#din djarin is somewhere i can feel him

[jake-g-lockley]

Bro this took me the fuck out 😭😭😭😭

#the mandalorian theme coming around the corner #din djarin is somewhere i can feel him #MANDALORIAN EFFECT 😭😭 #mandala effect #the mandalorian

[toomanystoriessolittletime]

Mine

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

Pairing: Din Djarin x fem. reader

Wordcount: 1.5k

Rating: E

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

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The heat was slowly killing you. 

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

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

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

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

Din on the other hand was slowly dying. 

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

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

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

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

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

Which was fine. He wanted you comfortable. 

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

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

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

Somewhere colder. 

Somewhere he would finally ask you to marry him. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

The spot looked like a dried out waterhole. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

„Yeah?“ He asked and you nodded. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[the-scandalorian]

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

He always waits for you inside the door.

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

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

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

You come to expect it. To expect him.

He’s consistent. He’s hesitant.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You tell yourself not to hope for more.

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

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

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

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

Until the water shifts and he touches you.

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

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

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

You part your lips, and his fingers still.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ve been dying to know, Mando.”

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

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

A rough exhalation. Noncommittal, a little wry.

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

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

“Sit for me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

One day. Maybe.

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

“Just like that.”

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

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

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

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

Your part is done. 

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

Relief courses through your veins.

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

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

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

“Yes. Fuck, please—”

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

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

The offering of such intimacy, a secret shared.

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

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

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

“Are you going to—?”

“Yeah,” you breathe.

“Good.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The door shuts behind you with a click.

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

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

[thefrogdalorian]

Downpour

Din Djarin x GN!Reader

Summary: Leading a solitary, nomadic existence for much of his life means that Din Djarin has never cuddled up to someone he loves during a rainstorm. Until one night in his cabin on Nevarro, when unseasonably poor weather introduces him to one of life’s simple pleasures.

Word Count: 1k ✯ Rating: General ✯ Content Warnings: One suggestive line, Din having nightmares mentioned ✯ Author's Note: I miss the Razor Crest but daydreaming about domestic fluff in the cabin on Nevarro scratches an itch in my brain in all the best ways. I really want to cuddle with Din Djarin during a rainstorm. Is it too much to ask?! Thanks to @decembermidnight for betaing this one for me!! 🩷

✯ My Masterlist ✯ Read on AO3 ✯

The roof of the cabin on Nevarro has never felt like the most sturdy part of the modest-sized dwelling you share with your riduur. Especially not in the middle of an unseasonably fierce rainstorm, the severity of which has you groggily blinking awake in the pitch blackness. 

Your immediate concern is for the mischievous child you tucked in just across the hallway shortly after sunset. You hope that the rain has not disturbed him and that he remains bundled in blankets, surrounded in his crib by the mountain of plushies which have been either bought for him by you and Din or gifted to him by the various people throughout the galaxy who cannot resist how charming he is. 

Mercifully, your sensitive ears do not detect any wails. So, with Grogu seemingly still sleeping soundly, you turn your attention to his father. When you do not hear Din’s soft snores beside you, you vocalise your concern.

“Din, are you awake?” you mumble without turning around to face him.

Din shuffles towards you and wraps his arms around your waist. With a wordless response, he squeezes you tightly. You realise that Din is drawing comfort from your presence. Your heart grows heavy as you realise he must be alarmed by the rainstorm.

“Are you scared of the rain, my big scary Mandalorian?” you question. It is an attempt to lighten the mood, without fussing over him too much. You know how much such playful teasing gets underneath his skin.

“I’m not scared,” Din huffs.

You turn over, raising your eyebrows at him questioningly.

In the darkness, you can barely make out his handsome features. There is a soft light from the hallway, and you can faintly see his brown eyes sparkling slightly, even in the low light.

The lack of light is not an issue. You have mapped every inch of Din's face with your fingers and lips well enough to know that he will be furrowing his brow at you, exposing the wrinkle above the bridge of his nose that you love to gently trace with your fingertips whenever it becomes pronounced in times of stress. 

You reach up to touch the lines of his face, as though you can ease all of his worries with just your touch, “What would all those bounties you once collected think if they could see you now?” you muse.

Din guffaws.

“Imagine if everyone you struck fear into the hearts of with merely your presence could see you now? Maybe they would feel silly for ever being so scared of a man who is scared of a little rainstorm…”

“Riduur…” Din warns, voice deep and firm.

He can excuse the teasing about the past. You have held him through enough bouts of sobbing in this very bunk after the visions which haunt him in slumber have torn him from sleep to earn the privilege of lightly teasing him. When nightmarish sights of his past sins overwhelmed him, you were always there, dutifully picking up his pieces. 

But Din Djarin will never accept a charge of cowardice. 

You know he is not seriously scared. Din is no coward. And he knows that you would never seriously lay such a charge at his door. 

“You know I’m only teasing you, handsome,” you say with a wink you hope he can see.

You realise that Din has never lived somewhere for long enough to hear the rain pattering on the roof. His covert cloistered in the caves of Concordia. The Razor Crest was home but never docked in one place long enough for it to truly function as such. 

The fact that until now, Din has been denied the simple pleasure of listening to a rainstorm in the arms of one you love is yet another detail of his life which brings you anguish. 

“I think it’s very sweet, actually," you whisper, hoping he knows you meant no malice, "It's our first proper rainstorm in this cabin," you add, ensuring that he knows you understand this is new for him.

Despite how much Din's past makes your heart ache, you will not wallow in pity for him. Instead, it strengthens your resolve to make sure Din is loved every moment of the eternity he has vowed to spend with you. 

You lean in for a gentle kiss, “Roll over and let me hold you, my love,” you whisper against his plush lips.

Din sighs and then leans in to kiss you again before he complies. A touch so slow and sweet, so different to the frenzied way his lips claimed yours hours before. Satisfied, he agrees to your proposal, flipping over with a grunt.

You position yourself so your chest is flush with his firm back, placing a kiss on the centre of his back, between his broad shoulders. Din sighs in contentment. You smile, relieved you can comfort him like this. It is a privilege unique to you out of everyone in the galaxy.

You slip your hands underneath the soft cotton shirt he wears to bed and absentmindedly trace circles onto the warm expanse of his stomach. His body is firm beneath your fingers thanks to his muscular physique; but there is a hint of softness there, which increases each year as he ages. 

You do not mind one bit. It only makes his body better suited to cuddles.

This warrior who once terrified everyone is now a little softer at the edges, his toughness gradually eroded by the love he feels for his son and you, his riduur.

"Thank you," Din sleepily mumbles before he drifts off again, no longer disturbed by the thudding of the rain against the roof.

Fierce independence borne out of trauma had meant that Din had never previously known the simple pleasure of listening to rainfall pattering against the roof. It was a new reverberation, one initially alien and alarming to his highly attuned senses. 

Fortunately, Din was not afraid for long. Now, he has you to hold him through the storm. There is no more fear or anxiety as he cuddles with you, his riduur, while the sound continues outside.

You whisper, "I love you, Din," before sleep's comforting embrace takes you too and you join Din somewhere peaceful. Far away from the downpour.

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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 reader #din djarin x you #din djarin x f!reader #din djarin x female reader #din djarin fanfiction #mando x reader #mando fanfiction #mando x you #mandalorian fanfic #mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin x y/n #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fandom #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal fic #request

[bits-and-babs]

hello!new person here. i read your "close proximity" fic and loved it! I'd love to see how you'd write Din Djarin x shower sex. also, I'm sorry for your loss

𝐒𝐎𝐀𝐊𝐄𝐃 — 𝐃𝐈𝐍 𝐃𝐉𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐍

» PAIRING : The Mandalorian x f!Reader

» CONTENTS : shower sex [if that wasn’t obvious], dirty talk, Din is like a hybrid of a sub and a service top? Cream pie (practice safe sex, kids!), overstimulation. 18+ guys, you know the drill.

» AUTHORS NOTE : thank you for the condolences sweet pea <3 and thank you for sending in an ask to distract me, it’s really appreciated

» DIN MASTERLIST : here || MAIN MASTERLIST : here

The ‘thnk’ sound of beskar being set somewhere outside of the shower makes your heart lurch. Your eyes scream to open but you keep them firmly closed, squeezed together so hard that shapes swirl behind your eyelids.

When you and The Mandalorian had returned to the Razor Crest soiled with blood, you had insisted upon a shower the moment the soles of your boots hit the Durasteel of the boarding ramp. Mon Calamari vital fluids smell precisely as you'd expect – fishy.

Mando hadn't responded initially; his visor turned to you in silent acknowledgement. A man of little words, you had taken that to mean he accepted your fixed proposal. Only when you entered the hanger did you hear his awkward monotone piercing his helmet vocoder.

