeth bite down on your lower lip as you thought about his fingers inside of you. How thick they are. How skilled he would be with them. Wet seeped from your slit onto your bottoms. The fingertips from your clit reached down to collect your wetness, and you resumed rubbing your clit at a faster pace.

He’d make you cum like it was his duty, as if it was part of his Creed. With confidence. Pride. Mando’s fingers would be soaked, so soaked that he’d raise them to meet your mouth. “Open.” He’d demand.

You knew you’d get that wet for him because you were already that wet for him. One of your hands continued rubbing your bundle while the other dipped into your entrance. A singular finger eased its way into your hole, but you wanted to feel the stretch. The stretch you knew his fingers would easily provide. Bringing another finger against the original one, you prodded at your entrance once more. You pushed into your wetness with two fingers.

That’s it.

Your eyes closed. Jaw dropped. 

Your thoughts wandered to his fingers once more, syncing your thoughts with the way your body felt. 

You’d take his fingers into your mouth and suck your slick from them. Right before they would retract, you coated the two digits in a layer of saliva. He observed his own fingers and understood your silent plea. “You want more, baby?” You nodded. His fingers returned to your wet hole and filled you once again.

Your own two fingers weren’t as thick as Mando’s, so you got used to the feeling of two. You needed more. The circling at your clit kept a constant pace as a third finger joined your other two. Your thoughts jumped to something that wasn’t his fingers.

His cock.

The soft bulge underneath the black fabric of his sweatpants. It was sizable, even when he was soft–you assumed he was soft–so how big would he be when he’s turned on? If his genetics maintained their pattern, he would be big.

He’d lean over you and line his hips up with yours. Each of your legs rested on one of his sides. A large hand would grip your hip to steady you, as he pushed the thick head of his cock into you. Mando would remain attentive. You knew he’d watch your face and listen to your breaths, your moans. His heavy cock found the same spot inside of you that his fingers did.

Your inner walls clenched around your three fingers. The strokes you took were slow and drawn out, savoring the fullness of your warmth.

Once he saw that you were comfortable, he’d pick up his pace. Your moaning increased, littered with, “please,” and, “Mando,” over and over. He’d groan at his name, fucking into you with more strength. Mando put the weight of his body behind his thrusts. Your body shifted up the mattress from the effort he put in. 

A small, wet sound began to echo across the hull, but you were too close to care. The hand at your clit fell into a perfect rhythm with the thrusts of the fingers entering and leaving your soaking hole. You bit your lip as you quieted a moan that threatened to leak from your mouth.

Mando’s broad palm and thick fingers would lace between yours, holding your conjoined hands above your head while he fucked into you. The head of his cock perfectly brushed against a spot deep within your walls. A place that you couldn’t reach by yourself. The Mandalorian’s hot breath fanned across your neck, he panted and groaned from his exertion. 

Another brush against your walls and you squeezed around him. “Fuucckkk,” he’d moan into your neck. He continued his pace and littered your neck in sloppy kisses. “That’s a good fucking girl.”

Both of your hands worked faster. Three fingers fucked into your hole, curled to try and hit the spot deep inside of you. Your other hand increased the pace of the study rub over your throbbing clit. The bottoms you wore felt soaked against your lower hand, yet you couldn’t care less.

Mando’s thrusts would be relentless. Hard. Fast. The weight of his heavy balls slapped against the tighter hole beneath the one he was fucking. 

Plap. Plap. Plap.

Each thrust would be so final. Conclusive. He fucked you like he knew exactly how this would end. His visor hovered over your face. Your jaw was dropped and your eyebrows were furrowed. The horizontal line of his visor filled your vision. His voice was merely a growl, as he demanded, “Cum for me.”

Your body went stiff as euphoria washed over you in waves. Each wave took you apart and brought you back together. The wetness of your hole only became wetter, the sound echoed a bit louder than before. Despite your attention to staying quiet, your orgasm raged on. Every reassembly from each wave of pleasure calmed your being, and your stiff form slumped into your sleeping pad. Your hands kept moving, but at a slower pace. Another wave followed every thrust of your fingers. You savored the warmth your orgasm brought you. Halting your hands, your mind came-to. 

That was the hardest orgasm you’ve ever had.

–

That hunt kriffing sucked, Mando thought.

Cold water ran down Mando’s body as he rinsed himself off in the fresher. Drops of liquid pattered onto the metal floor, pooling at his feet. Everything in his body felt limp, a result of his exhaustion from the hunt. 

The only thing that wasn’t limp was his dick.

Mando was already on the edge of his perverse thoughts. Seeing you, comfortable and cozy, made his heart swell–and his cock. Providing for you was like breathing. After every hunt he looked forward to meeting your gaze and a soft smile spreading across your face. 

Not only did he get to see you comfortable, but he saw you displaying your attraction to him. A display that included dropping your jaw when he took his shirt off.

He caught you gawking at him in the reflection of his chest plate. Your jaw dropped when he removed his final layers, and Maker, it only made his situation worse. Not only was his body dirty, his thoughts were dirty too. 

Before his brain started to spiral, he quickly completed his rinse-off and turned off the shower in the fresher. Stepping out, he realized he didn’t bring any fresh clothes in with him. 

Shit.

You were in the hull and would probably bring him something if he asked for it. But what does he ask for? A full outfit? He at least needed bottoms. He thought of how complicated it would be to explain where multiple things are in his bunk through the metal door of the fresher, so he opted to just ask for one thing–pants.

“Um. Hey. Would you mind getting me some pants, please?” Mando asked. He was a tad embarrassed. He plans hunts meticulously to save the most amount of time, he’s attentive to every detail in combat, and he forgot to bring pants into the fresher with him.

You brought him the pair and the Mandalorian quickly changed. Pausing before he touched the door handle, Mando became nervous. What if your jaw-dropping was one of disgust and not of attraction?

Only one way to find out.

–

Mando laid on the mattress in his bunk and finally let his thoughts wander. They wandered like a desperate quarry. So desperate to find a discreet place to live, but showing themselves at some point in the end.

He thought of the book you were allegedly reading: Hunter and Prey. You were reading a romance novel. About bounty hunters. 

His hardened cock only made his sweatpants tighter. Hips shifting upwards, he sought relief in adjusting his position. The only thing adjusting did was rub the head of his cock against the fabric of his pants. Black fabric created a heart-stopping friction against his tip. 

Dank farrick.

Finally giving in to his perverse thoughts, he let them wander. Just like how he would let an easy bounty wander around town. At any minute, he could capture them and complete his hunt, but sometimes he enjoyed “playing with his food” first.

His imagination put you on center stage. Your hair. Your eyes. The shape of your body and the planes of it he sought to run his hands over. Warm skin would glide underneath his palms and act like a sedative. Calmness washed over his mind. Then he thought of your lips. So delicately crafted. Your lips framed your gorgeous smile, like they were housing an ancient masterpiece in an art gallery.

The smile you gave him whenever he returned from a hunt made his heart melt. You’d be snuggled up reading, bent over the small stove cooking, or hunched over a mechanical issue. No matter the situation, you would look up and find his gaze behind his visor. Something anyone else could rarely accomplish. He finally felt like he had a purpose hunting, besides survival. 

You.

You’d meet him halfway and wrap your arms around his torso. His arms would snake around your torso and hold you in a tight hug. “I missed you,” he’d say. “I missed you too,” your response would vibrate against his chest. His hands would run up and down your back, relishing the feel of your body in his capable arms. 

He groaned at the thought. In frustration of not being able to have you. The simple image of a hug had him reeling, desperate to meld his being with yours. You were so perfect and lived in his damn ship. You spoke with him as if he were just Din, and not Mando. Images of domesticity juxtaposed images of his bounty hunting profession. It was a blessing and a curse. 

The pair of you would retreat to his bunk and turn off the lights. Your bodies would press together as the two of you shared the space of the mattress. He would press his helmet into your hair, smelling the faint scent of you through the metal–and the shampoo you recently bought at a market. He’d use his broad hands and thick arms to bring you closer to him, nearly crushing you via cuddling.

Mando’s face heated up at the thought. Feeling the heat of your body against his was something he would be willing to get on his knees and beg for.

Hands would begin to drift and adventure in a bold manner. His palms would glide up and down your body, stopping occasionally to grasp and rub different areas. He thought of the way your ass would feel in his palms. Soft. A cushion. A spectacle he almost didn’t feel deserving of. His hands would wander north and his fingers would tease your nipples through your shirt. You’d gasp in response and squirm against him.

Maker. He almost forgot. The sounds you would make. The Mandalorian groaned and reached down to palm his cock through his sweatpants. Relief flooded his body like how precum flooded from the head of his cock. Rough palms glided up and down the silky skin of his shaft. Once the friction became too much, he reached into a side compartment and produced a small bottle. Squeezing the plastic sides of the bottle, a small dollop of lube was squirted onto his fingers. He quickly returned to his thoughts and his actions. The lube allowed his large grip to seamlessly run along the length of his shaft.

Shit. Would you be this wet?

After exploring the feel of your body, Mando would pull you to sit in his lap. You’d be in between his legs with your back facing him, your legs resting out in front of you. He’d grip the insides of your knees and encourage you to let your legs fall to either side. Once he was pleased with the positioning he asked, “Is it okay if I take these off?” Rough fingertips pinched at the waistband of your pants and underwear. Getting an enthusiastic nod and a small, raspy ‘yes’ in response, the Mandalorian pulled both articles of clothing off of your lower half. 

He focused his strokes near the tip of his cock. The nerves in the head of his shaft sent electric currents through his body. Normally his self-pleasure sessions weren’t this intense, but you did something to him. You were special. Better than any brothel service. Any piece of pornography. You were gorgeous. Beautiful. Mesh’la. 

He thought of dipping his fingers into your slit. Hopefully, that would pull another gasp from you. Every breathy exhale and pleasured sound only increased his need to hear them more frequently. Starting with one finger, his fingertip would push into your entrance. He’d go slow at first, pumping in and out of your wet sex knuckle by knuckle. Mando would give you some time to adjust to the feeling, and then increase his pace. Moans and gasps fell from your lips much more frequently than before. Your pussy was soaked from just a few fast strokes from his thick finger. If you were comfortable with it, he’d slip another finger alongside the singular one. His pace slowly increased to resume the speed that had your back and shaking legs pressed against his. 

“Ohhh, Ma- Mando-o,” would quietly cry from your throat.

“Fucckkk,” Mando said under his helmet.

Wet sounds emanated from the action of stroking his rough grip up and down his thick shaft. Underneath the helmet, he bit his lip in frustration. He already imagined you could feel heavenly around his fingers, but he needed to feel your slick walls around his cock.

First he would make you cum with his fingers. The orgasm would send you reeling back into his hold. You’d be a shaking and stuttering mess, reaching for one of his broad hands and lacing your fingers between his. An effective way to ground yourself.

“Good girl,” he’d praise.

After you came down from your high, his strong arms would bring you to lay down long ways on the mattress. Parting your legs once more, Mando’s broad hips settled between yours. Glistening folds were presented to him at the center of his vision. You looked delicious. He wished to taste you, but his need to fuck you overtook the pleads from his tastebuds.

His thumb rubbed slow circles on the bundle of nerves between your legs. Your sparkling eyes would meet the gaze behind his visor and your brows would furrow in desperation. He’d do anything you wanted. Anything to please you. 

“What do you want, mesh’la?” His gravelly voice echoed throughout the small bunk.

You’d bite your lip, shyness creeping over your face, but you overcame the feeling. He loved it when you were confident in asking for something from him. “I want you to fuck me,” you requested.

Mando let out a strangled groan at his thought of the words. He loved knowing that you wanted him. He loved when you voiced your desires, sexual or not. Your comfort in his presence was the most potent aphrodisiac Mando could consume. The tip of his cock throbbed at the thought, and his thumb reached up to attempt to sooth the sensation. Bare hips bucked into the air at the touch.

He would line his hips up with yours and prod the wide head of his shaft against your wet entrance. Before pushing in, he reached towards a cabinet to produce his bottle of lube. Mando quickly spread a generous amount over the veiny surface of his cock. As much as he wanted to fuck you, your comfort was his upmost priority. Giving himself a few strokes with his large grip–your eyes trained on his hands–he lowered his hips once more. The T of his helmet stared into your face as he slowly pushed into you. 

Your jaw would drop, just like it did in the reflection on his chest plate. The slick walls of your pussy hugged his thick cock, making his jaw drop in unison.

His wide hand tightened around his hardness. Each stroke had him fucking himself into his grip. Mando’s jaw clenched in concentration, the combination of his hand and thoughts of you were furthering him closer and closer to the edge.

The Mandalorian nearly collapsed on top of you, but he caught himself on his elbows, caging you in his hold. Silver beskar making up his helmet hovered over your face, his eyes trained on yours. A whimper escaped from your throat when the head of his cock brushed against a particular spot. He honed into the point and hit it repeatedly, with precision. 

Your fingers dug into his bare back, most likely leaving crescent marks in their wake. He dropped his helmet into the crook of your neck. The action allowed him to hear every sound you made. Sometimes simple breathy moans, interrupted by his slow, yet strong thrusts. Other times, you’d attempt sentences:

“Ma- Mando. Maker, you feel so good.”

“K-kriff you’re b-big.”

“Mm-mm-mm, don’t, stop.”

A knot coiled in the pit of Mando’s stomach. He threw his head back into a plush pillow and focused his grip towards the tip of his cock. Quiet, slick sounds filled the space of the metal-lined bunk. His breath quickened as his imagination delved deeper.

Mando’s thrusts slowed to a near halt as he raised an arm and propped an elbow to hit a switch on the wall. The space went dark. Everything went silent.

Hiss.

Tunk.

In a hurry, he muttered, “can I kiss you, baby?”

Instead of replying in words, you craned your neck to meld your plush lips with his. Delightful needles ran up and down Mando’s body in pleasure. In disbelief. Feeling your lips on his was something he’s only dreamt of, knowing that completing the action would be a risk to his Creed.

But at this moment, Creed be damned, he craved the motions of your mouth against his. Fighting and expressing a bond that he longed for, slick lips slid against each other in a battle of lust-influenced emotions. Mando pushed his tongue into your mouth, and in the same motion, pushed his cock further into your wet heat.

His mouth swallowed your moans as he rutted the head of his cock against the particularly sensitive spot within your walls. The grip you had on his broad back became stronger. Skin against his hips brushed against the skin of your inner thighs, and your legs captured his body closer to yours. Lips tightened against his, shifting into a portrayal of pleasure, leaving you unable to kiss him properly. In response, the Mandalorian buried his head into the crook of your neck and placed sloppy kisses along your skin.

Almost there. Jaw clenched and teeth gritting, Mando fucked into his fist at a brutal pace. Soft pants accompanied the slick sounds in filling the space of his bunk. Maker, he hoped you were asleep. He didn’t know how much louder he’d get, and more importantly, how much control he had over his volume.

Unable to maintain a steady grip on his back any longer, your grasp traveled to the soft, wavy locks of his hair. The Mandalorian groaned. He didn’t realize how much he craved that simple contact, one many took for granted. Your fingertips massaged his scalp, and it was as if you massaged all of his worrisome, negative thoughts away. 

“Oh, kriff Mando, keep going. F-fuck, you make me feel s-so good.”

A few more firm, yet gentle thrusts of his cock made you squeeze your soaking walls around his shaft. His balls felt heavy against your ass. He knew he was close.

“Mando, oh, oh, Mando, I’m gonna cum,” you whined out, the sound filled his ears as he continued his pace and his languid kisses against your neck.

Mando squeezed his eyes shut. Teeth dug into the thin skin of his lower lip, the hairs of his mustache tickled the skin directly below his lip. Large hands maintained the quick pace along the silky skin of his cock. Just a few more strokes and he was done for.

A knot twisted and turned in the pit of his stomach, and he fucked into your glistening seam with more vigor. Your moans became strangled whines. Each escaping gasp climbed octaves until you finally snapped and clamp your pussy around his cock.

“I’m cumming, oh fuck. Oh, Din!”

The Mandalorian snarled as thick streams of cum erupted from the head of his cock. Translucent, white liquid covered his stomach and chest. His head spun as the waves of pleasure washed over him. The sensations dug themselves deep into his bones and he felt like he was floating. A cloud of ecstasy trapped him and he didn’t want to leave. Seeking to draw his orgasm out longer, he continued fucking his hand until the sensations became too much. Mando’s chest dramatically rose and fell in the aftermath. Panting, he looked down at the mess he made on himself.

That was the strongest orgasm he’d ever had.

Reaching towards a different cabinet, he grabbed a soft towel and began wiping up his mess. Thoughts rushed throughout his mind, in contrast from his usual mindset after masturbating. In the chorus of wandering thoughts that still occupied his mind, one made itself bold and prominent.

Maker, he needs to ask you on a date.

–

Mando stood a meter or two in front of you. His hands hung uselessly by his sides. Posture slightly askew, you could sense he was doubting himself. Thick fingers played with the strings on the bracelet while he waited for your response.

Your jaw went slack, eyes widened. So you weren’t crazy. Everything added up. He made caf for you every morning. The small ‘good nights’ he gave you every night. The even smaller ones with an added word in Mando’a, one he never said around you. The things he told you, about his son, about his feelings, that he never said to anyone else. How he was careful around you, trying not to look intimidating. He tried to make you comfortable at all times.

He cared just like you cared.

You placed one foot in front of the other, giving Mando time to back up if he wanted. He remained in place as he waited for your approach. The armored man stood like a statue in the hull. The beskar and the metal of the Crest became one. If you didn’t focus on him too much, he almost looked like a statue erected in the middle of the hull. As the toes of your boots met the toes of his, you snaked your arms around his waist and pressed your head to his chestplate.

Mando instantly wrapped you up in his solid arms. His helmet was buried into the crook of your neck, the cold metal delightfully stung your skin, and he squeezed you. The Mandalorian’s large hands ran up and down your back as his hold refused to let you go.

You didn’t want to let him go either. Your body sought fusion with his warmth, with his being. All of the comfort he provided. All of the safety that he gave you. It seeped through his body to yours. A sense of peace washed over you.

Mando’s helmet shifted towards your head more, the modulator crackling near your ear, “Is it safe to say we feel the same?” His broad hand continued to rub along your back. The warmth from his palm created the most soothing sensation you’ve experienced. Bringing yourself out of the state of bliss to recognize the question he was asking, your brows furrowed. He almost sounded uncertain of himself, voice tinged with hope.

You leaned backwards to look into his visor. A Mandalorian. The Mandalorian. Sworn to a creed of combat and honor. Mando didn’t have a problem taking down a dozen people at a time, but confessing his feelings to you made him nervous. A small chuckle escaped from your chest at the realization.

The corners of your eyes crinkled from your laughter. His helmet tilted in confusion. “Yes, Mando, we feel the same.” You raised a hand to hold the crook of his neck, rubbing your thumb along the fabric of his cowl.

He pulled you into another hug, this one with more space between the two of you, so he could look down and into your eyes. Your hands rested on his chest plate, and his rested on your waist. A rumbling feeling against your hands made your head tilt in confusion this time. Mando continued to clear his throat. His breaths got slightly quicker.

“I feel like I need to explain th-,” the Mandalorian cleared his throat once again, “I need to explain the condoms.”

Your eyes widened. He doesn’t have to explain himself, but if he wasn’t going to the brothel, why did he need them? Mando only expressed interest in you, as far as you know.

Oh.

Oh.

The beskar-clad man’s chest rose and fell with a deep inhale and exhale, preparing himself for explaining the condoms on the receipt from the market.

“I was going to ask you out on a date. Just something simple,” he shrugged and brought his covered eyes to meet yours, “I bought your favorite snacks, got us some takeout, and I was going to give you the bracelet then. I just wanted to be prepared in case anything…escalated.” 

Cheeks burning, you took Mando’s hands into yours. You smirked and gave him a light chuckle. “You would try to fuck me on the first date, Mando?”

He looked down at the floor of the hull and shook his head. “I’d only do what you’re comfortable with,” he said, giving your hands a squeeze. 

“You also don’t even know if I would have said yes to a date,” you teased him.

A low rumble resonated from his chest, he hooked a finger through one of your belt loops to pull you closer. “I think I might have made a fair assumption.”

Hands glided up Mando’s chest, and you clasped them behind his neck. “You’ll never know unless you ask…” Another rumble came from his chest. A hand snaked its way from your waist to your chin. Mando’s index finger and thumb grabbed your chin and made you look at him face-to-face. 

“Well, would you like to go on a date with me?” The beskar helmet tilted and gleamed in the faint lights of the Crest’s hull. 

“Yes, Mando, of course I do.” Your eyes took after Mando’s helmet and they gleamed with joy. The dull silver of the hull starkly contrasted your excitement. Warmth between the two of you radiated and exploded throughout the space. Your energies seeped into the metal of the Crest just as your feelings seeped into each other's consciousness.

Mando’s large hand returned to rub long lines up and down your back. “I got your favorite snacks, some takeout…” He reminded you as his speech trailed off.

“How soon can we go on the date?” You asked eagerly in response. Snacks, takeout, and Mando sounded like the perfect combination. A perfect way to turn around the anxious thoughts that clouded your mind not even an hour ago.

“We can do it now…?” Mando suggested slowly.

“Yes! Yes please!” You bounced in place and threw your arms around the Mandalorian. He reciprocated your hug with an even tighter squeeze and pulled away from you.

“Let me find a good place to park the Crest,” Mando walked away and climbed the ladder to the cockpit. You went to follow him, but he turned and stopped you at the base of the ladder. “You stay down here, it’s going to be a surprise.” Before you could respond he bounded up the ladder and began takeoff.

–

Mando pressed his vambrace and the ramp slowly revealed the market in the distance. Lights flashed and others were lit in different colors. Rolling hills were lit up by the faint glow. The sun was fully set, which allowed the sky to display an array of stars.

“This is beautiful, Mando.” You turned towards the man in silver and he wasn't looking at the sky. Not looking at the gorgeous colors streaking out from the center of the market, onto the landscape. Not even the different lights and colors that lit the small town.

His gaze was focused on you.

“I was hoping you’d like it.” He took a few steps closer to you with the market bag, a blanket, and two pillows in hand. Stepping in front of you, he laid out the blanket where the hull’s floor meets the ramp. Reaching into the market bag, he took out an assortment of snacks and a takeout meal for each of you.

“Mando, you didn’t have to do all of this,” you chuckled in amazement.

“I didn’t have to, yes. But I wanted to,” he bends down to sit on the blanket and he offers a hand to help you down. You took it and plopped down next to him, your thigh brushed his as you reached for different food items. Mando leaned on his arms placed behind him, watching in amusement as you enjoyed yourself.

The assortment he managed to purchase amazed you. Each item was something you’ve mentioned to him before. A shiny bag of one particular food, a box filled with something else, and a steaming takeout container of another dish. Relishing the diversity of it all, thoughts of Mando’s enjoyment prodded your mind.

You turn to him, “Aren’t you going to eat?” 

His helmet turned towards you and he waited a second. The helmet. No kriff, he can’t eat with you.

“I’m sorry, I for-.” Mando stopped you.

“You know I don’t mind when you eat in front of me,” he started.

He was right. You felt bad in the mornings when you sipped on your caf and indulged in your breakfast. He was probably hungry after a night’s rest. The Mandalorian told you at the time, “I’m used to it. Mandalorians never bonded over food or eating.”

Expecting the same reasoning to leave his mouth and filter through the helmet, you were shocked when he chose a different path.

“I’ve been planning this for a while, mesh’la,” he paused and adjusted his positioning on the ground, “I’ve been thinking of ways to eat with you…” He explained, and then trailed off. 

He’s been thinking of ways to eat with you. To eat. With you. Something he’s never done with you before. In the past, you’ve tried to get him to, even saying you’d wear a blindfold, but he never wanted to take that step.

And what does mesh’la mean?

“You don’t have to, I understand if-.” You began to tell him.

“I think I found a way that I would be comfortable with,” Mando said.

“What is–. Oh, Maker!” You squealed as Mando scooped you up and placed you in his lap. Your back to him and your legs tangled with his. As soon as you settled, the Mandalorian took his takeout container and brought it between your back and his stomach. 

“There’s one rule,” his modulator crackles in your ear as he rests the temple of his helmet against your actual temple, “you can’t turn around.”

“I won’t,” you squeaked, heart beating out of your chest, “I swear to you.” 

The cold feeling of the beskar disappeared from the side of your head. What you didn’t expect was the hiss of the helmet breaking its seal around Mando’s head, even though it was implied. What you definitely didn’t expect was for Mando to place the helmet just enough forward that you could see it in your peripheral as you ate.

You forgot Mando was a human. He had a head and a face. And his face was not the one that peaked at you from the corner of your eye. His face is the one directly behind your head.

The popping sounds of the food container being opened snapped you out of your thoughts. Mando’s utensils clinked against the sides of the container as he gathered food to put into his mouth. 

“Mmmm,” he grunts out, his mouth probably full of food. A few more seconds went by, “that’s really good.”

His voice.

His unmodulated voice.

It was like honey dripped over your body. Soaked through your skin and traveled through your veins. Soothed you. The warmth between you two increased yet again. Not just physical warmth, but the warmth you felt when you discovered new things about each other. When you discover new ways to care and new things to remember.

“What’s on your mind?” His large, calloused hand found the crook of your knee and gave it a light squeeze. His other hand set his empty food container to the side. That was fast, you thought. But you suppose he eats for business, not for pleasure.

“What does mesh’la mean?” You asked him as you marveled at the sight of the market again. His knees pressed into yours and the hand not on your knee snaked around your waist as he pulled you closer to him. 

He tucked his face into the crook of your neck. His breath fanned over your ear and he tightened his arm around you as he spoke, “Mesh’la is Mando’a,” he hummed as he pecked a quick kiss onto your neck, “Mesh’la means beautiful.” 

You smiled, face heating up, and hummed another question, “and what does cyar’ika mean?”

Mando buried his face into the back of your hair and left another quick peck on your head. He pulled away to mutter near your ear, “Cyar’ika roughly translates to sweetheart.”

Your torso vibrated against his, that’s really sweet, you thought, but you wanted to tease him a bit, “First date and you’re already calling me beautiful, huh? And you’ve been calling me cyar’ika for a while now.” A smirk splayed across your face.

The Mandalorian went stiff and asked, “For a while?” Confusion radiated from him and his beskar.

Your smirk morphed into a small smile. “Sometimes I wait up for you when you go on hunts, or I happen to be awake when you come back,” your heartbeat picks up at your confession, but you continued, “I like hearing you say good night to me. It’s…comforting. But then you started tacking ‘cyar’ika’ onto the end of it.” You shrugged like it was nothing.

Mando shifted underneath you, realizing he’d been caught red handed. Then he countered with, “One year of being crew partners and you’re already planning matching bracelets, huh?”

He got you there.

Softly giggling, you reach an arm backwards and bat a hand at his chest, playfully tapping him. A chuckle comes from behind your head. His hold around your waist fastens and he brings his wrist donning the bracelet out in front of you. He wraps his large hand around yours, the one with your bracelet on your wrist. You peer down and admire the identical weavings of thread.

Mando’s throat clears behind you and he speaks softly next to your ear, “I think you have good taste. It matches my armor,” his knee comes up to nudge yours. A moment of silence followed, “The green is for my son, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” meekly comes from your throat. The broad grasp covering your own gave your hand a squeeze. Mando rested his chin on your shoulder and faced the crook of your neck. Soft breaths fanned over your exposed skin.

“Did I get his color right?” You questioned. He previously said Grogu was a light green color, and you hoped the color on the bracelets mimicked his color.

The Mandalorian brought your joined hands up to focus on the color of the light green thread weaving from between the silver and brown. When he spoke, his tone sounded strained, “Yeah, yeah that’s probably it.”

When Mando last spoke to you about his son, he said it’s been a year or so since he gave them to the Jedi. A year without his little one, the bundle of joy that Mando cherished. Then the reason for his uncertain answer and strained voice washed over you.

“You,” an exhale steadied your soft speech, “You can’t remember his color that well, can you?”

A shaking breath made the man’s torso shudder against yours, “No, I can’t,” he admitted in a tight voice. His face pressed deeper into the crook of your neck and he held you close to his chest. You rubbed circles along the back of his hand in comfort. Hesitantly, you brought your other hand behind you and ran your fingers through his hair.

The texture of it made your heart melt. It was longer than you thought it’d be, you assumed he would keep it short so it didn’t bother him within the confines of his helmet. Soft waves brushed through your fingers. Your fingertips lightly scratched at the roots of his hair on his scalp.

You thought your heart melted, but Mando melted exponentially more. The large frame that was his body nearly crushed yours with the tension he released. A soft groan left his throat and vibrated against your neck. Mando’s body loosely wrapped around yours in a protective shell.

“I was hoping that the green on the bracelet would make you think of him. It could make you remember,” you explained to him, continuing the scratches against his scalp.

Then it was silent. Sounds of your exhales and the small rustling sounds of your fingers through his waves of hair were the only ones that traveled to your ear drums. The Mandalorian was heavy against you, boneless, acting as a beskar-weighted blanket. His warmth permeated from his body to yours. It was comforting. He was comforting.

Then a sharp inhale from Mando, “I have to thank you,” he began.

You nearly snapped around to respond, but you kept your gaze trained on the twinkling lights of the market. “For what?” You asked.

“For everything,” he added.

Was Mando really giving you a job review right now? On your first date? “Mando,” you chuckled and shook your head, “I’m just doing my job.”

“I’m not talking about the job, cyar’ika.”

Your eyes widened. Oh. No words exited your mouth.

Mando continued, “I need to thank you for making me feel safe. You’re, you ju–,” he sighed in annoyance with himself. “I’m sorry. I’m not too good at this.” His strong arms gave your waist a squeeze. 

Before you could reply, he resumed his train of thought. “You make me feel emotionally safe. I know I can tell you anything. Share whatever is on my mind. And you’ll be there for me,” a deep inhale interrupted his speech, “and I haven’t had that since I had Grogu.” 

His tone was strained once again and he shook his head while it was nestled near your neck. Gaining composure, he explained, “People look at me and see this bloodthirsty Mandalorian. They’re scared of me. Kriff, I’m sure some have mistaken me for some emotionless droid,” his speech snarled at the word.

You smirked at his distaste for the metal beings, but you didn’t want to interrupt his thoughts with a snide remark.

“But you see me as human. As a man with emotions and thoughts. You talk to me like I’m just a guy that happens to be covered in beskar.”

That was where you butted in, “Because that’s what you are Mando. And you’re not just some guy. You’re a Mandalorian, an actual one, the ones that no one seems to recognize today. Mandalorians are bound to a Creed of honor. Mandalorians stick to their word. They rescue. They protect. They care,” you paused to grasp the hand laying on top of yours, “You’ve told me enough about your Creed for me to realize that very little of it is truly about being solely physically and mentally intelligent. It’s about the combination of those strengths with emotional intelligence. Because what is using your head if you aren’t using your heart too?”

Mando was silent behind you. His body was stiff, no longer relaxed. Shit, did you offend him? You weren’t Mandalorian, should you have been interpreting the Creed?

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be analyzing your Creed like that. I’m not Ma-”

“No,” he stopped your speech, and resumed his, the baritone of his voice being small within his throat, “You got it all right.” Strong arms squeezed you. Mando held onto you as if someone threatened to take you from him. His face returned to its spot by your neck and he whispered, “Maker, you’re perfect.”

The words sent chills down your spine. Before you could fully relish in the implications of his phrase, small kisses were being planted up and down the curve of your neck. Eyelids closed, you bit your lip at the brushes of his lips against your skin. No longer distracted by the visuals of the market lights, your attention focused on the feeling of his face on your neck. Soft lips meticulously placed pecks up your neck. His face slid against your warm skin, leaving a prickling sensation in its wake.

Prickling…your eyes widened and you straightened up, just slightly.

Mando froze in his tracks, voice laced with concern, “you okay?” 

You cleared your throat and let out a small chuckle, “Yeah, yeah, I just,” your body vibrated against his as you chuckled again, “I just realized you have facial hair,” you explained as your face heated up. Half in embarrassment of not realizing earlier, and half in excitement. You loved facial hair.

“Oh. Yeah,” he hesitated, “do you not like it? I can shave if you-.”

You stopped him before he could finish, “No! No, I mean. I like facial hair,” you explained sheepishly.

A smirk grew on Mando’s face, and you didn’t even have to see him to know it was there. Stubble prickled on the skin of your neck once again. This time, the man rubbed his face across the slope in front of him in an attempt to tickle you.

A giggle bubbled out of your chest and you twisted in his hold. The fanning of his breath over your neck created a delicious warmth on your skin. Warmth that soothed the pin pricks from the man’s stubble. Mando’s trunk-like arms caged you in and kept you tight in his grasp. He stopped after only a few seconds, placing soft kisses on the skin that he just scratched.

The kisses down your neck became more intense. Mando would graze his teeth against your skin and tighten his hold around you. The small marks trailed further down your neckline. Receiving the trail of small marks felt like a dream. Each mark gave you a slight pinch, sending your hips rocking backwards to grind against him. 

A soft moan left Mando’s lips and vibrated against the skin of your neck. His grip tightened near your waist and brought your hips closer to his groin. Soft lips returned to your neck, the other side this time, and began placing small hickeys down your skin. One place in particular, where your jawbone meets your neck beneath your ear, sent your ass grinding down into his lap. 

Then you feel him.

And you kind of freak out.

He’s big.

Were you ready for this? Of course you’ve dreamt about it, you kriffing came to the thought of it, but the opportunity overwhelmed you. Your mind raced. You felt like you didn’t consider all of the factors that went into this. 

Sure, you’ve had sex before, but what if you weren’t good enough for Mando? You’re still clothed and he already has you hot and bothered. You haven’t done anything to him yet. You had to do something or else you’re going to be a dead fish in bed. Were you ready to actually do something with him?

Your hips stilled, and of course Mando noticed.

His actions also paused, “You okay, cyar’ika?” He asks softly. Mando’s words make their home in your heart and you melt. You are okay. You’re with him. But being with him made you anxious. Mando didn’t deserve to put up with shitty sex.

“I just,” you paused and shifted in Mando’s lap, “I think I need to lie down,” you lied to him. He quickly reached for his helmet and sealed it back around his head. The pair of you organized the garbage and the remaining snacks, quickly getting ready for bed.

–

You were almost there. You could’ve done it. You dreamt about it for months and yet you chickened out. His hands were right there, and you got up and went to bed. Dank farrick.

Mulling over your thoughts, you laid on your bed and stared at the ceiling of the Crest’s hull. You could masturbate to the thought of him again, sure, but it just wouldn’t compare. The thoughts of Mando’s hands, his broad chest pressed against your back, the warmth of his legs wrapped around yours haunted your consciousness and refused to allow you to fall asleep. 

It was only amplified by the thought Mando put into the date.

“I’ve been planning this for a while.” He said.

How long? He happened to get your favorite snacks, your favorite takeout, he went back to get the bracelets, and he parked the Crest to get an amazing view of the light-filled market. Mando put all this thought into the date and he made some moves on you.

Your heart and clit were beating at the same loud pace. 

In an attempt to focus on something other than the ghost of Mando’s hard-on on your lower back, you opened a side door and exited the Crest. The door opened and closed quietly with your careful treatment of the doorknob.

The market is still it up beautifully, projecting the colored waves of light onto the surrounding hills. You sat just a few feet away from the Crest, knees tucked up towards your chest, your chin resting on your kneecaps. After a couple minutes of sitting outside, you found that the best way to distract yourself was trying to count all of the different vendors you could see. The lights made it difficult to distinguish one stall from another, and it didn’t help that the market was sizable. 

Forty four, forty five, forty six…

“Do you mind if I join you?” The voice came from the exact man you were trying not to think about. But he was also the exact man you wanted.

You looked back towards him and patted the ground beside you. He accepted your silent invitation and plopped his body down next to yours. A breeze swept through the night landscape and left you covered in goosebumps, slightly shivering. Mando must have noticed, since he draped his long, black cape over your shivering frame. His arm followed the embrace of the cape and pulled you closer towards his heat-radiating body. The other arm snaked under your legs and he barely lifted you, so you settled into the shape of his body. Just like Mando’s cape, silence fell over the both of you. His grip around you remained tight while he did his best to warm you up.

“Why are you sitting out here?” He whispered to you. The helmet crinkled his voice, resulting in the crackling of the syllables. Delicacy laced the syllables that flowed into your ears, despite their choppiness. 

Your shoulders rose and fell and you followed it with a sigh, “I was just thinking too much. Couldn’t fall asleep.”

The shoulder leaning against Mando vibrated when he hummed in understanding.

“Do you want to talk about it?” He offered.

Your head fell to his shoulder to rest. The pair of you talked about a good majority of things. Whatever ended up on your or Mando’s mind. You found it to be a great stress reliever and knew that the Mandalorian did as well. If you didn’t get it out, by talking to Mando, the regretful feeling would just ruminate in your brain forever. At this point you highly doubted that this was a conversation topic that could cause Mando’s feelings about you to change.

“I just feel dumb.” You deadpanned.

“Dumb? Why’s that?” He responded immediately.

You paused and considered your choice of words. Being blunt was probably the best course of action. It was Mando after all.

“You wanted to do more with me and I rejected you,” you sighed and pressed your face into his shoulder.

Another quick response followed, “That’s completely okay. You don’t have to do something just because I want to do it. I apologize if I made you uncomfortable earlier. I meant what I said. We’re only going to do what you–.” 

Your head left his shoulder and faced his helmet to look into the depths of the thin black line running horizontally across the beskar. His speech stopped at your action.

“I wanted to do it. I wanted you to do it,” you admit.

Mando’s bones turned to jelly beneath you–you didn’t realize how tense he had gotten–and yet his helmet tilted in confusion.

Before he could ask the question, you answered, “I was nervous. I haven’t done anything like that in a while. Maybe I wasn’t going to be good in bed.” Your face returned to his shoulder to nestle itself into the crook of his neck.

His embrace tightens around you once more. The T shaped gaze dropped to meet yours and he shook his head from side-to-side.

“Cyar’ika,” his chest jumps from a chuckle, “all you have to do to be good in bed is lay on the mattress,” he slowly grits out. His voice is so smooth you’re surprised his speech is still modulated. Still in doubt, the corner of your mouth pinched upward and your brows bunched together.

He noticed the uncertainty of your expression and slowly added, “I also haven’t done anything like this in awhile,” a pause was accompanied by the shaking of his head and a harsh exhale, “and I’m kriffing nervous too.” 

A small smile spread across your face at the confession. It did make you feel better. He was going through the same emotions you were. The somersaults of butterflies that wound your stomach into knots. Lightheadedness that flooded through your bodies at the sight of the other. Your emotions were so strong, these physical responses accompanied them.

The Mandalorian’s actions put you in a state of awe for the trillionth time. He does things that would make you freeze, panic, scream for help, for his help. Physical conflict was like breathing to him. It was involuntary. Completed without thought.

So many nerves bubbled within him. All because of you. All he had to do was confess his feelings to you and his composure shattered into a million pieces.

A million pieces you would pick up and put back together. You would reassemble the puzzle that was Mando over and over again. If it meant spending time with him, you would do it for eternity. Each time finding a new piece, a new feature to treasure and combine with the rest. 

Mando continued to hold your body and your gaze. The combination of him and his cape have warmed you up considerably, and you find yourself being languidly pulled closer into his torso. Your butt settled between his two thick thighs. Both of your thighs settled on top of one of his. The warmth and physical contact was appreciated, and you rested your head on the Mandalorian’s shoulder once more. 

You’re quite literally being cradled by him. One of his toned arms finds its way behind your back to keep your torso against his. The other arm found its way to your knees, holding you closer to him as much as possible. A gloved hand runs up and down your thigh once he’s satisfied with the method of cuddling. 

The friction his leather hand creates on your thigh is delicious. Every bit of heat from the contact is being transported throughout your body. You felt heavy and relaxed. But the heat from his hand turned into a burning need. The strokes up and down your thigh got riskier. His hand made its way farther up your thigh. Thick fingers splayed across your clothed limb, the wide spread covered more surface area, which drove the heat from his touch right to your clit. On some strokes, his thumb would graze the inside of your thigh. Almost there, but not close enough.

Bathing in the warmth of his touch, you didn’t realize your eye contact with Mando was maintained. He must have noticed your expressions morph into ones that you make when deep in thought. His thumb grazed the inside of your thigh once more, and you bit your lip at the tingly sensation on your bundle of nerves.

That’s all he needed to see what was on your mind. Still maintaining eye contact, his hand stopped on your upper thigh. Mando’s grip gently tightened as he spoke. The modulated voice sailed across a smooth sea of honey as he laid out his words.

“Tell me what you want me to do, and I’ll do it. Anything, mesh’la.”

You got your do-over. There’s no way you’d reject him now.

The bone of your teeth grazed your lip. Eyes closed, you took a deep breath and gained some composure. Mando’s helmet filled your vision once you opened your eyes. His chest rose and fell in anticipation.

A small smile made its way onto your face. “Can you pick up where we left off?” You suggested.

Rumbling emanated from his chest, his grips on your back and your thigh tightened in delight. He pulled you closer to him in a hug and buried his modulator near your ear.

“Here or in the Crest?”

“Crest.”

The beskar man helped you onto your feet and led you back inside of the Crest. Once the door was shut and locked, and once Mando triple-checked the security systems, he sauntered over to you. His hands found their way to your waist as he pushed you back in the direction of his bunk. 

His bunk.

Before you could fully process it, you were lying on the long bed watching Mando as he stood, removing his armor from his body piece by piece. Just his flight suit remained on his large frame. He hardly gave you time to admire him before he sat beside you and pulled you into his lap once more. The Mandalorian’s hands–now bare–settled back into their previous positions. 

Feeling more confident than you were before, you leaned into his neck and placed light kisses along the curve. A deep groan rumbled from his chest and his hands ran up and down your body. You playfully bit the skin of his neck and sucked, bringing a hand up to rest on his neck to keep it in place. Your hickey-like kisses trailed upwards towards his jaw. Once you met the juncture where his neck met his jawbone, you sucked on his skin harder and left a light mark. 

He loved that. The grip on your thighs and waist became impossibly tight as he growled. Every noise that escaped from his helmet went straight to your clit. Your hips ground downwards onto his thigh, but to no avail. A look of desire painted your face but a sound of frustration–desperation–left your mouth.

Mando hummed in agreement. The low tone through the modulator questioned you, “Where do you want me to touch you first, mesh’la?”

You turned into a puddle. A horny, wet, puddle.

“I’ll do anything.” He said conclusively. 

Biting your lip, your brows furrowed in delight at the sensation of his grip. The hand on your thigh was higher up your thigh than any time before. Warmth from his palm traveled from the neurons in your quads to the nerves in your clit.

“Rub my clit? Please?” you asked. Desperation leaked from your mouth at the request. If Mando didn’t put his hands down your bottoms in the next thirty seconds, you were sure you were going to explode.

Mando’s chest vibrated as he chuckled, “Mmmm. I like it when you ask nicely. Good girl.”

Oh. Fuck.