"You need any help?"

You had turned on your heel, momentarily shocked into silence. The Mandalorian wasn't forward like this. Ever.

"You won't be able to wash your hai–"

"Just keep your eyes closed." He'd smothered your concerns before you had a chance to voice them entirely, a strain in his voice practically begging you to stop questioning him.

Your pulse thumps in your eardrums, drowning out the roar of the falling water hitting the shower floor. It's impossible to listen for where Mando is, his stealthy movements smothered by the racket.

"Ma– Mando?" You mumble, hands hanging awkwardly by your side. He doesn't respond, and you take a step back in a clumsy attempt to avoid being in his way. The stream of hot water bears down on the top of your head, the impact resonating through your skull.

His hands, shed of their two-tone leather gloves, grab at your hips and push you clumsily against the wall. The sudden contact forces you to steal a breath from the steamy air, gasping loudly. It singes your lungs; makes you lightheaded.

Mando smothers your lips with his own. The kiss is clunky and disjointed at first, but he licks into your mouth, and your knees melt beneath the hot water.

When you mindlessly wrap your arms around Mando's neck, he leans his body weight against you. You’re chest to chest, and you can feel his pulse lurch when your fingers run through the hair at the base of his neck. There is a scar there, the skin rough and ragged in comparison to the surrounding dermis. In your kiss-drunk haze, you vaguely recall Mando informing you of his running with Moff Gideon and the almost fatal wound he sustained while protecting the child. Something buzzes through you, surging inside your chest – admiration.

"I've dreamt about this.” He breathes the admission into your mouth, and your whole body seizes. It's not just the sound of his unmodulated voice, the gravelly, brooding timbre and the way it settles between your thighs and swells around your clit as though he possesses the power of the Force.

No. It's the words themselves. It's the concept of Mando visiting you in his dreams, as though every waking moment he spends with you isn't enough to satiate his desire to be close to you. It’s tender, soft, and so unlike the hard, unyielding Mando you’d grown to know.

It reels you, knocks you off your axis to think that the immovable being before you craved you as you yearned for him. That before he was a Mandalorian; he was a human, a human with needs.

He needed you.

You sigh into his kisses, rolling your hips up to meet his and noting his hard cock pressing flat to your lower abdomen.

Water droplets run down your body, but instead of dousing the flaming heat of your body, they act like gasoline. The sensation of the trickling liquid sparks hot embers across your ribs, your hips, and your breasts. Mando’s palms quickly follow the trail squeezing at your flesh greedily as though he were jealous that the water got to touch you first.

"Hah–" you moan as you feel Mando sweep the head of his cock through your folds, collecting the slick before tapping it over your clit. Static fizzes in your blocked vision, prickling behind your eyelids as a wave of pleasure rocks through you. “Mando-“

“Fuck,” he husks, and the undistorted vibration in his voice rattles your brain and strikes you dumb. “Fuck, you’re so good.”

He’s not praising you. He’s babbling. Rambling random nonsense as he sweeps through your folds again, relishing in the arousal that coats his throbbing dick.

“Stars! You’re so wet- feel so fucking good when I-hahhh-“ Mando loses his composure when he begins to sink into your heat, mouth falling open and letting out a pathetic moan.

He scrambles to grab your thigh, hooking it over his waist and then pushing it towards your chest. It angles your hips, and he slides straight inside you with little resistance, your body desperate to be filled.

“Fuuuck-“ he grits through his teeth, panting as your walls flutter around him. The stretch of him sinking inside you so easily burns. It scorches down your spine, searing your nerve ends and sending your body into meltdown as your body trembles at the intense bliss he draws from you so easily.

“Feel so fucking good-“ he chokes as he rocks into you, your walls instantly gripping around him in response. He’s not pulling away, instead repetitively pushing deep into you and bumping his head against your cervix. It hurts, smarting like a bruise, but the pain spurs on the twisting, winding arousal that blooms through you.

You’re wheezing, each thrust knocking oxygen from your lungs and sparking colourful, swirling distortions behind your eyelids. A repetitive wailing sound reaches your ears, short, sharp and pitiful.

“Uh uh uh- Ma-Mah-aha-“

“You get so tight when you want to cum,” Mando groans in your ear, his own voice distorted with exertion. “Sta- It’s okay-… I won’t stop; give it to me.”

Mando’s proclamation trips you over that edge, his promise to keep going. It’s tearing you open, your orgasm bursting a hole through you like you’ve been shot with a blaster bolt.

You’re sobbing, clamping down around him as your tears mix with the shower water and slip down the drain.

“F-Fu-Fuck-“ Mando struggles, his hips stuttering as he cums inside of you. There’s so much of it; his breathing wrecked as he continues to thrust into the deepest parts of you.

You don’t even get to question his failure to keep his promise. Mando, despite cumming so early, continues to push into your heat, ignoring the soul-shattering overstimulation. The slam of his fist against the durasteel shocks a ragged whine from your throat, your eyes rolling back into your head.

“I’m- oh fuck, I’m gonna give you another,” he heaves, voice bleeding into your brain and screwing with the hormones there until your body is drowning in dopamine, buzzing with it. “You’re gon-na give me another, baby, come on-“

#꒰꒰ ‧₊˚📁 ─ my works ˚₊· ꒱꒱ #꒰ ‧₊˚ din 🥫 ˚₊· ꒱ #꒰꒰ ‧₊˚ 1k+ notes club ˚₊· ꒱꒱ #din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin imagine #din djarin smut #din djarin x female reader #din djarin x y/n #din djarin one shot #din djarin x you #the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian drabble #the mandalorian smut #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian x y/n #the mandalorian oneshot #the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian imagine #star wars #star wars smut #pedro pascal #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal x reader #જ⁀➴ mail: received

[thetriumphantpanda]

feel the rain on your skin | din djarin

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

Pairing | Din Djarin x F!Reader

Word Count | 1.5K

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

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

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

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Ko-Fi

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mesh’la.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

#Din Djarin #The Mandalorian #Din Djarin fic #Din Djarin fanfic #Din Djarin fanfiction #The Mandalorian fic #The Mandalorian fanfic #the mandalorian fanfiction #din djarin smut #din djarin fluff #din djarin x you #din djarin x reader #din djarin x female reader #din djarin x f!reader #mando #mando x reader #mando x you #mando x female reader #mando x f!reader #the mandalorian x f!reader #the mandalorian x female reader #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you

[pedroshotwifey]

Idk if you still do those nsfw requests... but if you do, can I request Nr 39 and either Din? Because I feel like din would be so taken aback by everything, as he just seems like a virgin at heart (sorry not sorry🥲)

Hi baby!! Don't you know sub/virgin Din is my specialty? 😏 I really enjoyed writing this, and I hope you enjoy!!

Pairing: Innocent!Din Djarin x GN!reader

Warnings: premature ejaculation, grinding, innocence kink, embarrassment, stuff I'm probably forgetting

Word count: 927

Cramped

*****

“Din, I really don’t think there’s enough room in that thing for all three of us,” you admit. 

“No, look,” he walks over to the small ship and points at the bubble on top. It appears to be a repurposed droid pit. “Grogu will sit up here.” 

You bite your tongue and nod, not wanting to let him down but knowing you need to explain that it’s just not going to happen. The N1 is a big downgrade from the Crest, but you can’t blame him for trying to make it work. 

“That’s really smart, but look at the cockpit.”

You watch as his helm turns to the small, single seater cockpit. 

“What do you mean?” 

You resist the urge to just stare at him. What does he mean ‘what do you mean’? 

“Din, do you really want to travel for days at a time cramped in that thing with me? I’d practically have to be in your lap.” You ignore the way your cheeks heat as a crude image pops into your head. You’ve been painfully aware of Din’s innocence for as long as you’ve been flying with him, but this is next-level. Does he really not get why this may be a problem? 

“It’ll be fine,” he says. “We can stop more often if we need to.” 

You sigh at him, about to bring up the fact that you’ll be wasting a ton of fuel if you stop every day you’re traveling. 

“Here, I’ll show you.” 

“Din, I–” 

“Just try it, please?” 

He’s already lifting the seal and getting in, settling himself in the pilot’s chair. He shifts his hips and spreads his thighs as he gets comfortable and makes room for you. It makes your mouth go dry. He’s a few years older than you, but absolutely fucking clueless. 

He says your name when you don’t move from the spot you’re standing in. “C’mon,” he motions his hand for you to come take a seat. You chew on your lip for a second but decide to indulge him. You’ll just have to be careful. 

You grab his hand and let him help hoist you up, bringing you to stand between his legs and then lower down. You make sure to shift down a bit so that your ass is on the edge of the seat instead of against his crotch. Of course, though, Din’s hands come to your hips to drag you toward him, getting the two of you flush to each other. 

You can feel heat in the tips of your ears now as you’re pulled over him slightly. You know he’s just trying to make sure you’re comfortable, but his efforts have the opposite effect when you can feel his soft cock pressing against you. Your body stiffens and you bite your lip, sending a prayer up the maker that it stays that way. 

The bulge is fucking impressive, you’re not going to lie. You’ve caught glances of it before—intentional or not—but this is insane. 

You try to subtly move yourself off of him the tiniest bit, more to relieve the pressure to his appendage than anything else. He lets you do so, but not much with his hands still on your hips with nowhere else to go. Then he moves them to your thighs, one resting on each. Okay, maybe they did have somewhere else to go. 

Another image shoves it’s way into your head, this one of his hands further between your legs, no barrier between the two of you as he uses one of them to—

You shake yourself out of it, squirming as you silently scold yourself. 

“See? It’s fi—” 

He chokes on his words as your ass brushes against him, the brief friction something he’s not used to. 

“Fuck, sorry,” you apologize frantically, trying to get up off of him so you don’t make him uncomfortable. You can already feel him stiffening. He moans softly and his hips shift a little as well, causing even more rubbing on parts that do not need to be rubbing. His hands tense on your thighs, holding you to him so you can’t move. You yelp, unsure of how to get out of this predicament without stirring him further. 

“What the fuck? Do that again. I liked it.” 

Your jaw drops. 

“W-what?” 

“Do that again. What was that?” 

“I–” 

He bucks his hips again, stimulating his now fully hardened cock. 

“Mph, that.” 

“I-Din, I don’t think you unders–” 

But he does it again, and you can feel arousal stirring within you despite yourself. He ruts up, a moan crackling through his modulator. His hands grasp harshly as he starts to grind against you. 

“D-Din–” 

Suddenly, he groans behind you, his body tensing and trembling as your face floods with embarrassment. You can feel his cock twitching and pulsing, a wet spot forming in his flight suit. It goes on for longer than you’ve ever seen before. You throb with want between your legs as you listen to him come down from his orgasm.

The two of you sit in silence, Din panting slightly as you try to process what just happened. 

“Cyar’ika?” 

You swallow. “Yes, Din?” 

“W-what was that?” 

“You just came,” you explain, trying to keep your hoarse voice loud enough for him to hear. 

“Oh,” he says, though you can tell he has no idea what the fuck you just said.

“Can I do it again?��� 

You let out a shaky breath and turn your head slightly his way, knowing you’re not getting out of this explanation.

*****

Here’s the link to the prompt list if anyone else would like to request 🫶

#pedro pascal #fan fiction #ao3 #pedro pascal smut #smut #pedro pascal characters #gender neutral reader #the mandalorian x gn!reader #gn!reader #din djarin x gn!reader #din djarin smut #requested fic #fic request

[beskarandblasters]

Was it all a dream?

Chapter Three: But it's not real and you don't exist

Din Djarin x F!Reader

Series Masterlist | Series Playlist

Series summary: You’ve always had vivid dreams, an escape from your monotonous life. But one night, something appears in your dreams that keeps reoccurring; a pair of brown eyes. -Or- Two people, in completely different parts of the galaxy, find each other in their dreams and try to make sense of the strange connection they share.

Series warnings: reader is able-bodied, canon divergent (long live the Razor Crest), switches between Reader and Din’s POV, story takes place in the dream realm and the real world, takes place somewhere between the end of season two/Book of Boba Fett/beginning + middle of season three, eventual smut, line between reality and dreams gets blurred, use of Mando’a words and phrases, no use of y/n

Chapter summary: In your dream, you confront the strange man and find out who he really is.

Word count: 2.9k

Chapter warnings: first date awkwardness

Fic notifs: @beskarandblastersfics Fic recs: @kelbellsficrecs

You 

The brisk wind stings your eyes. The air is thinner, harder to breathe. You look down at what’s beneath your feet; a sharp drop. Bad idea. The world feels like it’s spinning around you, nausea pooling in your stomach.

Stop. Close your eyes and breathe, you tell yourself. 

You try and ground yourself as best as you can, accepting that you’re aware you’re dreaming again before opening your eyes slowly, keeping your gaze outwards instead of below you. 

You’re in the mountains, no idea where exactly. Is this planet even real? Wherever you are it’s beautiful, despite the cold air and the dizziness. The moon is full and bright over the horizon line. The sky is decorated in beautiful shades of purple. And the mountains are graced with a light layer of snow. A pinch of snow lifts off the mountains, carried by the wind. You look over your shoulder and look for a place to go that isn’t at the edge of a cliff. More snow. More rocks. It’s better than falling. For a split second, you wonder what would happen if you just walked off the edge of the mountain. Would you wake up? Would you die? 

That’s a question you’d rather not answer right now, despite the curiosity. You’re the only set of footprints here. Maybe you really are alone for once. 

Carefully you step through the snow, keeping the pressure on your feet light for fear of waking something up or causing attention to yourself. But it seems you’re the only living thing even here. 

Until you hear a sound in the distance. 

You turn and see him, at the forest’s edge. Where did he even come from? Where do you go from here? Do you run? Do you hide? It doesn’t matter because you can’t do anything. You’re frozen with fear. He’s coming toward you and you’re having flashbacks to the last time this happened. 

Run. Get out of here. Wake up. 

But. 

You. 

Can’t. 

And you shouldn’t. You need to be brave and confront him. It doesn’t matter if you’re scared. What’s going to happen here anyway? You’re dreaming. 

“Hey,” the man says softly, grabbing your arm. 

He must see the panicked expression on your face. 

“I’m not going to hurt you.”

“How do I know that?” you say, eyes trailing down to the blaster on his hip.

He follows your gaze and grabs the blaster. You take a step back in fear but he just tosses the blaster over his shoulder, landing with a plop in the crunchy snow. 

“Do you believe me now?”

“…I guess?” you sigh, searching for eye contact but he doesn’t give it to you. Instead, he keeps his gaze on the ground, your hands, or even your lips– never looking you in the eye.

“Do you know where we are?”

“We’re dreaming, that much I know.”

“But you don’t recognize this place?”

“Nope. Do you?”

“No…”

“I don’t understand why we seem to be connected.”

“I don’t either. I asked-”

“You asked someone about this?”

“I did. I take it you didn’t.”

“I wouldn’t know where to start.”

“I asked a Jedi.”

“Wow, you must be important if you know a Jedi,” you chuckle, hoping that he’ll appreciate the self-deprecating dig you just made but he doesn’t say anything. He’s lost in thought, staring off into space with an expression on his face that looks like he’s trying to put the pieces together. 

“…Hello?”

“Her name is escaping me,” he says, snapping himself out of his trance. 

“Oh. Well-”

“She told me I had to talk to you if I wanted to try and understand all of this.”

“I guess? But I’m just about as lost as you are.”

A sharp shiver runs down your spine. It’s impossibly cold, the wind harsh and biting. You look down at your clothes, something you never thought to do until now. You’re wearing a long-sleeved shirt with linen pants. If this is what you’ve been wearing in previous dreams then you don’t remember. Whatever. It doesn’t matter because it’s not shielding you well enough from the elements, not here at least.  

“You’re cold,” he says, not like he cares but more so like he’s stating an observation. 

“Thanks for stating the obvious?”

“What? Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. I’m trying to… ground myself.”

“I get it.”

“This is new for me. I never used to remember my dreams. Let alone be aware that I’m in one.”

“I remember my dreams every night but this is new for me, too.”

An awkward, uncomfortable silence hangs heavy in the air between you, too. You glance over at him, standing in the snow. The wind blows his curls back and the bright moonlight illuminates his brown eyes…. Maker, those eyes. How they used to scare you. But now you’re here with him up close, you can read nothing else in them besides confusion. 

He’s bathed in the purple glow of the sky, looking at his surroundings and trying to ground himself as best he can. It’s hard to do that in a dream where nothing is real. None of this is real. 

Is he real?

“Are you… real?” you blurt out. Probably not the best thing to ask him as he’s in the middle of disassociating but it just slipped out. 

“What? Of course, I am,” he says. His head snaps back in your direction but his eyes look past you. 

“How do I know that?”

“Well, are you real?”

“I think so but now you have me second-guessing.”

“Both of us panicking is doing us no good.”

“Can’t we just wake up whenever we want?”

“Yes, but… I don’t want to.”

“You don’t?

“No, I… need to find out more about this; about you… I want to trust you, I think.”

He folds his arms, the black sleeves tightening with the movement of his biceps. His brows are furrowed like he’s lost in thought, staring down at his feet and trying to piece all of this together. 

“Okay… We’ve established that both of us are real.”

“Right,” he affirms. 

“What’s your name?” you ask. 