You were molten beskar in his hands, at his forge. You trusted him. His skill. His knowledge of you. His perceived obligation to you. And you were ready to be shaped. Molded. Created into something new. With his support. 

His stare remained on your face as his fingertips found your clothed clit. You tensed at the contact and his motions slowed. 

“That alright?” He asked, concern melded to the grit of the voice that left the modulator.

A confirming hum vibrated from your throat. Your nod accompanied the sound.

“Have to hear you say it.” He responded. At first you thought he was teasing you, but the tone he used and the intense stare that was glued to your face said otherwise. 

“I need to and I want to make sure you’re alright every step of the way, yeah?”

You nodded up at him.

“Good,” he reacted to your body language, “then be a good girl and tell me if this is okay. Tell me how it feels.” His voice dropped incredibly low with his demand. It was gentle, but firm.

A shaky exhale escaped from your mouth as you whispered your reply, “I-I want you to keep going. It feels so good.” Wide eyes looked up at Mando and he continued his motions.

The friction of his fingers on your clothed clit was delicious. Each movement sent sparks up and down your limbs. Your head fell to rest on Mando’s shoulder as he maintained his pace. His gaze remained glued to yours. 

Then you realized he was wearing too many clothes. The friction against your clit was amazing, but you wanted as little friction as possible between your bodies. Reaching down, your fingers tugged on the edge of Mando’s shirt.

“Can I take this off?” You asked.

“Of course,” he replied. Thick fingers deftly undid the buttons at the top of his shirt and you aided him in pulling it over his head. The tight long sleeved layer was removed in the same fashion. Mando’s chest, littered with dark hairs, filled your vision. Broad plains of skin rose and fell, making his pecs stand out on his chest. Strong shoulders that framed his chest only made his body look wider.

While you were gawking at him, Mando slid his hands partially under your shirt and around your waist. His fingertips pinched at the hem of your shirt.

“Can I take this off?” He echoed your previous question.

You nodded and muttered, “yes,” in response, helping him pull the fabric over your head. 

His fingers became more confident and he applied more pressure, quickening the strokes of his fingertips over your clothed bundle. Your jaw dropped in response. As you returned Mando’s stare, your eyelids drifted downwards over your eyes, but not all the way. Your breaths were more audible, bordering on being moans.

Mando seemed to love your reactions, the hand you placed on his neck rumbled as he let out a guttural moan. He picked up his pace in response. The clothing between your bundle of nerves and his fingers created the perfect friction. Wetness pooled in your underwear with the increasing speed of the Mandalorian’s thick fingers.

Then his digits left your clit.

You let out a slight whine, disappointed at the loss of his touch. Before you could question him, his fingers dipped just below your waistband. Not enough to really feel anything. Just enough to make a point.

Making eye contact with Mando, his visor tilted in questioning.

“Can I pull these down?” He asked gruffly.

You nod at him, knowing your gaze is burning into his from behind his beskar. 

“Do it,” you half demand, half plead, “it feels so good when you touch me.”

His helmet drops next to your temple in reaction to your words. A crackle escapes the modulator with his harsh exhale. Without hesitation, his hand slid down past your waistband and brought your bottoms with it. Mando threw them to the side and slipped his hand down your underwear. His fingers easily found the pressure point of pleasure past your mound.

You thought the feeling over your clothes was delicious. The feeling of his bare hands on your bare clit was divine. Nothing could replicate the feeling. Nothing came close to the sensations he willed your body to produce. The sensations he produced with just his fingertips.

Mando resumed the slow pace he set previously. He was testing the waters, seeing if the feeling was just as good before. Your hips bucked up into his hand and another exhale left his helmet, this one quicker.

“Mmmm, okay, okay,” the modulator let out a soft understanding.

His fingers sped up to reach the fast pace he had set over your clothed clit. This time, the feeling was a thousand times more potent. The fibers facilitated most of your pleasure before, but now it was all Mando. Rough skin on his fingertips, created by years of pulling triggers and colliding fists, produced amazing friction. A feeling so electrifying you swore you could feel every ridge and valley of his fingerprints.

Your cunt squeezed around nothing and you mewled in desperation. Mando’s helmet still stung your temple with the cool temperature of the metal. His breathing was heavy, arm stiff, making sure your pleasure was maintained.

One circle around your bundle. Then another. And another. The pleasure was phenomenal, which caused your wetness to leak from your hole.

Mando looked down and groaned at the sight.

“Ffuucckk. So wet for me.” He gritted out, continuing the pace of his fingertips around your nub.

Your hips attempted to follow his motions to make more friction, but to no avail. Mando’s fingers were amazing, but his digits just on your clit weren't how you wanted to cum.

The sentence flowed through your brain: “Have to hear you say it.”

Before when you were sitting in Mando’s lap, his fingers inching towards your waistband, you didn’t know if you were ready. You didn’t know if you would be enough. Hesitation blocked your desire and you worried about taking too much and giving too little.

But now you wanted it all. 

Everything you thought about before. His hands. His fingers. His lips. His unmodulated voice. His cock.

You needed it.

It was as if Mando had a switch to turn you off and on. The motions of his fingers wavered your switch off and on, and your confidence flickered on. No more shyness. You had to be direct, and then you would get what you were desperate for.

“Mando…mmmm…M-Mando,” you attempted your request.

His fingers slowed, his attention divided between your speech and your clit. “Yes, cyar’ika?” His grip on your back tightened, indicating that he was listening.

You bit your lip in nervousness, but mustered up the confidence to finally say what you needed, “I want you to f-finger me,” you said between waves of pleasure.

Mando stopped altogether and dipped his fingers lower, edging his reach towards your hole. One finger prodded at your entrance and that feeling alone made you squirm.

More liquid seeped from your seams and your thoughts returned to the ones you had earlier today. You wanted to kiss him. So badly. 

Biting your lip at the thought, you accidentally stuttered out, “I-I w-want.” You realized your request was ridiculous and buried your face in his shoulder, acting as though nothing ever left your lips.

His fingers trailed upwards along your wetness and then back down, hesitating before he began your request. Confused, you brought your head up to look at him.

“What do you want, baby?”

Baby.

Kriff.

You shook your head, “It’s nothing.”

His helmet tilted in a, “I know you’re lying,” type of way. “It isn’t nothing, and we both know it,” he gently reasoned. A large hand ran up and down your back, the other rested on your sex. 

Shaking your head once again, your eyes widened and the corner of your mouth turned up in matter-of-factness, you whispered, “You wouldn’t do it.”

Immediately, “Try me,” he calmly demanded.

Kriff it. The most he would do is reject you.

“I want you to kiss me.” You confessed.

The T of his visor stared at you blankly. In contrast to the steady gaze of his helmet, his chest heaved and lowered at a faster rhythm. 

Then you were on the mattress, Mando was standing up in his bunk, going for the door. Dread hit you like a brick wall. 

“Mando, Mando I’m sorry. I knew it was ridiculous! I-I shouldn’t have even asked,” you pleaded to him.

Then it was dark. And a large pair of hands were on your waist. 

Hissss.

Your brows furrowed in confusion and your eyes remained wide in a pleading expression. 

“Relax.”

The word dripped from Mando’s lips and traveled to your ears. His tone was like thick, warm honey. A soothing bass resonated throughout the room and into your bones. Once the tone reached the marrow within them, they turned to jelly. Your body slumped into Mando’s broad hands.

A dip in the mattress alerted you to his positioning within the bunk. He sat beside you, hands remained around your waist, and he gave you a slight tug as a request to move closer to him. Once you were close enough, Mando slid you into his lap to resume your previous entanglement. 

Your head relaxed on his shoulder and he pulled your torso closer to his with the tree-trunks he had for arms. Instead of his hand slithering down to find the band of your underwear, it traveled up your arm and towards the crook of your neck. The Mandalorian’s thumb rubbed soothing circles on your jaw, just in front of your ear. He shifted a bit, and then you felt warm air fanning over your face.

His helmet was off. The room was dark. Yet you knew that you were looking him right in the eyes. You knew his face was centimeters away from yours. The series of events amazed you. If the lights were on, his Creed would be broken. You didn’t know if the Creed had a clause about being helmetless in the dark, but you knew this situation was risky.

And yet Mando was willing to put his Creed at risk. Just to kiss you.

As if he was reading your mind, his thumb halted its motions. The air that fanned over your face did so with a higher intensity.

The honied voice washed over you again, “I’m going to kiss you now, mesh’la.”

In shock, you could merely nod and whisper, “Please, Mando.”

You daydreamed–and actually dreamed–about this moment for months. Months. Different visions clouded your mind. Soft, supple kisses could be placed on your lips. Feather lip and hesitant in how they approached. Or the kisses could be rough and demanding. Muscles and embouchures would battle in combat motivated by lust.

In reality, Mando was a mix of both. His lips were soft, yet firm. Intention laced the way he moved his mouth against yours. Saliva soon wet both pairs of lips in your entanglement. Your mouths fell into a synchronized rhythms of pecks, tongues, soft bites, and sloppy kisses.

You were so focused on his lips that you didn’t notice the calloused hand making its way down your underwear. His fingers rubbed your clit once more and your hips bucked into his hand. Teeth clashed together as Mando smiled into your kisses.

He placed shorter, close mouthed kisses on your lips and pulled away to speak. Tension from the waistband of your underwear alerted you to Mando’s gesture.

His warm breath fanned over your face, “Can I take these off, baby?”

You nodded vigorously, realizing he couldn’t see you, you stuttered out, “Y-yes, please.”

In haste, the underwear was peeled from your legs and thrown into the darkness of the man’s bunk. Warm, wet lips crashed onto yours once more. You reached up and tangled your fingers into his hair. Soft waves traveled through your hands as they ran through his locks. 

The Mandalorian let out a low groan at the presence of your fingers in his hair. Firm and demanding lips met your mouth, and small bites pinched your lower lip from time to time. You supposed that this was one of the first times someone carded their fingers through his hair. 

Then you felt a rough finger at your soaking entrance. You clenched your walls around nothing in response. His fingers needed to be inside you. Fantasies have filled your mind’s eye about them for months. They’re thick, and you know the digits would stretch your wet hole. Thoughts of the tasty feeling manifested into words.

“Kriff, plea-please Mando. I want your fingers in my pussy,” you pleaded.

He stopped kissing you, but his breath remained close. The motion that was in his lips translated to his finger. One thick, large digit sunk into your wet heat.

From between the clouds of pleasure that fogged your head, you heard Mando’s syrupy voice in your ear, “You’re going to cum like this.”

Your body melted into his. Reaching up, you grabbed where you thought his face was. After a second of wandering in the darkness, your hand cupped his jaw and kept his face in front of yours.

Soft moans and gentle groans emanated from your chest. Each individual knuckle of his finger rubbed along your walls and left its own unique feeling. Mando pumped his middle finger into you slowly. After you were used to the feeling, it was as if his finger was the one pulling moans from your throat.

Mando picked up his pace and you began to pant, moans mingling between your loud exhales. Gripping his jaw and his neck, you anchored yourself to him. His large arms were easily holding you against him, and his torso was solid, but the deft finger in your wet pussy made you feel like you were levitating off of him.

“Maker, baby. I knew your pussy would get fucking soaked,” he gritted into your ear.

Wet sounds of his finger pushing in and out of your heat filled the darkness of his bunk. Your legs were spread wide in his lap, allowing Mando room to curve his wrist to push his finger along the tight walls of your sex. His fingertip traveled and searched, like a hunter after a bounty, and it finally found its reward.

Your hips jumped into his hand at the euphoric feeling. Awe swept over you. You thought Mando was going to be attentive, but attentive was too light of a word for his focus. 

Groaning, he remarked, “Mmmm. That’s it, huh? That’s my girl.”

The Mandalorian was obsessed. His obsession led him to hit the pressure point on your soaking walls over and over again. Mando’s chest rumbled when your pussy clenched around his fingers. Resistance against his fingers only spurred his actions further.

The grasps of your hands tightened around his face and neck. Every muscle in your body clenched. Your face was screwed together from pleasure. Not only was your body taught, your moans were too.

“Nnnghh, oh fuck. M-Mando, yes.”

All because of one of Mando’s fingers.

Your grasp on his jaw shifted when he inquired, “You want another finger, mesh’la?”

Without thought, you moaned in response, “Yes! Oh Maker, please Mando!” 

An empty feeling in your pussy almost made its way to your brain, but then you felt the stretch. Two of his fingers made you see stars, and the delicious stretch created by his thick digits went right to your clit.

His chest vibrated against your shoulder as he let out a deep, rumble, “That’s my good girl.”

A whimper escaped from your throat and your hips ground onto his fingers.

“I- mmf, I thought about this so many times,” you admitted.

Mando growled, “Fuck. Yeah? Tell me what else you thought about.”

His fingers picked up their pace, hitting that soft spot on your walls repeatedly. The Mandalorian made you a whimpering mess in his arms. More wetness weeped from your seams, dripping out past his thick fingers.

“I-, oh, fuck, I th-thought about y-your cock,” you confessed another fantasy that plagued your thoughts.

“Mmmm. What about my cock, cyar’ika?”

The sounds of your wet pussy and both of your moans filled the small space of Mando’s bunk. 

Shhlkt. Shhlkt. Shhlkt.

“H-how you’d st-stretch my pussy w-with it,” you managed between whimpers and shaky exhales.

Fingers fucked into your messy hole faster and faster. “Is that what you want, mesh’la? Need me to stretch your pretty pussy out?”

“Yes, yes. Oh-oh fu-fuck, please,” you begged him. The hand on his jaw brought his lips down to meet yours. Mando’s tongue immediately dove between your lips, wrestling with yours in vigor. Rough, scarred skin was grounding in your hands. Each pump of his fingers tightened your muscles, curling your figure into his strong hold.

“You want my cock next, baby? Hm?” He cooed at you, never faltering the rhythm of his fingers.

Your mouth fell away from his when your jaw dropped. “Mh-mmm-mhm. Yes, please!” You squealed in reaction.

His face leaned down to hover in front of yours, “Then cum on my fingers, pretty baby,” he growled to you.

Shhlkt. Shhlkt. Shhlkt.

A few more pumps and your wet walls clamped down on Mando’s thick fingers. Broken gasps left your mouth as your body stiffened in his strong arms. Your legs shook and you left crescent marks on the man’s back.

Despite your body-shaking orgasm, the man continued his motions until you placed a hand over his to push it away. Your limp body slumped into his, the waves of pleasure left a warm sensation glowing in your skin. 

No amount of dreaming could have predicted the feeling of Mando beckoning an orgasm from you like he swore to do it. The situation you were in wasn’t exactly what you dreamt of, but the reality was so much better.

A strong hand grazed your back, leaving a trail of heat from its up and down motions. Another hand pulled you in closer to him, and the warm air from his breath made its presence known on your face.

The tone he used starkly contrasted the growls from earlier, “How was that? Are you feeling okay, cyar’ika?” A deep tone, covered in honey, was laced with a small amount of concern.

“Mando…holy shit,” you said breathily. 

Silently chuckling at the state you were in, the Mandalorian peppered light, slow kisses on top of your head and over your face. You relished in the feeling. His lips mimicked the sentiments of the kisses he placed on your wrist earlier in the night. 

“This means everything to me.” 

The phrase echoed in your mind. Of course Mando let you know before that. He didn’t have to say it, but it showed in his actions. Every cup of caf. Every conversation. Every inquisitive response he would give after you told a story. Every small intention behind each action built up within you, and you guided Mando’s lips to meet yours.

Your lips moved in sync and in slow motion. Ridges and valleys imprinted on your lips and in your memory. If Mando was dedicated to his Creed, you would be dedicated to the set of lips pressing against yours. The set of lips that made you laugh. The lips that reassured you. The lips you looked forward to hearing produce words everyday.

You didn’t even know what they looked like.

And you couldn’t find it within yourself to care. They were his lips. Mando’s lips. That’s all that mattered.

After a long stint of sloppy kisses and crescendoing moans, Mando removed his lips from yours. He was panting and en route to placing the same sloppy kisses onto your neck. His plump lips traveled down, leaving saliva marks in their wake, and then they trailed back up, settling next to your ear.

The thin skin of his lips tickled the shell of your ear as he spoke, “Still want me to fuck you, baby?”

Baby.

He’s said it before, but the word still made you squirm a small amount in his arms. Your teeth imprinted on your lips before you let out a meek, “Yes, please.” If the lights were on, Mando would see your wide eyes and your scrunched together brows. As if you had to beg him for it.

Kisses between the two of you resume as the Mandalorian shifted both of your positions on the mattress. His strong arms still clutched your figure as he slowly leaned downwards, until the pair of you were lying on the bed. Both of your hands reached up and weaved your fingers into the soft waves on his head. Mando’s thick hands traversed the planes of your body, randomly grabbing onto you and giving you a slight squeeze where his hands were.

“Uhhhgg, fu-fuck,” left his chest and escaped from his throat when you gave his hair a small tug. One of his firm, capable hands reached down and encouraged you to spread your legs. In the same motion, he shifted upwards to settle between them. 

Your locked mouths never broke. Mando’s lips remained on yours as if he were tethered to them, like they were the only thing keeping him in this universe. His groin pressed against yours and your hips bucked upwards at the feeling. Your mouth watered, like it was somehow conditioned to, after sensing the large curve of his cock covered by black fabric.

One of your hands reached downwards and palmed his shaft through the clothing. Mando’s hips ground down into yours in response, and he let out a low growl.

Your fingertips found the elastic waistband of his sweatpants and tugged on it in suggestion. Before you could even ask the question, the Mandalorian sat up, leaving your upper body to feel the cold air of the bunk. 

Shuffling came from in front of you. Then a soft, muted, plop.

The man was back onto you like it pained him to be away. Moans and rumbling exuded from his chest as he kissed you. Firm muscle of his tongue lapped against yours, challenging you to lustful combat. You accepted and the volume of your pleasure joined his. A couple kisses felt like forever, but it was the best eternity that you could be stuck in.

Mando’s body shifted lower to grind his hips against you once more. His thick shaft slid through your folds. A whimper came from your mouth as the head of his cock grazed your clit. Moans from the man only became more gravely, animalistic. The grit of the vibrations could have convinced you that he put the helmet back on–if his mouth wasn’t sealed to yours.

Swollen lips broke the seal from yours and Mando’s head fell into the space between your head and your neck. Heavy breathing flooded the audio in your brain. Rough hands ran up and down your inner thighs, intermittently squeezing the flesh there. 

A chaste kiss met the side of your head, above your ear You could feel the slick on his lips against your ear as he gently demanded, “Tell me what you want.”

Without hesitation you replied in a whining whisper, “Please put your cock in my pussy.”

The side of your head vibrated when he let out a blissful groan into your hair. His broad chest left yours as he sat up and pulled some items from a nearby drawer. Your face heated in anticipation.

Sounds were the only thing available to you to figure out what he retrieved. A crinkling and then a tear echoed through the bunk.

The condom.

Rubber noises made their way to your ears as Mando rolled the condom onto his shaft. Maker, you wish you could see him. Those large hands forming a strong grip. The thick head of his cock leaking before he puts the contraceptive on.

You thought you’d feel him shift back towards you, but then a short pop echoed through the bunk. Like he just opened a bottle of shampoo. 

Silence. 

Then the slick sounds of his large grip stroking his shaft filled the air.

Your heart swelled at his thoughtfulness. You were definitely wet enough, but the consideration for your comfort made liquid seep from your pussy.

The mattress shifted around you as he lowered his torso towards yours. One side dipped much more and the slick head of his cock teased your entrance. A small moan left your throat at the contact.

Mando paused when he was lined up with your wet hole. A wet kiss was placed on your forehead before he asked, voice strained, “Are you ready for me, my cyare?”

“Yes,” breathy and quick, passed through your swollen lips.

Maker. His cock was thick. The feeling of him pushing into you was fucking amazing.

The walls of your pussy wrapped around him. A delightful stretch pricked at your soaking entrance and your eyes rolled into the back of your head. Mando was slow and careful as he pressed his wide shaft into you. Movement ceased once his balls laid flat against the flesh of your ass.

You were so lost in the new sensations that Mando’s heavy breaths suddenly made their way into the foreground of your mind. Warm air fanned against your face and his strangled moans vibrated against your chest. Head heavy, his face found its way to the crook of your neck.

“Oh, f-fuckkk. Kriff, cyar’ika, you put my dreams to shame.”

Your arms weaved around his torso and your fingers ran down his back. His face only pressed further into you, and your walls were straining against the thickness of his cock.

“Mmm-Mando. Please. Fuck me, please.”

Another rumble from his chest vibrated against you. His hips shifted backwards, and the thick head of his cock dragged against your walls. The pair of you moaned in unison, amazed by the feel of the other.

His torso rose up and slipped from your hold and you involuntarily whined. A small, gravely chuckle left Mando’s lips, “You want me back down there, baby?”

Your hands reached into the darkness and collided with the man’s chest. Hairs brushed against your fingers as you attempted a grip to pull him back down. Before you could adjust your hands to pull his shoulders down instead, he lowered himself once more and nestled his head in the space above your shoulder.

“I-I-, nngghhh,” you tried to justify your desire, but the ridges of his cock grazed against the warmth of your pussy just right. But then you tried again. “M-makes me f-feel safe,” you let out a whimper.

“Aghhh, fuck baby.” The speed of his thrusts picked up, but his strokes were still long and languid. “Want you to feel safe with me,” he grunted as his breath fanned over your neck.

You always felt safe with him. Without question. In populated cities with shoulder-to-shoulder crowds. Out in the wilderness, the forest canopy darkening the forest floor. At a run down market with nasty glares being sent your way.

“I always have,” you manage to clearly respond.

Another deep groan resonated in your ear drums. A large, calloused hand found your arm and dragged its grip towards your hand. Thick digits intertwined with yours, and the pace of his hips picked up once more.

The hair above his shaft created mind-numbing friction on your clit. Each stroke sent a shockwave of bliss through your body. The bliss made its way back down to your pussy. Wetness dripped out from around his thick cock. Soft, wet sounds filled the space of Mando’s bunk.

“Kriff, cyar’ika. Maker, you’re fucking soaked for me,” he gritted out into your ear. His mouth found yours and weak, distracted kisses were placed on your lips. 

Fingertips dug into the skin on his back. You reeled into his touch. His thick cock still left a tinge of stretching throughout your walls. Each thrust of his hips soothed and invigorated the sensation in your pussy. You thought back to your fantasies and masturbation sessions. Squeezing three fingers into your soaking hole just to get a taste of how he’d feel. Now you have the real thing. And it’s so much better than your fingers buried deep in your cunt.

“What’re you thinking about, mesh’la?” The smooth baritone filled the air around you.

You bit your lip. How the hell did he know you were thinking? Small gasps left your lips, releasing the skin from the hold of your teeth. You knew he wanted you to say it, but your cheeks became hot in embarrassment.

You probably waited too long, because Mando grunted out, “I can tell you what I’ve been thinking, baby,” a soft grumble came from his chest, “been thinking abou- fuck. About how much of a good girl you are for me.”

Mewling left your throat and you tightened your wet pussy around his hard length. Mando growled and quickened his pace in response. A combination of moans and exhales from your chest were punctuated from each of his thrusts. Thick fingers splayed across the underside of your thigh and shifted your hips slightly upwards.

 He found the spot. The same one his fingers came familiar with.

Brows furrowed and eyes scrunched, you moaned out a whiny, “O-oh-oh, Maker. Mando!” 

“Tell me what you’re thinking about, my cyar’ika,” Mando repeated.

“Y-your cock, oh k-kriff, your cock, Mando,” you let out a shaky breath to conclude, “I’ve been thinking about your cock.”

A low hum came from the man, “What about it, mesh’la?”

You let out a keening noise when Mando reached down and grazed your clit with his thumb, drawing circles on your sensitive nub. Strong fingers splayed across your lower stomach as he rested them there. He listened to your moans and shaky breaths and concentrated on a technique. The Mandalorian figured out your body and had it down to a science. Every movement and sound that resonated from your body was a signal to him. Sound waves from you were like signals, and he replied to your every call.

His hips remained flush against yours as he gave your cunt shallow thrusts, repeatedly brushing the firm head of his cock over the most sensitive point deep within you. The combination of stimulations made your pussy clench around his shaft. A guttural moan emanated from Mando in response.

Your fingertips dug into the broad expanse of his back when you confessed with a whine, “Th-thinking…fuck…you’re so-o bi-ig.”

The thumb rubbing your clit sped up, and Mando’s other hand tightened its grip around yours. You let out a breathy sigh, your cunt only became tighter around him. The Mandalorian’s bunk was filled with the sound of your combined moans, heavy breaths, and light plaps of skin against skin.

Visions of what he looked like fucking you flashed through your mind. His huge shoulders, strong arms, veiny forearms, thick fingers. The delectable tree-thunk thighs accenting his toned waist.

You pictured a man with dark hair, probably brown eyes, with the softest lips your pair have ever met, framed by dark stubble. The man would be focused, brow furrowing in concentration. His eyes rolled back into his head and his jaw fell open when you tightened around him. Just like Mando, he’d growl in response to your wet heat, and bring his jaw back up to tighten it while he focused on you.

His hands. His cock. His voice. His lips. Kriff even the feel of his hair and skin. Each component came together to melt you into a puddle of pleasure. Moans escaped from your throat in higher and higher octaves. Sentences didn’t exist anymore, as you could barely form them.

“Think, oh shit, Ma-Mando. Think I-I’m gonna cum,” your voice sounded desperate as you alerted him.

Harsh breaths blew onto your face from Mando’s focused exertion. Your lip was captured under your teeth for the umpteenth time. Only tight whines left your throat. Pussy squeezing around Mando, your body followed suit. Thighs wrapped around his waist and the embrace of your arms held him close.

The Mandalorian left lazy kisses across your face and muttered endless praises.

“Such a good girl.”

“You’re so perfect, mesh’la.”

“Not going to last long after you, my pretty baby.”

Then his kisses paused from being placed on your face. “Hey,” Mando said to get your attention, “listen to me, cyar’ika.”

You whimpered in acknowledgement, but Mando wasn’t having it, “Have to say yes for me,” he let out between strokes.

“Yes-yes I’m listening,” you quickly blurted. 

Almost lost in your pleasure, you realized you had to actually listen to him. To comprehend and process his words. Not that you weren’t listening to him, but the motions he pressed into you made your mind blur together. Your mind snapped to attention at his words.

Mando spoke in a gentle, yet commanding, tone. The grip sealing your conjoined hands together tightened.

“My name is Din.”

Din.

It was simple and to the point, just like how Mando was. No wasting any time. No frills. No banthashit. Just Din.

Then the tight knot in the pit of your stomach snapped. Sounds that once poured from your body ceased as your figure curled into his. The pleasure was something you couldn’t have fathomed before this. Every cell in your body ignited in a passion filled radiance.

“Din! Din, oh fuckkkk, Diiiin!”

Your wet heat clamped onto Mando’s thick cock, sending him into a frenzy of growls and grunts. His calloused thumb remained on your clit until the spasms of your orgasm fizzled out. Then you were left empty handed, but your body lifted up slightly off of the mattress. The Mandalorian snaked his arms behind your shoulders, his hands under the pillow cushioning your head.

Sloppy kisses met your mouth. Tongues pushed into mouths to wrestle with their counterparts. It was like Mando wanted to memorize every ridge of your lips and tongue. To add them to his Creed. Worship them forever.

His head dropped next to yours and your ears were filled with breathy grunts.

Plap. Plap. Plap.

Softly bounced around the metal walls of the bunk.

“Wanted this for so long, baby.”

“Always thought about you, fuck, I think about you all the time.”

The intensity of his grunts increased and you could feel his cock swelling inside you. Soft lips brushed against the shell of your ear, hastily whispering out, “Where do you want me?”

Digging your fingers into the waves of his soft hair, you eagerly responded, “In the condom, Din.”

“Fuucckkk,” he groaned.

His cock started to twitch within your warm walls. The speed and depth of his thrusts no longer followed a formula. Your head raised slightly when large fists balled the bedsheets into his hands. One of your hands drifted up and down his back, soothing him through his release. He was shaking with every excess thrust he gave your wet heat.

Then his heavy body slumped against yours. Mando’s breath was still heaving, sending strong winds across your neck. Open mouthed kisses were gently placed onto the skin there. Your fingers massaged his scalp and he let out a satisfied sigh. Silence filled the space of the bunk.

What if he regretted this? Was this just a one time thing?

“Mand-,” he cut you off with both his voice and the motions he put the pair of you through.

Suddenly you were on top of him. Your head found the plush meat of his relaxed pecs and you laid your head on them. A firm grip from Mando came to wrap around you. His strong arms held you against him like someone threatened to take you away. Mando’s fingertips traced languid shapes across your back. The tip of his nose dug into your scalp as he pressed a couple soft kisses in your hair.

“Din. Call me Din, cyar’ika.”

Your cheeks rose in temperature at his insistence. Fighting your nerves, you asked, “Is this a one time thing?”

The Mandalorian stiffened underneath you. Here it goes. You’ll have to crawl off his body and resort to the sleeping pad in the hull.

“No. Mesh’la, of course not,” a low baritone soothed your worries. Your head slumped onto his chest even more. Feeling nervous, yet confident–even though you literally just fucked him–you brought a hand up to feel his face.

His hand resumed its drawings of small shapes on your back. Humming came from beneath you when your hand made contact with his stubble. Your thumb grazed the short hairs and your fingers followed the curve of his jaw.

His lips felt as soft as they did when they were on yours. Your fingertips reached upwards a bit more. Longer hairs tickled at your digits and you let out a small giggle.

“Mmf, what, pretty girl?” His tone was laced with sleep and curiosity.

You smiled at him in the dark, “You have a mustache,” you told him in a whisper, as if he didn’t already know. A smile from him creeped up under your touch.

“Mmm. Yes, I do,” he replied matter-of-factly. 

In a teasing tone, you inquired, “Who’s that for?”

A low chuckle from Din’s chest made your head rumble. The hand on your back ceased its movements. His nose dipped down to find yours, aiding him in lining up his mouth to kiss you. A gentle kiss was placed onto your lips, and you were acutely aware of the hairs that made up his mustache.

He sighed in content and murmured, “At first it was for me. I don’t know. I just liked it,” his shoulders went up and down in a shrug, he continued with a hum, “but you like it. So now it’s for you.”

Your face became hot at his words. Slightly embarrassed, you nestled your face into his chest. The thin hairs there wisped at your face. 

Sleep quickly caught up to you and your whole body relaxed against Din’s. His large frame made for a comfortable bed. Muscles, none of them tense, gave you a plush surface to melt into.

Din’s strong arms wrapped around you. He continued to press soft kisses into your hair. Right before you slipped out of consciousness he whispered to you.

“I meant what I said,” he paused to wait for a response. You didn’t register him speaking until it was too late, but he continued his sentence nonetheless.

“I’ll do anything for you.”

Supply Run - Review (part four) (Coming soon)

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[theidiotwhowritesthings]

Ni Ceta, Cyar'ika

Dark!Din Djarin x Jedi!Female Reader

Warnings: corruption arc, murder, death of minor character (i don't wanna spoil it but I wanna make sure no one is caught off guard. it's axe woves), possessive behavior, loss and anxiety, light smut, mentions of being intimate

Word Count: 7,842

Summary: Din Djarin is a man who lost everything. His home, his son, his Creed. But at the end of the day, he still had you. He still had you, and he was determined to keep you.

[a/n: if dark fics aren't your forte, don't worry this isn't super dark. well, not as dark as i originally planned to go. more psychological horror than physical]

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"i denied death for you. and i'd die for you again. kill for you. i'd tear the stars down from the heavens to fashion you a crown. you are my heart. my queen. i'd do anything and everything you ask me."

-Jay Kristoff

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Looking back, you had no chance of not falling in love with Din Djarin. Even despite having plenty of reasons not to. You were on the run from the Empire, trying to keep a padawan safe from them. He was hired to collect said padawan as a bounty. He was a Mandalorian. You were a Jedi. Needless to say, the odds had been stacked against you both, but falling for him was the simplest thing in all the worlds.

You had a lot of reason not to, sure, but you also had no chance in avoiding it. Not with the way he put you and Grogu above everything else⏤ even himself. Not with the way he balanced trusting you to hold your own in a fight versus protecting you when you were overwhelmed. Not with the way his hand would softly brush against you as if he wanted so badly to touch you but thought himself unworthy. Not with the way his hoarse voice whispered your name in the softest concern and care.

Never before had you put any belief in the concept of soulmates, it seemed silly, but after meeting Din you weren’t so sure. The two of you seemed made to fit one another. Complement. Make the other stronger, better. The way you both understood one another, the care and love that came so easily… It was as if you loved him in another life. Like the two of you were destined to find one another in every lifetime. Made of the same stardust and shaped by the galaxy itself.

You loved Din Djarin. You loved him so damn much, and it made watching him crumble that much harder.

“Din.” You mumbled. Boba had swooped back to pick the lot of you up after the successful rescue mission. Though calling it successful seemed…bittersweet. Grogu was safe, but Grogu was gone. You wandered closer to where Din sat in a chair. He had isolated himself the moment you all boarded the ship. He was slumped over, elbows on his knees, and head hanging down. You knelt down by his side and squeezed his arm. “Hey. I wanted to check on you.” Din nodded, but stayed silent. His helmet stayed facing down, away from you, and it broke your heart to see him so devastated. “Tell me what you need, baby. I can stay or I can give you some space.”

Again, Din did not respond, but he turned his arm just enough to grasp you by the hand. You gave it a slight squeeze and just stayed there. For the rest of the flight neither of you moved. You knew Din felt like he couldn't complain. Grogu was safe with Skywalker, set to train and harness his gifts. Softly, you reassured him that whatever he was feeling was alright. He stayed silent.

Boba and Fennec’s goal was to reach Tatooine so you and Din tagged along. It wasn’t far. You all got there in a matter of hours and when you parted ways, Boba encouraged you or Din to call him if anything was ever needed. It didn’t take long for you to get a room at an inn. 

That night in bed you held Din close. The room had been darkened so even if you did open your eyes all you could see was his silhouette. He loved you with soft touches and thankful whispers, and when the both of you were spent and exhausted Din collapsed into you. Typically, he liked being the big spoon. Din loved wrapping his body around yours, all encompassing, as if he needed to protect you even in sleep. However, tonight, Din clung to your side⏤ an arm draped over your waist as he laid his head on your bare chest. You held him close, raking a hand through his hair tenderly.

The room was filled with quiet breaths, and when Din spoke his voice was so hushed that you nearly missed it.

“Don’t leave me, cyar'ika.” He seemed to beg. “I can’t lose you.”

“I’m not going anywhere.” You said firmly. Holding onto him tighter. You continued to whisper promises of staying by his side long after he fell asleep.

Din wanted to find the covert. That was what he told you he needed. You had no qualms with that. You wanted to do whatever you had to in order to help him find some semblance of normal. Coruscant was not one of your favorite places in the galaxy, but you’d walk through hell as long as Din was by your side. As you followed him, his eyes tracking signs and clues you couldn’t see, your own gaze continued to drift to the saber hanging from Din’s belt. His newest acquisition.

Ages ago, when it had been time to build your own lightsaber, the kyber crystal you chose had really chosen you. Everybody had certain strengths, even within the Force, and yours was reading energies. Your kyber crystal seemed to sing to you. The energy it gave was warmth. It was protective. It was loyal. Building your lightsaber had been a time honored tradition you treasured. Having it hang from your hip was something you did not take lightly. It gave you strength.

The energy coming from the darksaber felt…wrong. It was hard to put into words. It was muted to you, as if trying to hide, but still the darksaber seemed to weep a negative energy into the air itself. You didn’t like it, but you had no significant reasoning why other than ‘it feels bad’.

When the two of you reached the covert, Din was adamant about you coming in with him. Even when you told him you thought it was a bad idea, he still tangled his hand in yours and dragged you in. Just as you thought the other two Mandalorians there were unhappy with seeing you. In part because of the lightsaber on your hip, but more so because you were not their kind. You were not Mandalorian. Auretii. That’s what the Armorer called you. An outsider. It wasn’t inaccurate. 

The interaction started bad and only got worse.

Paz Vizsla challenged Din for the darksaber, a man you knew that Din considered to be a brother even despite rough disagreements in the past, and watching Din use the saber sent a chill down your spine. It was too heavy in his hands, and with every swing the blade was more difficult for Din to use. You could see it in his stride. You didn’t know how to explain it⏤ it was always difficult to explain the way an energy felt to you⏤ but the saber was fighting. It was annoyed.

Din won the battle.

“Din Djarin, have you ever removed your helmet?” The silence that followed the question broke your heart. “Have you ever removed your helmet?” You felt useless watching Din endure this pain. It was the same watching Skywalker carry Grogu away. You were a witness to his suffering. “By Creed, you must vow.”

“I have.”

“Then, you are a Mandalorian no more.”

The walk back into the depths of Coruscant was silent and painful. You slipped your hand into his, giving it a reassuring squeeze. I’m here. I’m not leaving. You will not lose me. Din returned the squeeze, but the pain was radiating off him in palpable waves. A feeling washed over you and your eyes darted to Din’s hip where the saber rested. Smug. It felt smug. 

The two of you walked into the covert as Mandalorian and Jedi, but left as Apostate and Aruetti.

You had the opinion that Din never got to properly mourn the loss of the Razor Crest. With everything going on at the time, it seemed like the least of the problems you both had. However, it's loss was felt now. Even in the short time you spent with Din and Grogu, the ship had become a place of comfort. For Din, the Crest had been all he had for so long⏤ it was his home. It held all his belongings and in a singular second it was all gone.

That aching wound was constantly festering, but when the two of you were forced to ride in public ships to get from world to world you could tell it stung Din the most. That’s how you’d have to get off Coruscant, but a small victory came in the form of a message from Peli. 

“Din, you’re not gonna believe this.” You grinned as he returned from whatever errand he had to do. “Peli has a possible Razor Crest replacement. She just messaged me. If we can just get to⏤”

“No.”

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion, but Din took you by the hand and began to travel the opposite way of the small inn you were staying in. “What?”

“I found a ship. Here. Already purchased it.”

Surprise washed over you. “Wait.” You tried to get him to stop and look at you, but Din seemed like a man on a mission. “You bought it already? Without even asking me?”

“It was my credits.”

The words stung. It was so dismissive. Nothing like the way Din usually spoke to you. He always discussed big decisions with you, just as you did with him. The two of you were a team. Through and through. Din seemed to sense your displeasure and his steps faltered.

“Cyar'ika, ni ceta.” Din murmured. You recognized the apology. He turned and settled a hand on the side of your face. “I…I don’t know what came over me. I suppose I was just excited.”

“It’s…” You lifted a hand to cup the one tenderly caressing your cheek. Din had just lost his Creed. The cornerstone of his existence. Of course, he’d be short. You’d be more worried if he wasn’t showing signs of being upset. You gave him a tight lipped smile. “No, I’m sorry. Are you alright? How do you feel?” Din didn’t respond. “Baby?”

He shook his head, his voice quiet. “I’m just ready to be off world.”

“I understand.” You gave him a smile. “Show us our new home then.”

Din let out a small chuckle and you took that as a victory. He led you to a yard of ships and pointed out a black ship with burgundy accents. It was nothing special. It wasn’t the Razor Crest. However, it had enough space for the both of you.

“This is nice.” You explored the cargo hold. 

“It’ll do.” Din countered.

You jumped when you heard the ramp closing and as Din passed you to get to the cockpit, he set his hand on your lower back to take you with him. As you settled in the passenger seat, you watched as Din familiarized himself with the control panel. When the ship reached the atmosphere, you leaned forward.

“Hey, maybe we should go see Peli anyways. Say hello.” You suggested. “She can look the ship over and tell us if we need anything…” Peli would just rip you off, but she was a familiar face. Boba and Fennec were on Tatooine as well. You thought Din could use more than just you. A reminder that he had more in his life than he thought. “Din?”

“No.” Din replied. He placed in a set of coordinates and you recognized them to be Nevarro. Well, maybe that would work. Karga was there. Cara too. Last you heard, Mayfeld was kicking around the newest establishment. The ship slipped into hyperspace and Din held a hand out to you. When you took it he yanked you toward him and you fell onto his lap. “We’re needed in Nevarro. Karga.”

He said it as if the name was enough. Before you could ask for further clarification, Din was tossing his gloves aside. He hit a button that shaded the windows, dimming the room till it was nearly impossible to see then he whispered to close your eyes. It was natural for you to do just as he asked. His hands grasped at your hips, pulling you down to grind against your core, and a pair of lips began to leave open mouth kisses along your neck.

“Cyar'ika…” Din breathed as he wrestled your shirt off you. Rough and desperate. Yanking your breast band off with it. The moment you were bare to the chilly air of the cockpit, Din’s hot mouth wrapped around one of your nipples, teeth grazing sensitive skin, and you moaned. Din pulled away and you already missed his mouth. “Need you. Need all of you.”

Din loved you with rough hands and frantic begging. When the two of you were spent, breathless and sweaty, you slumped against his body. Din trailed his hands up and down your spine as if he couldn’t fathom not touching you.

“I can’t lose you.” He murmured in your ear. “Not you, cyar'ika.”

“You won’t.” You reassured him. “You won��t lose me.”

The reason Din stopped in Nevarro, stopped to see Karga, was for bounty pucks. You had never seen him take so many at once and he said less than ten words to the High Magistrate of Nevarro before dragging you back to the ship. 

A distraction. You convinced yourself. It was just a distraction. 

Din needed something to keep his mind busy and what better than bounty hunting? As long as you were there to keep an eye on him, make sure he’s cared for, then everything would be alright. It might take time, but it would be okay. That’s what you told yourself. Over and over and over. You wondered if the reassurance was more for your benefit. 

The first couple of bounties went normal, but slowly things began to feel…different. Wrong. The quarries Din brought in were more often cold than warm these days. He seemed to be favoring the darksaber as well. It had gone from a weapon used as a last resort to one of his regulars. Din got better with the weapon after every quarry, and the saber’s energy felt like it was singing. As wrong as it all felt, Din seemed himself still. In fact, he almost seemed closer to his normal self. The aching sadness and mourning wasn’t so present. 

“Din?” You called out from where you sat at the small table. Rather than staying on the new ship, the two of you had rented a room at a local inn. It put you closer to where the current quarry was hiding. “You in the mood for something specific? For dinner, I mean?” Din had stepped into the bathroom to clean up and still had yet to come out. “Baby?”

Concern began to take root, but the door opened and you felt it slip away only to be replaced by shock. A stranger in familiar armor stood in the doorway. Din. Din was helmetless. You quickly shut your eyes with a curse. Heavy footfalls crossed the room to stand in front of you and you felt Din’s warm hands on your cheeks.

“Cyar'ika, look at me.”

“Din, what are you doing?” You gasped. It had been nearly two months since the covert, but even then he kept his helmet on. Never took it off. You didn’t understand what had suddenly changed now so suddenly. “I⏤”

“I want you to see me.”

“But⏤ But, why now?”