He pauses, brow furrowing even deeper at your question. 

“We’re not going to build trust if you don’t tell me your name,” you point out. 

“My name is Din,” he says after a beat of silence.

It’s a start. 

You tell him your name and you feel the tension start to dissipate. But it doesn’t last long.

“Where are you from?” he asks.

There’s just one problem.

You don’t remember. 

“I… I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

“I can’t remember.”

“That’s odd.”

“What about you? Where are you from?”

He stares off into space before a look of realization hits his face. He can’t remember either. 

“I can’t recall…”

“Then how do we know that we’re real?”

“We’re real. I know we are.”

If he’s real can I touch him? What happens if do that?

“Walk with me,” he says, leading you away from the edge of the mountain and into the forest. 

You walk beside him, wondering where he’s taking you but also not feeling nervous about it. The back of your hand brushes up against his. He’s real even if this place doesn’t feel real. 

There’s a part of you that wants to trust him; that wants to learn more about him. Out of the corner of your eyes, you glance at him as he walks, eyeing the saunter in his step, the way he carries himself, holding his head high. His body language reads as someone who’s confident. But if he’s so confident why can’t he look you in the eye?

Before you have time to ponder the idea any further, he stops at a small stone cave, facing the tree line and illuminated by the majestic purple light seeping in. 

“It’s not much but I can build us a fire here.”

“S-Sure. Thanks, Din,” you say, sitting at the mouth of the cave and watching as he collects small twigs and branches off the trees, aiming for ones that aren’t dusted with snow. He collects a bundle of pine needles, too, before heading back to the cave.

He sits opposite you and arranges the sticks in a tent-like fashion, setting the pine needles down in a nest beside it. He takes a stick and a flatter piece of wood, rubbing his hands together with the stick swirling in between them. Watching him do this makes you realize you’ve never actually built a fire before, not like this at least. There are no trees on Sullust. Everything you know about trees and flora on other planets comes from the library where you go to learn about far-off places that feel like they can actually sustain life, unlike the toxic cloud of gas that is Sullust. The process seems tedious and it pleasantly surprises you that a complete stranger is doing the most to keep you warm. Even in a dream where at the end of the day, none of this really matters. 

Once he gets a small ember he dumps it over the nest of pine needles. He takes the needles in his hands cradling the small and fragile life he just worked hard to create. He places the small fledgling of fire at the base of the tent of sticks. Soon enough the flame catches, growing into a fire steady as a beating heart. And then it’s just the two of you, sitting across from each other with the fire in between, watching the way the light dances on the walls of the cave. It’s silent but not uncomfortable. It feels like you two have known each other a long time yet somehow you forgot the connection you once shared. 

“I know we don’t remember where we’re from but… Do you remember what you do?” you ask. 

“I’m a bounty hunter,” he says, not looking at you but looking at the flames. The fire lights up his already warm eyes, illuminating the brown into a shade of amber. 

“Really?”

“Yes? Is that surprising?”

“To me I guess. Where I’m from everyone does the same thing.”

“And what’s that?”

“We all work in a factory.”

“You can’t remember where?”

“No, but… it’s kind of nice not to. I don’t like where I live.”

“I see.”

“Do you?”

“I guess. I don’t really have one place I stay at lately. I’m usually all over the galaxy.”

“That sounds like a dream.”

“Yes… But it would be nice to have just one place where I could feel at home.”

“Looks like we both have something we could learn from one another.”

He smiles, still looking down at the fire, but it’s a smile that he’s still unsure of. 

“Din?”

“Hm?”

“Are you this shy normally?”

He freezes and you fear you might’ve overstepped. 

“How do you know I’m shy?”

“You won’t look me in the eye.”

“Oh.”

“It’s alright. You don’t have to if you don’t-”

“I don’t look like this normally.”

“No?”

“No, I don’t. I’m not used to this. I feel like I’m out of my element.”

You cock your head to the side and watch as he leans back against the wall of the cave, closing his eyes. Now that you’re not so afraid of him you can admire how beautiful he is. His strong arms strain the fabric of his black shirt. His facial hair is patchy (albeit in a cute way) and his nose is strong— it suits him. His hair is brown and curly, slightly matted down but you don’t know what from. He’s not wearing anything on his head. And his eyes. Maker how you wish he’d look you in the eye. 

“I like how you look,” you say, the words slipping out absentmindedly as you admire him. 

“Really?” he says, his eyes flying open and finally locking with yours. 

“I do. And I know I don’t know what you look like outside of here but I’m sure you’re just as… handsome,” you say. You want to call him beautiful but you don’t know how he’ll react. 

A boyish, lopsided smile graces his face, revealing a dimple you didn’t notice before. He opens his mouth to speak just as a large shiver runs down your spine. 

“You’re still cold,” he says, getting up off the ground. 

“I’m okay. Really-”

“Shh,” he says, sitting beside you and wrapping his arm around your shoulders. 

You can’t deny it feels nice for him to hold you like this. You lean into his touch and try to gauge what he smells like. He smells clean, like fresh laundry. It’s a comforting scent. 

“Tell me more about yourself. What’s life like for you?” you ask, turning and looking at him. 

He meets your gaze and doesn’t stray away from it. Maybe he’s finally building the confidence you know he deserves. 

“Lonely. Ever since my son left it’s been just me.”

“Your son?”

“He’s not mine. I took him in,” he says quickly. 

“Oh okay. Where is he?” 

“Training with his own kind. Before him, it was just me.”

“So you got used to having someone else around and now you’re alone again?” 

“Yeah… exactly.”

“I’m sorry, Din. I know what it’s like. When I’m not at work I’m alone… all the time. It’s nice and all until it’s not…”

“Right. Sometimes it’s nice being able to do whatever I want whenever I want but at night… that’s when I feel it the worst.”

“I get it,” you say, keeping your eye contact with him locked. 

“It’s nice to know that someone does,” he says, leaning into you closer. 

You’re so close to him, feeling his body heat, taking in his scent, looking at all of the details on his face… his lips. Maker, his lips. 

Without thinking you lean forward and kiss him, feeling his facial hair tickle your skin but in a welcoming, inviting way. He’s stiff at first, startled by your sudden move but soon enough he’s melting into the kiss. 

“I’m sorry,” you say, pulling away but still ghosting his lips.

“You’re sorry for that?” he chuckles. This time his warm breath tickles your face. 

“Yeah-”

“Don’t be,” he says, interrupting you and going in for another kiss.

His hand moves to the back of your head, keeping you against his face. The only thing on your mind is to be closer— as close as you two could possibly be. Your hand cups his cheek, brushing your thumb over his facial hair. It tickles him slightly and he lets out a small chuckle into the kiss. Just as you’re shifting positions to straddle him, he slips away from your grasp. You’re falling into inky black nothingness. 

When you open your eyes, you’re met with the ceiling yet again. 

Kriff. Just as it was getting good. 

It all felt so real. He has to be real. There’s no way someone that deep, complex, and… beautiful is just a product of your subconscious. He was so warm, so kind, so gentle with you. It makes you long for someone you’ve never even met in real life. 

But back to the original question… He has to be real, right? He said he didn’t look like that in real life. That alone has your mind racing. What did he mean by that? Does he look different entirely? Does he wear different clothes? Is his hair different? Maybe his eye color?

Or he really does look like that in real life and he perceives himself differently; he’s insecure. 

Regardless, you’re fixating on him, your dreams when you sleep start to slip into maladaptive daydreams. And you fantasize about what he’s like and what it would be like if he were here with you right now and—

Your alarm clock interrupts you. There’s no time for dreaming. It’s back to reality and another shift at the factory. 

Din

He wakes up frustrated, grasping the air at nothing. You felt so soft, so delicate in his lap just now. Your skin, your scent, your lips were so inviting, putting his anxious mind at ease. He too thinks about what it would be like if you were here with him, pressed up against him in the small cot of the Razor Crest. He thinks about what it would be like if your sweet voice was reverberating off the metal walls. He thinks about what your skin feels like and what it sounds like when you cum and—

Don’t get carried away, Din, he tells himself. 

As he gets up for the day reality settles in. He realizes that… he likes keeping you separate from his day-to-day life. As terrible as that sounds, it’s the start of a relationship without any strings attached, no real-life implications or consequences. It’s a secret for you two, not to be influenced by the world around you. If you’re even real, that is. 

That doesn’t mean he won’t fantasize about you, however. And deep down, part of him knows that you do exist, tucked away in a part of the galaxy he doesn’t know if he can find. 