Din’s thumbs were tracing your cheek and he wouldn’t answer your question. He murmured again for you to open your eyes and you hesitantly peeked through your lashes. Din stood towering above you. From where you sat, you had to look up to admire his features. His appearance was never important to you. You fell in love with the soul inside that armor. Din always swore you’d see his face one day, but the context would be different. He’d whisper about a future together as you both laid tangled in bed. 

He was handsome. Strong features, pretty dark brown eyes, scruff along his jaw. And his hair, you were finally able to see the dark slightly loose curls that you’d run your fingers through. You slowly stood and lifted a hand to trace his features.

“Am… Am I okay?” Din asked. 

The phrasing of the question was odd and it took you a moment to garner a guess. You cupped his face with a broad smile. “You’re more than okay. You’re perfect. Maker, it’s kind of not fair how handsome you are.” You kept your tone teasing and Din chuckled. The sight of his smile warmed your chest. “What brought this on?”

“I am an Apostate.” Din said firmly and you felt your own smile falter. His dark brown eyes stayed locked onto yours and though they held the depth and soul you always knew they would there was something else there. “I am no longer Mandalorian. Why should I hide my face any longer?”

“Din…” You mumbled. Concern leaking into your voice. This was quite the huge and sudden leap to make. “You⏤”

He leaned in and pressed a light kiss against your lips. The kiss turned deeper as Din began to devour you. Needy and wanting. Desperate. Soon he had you picked up into his arms so he could slam you against the wall. It always felt like Din craved you⏤ that wasn’t in debate. Right now though, he was like a man starved. As if he had never had never had you before and was worried he’d never have you again.

Din loved you like a man possessed. Pressed between him and the wall he was unrelenting. Still, held tight by the man you were in love with, Din moaned and begged for you to stay with him. He didn’t even pause to let you reassure him. Just praised the way you felt and pleaded for you to be his. 

There was something wrong with Din.

As you sat in the dingy alley, panting heavily from your near death experience, that was the first thought to occur to you. A hunt had gone wrong. One of the quarry’s allies had gotten the jump on you. You had taken a few hits, saw an opening to save yourself, but before you even had a chance the goon was being ripped off of you. Din had saved you, but it didn’t feel like being saved from where you sat.

Din had ripped the man off you and rather than use the darksaber he chose to beat the goon bloody with his hands. Blood splattered in the alley, on his otherwise spotless armor, and you found yourself trembling. The man who had been attacking you was long dead, but Din did not stop. His face was twisted in rage and hate. You called out his name, more than once, and eventually he paused in his onslaught to catch his breath. His chest was heaving from exertion and you could tear your eyes away from the red that stained his silver beskar.

Slowly, Din rose and stalked toward you. For a brief moment, you didn’t recognize Din. You didn’t know the stranger towering over you. He knelt down and reached out to cup the side of your face. The hot blood of the man Din had slaughtered smeared across your cheek. You could feel it and it sent a chill of fear down your spine. The hate began to dissipate from his eyes. There was a softness you recognized now, but for the first time you’d describe Din as hollow.

“Are you okay, cyar'ika?” He breathed. You nodded nervously. Din grabbed you by the arms and pulled you to stand. He let out a sigh of relief and wrapped you into a tight hug. He pressed you against his blood stained armor and laid his head on top of yours. Din shook his head, a shaky breath slipping from his lips, “I won’t lose you. I can’t lose you. No one will take you from me. I swear it, cyar'ika.” 

Relief and love radiated from Din, but all you could feel was the humming possessive energy that the darksaber blasted into the air around you both.

The sensation of dropping out of hyperspace woke you up. You blinked and reached out to a cold bed. Din had gotten up and was now dropping you out of hyperspace? You pushed up and slid out of bed. You found Din in the cockpit and the sight of an unfamiliar world hung in view just outside the ship. 

“Where are we?”

“Mandalore.”

You sat down in the passenger seat and grabbed Din by the knee forcing him to set the ship to drift and turn to face you. “What the kriff do you mean Mandalore?” Din didn’t respond. He leaned back in his seat and just stared at you. You were still trying to get used to seeing him without his helmet. Din rarely wore it these days. Even in a fight. “Din.”

“We’re meeting allies here.”

“For what?!”

“We’re recovering our home.”

Din was answering the questions as if you were being ridiculous for even asking them. As if you had been privy to this knowledge. Frustration made your temper flare. “Din, are you serious!?” He didn’t react and somehow that was worse. “We need to talk.”

“Then talk.”

Things had only gotten worse with Din. You were scared of what he was capable, but never in relation to you. No matter how cold his eyes grew, no matter how lost in got in a brutal fight, no matter how bitter the darksaber made the air, you knew Din wouldn’t hurt you. That knowledge was ingrained in your very soul. What worried you⏤ what kept you awake at night⏤ was your worry for Din. He always said he couldn’t lose you, but it felt like you were the one losing him.

“Baby.” You murmured and rose to take a seat in his lap innocently. Just trying to get closer to him. You cupped his face and at your contact the cold, distant look in his eyes briefly cracked. Din stared up at you in adoration and love. “I’m… I’m scared.”

Din furrowed his brow and sat up. His arms wrapped around your waist. “Don’t be. You never have to be scared. I’m never going to let anything hurt you.”

“No, Din, that’s not what I’m scared of.” You replied. “I’m scared for you. I’m worried about you.”

“I’ve never been better, cyar’ika.”

You raked a hand through his hair trying to convey every ounce of passion you felt for him in the simple motion. “Din… I’ve been wanting to say this for some time.” You shook your head. “The darksaber.” There was a flash of something unrecognizable in his gaze, but you pressed onward. “It’s… dangerous. You know when I told you about my lightsaber. It’s energy.” He nodded. “The darksaber gives off an energy too, and I don’t like it.”

“What do you mean?” Din asked.

“It feels like,” You winced and struggled for a description to match, “poison. Din, baby, it feels like poison.” Din shook his head as if he still could not understand what it was you were trying to say. “I think it’s a bad influence.”

Din scoffed but the curl of his lips made it seem like he wasn’t taking your statement seriously. “Cyar’ika, it’s a sword. It can’t influence me.”

“It’s not just a sword, Din. It has a kyber crystal in it and⏤”

“Are you trying to tell me I need to get rid of it?” He pressed. You gave a small nod. “I can’t. I need it.” You opened your mouth to argue, but his arms tightened around you. “If we’re going to take Mandalore back, recover it, then I have to use the darksaber. Be Mandalor.”

Your eyes widened. “Since when did you want that title??”

“But more importantly, I need it to protect you.” He whispered, ignoring your question entirely. Din leaned his forehead against yours and the touch was so soft and reverent that you shuddered. He took in a slow deep breath. “You are my priority. Always. The darksaber grants me the power to keep you safe.”

You pressed a tender kiss to his lips and Din’s breath hitched. As you spoke, you kept your lips close enough to brush against his with every word. “You never needed it before. And I’m not helpless. You know that.” Din closed his eyes and you dragged your fingers through his scruff. “We were fine without the darksaber. We don’t need it.”

Din leaned in to capture your lips with his. For the first time in a very long time, the kiss was slow and patient. He took his time tasting you and he leaned back to allow your hands to travel and explore him. It was so reminiscent of the days before everything fell apart that you almost cried.

Eventually, he pulled back and focused his heavy gaze on you. Din gave you a small smile, a hand tracing your jawline. “No, cyar’ika. The saber stays.” Your own smile faltered and fell. He left one last chaste kiss on your lips. “I love you. I will protect you.”

Your life on Mandalore was odd. Din left you out of the loop of everything. All you knew was that more and more Mandalorians arrived by the day to follow Din Djarin. It didn’t surprise you. The Din you knew and loved was a natural born leader whether he liked it or not. He had a magnetic draw to him. You didn’t see that side to your Din very much anymore. 

The city around you was slowly being rebuilt and you pondered your next move. Two months you had been on this rock seeing Din from a distance. Watching him turn into someone you didn’t recognize. When the palace was reestablished, a sentence you found obnoxious and ridiculous, Din moved you there to stay. He’d work all day, drift into your shared bedroom at night, and you mourned the days where everything was easier. Simple.

“Cyar’ika.”

You glanced over your shoulder to see the Mandalor approaching. The king of this world looked like Din, still stared at you as if you hung the moon and stars, but all you could see was the darksaber. It’s possessive energy clung to the man you loved. Two Mandalorian guards followed behind him, and you briefly admired the thick, fur lined cape that hung off one shoulder.

Din came to a stop in front of you and motioned to himself with a sheepish smile, “What do you think?”

“Very regal, Mandalor.” You teased softly.

Din drifted closer and took your hands in his. “Ni ceta, cyar’ika.” He mumbled. “I know I haven’t been around.”

“You’ve been busy. I get it.” You shrugged and tried to keep the bitterness out of your voice.

“But you come first. You always come first.” Din said firmly. “Things will be better from here on out. We’re stable. We’re established. And… I have a surprise for you.” Nervously, Din lifted your hands to tenderly press a kiss to them. “I have no right to ask, but will you give me your time today.”

It was so sweet. It was so Din. You were too overwhelmed to do anything but nod. Things could always turn around, you told yourself. All your time here, distanced from Din, you had planned. He needed a little exposure to his old life. You were the only person Din kept. Maybe seeing Boba and Fennec, seeing Peli, seeing Karga, seeing anyone would bring him back to the surface more permanently. You had even wanted to get in touch with Skywalker or Ahsoka to plan some kind of visit. If Din could see Grogu, you had no doubt he’d snap back into reality. He’d set aside the darksaber. The issue was, Mandalore still had thick storm clouds that prevented any outside interference or messaging. 

You felt isolated.

Din looped your arm through his and you walked by his side down the long hallway. You weren’t sure where he was taking you quite yet, but he spoke casually about his day and asked about yours with real interest. His smile was so warm and sincere that you could almost ignore the negative energy that damned saber gave off.

“Where are we going?” You asked as Din turned down a hall you knew would lead outside. “If we go out, I’m gonna need to grab my jacket.” Mandalore’s seasons still confused you and it almost seemed like the previous attacks had thrown the natural order out of balance. Lately, it had been rather cold.

“It wouldn’t be much of a surprise if I told you.” Din chuckled. He paused by the doors and you couldn’t help but glance at the two silent Mandalorian guards still standing near. Movement made you glance back in time to see he had shrugged out of his thick robe. Din settled the heavy article on your shoulders and you were surprised by the warmth it encased you in. “Comfortable?”

You nodded with a small smile. The robe smelled like him. Din captured your face in his gloved hands and you gazed up at him in awe. Din was in a good mood. It had been so long since you saw him like this. Light hearted. Excited. “Are you happy?” The question fell from your lips before you could even think.

“Of course.” Din replied quickly. His tone suggested he was surprised you’d ask. “I have you.”

“You’ve always had me.” You mumbled.

Din’s face faltered, only for a second, before he bowed his head to rest on yours. Forehead to forehead. “Ni ceta.” He breathed the apology out sincerely. “I know things have been hard and…you’ve put up with so much. I’m so thankful for you, cyar’ika, and my greatest regret will always be making you question that.”

“I never questioned it.” You lifted a hand to place on top of his own. “I love you, and I know you love me. I’ve just…been worried about you, baby. I want you to be happy.”

“I am.” Din replied. “You make me happy.” He closed the space to press his lips to yours. Tender. Loving. Passionate. Din’s tongue traced the curve of your lower lip and you allowed him to deepen the kiss. Your hands shifted to tangle in his hair. Din pulled you closer, flush against his body, and it didn’t even matter to you that two other Mandalorians stood off to the side as witness to this scene. Din pulled back, separating the two of you, but he quickly set two more chaste kisses against your lips as if he couldn't bear the thought of being apart. Din whispered a promise under his breath. “For the rest of my life, I will make you happy. I’ll keep you safe.”

You had endured the hell of watching Din suffer and begin to lose himself in sorrow. Perhaps, this was the light at the end of the tunnel. Din had found stable ground, and he was now returning to a man you recognized.

Din turned away to push open the doors, but he kept your arm looped through his. The courtyard which typically sat unused and in a semi state of shambles had been cleaned and polished. Mandalorians as far as you could see stood waiting and as Din walked you down the path you spotted a medium sized platform, nearly a stage, and on it was a chair⏤ no, a throne. That was the only word to describe the heavy, dark metal seat. Standing on the platform, you recognized Bo Katan. She stood on one side of the throne. On the other side stood two others that you recognized, you had seen them with Din often, but you didn’t know their names.

“Din?” You whispered his name.

He shot you a smile but continued on. Suddenly, you found yourself on the platform standing beside Din as he faced the crowd. He lifted one hand, as if in greeting, and you stared at him as he spoke Mando’a. His voice was loud and firm. Powerful. This was a king among men. You never thought Din Djarin of all people would look like he belonged in this setting. You knew he had the attributes that would make a fair and just king, but Din had never enjoyed the spotlight. The future he craved, the future he painted while speaking to you in the dead of night, was a humble one. A home, some land, a family. Peaceful.

A bark of Mando’a, in a voice you vaguely recognized, interrupted Din and you watched as his shoulders stiffened. The crowd parted and a Mandalorin in dark blue armor approached. Axe Woves. That was his name you believed. You didn’t know what he was saying, but you could feel the tension in the air.

Din set his hand on your waist and pushed you back. You only stumbled back a few steps before Bo Katan took you by the elbow and dragged you back further.

“What⏤ What is going on?” You asked.

“Challenge.” Bo Katan said. Din drew the darksaber from his belt and as it came to life you felt your own heart plummet. It’s poison was spewing in the air⏤ suffocating you. Smug. Arrogant. Angry. Insulted. You sucked in a sharp breath. “Axe Woves has challenged Din for the darksaber. For rule.”

The fight started in a clash of weaponry. 

It was a blur of beskar, but all your eyes could focus on was the arc of the darksaber. The burning glow that was now seared into your eyes. Seared into your brain. You wanted nothing more than to take that damned thing and throw it into the darkest pit you could find. Every time you watched Din used it, you hated it all the more. The fight did not last long.

Axe Woves was a good fighter, but he was not Din Djarin.

Soon, the air was silent as Din held the edge of the darksaber just under Axe’s jaw. Close enough that the man had to have felt the heat. Axe was breathing hard, but you couldn’t see his face⏤ his back was to you. Din stood where you could see his face and he looked to be the picture of calm. 

“Cetar.” Din demanded. Bo Katan whispered, her eyes not leaving the scene, as she translated the Mando’a. ‘Kneel’. Din asked him to kneel. You felt a chill run up your spine and it wasn’t from the cold air. The darksaber was singing. Excited. Eager. It craved and craved and craved. Din repeated the command. “Cetar.”

“Nayc.” Axe replied. You didn’t need that word translated. 

At the sound of his refusal, you watched a flash of an emotion you didn’t immediately recognize in Din’s eyes. However, it was clear to see the way his lips briefly curled up into a smirk. You opened your mouth to scream, but all your words caught in your throat. Thick, heavy, and unwilling to be heard. Before you could overcome your hindrance, Din shoved the darksaber through Axe’s chest with not even a singular hiccup of hesitation. Your mouth hung open in shock and disbelief, but the horror didn’t land until Din leaned in and used his vibroblade to slice through the man’s neck in one swift motion. Blood sprayed out and the darksaber was screaming in pleasure.

“He had to make an example.” Bo Katan whispered. “It’s unfortunate, but Woves brought this upon himself.”

Din deactivated the saber and set it back onto his belt. While Axe Woves’ body slumped to the ground, Din tucked the still bloody vibroblade back into his boot’s holster. You stared at him wide eyed and horrified as Din marched back to the platform. He spoke before the crowd again, but it felt like your ears were ringing. The man you fell in love with would never have cut a man down in cold blood. The duel had been over. It didn’t have to end with blood. 

You couldn’t tear your eyes away from Din as he crossed the platform to sit on the throne. His legs were spread out in dominance as he lounged in the seat radiating confidence and pride. His eyes snapped to yours and Din held his hand out to you. Bo Katan gave you a small nudge and you stumbled toward the throne with hesitant steps. Din’s cold features melted away as he stared up at you as he always did, loving, but it only made the splattering of blood on his face that much more daunting. 

When you placed your hand in his, your fingers were trembling. Din squeezed your hand in comfort and he carefully pulled you back so you sat in his seat. Bo Katan was addressing the crowd and you stared and stared at Axe Woves’ dead body. Still laying on the courtyard’s ground, the pool of blood around him growing larger and larger.

You felt Din’s breath on your neck. His hands settled on your hips as he sat up to press his chest against your back. His breath was replaced with his lips. Din mumbled about how much he loved you and how important you were to him against your skin. All this time, all the hope you had, was for naught. The man at your back was a stranger.

“I’m sorry you had to see that.” Din pressed another hot kiss to the back of your neck. "But I just wanted to show you our new throne, my queen. Surprise."

As it turned out, the light at the end of the tunnel had turned out to be just more hellfire.

In the dead of night, you ran. 

You had hoped Din would return to his senses, become the man he once was, on his own accord. You hoped he had only needed time, but this had been proof. You were out of your depth. Din needed more than just time, he needed more than just you. As soon as you got past the thick, stormy atmosphere on Mandalore, you’d call for help. 

The plan had been to take Din’s ship. It was the only one you were familiar with the controls enough to not have to worry about running into any issues. As it turned out, flying was not going to be the biggest problem you faced.

“Cyar’ika.”

Your blood ran cold. Slowly, nervously, you turned around to see Din stood not far away. His shoulders were slumped in disappointment, and the look in his eyes could only be described as absolute and total devastation. He took one step forward and you took one back. Din’s jaw locked.

“Din…”

“What are you doing?” Din murmured. 

You shook your head. “Listen to me⏤”

“Listen??” Din scoffed. He took in a shuddering breath. “How could you⏤ Cyar’ika, I… Why?”

His voice cracked and you felt your heart ache in your chest. Din took another step toward you and you held a hand up which brought him to a sudden halt. You pressed your lips together then tried to explain that you were doing this for him. “Din, you’re not…you’re not yourself. You need help.”

“I need you.” Din replied firmly. “Everything is fine.”

“You murdered a man in cold blood today.”

“Is that what you⏤ You truly think so little of me?” Din asked. “It was a duel, cyar’ika. A challenge on my rule. I had no choice.”

You took a step toward him. “Din, you slaughtered him. And you enjoyed it.”

Din’s eyes darkened and the energy that slammed into you was possessive. For so long, you assumed that was how the darksaber felt. However, seeing the way he stared at you now, you realized the possession went much further than how the saber felt for him. He stormed forward and on pure instinct your hand drew your lightsaber without activating it. A warning. His steps stuttered. You didn’t know it was possible to visually see a person’s heart break, but you were witness to it right now.

“Cyar’ika,” Din whispered, “I would never hurt you. You know that, right?”

That was true for the man you fell in love with. 

Was it still true?

“I…I…” You struggled to find your words.

Din held his hands out, palms up, in surrender. He took slow steps toward you as if you were a skittish animal he was trying to calm. The tenderness in Din’s gaze cracked your resolve. He reached out and let his hands slowly drag down your arms until they reached your hands. You felt your body tremble. It was easy to make the decision to run when you stared at Din’s features covered in blood, but now? His warm, brown eyes reminded you of every soft touch and tender word of love. 

“Just come back with me.” Din whispered. “Talk to me, cyar’ika. I know…I know things haven’t been right.” He squeezed your hands and pushed the one holding the lightsaber back to your hip. “Let me fix this. Let me make this right. Give me a chance.”

Din leaned forward to set his forehead against yours. A familiar motion that brought you comfort. You let out a soft sigh. One more night. You could spend it talking with Din, gauging a better plan, and it wasn’t like you would be able to leave right now anyways. Not with him right in front of you like this. The look in his eyes told you he wasn’t just going to let you walk away and the absolute last thing you wanted to do was fight him. 

“Please?” Din pleased.

“Okay.” You murmured. 

The bright smile of relief that crossed his face made your heart flutter. Din pulled you into a tight hug and he clung to you like a lifeline. This would be alright. This would be okay. You’d make sure of it. Din slipped his hand into yours and carefully tugged you alongside him. The entire walk back to your bedroom was silent. Din’s thumb traced patterns against your skin.

“I love you.” Din said the moment you were back in your shared room together. His words came out as a desperate ache. “I’m sorry…”

“No, Din, I…I love you. I will always love you.” You replied. “I was leaving to help you.” Din’s brows furrowed in confusion. “I just think you’ve lost sight of your path.” You pressed your lips together then settled your hands on his chest. “I think we should leave Mandalore. Not forever, just⏤ I think we should visit Boba or Karga. Peli? Or… Or maybe we can reach out to Skywalker. Try to visit Grogu.”

Din’s eyes widened at the suggestion. 

He wrapped his hands around your wrists then lifted your hands so he could press a soft kiss against one palm then the other. Din nodded. “Okay. Tomorrow. I’ll be better, cyar’ika.” You gave him a small smile and he leaned in to crash his lips against yours. The way his lips moved against yours made you feel like he was trying to physically beg you to stay with him. Din had never been a man of many words, he’d whisper kind sentiments, but he always showed how much he cared by action. “I love you.” Din’s mouth dropped to your neck as his hands began to tear at your clothes. “You are everything to me.”

 Your hands reached out to unlatch Din’s armor. It was muscle memory for you. How many times had you done this exact same action in the dark during your time with him? Too many to count. His besker fell to the ground and the second he was bare of any armor, Din scooped you up and carried you to bed.

In the morning everything would be okay.

You’d make it so.

A familiar hand caressing the side of your face is what you woke to. You forced your eyes open, groggy, to find that Din was sitting on the side of the bed leaning over you. He wore his armor once more. Din leaned down and pressed a feather light kiss to your forehead.

“Ni ceta, cyar’ika.”

“Din?” You questioned.

“I want you to know that everything I do is because I love you.” Din said. “I’ve lost everything, but you.” He cradled the side of your face. “Even this, accepting the title and responsibility of Mandalor, I did with you in mind.”

There was a tone in his voice that was making you nervous. Slowly, you sat up and shook your head, “Din, I never asked you to do that.”

“I know.” He replied. “But this is how I protect you.”

“Din⏤”

“There is nothing in this galaxy that will harm you while I’m around.” Din said firmly. He stood up off the bed and gave you a tight nod. “I won’t lose you. I can’t lose you. This won’t last forever, I swear it. But I can’t leave anything to chance. Not when you mean so much to me.”

Din began to walk toward the bedroom door to leave and you stared at him in confusion. Quickly, before he could leave, you threw the blankets off your body and jumped out of bed. There was a heaviness around your left ankle, a coldness, and with every movement came a rattling. You glanced down to see a shiny, silver chain locked around your ankle. It trailed to the wall beside your bed.

“Din.” You breathed. He stopped but said nothing. “Din?” He turned around with sad eyes. Panicked, you began to rush toward him, but a few feet away from him the chain caught your ankle and you nearly fell to the floor. Warm hands caught you by the arms and pulled your back to your feet. Teary eyed, you shook your head. “What have you done?”

“It’s temporary.” Din repeated himself. “Just until I know you won’t hurt yourself by leaving.”

“Hurt myself⏤ Din, I⏤”

“Cyar’ika, I'm doing this for you. To protect you.” Din gave you a tight lipped smile of regret. “Or until I can make you understand.” Din leaned his forehead against yours. The soft action you loved ruined by his words. “You are mine, cyar’ika. You are mine, and I am yours.” That look of possession was in his eyes again. “And because you are mine, I have to take care of you. And that’s exactly what I plan to do.”

Din was beginning to step back so you quickly cupped his face between your hands. This wasn’t happening. This couldn’t be. As softly as you could manage, trying to bite back the fear and panic in your voice, you mumbled. “Din, baby, you’re losing yourself. I love you, but you’re losing yourself and it’s breaking my heart. Let me go. Let me help you.”

He turned his head and gently kissed the inside of your palm.

“Maybe I am.” Din murmured. “But if that’s the cost of keeping you, then it’s one I will happily pay.”

Din left without another word and you crumpled to the ground in tears. You mourned for the man you lost and cursed the man who took his place.

mando'a translations

ni ceta: i'm sorry cyar'ika: darling, sweetheart cetar: kneel nayc: no

#the mandalorian #din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #mando x you #mando x reader #mando #mandalorian fanfic #mandalorian x you #mandalorian x reader #dark!din djarin #female reader #reader insert

[multifandombitxh]

Keep It Down

Pairing: Din Djarin x Fem!Reader

Genre: Smut/Angst with some fluff sprinkled in there ✨

Warnings: Self pleasure, caught in the act, jealous/protective Din, 18+

AN: some good ol Jealous!Din for the girlies 😌 It's such a stereotypical fic gang I'm gonna be so real with you lmao. It's also a long one so prepare for the worst typos you've ever witnessed.

PS I haven't seen S3 yet but I got back into the hype 💁‍♀️

18+ minors dni

It had been quite some time since you were able to have a moment to yourself. So long, in fact, that you couldn't remember the last time you did anything for yourself that was even remotely relaxing. You had been stuck on one mission for months, scouring the corners of each galaxy for a specific target with an unreasonably high bounty over their head. Din kept telling you it would be worth it in the end, but you were beginning to doubt that sentiment about two months into the search.

After a very pleasant visit to Alderaan, you were able to snag something for yourself to help with some much needed "stress relief".

You did your best to hide it from Din, considering you really didn't want him to know you'd just purchased a vibrating self massager. They were hard to come by, so when you found a merchant that sold them discreetly, you knew you had to take the chance. After it was all said and done, and Din asked where you'd been while he was busy getting information about the target, it was hard to explain to him where you'd gone.

"And where have you been this whole time?" He asked as you approached him outside of a local bar.

"I was, um, chatting up some locals," You lied, trying to maintain some semblance of composure as he stared you down. "Wasn't able to find anything about the target. I don't think he's been here."

"Well, while you were busy wasting your time, I was able to find one of his distant relatives," He explained, "Turns out he has such a high bounty for more than just murder, he's a real piece of shit in the eyes of his family. She said she knows where he might be."

"Yeah? Where?"

"Tatooine."

You scoffed. "That's not far."

"Which means we need to leave soon," He explained, "There's a crew heading there in just a few hours."

"Okay, so who's the crew?" You asked, eyeing him suspiciously. "Why can't we just go on our own? The ship could make it."

"It could, but not that quickly," He sighed, "Their ship is a little more advanced. It'll get us there faster."

You shrugged, raising an eyebrow at him. "Have you talked to them?"

He nodded once and began to walk off, likely in the direction of the meeting place. "I have. That distant relative? She knows these guys, let me talk to one of them over her communicator. They said they'll take us there, no questions asked."

You followed closely, trying to match his pace. "I find that hard to believe."

"You find a lot of things hard to believe," He teased, nudging your shoulder with his own. "It's kept us out of a lot of trouble. Always liked that about you."

You tried not to react to the compliment- the last thing he needed was an ego boost- but internally, it made your heart flutter and your stomach feel heavy. You opted not to respond to this, hoping he wouldn't press.

Unfortunately, that only made it worse.

"Would it kill you to take a compliment every once in a while?" He asked, his tone annoyed.

"It might," You replied with a smile, "Never done it, so I don't know."

"Maybe you should try it some time," He scoffed back at you, causing you to roll your eyes.

Your relationship with Din was complicated to say the least. You knew from the start you had some kind of attraction to him- what kind, you weren't sure, but it was strong and unrelenting. His voice was dangerously enticing, leaving you shivering any time he spoke just above a whisper, and the mystery of his face only added to the excitement. You had no clue what he looked like under that helmet, but you didn't care at this point. It never occurred to you to fantasize about his appearance- the way he carried himself, his voice, his confidence, everything about him struck you more.

But you'd be lying if you said you weren't a little bit curious about the color of his eyes.

When the two of you finally arrived at the crew's headquarters, you gave him a skeptical look. The warehouse before you was old, rusting and decaying in every corner. It was discolored, looking to have once been a pale green. The roof had caved in in several places, and the stairs to the roof were a death trap waiting to collapse on any unsuspecting victims. Din took note of your expression, waving his hand once to dismiss it.

"Not a word," He commanded, "I don't want to hear it."

"All I'm saying-"

"Don't make me tell you twice, Y/N. I already know what you're going to say, so zip it."

Frowning, you folded your arms over your chest in a pout. You followed him inside, passing through a creaky metal door that you were sure would be better off as scrap metal. Din led the way, checking corners and keeping one hand close to his blaster. As you entered the warehouse, the smell of burning rubber invaded your nostrils, causing you to make a face. As you rounded a corner, a large, shiny silver ship sat in the center of the large open space.

It stood out like a sore thumb, clean and sparkling among the rubble. You both exchanged looks, watching as three people stood around the ship and chatted away. They didn't seem hostile, but you knew better than to underestimate them. You approached carefully, keeping an eye out for any others who might be hiding nearby. One of them took notice of you as you stepped under a light, giving you away.

"Hey, the Mandalorian is here!" He called out, waving excitedly at the two of you. The man was tall and thin, barely any meat on his bones but a smile that was charming in its own way. "He's got a friend! Come on over, you guys!"

Din glanced over at you slowly, and you returned his look with a shrug. As you walked over to the group, you took in the remaining two of the crew; a woman with short, dark hair, several tattoos, and a frown that would scare off anyone. The other, a man of similar stature to the first, wore round, thick glasses, and was covered in what appeared to be oil.

"Lera said you'd be coming soon," The man said, "What are your names? I'm Dom, that's Starsei, and this guy over here is my twin, Arus."

"Y/N," You greeted, offering a small smile, then gesturing to Din. "He won't tell you his name, just call him whatever you like."

Din nodded, affirming your words. Dom watched the two of you for a moment, a huge grin still plastered to his face. A fourth member of the crew emerged from underneath the ship, covered in more oil than Arus. His dark, straight hair clung to his forehead and his mouth hung open as he breathed heavily. Oil stuck to his bare torso as he offered the two of you a wave.

"And that's Nox," Dom said, an annoyed tone to his voice.

You couldn't help smiling at Nox- he was handsome, likely more handsome than most- with a wide jaw, dark stubble, and his body toned similarly to that of a God. You shifted your weight as he locked eyes with you, shooting you a half smile that gave you butterflies. Din stood beside you, moving closer as he noticed the tension that hung between you and the mystery man. Nox took note of Din as well, offering him a full smile.

"Have any trouble getting here?" He asked, his voice just as dreamy as he looked.

"No," Din said simply.

An uncomfortable silence fell over the room as the two of them held each other's gaze, as if a silent conversation was happening just between them. You cleared your throat and looked over to Dom, giving him a warm smile. "So, um, when do we leave?"

"As soon as you're ready," He replied, "We were just finishing up repairs on the ship, so you're welcome to head inside and make yourselves at home. We'll all be roommates for the next two days, so we'll do a big dinner tonight to get to know each other better."

"Sounds great," You said, your voice as friendly as you could muster. There was a clear rivalry brewing between Nox and Din, and you were trying to do everything in your power to alleviate the tension. "We'll head inside."

Din ignored you, still staring at Nox. Irritated, you grabbed his upper arm and began dragging him toward the ship, smiling at the others along the way. Nox caught your eye again and you smiled, hoping he wasn't intimidated by Din too much. Once inside the ship, you all but slammed Din against a wall once you were out of earshot of the others.

"What is wrong with you?" You asked.

"What's wrong with me?" He replied, his voice filled with anger. "What's wrong with you?"

"I haven't done anything wrong!" You said, shouting in a whisper. "You're the one acting crazy!"

"Oh, I'm the crazy one?" He laughed, "I'm not the one making doe eyes at strangers."

Your mouth hung open in shock. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me, Y/N," He went on, "This is serious. We don't know them. If he tries something because you couldn't help yourself, and everything goes sideways, this was all for nothing."

"Why do you care?" You asked, becoming annoyed with his reasoning. "He's hot, give me a break! I'm allowed to think people are hot, Din!"

He let out a deep sigh, shaking his head. "We're on a mission, Y/N. This isn't the time."

"Well, it's been a long mission," You huffed, raising an eyebrow at him. "And I'm bored. The least I can do is have a little fun."

In truth, you hadn't even been planning on doing anything with Nox other than admire his good-looks. Your feelings for Din ran deep, and you weren't about to ignore those feelings for one good looking guy. If anything, you were hoping this would show Din that you weren't his, and that he had no claim over you. Maybe, just maybe, it would be enough for him to come clean about his own feelings.

If he even had any for you, that was.

Once everyone was loaded up onto the ship and you'd set off, you found yourself relaxing on a very comfy couch in a very cramped lounge area. The ship was dimly lit, offering little light to help you find your way around, so you opted to sit down and wait until someone told you to do something. After a while, Arus found you, and decided to sit with you.

"So, uh, is your partner, um... Okay?" He asked quietly.

"He's fine," You said, waving your hand.

"What was he so angry about?"

You shrugged, trying not to give away what was really going on between you. "Beats me."

You decided to get to know Arus a bit, finding out that he and Dom were engineers that escaped from the Empire many years ago after faking their deaths. You learned that Starsei is their pilot, and she seems standoffish because she doesn't often speak. She was a prisoner of the Empire, who helped Dom and Arus escape many years ago. Nox is their newest recruit; also an engineer, but mostly specializes in communications. He also used to be a smuggler.

After a while of chatting back and forth, Nox joined the party, sitting between you and Arus.

"Seems like the Mandalorian isn't having a great time if I'm not mistaken," Nox joked, glancing over at you. "Thought he was gonna slit my throat after I saw him in the hall just now."

"He'll warm up to everyone eventually," You said with a small smile, "He's a little hesitant about new people."

"So, how long have you two been together?" Nox asked, wiggling his eyebrows at you. Shock took over your features and you laughed awkwardly at the gesture.

"We're not together," You stated, "We've been working together for a long time now. Maybe a year."

Nox seemed to ponder your response for a moment as Dom entered the room, knocking on the wall to get everyone's attention.

"Arus, we need you up front," Dom said in a soft voice. "Star could use some help."

Arus excused himself, leaving you with Nox in silence. You tried to relax, sinking into the sofa as much as you could to appear as non-threatening as possible. Nox did the same, leaning back and yawning as he crossed his arms over his broad chest. The only sound was the rush of the ship, shaking softly as it dove through space.

"I want to know more about you," Nox said after a moment, turning to meet your gaze. His green eyes were soft, but lidded. "Who is Y/N, exactly? Other than the Mandalorian's pet, I mean."

"I am not his pet," You scoffed, laughing slightly and hitting his upper arm before looking away. "We're friends, that's all."

"You might want to check on that with him," He replied, "He was ready to kill me earlier just for looking at you. I don't think that's a normal thing to do for someone who's just a friend."

Nox's hand came to rest on your knee, his palm open fully and his thumb gently stroking back and forth. "If I'm being honest, I think he could tell why I was looking at you, and I think that pissed him off."

When you met his gaze, a pit formed in your stomach. Nox was handsome, and charming, and clearly making a move on you. But... Something was wrong. It felt wrong. There was something about the way his hand felt on your knee that made your skin crawl, his voice made you cringe, and the entire setting was uncomfortable. It was hard to pinpoint exactly why, until you thought a little harder about it.

He wasn't Din.

"I... Think I should go," You said, standing from the couch and turning back to face him briefly. "Look, you seem nice. But I'm... I'm not interested."

He smirked up at you. "I knew it. You totally have a thing for each other."

Dom appeared in the doorway again, a huge grin on his face. "Who's ready to eat?"

-

After what felt like hours, you were finally able to step away from dinner to your quarters- Starsei showed you the way- closing the door behind you. You removed your gear, tossing it to the floor and sighing in relief at the loss of the heaviness. Removing the massager from your pocket, you walked to the bathroom and gave it a good wash, not trusting it after being in your pocket all day.

Once you returned to the room, you actually took in what it looked like. Star had told you that you and Din would have to share one room, which hadn't bothered you until you realized there was only one bed that sat in the center of the room, facing the door. It looked big enough for both of you, but still, you knew it would be an awkward conversation to have once he arrived.

The room was dimly lit- much like the rest of the ship- one wall light sitting above the door and casting a reddish glow over the entire room. The bed looked uncomfortable, with a thin, gray blanket sitting atop the mattress and two equally thin pillows where your heads would rest. It wasn't home, by any means, but it was a place to sleep.

With that, you laid down in the bed, shivering from anticipation. It had been a long time since you'd had enough privacy for something like this. Not bothering to remove your pants, you slowly lowered your hand past the waistband and sighed softly as the blue silicone material grazed your skin. With one press of the button, you felt yourself melting into the hard mattress, all of your worries fading away with the soft sound of buzzing.

Your breathing began to pick up in pace and you wriggled slightly as the sensation became more and more intense. It was getting hard to suppress the sounds you were making, so you bit down on your lip to try and stifle whatever noises threatened to come out. A shaky breath managed to worm its way out of you, hitching in your throat as it started to escape.

Thoughts of Din infiltrated your imagination, and you didn't try to suppress them as they came. You thought about the sound of his voice, talking you through the pleasure and egging you on. A wave of energy passed through you and went straight to your core, wetness beginning to pool. You thought about his hands pinning you down as he had his way with you, panting and sweating above you. It was almost too much, and it felt like the room was spinning.

Closing your eyes, you began to focus on finding release, waves of pleasure flooding your body with each passing second. Your breathing picked up in pace, and it was getting harder and harder to stop the tiny moans that escaped your throat. With a flick of your wrist, the massager hit the perfect spot, pulling a sharp gasp out of you. Just as it left your lips, a large, warm hand clamped over your mouth.

Terror filled your body and replaced all sense of satisfaction, forcing you to rip your hand out of its hiding place and your eyes to shoot open. Din hovered over you, one hand covering the lower half of your shocked face while the other pressed into the mattress beside your head. He was missing most of his armor, his helmet the only piece that remained. Adrenaline shot through your veins, and you struggled against his hold.

"Sshh," He shushed you, holding a single finger up to the part of his mask where his lips would be. "Everyone in this quadrant is gonna hear you if you don't keep it down."

Confusion replaced the shock, your eyebrows drawing together as you breathed heavily through your nose. He seemed to see the questions in your eyes, and you could swear you could hear the smirk in his voice when he spoke again.

"I could hear you from down the hall," He explained, "Thought maybe you were... With someone. But it looks like I was wrong."

You shot him a glare, thinking back to the evening you spent with Nox and how it must have implicated something different to Din.

"I don't have to help you, if you don't want me to," He reasoned, the hand covering your mouth beginning to lessen the pressure it was applying. "I just don't want you to get caught by the others. Just say the word, I'll walk away and we'll never speak of this again."

You wished you could see his face to make a better decision about what his intentions were, but with the helmet in the way, it made it impossible. You thought back to the feelings you were having just minutes ago, and felt excitement bubble up in your gut. Despite the surprise, you wanted this. Your expression softened under his gaze, and you felt your body relax under his touch.

"The way you're looking at me... Should I take that as a yes?" He asked, tilting his head to one side. "You want me here? You don't want me to go find your little friend, do you?"

You shook your head slowly and a soft, amused laugh filtered through his helmet, sending a shiver down your spine.

"You wanna give that thing to me?" He asked, gesturing with his head toward the massager. You lifted your hand and placed it in his, your body beginning to shake at the idea of what was about to happen. "That's my girl."

His words sent a shockwave down to your middle, causing a soft whine to escape from behind his hand. His girl. Remembering to keep you quiet, he pressed down on your mouth again, shaking his head.

"As much as I want to hear every little sound you're going to make," Din said, his voice sounding strained. "Can't have anyone else listening in, got that? You're mine tonight."

You nodded.

"Glad to see you can follow orders somewhere, at least," He joked, the laughter in his voice making you shiver.

With one hand he managed to remove your pants, lowering them to just below your knees, the cool air hitting you and making you shake. He took note of this and pressed the massage straight against your clit, keeping it there, but not turning it on. Frustration began to build as he teased you, running the material over the spot slowly and gently. Your brows drew together at this and you gave him another deadly look.

"Give me a break, I've been waiting for this for a long time," He said, sounding breathless as he looked you up and down. "You have more scars than I thought you would. Still, you're as perfect as I imagined."

With wide eyes you wiggled free from the hand that covered your mouth. "Are you saying you've thought about me like this?" You asked, your voice strained.

"Quiet," He commanded, shoving you back down into the mattress with his free hand. "I already told you, the others might be listening."

"Seriously?" You questioned, exasperated. "Did you think I wasn't gonna react to that?'

"I knew you would," He replied, gripping your jaw with his fingers. "I just wanted to distract you so I could do this."

You opened your mouth to respond, but were quickly silenced by his hand once more as he pressed the button on the massager, effectively turning it on. A hearty groan filled your throat as your head fell back, Din's hand keeping you in place. Your knees shook as he worked you over, circling the massager before pressing it against your clit again. Whines and moans were easily muffled by his hand.

Without thinking twice, you reached out and gripped his bicep, your fingertips digging into the soft flesh that hid beneath his shirt. He grunted at your touch, lowering his face closer to yours as you squirmed beneath him. "Eyes on me, yeah? Keep your eyes on me, Y/N."

With that, you reached up to touch the side of his helmet- a silent plea for him to remove it. You begged with your eyes, since you couldn't with your mouth, hoping he would give you what you wanted so you could look him in the eye. He hesitated, his movements slowing as you pressed your hand to his helmet. Sighing, he removed his hand from your mouth, instead placing it to your cheek. "I can't, you know that."

"Please," You blurted, all dignity vanishing from your body as you begged him to show his face. "You know me-"

The massager hit a rather sensitive spot, causing you to cry out and lurch upwards. Just as it began to leave your mouth, his hand was quick to silence you.

"You've gotta be more careful than that," He scolded, pressing it harder up against you. Your back arches off the bed, causing your chest to graze his. Sighing shakily, he kept the massager stationary, sending wave after wave of pleasure washing over you. You'd all but forgotten your desire to lock eyes with him, your climax on the horizon and taking up all priority in your brain.

"That's it," He encouraged, drawing out each word. "You're being so good for me."

Broken whimpers spilled past his hand, and he didn't stop them this time. Instead, he doubled down, maintaining the same position that was driving you closer and closer to the edge. It was within reach now, just a few seconds more and you'd be coming undone beneath him. Din could sense this somehow, his face mere inches from yours.

"I know, I know," He mewled, breathing hard behind his mask. "Be a good girl, now. Give me what I want."

His words were the tipping point, sending you flying over the edge. Your climax crashed through you, your head falling back against the mattress as several stifled moans filled the air. Din hummed as you finished, as if satisfied by his work. He never wavered, his helmet stationary, a sure sign that he watched your face the entire time. His hand abandoned your mouth and you gasped, gulping in air as you came down from your high. The buzzing ceased and your body fell limp, your muscles relaxing.

Din helped you redress yourself, taking his time and tracing his fingers over your exposed skin before it vanished beneath your clothes. "So that's where you went today," He laughed gently, turning the massager over in his hand. "I knew you weren't talking to locals. You've never been a good liar."

You groaned and rolled onto your side, facing away from him. Embarrassment flooded your body, the realization of what had just happened setting in. Despite the fact that he entered the room, saw you as you pleasured yourself, and still felt the desire to help you get off, you couldn't help feeling vulnerable.

"Y/N."

His voice sounded... Different. It wasn't metallic, it didn't sound muffled or altered in any way. It was organic, and soft, and hung in the air like gentle music to your ears. The realization hit you like a brick.

His helmet was off.

As you tried to turn back around, he was quick to stop you, moving you back onto your side as he laid beside you in the bed. His breath hit your neck, whispering past your ear like a soft breeze. The sensation made you flinch, drawing in a sharp breath as his arm wrapped around your middle from behind. He pulled you close, the center of your shoulders pressing into his warm chest.

"I hope you know I did that by choice," He mumbled, his lips grazing your skin. "I didn't embarrass you, did I?"

"No, no, it's not that," You said quickly, "I just... didn't think you'd ever want to do something like that. I thought it was against your creed. It took me off guard, I guess."

"It is," Din sighed, "But if I'm breaking the rules for anyone, it should be you."

"Are you still mad at me?" You asked, a hint of playfulness in your voice.

The quiet laugh that left his lips was enough to make anyone crumble at his feet. "I was never mad at you. I could tell you were getting... Frustrated, to put it mildly. I didn't blame you for being attracted to someone else. It was him I was mad at."

"You barely knew him," You replied.

"I know," Din agreed, leaning in close enough to kiss your jaw. "But he was looking at my girl."

#din djarin x reader #mandalorian x reader #mando x you #mando x y/n #mando x reader #mandalorian smut #mandalorian fanfic #the mandalorian #din djarin x female reader #din djarin x y/n #din djarin x you #din djarin smut #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin #mywriting

[talaok]

I just saw the video of the interviewer and Pedro where she called him daddy and asked how he was doing and his response was, “I’m alright, mama.” And I am in DESPERATE need of a fic. Wherever you want to go with it.

pairing: Pedro Pascal x interviewer!reader

a/n: This wasn't supposed to go like this. It's much more fluffy than I expected, but oh well, hope you enjoy.

You were nervous, as always.

The two years you'd been doing this flew out the window each time you knew you had to interview him.

It was such a stupid thing, a schoolgirl crush, but as much as you reminded yourself just how idiotic it was, the feeling never quite faded.

You had no idea what it was, the way he shook your hand the first time, the way his eyes never left yours, the sweet sound of your name rolling off his tongue...

It was all in the back of your mind, locked and loaded for you to remember.

You try to be calm with him though, playful even, but god if he doesn't make it hard.

He and his handsomeness and what you firmly believed was involuntary flirtatiousness.

You were taking a deep breath when you saw the flashes on the carpet starting to die down.

fuck.

It was time.

just like magic, he appeared before you in a few moments, followed by his assistant.

They exchanged a few words and you saw Pedro's eyes focus on you while the men beside him explained to him something to his ear.

You swallowed thickly, his gaze draining all the breath out of you.

God, he was beautiful, even his outfit fit him to a t.

Before you had gotten enough time to properly freak out, he was walking towards you.

"good evening Pedro!" you said cheerfully.

"good evening to you too Y/n"

You had to remind yourself his assistant had probably just reminded him of your name, and that he didn't just know it on the tip of his tongue.

You knew what you needed to say next, but the pit in your stomach informed you it wasn't a good idea.

You forced the fear down.

"so how're you doing daddy?"

He chuckled, and you couldn't help but stare.

"I'm alright mama" he grinned, and you swore you could feel your brain leaking out of your ears, as it had melted.

mama?

"you don't like that?" he noticed the expression on your face.

"I-I do" you blushed "maybe a little too much"

What the fuck

Why the fuck did you just say that?

He laughed softly, a smirk tugging at his lips " That's interesting" he spoke, and you felt like you were about to die, so you decided to change subject.

"so, if you remember-"

"I remember" he interrupted

"let me ask the question first" you laughed

"I don't have to, I remember every interview with you" he smiled "You're not easy to forget"

oh

If you were having troubles breathing before, your lungs were now completely useless.

"I-" you gulped, your eyes glancing at the expecting man behind the camera.

"It's alright sweetheart, what was the question?"

You were as red as the blood flowing beneath your skin.

"You really wanna get me fired, don't you?" you joked.

"that's the last thing I want" he shook his head "how else would I get to see you?"

"well there are other ways," you said before you could stop yourself.

He smirked, and you noticed his eyes scanning your face "I know there are" he said "Maybe I should get to work on those"

and just like that, your heart stopped.

did he mean...?

You couldn't think about it, not now, you had an interview to carry on, or you were actually gonna get fired.

"You have to stop"

"stop what?"

"I can't interview you if I have a heart attack, Pedro" You smiled, and he reciprocated, his eyes playful and yet somewhat... adoring.

"You're right, I'll stop," he said "What's the first question, mama?"

this bastard.

__ __ __

"thank you very much," you said, ending the interview.

"thank you" he smiled, as the camera shut off and the cameramen slipped away after murmuring something to your ear.

You could hear all the other interviewers shout and call for him, but for some reason, he didn't move.

"You should go," you told him "They're all waiting to interview you"

"I know," he said as if it physically pained him "but first I wanted to do something I've been thinking of for a while now" 

"what's that?" you asked

"ask for your number"

You froze. Every molecule of your being stilled in shock.

"I-" you stuttered "a-are you serious?"

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"b-because you're Pedro Pascal"

He grinned "And you're y/n y/l/n, the most beautiful and charming woman I've ever met"

Your mouth couldn't help but to break into the dreamiest of smiles, and according to Pedro, the most breathtaking too.

"where?"

he frowned

"Where do I give you my number?"

he too, broke into a smile, relief washing over him as you accepted "here" he patted his pockets "Put it in my phone" he said, handing it to you.

You did, your fingers threatening to type wrong as they trembled.

"done" you said, giving it back

"I gotta go now" he sighed "but..."

your eyes shot up to his

"please don't change your mind sweetheart" he begged

"wouldn't dream of it" you promised, earning a big smile, as he backed away into the crowd on the carpet.

You put your hands on the metal fence in front of you, exhaling deeply as you let your head fall between your shoulders.

did that just really happen?

Did I finally go completely crazy?

And then, just as you were about to accept your fate as a soon-to-be psychiatric hospital patient, your phone dinged.

Two new messages from an unknown number lit up the screen.

-hey mama

-so do you have plans for tomorrow night?

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x fem reader #pedro pascal x female reader #pedro pascal x y/n #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal fluff #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal interview #the last of us hbo #the last of us #tlou #tlou hbo #the mandalorian #narcos #joel miller #javier pena #mando #pedro pascal x interviewer!reader #fluff

[no-droids]

Another Rough Day

gif credit @chrishemsworht

Part Twenty of the Rough Day Series

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 13.7K

Warnings: Angst, violence, canon-typical blood and gore, language, hurt/comfort

A/N: i wanna thank yall for sticking around during my hermit era, in the time ive been gone i am now officially a junior at a university majoring in aerospace and it’s a fuckin nightmare and i hate everything and god help us all literally kill me and I will be posting INCREDIBLY slowly because of that (I’m talkin weeks or months in between updates yall, im sorry I can’t dedicate more time to this but I am going to finish this fic within the next handful of chapters idk maybe 5 or 6 so you shouldn’t have to wait too too long).  As a heads up there will be hard angst as we enter the final arc, there will be hurt and it’ll get dark but everything is gonna turn out alright so thanks for sticking with me and continuing to stick with me. im sorry if you dont like it or your expectations were subverted or if this isn’t what you’d hoped it would be after following and waiting around for so long but this was planned a long time ago and it took me a good year or two to recognize that I started writing this fic for me and now I’m going to end it writing for me and I hope yall can respect that

ALSO I asked my best BEST FRIEND in the entire world @cptnbvcks to collaborate with me for this after we both took a very long break from creating and she drew some GORGEOUS artwork for this chapter so it will be posted at the end, everyone please go follow her and say hello

ps brittany girl you’re a fuckin menace i had to use my own two ears and listen to ethan literally say the words “the mandalorian cums, hard” what the fuck was that im actually suing

anyways chapter below the cut lets get serious yall

---

You take two of them down before they even realize they’re being attacked.

Your aim is as swift and steady as if Din were behind your shoulder right now, calmly pointing out which stationary tree to hit next in rapid succession.  You’re positioned perfectly at the bottom of the ramp to take full advantage of the ambush, the only thing running through your mind is strategy and the constant calculating of angles and ricochets.  The other three troopers are trapped inside the open Crest and you’re right next to a large boulder that you can step behind for cover, but it proves unnecessary as the rumors were apparently true.

They’re… awful.

Not a single blaster is even fired in your direction—you think you see maybe one panicked red shot bounce around in the hull, but that’s it.  The troopers fumble for their guns and trip over each other at the unexpected attack—a few scream like children through the modulators, but you’re temporarily deaf to anything besides the screech of your weapon hitting its target and the crumpling of armored bodies.

Later on, if someone were to ask you to describe exactly what happened—who died first, who ran for cover, who cried out for help—you don’t think you’d be able to.  You don’t even really feel like a person right now.  The entire thing is cold, robotic survival instinct, pure ruthlessness rising in your soul for the first time in your life.  It feels sick.  Wrong in your bones.  Born from preemptive defense in fear of your life, but that doesn’t mean you stop.  Not until all of them stop moving.

You empty the entire fucking canister for a handful of stormtroopers, firing plasma and char marks across every square inch of the pristine hull even after the last one drops.  Your heart is beating too fast, your finger keeps pulling the trigger multiple times even after the blaster clicks uselessly, completely empty and beeping a warning that it must’ve begun emitting ages ago.  Being out of ammo scares you—you suddenly feel vulnerable, even though the very far away logical part of your mind reminds you that they have to all be dead at this point and no physical threat was ever able to graze you.

Regardless, you quickly spin behind the boulder and grab another canister from your belt, giving it a spare check for leaks while the empty one slides and drops to the rocky ground.  It’s the first time you’ve ever had to reload this weapon instead of just pointing and shooting, but the mechanics are relatively simple and your brain makes up for your lack of coherent thoughts with lightning fast perception.  What's difficult is that your hands are starting to shake now that you’re not aiming, you’re not breathing correctly because you’re not really breathing at all.  You can’t tell the difference between the adrenaline-fueled dissociative silence that muffles everything around you or if it really is just that quiet now.  No more clatter of armor, no modulated voices or terrified screams.  No blasters, no footsteps along the ramp, no birds singing.

You quickly pause to lift your elbow and check the enormous eyes blinking up at you, tiny claws still holding tight to the fabric of your tunic and completely unharmed, and then you force yourself to move.  The blaster is held out in front of you while you walk forward and your finger rests on the trigger, begging to be pulled again.  It’s suspenseful and terrifying in a different way than before—now it’s less about psyching yourself up for confrontation and more about the fact that any sudden movement could mean your very swift end.

Silence.  Silence.  You’re numb and raw at the same time, walking up the ramp as your eyes fly everywhere, not even registering the blood or gore, just searching for movement.  You don’t know if you feel like a predator or prey, you’re that much more brutal and inhuman because of how fucking terrified you are.  You count four stormtroopers in the hull laying crumpled and still on the metal floor, but the one in the far corner only has blood on his shoulder.  You quickly swing the blaster around to remedy that, but then—

“P-Please don’t kill me!”

His words remind you of something.  Reality, maybe.  A world outside yourself and the kid’s survival, the living beings behind the bloody armor your enemies wear.

It’s a miracle your finger stays hovering over the trigger, and you watch him throw the blaster at your feet with a clang and scramble to show you his empty hands.  “Please don’t kill me, please don’t kill me—I’m not loyal to the Empire, I don’t want to be here, please, I don’t want to die, I don’t want to die—”

Behind the mask, your expression furrows.  Stormtroopers are loyal to the bitter end, what is he saying?  They embrace their expendiality, it’s the only thing that makes them any sort of a real threat.  Kuiil told you horror stories about them during your childhood, the cloning facilities and the propaganda they’re force fed since infancy.  It’s nearly impossible to find one who hasn’t been raised from birth to serve the Empire, no matter how crumbled and trace its remaining authority may be.

No, this is a trap, it has to be.  Your expression twists with dread after hearing him speak, readjusting your aim with the blaster and preparing yourself for the years of nightmares that’ll follow—but then he cries out, “Wait!” and then removes his helmet with trembling hands.

You pause, staring down at him in shock.

It’s him, you recognize him immediately.  It’s the same face from a hologram puck you bore into your memory, spent multiple days staring at so you’d be able to spot him under any disguise or circumstances.  Oshua Ryler.  Your quarry, the fifth puck, the one Din was out Maker knows where searching for before this entire mess happened.  A stormtrooper?  His puck said nothing about the Empire, this doesn’t make any sense.  What is he doing here?  Stormtroopers don’t have pucks, they don’t have bounties or relatives or loved ones searching for them.  They’re brainwashed, replaceable, faceless soldiers in suits of armor and they don’t even have names.

“Please don’t kill me,” he begs again, staring at you with wide eyes even as he cowers.  “I have a family, I-I just want to go home, please—”

“Shut up.”  You can’t think straight with him crying like that and you’re wasting so much time just standing here trying to process when your brain had to literally shut itself down to even do the things you’ve already done.  You have to kill him and escape, you have to—you can’t trust this complication, not with the tiny claws currently digging into your back and reminding you of your purpose, but it was so much easier when he had on a helmet.  You hate looking at his face.  It’s going to haunt your dreams now, just like the man you stabbed on Corellia.

“Please don’t kill me—please don’t kill me,” he screws his eyes up and breathes over and over instead, and your stomach wrenches with disgust.  His posture and expression are so fucking pitiful, you can barely keep your eyes on him through the overwhelming nausea and aversion that climbs up your throat.  He’s with the Empire, and they’re looking for the baby.  You know what needs to be done.  Pull the trigger, just one small movement from you and it’ll be all over.  It would be the easiest thing in the world, it would be so easy.

But then instead, you ask, “Why are you a stormtrooper?”

“I’m n-not—I hate the Empire—”

“The Empire is ashes.”  You don’t know if you’re yelling or whispering with how much blood is roaring through your ears.  “They hold no power anymore.  Why are you with them?”

“Because the one thing they have left is money!”  The quarry shrills the words at you, ghostly pale to the point of turning green.  “Th-They buy troopers now—they opened up a whole new market for the smugglers, there’s a base nearby that’s used for training and…”  He stares wide eyed at you and gulps.  “C-Conditioning.”

Your brain is already going a trillion lightyears an hour and it doesn’t have the capacity to empathize or understand anything beyond the child’s survival and the relevant details right now.  “Were they expecting the baby?”

“W-What?”  He squeaks up at you.

“Was the bounty put out on you a trap set by the Empire?”  You ask him, lifting your free arm just enough to flash him the tiny child clinging to your side.  “He said they’re coming after the baby, so tell me if this was planned from the beginning.”

“Who is ‘he’?”  The stormtrooper asks, furrowing his eyebrows and looking around.  “What are you talki—”

“Tell me if the bounty on you was a trap to take this baby!”  You roar, your blaster shaking as you aim it down at him.  Your mind is acutely focused on the tiny claws hanging onto your tunic, the continued safety of the kid and the life or death situation facing him that you were given absolutely no information about.  “Now—”

“If it was I didn’t know!”  He quickly cries out, pleading with you and clamping his eyes shut in terror under the barrel sight.  “I don’t know anything about a b-baby, or a bounty!  They just put blasters in our hands and told us to search for a ship and to bring back anyone we find alive, I swear!”

You’re silent for a moment, biting your lip under the mask and caught halfway between discerning and stalling.  You could still kill him.  You should still kill him, time is ticking down and more troopers could be heading this way any second.

Shit.  “Who put the bounty out on you?”  You ask sharply.  It might not be a completely fair question, but he can’t exactly blame you for not feeling completely fair right now.

“I—I don’t know,” he gasps, clutching his bleeding shoulder.  “Could’ve been anyone—my mother, Cyra, o-or my dad, Obediah, or Thia, or Benja, or S—”

“Thia,” you interrupt his rambling, catching the slurred word and repeating it back to him.

“Yes!”  Oshua jerks his head up, tears and hope immediately filling his eyes at the sound of her name, “Yes, Thiadura Celi Ryler, that’s my sister!”

Maker, if he’s lying, then he’s fucking brilliant at it.  You look towards the cockpit of the ship, biting your lip under the mask.  Get to Nevarro, tell Karga and he’ll… something.  Din was cut off before he finished.  Help?  Know what to do?  You’re lost, but you have a clear directive and the precious seconds are sliding by.  The controls are right up there, two steps to the ladder and less than a minute until you’re rising into the atmosphere.

But then you think back to the terror in Din’s voice.  The blistering panic that made him speak faster and with more urgency than you’ve ever heard from him.  Get to Nevarro.  Tell Karga.  Get to Nevarro.  Tell Karga.

You look back at the quarry.  “How many of you are there?”

“At the base?  Around three hundred,” he immediately spills.  “Half of us are in the hole right now getting brainwashed, they do it in shifts, but they can be mobilized in a few hours.  There were a lot of bodies outside when we were ordered to split off, maybe a third of our squadron, but the rest were still shooting at whatever was—”

“So around a hundred left,”  You finish breathlessly, almost wanting him to speak faster and cut to the chase so you can calculate quicker.  “How many were dispatched on the search?”

“Uh, there were eight groups of five sent in each major direction,” he informs you, still trembling on the ground.  “Told us not to come back until we covered the entire sector.”

Of which, four you’ve already taken care of.  In other circumstances, you’d be nauseated at the thought, but right now, it’s just another number to subtract, just more panicked math in Din’s frightening absence.  That leaves at least sixty troopers left wherever the base is, minimum, and likely a couple more hours before they’ve combed the sector.  If this wasn’t a preconceived trap purposefully set for the kid, then that means reinforcements haven’t arrived yet but likely will soon.  And if this is a base meant for training and conditioning, then that also means there’s a chance not all of them will be loyal yet.

You make the decision immediately.

“Okay,” you announce, clicking the blaster’s safety switch and holstering it, sounding lightyears more certain than you feel.  “Then you’re going to help me carry out a rescue mission, and I’ll take you back to your sister.”

“You…”  He looks uncertain, blinking at your blaster and slowly lowering his hands.  “You want to rescue the men?”

Ideally?  Sure.  Realistically?  You don’t say anything in response.  Instead, you kick his regulation firearm at your feet further away from the quarry just in case your judgment is flawed, and then turn around and grab one of the bodies behind you.

Your adrenaline is still blaring so fast that you only just barely note the severity of what you’ve just done and what you’re continuing to do.  The corpses aren’t real to you right now, they’re inanimate things that you need out of your ship before you can close the doors to it.  They are, however, heavy as fuck, but the only other adult here has a wound in his arm from the gun on your hip.  Regardless, you have experience with lifting dead weight without a big, strong, capable man to do it for you.

“Help me out here, kid,” you mutter over your shoulder, and in response, you feel his claws dig in and climb up just a little bit until he can peek out in front of you.  Thankfully, the burden is suddenly lifted and you can quickly slide the dead troopers down the ramp with ease.  It takes hardly any time at all—you just yank and haul and release and all four of them tumble the rest of the way all by themselves.

When you stand back up, Oshua hasn’t moved and he’s looking at you with a pale, queasy expression.  Glancing down, you see that your white robe is now stained with streaks and patches of rusty blood.  Instead of swallowing back bile at the sight and bolting to the shower to scrub off every last remaining trace, you breeze past it, noting nothing more than a change of color.  Dirtying your white, pristine clothing with the consequences of protecting this baby—you’d rather have blood-soaked fabric with an unharmed kid clinging to you than any other combination of those things.

“Can you make it up to the cockpit?”  You ask the quarry, kicking his rifle off the ship before closing the ramp and then gesturing up the ladder.  Your voice is calm and steady but your hands are beginning to shake again.  “I need as much information as possible about the base.”  You know that’s where Din is, judging from the wall of blaster screeches that drowned him out through the comm.  Logically, you know you could be headed right into a trap, and every instinct inside you wants to find safety, but… you just cannot imagine flying the ship away from this planet without Din onboard.  It isn’t fucking happening, you’ve made your choice.

Without waiting for a response, you climb the ladder and plop down in the pilot’s seat of the Crest.  While Oshua finds some way to clamber up the steps behind you in bulky stormtrooper armor with one good arm, you hold the kid closer on your lap and begin flight checking.  Din will be fucking furious, but the scolding you’ll be sure to get is the least of your worries right now.  Following his instructions and going back to Nevarro is just making shit infinitely more dangerous for him, turning what could be a potential rescue mission into an undeniable suicide mission.  Even if Karga somehow decides to send a few guild members along to infiltrate the base, it’ll be a war you want to avoid.

Besides.  What did you always tell him about running away from him, even when he instructs you to?

It’s just… not really your thing.

---

They’re everywhere.

They crawl like flies out of the base, and for every single body that falls, three more spill from the open doors.  Rapid fire plasma beams launch from the end of Din’s blaster, melting white armor with every twitch of his gloved finger.  Their aim is terrible, as is to be expected, but the sheer number of them more than makes up for it, as is by design.

Din’s heart pounds with exertion, his breath comes in ragged huffs through the modulator as his helmet identifies and isolates which body is closest to him, which body he needs to bring down next.  His blaster is so hot it nearly burns his hand, even through the thick gloves he wears.  When he runs out of ammo, he holsters the pistol and swings his rifle from around his shoulder, spinning to catch a handful of troopers behind him in the obliterating blast.

He’s not thinking much.  He can’t think, even though your safety and that of his son is currently dangling by a thread.  If he focuses on that, he’ll be dead before he can even picture your faces.  He just reacts, he maims and kills without a single thought in his mind.  Blood splatters, screams and sirens blare as he becomes surrounded by more and more troopers.  Din can hear the sound of plasma colliding and ricocheting off his armor; every single one of them is a potential injury he could currently have but might not even be able to feel right now.

His helmet starts beeping rapidly and he turns just enough to see, highlighted in bright red on the screen, two enormous artillery turrets slowly rising up out of the roof of the imperial base.  He feels a fierce flash of anger burn in his chest, it’s like a lightning strike to his veins.

Din needs to go.

And yet… if he was another man.  If he wasn’t a father, or a husband, if he had no family and no attachments like the creed declared he should, he would go.  With just a twitch of his fingers, he could be launching into the sky and retreating as far away from this battlefield as he could reasonably get.  He’s never been the type to run from a threat, but this isn’t just a threat.  Dozens of troopers are gaining on him, they’re trampling their own dead to get within range.  Plasma pings off his shoulder, another one hits his back as they flank from behind.  He can feel the heat through the sizzling beskar, he can see them surrounding him on all sides, and the propulsion trigger for his jetpack is right there under his wrist.

Din holds his ground and continues firing, he plants his feet firmly to the dirt with only one thought in his mind.

Run, sweet girl.  Run.

---

You type in commands to scan for Din’s signal, quickly locating it through the Crest’s computer onboard.  Not far from here, three minutes or less.  The ship rumbles to life beneath you, slowly lifting off the rocky ground and rotating in place as it hovers.  It’s not on autopilot but you feel like you are, you can barely feel your hands as they move the yoke forward and the Crest takes off in the direction of Din’s blinking frequency.

“Tell me about defenses,” you instruct Oshua, restlessly bouncing your leg while the baby coos.

“Two plasma turrets on top of the base,” the quarry quickly answers.  “There’s usually guards stationed around the perimeter, but everyone who’s capable will be outside right now.”

Your mouth twists downwards under the mask.  Blasters don’t scare you much from this high up, but Din’s armor doesn’t cover every inch of his body, he’s not completely invincible.  Doubt churns in your stomach, but you have to stay focused on one task at a time so you don’t get overwhelmed.  The turrets, then.  “Are they automatic?”

“Manual,” he corrects with a shake of his head.

“Radar?”

“Old.  Only engages above fifty meters.”

You eye your altitude and dip the Crest considerably, beginning to weave through the rocky canyons and dodging crumbling cliffs while you travel.  “What about ships?”

“None,” Oshua says, “except for a passenger shuttle used for transport.  TIEs are flown in the Vesta sector, this base is remote and used for basic training only.”

“Anything else?”  You ask, stomach twisting with the knowledge that barely four questions is all you’ve got.  You’re planning to drop into an imperial base to save the man you love and you can’t think of a single other question?  

The quarry shrugs, and your heart slams, does somersaults in your chest at the mere notion that you could fucking die here.  Today, in two minutes or less, you could die here.  The child in your lap looking over the ship’s front panel with a quiet determination in his eyes could die here.  Din could already be dead—that signal broadcasts his location to this computer regardless of whether he’s still breathing or not.  He could already be gone and you’d be flying the baby right into a trap without knowing any differently.

Whelp, you think while taking a deep breath, some strangely calm existential acceptance beginning to flood your soul.  If he isn’t dead, he will be soon if you don’t make it to him on time.

You immediately lift your wrist and speak into the communicator.  “Mando?”  You have no idea if he can hear you, but you need to try anyway.  Your voice is still firm, there’s a strength to it you don’t feel in your chest, but it certainly sounds convincing.  “I’m coming to get you.  Less than a minute to your location, do everything you can to get outside.  If you can’t, I’ll just… uh.  Try to figure something else out.”

That’s it.  That’s it, improvise until you don’t have to.  Even if you’re lacking confidence, you can at least scrounge up some conviction.  Your arms gain feeling again while you veer the Crest through the stony terrain, the familiar reverberations under your feet begin to fill your body with a powerful sense of purpose.  Your breaths begin to come steady, every falling rock you see through the transparisteel feels like it drops in slow motion, allowing you to evade them easily.  It would normally be stupidly dangerous to fly this low with so many unexpected obstacles and hazards narrowly missing the ship, but considering what you’re flying into, a few boulders seems comical.

“Where’s your helmet?”  Oshua asks out of nowhere, and for a second, you don’t think you heard him correctly.

But then it strikes you all at once what he’s attempting to imply, and the sheer lunacy of the thought is enough to make you laugh while you clutch the controls.  “I’m not a Mandalorian.”

“You wear the armor of one,” he points out… rather fairly, you have to admit.  “You cover your face like one.  You have a blaster that fires Philithiorium, a rare and expensive gas native to Mandalore’s stratosphere, and you’re a bounty hunter—”

“I’m not a Mandalorian.”  Your words are short and cutting, you have a daunting task to focus on and don’t feel like having small talk right now.  “I’m not a bounty hunter, either.”

But then again, Karga made you a member of the Guild, didn’t he?  He handed you Oshua’s puck and said this one is for you to find, and you are technically part of a Mandalorian clan.  All of this seems like it happened without your knowledge.  You may be marrying a Mandalorian, you may wear his armor and mother his child and shoot a blaster with his signet branded into it, but war isn’t in your blood.  This robe was a costume when you first made it, this armor was a relic that was restored as a hobby.  In a sense, it still feels that way.  The mask covering your face lended itself to a temporary surge of bravery earlier, but beyond that, the only thing that’s keeping you moving forward now is your family.  The man you love that may or may not be alive right now, the baby holding tight to your leg while the ship sways and weaves through the stony landscape.

Your eyes quickly flick down to the child in your lap, both of his three fingered hands clutching onto the stained fabric of your knee without moving a single inch.  He’d know, you tell yourself.  If his father is gone, he’d already know somehow.  Din is still alive, and he’s counting on you.

---

There’s too many for Din to handle.

They swarmed him, overpowered his endless artillery with massive numbers and there’s nothing he can do anymore.  The backs of his knees are kicked from behind and he slams down to the ground with a clatter, his sizzling hot blasters are ripped from him, and Din folds his hands calmly behind his back even as one of the stormtroopers barks out, “Binders,” to another one, who disappears quickly in response.  In the meantime, a few of them apparently decide to just attempt holding his arms in place, and their measly combined grip is almost enough to make him roll his eyes under the helmet.  These imperial soldiers are even more pitiful than they usually are, but his silent resolve to stall to ensure your escape is enough to keep him stationary and compliant for the time being.

Eventually, a few voices call out from beyond the crowd and there’s some movement from the back.  Dozens of troopers with their blasters all pointed at him begin to shuffle to make way, careful to keep their barrels aimed at him while a path slowly forms.  The crowd of white parts and a stormtrooper with a singular red pauldron on his right shoulder saunters confidently towards Din as he kneels on the ground.

An officer, he assumes.  Conveniently missing from the firefight, the scanner inside his helmet would’ve caught the change in color and Din would’ve made sure to kill him first.

“Well now, what do we have here?”  Comes his thin metallic voice through the tinny filter.  The officer studies him curiously for a few moments, before slowly looking down by his feet, reaching out one cheap, plastic covered foot to gently nudge the body of a dead trooper on the ground with a sigh.  “What a shame.”

Coward, he thinks, his lip curling with disgust under the helmet.

“This is an imperial training base,” he turns his attention back to Din to inform him when he doesn’t immediately respond, rather stupidly he might add.  “How were you able to find us?”

Silence.  The grip on hands held behind his back is even looser now.  He just tilts his chin up slightly in defiance, the scanner inside his helmet locating each weapon strapped to the man’s body and highlighting it red.  Small text boxes blink into existence under each one with a manufacturer and classification—a BlasTech E-11 rifle, a Merr-Sonn thermal detonator, a Kolvo vibroblade—and Din is severely unimpressed with the quality.  The detonator is the only weapon that even catches his eye, and that’s only because the chamber inside that houses the explosive baradium has a release mechanism that’s completely dead.  Useless, then.  Good to know.

After a long moment of quiet tension where Din refuses to speak and the officer continues to confidently scrutinize him, in some strange sort of silent battle of egos that only one seems to have a genuine interest in, another stormtrooper makes his way to the front, shoving past his fellow soldiers to address the superior in charge.

“Commander, we’ve sent out an alert for an intruder,” he tells him, slightly out of breath from running through the crowd in the lightweight armor.  Din wants to roll his eyes, but what he says next makes him snap to immediate attention.  “The fleet informed us that Moff Gideon is currently on route.”

Gideon.  The last time someone spoke that name, it was a quarry on Coruscant and you just barely managed to stop Din from suffocating the bastard for even saying it aloud before freezing him in carbonite.  It would’ve meant half the return on a hunt that lasted nearly a month but he saw red and his hand was crushing his windpipe before he realized what happened.  But he’s dead, Din thinks with a clenched jaw and fists tightening behind his back, he watched that TIE fighter explode and slam into the ground, crushing the man inside it.  The wreck was unsurvivable, he can’t be alive.

“For what?  This Mandalorian?”  The trooper in charge scoffs in response, and Din remains completely mute.

“Yes, sir,” the other one confirms.  “Orders were to capture him, alive.”

“Hm.”  The officer turns his attention back to him, less analyzing and more musing while he tilts his head.  “I see,” he eventually says, and he sounds like he’s grinning, before strolling slightly closer as Din stays completely still on his knees.  “He must want the beskar.  I’m sure it’s worth more than this entire battalion combined.”

All of a sudden, a gloved hand carelessly catches the rim of his helmet and tugs, and Din’s movement is explosive.  He launches off the ground, arms easily slipping from the pathetic grip they were being held in and his fist colliding with the side of the officer’s flimsy white helmet, the plastic making a deafening crack against his face.

Multiple hands immediately rush forward to grab him and yank him back down again while the commanding trooper stumbles backwards in shock, and Din amicably drops to his knees and folds his hands behind his back once more like nothing happened at all.

“Binders!”  A trooper behind him roars loudly once more, and a few men surrounding him begin trotting away this time.

The officer in red stands a few feet away from him now, grabbing his helmet and twisting it back to its proper position on his head where it was skewed.  There’s a shattered hole near his jaw where the material splintered and busted like the cheap piece of banthashit it is, and while he might normally feel pleased with himself for being able to see his skin peeking through, it just fills him with more righteous fury.  It’s such a punchable jaw.

After a few awkward moments of silence, the other one clears his throat and continues.  “He… has inquired about the location and status of a child that should be accompanying him.”

Din inhales deeply through his nose and grinds his teeth.  He wants to snap their necks one by one for even just mentioning his son, but there are just too many, more than even his whistling birds can neutralize.  Still, he gave you as much of a head start as physically possible.  You should be rising into the atmosphere right now, making the jump into hyperspace towards safety.  Karga will know what to do—he’ll protect his family, separate you and the boy so the threat is evenly dispersed instead of collected all in one place, and arm dozens of trained hunters to keep watch over you both individually.  It’s the best Din can do, and it’s the only thing keeping his knees planted on the ground and his body completely motionless while they continue speaking.

“We are combing the sector for a ship with as many men as we can afford to lose,” the trooper in red says, but his voice filter is shattered and now sounds like a puny little droid with a broken voice box, “but our numbers are unimpressive.  Assistance may be required.”

It’s too late, Din thinks, mouth twitching under the beskar with a satisfied smirk.  They’re wasting their time, looking for a ghost.  You’re both long gone by now.  They’ve got no idea you even exist—

“He also spoke of a girl.”

And then he feels his heart stop in his chest.  Every single cell in his body turns to fire, it’s a fucking miracle he doesn’t move a muscle in response.  His sweet girl, the one so far removed from the nightmare of the Empire that she made best friends with the orphans of it.  How the fuck did he know?  He shouldn’t even be breathing, let alone gathering information about you, how did he know?

But then Din thinks back, remembering your makeshift bed on the floor, your panicked eyes and heaving chest as the quarry taunted him with a sick little smile.  Who’s this, Mando?  She’s just darling, isn’t she?  Does Gideon know your crew has a lovely new addition?

“A girl?”

The trooper nods.  “Moff Gideon insisted that if the Mandalorian did not have a child with him, then a girl would likely be protecting him instead.”

He’s going to kill them, Din decides.  Every single one of these imperial pigs, every single soldier standing right now is a dead fucking man.  The blood pumping through his body suddenly turns to acid, deadly black hate poisoning his soul.  His heartbeat morphs into a war drum, the armor strapped to his limbs is the barrel of a gun.  He’s going to fucking kill them and leave an imperial base full of bodies to greet his old nemesis upon his return, and he’s going to enjoy every single second of it.

Except, then—

“Mando?”  The sweetest voice in existence suddenly crackles through the earpiece under his helmet.  “I’m coming to get you.  Less than a minute to your location, do everything you can to get outside.  If you can’t, I’ll just… uh.  Figure something else out.”

And, as Din kneels there in surrender, surrounded by a crowd of enemies he thought he destroyed long ago, all the anger—all the fury and defiance and murder surging through his veins—suddenly morphs to fear.

The emotion is so foreign and old to him, it feels like a face he barely recognizes and a name he can’t remember.  He’s panicked before.  He’s been in situations where a threat has made him blind with rage, he knows what it’s like to look death straight in the eyes and say that he’s busy and to come back another time.  This is different.  This is ice cold that freezes over beskar.

He can’t speak out loud to warn you—he can’t move his hands to press the button on the back of his helmet and allow him to talk without detection.  There’s plasma turrets on the roof of the base, he can see them right now.  The helmet’s scanners say they’re manned and engaged, and though he is outside and this is how you retrieved him before whenever he needed a quick escape, he has fifty fucking imperial blasters trained on him and you know absolutely nothing about this threat.  You’re flying right into a war zone and if either you or his son dies, he won’t ever be able to forgive himself.

Behind the helmet, his eyes fly to each and every trooper, wondering which blaster will be the one to do it.  Which weapon is going to be the one he can’t block in time when you descend, the one that’ll kill him right in front of you.  Which turret will be the one to obliterate the Crest with you and his son inside of it.

“Maker, where are those fucking binders—” he hears someone behind him snarl, but the white noise of pure terror roaring through his ears drowns them out.  His chest starts heaving against his will, sheer panic begins to blur his vision.  For the first time in his life, his armor feels too heavy, his lungs feel like one of these boulders are sitting on them instead of beskar.

All too soon, his helmet starts making a familiar sound that signals quietly in his ear, alerting him of an incoming ship, and the only thing he can physically do is count down the seconds to prepare himself for what is to come.

Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two…

Like lightning, Din breaks the grip of multiple troopers and surges up, tackling the officer in red to the ground.  There’s a clatter as they both slam into the rocky floor, but in the ensuing scuffle, he easily snatches the thermal detonator from his side holster and holds it up for everyone to see, before pressing the red button on the front and hearing it begin to beep rapidly.

---

You’re right on time.

The Crest rises up through the rocky cliffs surrounding the base and you spot the turrets you were warned about.  Weapons controls are already engaged and you’re too low to be detected by radar—you fire once, twice, and blast both of them to smithereens from behind before they can even rotate around to target you.

Alarms start wailing but the guns are destroyed.  It’s not comforting, though; blasters won’t touch you up here, but that doesn’t mean they can’t fire at Din on the ground.  Your eyes dart across the sea of white, looking for a flash of silver anywhere, and then you spot him instantly in the chaos.

For some reason, the troopers in his vicinity all seem to be bolting away from him.  Their rifles are down, clutched in their hands while they nearly fall over each other to run away as fast as possible, and your heart soars when you spot his jetpack firing up.  Din launches into the sky while another trooper is revealed underneath him, seeming to juggle something in his hands and then throw it into the crowd of retreating soldiers, but the sight of the man you love rising into the air while a flurry of blaster shots from the far edges of the imperial structure follow him gives you the confidence to immediately turn the guns down towards the horde of troopers.

“Which ones are in charge?”  You ask Oshua breathlessly, who leans forward and points out the transparisteel.

“Red pauldrons—” he barely has time to say it before you aim and fire at one of the troopers wearing red that was closest to Din, the plasma beam launching from the Crest so powerful and devastating that it outright obliterates the surface he’s laying on.  Pieces of shattered armor fly and a smoking crater of rubble is all that’s left behind, but your mind is whirling and you’re already onto someone else wearing red at the edges of the complex, and then two more near the doors, and then another—

To their credit, you think the sixty or so soldiers in training seem to figure out that you’re not aiming into the enormous collection of them.  If you were, the damage would be catastrophic and spraying everywhere, but you’re precise and meticulous with your shots, and the only ones who are loyal enough to the cause to hold still and raise their blasters at the incoming threat tend to be the ones you need to mow down anyways.  The rest of them scatter in all directions, scrambling over each other to escape and then disappearing into the distant boulders surrounding the base—but you notice that not a single one of them runs back inside the safety of its open doors.

The hull dips with the weight of Din dropping in, and relief floods your soul even as you continue raining hell down on the superiors in charge.  Any flash of color you see is a target, your eyes lose focus of everything, your vision blurs and turns monochrome as you just search for red.

“Lift up!”  You hear Din’s voice roar from the hull.  You can hear his rifle unloading through the open door.  “Now!  We have to go now!”

You press the button to shut the hull door with Din inside and punch it, rising so fast that the shove of gravity makes it difficult to keep your head up.  Through the sudden surge of downward force, you just barely manage to raise your incredibly heavy arm to push the button that pressurizes the Crest and ignites the launch boosters, preparing the vessel for space travel.  Outside the transparisteel, the gray sky begins darkening as the atmosphere eventually disappears.  The ship’s engines roar, burning so much fuel at once that you’re actually accelerating through the climb, you’re boosting through the gradual ease of gravity as the planet’s curvature and glow becomes softer and softer below you.

As soon as the blackness of space begins to fill the windows, the slight subsiding of force allows you to plug in the coordinates for Nevarro with less difficulty, but you’re still moving, still rising, still escaping.  You can’t find it within yourself to slow down, but then something catches your attention.

Claws suddenly dig sharp into your thigh, sharp enough to sting and cause you to wince, and you look down to see that the kid has gone incredibly tense.  Deadly tense.  Your heart is still pounding even though you’re away from danger, you’ve got Din in the hull, everyone is safe, and yet—

It flickers into existence all at once.  One second it’s just space, just the endless depths of nothingness spread out for light years in front of you, and within the blink of an eye it’s suddenly there.

A star destroyer.

Your body freezes in horrified awe, having never seen a ship so fucking big in your entire life.  It looks like a massive satellite, the size of an enormous asteroid instantly appearing in your vision and dwarfing the vastness of space around it.  All the stars you used to dream about are suddenly blotted out within a fraction of a second, terror so immense seizes your soul that you stop thinking.  You stop calculating, you stop being yourself for a split second that lasts an entire lifetime.

Before you can move a single muscle, the computer beeps quickly and lurches the Crest into hyperspace.

---

The stars streak across the transparisteel like so many times before.  Utter silence nearly deafens you with how abrupt it is after so much noise, but the peace it used to bring does nothing to quell your fear.  Everything is the same as it always was, same bursts of light as you hurdle faster than it towards Nevarro, same quiet, same rumbling hum of the ship.  But now, everything has changed.

You hear the quarry next to you suddenly inhale and exhale loudly, and it shocks you a little bit, reminds you that there’s a person next to you and another is on your lap.  Other people exist outside of the vision of death that just flickered out of existence just as quickly as it appeared.  They’re breathing, Oshua is shakily unbuckling his seatbelt, life is continuing on in the quiet cockpit but you can’t seem to move like he is.  You can’t seem to breathe like he is.  It’s only when the baby slowly maneuvers himself around on your thigh and blinks up at you, placing a tiny hand on your stomach that you finally feel air enter your lungs.

After a moment, you reach down and click open your seatbelt with trembling fingers, scooping the kid up in your arms and slowly attempting to stand.  Everything feels wobbly and dreamlike, you have to brace yourself on the headrest to prevent yourself from falling back into the chair again.

“That was…” Ryler mutters, his voice sounding foggy and distant, “uh.  A close one.”

You look over at him, recognizing that he’s speaking but not quite able to understand the words right now.  Red catches in your vision, and you blink down at the way he’s clutching his left shoulder, the smear of blood darkening the white armor he’s wearing.  You blink a few more times at the sight of it, and though it feels like you normally would be sickened at the wound, somehow shocked out of your state of shock, it does nothing to you.  When you look back up at his face, his expression seems strangely grateful, even when it’s screwed up in what you know must be excruciating pain.    You did that, a quiet voice whispers in your mind, even though the rest of it seems incredibly blank.

Instead of responding, you stumble a few steps over to the ladder, spinning around and hesitating for a moment.  You’re severely lacking in coherent thought, but one thing seems to break through.  You’re not sure if you have enough coordination to do this safely right now.  However, when there’s movement in your peripheral and you look to see Oshua gently offering his right arm to you, seeming to understand you’d like to use both hands for this, you snap back to your senses just the slightest bit and hug the baby tighter to your chest.  Carefully, you begin making the slow climb down the ladder with the kid, still trembling with the aftershocks of adrenaline.  Your limbs feel extra heavy, but eventually the floor meets your feet.

Din is standing there when you slowly turn around, armor gleaming and still as a statue, but he has his back to you.  His helmet is tilted down at the ground, and when you follow his gaze, you’re met with the sight of the bloodstains of dragged bodies that leave dark red streaks all the way up the ramp.

You feel something this time.  It’s… cold.  A burning, searing cold that creeps into your skin.  Like your heart decides to pump nitrogen through your chest instead of warm blood.  You did that.