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WIAD Tag list: @wannab-urs @hyzer34 @lupietra @milly-louise @hellfire-state-of-mind @dugiioh @handspunyarns @fckyeapedrothots99 @leithatnight @corazondebeskar @burntheedges @imherefordeanandbones @pamasaur @dameron-grant-spector @competitivedust @survivingandenduring @the-color-is-black @perennialdoll247 @littlegrungegirlaf @bluebeary-jay @angstyvirgin001 @missladym1981 @alltheotps @pedrostories @lahooozaherr @anoverwhelmingdin @djarins-cyare @dins-riduur-anthe @that1nerd-20 @kirsteng42

#wiad #din djarin x reader #din djarin x f!reader #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin series #din djarin x you #din djarin x fem!reader #the mandalorian #the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian x reader #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #ppcu fanfiction

[iron-strangers]

we will raise warriors

Pairing: The Mandalorian (Din Djarin) x Female Jedi!Reader

Tags: Established Relationship, Mand’alor Din Djarin, PWP, Vaginal sex, Creampie

CW: Breeding Kink, No use of Y/N, Smut (MINORS DNI)

Length: 2.036 words

Read this on AO3: we will raise warriors

Link to the series on ao3, tumblr

-

“Happy love day!” You greet Din at the front door of your home by tackling him with a bear hug, armors and all, presenting a small gift, wrapped rather messily, with a huge, silly red bow on top. “Got you a little something, cyare!”

Din just walked into your home, a grand three-bedroom apartment-style room in the eastern wing of Keldabe Palace. I want to see the sunrise every morning, cyare, you had said when Din asked you to pick your family wing upon moving to the ancient, though newly renovated palace. Din had no preference. No actually, he’d prefer not to live in the old castle. He’d rather live in a house in the countryside, somewhere near a body of water, where he can enjoy nature with his family, away from the responsibility of being The Mand’alor. But anywhere is just as good if he has his beautiful riduur and their foundling with him, Din claimed.

You help your riduur to pull off his cape, hanging the long fabric on its stand near the door. Gone is the old and tattered one, replaced by a floor-length, crimson, soft fabric that more often than not got folded into a birikad for Grogu. You excitedly rush him towards the karyai, sitting him down on a couch and placing the gift in his hand. Not used to getting presents, Din eagerly removes his helmet before pulling the red ribbon off, revealing a small T-shaped metal in a transparent box. He stares at it with a puzzled look on his face before looking back up at you with his head tilted sideways.

“Is this, uh, a new bullet?”

”It is not a bullet, don't you dare to load it into your blaster,” You scold, snatching the box from your riduur's hand. “You remember how we’ve talked about trying for a baby? We’ve been planning it for a while, and then there was that time when we kinda, you know, get excited about it in the throne room?” Oh yeah, Din can’t forget that one, nuh-uh, top ten moment of his life. “So, here it is. This is an IUD, mine. It’s my birth control. I went to the healer this morning to take it out.”

Din stutters, his eyes wide open, looking back and forth at you and the IUD, so expressive behind his helmet, trying to process what he just heard. You smile at him patiently, your hands steady on his shoulder, rubbing tight circles with your thumbs, giving him some time to process the news. A few seconds later, the frown morphs into a smile, a huge grin now adorning his handsome face as he then pulls you to his lap and claims your lips in a flurry of hungry kisses. His hands come up to your jaw to cup your face, holding you ever-so-gently as he peppers your face with kisses, stealing giggles out of you.

“How soon can we start?” Din asks eagerly, beaming to you like a verd’ika who just got his first set of beskar’gam, holding you by your ass and lifting you both from the couch, ignoring your protests, holding tightly around his neck.

“Well, my healer said it might take a few weeks to purge the hormones outta my system, but she also said that anything can happen,” You shrug, absently playing with the tuft of hair reaching his neck, he needs a haircut, you duly noted. “Anyways, the elders are begging for us to start training heirs already, so how about you give us what we all want and fuck a baby into me, ner Mand'alor ?” You lean in to whisper playfully, lightly nibbling on his earlobe.

You watch with a smirk when Din is, once again, completely at a loss for words. His pupils are dark with desire and you can feel him starting to harden in his pants against the swell of your ass. Smirking, you grind down on his growing erection, earning a groan from him, always so easy to tease. “Dont start something you can't finish, Rid'ika,” He warns you, pressing your back against the bedroom wall.

“But we all know how much you want to,” you tease, trailing your hand down his beskar-covered chest all the way to the tenting length straining his flightsuit pants. “Want me all soft and pregnant, looking absolutely yours . Your riduur, your baby- Oh !”

Din throws you on the bed, ignoring your squeals. He immediately crawls on top of you and pins you down with a kiss. His hand sneaks down to pull your armors off one by one. He studies you thoroughly, bringing your hand to his lips and kissing his left vambrace that you have worn since your riduurok. He brushes your robes aside, sliding his hand down your belly, admiring your body for a moment. You take his gloves off, wanting to feel your riduur's blaster-calloused fingers on your skin. Your breath catches and the feeling of his hands on you makes you shudder. His middle finger slips beneath the panties and between your slick folds.

“So fucking wet for me, cyar’ika.” Din's lips are back on yours, swallowing your gasps as he circles your sensitive nub. You break the kiss with a sob when you feel Din gathering up your slick on his fingers and he nudges his thick fingers into your heat. You gasp as he slides his fingers deep, crooking his fingers into your sweet spot.

“Right there, Din,” you whine, throwing your head back onto the bed. Your riduur’s hand travels up, cupping your breast and rubbing the pad of his thumb over your pebbled nipple, pulling and pinching. He watches as you chew on your lower lip, trying to stave off your moans. 

“Fuck mesh’la , I can’t wait until these are filled with milk. Aching and leaking all day long until I can milk you dry.” Din leans closer to you, rolling your nipple with his tongue. His mouth closes around you and he sucks hard while his other fingers are still leisurely pumping in and out of you, ignoring your pleas.

“Please what, cyar'ika? Where's that smart mouth now, hmm?”

“Please fuck me! Need you to come inside, fill me up with our verd’ika, please, ner alor- ah!” 

Din swears hearing your needy whines, eager to give whatever his riduur's wants. He pulls his fingers out of you and taps your drenched folds with the tip of his cock. Din growls, he has denied himself for way too long, tucking his face in the crook of your neck he buries himself all the way into you in one thrust, knocking the breath out of you. 

“Force, you fill me up so fucking good .” You moan, letting your head fall down the pillow and grabbing a fistful of the sheet as Din immediately pounds into you. Your walls flutter around his girth, struggling to take him. 

Din burns with desire and his primal need to breed takes over. One rough snap of his hips makes you scream as the head of his cock nudges your sweet spot just right, severing the connection to your brain for a moment.

“You like that, cyar’ika?” He leans down, kissing your sweaty temples. You nod, trapped underneath your riduur, wailing and begging and taking everything Din is giving you. He claims your lips and kisses every plea from your mouth before he pulls back, indulging himself by staring down where his cock is buried inside of you. His length is wet and sticky with your arousal and his pre-cum, making him growl and pace himself harder, faster, rougher.

“I know how much you want it, rid'ika- fuck , look at you, made such a mess on my cock, mesh’la. You don’t want me to stop fucking this pussy until you’re all round and swollen with my ad’ika, huh?” 

“Yes, please, Mand'alor, please fuck a baby into me, wanna make you a buir.”

“Manda - Soak my cock, mesh'la, c'mon, gonna get you all wet and pregnant.” he snarls, spitting filthy promises as he thrust harder. “That’s it, cyar’ika. Keep on squeezing me like that, sweet girl. Not gonna stop fucking this tight pussy until you're all nice and full with our verd'ika.”

“Yes, yes, fuck yes, Din, cyare,” you moan, rolling your hips greedily. “Wanna give you a baby, Din. Come inside me, please. Please give me your cum, oh, Force-”

Din can’t control himself any longer, he growls gutturally, his fingers digging into your hips as his pace grows sloppier and he shoots the first of his hot, heavy load deep inside of you, holding you hard against his front and rutting his hips as he pumps his seeds into your willing womb. The feeling of Din's seeds flooding your insides is overwhelming, your mind is whiting out, legs trembling and you’re cumming hard, milking the thick shaft, enticing him to pump more loads into you until it leaks down your thigh. 

“Don't waste any drop now, cyar’ika.” Din hums, grinning and kissing on your jaw. Slowly he eases himself out of you and watches his cum dripping out of you. He tuts with dismay, gently fingering it back into your puffy cunt, then he gives you his fingers to suck clean. 

You settle in his arms, making out with him lazily when he pulls away and smiles, his hand a comforting weight on your tummy. His smile gives you butterflies. Running your fingers up and down his forearm, you beam to him and he almost tips over with the weight of his love and adoration for you. 

“I'm so excited,” you whisper softly, admiring the blissful look on your riduur’s face as he sounds his agreement and presses a tickling kiss on your nose. Din plays with your hair, brushing the strands sticking on your sweaty forehead back. “Mesh’la? I like the name Aranar,” Din thinks, and you beam at him, nodding and testing the name on your tongue.

The sun is setting, painting a beautiful glow on both his and your mismatched vambraces. There's a peaceful silence between you, the sound of his breathing evening out lulls you to sleep, almost swallowing you into a slumber when you remember something-

“Oh, I have another present for you, an actual present!”

Din tries to protest, claiming you’ve already given him the best present in the galaxy when you shush him, levitating an equally small box from the side table. You open the box, revealing two identical keys on a plush velvet. Din eyes you curiously, picking one key up.

“Remember that one house we saw near your covert?”

“The one with the big yard near the pond? Did you- No, cyar’ika!”

“It’s ours! No, listen to me,” you huff when your riduur tries to protest again. “We can’t live in the palace forever, Din. I won’t let you to. You don’t like it here, and therefore, neither do I. I figured we’d stay here until Mandalore is stable enough, or until we’ve reached about seventy percent of our rebuilding goal, then we’ll move out. We’ll get speeders to get here every morning, show our adi’ke around, then we’ll come home when the day is done, to a place where the Council of Alor can't steal you away from me. We can make it work, my love.” 

Din stares at you adoringly with his big brown eyes, too overwhelmed with the weight of your love to honestly do or say anything other than holding you close and kissing you, caressing your jaw lovingly with each kisses, murmuring a soft thank you over and over again against your lips. “I’ve never- No one’s ever do this much for me,” he mumbles, holding your hand to his heart. “You don’t like it here too? Why don’t you tell me?”

“Oh cyare, you deserve the world and you gave so much for me and our foundling, so of couse I will try to give you a place we both can call home, where we can watch our aliit grows,” You lean into his touch, nuzzling his hand with your jaw, offering him a smile. “And no, I don’t like this place, the force ghosts of previous Mand’alors are creeping me the fuck out!”

“THE WHAT NOW?”

-

Mando'a translations

Karyai: main living room of a traditional mandalorian house

Riduur: Spouse

Birikad: Baby harness

Mand’alor: Ruler of mandalorians

Alor: Leader

Cyare / cyar’ika: beloved

Riduurok: Love bond / Marriage agreement

Mesh’la: Beautiful

Verd’ika: Little warrior

Aranar: Defend

#expanding clan mudhorn #din djarin x reader #din djarin x female reader #din djarin imagine #din djarin #din djarin x you #the mandalorian #the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x female reader #the mandalorian x you #star wars #star wars fanfiction

[draculasfavoritewife]

No Word For Hero

Summary: You love him and the way he will always be your protector, but sometimes facing the truth is the most terrifying thing of all.

Pairing: Din Djarin x fem!Reader

Warnings: Nightmares and discussions of death. The one-two punch of angst and fluffiness all in one. This one is a fair bit more somber than my other Mando stuff.

Another trope I will never ever get tired of -- the "having a nightmare while sleeping with your partner" routine! 🥳 Gets me in my feels every time, particularly with a character like Din who (to me at least) canonically also has frequent nightmares. I first drafted this one a couple summers ago as a result of all my feelings after that big moment in "The Marshal", as I'm sure will be obvious.

*Translations of less common words/phrases in Mando'a at the end

It's coming, exploding up from beneath the billowing sands, looming over everyone, titanic, monstrous, ravenous....

...He turns to you, ever so briefly, tilts his head in that meaningful look you know all too well...that damn look that means he's going to play hero again.

Damn his altruism.

When is he going to stop?

You already know that answer, too. It lurks forever in the back of your mind, awake or asleep, always whispering there, a constant venom ever deepening its grasp around your heart until one day the cold reality finally breaks it.

He'll stop when he finally doesn't come back to you.

When he's at last granted the warrior's death you know he desires.

Only then.

You can't even scream as he disappears down the dragon's throat, too frozen with horror to make a sound....

You bolt upright, gasping for breath, damp hair clinging to your face and tears running down, their salty tang sharp on your lips.

Stupid nightmares.

"Go away," you mutter, rubbing harshly at your eyes. "Just stop."

The cot is small, realistically much too small for two adults, and your distress is painfully evident to the man sharing it with you, whose arm has just been violently dislodged from its place around your torso.

"Bad dream?"

He sounds tired. He hardly ever sleeps through a full night at the best of times, and even then it's rarely a deep sleep.

If the old saying "sleep with one eye open" were actually true, Din would be its personification.

You curse your overactive mind a second time, for disturbing his precious few moments of rest along with your own.

"I'm fine." You don't lie back down, instead pulling your knees up to your chest and wrapping your arms tightly around them. Normally you find his quarters chilly, but the adrenaline coursing through your veins makes the room suddenly feel close and stuffy.

He shifts against you in the dark, no doubt to study your posture. "You don't sound fine."

You sigh. "I will be. You should try and get some sleep, Din."

You hear him lean back into the wall, a long exhale betraying stiffness somewhere in his muscles.

You've offered him the side of the bed that's not right up against the wall, but to your surprise he actually likes to be pressed closely between your body and the solidness of metal at his back.

You suspect it gives him a sense of security in a life that holds so little for him.

"I'm sorry I woke you," you add before he can speak again.

"You didn't." His revelation is cool and distant, as if his lack of rest means nothing to him. "I haven't slept at all tonight."

You turn to stare at him in dismay, only to be met with the void of deep darkness. "Why didn't you --"

"What? Wake you up to tell you I can't sleep?" Somehow you know he's shaking his head at you. "That fixes nothing, Cyar'ika. My sleep was disturbed since long before we met." His voice softens as he reaches for you, his large, comfortingly familiar hand stroking down your side. "But when I have you in my arms, listening to your breathing, I can at least find some peace. And that is often enough."

You let out another shuddering breath and gaze out into the dim compartment, the images from your nightmare replaying over and over behind your eyes like a holovid stuck on loop.

"I think I need some air," you murmur.

"Take my shirt, then." You're grateful he doesn't try to stop you; he knows you were taking care of yourself for a long time before you two struck up your partnership. He trusts you to look out for danger.

"Vor'e, Cyare." You slide from the bed, his fingers trailing away from your hip as you break from his gentle touch. He watches as you blindly take his shirt from the pile of clothes left on the floor and pull it over your head, pausing only to grab a vibroblade before exiting his quarters.

"I'll come back," you promise softly.

And the words sting deep down as they leave your lips, knowing that one day, one of you might not be able to keep that promise.

The night is cool and clear on this planet, and the breeze smells like living growth from the thick woods nearby. It's a far cry from the dust and smoke of so many of the worlds you've stayed on before, and soon you start to calm down, heartbeat returning to normal and perspiration drying at the wind's light touch. Everything is peaceful around you, the night birds calling and water flowing somewhere behind the trees.

Not for the first time, your thoughts stray towards the impossibility of trying to stay somewhere like this place, to drop everything you know and carve out a life on a frontier planet somewhere. You and Din and Grogu, living modestly and secretly away from the prying eyes of the Imperials or the Jedi, pretending at normalcy....

There's the key word.

Pretending.

You've played many parts since you lost your buir so many years ago. Dancer in the clubs of the Core worlds, thief, animal wrangler, pilot, hired gun. You could adapt, you feel fairly certain. It's the skill that's most reliably kept you alive this long.

But Din....

He's so deeply entrenched in his upbringing. His honor, and the hunt, mean everything to him. Whatever else he tries to be, he will always be the Mandalorian first and foremost. The Way runs through his veins, thicker than blood, and the fierce heart of a warrior beats beneath the beskar.

It's why he will ultimately always make sacrifices to keep those under his protection safe.

It's who he is. His identity.

The reason that one day he might not emerge from the belly of the beast in triumph.

And you love him, exactly the way he is. You'd never ask him to change.

But Maker, sometimes the knowledge of what that means hurts deeper than any physical wound.

So you stand there at the edge of the woods and let the tears come, let the sobs wrack your body as you bury yourself deeper in his comforting shirt, praying that the day never comes that all you have left are memories and clothes that smell like him.

Eventually, your grief runs its course and you can breathe once again. The crunch of footsteps in the damp grass warrants a side glance, but as you thought, it's only your beroya, come to check on you, no doubt.

"You've been out here a long time," he remarks.

"Had a lot on my mind."

He encircles you in his arms from behind, chin resting in the dip of your shoulder. You're surprised that he didn't replace his helmet to come out here, but sunrise is still a long way off.

"I'm usually the one with the nightmares," he teases softly. "This one must have been rough. Want to talk?"

You find his hands at your waist, interlock your fingers with his.

"I lost someone. Someone very important to me."

Turning slightly so you can rest your cheek against his, you kiss the very edge of his lips. "It scares me, Din."