There’s a sudden urge inside of you to speak, to address him and inform him of your presence, tell him everything is okay, everything worked out, but you can’t find it in yourself to say a single word.  You can’t find a single word to say.  The kid twists as best he can in your clutch, his ears drag against your chest to greet his father, but for some reason, there’s still a strange sense of fear in your bones.  It’s enough to wake you up slightly, it’s enough to tell you it’s not over yet.  There’s a terror in your heart that hasn’t left since he first called over the comm and begged you to run, a crippling dread that you thought climaxed after seeing that star destroyer appear, but it’s somehow only increased after laying eyes on him like this.

You watch as his helmet turns, slowly meeting the pauldron on his shoulder, and for some reason, you feel yourself harden.  Your feet brace against the metal floor like this is another threat you have to face, you let its unyielding metallic strength transfer up through the souls of your boots to your heart in your chest.

But the second you hear cheap white armor clatter as the quarry steps down the ladder behind you, Din bursts into movement.  He suddenly spins and storms up to you in one single step while catching your holstered blaster on your hip.  It’s out and aimed in the blink of an eye, and it’s a miracle you remember how to speak before he remembers how to kill.

“Mando—” you warn, just in time for the quarry to land on the floor of the hull and turn around to reveal his face.

Din holds there for a second, his helmet locked on Oshua’s features.  His gloved fingers twitch wildly on the trigger of your gun held over your shoulder, like he has to remind himself multiple times not to.  You hear Oshua’s armor clack while he likely raises one good arm in surrender, but then Din’s helmet moves a fraction of a millimeter to your face and holds there.  He just stares down at you, and the air feels heavy, your body feels heavy, the feather light child in your arms feels heavy.

Slowly, he lowers his arm, lets it fall while he continues looking at you from behind the visor.  You look back at him, unblinking, unfeeling, and there’s a few seconds that last an utter eternity where nobody moves.  Nobody speaks, nothing happens, but then a soft coo comes from your arms before you can finally break eye contact, knowing there are still some things that need to be done.

You eventually turn around and lift your chin to address Oshua.

“You have to go into carbonite,” you inform him quietly.  Your voice sounds strange, like it’s coming from outside of yourself.  “We’re taking you to Nevarro, and then you’ll be transported to your home planet. When they unfreeze you, your sister will be there to collect you.”

He looks uncertain, one hand still raised while the other hangs uselessly at his side, and you don’t blame him.

But you also don’t feel like saying anymore, not unless he decides he doesn’t want to go in willingly.  Normally you might’ve tried to empathize, offer him further reassurance beyond just a couple short sentences, but you don’t.  Speaking feels difficult, thinking feels difficult.  You’re still in survival mode, not active but reactive.  There’s also no reason for you to lie to him about this, and you can see him glance at Din standing silently behind you, who hasn’t moved a muscle.

He eventually nods and you walk him over to the chamber without another word, watch him turn to face you as he backs into the opening while you reach up towards the control panel.

But then there’s a moment.  One where you hesitate slightly, one where your vision flashes back to the sight of those bloodstains on the floor, and that burning cold fills you again, so cold it feels completely numb.

“I’m… sorry,” you whisper quietly to him, though your voice sounds so empty.  There’s so much emotion that should be there but isn’t, so much regret and pain that should break through but can’t.  “I’m sorry I… killed your friends.”

Later, you’ll think about how you felt absolutely nothing saying it.  Your heart doesn’t constrict with remorse at the mere words leaving your mouth, guilt doesn’t flood into your soul, pain doesn’t wrack through your bones.  You could’ve been saying anything at all and nobody would be able to tell the difference.

He blinks at you, flicking his eyes between yours for a second or two, but then you press the proper button and watch the gas quickly freeze him where he stands.  He’ll be conscious the entire time, but Karga will send him to the correct location and you have no doubt that this elemental purgatory is leagues better than where he just escaped from.  It’s a benefit being the last quarry to be retrieved—he’ll only have to spend a few days trapped in here before being reunited with his family.

When that’s done and Oshua is a complete statue in front of you, bulky white armor now colored a dull metallic gray and frozen in time, you will yourself to finally turn around to face the enormous mountain of a presence behind you.  The baby gently reaches out for him, but Din doesn’t move from where he’s stood.  Your blaster is still clutched tightly in his hand, and he isn’t looking at you.

Slowly, you walk over and stop directly in front of him in the middle of the hull, blinking at him while the helmet subtly moves to lock onto your face.  The kid begins wiggling in your arms, making soft impatient noises while you both stand in complete silence across from each other.

After a few moments, you hear him flick your blaster’s safety on by his side and then toss it carelessly to the ground.  It skids along the floor, light enough to be mostly quiet.  Gloves reach out as he carefully takes the kid from you and settles him in the crook of one arm, and then he looks you up and down, still not saying anything.

Your eyes follow his movement, watching his arm slowly reaching out to you, and you think he’s going to cup your jaw, or brush your hair back.  Give you some sort of physical reassurance since he hasn’t spoken a single word of it.

Instead, Din suddenly grabs the armor clinging to your chest and starts ripping it off you with one hand.  It clangs to the floor so loudly in the silence of hyperspace, the kid’s ears twitch and flutter with each shattering bang.  You hold still while he does it, you barely respond except the unavoidable movement your body experiences as the pauldron is yanked from your shoulder and thrown against the ground.  The ammo belt is tugged over your head and hurled away, the thigh braces are snatched from your legs and they clang to the floor, and the pearly, opalescent fabric revealed underneath is stained in dead man’s blood, rusty and in such great quantities that it shows up as brown instead of red.

“Are you hurt?”

He sounds… dead.  So monotonic that you can’t possibly gauge his emotional state.  He doesn’t move.   His fists don’t clench, he says every single word like it means the same exact thing as the last.  If nothing at all was a person who could speak, they’d use his tone of voice.

“No,” you eventually whisper.

The helmet nods once, and then he spins around and walks away without anything else.  Without saying anything, without touching you, or double checking you for injuries in case you were lying.  You stand utterly still while Din climbs the ladder with the kid cradled in one arm, and you don’t even flinch when the door to the cockpit slides shut behind him.  You have no idea how long you stand there in the splitting silence afterwards, numb and unmoving.

You feel… nothing.  Absolutely nothing.

The hard defenses you strapped to yourself today to reconcile the things you had to do are still high and strong, guarding your soul even if he stripped away your physical armor.  Self preservation is still animating your body, and your facial expression barely changes.  Your first thought, as soon as you remember that you can have one, is that there are things that still need to be done.  Tasks to complete.

Alone, you shower the lingering traces of blood off your body, the normally clear and refreshing water running a sickly, toxic brown.  Alone, your stomach rolls and suddenly decides to empty itself of the very little that was in it as the scalding drops rain down over you—mostly liquid and bile that easily rinses down the drain.  The water is too warm, it beats down on you like blazing hot sand pelting your skin in the desert.  You feel like you did those first few months with Din, where the silence was suffocating, where you’d only interact with the baby if he was on a hunt or if you could tell he didn’t know how to calm him when he was fussy.  If you were in hyperspace, you usually spent time by yourself in the hull while he lived in the cockpit, and if he decided he needed to be in the hull for whatever reason, then you’d trade places with him.  It was… isolating.  Lonely by yourself.  The quiet used to haunt you before it became your cherished friend, but now it’s a betrayer, a ghost that whispers memories and nightmares in your ears.

When you finally finish rinsing the blood from your skin and get dressed, you see the sheets that used to make up your bed now have fried holes in them from your charred plasma marks, the inside of the hull is covered in them and the trails of dried blood where you dragged the bodies down the ramp.  Your armor is still strewn about the hull, the kid’s hovering shield lays dead in the corner.  Everything you meticulously cleaned and organized and collected and created, now the scene of a bloodbath.  One committed by your hand, your blaster still laying uselessly on the floor forever linked to this atrocity.

You spare a glance towards the ladder, but you don’t want to come face to face with Din yet.  You already knew he’d be furious, but… you had hoped that he’d at least…

What?  At least what?  Comfort you?  Coddle you after you deliberately ignored his instructions?  What exactly, in the past year or so of learning Din’s inner workings and intricacies, would ever give you the impression that he’d come give you a big hug after you purposefully defied him?  You flew the kid directly into an imperial base after being told to protect him, you ignored every order he gave to you in the moments he thought would be his last, and though you did it to save his life, you have a feeling that Din has never valued his life even a fraction of what you do.

The misery stabs at your soul, but your mind is finally beginning to process things logically.  He’s alive, the kid is alive, the quarry is secure, and you’re all onboard the safety of this ship hurtling through hyperspace where nobody, not even the Empire, can touch you.  You weighed the consequences before making your decision, you did what you had to do.  If he wants to be mad, then he can fucking well be mad and you’ll find some way to comfort yourself.  At least he’s here being mad, at least he’s alive and safe and breathing and mad, and your rare act of disobedience is to thank for that.

Somewhere in the back of your mind, you realize it’s probably easier than it should be to reconcile the punishment.  Right now, you welcome the exclusion, the negativity and sorrow beating itself into your soul.  Four innocent people died today on this ship, gunned down under your blaster while they panicked and ran for cover.  You keep hearing their screams.

So you start to clean up the hull, needing another task to focus your thoughts on.  You work to erase every inch of the evidence of your deeds, make it disappear like the pool of blood Din once cleaned up while you were sleeping and never acknowledged again.  You only allow the bloodstains to fuck with your head for a single moment, and then you swallow back the nausea until you’re a blank slate again and sink to your knees with a rag in your hand.  After that, your vision stops focusing and it just becomes red contrasting against gunmetal gray, and you work tirelessly to get rid of all remaining traces of it.

Then you start on the blaster marks, you need them gone.  After a few informed attempts at mixing cleaning chemicals, you find one concoction that allows you to wipe them away like they’re nothing more than dirt that got tracked in.  The Crest’s oxygen recycling system works overdrive to constantly purify the air so you don’t get high or pass out, but your nose still stings.  It’s fine, it’s sterile, it burns a bit but it smells sharp and metallic and keeps you hyper focused on the task at hand.

After that’s done, you pick up the charred blankets and ball them up to throw into the trash vent.  You don’t feel anything as you do it.  You don’t think about how long it took you to collect these over months and months of being stuck on this ship, how comfortable they were when everything else was industrial and rigid, how many nights you spent with Din curled up in their softness while he breathed easy and warm.  Sheets are just luxuries, they can afford to be lost.

Next, you gather your armor and wipe it down with the rag, put it away along with your blaster.  The stained robe goes in the trash, along with the sheets and the blood soaked cloth you used to clean everything.  They’re all ruined, you’ll never be able to make them right again.

The hull is sparkling clean when you decide to take another shower.  Nothing on you is dirty except your hands, but you feel filthy.  Wrong, cold, numb, cold, stained, cold.

After scrubbing your skin raw under the water and changing clothes again, since you don’t really know what to do with yourself anymore, you slowly climb the ladder to the cockpit, keeping perfectly silent.  When you reach the upper platform and come face to face with the closed door, you can just barely hear Din’s whispered voice speaking quietly to the baby beyond it.

You raise your hand for a moment, hovering your knuckles over the metal, but then it eventually falls.  Instead, you look over and spot the corner, the same corner Din bunched himself into when he snapped at you for even suggesting going on a hunt with him, blew up at you for the mere notion of something happening like what happened today.  You back yourself into it in defeat and slowly sink down on the floor, resting your head against the metal and hugging your knees to your chest since you don’t have a tiny baby to take their place.

You can’t sleep.  You don’t even try, it’s pointless.  The concept feels foreign the longer you sit here by yourself.  You don’t hear Din or the baby anymore, but you feel… so fucking awful that it’s fitting that you don’t knock or go looking.  You don’t want to hold that sweet child with hands that were covered in blood just a few hours ago.  You killed more people than you can count on your fingers today, and of the ones who had done nothing wrong…  They screamed like younglings, ducked for cover and were able to fire off one single useless shot in the mayhem before you closed their eyes forever and left their bodies to rot in armor that wasn’t ever their choice to wear.

You didn’t know they were kidnapped and smuggled and forced into that situation.  You couldn’t have known, but that isn’t the point.  In this case, knowing doesn’t make one bit of difference.

You also can’t face Din yet, not like this.  You don’t want him to see you cowering, shattered with guilt over the decisions you made under pressure.  How will you ever get him to forgive you for not listening to him when you can’t even forgive yourself for the result of your choices?  Din is a hardened man who grew up in blasterfire and bloodshed, just because you love him doesn’t mean he’s going to magically become someone he isn’t.  You’re here letting guilt sink sharp claws into your chest over four dead men when he had a good fifty or more corpses scattered on the battlefield around him.  You decided to wear that armor, you decided to fly into an imperial base with the kid on your lap, and this is now your penance.  You’ll accept it with your back straight and your chin held high.

Figuratively, of course.  Physically, you’re smaller than you’ve ever been.  Crumpled up into a ball, taking up as little space as possible, curling up as tight as you can like an animal protecting all your vulnerable parts during a brutal attack.

So, since he isn’t here to comfort you himself, you just try to think about what he would tell you.  A long time ago, what would he tell you?

Din would tell you… that you killed someone.  Multiple people, this time.  He’d also tell you that it doesn’t matter what he tells you, what you could have reasonably foreseen or what you should have done.  The end result won’t change.  You own this now.  You’ll carry their deaths with you.

You take a few deep breaths, self-soothing with the undeniable truth that would be murmured matter of factly from his quiet voice.  He wouldn’t argue with you.  He wouldn’t deny the decisions you made or the consequences of them.  It happened, and at the end of the day, you either learn how to handle that, or you don’t.

And, for the four you did shoot, you were responsible for freeing ten times that amount.  You’re responsible for reuniting Oshua Ryler with his family, even if your place in yours is momentarily shunned.  You’d rather be out here alone than in there with the kid, wondering where his dad is or if he’s even still alive.  You rescued Din and now he gets to be here to shut this door on you, hold his son, and whisper calm reassurances to him.  If you listen really hard and imagine, you can pretend they’re for you, too.

That’s it.  Focus on them both, alive and well together.  Focus on the bodies wearing white armor that were moving, the ones that were bolting away from the imperial training base as fast as they could, free from the torture of imprisonment and conditioning.

Finally, you close your eyes and slip into unconsciousness.  It’s not a testament to your exhaustion, but rather just how long you’ve been left to sit here by yourself.  Hours, maybe.  Time is strange in hyperspace.

You dream of a faceless man ringing bells.

---

When you wake up, a small baby has been placed in your arms, and you’re being dragged into a strong, secure beskar hold on the floor.

“Din,” you suddenly lift your head as soon as you’re conscious and nearly bonk it into solid metal, apologies rising in your throat before you even remember where you are.  You did what needed to be done to keep your family alive and together and you’d do it a thousand times again if necessary, but that doesn’t mean you won’t apologize anyways.  After the deeds you’ve committed today, regret feels as natural on your lips as speaking your own name.  “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I know you’re mad at me but I—”

“Shh,” he whispers, running his gloves through your hair.  He’s still wearing his helmet, he hasn’t taken anything off yet.  “Don’t say anything.  Just… stay here, stay right here with me.”

“I tried to save you,” you croak, tears instantly flooding your eyes.  You did save him.  You saved him and the baby and yourself but you’re so physically and emotionally exhausted that all you can recall is your intent.  “I tried.  Wasn’t gonna leave you there by yourself.  I tried to be brave, like you—y-you wouldn’t have left without me.”

His arms tighten around you, cradling you in such a strong embrace that you burrow into him, you find a place for your head on the hard metal strapped to him and bury yourself there, wishing that you had shovels of dirt being piled on you to justify the death you still feel staining your soul.  Your heart is starting to pound now that you’re remembering, your body is starting to shake with tremors of shock now that you’re aware of your own skin again.

“I was so sc-scared, Din, I didn’t—didn’t know what was happening,” you lament through watery eyes, gasping it out in hopes that it’ll relieve the slightest bit of the gut wrenching guilt just mercilessly crushing you.  It caught you before you could protect yourself against it, that armor you built around yourself isn’t on when you first wake up.  “I-I didn’t want to kill them, but they were already on the ship and y-you said—you said they were coming after the kid s-so I had to, I had to—”

“Stop,” Din whispers, voice so quiet that you can barely hear him.

“I-I cleaned up the blood,” you turn your face against the cold beskar to let all the positives you listed for yourself before scrape across your throat.  They don’t sound comforting anymore, they just sound like excuses.  “It’s gone, it’s like it never happened, everything is okay now, I got the quarry, I protected the baby, I saved a bunch of people, you’re both safe—”

“Stop,” he chokes out.  The modulator cuts off before you can hear his next breath, but you feel it shudder under your body.  “St-Stop it, please.”

Your eyes clench shut so tightly you feel like the streaking stars outside are behind them, tears drop down against his pauldron and you press your face tighter to it like it’s a wound, like the pressure will somehow ease the bleeding.

“Listen to me,” he says very quietly, and you instantly brace yourself.  The walls you just let down shoot right back up, your body physically tightens in preparation for another pain, another trauma, another scar you’ll carry, and you stop shaking.  You stop breathing, even when his hand comes up to ease your face away from his armor.

“You,” he whispers, holding your chin so you’re staring right at him, and your eyes flick fearfully in between his behind the visor, “are a sweet girl.”  Din’s leather thumb brushes along your skin, dragging over the tears below your puffy eyes.  “Not,” his voice catches, “a Mandalorian.”

Your heart goes cold.  Again, everything turns numb.  It doesn’t matter that you already said this yourself out loud earlier today.  It doesn’t matter that you acknowledged this fact, verbally insisted it more than once to hammer home the truth and felt some sense of comfort in it.  For some reason, hearing the words from his mouth is a fucking knife to your chest.

“I taught you how to fight, how to shoot a blaster,” he murmurs, thumb catching every single tear that continues to fall as he speaks.  “I taught you everything I know, everything that’s been taught to me.  I taught you how to defend yourself, how to protect yourself when you’re in danger.  I gave you your blaster, I gave you my armor, I gave you everything I could give you to keep you safe.  And when I thought you were ready, I let you loose on Sanctuary II.  Do you know why I did that?”  The helmet tips forward the slightest bit at the question, probing deep into the most shattered part of your heart.  “After all those months of fighting, and shooting, and training, do you know why I told you to run?”

You blink silently at him, a shaky breath quaking through you, and your expression wants to crumple under the reprimand.  You’re so fragile right now, taking hit after hit after hit to the softest parts inside you, and you want to just give up.  Let the guilt and remorse take you, let it wash you away.  But then, instead…

There’s a flicker of something inside you.  Something strong, endlessly strong, and it makes you want to revolt against what he’s saying.  It replaces the hurt and fear and desperation for comfort with a strange sense of insurgence, like it did earlier when you were hiding behind a boulder, cowering and trembling and not wanting to die.  You’re filled with a quiet urge to defend yourself in the face of this, stand up for yourself and refuse to be beaten down any longer.

“Because you needed to know how to escape danger,” he answers himself when you don’t.  “You needed to know how to disappear, how to outsmart any pursuer and find safety, even the trained ones.  Especially the trained ones.  Anything else was meant to be your last resort.  Not your choice.  Not something you chose.”

“I couldn’t leave you,” you admit to him quietly, voice shaky and tears still coming even as you try to speak up for yourself.  The regret you carry has nothing to do with this, and you decide right now that you won’t feel bad for saving him.  Your hurt comes from the meaningless things, the ones without any need whatsoever, not the necessary ones, and you tried.  You repeated his words to yourself over and over again, told yourself to run, told yourself to get to Nevarro, and it wasn’t going to happen.  “I couldn’t do it.  It wasn’t a choice.”

“It was,” he tells you.  He says it softly, whispers it like it’s the gentlest thing in the world, but the power and inherent distance of the armor strapped to his body finds its way into the words.  “And it was the wrong one.”

“What was I supposed to do?”  You ask, just a hint of that rebellion swimming to the surface now, rising out of the waves of self doubt, the one that feels like a spine growing in your back, an energy coursing through your veins that makes your heart start to beat faster.  Din’s hand slowly drops from your cheek but you don’t care.  “Was I supposed to run away and just let you die?”

“Yes.”  It’s quick and blunt and completely emotionless.  Delivered like a punch to the vulnerable parts of yourself he taught you how to protect, and the utter silence following this single word is comparable to the physical pain you learned to defend against.  It jabs hard against everything good and sweet and tender inside of you, and you’re left speechless even as he continues impassively.  “That’s exactly what you were supposed to do.”

It takes a second, but then that unfamiliar feeling suddenly surges up, breaches with the power of an entire ocean.  Your voices may be nothing more than whispers in the dark, you may be clinging to each other, holding each other with the softest, gentlest love in your hearts, but the strength of your conviction on this would rip metal apart.

“No.”  The word holds the might of your entire being, and it stands alone and defiant in the face of everything you fear, everything that threatens you, him, and this child.  Never.  You’ll die before that happens.  “I love you, and there’s nothing in this galaxy that would ever make me do that.  Not fear, not danger, not the Empire, nothing.  Not even you.”

Din stares at you.  His visor reflects your hardened expression back to you, the force in your soul and the purpose in your eyes, and you don’t even realize the gravity of what you just said because like your love for him, gravity is a constant.  It’s a fundamental truth cemented into the rules that govern your actions and it stays true no matter where you are, no matter what terror you face, or how scared you become.  You have him, you have this little boy in your arms, and if that’s all you have, then you have everything.

After an eternity of this, of feeling his eyes pierce deep into you from behind the helmet while you refuse to wither under his stare, you watch him slowly turn and look down, landing on the sleepy child tucked between you both.  He holds there for a long time, before finally whispering, so quiet that the modulator barely picks it up, “It was the wrong choice.”

You stay quiet.  It happened.  What’s done is done, you can’t change the past.  He can scold and reprimand you about this as much as he wants, but you did the right thing and that decision is the only reason he’s even here to be able to do so.  This exhausted child was reunited with his father because of your choices, and this exhausted father was reunited with his child.  You won’t argue anymore, but it’s a certitude that lives deep in your heart now, builds a home there right alongside the both of them.  Din eventually looks up, his eyes find yours again behind the visor, and his hand rises once more to gently cup your jaw.

“I… thought I’d enjoy seeing you in my armor,” Din finally whispers.  It’s not what you expected, but his voice sounds… weak.  Broken.  “You wore mine once before, and it was…”  He brushes his thumb along your cheek, and then his head shakes slightly, pushing the thought away.  “It wasn’t real.  It didn’t fit.  It dwarfed you, it made you look out of place, it made everything soft and innocent about you stand out.  I liked it because it wasn’t real.”

“Was it… really that bad?”  You whisper back, partially to ease the tension just slightly but quickly breaking eye contact with him when you realize it doesn’t land correctly, it just sounds self conscious and sad.  You try to find that conviction again, that strength and assurance that propped you up so sturdily before, but…  Not a Mandalorian, he’d said.  Of course not.  Of course not.

“It wasn’t the armor.”  Din gently tugs up on your face so that you look at him again.  “It was you covered in blood.  It was you purposefully putting yourself in danger.  You killed multiple armed soldiers of the Empire, you dragged their bodies off the ship.  And then you flew into an imperial base, where you killed the officers, too.  You…”  He shakes his head slowly at you while speaking, and although you can’t see his face, you don’t need to in order to hear the horror in his voice.   “You… collected a quarry… in the middle of a massacre, sweet girl.”

Not a Mandalorian.

“You don’t chase down bounties,” he tells you.  “You don’t fly into war zones.  You don’t kill imperials, you don’t collect quarries, you don’t sacrifice yourself, or our son, to save me.  You said you tried to be brave… like me.”  His fingers tighten against your cheek, he dips his helmet to make sure you understand.  “I’ll never ask you to be brave.  I’ll ask you to survive.”

“I’m… sorry,” you finally whisper, and his arm drops from your cheek to join the other in wrapping around you and holding tight.  They hug you and squeeze, encasing you and the baby in a beskar shield and staying there for a long time.  Long enough for you to tuck your head back into its proper place under his helmet, long enough to start to feel okay with the silence again.  It brutalized you the last time you were surrounded by it, it made you feel alone and desolate and barren inside.  You greet it warily now, settling into it for an unknown amount of time until it’s forgiven once more.

After a while, Din quietly breaks it.

“How many?”  He murmurs to you.  You already know exactly what he’s asking, there's no more clarification necessary on his behalf.

You slowly close your eyes and think back to the smoldering craters, the blood soaked ramp, the fear in Oshua Ryler’s eyes as he begged you not to kill him.

“That didn’t deserve it?”  You ask, clenching your eyes tighter at the memory.  “Four.”

And maybe, maybe six or eight months ago, you would’ve begged for some guidance on how to reconcile that.  Hell, maybe a few hours ago, you could’ve used his arms around you exactly like this, his low voice repeating the same things he’s already told you before, over and over again, if only for some semblance of stability when everything feels turbulent and uncertain.  You’ll never be able to change it, though.  This belongs to you now.

This time, all Din says is, “I’m sorry, too.”

And that covers everything.

The silence envelops you both again, but… there’s something else.  Something that still sits deep in your worries, an image that isn’t a scar of what’s happened but a dread of what’s to come.  You need to tell him.  You don’t feel like saying it, you don’t want to speak it aloud for fear of bringing it into existence, but you need to tell him.

“Din?”  You breathe out, and he makes a soft noise in his throat while cuddling you on the floor.  “I saw…,” you whisper, every word sitting tight and reluctant in your throat.  “Right when we made the jump, I was looking through the window and I-I saw…”

“A star destroyer.”  He says it like… like it’s the worst thing in the world and also completely expected at the same time.  He says it like he already knew, yet can’t even imagine.  You lean every bit of your weight against him since you can’t hold him in return, squish him as best you can against the small corner and curl up even tighter in his arms for comfort.

He takes a deep breath, a shuddery sound you don’t think you’ve ever heard him make before.  It holds untold anxiety, unsaid conflict, uncertain action, an unknown path forward.

“I don’t know what to do,” Din eventually whispers to himself, to you, to the baby in your arms.  His voice is barely a breath through the modulator, his fingers digging into your skin with how many emotions he’s repressing.  “What do I do?”

He sounds so distressed that you automatically feel your soul find the floor—instantly, you become steady and calm and you locate all that rationality that kept you going today.  All your worries still twist deep down, all the guilt and the turmoil wrestles with your soft, easy nature until you can only find bits and pieces of it in the most vulnerable places inside you, but if he’s struggling this terribly, then the least you can do is offer some good, true, unwavering faith in times of uncertainty.  You’re in hyperspace, everything worked out, and it’s going to stay that way for right now.  If he doesn’t know how to talk about it yet, then you trust him enough to wait for him.

“It’ll be okay,” you tell him with a newfound confidence and purpose, carefully easing the baby into one arm so that the other can find its way to the other side of his helmet and pull him closer.  Din tucks his head and allows you to brush your lips against the metal, whisper the words soft and steady to him.  “We’ll figure it out together.”

---

@cptnbvcks thank you so much for the incredible art!

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin #din djarin x you #din djarin x reader #mando x reader #mando x you #reader insert #fanfic #star wars #rough day #no-droids

[undercoverpena]

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

[decembermidnight]

Bad Attitude

Summary: While on patrol duty, you chase a suspect starship but end up crashing on a freezing planet. Its pilot, a Mandalorian, rescues you, but he doesn't like your attitude towards him and makes sure you understand who is in charge.

Pairing: Din Djarin x f!reader

Word count: 6.1k

Warnings: smut, 18+ mdni, teasing, dom!din, brat!reader, brat tamer!din, Din is really an asshole here lol, improper use of the darksaber, lots of dirty talk, oral (m receiving), breath play, choking, fingering, unprotected sex, exhibitionism, degradation kink, praise kink, creampie

A/N: Loosely based on The Passenger episode and super canon divergent. I just had fun having nasty thoughts! Reblogs and comments are always welcome!! Hope you enjoy it!

Divider: @saradika-graphics

Masterlist - Read on Ao3

You… You really did have to follow that ship on this forsaken planet, didn't you?

You couldn't just listen to your partner Carson for once when he warned you to let it go.

Chasing that Razor Crest despite the bad weather on Maldo Kreis was not the smartest idea. Not smart at all, in fact. 

You were only supposed to ask the pilot why his ship was in the proximity of that prison, Bothan-5, when that officer was killed, but he ran away as soon as he heard that name. You immediately started recklessly chasing that old piece of junk in the hostile atmosphere of this awful, unwelcoming planet, and next thing you know your Starfighter crashed, compromising the integrity of the hatch, you’re cut off from your partner and you’ll likely freeze to death before he can come rescue you. Could it get any worse?

It turns out it can.

Just when you switch the radio off, resigned to accept the unavoidable fate, your eyes seem to catch something dark in the snowstorm. At first you assume it’s just your mind playing tricks on you, but when you take a better look, you see it - there’s a dark figure approaching your ship. It must be him - the Razor Crest pilot. As he gets closer, you notice he’s wearing armour, a Mandalorian armour, and you’ve heard the stories about those deadly warriors. You probably made him angry with your insistent pursuit and now he might be killing you so as not to leave witnesses.

You are so fucked. This is the worst day of your life, and also the last.

He lifts the damaged hatch of your ship and looks at you, exposing you to the freezing air of the blizzard. You stare back at him - his broad figure completely towers over yours, but you try not to look intimidated by him.

"Razor Crest, is that you?" you say in a secure tone, wanting to appear tough.

"Yeah." the modulated voice answers as you feel his dark visor lingering on your figure.

"Came here to finish the job?" you try to sneakily grab your blaster in a desperate attempt to defend your life, determined not to die without fighting, or at least, not without trying. 

"Not if you don't try anything stupid like that. Put it down." says in an authoritative tone, his right hand instinctively goes on the holster of his blaster. You quickly realise this is not the moment for heroism if you want to survive. 

"Don't give me orders. I'm a New Republic officer." you reply firmly.

He scoffs and shakes his head in disdain.

"Dear officer, take a good look around. This frozen tomb doesn't look like New Republic territory to me." he goads you "Now quit it and let's go to my ship."

"Who says I want to come with you?"

"Come on, I’m freezing my ass off, for fuck’s sake." he loses no time in ripping your seatbelt and life support system off your body before grabbing you and carrying you over on his shoulder.

"Put me down! You're so rude!" you protest and try to kick him, but he blocks your legs in the tight grasp of his free arm, immobilising you.

"So far I've been more kind than you deserve. If you keep acting like that, I'll show you how rude I can be." his grip is firm and strong as he gives a warning squeeze to your thigh.

You do not want to admit it, but you feel a thrill of excitement at that - he doesn’t care about the fact that you're a law enforcer, he’s treating you like the scum he’s used to. He probably wants to trade your life for his freedom with Carson later - you’re his hostage now.

When you reach his ship, he finally puts you down. You take off your helmet and look at the Mandalorian that so unceremoniously saved you from certain death earlier.

You realise how much taller than you he is, his armour making him even broader than what he already is. Your eyes can't help lingering on his body in wonder at how strong he must be, how the shiny beskar perfectly completes his thick masculine figure, only adding to his already imposing stance, perfectly concealing his body, making him massive and statuesque. His suit is tight around the arms, you can see the outline of his thick, strong biceps. If only he wasn’t a criminal, if only you weren’t a New Republic officer, if only he wasn’t a complete cunt…

"You done?" a low, baritonal voice interrupts your dirty thoughts.

"Excuse me?" you raise a brow.

"I asked if you're done checking me out."

“What?! I wasn’t-” you lie and you both know it. You do not feel so cold anymore, your cheeks feel hot all of a sudden.

“Yeah. Sure.” the asshole teases as he rests against the wall of his ship, looking at you with crossed arms.

“You hurt?” he then asks.

“No, I’m fine.”

"Good. Let's go up to the cockpit, then. It's warmer up there." 

He climbs up the ladder and when the door closes behind him, you take a deep breath, trying to collect yourself, and follow him. 

When you get in the small room, you find him sitting in the pilot chair facing the windshield with crossed arms and legs spread wide. You settle on his side, standing with crossed arms and gaze fixed on his body. He’s as still and silent as a statue, unreadable under that helmet - is he really relaxed as he wants you to think, or is he carefully studying you? 

"Don't look at me that way." says without moving a muscle.

"How?"

"Same way you've been looking at me since we got on the ship."

"What are you implying?"

"Don't act like you don't know." he turns towards you and stands up, making you imperceptibly startle. He looks imposing and menacing, his helmet slightly tilted observing you.

"You don't trust me one bit, do you?" he scoffs and shakes his head.

"You assaulted that prison and killed that poor man. He was a New Republic officer, just like me. Why should I trust you?”

“Because I didn’t do it.”

“Why should I believe you?”

“What will you do when you find out I was right all along?” the way he doesn’t lose his cool is fascinating, to a degree.

"You’re not. If you were innocent, you wouldn’t have run away and we wouldn't be here now."

He tilts his helmet to the side once again as he looks at you. His gaze and his confidence make you feel hot and uncomfortable at the same time - you wouldn’t want to give out the undeniable way his stoic charm is affecting you, but you hate the way he's been treating you.

"Yeah, we wouldn't be here." he lets out in an allusive tone as he walks one single step forward while you take one back, ending up against the wall. He's so damn tall and broad and… and you're getting so wet. 

You look into his dark visor, feeling his gaze lingering on your body. You can feel the tension, the atmosphere in the cockpit becoming unbearable. It's getting hard to breathe, heat radiating from both of your bodies as you never stop looking at each other. While his sight is unreadable, yours is unmistakably libidinous, your heart pounding in your chest and your pussy throbbing with need, but you're both too proud to surrender first.

"I guess not. You coward." you let out in a far too flirtatious way as you look at him with shameless lust.

"What did you just call me?!" he rasps, sounding so provocative. 

"Coward. That's what you are. Running away from me when I was chasing you and taking me hostage when I was so vulnerable.”

“Shut up.”

“So big and tough in your shiny armour, but you run away as soon as you see a New Republic patrol. I should have just shot you when I had the chance. At least I wouldn’t be sharing this ship with a coward.”

“I said shut up.” 

“What now, Mandalorian? What do you plan to do now that you've kidnapped me? Are you gonna prove me wrong?" you’re wondering if you got too far when he gets dangerously close to you, his menacing figure towering over yours as he grips a handful of your hair, forcing your gaze into his dark visor.

"Do I have to stick my cock in your mouth to make you shut up?"

A flame of lust instantly traverses your body. You feel your blood boiling, making you feel hot and flustered, reason and common sense leaving you at the mercy of a primal, carnal instinct.

"I bet you don't have the balls to do it." you goad him with a smirk on your face.

Oh, you shouldn't have said that, yet you did, and what's worse is that you don't regret it. 

You look at him with shameless desire clouding your eyes, internally cursing at the helmet that can't and won't let you see his reaction to your provocation, waiting for his next move.

You keep your lustful gaze locked on his visor as his hand swiftly unfastens his belt and the zip of his pants. His grip on your hair tightens even more as he pushes you on your knees, immediately sticking his hard, thick cock in your mouth and fuck, the sound he makes. It's worth crashing on a desolated planet and being scolded afterwards. It's guttural and desperate, astonished at how good your poisonous mouth feels when you take him in and your tongue gently swirls around his tip, instead of spitting mean words at him. You keep eye contact as you let the shaft slide in your mouth and coat it generously in your saliva, his head tilted back as he lets out breathy sighs of pleasure.

"You. You need to learn how to fucking behave. Shut up when I tell you to. You have to stop taunting me. Fuck. Is this what you wanted?" 

He takes your head away from his cock to let you answer.

“You’re not as much of a coward as I thought you were.” you tease.

“You are still talking?!” exclaims as he pushes your head towards his cock once again, staying still as he uses your mouth for his pleasure, violently forcing all of his length down your throat. When he rips you away from it, you gasp for breath.

"You look so good like this. On your knees, choking on my cock, finally shutting the fuck up like a good girl." he growls, pleased.

Just as you want more of it, your mouth going towards it once again, his grip on your hair turns to steel and stops you there. You look up to him from your kneeled position and see him shaking his head.

“Why? Are you close already?” you taunt him as he tucks his cock back in his pants.

"Oh, it will take you way more than that to make me come, officer." says as he makes you stand up.

“Bet you want me to prove you wrong so badly. Bet you want to come in my m-” you stop mid sentence as he starts to unzip your flight suit while he pushes you towards the control panel of his ship, making you sit on it and trapping you there with his beskar body, your legs instinctively spread open for him to fit between them.

“Yeah? Go on. What were you saying?” he goads you as his hand slips inside of the thin pants you're wearing under the suit, teasing your clit from outside your underwear.

“I-I was s-saying that - that-” you gasp when his hand finds its way into your panties and reaches your slit.

"Ooh, what do we have here?" exclaims in taunting wonder. His beskar helmet is only a few centimetres distant from your face "Acting all cocky and arrogant before, but damn, feel how wet you are. Bet no one ever made you this wet, officer. Stars, you're dripping for me. All of this just from sucking my cock?" says in a husky voice as two of his thick, gloved fingers slide inside of you.

You grit your teeth in a desperate attempt to hide the way this is making you feel, not wanting to give him satisfaction, but your body is slowly surrendering to him and betraying you, your cunt involuntarily clamping around his fingers, revealing how his words are, in fact, effective on you.

"Oh, I bet you feel so good and you sound so sweet when you moan for me. Feel how hot and tight you are." he keeps teasing you. 

Resisting him is getting near impossible. By now he knows how badly you want it.

"Listen to what we’re gonna do now. You're gonna come on my fingers like a good girl and then I'll fuck you until your partner comes to rescue you."

You can't help it anymore and let out a moan at how sensual his voice sounds as he says those things to you, at the thought of getting fucked by him, all while his fingers keep sliding inside and outside of you, making your cunt spasm around them.

"Oh, I knew it. Damn, such a sweet girl." he rasps as he takes his fingers out.

"What the fuck?!" you snap at him when he does, making him chuckle at your reaction.

"Hey, calm down officer." he teases your lips with his gloved fingers soaked in your arousal. 

You instinctively suck the leather and taste yourself on his fingers, licking them sensually as you look at him in the visor. He hums in pleasure seeing that and goes on playing with your mouth, entranced by the way your tongue swirls around them, until he takes them out and presses his middle finger on your bottom lip.

"Bite." he simply orders and you obey, taking the hem of his glove between your teeth to let his hand slip out of the glove. It's huge compared to yours, callous and veiny and masculine. You hum as it starts trailing down your body and feel the warm trail it leaves on the delicate skin of your neck as he caresses it, your own hands holding tight to the commands of the ship, propping you up to offer yourself to his touch. You can feel his eyes looking at your body from behind the dark visor as his hand slips in your flight suit once again, groping your breast from outside your shirt, his thumb playing with one of your hardened nipples, your back arched and chest puffed out to make it look fuller. You moan loudly when he slides his fingers in your panties and back inside of you. 

"Stars - so fucking wet. I bet your cunt is so beautiful. Spread your legs for me. You're making me so fucking hard." he keeps up the pace and also starts to rub your clit with his thumb, making the pleasure you’re feeling unable to hide and you surrender to him, panting heavily as your eyes cross and roll in delight.

"Really? Eyes rolling, officer?" he taunts you.

"F-fuck y-you-" you rasp with half closed eyes, your sentence gets interrupted as he hooks his fingers, touching something devastating inside of you, making him scoff when he sees the way you squeeze your eyes shut and arch your back, your mouth wide open to let out obscene moans.

"What? Do you want me to stop?" he provokes you.

"Don't you fucking dare." you manage to let out in a barely audible sigh.

He immediately grabs your neck, not liking the way you undermine his authority.

"Careful now, officer." he growls.

You moan back in response at how much you like this - being put back into place, the Mandlaorian reminding you who is in control. You hold tight to his sides, digging your nails in his flight suit as he just pushes you further against the control panel with his body.

You’re a panting mess and you feel so close, so damn close to your orgasm. You beg he won’t stop as you wrap your legs around him. He feels by the irregular, ragged way you're breathing and the way your muscles go rigid around him that you're close.

"What? Coming already?” he chuckles “I will let you just because I want to fuck you so badly. Now come, my dear officer. Come for me."

You pant straight into his helmet when you hear him calling you like that, fogging it where his mouth would be. His hand pushes you over the edge and you moan loudly as he makes you come around his fingers, your hands holding tight to his neck, bringing him down towards you. Your back arches, chest rubbing against his armour and you roll your head back until it hits the transparisteel of the windshield behind you. Your nails scratch him hard and your legs’ grip becomes even tighter, his upper body now trapped in your grasp.

He grabs your chin with his other hand and forces you to look at him in the visor.

"Yes - yes, yes. Like this. Good girl." he growls between his teeth, looking at you as you struggle to keep your gaze on him, your eyes wanting to roll up in pleasure.

He lets you ride your high, never stopping those astounding moves of his hand, making you feel so satisfied, but so guilty and humiliated at the same time.

As the orgasm gradually fades out, your grip on his body loosens.

He takes out his hand right in front of your eyes and, Maker, it's soaking wet, glistening in your arousal. You’re both embarrassed and aroused when you see how wet and yielding you got for him as soon as he started touching you. 

"Damn, officer. How am I going to-"

You don't even let him finish, you've taken his hand in yours and start sucking his fingers. He lets out a satisfied hum when you do that. You clean them thoroughly, sensually massaging his digits with your tongue, humming as you hear him cursing between his teeth in a foreign language.

Once he’s satisfied, he takes them out of your avid mouth.

"Now strip for me, officer. I bet you look so hot under that uniform."

"Forget it." you tease him.

"Too bad you didn't obey me when I asked so nicely."

In an instant his hands start ripping the flight suit off your body as you're kicking out of your boots at the same time. It's rushed, brutal and wild, the both of you completely taken over by lust. His hands linger on your sides, giving you goosebumps and making you sigh when he lifts the thermal shirt off your body and you hold on tight to the panel when he hooks his fingers in the hem of your pants and pulls everything down and away from your body, leaving you completely naked in front of him.

“You look… Good without your uniform on, officer.” he is pleased looking at your naked body. “Wonder if I could say the same about you, Mandalorian.” “You’ll have to use your imagination."

“Are you even a real Mandalorian? Maybe you stole this armour, or maybe you bought it off some Jawas.” you mock him.

"Come here and I’ll show you." he simply says as he sits back on his chair, legs spread wide and a visible bulge in his pants.

Just as you get close to him, he takes out one of his weapons, a strange sword without a blade, and begins to trace your nipple with the hilt. You start to breathe heavily and you can feel your nipple getting harder by the second, your eyes carefully following his movements as he descends ever so slowly, teasing you, trailing your stomach and then your lower belly, stopping right in front of your cunt, driving you crazy, your legs spreading for him, begging for some friction. He softly brushes your lips, carefully avoiding your clit to tease you further, until he finally touches it. The sudden contact of the hilt with your sensitive clit makes you shudder and let out a whimper.

"Don't. Move." he orders as he continues to touch you with that weapon, rubbing it against your clit, producing obscene, wet sounds at the contact. You try to stay as still as you can as he plays with that dangerous weapon so close to your most delicate spot. You beg he'd go faster, you wish you could ride it and come all over it, as pathetic as it sounds, but no, he doesn't want that. He wants to take his time to tease you, getting you nice and wet as he plays with you like you're his toy.

He stands up, towering over you.

"Stick your tongue out."

You immediately do and he starts to trace your mouth with the hilt.

"This is the Darksaber. Whoever wields it can rule all of Mandalore, and you're licking it after I've used it to give you pleasure. Feel how wet you’ve made it. How does that make you feel?"

“Like you should sit down on that chair and take out that cock. Touch yourself while I lick your Darksaber clean, Mandalorian.”

He grunts as you push him back on his chair. He immediately unzips his pants to take his throbbing cock out as you keep licking his weapon clean, pleased at the sight of his erection in his hand.

"Touch yourself for me, Mando" you order him as you trace your tongue on the hilt.

"Enough of that." he grabs you by the hair and pushes you on your knees, forcing you to suck his cock. In a swift movement he grabs the Darksaber with his two hands, using it as leverage to keep your head down, forcing his entire cock into your throat, making you startle at the sudden lack of air.

"You don't get to give me orders." he growls before freeing you from his grasp to let you breathe. You gasp for air and look at him, panting.

Maker, he's so dangerous. He could kill you in one second if he wanted to, and you've never, never been wetter than this, playing this dangerous, twisted game with a deadly warrior.

He gives you a few seconds to breathe and then he's back at it, using his weapon to make you choke on his cock.

"Do you understand? I can do whatever I want to you." he releases you once again. There are tears in the corner of your eyes but that doesn't stop him from doing that one more time.

"You're so fucking pretty, but you also need someone to tame you. You've found the right man. Is that what you were looking for, officer? Someone to tame that bad temper?" he says and releases you one more time. You gasp for air as one tear sheds down your cheek.

"Come here. I'll fuck that bad attitude out of you." he orders as he puts the Darksaber away.

This. This is what you've always been craving, what you always wanted.

You slowly rise from the cold floor, your hands on his thighs as you can't stop looking at each other with longing desire. You straddle him, shaking in anticipation as you sink on his body guided by his hands on your hips, letting his cock slowly slide inside of you. The both of you moan as his cock splits you open for him, making him feel how hot and welcoming you are. You both let out a long, satisfied sigh, his voice is dark and sensual and you spasm around his throbbing cock, heavily aroused to finally have him inside of you.

“Mando, let me see if you're only good with words now."

“Din. I want to hear you screaming my name when I’ll make you come on my cock, officer.”

“You’re pretty confident in your abilities, Mandalorian.”

“Your mouth might say otherwise, but your body agrees with me.” he's so arrogant and full of himself, his confidence is making you wet.

“It does” you concede “you feel good, Din.” you purr in his neck, and he grunts when he hears how sweet your voice can be as you whisper his name while you have his cock buried inside of you. You start riding him slowly, looking at him in the visor as you feel every ridge and vein of his cock, enjoying every single moment of it, letting him almost slip out, only to let him back inside of you. He lets out sighs of satisfaction that drive you insane and only want to make you increase your rhythm but no, not yet, you want to make him pay for the way he's been treating you.

“If I had known my cock would have been enough to tame your bad temper, I’d have fucked you earlier.”

“What about yours, Din? What should I do about you being an asshole to me?” you say as you pull him out of you, making him grunt.

“Fuck. Put it back in.” 

“Not so fast. I want you to behave. Beg for it.” 

“You know I could just take you anytime I want, right?” “I do. But where would the fun be?”

He hums in pleasure as you take his drenched cock in your hand and start to slowly stroke it right in front of your cunt, moaning in his neck just to get him even more aroused.

“Fuck. You’re good at this.” he whimpers.

You start to slide it between your folds, the both of you moaning in arousal.

“Dank Farrik, d-do you want me to die?” he growls, subjugated by your teasing. “I want you to behave.” you whisper in a heady groan as you keep rolling your hips and rubbing your pussy on his cock. “F-fuck. I want to be inside of you so badly.”

“Say it.”

He sighs and pauses, taking a good look at the tip of his cock teasing your entrance.

“Please.” 

“Please what?” you ask, biting your lip in pleasure.

“Please put my cock back inside of you, officer.” there's a hint of annoyance in his voice when he surrenders and sees your satisfied smirk.

“Good.” you whisper gasping against his helmet as you slowly slide his cock deep back inside of you. 

That’s the moment when he digs his fingers in your hips and starts jackhammering you, making you scream as he said he would, your hands clawing on his shoulders.

“Who do you think you are? Do you think you can taunt me? I’m a Mandalorian. A bounty hunter. Bet you’ve never been fucked so good, officer. I’m gonna give you this cock so hard, you’ll never forget about me. You’ll be touching yourself thinking about me for the rest of your life. Thinking about the Mandalorian Din Djarin who fucked your brains out on Maldo Kreis.”

The way he's fucking hard and rough into you as he says those things in an angry, husky voice is pleasurably devastating and addicting, having you moan frantically as your body is held still by his strong hands.

"Oh, fuck, Din, don't stop. Don't stop!" you let out in a desperate cry.

"Do you want to come on my cock, officer? Let me hear it. I want to hear you beg for it."

"Please, please Din, make me come on your cock." you drawl, subjugated by lust.

"Mmm - you sound so hot when you beg for me. Keep going and I won't stop."

"Please! I've never been fucked like this, Din." your heart is racing, your breathing is getting laboured and feel the orgasm approaching “I'm so close, Din, so fucking close. Please, don’t stop."

"Come, officer. Keep riding my cock and come on it. I want to hear you scream my name." 

"Oh, Din!" you scream his name as the overwhelming force of the orgasm washes over you, a white blaze of bliss making you lose control, uncontrollably spasming and sensually moaning as he doesn't stop giving it to you, groaning in pleasure when he feels how tight and wet you get around him when you come on his dick.

"That's it. That's my good girl." he grunts as he lets you ride your orgasm.

His rhythm slows down as you come back from your high, his hands still firmly on your hips, guiding you, making you slowly grind your pussy against his cock, the cockpit full of your pants.

"Ready for round two, officer?"

He doesn’t even wait for your response, your mind still fogged by the astonishing orgasm he just gave you.

He gets up from the chair and in a second he turns you around, your body slammed against the control panel and the windshield, your wrists held up high by his hand. Your legs are shaking and you can't really seem to stand on your feet properly.

You couldn't possibly be ready for him slamming his dick inside of you all at once, so hard that air leaves your lungs in an exhale. You'd curse at him, but you can't articulate words as he is fucking you so violently, his strong hand on your hip keeping you still. If you thought he was fucking you hard earlier, it's nothing compared to now - feeling all the power of his body giving it to you wild and raw is pleasurably devastating. You couldn't possibly have imagined that what he gave you earlier was merely foreplay for him, just a little tease before making sure you knew who is really in charge and how hard he can fuck you. He was just letting you have a small taste of what would happen after, wanting you to get ready for him, nice and wet and stretched open for his thick cock to split you in half. He grabs a fistful of your hair and you feel his helmet close to your ear.

"What? You're out of breath already? I'm just getting started, officer." he slides it out almost completely and slams it back in so hard you roll your eyes in pleasure.

"Look at you. Loving this dick so much you're rolling your eyes. Gonna fuck you so hard, you'll learn how to fucking behave." 

You can't do anything besides taking his cock and letting out choked moans.

"Still regret being stuck here with me? Tell me. Do you still think I'm a coward?" he growls in between thrusts.

You can barely drawl a moan in response and he chuckles.

"Yeah, I don't think so. You can't even speak." he mocks you as he pounds into you harder and harder, devastating you, reducing you to a pathetic, moaning mess.

"Who knows if the snow storm has stopped and your partner is looking for you. What if he sees you getting fucked like this?"

You know it's wrong, but the thought turns you on so much that you clench around him, and he feels it.

"Oh, you'd like it? Officer, what do we have here? A little whore?" you hear his dark chuckle as he grips your throat with his hand, bringing you closer to him - the hot, naked skin of your back against his cold beskar armour as he never stops railing you. 

Getting called like that in other circumstances, by any other person in the galaxy, would have caused you to shoot them immediately, but now, oh, did that turn you on.

"You like being called that way, don't you? Whore." he whispers softly in your ear, and it drives you insane despite how much you're trying to hide it. He feels your body getting rigid, the vibrations of your throat choking a moan, the way you bite your lip trying not to let one sound out, and you can bet he's loving every second of it. 

His other hand starts to rub your clit and that's when you fucking lose it - your mouth opens wide and lets out a loud groan of pleasure.

"Tell me you're my whore and I'll give you the best orgasm of your life."

You hesitate - his request is so degrading, but you want it at the same time. He can sense your indecisiveness and stops drawing circles on your clit and starts going around it, carefully avoiding it.

"N-no. Don't stop. It's unfair!" you whimper.

"Say it."

You try to relieve the ache between your legs by bringing a hand there, but he is quick to stop you and block your wrist behind your back, immobilising you as if you were one of his bounties, getting you even more aroused, so much, in fact, that you let out another groan.

"Don't make me handcuff you." he growls sensually and you immediately picture him fighting criminals every day, used to manhandling thugs and being a badass and you get even more aroused at the thought, and decide to give him whatever he wants.

You mumble those words, barely audible, ashamed but at the same time yielding, desperately and pathetically wanting him to give you what you so achingly crave, in a way that only he can provide. A need that you never even realised existed before he brought you into the highest dimension of pleasure.

"What? I didn't hear you."

"I am your whore." you whisper, annihilated.

"Good girl. Say it again. Louder this time."

"I am your whore, Din! Please, please make me come like this!" you surrender to him completely, defeated by your very body refusing to let this slip away.

"That's my girl. You asked so nicely, I'm gonna give it to you." you hear the satisfaction in his voice as he immediately starts to rub your clit again, driving you close to the edge in no time, your cunt getting tighter in anticipation.

“Shit, I want to come inside of you. I'm so fucking close, officer. You’re gonna patrol the outer rim, flying your Starfighter while my cum drips down your beautiful cunt. You’re gonna feel that and you will think of me the entire time.” he rasps in your ear as you feel his body pushing you further into the transparisteel and then over the edge, making you come screaming his name once again rolling your eyes over your lids, desperately begging him to come inside of you.

His groans get louder and louder as he comes. You feel his is cock pulsing and twitching, thrusting into you, wanting to go as deep as it can go, filling you with his hot release as you clamp erratically around him.

Both of your bodies are spent as you come back from your high, the sound of your laboured breathing fills the cockpit.

"Hey" he pants "keep it inside now. I don't want to see a single drop going to waste. Are we clear?"

You nod and he slips out of you slowly as you obey his order, keeping his release inside of you as you get dressed, feeling it drip between your legs as he walks you back to your ship.

Carson is already there - he has fixed the minor damages your X-wing had sustained when you crashed in the snow, confident in the fact that you found shelter somewhere and that you’re safe and will be back soon.

What he did not expect is for you to show up with the Mandalorian by your side, though.

"Can I have a few words with you?" he asks with a raised brow.

You nod and walk a few steps away from Din, going behind your ship to have some privacy.

"He saved my life." you regretfully admit before he even has a chance to speak, expecting a scolding.

"Listen. I run the tabs on the Razor Crest. It seems like your new friend has an arrest warrant on him for the abduction of a prisoner." he pauses briefly and lets out a sigh "But he has also captured three wanted culprits and tried to save the Lieutenant's life."

"I'd say we let him go this time. I really don't want to file a report about what happened. I hate doing that."

"Is that so?" he asks sarcastically.

"These are trying times, come on."

Carson raises his brow once again, looking at you and then at the armoured menace standing a few steps away from him.

“Fine.” he shrugs, not wanting to dig deeper with regards to your change of mind towards the Mandalorian, then gets back to his ship.

You jump in your X-wing, but before closing the hatch and taking off, you address Din one more time.

"We're even now, Din Djarin. See you next time, and don't get caught."

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[noisynaia]

Hi! Can you do a Din x F!reader where when Din is visiting Greef Karga and telling him about how he wants to redeem himself, but then Karga asks him if that's really what he truly wants? Maybe the reader takes Grogu somewhere while they talk and he asks Din something like, "Have you ever considered not going back to Mandalore? You can be happy here with her." Or something along those lines? Thanks! You have a great talent! ♡

𝑊𝐻𝐼𝑇𝐸 𝐹𝐼𝐸𝐿𝐷𝑆

Thank you so much sweet anon 💕 This is such a lovely idea and I had such a great time writing it. I live for soft Din who just yearns for happiness but needs a little help realising that he is deserving of it. 💗

word count: 5.4k 

pairing: Din Djarin x f!reader 

note: Mutual pining. Love confessions. Found family. The helmet comes off. Din has his first kiss. The Razor Crest lives. No use of (y/n). This has not been beta read and English is not my native language.

You are sitting in the passenger seat of the cockpit with Grogu, who is softly babbling, in your lap as he cradles his beloved little silver ball with both of his tiny hands. Din is sitting in the pilot chair next to you, getting the Razor Crest ready for landing. You can’t help but stare at him as he skillfully manoeuvres the ship. You have been travelling with the Mandalorian and his foundling for a little over a standard year now and what had started out as a small crush on Din has now bloomed into so much more, even though you had tried to fight it and protect your heart you have fallen utter and deeply in love with him. 

The three of you are on your way to Nevarro to talk to Din’s employer Greef Karga. You have been with him to Nevarro a few times before and you are exited to be back, but you can’t help but worry that this might be your last time on the planet, at least while travelling with Din and little Grogu.

You have tried to fight your feelings for Din, but no matter how badly you tried there was nothing you could do to stop yourself from falling. You know that you are only setting yourself up for heartache, knowing that there is no way that the two of you ever could be together, even if he reciprocated your feelings which you don’t think he does. He is Mandalorian after all and you are not…  Even though he is now an apostate. But that is why he will be travelling to Mandalore, to proclaim his creed and seek redemption and you can’t help but have a feeling that that journey won’t involve you which hurts. You know that your stay on the Crest always has been temporary. Just a job, after all. Just a needed help looking after Grogu. Staying on the ship with the little youngling while Din is out hunting bounties, but you feel like Din soon will tell you that you no longer will be needed. 

That you will be parted with Din is going to hurt, but losing Groguis going to be unbearable. You have ended up caring so much for the little green kid, loving him so much, you don't think you could love him more had he been your own child. It is terrifying, the thought that you one day will have to say goodbye to him. You try not to think too much about it and you shake your head as Din is landing on the barren ground that constitutes as the spaceport of Nevarro City. 

You cradle Grogu in your arms as you descend down the ramp with Din, the warm glow of the late afternoon sun is reflecting off his beskar making him look even more impressive than usual. You can’t help but feel proud to be walking by his side as you step through the pillars of the tall arch that open Nevarro City up from the spaceport. You are met by Karga that are walking towards you, arms spread in a welcoming gesture and a big wide smile lighting up his face. You can’t help but giggle when you notice that he has two small droids in tow, holding the ends of his long robe so it doesn’t drag along the ground.  

“Mando, my friend! I was beginning to fear you would never return.” Karga greets him before turning his attention to you, offering you a great big smile. “And I see your beautiful travel companion hasn’t left you yet.” He lets out a friendly laugh. “You haven’t got tired of that old bucket head yet my dear?” You let out a giggle, you have missed the older man’s friendly, teasing banter.  

“Not yet.” You smile at him. “Besides, this little one makes me stick around.” You say, looking lovingly down at the little child in your arms. 

Grogu is shrieking with happiness at the familiar face and Karga looks at him with an even wider grin on his face than before, if that is even possible. “And would you look at that, my favourite little green baby! How are you doing kid?”  

“Grogu.” Din says in a flat but not unfriendly tone, looping his thumb in his belt.

“Come again?” Karga turns towards the Mandalorian.  

“His name, It’s Grogu.” Din clarifies. 

“Huh, if you say so.” Karga shrugs his shoulders before taking Din’s gloved hand in his, placing his other hand on the armour of Din’s upper arm in a welcoming gesture. “Now come, come! A great deal has happened here since your last visit.” 

It is true that a lot of things have happened, the city is looking amazing, many of the buildings are new and shiny, more trees and greenery than ever before, even the people on the street look more vibrant and happy.   

“Yes, a lot of things have changed here. It doesn’t even look like the same place.” Din lets out. 

“Yes, yes! We have a construction boom going on in the city, it is all rather exciting. But now come, come! It has been a while and I’m sure we have plenty to discuss.” Karga smiles, clearly proud of the new state of the city. “The two of you are very welcome to join us, of course, but I will not take offence if you would prefer to take a look around instead, it will probably be more exciting for the little one.” Karga addresses you, gesturing to Grogu. “I will happily offer one of my droids to give a tour of the new city if you are interested or maybe show you to the healing baths, those Twi’leks know what they’re doing, very soothing.” 

“Thank you but I think we will be alright. I think we will go to the bazaar, find something nice for this one.” You smile down at Grogu who is happily cooing at your words.  

“Good choice, you have to spoil the little bogwing as much as possible, being spoiled is an important part of being a youngling. And make sure you go to the fruit market. The meiloorun melons are most delectable this time of year.” Karga states before turning to Din. “Well, shall we, Mando? I’m sure we have a lot to discuss.” 

Din turns his head back at you, his visor looking straight at you and you know that his eyes under his helmet must be locked with yours, it is a thought that always sends a warm rush through you and makes your heart beat a little faster. 

“I’ll find you later. You have your com on you, right? ” He asks you which makes you roll your eyes with a teasing smile on your lips even though you still feel your heart beat a little faster than normal by his gaze. 

“Of course.” You say, picking up the little device from your pocket to show him. “But we will be fine. You worry too much.” You say as you put the comlink back in your pocket. “I’ll call you if a reptavian is out to eat us or if we are about to be abducted by pirates or, I don’t know, maybe a kowakian is stealing Grogu’s meiloorun.” You tease him, he is always being so overprotective.

“Ah, ah. You must remember, a man is always allowed to worry about the people he loves. ” Karga chuckles while giving Din a playful pat on the back. Your smile falls at this and you feel your face heat at his comment. Din clears his throat awkwardly. You know that Din cares for you, but in what capacity you’re not sure, he is always making sure that you are safe and comfortable. He, of course, loves Grogu dearly, but Karga’s innuendo about Din loving both of you has your heart beating even faster than before.

“Shall we.” Din comments quickly, clearly flustered by Karga’s words too.  

“Sure.” Karga exclaims. “It was lovely to see you again, now go and enjoy the city. I think you will find the place quite pleasant, we have built a new school too, great for the little ones.” He tells you, gesturing at Grogu, like he is trying to sell the idea of settling down here before turning to leave with Din. 

You watch the backs of the two men as they walk up the stairs before they disappear into Karga’s building. You shake your head slightly before looking down at Grogu. “Shall we?” You ask him, echoing Din’s words from before. The little kid gurgles happily up at you which makes you smile widely. Maker, you love his cute little face so much. 

You walk down the bustling street to the bazaar. You have to admit that the changes to the city really are very impressive, you could actually imagine living in a city like this. You start your shopping, a ration run was long overdue anyway and besides the needed basics you find a lot of other things too. A new robe for Grogu, happy to find some small enough to fit him, Maker knows he needs more, you feel like you are constantly washing the few he has. You also find a few things for yourself and you are happy when you find a booth that is selling Din’s favourite brand of nutrition packs, and in his favourite flavour too, not that he has told you that they are his favourites, but it was easy to figure out as they always are the one he picks.

“So, is it melon time now?” You ask, looking down at Grogu after you have paid for the nutrition packs. Grogu is cooing happily as if he understands and you chuckle down at him making your way to one of the fruit stands. 

Karga was right, the meilooruns look perfect, ripe and mouthwatering. You smile at the elderly Twi’lek behind one of the booths, placing Grogu down on the ground before you start picking out the tastiest looking fruits, making polite conversation with the fruit seller while still keeping an eye on little Grogu. You pay for the fruits and the Twi’lek behind the booth hands you the last one. You feel Grogu tuck at your pant leg as he looks up at the fruit in your hand, clearly very interested in the orange-red melon that is almost bigger than his head. You chuckle at him, bending down to let him hold it which makes him let out an excited shriek.      

“Good job!” You coo at the youngling as he proudly holds the big fruit with both hands, waddling over to the basket that you have lowered for him, where he, with a little difficulty but complete determination, lifts the fruit up to join the rest.     

“Aw, what a good boy, helping mama out.” The Twi’lek coos at Grogu. 

Your heart clenches at the woman’s comment and you yearn by the idea of actually being the little green kid’s mother. You smile at the fruit seller and then down at Grogu 

“Yeah, he is the best.” You sigh softly.  

Grogu is looking up at you with those big bright eyes of his, softly babbling before reaching his tiny arms up towards you in a gesture to tell you he wants you to lift him up. You are happy to oblige, picking him up and nuzzling your nose against his little chubby cheek before leaving a soft kiss on the same spot. 

“Well, sweetheart I think that was all.” You tell him with a smile. “Your dad is probably also finishing up with Karga about now.” 

“Why don’t you take some of these too, on the house, for being such a sweet boy.” The Twi’lek says, putting a few pika fruits and some jogans down a brown paper bag.  

“Oh, no, that’s too kind of you.” You try to politely decline the woman's sweet offer but she just shrugs you off. 

“Now, none of that. We like giving gifts here on Nevarro.” She smiles at you as she shakes her head, making her lekku’s swing from side to side, before looking at Grogu. “Why don’t you give these to your father, little one? Proof that you were nice and helpful while out shopping with mom?” She smiles at Grogu who is cooing and making grabby hands at the bag and you can’t say no to him, so you let him take it and thanking the sweet Twi’lek before going out to see if Din is finished at Karga’s. You can’t help but feel at peace here, people have been so sweet and welcoming. 

—      

Karga is pouring himself a glass of spotchka, offering a glass to Din, just like he always does, which Din declines, just like always does. “Hm, so today isn’t the day I’m gonna see your face either.” The older man jokes, lifting his glass to take a sip of the strong beverage. Din only scoffs at the comment. 

“I came to tell that I won’t be able to take any bounties for a while.” 

“Well, I am happy to hear that, Mando. Finally ready to give up that tumultuous life of yours?” Karga says with a big smile on his face. Now this was not the reaction Din had expected, confused by the man’s words.

“I have shown my face. I have to go to Mandalore to seek redemption in the living waters.” Karga’s smile falls as Din tells him this.

“Oh, Mando. Now I had hoped that you had come to tell me that you were ready to come quieten down here in Nevarro City.” 

“I have taken off my helmet, I need to go to Mandalore.” Din tries to explain, but Karga does not seem to see that as a problem, waving a hand in the air as if what Din is telling him isn’t an issue in the slightest, like Din hasn’t broken the most holy of creeds, cutting him off with an unconcern look on his face.

“Well, have you considered not going?” The other man simply states. 

“I am an apostate now.” Din tries again but it still doesn’t seem like an issue to Karga. 

“Isn’t that just all the more reason to stay here. You might be considered an apostate among your people now, but here you will be welcomed with open arms. You could hang up your blaster, settle down and give the kid some stability, maybe even add a new little one to the family, I’m sure that lady of yours would enjoy that.” The older man says with a wink followed by a deep belly laugh before continuing. “Now, I don’t know how ugly that mug of yours is under there.” He says gesturing at Din’s helmet. “But I know that ain’t gonna scare her away, even a qartuum could see that that girl is enamoured with you.”

Din feels his face heat up under the helmet at Karga’s words. “She isn’t my lady.” Din mutters, not able to suppress how deeply he wish that you actually were.   

“Hmm.” Karga hums, not sounding convinced. “If you say so. But, Mando, my friend, I have known you for a long time, since you were a young man and I don’t think I have ever seen you as happy as you are now, with her and the kid. I know you keep insisting that there is nothing going on between you and her, and that might be the truth, but you can’t convince me that you don’t want there to be.”

Din wants to protest, to tell the man that his statement is wrong, but he knows that it would fall for deaf ears, and he would give himself up anyway, Din has also always been a terrible liar. Of course he want’s something between you. His employer has seen right through him, hit the head right on the nail. Din has over the last few months started to come to terms with the fact that he has fallen completely and utterly in love with you. It is scary, completely unknown territory and Din doesn’t now what to do with these feelings he has for you, sure that you don’t feel the same - but, as little as he likes to admit it, a little hope has bloomed in his chest by Karga’s words. ‘Even a qartuum could see that that girl is enamoured with you.’ could that really be true?

 Could you really feel the same for him as he feel for you? No, of course not, Karga is just teasing like he always does, right?  

“I can’t hang up my blaster. It’s not that simple.” He sighs, shaking his helmeted head. 

“But it’s not that complicated either.” Karga says, taking another sip of his spotchka before continuing. “You deserve some happiness, Mando and  I think she can give you that. This is just an old man’s advice and you can do with it as you will, but I hope you believe me when I say that all I want is to see you happy.” He finishes this drink, setting the now emty glass down on the table before pulling out something from the pocket of his extravagant outfit.  

“Now go back to that girl and that Grogu of yours and treat them to a nice dinner, I know how much that kid loves to eat.” He chuckles. “I have a nice prime tract set up, right over by the hot springs. You can spend the night there, I’m sure she will appreciate having somewhere nicer to sleep than that old ship of yours.” Karga says with a smile as he slides enough credits for a nice dinner and then some over the table along with a keychip and a little piece of paper with an address scribbled down. “Think about what I’ve said okay? It’s a nice place and it can be yours if you want it.” He adds, gesturing to the key that Din is now clutching in his gloved hand.

Din simply nods at the man and mumbles a quick ‘thanks’ before leaving. Karga’s words ringing in his head as he makes it down the busy street to the bazaar to find you and Grogu.

—      

The house Karga has lent you is beautiful, which makes perfect sense, the High Magistrate has always struck you as the type of person with an eye for finer things, the makeover the city has gotten is proof of this. You had taken a little tour of the house, not able to stop yourself from fantasising about what it would be like to live in a place like this. It’s nice to pretend even if it’s just for a single night or two, you hope you get a chance to try out the soothing hot spring in the backyard before you have to leave again. It will probably be soon, you know how badly Din itches to travel to Mandalore to redeem himself. The thought making a tight knot form in your stomach, you and Din havent really talked much about it or talked about what was going to happen with you. You don’t even know if you would be allowed to come with him as a non-Mandalorian. Maybe the time you have been dreading so badly finally has come, Din telling you that he no longer needs your services and that he will travel to Mandalore with Grogu and reclaim his creed without you. It makes your little tour of the house feel so much more bitter sweet, the fantasy of the three of you living in a place like this seem stupid and silly.

You can’t help yourself from dragging your feet towards the open door of the room in which Din is currently putting Grogu to bed, watching them from the doorway. You are in complete awe by the sight of Din sweetly tucking Grogu in for the night, placing the warm blanket over the little kid who is placed on the soft bed. The contrast of the two is always a sight. The big brute bounty hunter, clad from head to toe in shiny, intimidating beskar, and the tiny little kid with giant shiny eyes and wobbling ears.

Even though you have known for a while that you love and care deeply for both Din and little Grogu, now as you watch them, you know that the love you have for the both of them is deeper than anything you have ever felt before. You love the little green kid as if he was your own and you have fallen deeply in love with his armour wearing dad. 

Your heart yearns so bad by the sight of them, the love Din has for his little foundling is so bewitching and you find yourself stepping into the room, softly tip-toeing over to the bed, feeling yourself being pulled in like a magnet. Din looks up at you when you reach the bed. His helmet conceals his emotions but he doesn’t seem to mind that you have come over to them. Grogu has already snoozed off, Din pats the empty space of the bed next to him, encouraging you to take a seat which you do. The two of you sit there in silence for a moment looking at Grogu as he sweetly sleeps. You wonder how many more of these small moments you have left with them. You suddenly feel like you might start crying. You sigh as you stand up, stepping over to plant a soft kiss on Grogu’s forehead before turning your gaze to Din, giving the man a weak smile as he rises from the bed too. The two of you quietly stepping out of the room and towards the living area.       

You sit down at the soft sofa, Din sitting down in one of the comfortable arm chairs. A silence falling over you as you both seem to be occupied with your own thoughts. 

After Din had found you and Grogu at the bazaar he had taken you out to one of the nicer places to eat in the city. Fancy, but not too fancy to bring a kid. Din had, of course, not been eating, but you had made sure to get some food back with you to the house that he ate while you were out in the backyard playing with Grogu, giving him privacy to take off his helmet. He might have taken off his helmet that time for Grogu, and now is an apostate for it, but he still follows the creed. 

It had been a good evening, one you wished you would have many more of, but that just seems like wishful thinking, but Din had been very quiet. Not that he has ever been a huge chatterbox or anything, but he had been quiet even for his standards. You can’t help but wonder if something is wrong, now that you also sit in silence here.           

“Din?” 

“Hmm?”

“You are being awfully quiet tonight, anything on your mind?” You ask in a low voice, close to a whisper, feeling a little unsure if you should even ask him this.  

“Oh, Karga just said some things to me. I don’t know, I guess it just made me get stuck in my own thoughts, I’m sorry about that.” He says with a slight shake of his helmet. 

You open your mouth to answer but he continues before you get to say anything.     

“Do… Do you like it here?” His voice is softer than normal and slightly shaky. 

“Here on Nevarro?” You ask a little confused, mirroring his soft tone.

“Yeah, here on Nevarro… Wo-would this be the kind of place you could see yourself live in?”

“If I was living in a house like this? Absolutely!” You grin at him, but Din doesn’t seem to be in on the joke, his shoulders tense as he fidgets with the leather of his gloves.   

“Well, Karga he… he offered it to me, the house here... Well, to us. To uhm, to stay.” He adds. 

Us… Could he mean? Your stomach does a flip until you realise what he means by ‘us’. Him and Grogu, of course, the clan of two. You look over at him, offering him a weak smile as you imagine it for a second, Din and Grogu living in a place like this, the warm blanket of domesticity covering them.  

“That sounds nice.” You say, giving him a little smile. It really would be nice for them to have a quiet life, but you know that it is never going to happen. That isn’t the life of a Mandalorian.

“Yo-you really think so?” He sounds startled and you can’t help but giggle softly at him. 

“Well, yeah, of course. I can imagine you preparing lunches for Grogu in the morning, lots of meriloons for snacks, of course, and then taking him to school.” You say with a playful smile on your lips, remembering Karga’s comment about the new school they had built. “And, all the other kids thinking Grogu has the coolest dad ever with all that beskar.” You laugh softly at your little fantasy. 

“So I would be a cool dad, huh?” He finally chuckles along with you. 

“Oh, yeah. The coolest.” You nod. “How many other parents wield the dark sabre?” You snicker. 

“No one, I guess.” He chuckles again and, kriff, how you love the sound of it.

“Oh, and you would bake for all of the bake sales, obviously!” 

“Pff, of course, I would!” He plays along. “I would bake all the pika cakes needed. Hell, the little one gets them for free.” He says, nodding his head in the direction of the kitchen where the bag with the fruits Grogu was gifted at the market lies. “But you would have to help me taste test them, make sure that we come with the best cakes. Can’t lose my cool dad status because I’m being outshined by another parent with better baking skills.” 

Wait is he saying that you would be there too, in this hypothetical scenario?! 

“Would I?” Your tone has lost all the playfulness from before, now low and unsure but also hopeful. 

He stiffens, shoulders getting tense again. “Wouldn’t you?” His voice is now soft and a little shaky through the modulator.

You can’t believe the direction the conversation has taken. “I guess I would if you want me to.” You confess. 

“I do. I really want you to.” He whispers your name. The visor of his helmet trained on you and you know that he is looking directly into your eyes.  “I would want that. I never thought I could have that, but with you… With you and Grogu, that is all I want.”

“Din I…” You feel how warm tears are slowly falling down your cheeks now. “I want that too. I want you.” You get up from the sofa and he rises from his chair, the two of you slowly approaching each other until you stand with only a few inches between you. 

“I don’t want to go to Mandalore, not anymore.” He whispers. “I don’t…” He takes a shaky breath, like he is getting ready to tell an earth-shattering secret. “I don’t mind being an apostate.”  

“Din are you sure you don’t want to go..?” You can’t believe his words. You are happy, of course you are, but this is his creed, his life, his whole identity. You need him to be sure.

He doesn’t answer you, just standing still in front of you, like a statue. You start to think that he might have regretted telling you this, that he is realising that he does want to go to Mandalore and that he just got caught in the moment for a second, but then he moves. It is like everything is going in slow motion, it takes you a second to realise what he is doing as he brings his hands up to the side of his helmet, a loud hiss sounding through the room before he removes the beskar from his head.

A little gasp escapes your mouth as you take in the sight of his unhelmed face. You are met by a pair of the most beautiful eyes you have ever seen, tender and bright, like the twin suns on the planet you grew up on. His hair, that is slightly mussed from the helmet, is a deep brown which matches the colour of his eyes. Dark stubbles are adorning his jaw and a trimmed moustache is framing his upper lip and you notice how soft, how kissable they look. There is no doubt in your heart as you stare into the his eyes, this is the man you love, reaching your hand out to softly cup his cheek, making sure to not make contact with his skin until he lean against your hand himself, not wanting to overwhelm him if he isn’t ready for your touch yet, but he does lean in, letting out a little gasp as your palm gently cups his cheek.   

“Hi.” You whisper, finally breaking the silence.

“Hi.” He echoes as your palm rests against his bare skin, fingers slowly brushing over the stubbles of his cheek. A faint, sheepish smile on his lips and a slightly unsure look in his eyes, clearly not used to being looked at and not knowing how to react to your gaze without his helmet. He has nothing to be shy about though. He is so gorgeous and you are gonna let him now. 

“Din, you are beautiful.”    

He doesn’t answer, still taken in the feeling of being touched without the armour. You let him take all the time that he needs and a little while goes by before he finally breaks the silence.

“I kind of want to kiss you, cyar’ika.” He confesses, voice barely more than a whisper.    

“You can.” You tell him your voice is soft, a mellow smile on your lips as you stare into the deep umber of his eyes. He nods slightly, giving himself a moment to let the idea of finally being able to kiss you sink in, you don’t rush him, letting him do it in his own tempo.

“I-I’ve never kissed anyone before.” The words are coming out soft and shaky, almost apologetic, as he confesses this to you. It doesn’t surprise you, it must be incredibly nerve wracking for him, after so many years behind the helmet, standing bare and exposed in front of another human being. It makes sense that he never has kissed anyone before considering the creed he has lived by. You can’t help but feel a little giddy by the idea of being the one to give him his first kiss, a soft and loving gift he can carry with him forever.   

“Din, that’s okay.” You reassure him before adding with a slightly cheeky grin. “It’s not like I mind teaching you.” This makes him smile too, letting out a low sound, the ghost of a laugh, you have heard that sound before but never without the modulator of his helmet and you feel your heart flutter warmly. 

“I’m glad you don’t.” He whispers gratefully as he begins to lean in closer until your lips meet in a soft, sweet kiss. His hands moves up to cradle your face, gently cupping your cheeks with his broad hands. You hum content into the kiss, your lips moving slowly in sync, a part of you wants to deepen the kiss letting your tongue explore his mouth but you hold yourself back, this will hopefully be the first kiss of many and you want this one to be sweet and soft and not overwhelm him. 

You finally have to pull away to catch your breath, finding those beautiful eyes of his that you have already fallen completely for. 

“I love you.” You whisper into the quietness and he smiles at you, the prettiest smile in the galaxy, before leaning in to capture your lips in another kiss. 

“I love you too.” He mutters against your lips. “I have for a while.” 

You let out a choked gasp, not believing that this is really happening, that Din really loves you too.

“I think I’m ready for something new.” He tells you softly, placing a sweet kiss on the top of your head before resting his forehead against yours. “A new beginning right here with you.” 

“That sounds good.” You smile. “But I think you might have to kiss me again, as your official taste tester I need another sample.” 

He lets out a low laugh before kissing you again. A kiss that tastes like the beginning of something beautiful. 

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din djarin x f!reader | 3.1k

↳ warnings: this is rated for 18+ only! minors, please do not interact. smut, unprotected pinv, fingering f!recieving, mentions of oral m!recieving, fluff, no use of y/n. let me know if i forgot anything.

↳ a /n: hey everyone. taking a small break from my joel miller fics and coming back to my roots with this one. just needed a break and this was a super fun one shot to write. gonna post the final chapter to chaser really soon. thanks for all the support!! i love you all smsm.

if you would like to read more of mine: masterlist!

“Say it.”  You started breathing heavy. And you knew, when he tugged you around to look down at you, a hand coming to grasp your shoulder, the part where it meets your neck. You knew what he wanted, and you bit the bullet. “Teach me.”

It's honestly quite strange, if you really think about it—which oftentimes, you try not to. 

You wait for him, and he always comes back. Always. Maybe this was the dreaded exception that will turn his perfect ten times out of ten he always comes back, to nine times out of ten he always comes back. 

You sit there, in the hull, with the kid. Approaching the three week mark since your warrior left. 

You remember seeing him out of the Crest, several feet from where you sit now. 

“Be good,” he whispered to the little one, and placed him in your arms. 

“And be safe,” he said to you, almost in a stern voice, his hands brushing yours when he passed the child to your arms. 

“Be smart,” he emphasized, a little too serious for your liking. 

Be smart, above all else. You knew what it meant. Don’t be a hero, use your better judgment. He always does that. 

Be good… be safe…be smart. 

Then he always pats your waist, feeling the blaster’s outline through the fabric of your dress. And he always gives you a curt nod, and rubs a leather thumb over your hip. A small touch, in passing. Maybe most people wouldn’t even think twice about it. But you do. It’s the only thing getting you through sleepless nights. 

It is strange. You finally decide in your head. 

The small agreement between you two. 

The Crest is mostly quiet.

Besides when the fresher makes that gurgling sound, or the exhaust sends a violent huff of air through the hull, or when the small moans coming from your own mouth split through the silence. 

You guys don’t, under any circumstances, speak about it. 

You wouldn’t even know what to say, honestly. 

You remember the first time, when you had gotten a little too brave with your words and he was getting a little too comfortable around you.

“Teach me how,” you said. The hull was dark but not pitch black and the kid was locked in his pram in the cockpit. 

“You don’t know how to shoot a blaster?”

“No.” you reached over, grabbing his own from the crate between you. You held it up to the dim light and examined the markings. The rough edge of gunpowder. The shiny bits where his fingers lie. 

“Teach me,” you said again, pointing the blaster at an imaginary person to the left of him.

“You’re drunk,” he remarked. His gruff tone made your thighs shift closer together. 

“‘M not drunk,” you bit back. He shuffled in his crate until he was more comfortable. 

“You don’t know how to hold your liquor,” he pointed out. Resting his elbows on his thighs. You looked at him in the dark light. The yellow of the small bulb turned his helmet golden. 

You weren’t drunk. It was the truth. The spotchka only made your tongue loose, not your mind. 

“And I don’t know how to shoot a blaster,” you said, “what if someone broke in, and I needed to—”

“Don’t,” he said. Not mad, only scared of the possibility. You only know that now.

You stayed quiet, and continued to feel the weight of his weapon in your hand. He contemplated for a little, weighing the options in his mind, tossing the idea around inside the helmet. 

“What the hell,” he surrendered, standing and motioning towards the hull’s entrance, “C’mon.” 

You had followed him quickly, finding your place next to him on desert sands. 

“Hold it—” he said, pushing the blaster into your hands and raising your arms to the perfect distance, “—there.”

He stood behind you. You felt the cold bite of beskar brush against your back. Your breath hitched, so did his. 

“Don’t put your index finger on the trigger unless you want to shoot,” he said, moving your finger from the small flexed piece of metal and to the side of the blaster. 

“But I do want to shoot,” you said, tossing him a look over your shoulder. He grovels behind you. 

“Until the very second you want to shoot,” he muttered. “Got it?” 

“Yeah,” you said, looking at the weapon, almost transfixed by the way his hand holds yours. 

He reached down your body, by your waist, and touched you there, ever so gently. Your tense muscles made him hesitate. 

“‘S’okay,” you whispered, worried that if you said anything more it would scare him off forever. 

He didn’t say anything, just adjusted the angle of your hips and shifted the weight of your body. To your backfoot. 

“There,” he said, when he finally got you into the position he deemed fit. 

“Are you sure this thing’s not going to kick back and rip my arm off?” you whispered into the night sky. 

“It will—kick back. It was made for me, you’re too small. But I’ll—” he hesitated again. “I’ll hold you. If that’s okay.”

You couldn’t bring yourself to speak, just nod. So he held you, wrapped his arm around your waist, and you tensed up all the same. And his breath picked up behind you. 

You shot, and missed the scrap by a few feet, the plasma went down into the sandy ground and burned a hole there. 

“Dammit,” you mumbled. He didn’t let go. 

“Try again,” he said, touching you again, touching you more, and wringing your arms back up to firing position. 

“Farming was easier,” you joked, thinking about your previous job. 

“I’m sure it was,” he quips back, “Relax.” 

You tried, you really did. But he could feel that you couldn’t relax. Your tense muscles were taut under the leather of his gloves. 

“Sorry,” you whispered, maybe it was the spotchka talking this time, or maybe you really were sorry but you let it slip into the dark, humid air—

“No one’s ever…” 

No one’s ever touched you. Not like that. You wanted to say. 

He stayed quiet for a bit, not moving your body to the perfect position or teasing you. You remember feeling sick. 

But then he surprised you, and it was like breathing in fresh air for the first time after months of hyperspace. 

“Really?” he asked behind you, into your ear. Your eyebrows staggered and a line of elevens appeared between them. 

“Yeah,” you said, in a breathless kind of way. “Guess I never really got around to learning that one,” you tried to tease but he remained so quiet, so still, you had to push out a forced laugh. 

“Do you want to learn?” he said. Almost like he was not even really offering but just inquiring. 

But that little part of his voice, maybe, under all the modulation, told you otherwise. And you knew this wasn’t the spotchka talking. You were fighting a losing battle because that was all you, and months of pining after a faceless man who smells like pinewood, and gets your favorite snacks from the market, and makes you caf in the mornings—

“Yes,” you breathed out. 

A pregnant, tense, silence enveloped you. He was still behind you, and he still had his arm wrapped around you. Even when the arm holding the blaster dropped, he still had his arm there, holding your waist, and slowly dragging the heaviness of his hand down, down, downward. 

“Say it.” 

You started breathing heavy.

And you knew, when he tugged you around to look down at you, a hand coming to grasp your shoulder, the part where it meets your neck.

You knew what he wanted, and you bit the bullet.

“Teach me.”

So you guys don’t ever talk about it. 

In fact, you don’t really talk at all. Your invitation meant he showed you—taught you—in silent actions. He doesn’t talk when you fuck. The only sounds filling the silence are your desperate moans and the occasional whimper when he’s being particularly withholding. 

He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t really make a sound. You’d be lying if the quiet, if the mask of him paired with his warmth didn’t make you dizzy, didn’t make you unravel in his hands. 

Because it did. 

But sometimes you’d wish he would say something, anything. Break the silence. Break up your wanton moans and just give you anything to work with. But you presume he doesn’t really do this often, and having him like that is better than having nothing at all. 

You shut the closure and push away the bassinet when you hear a clang! from outside the hull. 