He's quiet for some time, and you try to imagine the expression on his face.

"I'm sorry," he finally whispers. "I can't give you anything but my word that I will always try my hardest to come back to you. That is what fuels me, ner'kar'ta. The fire in my blood, the strength in my bones, is knowing that I need to make it back for you. But I realize that it is a double-edged blade. Because it also means I would give everything, to keep you safe in the end."

"I know, Din. I remember what my buir used to tell me, you know, how we have no word for 'hero' in our mother tongue, because to be Mando'ade is to risk all for the ones you love. I know I'm so selfish." You turn all the way around at last, hiding your face in his bare chest. "But I accept your vow. And it will have to be enough."

Collecting yourself and finally raising your haunted gaze to his, you manage a small smile. "But I will fight for you, Din Djarin. Death will find one hell of a struggle when it finally comes for you, I can promise you that."

"There's my girl." The fond grin in his voice is audible. "Now, will you come back to bed? It's getting lonesome in there."

You let him lead you back to the ship, and the sigh of the wind now seems to promise to whisk your fears away for the time being.

The door slides shut behind you, and you shiver, realizing all of a sudden just how cold you are. His shirt is a welcome barrier against the biting chill, and you wonder how he was able to get along without it outside.

"Cold?" he asks.

"Yes." You reach out for him, wordlessly begging for his warmth.

He sidesteps you and folds his arms across his chest. "Take it off," he demands, and indicates the shirt with a nod, husky voice brimming with humor and a shade of something hungrier. "Or I will."

You hug the worn fabric closer to your body and shake your head mutinously. "But it's the only thing keeping me warm!"

"So you've chosen the hard way." He crosses the small space in a couple of long strides and starts to tease the garment off of you, bit by agonizing bit. "And how dare you let a piece of clothing do a man's job."

"You're making me cold again," you complain as he pulls you into bed with him, the hunter retreating back to his lair to finish off his fortunate prey.

"Then honor dictates I repair the damage I've caused," he hums, and you surrender to the bliss of being completely enveloped in his embrace. Din has always run hot, ever since you started sleeping together, and his warmth and familiar weight are so much better than any sweet dream of yours could be.

In the here and now, he's still alive, and he's still yours.

There will be no more tears tonight.

"Better?" he growls into your throat.

You run your fingers through his thick curls, sighing at the way he always manages to banish all of your dark thoughts away. And maybe now there will even be time for him to get some sleep before morning as well.

"I am now."

Vor'e = Thank you

Buir = Parent

Beroya = Bounty Hunter

Ner'kar'ta = My heart

Mando'ade = Child of Mandalore

#din djarin #x reader #the mandalorian #bounty hunter #romance #mandalorian x reader #din djarin x reader #female reader #sentimental #favorite tropes #nightmare #comfort #star wars #self insert #a bit sad #bad dreams #soft din djarin #angst #hes so lovely #im not crying you are

[saradika]

— somewhere only we know

[series masterlist]

din djarin x f!reader

rated e - 4.6k

Tags: spoilers for s3 finale, established relationship, mini fix-it, cottagecore vibes, multiple pov, possessive!din, found family, fluff, angst, cabin smut, references to masturbation and oral, manual restraints, PiV, creampie

A/N - after that finale, I had an urge to write a part iii to the mini neighbor!din series. 💖 Massive thank you to @rescuethewretched for some perfect inspiration with her post, along with being so kind as to beta this!

That seed of want had been planted on Sorgan. Cracking him open and nestling it deep inside.

But he had smothered it, pushing it down. Strapping the armor over the hole it had burrowed in.

Now, with time - it had found life.

After everything - a new life is built on Nevarro.

It takes some time to rebuild. But like before - when the land had just been desert and barren flats, strength had come with it. The sense of community.

Banding together to fit each brick back into place. Repairing what you could, salvaging what had crumbled under the blasts that had reigned down. Spreading that green again - letting it wind into gardens, throughout the streets again.

Karga has another gift for the man who had saved the town. The best bandaid he can offer, materials for a new home - some kilometers away from where the rubble of the old remained.

In that space deeded to the Mandalorians, nestled between the lava flats and Bulloch Canyon.

Days spent mapping the area, before Din picked a spot. Where a small, green-leafed tree already flourished. No longer near the hot springs - but there's a scattering of small ponds with chirping frogs.

Remote - the peek of Nevarro just visible when he turns towards the hills.

It feels safe. It's his.

You are there - helping him get settled in, planning out the garden - for a few weeks before he asks you to stay.

It’s no more than that one word.

Murmured out in the early morning, as you try to slip from his bed. A warm, bare hand wrapping around your wrist - pulling you back under for another few hours.

One night, turning into another.

Until one morning you realize it's been days since you've returned to the small apartment near the trade district, where you had been staying. While the place where you used to live was cleaned up, examined to see what if the structure could be salvaged.

That most of your stuff was already there.

Boxes brought over each time you go into town, things inside eventually finding their way throughout the cabin. Working together to fill the space with things that feel like him.

For the first time, being able to choose. A soft, hidden smile as he explores his preferences - finding an overstuffed chair in one of the shops. A groan as he sinks into it, gloves sliding over the armrests.

It sits in his small living room now. It gets used - in the evenings, in the early mornings.

Memories made, with each moment.

And something else begins to grow, during those hours spent together. Not just the reaching varos saplings, and the neat lines of behot - the seeds brought back by his clan. Gifted and carefully cultivated, with tender fingers.

Sprouting from the flats as time passes, and just as you learn about this new life - you learn more about him.

You find out what those words mean. Picking up the way in which he says them - fondly, whispered in quiet, intimate moments.

Only for you, when you walk through the city together.

Mesh'la. Beautiful. Cyar'ika. Sweetheart.

It sends your own heart tripping and tumbling, each and every time you hear them.

There was one you still didn't know. The one the Mandalorian called Paz had called you, when he found the two of you together.

A low chuckle, when he had visited a few weeks ago - when you quietly asked him what it had meant.

"Ask him yourself, ad'ika." He tells you, a broad hand thumping against your shoulder.

But, he does help you - in the end. Teaching you words that you've been practicing on your own. Still clumsy on your tongue, murmured when you're alone.

Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum.

You'll give them to Din, someday.

When it's perfect.

Because that's what he deserves.

———

It still feels strange, waking up in a space that isn’t moving. That dull ache in his neck and hips slowly fading - no longer sleeping in the pilots chair.

He never thought he’d miss the tiny bunk in the Crest so much, but that was before he had slept all night in a starfighter.

Now, he sleeps in a nest of pillows. Soft sheets and layers of folded blankets. A place that stays put, standing firm and steady.

Slowly filling with things he can call his.

That seed of want had been planted on Sorgan. Cracking him open and nestling it deep inside.

He had been a different man back then. Not ready. But he had still thought a little too long about the offer. Wondering, and wishing.

You and your boy could have a good life.

He could be a child for a while.

Wouldn't that be nice?

It had been.

But he had smothered it, pushing it down. Strapping the armor over the hole it had burrowed in.

Now, with time - it had found life. Much like the grass that has started to push from the flats, growing thick and lush. Slowly spreading, until there’s a blanket to sit on.

To enjoy.

To calm his own. To fill with things with meaning, instead of pure function. Having to pair his belongings down to just the essentials - things that were easy to carry.

He’s found things from his old life, bringing them here. A crate, pulled from storage. A box, there - still sitting unopened.

Finding moments to unpack, in-between time spent under the sun. Making lists of things they still need, things to pick up from the marketplace.

It's in one of those small crates that Grogu finds it. An older memory - something the Child had taken with him on his training. Had kept close to his heart, while they were apart.

Clutched in his tiny fist, held out for his father. A little point with the tip of a claw, through the open door.

Where you bend over the neat rows of flowers, blooming in the sun. Clipping a few to bring in, like you did in the mornings.

Din hadn’t been sure, at first. Had wanted to fill the plots of tilled land with something practical. Grains, maybe. Tall stalks of golden-eared corn.

“We’re the only ones out here.” You had laughed, “We’re not exactly short on space, Din.”

You hadn’t seen the soft curl of a smile as his head had ducked. Yielding.

Later - alone - he had admired the plucked bouquet on the small table they shared. Taking the briefest moment to lift his helmet. Inhaling the layers - fruity and light, filling the space with more colors than he had seen in a long time.

Grogu waves the piece again, tugging him back from the memory.

"You think so?" Din asks, taking it from him.

It fits between his orange-tipped fingers. Thinking he understands his son’s meaning. That maybe, it’s been something he’s been thinking about, too.

He'll find a new cord, something more suitable.

Saving it - until he is ready.

———

It seems to suit him. Having someone to look after. That acceptance of their enduring bond - something that had always been there, that he had just hesitated with putting a name to.