You find your blaster under the fabric of your dress. You’ve never had to do this before. And you’re honestly scared. That night you begged him to teach you how to shoot, it was a secret hidden plea, maybe even flirting. You never thought you’d be the only thing separating the kid from possible danger. 

“C’mon, Mando,” you whisper to no one in particular. Maybe the maker. 

And then, suddenly, the ramp to the hull lowers and you raise the blaster, just like he taught you. 

The business end comes face to face with a shiny helmet and you let out a sigh of relief, dropping it to your side. 

His head cocks to the side like he’s saying, really?

You just stand, breathless, and push the kid’s pram up into the cockpit so Mando can get the bounty in safely. 

He’s dragging it behind him, deadweight and you gulp back an anxious breath. 

When he’s done, he turns to you. Looking at the blaster in your hands. 

His head tips again—really…?

“Yes, okay?” you say, throwing your hands up, shoving the blaster into his chest. It lands there with a small thunk!

“Three weeks, Mando. You were gone almost a month. I thought— I —,” you say, running your hands through your hair. 

“He knew how to hide,” is all he says, and that makes you laugh. The possibility of it all, the what if, leaving your body with a tense laughter at his sorry excuse of a joke. 

He grabs you then, suddenly, pulling you towards his chest. You know the routine. You both miss each other after longer hunts, even if you never say anything about it. Never say anything at all in fact. 

Din’s grabbing at your shirt, moving it up. And grabbing at your pants, moving them down. You pull at his chestplate, and his pauldrons, anything you can find. But he’s desperate. Way too desperate. This time, things feel different. 

You moan when his now ungloved fingers find wet cotton. He pulls them down too. 

He holds you, forcing you to look up at him while his calloused fingers find your swollen clit. You jump, yelp, whimper. He stays stoic. Though, this time, you can hear his heavy breathing. 

You both find the bunk, somehow. And instead of flipping you over, so you’re on your stomach, taking it like that and pushing your head down into the mattress, he leaves you on your back. You question him silently with your eyes but he doesn’t say anything—like always.

He just cups you again, feeling the growing wetness there, almost pushing a finger in, inching to the first knuckle but then he backs away and you whine. 

But he reaches down, pulls himself out of his pants and spreads your slick all over the velvety softness of his own length. It makes you gasp. 

You spread your legs for him, subconsciously. The red tip of his head looks at you menacingly. He’s big. He’s always been big, but you’re not afforded to look at his length often unless you go down on him, which is rare. 

Din climbs over you, a warm hand comes to grasp your tit and you swallow breathless moans in the back of your throat. His helmet shines golden, like all those nights before. The first night. Where he taught you that a man surrounded by beskar can be so soft, maybe even loving. 

When you start squirming, he notches his tip at your entrance, you freeze waiting for him to sink in, but he holds you there. You just whine in response. 

You grab at him, desperate. Pulling him in. To your surprise, he obliges. He sinks in, almost all the way, until you clench around him so tight he freezes. Your gasp at air. It feels like your brain is foggy and all you can see behind your blinking vision is his black visor. 

He sinks in more, you clench around him more. Three weeks is the longest you’ve gone without having him since the first night all those months ago. 

He stays there, while you try to relax around him. Just breathing under the modulation. You can hear him more clearly now, face to face. 

You have never fucked Din like this. 

Not face to face. Not with him waiting for you, not with such a tight fit. Aside from that fateful first time. 

You clench around him again. You moan again, into his space, into the small, tight, crampedness of the bunk. 

“Shit.”

You freeze. You don’t look into his visor, not right away. You lay there, frozen, with his hard cock notched halfway inside you. 

His hands tighten on your waist and you both wait there, with shallow panting breath. 

When you look up at him, he’s motionless. You might be worried that he’s turned to stone. But you plead him with your eyes—whatever you want to do, talk more, fuck me harder, stop right now and never speak of it, just — do it. 

And for a split second, it does cross your mind that he might pull out or maybe even kick you out. But that little part deep down inside you likes to think it might be different this time. That he really might utter another forbidden word or fuck you harder. 

The thought makes you clench around him again. 

To your surprise he moans a little. Something small, barely there. Almost like a — ngh from deep under modulation. But you hear it. And the sick part of you clenches around him again just to draw out something more. 

“Relax,” he huffs. It almost sounds loud, despite his whispering. But you know that’s just because he’s never done this. Never spoken when so close to you. Never spoken while he’s inside you.

You don’t even register the content of his words, just the sound of him making you tense up again. 

“Fuck,” he breathes, his helmet comes down to rest beside your head. He stays there, folded over your body. You’re still so tense it almost hurts. 

“Sorry,” you whisper out. Your voice is hoarse from lack of use the past couple of weeks combined with your panting breath. You don’t really know what else to say. 

He moves suddenly, bringing his hand down between your bodies and touches your inner thigh, inching up towards where his coarse hair almost meets your swollen clit. 

“I said relax,” he mumbles, his thumb touching your clit ever so slightly. Your hips buck and he pushes them down again. 

“Sorry,” you repeat. He just hums.

You don’t really know what to do. This is different. This is new. You wait for him to set the pace. Establish the rules. 

He starts circling your clit, he rubs through your lips to find wetness there. You try to relax into the mattress and as you do, he inches further into you. Breaking you open, splitting you in two. 

“C’mon,” he groans when you let him sink further, “Open up for me, baby,”

It eggs you on. He’s never done this, let alone call you anything besides your name. It sends a shooting pleasure to the point he keeps rubbing under his thumb and he can feel it. How you get impossibly wet and open around him until he finally sinks in to the hilt. 

“Fuck, Din,” you moan out, when he starts thursting. 

He’s groaning. You can hear it, under his breath. You feel lightheaded almost, though, it’s good to know being apart affects him in the same way. Makes him as desperate as you feel. 

You’re close then, his sounds inching you towards that white light dancing across your vision. You clench around him and he moans again. 

“You close?” he says, almost experimentally. You can barely get out your strangled yes. 

“I —” you want to say, but he’s picking up the pace, chasing after his own release. 

I missed you. You think to yourself. But maybe that’s too much, too soon. 

“What? Pretty girl — what…” he cuts himself off with a groan. Like he doesn’t know how to control his speech, his breathing. Himself. Not like this. Not when everything is new and so fucking good. 

“I mi—” you can’t say it with your staggered breathing. He’s brushing up against that spot that drives you crazy. You both know it. 

You come, without saying it. Your vision goes white and dark at the same time. A sheen of sweat covers your body. You don’t know what to do with your arms, becoming slightly limp. It sounds like he can’t hold on much longer when you get tighter around him, it spurs him on and you know he’s not far behind. 

He’s mumbling something in your ear. You really can’t hear it under the helmet. You turn your head, 

“Hm?” you mumble, he groans again. 

“Missed — ngh — missed you. Sweet girl,” he says, then he comes, hot and thick, notching himself into you, anchoring himself to you forever. 

You moan through it, so does he. 

He collapses down next to you, you can feel the remnants of him leaking out between your sticky thighs. 

You try to unscramble your thoughts. Din hasn’t come back new. Just unlocking a part of him that you’ve never seen. Or, that he’s never let himself show. 

He does something else new, something you’ve never seen him do, let alone do with anyone else. It makes your heart beat so fast you’re worried he might feel it through the armor. 

You gasp, when you hear the quiet hiss of his helmet unlock but he cuts you off when he pushes the lip of the mask up just enough so he can kiss you. 

_

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[thepascalofus]

Supply Run - Return (part two)

AO3

PART ONE

Supply Run - Exchange (part three)

Pairing: Mando/Din Djarin x afab!Reader

Word Count: 8.0k

Summary: You’ve been Mando’s crew partner for a year now. Throughout that year Mando has warmed up to you and given you signs that your heart throbbing crush on him is reciprocated. There’s one thing making you hesitate. The condoms he bought on the most recent supply run.

Chapter Summary: While Mando takes a trip to the market and gets what he needs, he ponders your relationship and what it means to him.

Content Warnings: MDNI, 18+ only! Switching POVs, post season 2, the Crest lives, strangers to friends to lovers, mentions of Grogu, soft!Mando, insecure!Mando (a smidge), helmet loopholes, pining, idiots in love, jealous!reader, sad!reader for a little, mentions of sex work (sex work is work!), eventual SMUT (making out, grinding, f!receiving fingering, f!receiving oral sex, p in v, PRAISE kink, dirty talk), FLUFF, cuddling, happy ending guaranteed!

A/N: Thank you all so much for the responses on the first part! This is my first fic that I've ever shared and it makes me so happy that other people enjoy my writing! Enjoy!

Mando handed his scope off to you in the worn down store. Wallpaper peeled from the ancient wooden planks of the walls. Cobwebs littered the untouched areas of the store. The work stations in the back, visible from the pick up counter at the front, were in complete disarray. Several projects started, but not finished. Several projects finished, but not retrieved.

You took the scope in your hand and twisted it in your hands until your gaze landed on the name of the manufacturer and the serial number. Your eyebrows shot up once the brand of the scope was revealed, it twisted in your hands once more. Hands raising the metal tube so it was level with your eyes, you looked into the scope. 

“Ah! I know what it is!”

Mando watched in confusion as you ran to a workstation and grabbed a singular tool. How did you know what was wrong so quickly? He sat in the hull of the Crest for hours attempting to fix the scope. The motions of taking the scope apart and putting it back together were etched into his brain from the number of times he did so. 

You returned to the front of the store with the tool in hand. “This manufacturer has been having these issues lately. They built their magnification system like no one else, but they didn’t seem to account for the need to recalibrate the scope every once in a while. Recalibrating too often causes the lenses to misalign.” 

Mando calibrated his every day. He had to. It was part of his job. A miscalibration could be the difference between a two hour hunt and a twelve hour hunt.

Your face twisted in concentration as you inserted the tool into the side of the scope. Jostling the metal, it popped open and allowed access to the inside. “For some reason they put these weird pins in…” You trailed off while you removed a total of three thin metal pins. Once the pins were removed, you clicked the top of the scope back into place and handed it to Mando.

Mando previously took the scope apart countless times. He never noticed any pins.

“Twenty credits, please.” You said with a smile. Your gaze met his–you somehow found it through his black visor–and you maintained eye contact.

The display on the inside of Mando’s helmet only progressed seven minutes after he entered the store. Inside of his helmet his eyebrows shot up. He was impressed. Not only with your efficiency, but with the reasonable price as well.

“I’m impressed.” He stated. Nodding at you, he retrieved a few credits from his utility belt and set them on the paint chipped counter. He turned and walked a few paces and then stopped in front of the door.

He’s been looking for a crew mate for weeks. The potential candidates he’s stumbled across were either annoying, rude, or incompetent. Throughout his time as a bounty hunter he’s been to countless repair shops. The service was always lack-luster, prices were too high, repair time much too long. 

Sure, he just met you eight minutes ago, but you had potential. He turned on his heel and faced you. Armor glinted in the low lighting of the run down shop. 

“Are you in the market for a new job?”

–

Walking to the market, he’d been reflecting on his decision to bring you onto the Crest as a crew partner.

It was the best decision he ever made, besides saving Grogu from the Empire.

You were intelligent. Friendly. Resourceful. Efficient. Brave.

You stared a Mandalorian straight in the eyes–well, visor–and didn’t even flinch. You didn’t even break eye contact, unlike everyone else. People would turn to whoever they’re with to avoid his gaze. They spoke like he wasn’t a meter or two away–and like he couldn’t amplify their voices with his helmet.

His tall, broad stance usually set everyone on edge. The heavy weight of beskar armor, a reminder of his skillset, didn’t aid in calming the nerves of anyone either. He was typically soft spoken around others, as he noticed people’s reactions when he spoke–eyes wide, speech stuttering, shaking hands–scared. 

Everyone was afraid of him.

Except you.

When you first boarded the Razor Crest, Mando was extremely careful in making sure you were comfortable. The majority of his days not hunting were spent in the cockpit or in his bunk. Whenever you crossed paths in the hull you offered him a small smile and quickly looked away. Did your bravery fade away?

He came back from a hunt one day, quarry in tow, and he was relieved to hear, “How was your day?” Fall from your lips once the bounty was in carbonite.

Still cautious–mindful of how the modulator made his voice sound–he kept his answers short and to the point.

“Fine.”

“Busy.”

“Awful.”

Hearing the four words you said after each return from a hunt, and being able to give you a response without you slinking away, made the hunts worth it.

One night always stood out in his mind. It was just like any other return from one of his hunts. Mando dragged the quarry up the Crest’s ramp by a cord tied around their ankles. He lifted the man to stand up, doing so effortlessly with a few grunts to spare. 

Your living space was in the hull, so he always tried to make the ends of his hunts fast. You didn’t have any choice but to watch. Mando didn’t want to make you watch for too long. Maker, he didn’t want you to watch at all.

His fist slammed the button to begin the freezing process. Breathing heavily, he stood and watched the bounty as they froze into the carbonite cell. A blanket of silence covered the hull once the hissing of the freezing mechanisms came to a stop.

“How was your day?”

There it is. His favorite part after the hunt. Knowing you were there, safe within the hull, and that you wanted to be friendly with him–even after witnessing him freeze a person he tracked down for several hours.

“Nothing you want to hear about,” he replied, his voice tinged with tiredness. The helmet’s modulator most likely didn’t register the sleep in his voice. Truly, he didn’t think that you would want to hear about it. The Mandalorian was afraid that hearing about his hunts would put you on edge. You already extended a branch of friendliness to him twice a day. He didn’t want to give that up by talking about the bounties he tracks down.

“Try me.”

Those words.

Those words have only ever been spoken to him by enemies. It always caused annoyance to wash over him, head to toe. He’s a Mandalorian. Confident of his skills in combat. No matter the odds, Mando knew he would like them.

But when those words tumbled from your lips, it was different. When his enemies weren’t scared of him, it was annoying. When you weren’t scared of him, adoration filled his body. And not adoration in a patronizing way, but adoration as a form of respect. 

It made him want you that much more.

Snapping out of his thoughts, Mando realized the crotch of his pants were tight. Nonchalantly, he clasped his hands together and rested them below his belt.

“Quarry tried to escape and they ran. Would have been back four hours ago,” the modulator gritted out. Again, he was conscious of how the modulator warped his voice. “Not too fun,” he added in an attempt to make the conversation more casual.

You were silent. He whispered a curse to himself under his helmet, one that he was certain wouldn’t be picked up by his modulator. Was his answer too much? Mando quickly became nervous and started to shift his weight from one foot to the other. The silence you left in the air made him a bit anxious.

The T shape of his visor peered over to you. You stood still in shock, reminiscent of the people that saw him in public. Before his thoughts could spiral too much, you replied, “Oh, I’m sorry.”

Dank farrik. He didn’t want you to feel like you had to comfort him. “You don’t have to be sorry,” his chest brushed against your shoulder as he swiftly hopped onto the first rung of the ladder up to the cockpit. “It’s my job.”

“That doesn’t mean it sucks any less,” you said. He smiled underneath his helmet at your consideration. Your eyes widened and your mouth opened and closed as you realized what you said, “sorry, I probably shouldn’t have said that your job sucks.”

You weren’t wrong. Making his way through tough terrain, relying on a blinking red light on a piece of metal to guide him. Finding them was a task in itself, but dragging them back to the Crest was the other half of his job that sucked. Mando looked over his shoulder at you and replied matter-of-factly, “My job does suck.”

A giggle bubbled out from your chest. Every once in a while you would be reading a funny article on your Holopad and your laughs would echo through the hull of the Crest, making their way up into the cockpit. He needed more of them. His silver helmet shook slightly from side to side and he turned back to climb the ladder. But not before he also let out a small chuckle.

If you were comfortable enough to stand up to him, and laugh at his awful attempts at jokes–after he just hauled a bounty onto the ship–Mando realized he was safe.

Not only were you safe with him. He felt safe with you, in more ways than one.

Kriff it. You extended a friendly attitude towards him–a faceless warrior covered in impenetrable armor–then he could extend a friendly attitude towards you as well.

You asked him about this day, both in the mornings and the evenings. He learned about what you like and didn’t like. One item stood out to him. Caf. He always entered into a cloud of caf scent when he sauntered into the hull in the mornings. Mando was usually up before you, so he figured he would start making you a cup every morning. Confident enough in knowing which kinds of caf you preferred, he would stock up on caf every supply run.

The Mandalorian got closer to you, both physically and emotionally. Sometimes he would catch his hands landing on your waist or your lower back when he passed you on the ship. You’d shoot him a small smile in response. The distance he kept from you only decreased. He wanted to see your smile more and more. 

One thing he didn’t see coming was your interest in Mando’a. He would mumble to himself in the ship while completing various tasks.

“What’s that word mean?” You’d occasionally ask. The Mandalorian would explain their meanings, sometimes struggling to translate the word to Basic.

He must have taught you at least two dozen words in Mando’a by now. Each time you asked you would give him your full attention. 

At night, if he amplified the sound with his helmet enough, he could hear you practicing the words and recalling their meanings. It motivated him to share more words with you.

–

All of these experiences have led to this day. He’s been planning it for a month or two now. 

He wants to ask you on a date. Nerves bubbled up from his stomach and throughout his body. They suddenly came to a halt. 

Not now. First, he needs to collect information on a quarry.

Lost in his thoughts, he looked up and the market filled his vision with you in his peripheral. It wasn’t too busy, part of the reason why he was comfortable enough for you to shop on your own. He clarified the meet up point to you and watched as you took off. You had a bounce in your step, probably due to your excitement at shopping alone. 

Once he meandered further into the market he began to collect information. This market was the bounty’s last location. Mando’s guess was that he either simply wanted to be in a small city, gambled their life savings away, or they paid for visit after visit with the workers at the brothel until they ran out of credits.

Only one way to find out. The gambling and brothels didn’t start up until later in the afternoon. To kill the time, and to possibly find the quarry, Mando wandered throughout the different sections of the market. 

He asked a few vendors about the bounty. Mando described the man to many market sellers and only got a slight lead from one woman donned in patterned fabrics. 

“I think he went that way,” the woman gestured with one of her hands towards an intersection, “Take the left path. I don’t know anything else beyond that.”

Mando dropped a few credits into her hand and gave her a polite nod, “Thank you.” He continued on and curved his gait to take the left path. From the signs and general merchandise displayed on each stall, he knew he was entering the clothing section of the market.

The helmet covering his head swiveled from left to right and right to left. No one matched the description of his quarry. Repeating his previous process, he made his way down the stall-lined alley and asked a couple different vendors.

Once the last vendor finished talking, and provided him with another lead, he dug his hand into his pocket and slid the credits on the stall’s counter towards them. Turning his back towards the vendor, his feet carried him two steps back into the market.

Then he saw you.

You stood hunched over a table of colorful bracelets. Tapping his fingers to the temple of his helmet, Mando zoomed in and the helmet displayed your face to him, deep in thought. Looking down, you were hovering your hands over a grid of various green bracelets. 

You stopped on one. Mostly brown, almost too much to be in the green section, Mando thought. Nonetheless, the green and silver streaks peeked in and out of the thick threads of brown that made up the bracelet. Your fingers sorted through the sizes of the bracelet and selected one that looked close to your size. 

Clutching it in one hand, the other hand searched for another of the same bracelet. It was larger than the previous size. You set the smaller bracelet down and tested the strings. The bracelet was adjustable, and you smiled at the discovery.

You transferred the bracelets onto the table of the stall and used one hand to dig into your pockets. Palm held out flat, Mando guessed that about twenty credits sat in your palm. He followed your gaze to the sign listing the prices.

PRICES

1 bracelet = 15 credits

2 = 30 credits

3 = 45 credits

4 = 60 credits

Shoulders falling, you dropped the credits back into your pocket and returned the bracelets to their original spot in the grid of green. Ground crunched beneath your shoes as you turned and continued wandering through the market.

Mando noted it was the third stall to the left of the bright green stall on the left side of the alley.

Not wanting you to realize he saw you, the Mandalorian walked in the opposite direction you took. After twenty minutes he noticed that the stalls became much more strange than the stalls in the clothing section of the market. Peering at the different products for sale, he saw a potions shop offering “super strength elixir” and a vendor selling various pet-like creatures. A few more vendors passed his peripheral vision as he continued his strides. They came to a stop once a building larger than the surrounding stalls came into view.

His helmet tilted upwards to read the sign displayed front and center on the large building: BROTHEL.

Tapping the side of his helmet, the time on the helmet’s display indicated that the brothel and gambling scenes had just begun. Mando tapped the temple of his helmet once again and the warm bodies within the building lit up, like he had x-ray vision. He counted a dozen in total. One body stood in the same spot inside near an entryway–the bouncer, Mando thought.

The bouncer was the individual that allowed access in and out of the building. If their memory was decent, they would be like a living guest book. Mando figured he could bribe them to reveal information, which was his usual plan with most of the beings he spoke with.

He sauntered over to the side of the building the bouncer was standing at. A singular light flickered over the side door, the sun was still out, so Mando was confused why it was on. The beskar helmet observed the side door.

Metal. Double deadbolts. Keypad on the left side. Small slit at eye level–neck level for the Mandalorian.

As soon as he crouched down to look near the slit, it slid open and revealed a thick pair of black eyebrows. Black eyes bore into the brow of Mando’s helmet, as the bouncer couldn’t seem to find his eyes. 

“Do you have an appointment?” The bouncer asked. The voice behind the door was gruff, as if the words had to crawl from the depths of his throat. 

“No,” Mando responded.

Black eyes blinked and then disappeared when the bouncer closed the metal slit. 

Mando was taken aback and furrowed his brow. His fist pounded on the door. He just wanted this hunt to be over with. He wanted to get back to you.

The slit in the door revealed two black eyes once more.

“I have credits and will pay you if you give me information on a client your establishment may have served.” Mando’s modulator gritted out loudly. Straight and to the point. All business. 

Eyes disappeared again, but were then accompanied with the sounds of the deadbolts unlocking. The metal door swung open to reveal a man dressed in all black with a silver name tag. Black hair matched the rest of his ensemble. 

Still holding the door, the bouncer asked, “What’s the bounty look like?”

An eyebrow raised inside Mando’s helmet, but he figured the bouncer knew the drill by now. Even other bounty hunters knew that brothels were what many bounties visited. A gloved hand unbuttoned a pocket on his belt and retrieved a bounty puck. Clicking the side of it, the puck displayed the quarry. 

The man stepped out of the doorway and onto the pavement, pulling the door closed behind him. His black eyes slightly squinted when his gaze trailed up and down the hologram.

“Ah yeah, I’ve seen this guy. He has a type, always goes for the blondes.” 

“Does he have any upcoming appointments?” Mando questioned.

The bouncer sighed in thought and pulled a small notepad from his pocket. Mando mirrored the man’s motion and produced a pen and notepad from his pocket. 

“The guy has an appointment in two days. He just asked to see a blonde. Figures.” The man shrugged and opened his notepad. Mando noticed it was a planner, and the bouncer flipped to the pages for the appointments two days from today.

“Which workers would take him as a client?” Mando’s modulator churned the words. His pen clicked as he readied himself to write.

The man donned in black made a fist with one hand and raised a finger with each name, “Ari. Taima. And Nomi. They would be in rooms one, five, or seven.”

Wow, Mando thought, this guy really knew the drill. He quickly finished up writing down the names and room numbers of each worker. The pen scratched feverishly against the cream colored paper, leaving behind black strokes to form letters and numbers. Notepad folding closed and the pen clicking, signifying the end of his notes, Mando returned the pen and paper to their place in his pocket. His opposing hand reached into a different pocket and produced a sizable amount of credits. Feeling generous, thankful that this hunt was going to be quick, he compensated the bouncer handsomely.

First task done. Second task on the horizon.

Creaking produced from the hinges of the metal door as the bouncer disappeared behind it once more. Flickering light gleamed off the beskar armor that protected the Mandalorian in combat. Although he wasn’t going into combat, because he wouldn’t be nervous if he was. 

Mando trained most of his life with the greatest warriors in the galaxy. Combat flowed through his blood easily. It was a part of him. 

But he was never trained on how to ask people out on dates.

On top of that, he was never trained on how to ask you out on a date.

He didn’t want to misread the situation. You could just be friendly. Who would want to date a man and not know what he looks like? Who would want to constantly live on a ship, without a permanent home? 

Being Mando, he prepared for the worst. If you said no, he figured that you would be uncomfortable living with the man who asked you out on a date. Knowing that he’s attracted to you. He would fly wherever you wanted and give you some credits to get started. Kriff, he’d send credits for however long it takes for you to get on your feet. Then he’d leave you alone. 

Admittedly, the Mandalorian would probably keep an eye on you to make sure you were safe. You just wouldn’t know he’s there.

But if you said yes.

Mando’s chest bloomed with anticipation. Firework-like tingles trailed up and down his limbs at the thought. He bit his lip within the confines of his helmet when he realized his pants had gotten tighter. Thankfully he was a Mandalorian, because heat washed over his face, half due to arousal and the other half in embarrassment.

The brown eyes underneath the helmet widened. If he wanted to do more with you and you agreed, he didn’t have protection.

Turning on his heel, cape whipping behind him, he made a quick pace back to the brothel.

Once he arrived at the gray building, the light at the side of the building having more of a purpose, Mando glided towards the same door as before. Bringing a fist up to the metal, he knocked three times.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Clink. Shhhkt.

“Do you sell condoms?” the modulator quickly blurted.

All business.

—

He arrived at the meet up point before you. Leaning against a nearby tree, Mando checked the time constantly, as if he was devoted to the action more than his Creed. If you were late, he always went looking. 

Thankfully, you trudged up to the food stall on time with a hefty bag full of purchases. Fine, brown gravel grinded against the soles of Mando’s shoes as he made his way over to you. His gloved hand slipped the bag from your grasp and the pair of you began walking back to the Crest.

Both of you carried on with your normal post-supply run routines. You and Mando, but this time just Mando, piled the purchases from the market onto the hull’s floor. From there, the items could be sorted through and put in their respective places around the Crest.

As Mando finished unloading the large bag of purchases, he quickly dug around for the receipts. He knew how much you liked to review the shopping haul each time a supply run was completed. Mando enjoyed seeing the satisfaction wash over your face after you read over the receipts.

But this time was different. You froze once you got to the last receipt.

Mando’s helmet tilted in confusion. He took a few steps closer towards you, “What’s wrong? Did we forget something?”

You remained still while your eyes darted over the lines on the receipt. With your back turned to him, Mando found the opportunity to zoom in on the ink printed on the flimsy paper.

ITEMS PURCHASED (1)

CONDOM - 12 PACK

Oh. Fuck. FUCK.

He hasn’t even asked you on a date yet and now you probably already think he’s a perv. Nerves took over his body as you continued to stand still.

Your hand quickly crushed the receipts and threw them in the trash, “Nope! The last receipt didn’t look familiar but,” you trailed off slightly but recovered, “I remembered what I bought from the place.” A nervous laugh–obviously fake, Mando knew what your real one sounded like–escaped from your lips.

He fucked it up. You knew he was interested in you like that. And you didn’t feel the same. He hasn’t even asked you on the date yet. It’s all screwed up now.

But he also felt like he didn’t have enough evidence. What if you did like him but the idea of…needing to use the condoms…made you nervous.

Mando had to at least try. The least he had to do was ask you.

He cleared his throat and grabbed the bag off of the floor. You stood away from him, biting the inside of your cheek, nervously watching his movements. 

“I’m going to go to the night market,” he informed you, “I have some business with a bounty I need to take care of.” 

The bounty wouldn’t be captured until two days from now. In reality, he was really going to go and purchase snacks, takeout, and a pair of those bracelets you admired. It would have been suspicious if he met you back at the meet up point with bags full of snacks. The beskar man figured it would be best to hold off on buying them until later, and tell you he was getting a bounty, so you wouldn’t catch on.

He should’ve waited for this second trip to buy the condoms, he thought.

–

Mando left to, “Go to the night market,” he said. You saw the condom listed on the market receipts, you knew where he went tonight. What he’s going to do. 

The brothels.

Yeah, sure, he’s paying a worker to give him a service. No feelings attached. But you didn’t want him to be with anyone else. Was Mando necessarily yours? No. Have you ever had sex with him? Also no.

That didn’t stop you from getting jealous.

And it wasn’t just jealousy. It was fear. What if he fell in love with one of them? Or what if he was going on dates? He could have a romantic interest you don’t even know about. Next thing you know, they’re going steady and you’re kicked off the ship. Or worse, you have to watch him love someone that isn’t you.

No more silence with him in the cockpit, watching as the hyperspace lights soar past the windshield. Feet tapping down the ladder as you both began your nighttime routines. He’d wait in the hull near the door of the fresher in just his helmet, undershirt, sleep pants, and socks. As he lifted off the wall from his leaning stance he’d ask you, “Are you done?” Holding his own hands in front of him, trying to seem relaxed, as if he was trying to look less intimidating. “Yeah,” you’d quickly respond, leaving the fresher and brushing past him. Sometimes his hand found your waist as he passed, or the small of your back. “Thank you,” he’d grunt gently as he closed the fresher door. 

No more of Mando letting out a small, “Good night,” before lingering on your closing eyes and watching as your lips smiled, forming your response, “Good night.” 

Falling asleep, you knew you’d wake up to him. He would be up before you on most days, leaving you a fresh cup of caf and your favorite ration pack (when he had them). The short chatter between you two, going over the logistics of the next hunt, telling stories from your past, or just thinking out loud to each other. Gone.

You would be banished from home.

The fear struck your chest. Heat searing through your ribcage and meeting your spine, the visions repeated over and over in your head. Tears fell like waterfalls from your eyes. Most streams connected underneath your chin and trailed down your neck. Your back met the hull’s wall as you sank down onto the floor. Deep breaths. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Your head was heavy and numb.

Just breathe. You knew you weren’t going to die. Go through some heartbreak? Maybe, but you knew you’d be alive. It helped. Your breath slowed and the fear dissipated into the air around you. That didn’t stop the flow of tears down your cheeks as your eyes were fixed on the closed ramp.

–

Mando’s footsteps set a steady pace back to the market.

Crunch. Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.

He displayed a map of the marketplace as an overlay on the display of his helmet. Mando usually reserved this practice for combat to aid in determining exit strategies and the best plan of attack.

But now he was using it to calculate the most efficient route throughout the marketplace in order to see you again sooner. 

Closing the overlay from the helmet’s display, he was met with the sight of the market. Long strings of lights decorated the different stalls. Many vendors took advantage of the dark and used different, bright combinations to reel in customers. Some lights were multicolored. Some flashing. Some huge and some small. He thought of the “ooh”s, and, “ahh”s that you would let out at the brilliant display.

The Mandalorian started in the food section of the market. Carefully examining which vendors carried your favorite snacks, he made purchase after purchase in quick succession. His helmet remained on a swivel, scanning the stalls from right to left and left to right. 

A stall offering your favorite kind of takeout came into view.

Once Mando arrived at the stall he ordered two takeout meals. The vendor looked startled and confused as he ordered. They shakily accepted the credits for the two meals. Gazes drifted away from Mando and quickly returned as he stood waiting for the meals to be prepared. A bell rang and he retrieved two warm containers, placing them in his bag alongside the snacks.

One last stop. The bracelets.

Marching through the food district, he came upon an intersection at which the left path led him to the clothing district. Yet again, his helmet pivoted on his neck from one side to another. 

The third stall to the left of the bright green stall on the left side of the alley.

Mando continued his steady pace until the bright green stall came into view. The brightness of the exterior paint was exaggerated by the warm light emitted by lanterns, which decorated the outside of the shop. He didn’t notice before but the store sold children’s clothes. Onesies. Small shoes. Tiny hats.

A small tunic. Small enough for a human child younger than one year old. The tunic reminded him of Grogu’s. Mando’s bare hands brushed against the material countless times as he cradled The Child in his arms.

The last time he spoke about Grogu was with you. You listened and offered support. He’s never had anyone do that for him.

His visor turned to his left. The soft fairy lights of the stall reflected off of the beskar helmet on his head. As if the beskar reflected a dark sky decorated with bright stars. Various fabrics hung from the side of the vendor’s stall to cover the old wooden planks. Little accessories were placed throughout the shop on different tables and displays. 

Mando wasn’t focused on those items, he was focused on the long table of bracelets organized by color. His feet carried him to the green section. The helmet turned downwards to allow him to observe the selection. 

Shit.

There were so many bracelets similar to the pair you held, just all in different combinations of green, silver, and brown. Was it the bracelet with the large green cord and the small silver and brown threads? Or the one with the large silver cord and green and brown threads? Or thick brown cord with streaks of green and silver? His hands hovered over the options, doing his best to recall the details from earlier in the day.

“It’s this one,” a woman’s voice said.

A bit startled, the Mandalorian looked up and found a woman standing on the other side of the table. She wore long robes with intricate patterns. Jewelry decorated every limb and part of her body, like jewels were dripping down from her skin from a storm of gemstones. Hair cascaded around her shoulders and down her back. Her smile was kind and her gaze met Mando at his eyebrow.

A good try, he thought.

“I’m sorry?” He replies. She couldn’t possibly know which bracelet he was trying to find.

“You were watching them earlier. From across the street,” she let out faint exhales as she let out a short laugh, “Maybe you should hide a little better next time.” 

She reached out and picked two bracelets out of the display grid. “I remember the sizes too,” she said, “The person you watched held onto them for so long, they seemed pretty attached to them. I kept track of which bracelets they were just in case.” The robed woman shot him a friendly wink.

“In case of what?” Mando questioned. He was still in shock that the woman noticed him staring at you from across the street. 

The woman glanced up at him like that was a dumb question, “In case you came back to get them, Mandalorian. This isn’t my first day on the job.”

It saved him the time and stress of trying to remember which one it was, so he shrugged and watched the woman’s jewelry dangle as she typed onto the register. 

Beep. Beep. Beep beep. Ching.

“Okay sir, twenty credits please!” The woman extended her hand out and waited for Mando to place credits into her palm. She was met with the tilting of the black T shape on Mando’s beskar helmet. 

“I thought the price was thirty,” he stated as he began to reach into his pockets to retrieve his credits.

The woman let out another small laugh, “Oh, I suppose I should have made the sign larger,” her decorated fingers pointed to a small sign above the one that displays the bracelet prices.

$10 OFF WHEN YOU BUY TWO OR MORE

Mando’s shoulders dip in realization that you could’ve bought the bracelets in the first place. A sigh escapes his modulator and he hands the credits over to the intricately robed vendor. The credits clink into her palm, and then into the register.

He waits silently for her to package them up in a small bag. 

“They like you, you know,” the woman mentions, “No one like them would be deciding on which bracelets to buy for that long if they didn’t.” She paused as she was about to place the larger of the two into the small bag, “And look at the size of this one! It’s definitely for you.” 

The Mandalorian nods, “I appreciate that,” he pauses before turning away, “let’s hope they do.”

–

Mando sets a faster pace back to the Crest than the one he took from the Crest to the market. He’s impatient, he can’t wait to walk up the ramp and see your body curled up, comfortable and safe, while you sleep soundly in your bed–if you can even call it that, he thought. You usually went to bed early when he went on hunts, otherwise you would be awake talking to him.

Slipping the bag from his shoulder, an ungloved hand rummaged through the contents searching for a small bag. His fingers found the familiar texture and he pulled it out from between the snacks and the takeout. 

Mando slung the bag back over his shoulder, pulled the larger of the two bracelets out of the small bag, and slipped his hand through the ring of brown, silver, and green. Grabbing one of the ends with his fingers and pinning it to his palm, the other hand tightened the bracelet to a comfortable size around his wrist.

Once the small bag was returned to its place inside of the larger one, Mando peered around him to get a good look of his surroundings. 

The sun was about to set, leaving only a sliver of light available to provide dim light to the landscape. Rocks littered the ground. Shadows from each one making them appear larger in the light of the impending dusk. He reached up and tapped a finger to the temple of his helmet. No living thing was around him.

He paused and set the bag on the ground. Doing one last scan of the area, one of his hands gripped the chin of his helmet and lifted the beskar from his head. The hand held the helmet at his side while he marveled at his wrist.

He caught a good patch of remaining light and watched as the green and silver threads gleamed against the thick brown ones. The bracelet was beautiful. Not only because of the design, but because you picked it out. And it was for him.

Becoming paranoid, the Mandalorian quickly slipped his helmet back onto his head. He waited for the seal of the helmet to engage before continuing back towards the Crest. This time, at an even faster pace.

–

You sat there until you heard heavy footsteps approaching from outside, the hydraulics of the ramp coming to life. Thinking fast, you stood up and made your way towards the fresher to start your nighttime routine.

“Why are you still awake?” Mando’s voice was confused. He stood in front at the top of the ramp with his helmet tilted, hands resting on his hips, but his shoulders were slumped, a bag slung around one. He looked…worried.

Mando was right. Usually when he went on hunts you went to bed early. Nowadays the only thing that kept you awake was him. Talking with him was how you spent most evenings on the Crest, your voices echoed and bounced back to each other in the hull.

He’s used to seeing you curled up on the sleeping pad covered in blankets. Soft breaths came from your body and radiated throughout the Crest. Just like a minute ago, his footsteps would come up the ramp with his bounty in tow. Soft grunts could be heard kitty-corner from your spot in the hull. A hiss of mechanisms as they froze the bounty in carbonite. Then a bit of silence. 

The absence of the carbonite freezing stood out in your mind. No bounty, even when he said he was going to go and find one. Your eyes teared up slightly again as the realization truly set in. Mando really did go to the brothel.

You just wanted this night to be like any other night he came back to the Crest with a bounty.

After the bounty was frozen, heavy footsteps made their way across the floor of the hull. But they always stopped a few paces away from your bed, halting for a moment. Mando would complete his nightly routine. Setting the Crest’s coordinates for the next planet and showering in the fresher if he needed to–he usually did.

No matter what the events of his nightly routine were, it always ended with him standing in the doorway of his bunk–the sound of his footsteps always stopped partially inside.

“Good night, cyar'ika.”

You didn’t know what the Mando’a meant, since Mando never used that word around you, but you knew that the, “good night,” was all you needed to finally fall asleep.

You always waited up for him, only until reasonable hours of the night, of course, but he didn’t know it.

The sound of his footsteps in the present snapped you out of your hazy state. Crying really does a number on your brain.

“Just…couldn’t fall asleep,” you offered him a small smile as you pulled some products out of the tiny fresher cabinet. You wet your face and applied a small amount onto your fingertips, tapping them together for both hands to have the product. As you lifted your face and your hands to the mirror to begin washing your face, you were met with swollen lips, puffy eyes, and slight tear trails dried onto your face, despite the water you just splashed onto it. You froze.

There goes any of your chances to get away with how you spent your night. Staying up late staring at the Crest’s ramp. Waiting for Mando to come home. At least what you thought was home.

“What’s wrong?” Mando’s voice got clearer as he approached the fresher door. His strides long, footsteps clunking, as he removed his leather gloves and tucked the pair into his utility belt.

You went to turn away from him but he got there faster than you could. His ungloved hand rested on your shoulder, grip slow yet firm as he turned you to face him. He rubbed tiny circles onto your skin with his thumb once his eyes beneath the helmet noticed yours.

Your reflection on the silver beskar of his helmet stared back at you. Could you even get away with a lie at this point? What else would have made you cry? It’s not exactly like you could have said the truth either.

Oh yeah, I was sitting here having a panic attack as you participated in a perfectly normal service that is offered on this planet. Then I spiraled and thought about how you might not even want me to be here, that you’ll find another partner to be on this ship with you, and toss me away like none of this meant anything to you.

Mando’s hand waved in front of your face and it brought you back into the present moment. “Did someone come onto the ship while I was gone?” His voice gritted out from the helmet’s modulator. 

“Maker, no,” you huffed and tried to look less suspicious, hoping he’ll just drop the topic.

“Then what is it?” He murmured, his modulator barely picking up his syllables. His wide shoulders took up most of the fresher’s door frame. The grip on your shoulder tightened slightly.

“It’s…I don’t think you’ll want to hear it.” You shrugged and repressed the heat of anxiety creeping down the back of your head. Turning to wash and dry your hands, you let out a sigh and started to walk towards the main open space of the hull. Your shoulder gently bumped him as you slid past his large frame in the doorway. 

Suddenly your hips were being snapped backwards and dragged back towards the fresher. His damn finger was in your belt loop again. 

He pulled you close to him, feeling the heat from his knuckle dig into your hip and spread throughout the rest of your body. His helmet leaned down to look you in the eye and tilted once again.

“Try me,” he paused. He brought his hand up to grip onto the valley where your neck meets your shoulder, slowly enough so you could back away if you so desired. His large palm and thick fingers were calloused and warm. The grip he had on you was still gentle, slightly squeezing. “You know you can tell me, right?”

You let a deep inhale permeate through your lungs. The words flowed through your individual cells. Thoughts of lying escaped your body with each breath. The debate inside your head would end. Whether he had those feelings for you or not.

“I got upset because you went to the brothel.” You told him. Lips trembling and eyes squinted open in an attempt to meet his gaze.

“The brothel?” He held both of your shoulders and brought his visor closer to your face. Thumbs rubbed your shoulders yet again. He sighed as your name left his lips and traveled through his helmet, “I didn’t go to a brothel tonight.” A titled T-shaped gaze met yours. You knew he was looking you in the eyes, and yours into his.

Brows furrowed, you sniffled slightly, “I-, I saw that condoms were on the market receipts.” The thumbs on your shoulders stopped, his chest didn’t rise and fall. He froze. You made Mando freeze. 

“Look I know I’m just being dramatic and paying for that kind of thing is completely normal. I just,” you trailed off and thought of a quick replacement for your worry, “I was worried you would get hurt there.”

Mando’s shoulders fell and his helmet cocked to the side. “What?” He questioned. “How would I get hurt? None of the workers there had weapons.”

“How would you know that if you didn’t go?” You whispered to him. Your gaze left his and it dropped to the shape in the center of his chestplate. The crystal shape rose up and down slowly.

“I got information on a bounty there earlier,” he sounded like he was talking to a hurt animal. Gentle. Slow. Calm. “What's the actual reason you’re upset?” 

Kriff it.

“I had a panic attack because I thought you went to the brothel. Maybe you would like the worker there more than you like me, I spiraled and thought about how you might not even want me to be here, that you’ll find another partner to be on this ship with you,” your chest heaved and as you listed off your previous thoughts of worry. Your hands shook as they landed on top of Mando’s, and you took a deep breath, eyes meeting his gaze like before, “and toss me away like none of this meant anything to you.”

Mando is quick. He flipped his hands to grab one of yours and tugged you into the hull. Kneeling, he opened a cloth bag, one from the market, and dug into it to search for something. 

He actually went to the night market. You thought, now you look so clingy. So needy. He was just going to show you what he got to prove he went.

He turned and held his hand out. Sitting on top of the golden skin on his palm was a bracelet.

The bracelet from the market.

“I saw you looking at these, you looked for a long time and then put them down,” He stood up and set his gait to slow steps as he made his way over to you.

You laughed nervously, accompanied by a small sniffle, “Sorry yeah, I know I just should have been getting the stuff we needed. You didn’t have to go back and get it for-.” Mando raised a finger to halt your speech and continued what he was saying previously, “you put them down. You had two bracelets.”

“They had lots of them that I liked…I had two that were a tie and I just decided to get neither-.” Mando cut you off again.

“You were holding one bracelet consistently and then picked another in a bigger size,” you froze at his words. Dank farrik. Now he was going to think you’re super clingy. 

“I wasn't completely sure who you wanted to wear the bracelet, but I took a guess.” He pulled his long sleeve past his elbow and revealed his bare forearm. Strong. Capable. Solid. And a matching bracelet was donned on his wrist.

Your cheeks radiated with heat as he took your wrist and put your bracelet on you. His warm fingertips brushed the soft skin of your wrist, sending chills throughout your body at the meticulous skin-on-skin contact. 

Once the bracelet was secure around your wrist, Mando dipped his head and looked down at the floor. One of his hands gripped the underside of his helmet, and the other held onto your wrist. Your breath caught in your throat at the gesture. He quickly lifted his helmet to release his mouth, and he pressed three kisses on your wrist where the bracelet was. Mando’s lips were soft and timid, his hand caressing the skin on yours. Silver from his beskar helmet blocked your view, but Mando sealed his helmet and brought his eyes underneath the visor to look into yours.

“This means everything to me.”

Supply Run - Exchange (part three)

#pedro pascal #mando #the mandalorian #mando fic #din djarin #din djarin x f!reader #din djarin fluff #din djarin smut #din djarin fanfic #the mandalorian smut #the mandalorian fanfic #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #mando x reader #mando x you #supply run #thepascalofus #thepascalofus fic #mando fluff #mando smut #the mandalorian fanfiction

[theidiotwhowritesthings]

That's Not My Name

din djarin x reader

warnings: mild spoiler for season 3 finale, I suppose.

word count: 623

summary: “What's in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell just as sweet.” -William Shakespeare

.

‘Din Grogu.’

You let the title roll around your head as you walked beside the Mandalorian and his now adopted son. With everything settled here on Mandalore, it was time for the three of you to leave. You weren’t quite sure where the next stop would be. You were too busy having a mental crisis.

‘Din Grogu.’ 

You glanced over at them to see Grogu babbling happily, a million miles per hour, and the Mandalorian you had come to know and love walked tall with a sense of pride radiating from the silver beskar decorating his body. 

“Din?” You called out. He turned his head with a hum of acknowledgement. “Din, is ‘Din’ your family name?”

“Yes, why?” Your feet came to a screeching halt⏤ so sudden that it took Din a step or two before he realized you hadn’t continued on beside him. He came to a pause and turned around in confusion. Grogu’s babbles had stopped and your companion tilted his head at you in slight concern. “Everything okay?”

“Din is your family name.” You echoed. More a statement than a question. Still, Din nodded at you once more. “Djarin is your first name??” Again, another confused bob of his head. “Are you kidding me?”

“What’s the problem?” He shrugged.

“This entire time, I’ve been calling you by your family name instead of your first name,” Your eyes widened, “And you didn’t think to stop me??”

Din stepped closer, his voice slightly amused, “I am from Aq Vetina. The family name goes before⏤”

“Yeah, no, I get the concept of family names going first.” You shook your head. “But you didn’t tell me that! Maker, this entire time I thought⏤”

Din, or Djarin apparently, chuckled. “It isn’t a big deal. Most people who know my name just call me ‘Din’.”

“Have you told any of those people you’re from a world that uses their family name first?” You asked. Din paused then shook his head with a shrug. Your hand shot up to hold the side of your head in alarm. This entire time. You’d been partners with him for ages now. Maker, you met him a few months before Grogu came along and this entire kriffing time you hadn’t even been aware of his actual name. “I’m an idiot.”

“No, you’re⏤”

“I should’ve asked you. Maker, I should have⏤”

“Cyar’ika,” Din reached out and set a hand on your shoulder in comfort, “It’s fine. I’m not bothered by it. There is no need to stress.”

“Arguably, there’s a little reason.” You pouted. “Do you… I can call you Djarin from now on, if you prefer?”

The Mandalorian, the person you trusted with your life, chuckled once more and tilted to lean his forehead against yours. The cool metal of the keldabe kiss mildly reassuring to you. He spoke once more with only amusement and admiration in his voice, “Din or Djarin, or Din Djarin, I don’t care what you call me, cyar’ika. As long as I get to hear it in your voice.”

You breathed out a sigh of relief and he pulled back and began to walk again. It took you a few seconds before you caught up with him. It was hard to mentally refer to him as just Din considering how long you had done so, but in all reality you were just happy he was still around for you to mess up his name. Watching Moff Gideon drag him away still haunted your dreams. You’d call him literally anything as long as it meant having him by your side for the foreseeable future.

“Alright, Din Djarin, any other deep, dark secrets you’re keeping from me?”

“No, but I’ll let you know if I think of one.”

#the mandalorian #din djarin #din djarin x you #din djarin x reader #mando x reader #mando x you #mandalorian fanfic #mandalorian x you #mandalorian x reader #mandalorian season 3 spoilers #sort of #if you squint #reader insert

[absurdthirst]

One Night on Tatooine {Mando x F!Reader}

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 8.4k

Warnings: Mentions of safe words, vaginal sex, cream pie, oral sex (male receiving), helmet riding, praise kink, removing helmets, mentions of marriage/children

Comments: When Mando comes back to Mos Eisley to have Peli work on his mech droid, he finds her gone and you watching her bay. When he agrees to let you do the work, he finds he wants you for more than just a mechanic. 

Co-written with @storiesofthefandomlovers​

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

You look up when you see the ship land in the bay. Peli had left you in charge for the next few days while she went to fetch new parts. A rare trip outside of the spaceport for Peli, still not leaving Tatooine but she had ventured outside of Mos Eisley. The ship is slick, one you recognize from Peli’s stories and when the infamous Mandalorian appears, you are taken back. 

Peli has told you stories during your brief employment in her spaceport of the brave Mandalorian and his foundling, Grogu, and you must admit you’d been intrigued and eager to meet the beskar clad legend. When his boots hit the sand, he’s just as intimidating as you imagined and he doesn’t hesitate to approach you. “Where’s Peli?” He asks, the child in his arms coos at you. 

“Peli isn’t here. She went to purchase new parts. I am her new mechanic. How can I help?” You offer, knowing that this Mandalorian will insist on Peli but you will try to accommodate him.

Din huffs out a grumble under his breath. He had expected Peli to be here, the one that is most familiar with the starfighter - considering she helped him put the damn thing together. Grogu squirms, reaching out towards you and coos again. “She doesn’t want to hold you.” He murmurs, setting the child on the sandy floor to go explore while he straightens back up to look at you. Sighing, he contemplates going somewhere else because he knows he will be distracted by you and he was planning on leaving the kid here while he found a quick job to pick up. Now he was going to be sitting at the hanger. “What do you know about droids?” He asks, pointing at the mech droid he had broken down and added to the ship.

You stand up straighter, knowing that he is assessing your capabilities and you can understand that. “What don’t I know about droids?'' is the question. Peli hired me because of my expertise. Where did you pick that guy up from? Looks like he’s been through the worst of it.” You can already tell the droid needs an overall from body to drive. “You want me to fix ‘em up?” You ask, looking down at the child who is now by your feet, tapping on your boot. “Hey sweetheart. Aren’t you just the cutest little thing in the galaxy?” You coo, bending down to caress the child’s ear.

Din watches as Grogu gives you a sharp toothed grin, reaching for the shiny zipper on your boots. “Grogu.” He reaches into his belt and pulls out the silver ball from the Razor Crest. “Play with this and don’t mess with her zippers.” His helmet tips back up towards you. “He likes to get in the way.” He warns, knowing the child will do what he wants despite his warnings.

“He’s cute enough to get away with it.” You chuckle when the kid plays with the silver ball in his hand, almost cooing in victory. “So…you want me to fix that droid or are you gonna wait on Peli to come back?” You can tell her doesn’t trust you and you won’t push him.

He sighs and looks around again, planting his hands on his hips. He wishes Peli was here but he can’t wait for too long. “If Peli trusts you….” He trails off, looking back at you and is struck by how pretty you are. It’s been a long time since the pull of attraction curled in his belly and he’s slightly shocked. He’s not had time or opportunity to do anything about it since having the child with him. “I’ll go get the kid something to eat and then come back.”

“Very well. Whatever you want, Mando, I’m here for you.” You tell him, sensing the frustration that seems to vibrate from his very being and if you can lessen it by fixing the droid, then you will feel like you’ve helped him. “See you soon, little man.” You coo at Grogu, already enamored by him.

You shouldn’t have said that to him. His cock twitches in interest at the x-rated images that immediately flood his mind. Making him grateful that he has to bend down and pick up the little one. Instead of answering you, he turns and starts walking towards the hanger doors, trying to banish the peak of flesh he had gotten from your mechanic’s suit not being zipped up the entire way. “Let’s get you something to eat.” He tells Grogu, needing to get his mind off of what he would rather be doing. 

You watch the Mandalorian go, his shoulders broad and gait strong, and you can’t deny the thrill of attraction that rushes through you. You wonder what he’s like under all that beskar. His voice is modulated but sexy and you know you’ll be thinking of him in your bunk later.

Once the kid has eaten, Din brings him back to the hanger. Unwilling to be on the streets in Mos Eisley for too long considering he continuously has problems on Tatooine. He should get a transport to see Boba, but he honestly wants to see how you are doing with the droid. It had given him fits and that was why he had come to Peli. Ignoring the thought that he really wants to see you work. 

When Mando returns, you have already started working on the droid, stripping the unit down to the bare essentials so you can clean everything, work on the programming and get him working. “How’s it coming along?” He asks and you look up from where you are kneeling down on the floor. 

“It’s coming. Just needs some TLC.” You are level with his crotch and you swallow, briefly wondering if the Mandalorian only takes off the codpiece to fuck or if he likes to blindfold a partner, you wonder if he’s ever gotten a blowjob. You shake your head, trying to ignore your train of thought despite unconsciously leaning closer to his crotch.

Din grunts, feeling his cock starts to harden when he imagines you with his cock down your pretty little throat. You would look good wrapped around him. Thankfully his helmet covers the riot of thoughts and expressions. “Good.” He rasps out, thinking about something else that needs some TLC. The child recaptures his attention and squirms to be let down. “Be good.” He warns the mischievous creature, knowing that he will get into trouble in a heartbeat.

You swallow harshly at the rasp you can hear through the modulation. The child waddles over to you, cooing and you reach out to pat his head. “You want a droid friend?” You ask, knowing the child must want friends that don’t involve his adoptive father. “I will make sure this one protects you and is there for you.” You tell the child who grins and waddles off towards the bunk area. He’s clearly been here before. 

“I’ll get him to bed. It’s been a long day.” Mando declares, making his way towards the child and he scoops him up to carry him to the bunks Peli has set up for guests. You wonder if the Mandalorian will rest in there or if he will remain in your company while you continue working on the droid. 

“There’s some food in the cantina area if you want to eat in privacy.” You offer, “I just cooked up some gornt.”

“Thank you.” Din appreciates that you understand without being rude that he would need privacy to eat. He might after he makes use of the sonic shower. It’s been awhile since he’s been able to use one and he needs to take a piss. Setting the kid down on the bunk, he softens as Grogu immediately snuggles into the blankets and closes his eyes. “Night kid.” He murmurs softly, smiling at his answering coo before he steps out of the bunk room and enters the small ‘fresher to clean up.

You decide to finish working on the droid in the morning. The parts have been cleaned and you need to reprogram the mech but you don’t have it in you to do that right now. With a sigh, you stand up and make your way into the compound, surprised to find the Mandalorian coming out of the fresher in just his flight suit, beskar no doubt secured somewhere. “Oh that’s good timing. I was about to have a shower.”

Din inhales sharply, the top of your suit has been stripped down, revealing a thin and worn tank top underneath. Large amounts of skin on display. And you’re sweating. He swallows, turned on by the sight of the dewy hue of your skin and if he were a man who could take off his helmet, he would run his tongue along the drop and see if it tasted as good as it looked. His cock immediately starts to stiffen and instead of letting you by, his hand comes up to block your path. “Are you done?” He demands, half afraid you are.

You raise your eyebrows at the arm that blocks your path, your stomach twisting with both nerves and anticipation. You’ve been feeling this tension between you and the Mandalorian since he arrived. “I’m not finished yet. I just cleaned it up. I gotta, uh, reprogram tomorrow.” You confirm, chest heaving slightly as your heart thumps.

He watches you closely, noticing the way your breathing picks up, his HUD showing that your pulse has increased and your body temperature is rising. You don’t seem worried, you seem like you are waiting for something, anticipating it. “So we have to stay tonight.” He speaks slowly, his voice dipping down slightly into a deeper pitch. 

You shiver at the way his modulated voice lowers. “Is that so?” You hum, crossing your arms, making your cleavage more pronounced. You’re on the precipice of something and you wonder if he will make a move or if he will leave you hanging.

His helmet tips down, pointed at your chest and his own breathing picks up slightly. Heart rate spiking, not unlike when he’s nearly caught a bounty. Slowly, he drags his gaze back up to your face, watching you for a moment to see if you would squirm or drop your arms. You don’t. His blood rushes south and starts to fill his cock. “Say no now.” He growls out, giving you a warning. “Or tell me your safe word.”

His words send a rush straight through you and you gasp in response. “My safe word is rebel.” You inform him, suddenly dripping wet with need for him. The anticipation makes you exhale as you wait for his next move.

Din’s hand shoots out, grabbing your wrist and turning both of you so that he is pushing you into the ‘fresher. It would give you some privacy so you aren’t exposed if anyone comes into the hanger. His groan filtering out from under the helmet as he pushes you over the sink and presses up against your ass.

You gasp in shock before you moan when you feel his body pressed against you. Loving how you can feel him without the beskar creating a barrier between you. His cock is hard against your ass and you grind back onto him. “Mando. Please. Just - just fuck me.” You beg, looking into the mirror to watch his helmet.

He chuckles even as his hands start to move over your skin, wishing that he has his gloves off, but he won’t take off more than he has to. His armor is already off, otherwise he would be wearing that while he fucked you. It takes too long to remove and often he’ll lose interest in fucking if he went through the motions of removing it all. Instead of answering you, he rips your tank top in two, freeing your breasts and cupping them in his hands and squeezing harshly while he ruts against your ass.

The roughness of his touch has you ready for him to slide inside of you and you are panting when he pinches your nipples. “Oh fuck, yes baby. Please. I need - I need you inside of me Mando.” You beg, grinding back against him.

“Shameless.” He huffs, twisting your nipples again to make you gasp out before he drags his hands down your stomach to where the rest of your mechanic’s suit is bunched up. Loving the access to your skin and how soft and warm it feels under the sensory pads of his gloves. “You just want me to shove my cock inside you and fuck you?” He asks, pressing his helmet up against your ear. “Without fingering you?” 

“Depends on how impressive you are, Mando.” You tease, grinding back against him. “I’m so wet right now you could probably slide inside of me without foreplay.” You whimper when his gloved fingers dive past the waistband of your suit. “Please Mando.” You beg, needing something, anything.

He growls, yanking your pants down and kicking your feet apart. Your ass is pushed back against his crotch so that he has to lean back to unzip and pull his throbbing cock out. He would have given you his fingers, made you cum before he fucked you - but the way you beg so sweetly had him impatiently. His hand slides around your sternum and he yanks you back against his chest, making sure he can see your face in the mirror. “You asked for this.” He warns with a snarl before he lines up and drives his cock deep into your pussy.

You cry out, loud enough to wake the child in the bunker next door so Mando slaps his hand over your mouth, his cock practically in your guts as he buries himself deep inside of your cunt. There’s a sting since you haven’t had sex in a while but you love it, knowing you’ll feel him tomorrow. You whimper against his hand, reaching up to grip his forearm as you press against his chest.

“Good girl.” He practically purrs it, loving how tight you are around him. His hips flex forward and he grinds deep into you before he pulls nearly all the way out and drives forward again. Starting a punishing pace that has his hand vibrating with your moan.

You are squealing, grateful it’s muffled against his glove, and you close your eyes. “Open your fucking eyes. Want you to watch me fuck you.” He orders with a growl, making you open your eyes and you struggle when he’s hitting down deep inside of you, stretching you out.

He fucking loves it. You are taking every punishing roll of his hips and squeezing his cock like a vice when he’s balls deep. He groans in your ear, watching your eyes for any signs of discomfort because of his hand over your mouth. Your cunt is perfect, exactly what he needs right now. The arm not holding you against him slides down so he can rub your clit.

You moan loudly against his hand, hips bucking as you grind down onto his cock while he rubs your clit just right. Your eyes roll into the back of your head as you clamp down on his cock, soaking him with your cum as you fall over the edge, thighs shaking.

He groans, hips slowing down because he feels himself starting to get close and he doesn’t want to cum too soon. He needs to ride this out and work out more of his frustration on your cunt. He pushes deep and just grinds into you until your legs stop shaking and he pulls out and turns you around to hoist you up on the sink and drags a leg of your pants off you so he can step between your thighs.

You reach for him, grabbing onto his shoulders, and you moan at how bulky he feels, strong and muscular beneath the flight suit and you wrap your legs around him, pulling him closer as you look into the visor. “Come on Mando, fuck me harder.”

He chuckles at your brazenness. Shaking his head slightly as he takes himself in hand and slides back into you. “Be careful what you wish for, Mesh’la.” He warned, sliding deep and pressing his helmet against your forehead.

You pull him closer, gripping his shoulders, and you moan when he pushes into you, hitting a new angle. “Fuck Mando. Feels so good.” You pant, your forehead bumping against his and your breath fans over the beskar, fogging it as you cling to him.

“Good.” He grunts, reaching up and holding onto your shoulders. “Tight little cunt.” He praises, looking down to watch his cock work into you. “Needs to be fucked often.”

You whine your agreement. “Yes. Yes. Been too long. Fuck, you feel so good.” You let go of him to tilt backwards, changing the angle and he hits something perfect inside of you. “Oh fuck yes. Yes Mando. That’s so good. So good. Wanted - wanted you as soon as I saw you. Wondered what your cock would be like.” You admit breathlessly, chest heaving as he works you towards another orgasm.

He huffs out a goan, knowing that he had wanted you from the moment he had seen you too. “Thought about bending you over the engine panel.” He manages through puffed out breaths as he rocks into you frantically. He wants to feel you cum again. Soaking the fabric of his flight suit before he’s done with you.

You fucking love hearing this Mandalorian talk. In the half day you’ve known him, you can tell he isn’t one for talking but right now, telling you how he wanted to fuck you from the start, it has you soaking his cock with another bout of arousal. Making a slapping noise echo in the ‘fresher. “Maker. Oh Maker.” You pant and he reaches up to grip your neck, 

“Mando. My name is Mando.” He growls. 

“M-Mando.” You choke when he tightens his grip and it sends you over the edge. Knowing he could easily kill you makes you cum, thighs shaking around his cock.

Hissing, he grits his teeth under his helmet. His hand tightens on your neck slightly as your cunt flutters around him. The tight grip you have on him makes his eyes roll back. When he feels your cunt start to loosen up, he wraps his hands around your hips and hoists you up into his arms. He manhandles bounties around so you aren’t a problem. Turning around and slamming your back against the wall.

“Oh fuck!” You shriek, surprised and so turned on despite your orgasm still wrecking you. You swear you’re about to pass out from the pleasure when he starts to pound into you. “Oh fuckkkk.” You sob, head hitting the wall as he ruins you.

He doesn’t stop. Slamming you up against the wall again and again as he drills deep. Pinning you up with his body while he tries to make sure that you can’t walk by the time he’s done with you.

You can only cling to him, unable to believe how he’s making you feel. You don’t think you’ve ever felt so much pleasure in your life. The way he is pushing deep and his fabric clad thighs hit the back of yours…you would scream but nothing escapes when you open your mouth, too lost to the pleasure. It doesn’t take long for him to make you cum again. This time he hits something so tragic inside of you, it’s like a firework going off and you let out a silent scream while you gush, soaking his suit.

His head tucks against your shoulder, slamming his fist against the wall while he works you through your releases and speeds towards his own. Rolling his hips frantically. “Fuck, fuck Mesh’la.” He hisses, panting through his modulator. Gasping when he feels the tingling in his spine before he drives deep one last time, burying his cock in your walls while he lets out a growl of your name.

You sigh when you feel him painting your walls with his cum, thanking the Maker for your implant as he works himself through his high and you are almost unconscious from the pleasure you just experienced. Unlike anything you’ve ever felt before. It was intoxicating. “Fuck.” You pant, eyes closed as you relax.

“Fuck.” He agrees, panting quietly. He keeps you pinned against the wall for another moment before he lets you down. Your legs buckle and he chuckles quietly. “I did it right.”

You lean against him for support, gripping his flight suit and you just about manage to find your balance. “Maker Mando. You make all the girls collapse?” You chuckle breathlessly, shifting back to lean against the wall so you can let go of him. “I’m sorry about your flight suit.”

“Wanted you to soak it.” He hums, watching a small drip of his cum fall out of you and hit the ‘fresher flood. “You could have had another orgasm if you hadn’t been so impatient.” He muses with a grin under his helmet.

You huff, shaking your head. “Impatient? I just - I wanted you to enjoy yourself too.” You stroke his covered chest and you step back from him. You shift from one foot to the other, reaching for the paper to clean his cum from between your thighs as your jumpsuit tangles around your ankle.

He chuckles and watches as you clean up, tucking his cock away. “I was always going to enjoy myself.” He promises. “Sorry about ripping your shirt.”

"It's okay. I have more. It was...it was hot." You admit, pulling your overalls up to cover yourself. You aren't sure what to say now that the deed has been done, what has been building all afternoon between you. You want him again but you know he will be leaving once you have fixed the droid.

He hums and turns back towards you. “Go take your shower.” He urges you, knowing he will need to take another one later but for now, he will wait until you are cleaned up.

You nod, walking over to Mando and you lean up to press a kiss to the beskar helmet over where you think his cheek is. "Thank you Mando." You smile, stepping back from him to turn on the sonic shower, stripping out of the jumpsuit with no care to him still being in the 'fresher. He's seen it all anyway.

Even though he’s just fucked you, his cock twitches and he decides that he won’t wait. Instead he steps into the shower fully clothed, knowing the sonic shower will clean his flight suit as well. “You are beautiful,” he murmurs. “So much skin on display.”

“Maker!” You gasp, not expecting him to step into the shower with you. “Mando. What are you-” You moan when he pushes you against the shower wall, his fingers finding your clit and you whine, “Mando. Shit. It’s -” You can’t believe he’s still wanting you. Most men would’ve gone by now and passed out from their orgasm.

He hums, watching your eyes close at his touch. It’s been a long time since he had someone just give themselves to him like you have. He rubs your clit while he reaches over with his free hand and presses the button to start the sonic shower watching you while the dirt and sweat vibrates off of you, his fingers still between your legs. “You gonna let me crawl into your bunk tonight?” He rasps. “Fuck you through the night?”

You moan, nodding as the shower adds to your vibrations, his body crowding yours and it’s intoxicating, making you tilt your head back against the wall to look up at his helmet. “If you want. You can do whatever you want to me. Any - anyone that can make me cum like you do can fuck me whenever he wants.”

Din groans in approval, chest puffing out in pride that he’s gotten permission from  you to have you again. That you enjoyed his rougher treatment. He feels more relaxed than he has in months. HIs fingers work your clit like he was piloting a ship, steady and firm. The wetness of your cunt seeping into the leather and he will remember how wet you had gotten his flight suit. “Cum for me again and I’ll take you to your bunk.” He promises, imagining stretching out on top of you and filling you again. 

You whimper at his words, knowing you’ll ache in the morning but it will be worth it to have him inside of you again. The expert way his fingers are working your clit have you whining until you go silent, mouth falling open while you clamp down around nothing, cumming for him like he wanted.

He shuts off the shower, your clean body limp and leaning against his when he pulls you away from the shower wall. Guiding you out of the ‘fresher and leading you, naked, to the bunk he had assumed was yours. It’s not Peli’s and there are small personal items and tools scattered around. “How many times do you normally cum with a partner?” He asks as you sit down on the bed. 

“I, uh, I’m lucky if I cum once.” You admit, “most of my partners didn’t care about my pleasure. Before I arrived here, I was working in a cantina, fixing droids in my spare time just to make ends meet and Peli found me and gave me a place to live. As for my partners…they were passing through, just wanting to find their pleasure and not care about mine.”

Din scoffs under his helmet, rolling his eyes at the people you had slept with. “Pleasure is supposed to be mutual.” He hadn’t always felt that way, when he was young and brash he probably didn’t please as many partners as he thought. But because he couldn’t take off much or use his mouth, he had tried to make sure that he gave pleasure through other means. You lean back on the bed and he shuffles slightly, reaching for the zipper of his flight suit. 

You watch as the Mandalorian starts to unzip his flight suit, letting you see inch after inch of skin, some parts marred with blemishes and scars, others painted with tattoos. "Maker." You moan, unable to stop yourself from surging forward to press your lips to his skin as he continues working the zipper down.

Din moans loudly, closing his eyes as your lips touch his skin and makes him quiver at the sensation. “It- it’s been a long time since I’ve- since I’ve taken off my suit.” He confesses breathlessly. “The helmet stays on though.” He can’t break his creed again. Not for something like sex.

You hum in understanding, kissing every inch of skin he exposes to you and you want him to know how beautiful he is. “I don’t mind.” You promise, helping him take the suit off of his shoulders and you shift to straddle him once he’s naked, your lips kissing along his shoulders while your hands caress his back. When your skin touches his, he shivers beneath you.

He gasps, hands gripping your hips and he turns so that he can stretch out on your bunk. Letting you stay on top of him in a very rare move. The only people who have ridden him have been fellow Mandalorians, sure they would not try to remove his helmet. Trusting you with this intimacy.

You stretch out over him, covering as much of his body with your own, and you lean closer to kiss along his beskar helmet, down to his neck and you shift to kneel between his legs. "Fuck." You moan at the sight of his cock, reaching out to grip it and you moan when a drop of pre-cum leaks, making you lean closer to flick it with your tongue. The salty tang makes you hum in delight before you wrap your lips around the head, taking him into your mouth while your eyes meet the visor.

Making a choked noise, his hand reaches for you. “Y-you d-don’t have t-to do that.” He pants out, even while your mouth works over his cock. He can’t give you the same so he doesn’t want you to feel as if you have to suck his cock. Even if it feels amazing. 

You pull off of his cock for a moment. "One thing you should know about me Mando is I never do anything I don't want to do." You smirk and take him back into your mouth, deeper than before, and you caress his thighs, wanting to feel every inch of flesh he has gifted you the opportunity to see.

Din groans, a filthy sound that peeks out from under the edge of the helmet. Watching you eagerly suck his cock like it’s your favorite activity, he shivers when your hands brush over his skin, igniting nerves that were normally suppressed by clothing that covers him. 

You slide your tongue over the side of his cock, gripping the base and twisting your wrist while your eyes burn into the beskar helmet, wishing you could see his expression. You feel him twitch in your grip so you move quickly. Straddling him and sinking down onto his cock in one swift move, wanting him to cum inside of you. "Fuck." You moan, feeling him so much deeper in this angle.

“Dank ferrik!” Din yelps, hips bucking up and he can’t stop himself even if he wanted to. Feeling his cock harden even more and his balls pull tight against his body. Your mouth and cunt pulling his orgasm out of him before he could even realize it. His hands hold you in a bruising grip and his mind goes completely blank while hot ropes of cum fill you to the brim again. 

You smile, loving the way he easily falls apart beneath you. You rock your hips, feeling his cum push out of you and it makes you moan as you work him through his orgasm. “That’s it Mando. Just feel.” You order, caressing his arms.

“Shiiiiiiit.” His head tips back and exposes the bottom of his chin as he rides out his high. Relaxing into your bed to gasp while he tries to catch his breath. You didn’t cum. He realizes this as soon as he can think about anything else other than how much pleasure you had just given him. “Fuck.” He groans, reaching up to cup your cheek. “You didn’t cum.” 

You shrug, “it’s okay.” You promise and he shakes his head. 

“No. Come here.” He uses his strength to lift you off of his cock, moving you up his body until you are hovering above his helmet. “Ride it. Want to see your pussy while you make yourself cum on my helmet.” His words make your cunt clench and you shift to press your cum soaked folds against the beskar.

It doesn’t matter that his cum is smearing over the beskar and his visor. It’s what he filled you with and he can still see those pretty lips as they drag over his helmet. Making him groan as his softening cock lays against his pubic hair. His hands squeeze your ass and help you grind against him. “I can smell you.” He moans, “you smell so delicious.” One hand moves from your ass to swipe through your folds and he gathers some of your combined fluids to shove into his mouth under his helmet. 

You almost cum from seeing him taste your combined fluids, the fact that he does that nearly makes you cum. When you feel his wet fingers dig into your ass, you move faster. The ridges of the beskar hitting your clit just right and you moan in response. “Oh fuck Din. I’m gonna - I’m gonna cum.” You whine, hips bucking wildly.

“Do it.” He rasps out, wanting to see you fall apart, to watch your cunt spasm right in front of his face. Your head tilts back, a loud cry wrenched from your lips and he groans, soft cock twitching as it tries to get hard again, but he needs more time.

You shake above him, thighs pressed against the now warm beskar and your hands slap against the wall behind your bunk as you try to balance yourself. “Fuck Mando.” You pant, grateful you aren’t smothering his face since you aren’t sure if you can move yet.

He hums, reaching up and caressing your spine gently while you are catching your breath. “So beautiful.” He praises, loving how you had just let yourself go with him. “You look so good like this on my helmet, that cunt is so pretty. Did you enjoy that?” 

You giggle, breathless and still reeling from the orgasm. You shift to lay down beside him, resting your cheek on his shoulder. “That was - I’m lost for words.” You admit with a smile, “no one has ever made me cum like that and that much.”

He loves the feeling of your body stretched out along his. His arm curls around your shoulder and he hums. “Good.” He murmurs softly, fingers stroking your skin while he can. “You will sleep well.” He huffs happily. 

“Oh definitely.” You murmur, already sleepy and you know you should get up and help him clean up, clean yourself up. “You need to clean and polish your helmet.” You smirk against his shoulder, “I made a mess of it.”

“I will do that later.” He murmurs, feeling your body start to get heavier as you relax against him. You will be asleep soon and he doesn’t want to move away from you right now. The kid is still asleep and he wants to be selfish for another minute. “Sleep, mesh’la. You deserve it.” 

You can’t deny him or sleep even if you tried. He’s warm and just the right amount of muscle to make you feel secure as you doze off in your bunk. You feel safe for the first time in forever and you have the Mandalorian to thank for the best sleep of your life.

****

When you wake up, Din is back in his armor. He hadn’t wanted to leave your bed but he needed to. He had to clean up before the kid woke up and reality intruded. He had slept with you in his arms for a couple of hours, which was all he really slept at a time anyway. He had gently eased away from you and watched you for a moment before gathering his clothes to go back to the ‘fresher and cleaning up again. His gloves are on and cupping your cheek with a cup of broth for you in his hands when your eyes. “Hey, it’s time to wake up.” He murmurs softly. 

You blink, wincing against the light until you see the Mandalorian above you, dressed in his full glorious beskar, and you notice the cup of broth in his hand and the other caressing your cheek. You turn to kiss his covered palm, smiling up at him. “Oh. Thank you.” Your voice is croaky from sleep and you move, shifting to sit up so you can take the cup.

You look beautifully sleepy and Din steps back. “I’ll leave you to get dressed.” He offers, shuffling slightly - awkwardly - in the face of the morning after. He wants to make sure that he didn’t hurt you and that you don’t regret it. “Are you- you okay this morning?” 

You nod, “a little sore but I feel good.” You grin before you sip the broth, sighing in content at the warmth. “It was amazing. Thank you for last night.” You tell him as he hovers in the doorway. You need to shower but you are on cloud nine with the aches in your body from last night.

“Good.” His helmet dips quickly in a nod and from the other bunkroom, he hears the baby coo. Grogu is awake. “Well, I better get him before he gets into trouble.” He huffs, knowing that if he’s not careful, the kid will be into trouble in a heartbeat. 

You watch him go, smiling into the broth and you hear him greeting the kid, making your smile transition to a grin. You desperately needed last night, you are aching but in a good way. You loved how rough he was yet so gentle after, such a contrast from the strong Mandalorian. You finish the broth and stand up on aching legs, deciding to get into the sonic shower again before you continue working on the droid.

“No.” Din shakes his head as he looks at Grogu, denying the kid but he’s not giving in. The tiny little three fingered hand presses against the now cleaned cheek of the helmet. He’s not going to remove it right now. “You need to eat.” The kid coos at him, making him huff slightly. “We are leaving in the next couple of hours and we aren’t stopping for a snack.” 

You find Mando trying to feed the child and you giggle at his frustration when the child tosses the food on the food and laughs at the frustrated Mandalorian. “Maybe he wants something sweet. I got something for you, little man.” You promise, walking over to your secret sweet stash in a drawer in the parts area. You bring the cake bar back over to the kid, opening the wrapper. “Here you go.” You offer it to him and he grins at you.

“Great.” Din grunts and puts his hand on his hips. “Kid’ll be bouncing around for hours in the cockpit.” He doesn’t mind, as long as he eats something. Din himself has already eaten before he ever woke you up. He snorts when Grogu looks up and coos at him before he tears into the cake. 

You chuckle, watching the kid demolish the cake. “Sorry. He’s just so cute, it’s hard not to want to spoil him.” You reach out to caress the child’s ear. “I still need to reprogram the mech so he has a few hours to get it out of his system. You need supplies? I can watch the kid while you go out.” You offer, knowing he probably wants some space after last night.

“No.” There’s nowhere that supplies would fit on the starfighter. He didn’t even have room for a weapons locker. It upset him, but he carried the darksaber and his other weapons on his body so it didn’t affect his ability to protect himself and the kid. “Do you need a hand?” He asks, waiting to stay around you. 

“Yeah actually, you can. Thank you. Would you mind grabbing the tools on the side over there?” You ask, working on the motherboard. You want to program the droid to protect the child and Mando while also having some sass since Mando seems to like your own sass. Maybe it will remind him of you when he’s far across the galaxy. “Thank you.” Your fingers brush his gloved ones as he hands you the tools and you look into the visor before you continue working.

He grunts in acknowledgement, shifting his feet slightly in the sand and picking up a ratchet spanner so he can check a few of the seals on ship. He opens a panel on the side of the ship and tries to be casual. “So, uh, are you planning on staying on with Peli?” He asks, biting his lip under the helmet where you can’t see. 

“It depends. I’m guessing that I will outstay my welcome when she finds a droid that can work on other droids.” You chuckle, knowing Peli puts her droids above anyone else. “For now, it’s nice to have a place to call home. I’ve been jumping from place to place and I have been grateful to not need to pack up my things and move on so fast.”

Din nods, understanding that, although for him it’s a way of life. He hums and wonders where home originally was for you. “Wish I still had my Razor Crest.” He murmurs. “It was a little easier when I had a ‘fresher” He chuckles. “And a vac tube.”

“I can only imagine how hard it is to move about all the time. Especially with this one.” You point at the child who is chasing one of the smaller droids around. You chuckle and turn back to the programming, knowing the Mandalorian probably wants to make a quick exit now that he has been fed and fucked. “I like the star fighter. Makes you even more intimidating…it’s sexy.”

Din chuckles and can’t even help the slightly cocky stance as he faces you. “You think I’m sexy?” He asks. “With or without the armor?” He’s curious to know if it was just an armor kink or if you had liked it when he stripped down. Especially because he never does that.

You turn to look at him, leaning against the counter. “Both, but you without the armor? I could barely breathe. You are - you are sculpted by the Maker and you take my breath away. You are beautiful Mando. Both with and without the armor.”

“You’re the first person I’ve taken off everything with in a long time.” He confesses quietly. “It was very memorable.” He sighs and closes the panel. “Think you’ll be here when I come back?”

You smile, happy he wants you to be here when he returns. “I’m sure I’ll be here when you return…unless Peli has had enough of me.” You snort, crossing your arms. “Why? You wanna have some more dirty sex when you return.” You wink, grateful the child is occupied with a rock that the droid kicked up.

Din snorts. “If I still had the Crest, I’d be offering you a spot on my crew.” There was no crew, but he would make something work to have you there with him. Fixing the ship and sleeping in his bunk.

“Yeah? You’d want me making a mess on your ship?” You tease, knowing he’s being serious but you know if you let yourself give in to that fantasy, you’ll both get hurt. “I doubt I could squeeze in with the mech.” You chuckle, a little nervous about how intense this has become. You’d go with him, you know you would and that’s terrifying.

“You’re good with the kid.” He’s noticed that too, not just how good you fuck. Right now it’s not feasible, not with his mission. “But I doubt you would want to go to Mandalore.” Hell, he doesn’t want to go, but he needs to.

You are surprised at his mission, “you are going to Mandalore? But I thought - I thought it was destroyed?” You frown, remembering the stories you were told as a little girl.

“It was.” He walks over to the tool rack and puts the ratchet spanner back. “I have to see what is left and find the living waters.” He doesn’t know why he is telling you this, but he does.

You watch him inspect the tools and you continue working on the droid. When you are finally done reprogramming, you rebuild the mech and within moments, it beeps while it comes back to life. The child tilts his head in response, cooing in excitement and you turn to look at the Mandalorian, wishing you could see his face. You are finished with the task he assigned which means he is free to leave.

Din looks around the bay for a moment before he walks over to you. He takes credits out of his belt and hands them to you. “For the repairs.” He murmurs. When you take them, he steps closer. “Close your eyes.” He orders, deciding that he’s going to give into his desires.

You are anxious but obey, closing your eyes and you are surprised when you feel his lips press against yours. His gloved hands cup your cheeks and the kiss is a little clumsy but your heart pounds in your chest. You squeeze your eyes together when he pulls back, a soft smile on your lips and you reach up to touch them, unable to believe he just kissed you.

“Tell Peli that she should keep you around.” Din walks over to Grogu and picks the baby up while the hoist puts the mech droid back in the Star fighter. He turns back towards you and wishes that there was something else wrong with the ship so he could stay longer. “I’ll be back.” It’s almost a promise but he knows you might not be here when he does come back. 

You open your eyes, knowing he can promise but he can’t guarantee. You already accepted that this would be a one time thing but it doesn’t stop your heart from aching. “I’ll be seeing you Mando.” You declare, hoping that you can say it and it will come true. Once Grogu is in his seat, you walk over to the Mandalorian. “Be safe.” You request, caressing his chest plate. 

He nods, “I’ll try.” 

You step back, biting your lip as he gets into the star fighter. This is likely the last time you’ll see him, certain Peli will kick you out before he returns. You wave when he lifts up, watching until the ship is but a spec in the sky.

****

It’s been six long months since he’s seen the dry, dusty planet but Din shifts slightly in his seat as he makes his way to Peli’s hanger. He wants to see if you are still there. The kid coos in his lap and Din hums. “Yeah, we’ll get you some food.” He promises, concentrating on the landing and trying not to look for you in the shade of the hanger. Once the engines are shut down, he opens the canopy and sets Grogu on the transparisteel before he climbs out.

Peli comes out, followed by her hoard of droids and she grins when she sees the ship. “Mando!” She greets him when the hood is opened and immediately takes the child, cooing at him and telling him she is going to get him something to eat. Mando can’t help but look around the hangar, looking for you, and he hears a clanging and you stumble through the doorway. 

“That stupid droid just squirted me with oil.” You curse as you wipe your face until you pause, seeing the Mandalorian standing there. “You’re back.” You gasp softly.

“I said I would be.” He walks towards you, the feeling in his chest telling him that what he had decided on the way here was right. He hadn’t made a bad choice. He reaches out when he’s close. Swiping away a spot you had missed before he drops his arm again. “Mesh’la.” He murmurs before he takes a deep breath and reaches up to remove his helmet.

Peli’s eyes widen and you inhale sharply, almost reaching out to stop him, but when his face is revealed, your heart pounds. “Mando-” You choke and he shakes his head. 

“Din. Call me Din.” He orders and you grin, reaching up to cup his cheeks. 

“Din.” You whisper, in awe of how handsome he is. His beautiful brown eyes staring at you like you’re the only thing in the galaxy.

“Well I missed something.” Peli huffs, but Din ignores her, leaning into your touch. 

“I have a lot to tell you, Mesh’la.” He hums. “But I need to make sure that what happened, what I thought you felt for me, wasn’t a fluke.” He bites his lip and turns to kiss your palm. “Would you leave with me?”

You glance over at Peli, feeling guilty for leaving her in the lurch. "Don't look at me, sweetheart. You got a handsome man asking you to leave with him? I know my answer." She grins and you bite your lip, turning back to Din. "Yes!" You squeal, surging forward to wrap your arms around his neck. "Yes, I would."

He chuckles. “There are some things you should know.” He warns you, pulling you close but looking into your eyes. They look so different without his helmet. “We- I am the leader of Mandalore.” He admits quietly. “I need- children. I need to lead my people from the shadows.”

You raise your eyebrows as you lean back to look at him, "you need - wow. That is - are you - do you-?" You stammer, unsure of how to ask the question. Does he want you to be the mother of his children or does he want a Mandalorian. "Do you - do you have someone in mind?" You ask quietly and Peli rolls her eyes.

“Mesh’la, I want you to come back with me.” He explains, reaching up to cup your cheek. “To marry and have children with me while I rebuild Mandalore.”

You are surprised but your heart pounds in your chest and you surge forward to press your lips to his. "Yes. Yes. I, Maker, this is crazy but I want that. I want to be yours, to have your children." You murmur against his lips.

“Well it’s about time you settled down. Mando!” Peli crows. “But hey, uh, would you consider leaving the kid with me?” She asks as she looks down at Grogu.

Din shakes his head. “The kid comes with me.” He tells the older woman as he smirks and leans in to kiss you again. “I’m also stealing your mechanic. She’s going to the the Manda’lor’s riddur.”

You grin, shocked but so happy to be his. You are excited for the future and you will be by the Mandalorian's side. His riddur. You look down to see the child who waddled over, offering you a goofy grin and you bend down to pick him up, holding him between you and Din. Your new family. "The Manda'lor's riddur. I like that." You smile up at Din. 

"Just remember to name one of your kids Peli." Your boss claps, a wide smile on her face. 

"Middle name." Din compromises and Peli pouts, making you giggle. Din never imagined a droid would help him find his riddur but now he finds he loves the mech that rides in his ship who beeps happily at the new couple.

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[znerac]

Reminder to din djarin fanfic lovers,

Cyare is not pronounced "SEE-YAER" its actually pronounced "SHAH-ray",

And Cyar'ika, isn't "SYAR-EE-kah" its actually "SHAR-EE-kah"

I'm glad to ruin it for you as i did to myself figuring this out

#din djarin x reader #din djarin #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfic #x reader #the mandalorian x reader #The mandalorian #Mando #mando and grogu #teehee get fucked