How Grogu seems to be more capable than ever, but how there's still those muscles that bunch in Din's back, as he prepares to reach out, to offer a helping hand.

Openly worrying, like a father.

Maybe it's that acknowledgment that knocks something loose. Allowing him to finally welcome the things he truly wants, instead of rejecting or running from them.

Putting down roots somewhere, after years of calling hyperspace his home.

Maybe even to lean into them. Moments and things that he's never had before. No longer leaving for a bounty all alone.

No - now he has someone waving him off, a kiss pressed against the curve of his helmet. He has a "come back safe" and a "thinking of you" to hold close to his chest while they're gone.

A voice at the other end of the comm, when he calls.

Someone waiting for him to get back, happy and smiling.

He has you.

The recklessness fades. That foolhardy rushing in for a bounty, depending on past experiences and instinct to carry him through to the other side.

He tells himself it's because of the kid, when he slows down. When he is more careful of his choices when Captain Teva comms.

But maybe, he does it for himself, too.

For the first time in his life.

Bringing him back here, every time. Grogu tucked and sleeping against his chest as he arrives home after dark. The stars above shining down on the little cabin.

The starfighter touching down on the landing pad, moved some ways off from the house. Far enough that it doesn't rattle the tidy kitchen when he takes off, far enough that it doesn't wake you with an early departure.

Stepping down onto familiar soil as he climbs from the cockpit. So certain that you'd be in bed, already dreaming.

But there's a light on, he can see it from here. A golden beacon, calling to him to the place he now calls home.

Unconsciously, his steps quicken. Bringing him closer, until he can see your silhouette through the opened window.

On another night, he might scold - unable to the help the worry. Telling you to keep that window closed. To keep yourself safe.

But tonight, all he can focus on is you. Seeing now the clothes you wear, as you read - waiting up for him.

Knowing when it's dark and his nose is burying in your neck, that it will be your sweet scent perfuming the clothes that he can tell you're borrowing.

Mixing, melding together.

Layered, in a way that is impossible to untangle.

———

There’s the soft swish of the front door opening, but you wait patiently. Listening to the long-memorized path, a he moves throughout the small cabin.

Storing his rifle by the front door. The shuffle as he removes his boots, another hiss as the small side room is opened. His son tucked carefully and lovingly into the tiny bed.

The slow cadence of his steps, as he is slowly brought back to you.

Already smiling, when he fills the doorway.

He always seemed to do that. Encompass this small space you share. His armor making him thick and broad, and you can never help the little leap your heart does - rising up to your throat - when he leans over to to grab something.

Caging you in against the counter - whether on accident or purpose, you’re not sure. You think on purpose, judging by the short buzz of breath, when your eyes so unconsciously tip up to find his. Hidden away, behind the visor.

Always leading to something else. There’s lots of places you’ve found out here - places that aren’t so easily stumbled upon.

You’re already pushing up to go to him, your body melding against his. A long-held sigh releasing from his lungs, and his shoulders relax.

As you lead him to the bed - as he lets your hands brace on his chest, until his shoulders are pressing against the mattress.

Until you’re climbing on, after.

This is what you think about, when he’s gone.

The familiarity of your fingers, as they pluck at hidden buckles. The careful way you remove each piece - setting the shining armor in the woven basket at the end of the bed.

It’s second nature now, and the way you move so easily thrills you. Knowing that you know him in a way that no one else has.

Knowing that he can say the same, about you.

Each piece has its own place, as his hands rest on your thighs. Gloves removed the second he was inside, fingers tracing paths on equally bare skin.

Until it’s just his helmet that remains, the softest glint of the stars off the shining visor as his head tilts upward.

“Do you want me to close the blinds?” You murmur.

It’s dark. More than enough for some, but you’ve come know him. Respecting his beliefs, and are already rising to cut the light from above off completely.

His hands tighten on your thighs - voice buzzing low though the vocoder.

“No.”

A pause, as his hands swoop. Finding yours and squeezing. Guiding them to his helmet.

“Not tonight.”

It makes your stomach flip, the words already on the tip of your tongue, “Are you sure? I can-”

You can close your eyes, like before. Could wear a blindfold - anything that makes him comfortable.

But instead, his fingers are mapping yours. A soft hiss as you both lift the helmet - before you’re leaning over him, resting it carefully in its place on the table next to the bed.

Then, he’s pulling you down. A rough groan in his throat as your lips meet his, as you smile. Unable to help the giddy grin, the fingers that brush through soft curls.

Reacquainting your mouth with his, making up for the week that has passed. Soft and chaste - growing deeper when his hand spans the back of your neck.

The other pressing between your shoulder blades, until your body melts against his again.

Still broad-shouldered, without the armor. Still filling a good part of the bed - a fixture in this cabin.

Your fingers make quick work of the flightsuit, even as your mouth slots with his.

More zippers and snaps that you know well. Rough canvas giving way to warm skin, his hands joining yours as he pulls his arms from the sleeves.

Rolling off him, just for a moment. While he shucks the lower half from him - before he’s pulling you back on top.

Nestling himself between your thighs. Hard and thick, the evidence of how much he missed you. Mutual huffs of breath as your hips rock - only the cloth of your underwear separates you.

His hands wander then - fingers brushing from shoulder, to neck. Sweeping and dipping across your front, down between your breasts. Imagining something only he can see.

As he wonders if it’s time.

The thoughts unraveling as his fingers drop instead, to pluck at the ties of the tunic you wear.

Loosening them, so he can lean upward. His turn now, to strip the layers from you. Fingertips pushing the fabric from your shoulder, before it’s tugged over your head.

The moon and stars spilling streaks against skin, as you peel off the last piece. Until you’re bared fully, feeling the weight of his gaze dragging over you.

Fingers still twisted in the fabric, before it’s dropped off the edge of the bed. Tracing over your curves after, feeling where the goosebumps rise. The taut peaks of your breasts, under his thumbs.

You sigh, breathed out into the night. Missing him, wanting him, aching for him.

This slowness is another thing you’ve discovered. A countdown of time no longer lingering about his head. A ever-growing list of things he had to do on those short visits, trying to fit as much time with you in-between as he could.

Pounding into you, the breath pushed from your lungs. Leaving you gasping as his helmet presses against your forehead. Gone - the next morning.

No, now - he takes his time. Slow and steady and winding you up. Until the frenzied movement comes from pure need, chasing the release. So wrapped up you forget everything else except the pleasure.

You rise up on your knees to take him. Can feel the thudding between your thighs, the dampness that glistens on sensitive skin.

His hands tighten instead. Rocking you forward instead, until your slick cunt slides against his cock. A rumble you can feel, as your hands splay flat across his chest.

“Din.” You protest, trying to move again.

Those hands, still gripping on.

“What did you do while I was gone?”

If the helmet was on, you’d never hear the soft tremor. The rasp of his words, that edge that is so soften masked.

It has you blinking, pulling you out of the haze.

“I, uh-,” You lick your lips, distracted by his question. The way you can feel the twitch of his cock, when you grind yourself against him, “I worked.”

A tiny smile as you add, “And I missed you, of course.”

He hums at that, as your hips make another pass. As you make another attempt to rise, your hands pressing against his chest.

Din still holds you steady.

“Did you miss me at night?” He asks, a knowing tone to his words, “In our bed?”

You can feel your cheeks burn - as a sweet embarrassment, and then a heat, floods through you. Fingers curling into fists, pressing against his sternum.

Our bed.

If the question had been yours, you would have said his bed. But instead, he shares this space with his words, making it just as much yours.

“Yes.” You breathe, and he groans. Pushing up against you, grinding his cock against your slick center.

“Show me.”

There’s an expectancy to his request that has you squirming. The slightest hesitance, before your fingers slide down, across his chest, then stomach. Letting him feel their path, waiting until the last possible moment to lift them.

Brushing the tips against the head of his straining cock, as you find your neglected clit. Lightly dragging a fingers across the sensitive nub, finally getting a bit of that friction you’ve been aching for.

Your moan is a soft, drawn out “oh”. Laced with relief, as your fingers press and circle. The other hand still braced on him, as you shift into your own touch.

His own fingers flutter. Petting over your breasts and down your hips. A thumb brushing across your mound, the breadth of his hands framing where yours works.

The starlight shines more on you. He can see glimpses of your fingers, the part of your lips as you pant. His own fingers joining yours, following the tight patterns.

“What did you think about?” He rasps, as your eyes close.

Your chin tipping down, your breath now ragged. He always knows just how to touch you.

Knows your body as well as you know the straps of his beskar armor, and can take you apart just as easily.

“You.” You whimper, your free hand gripping at his hip, anchoring yourself, “How much I wanted you. How it’s never-“

A gasp, as the pleasure flickers through you like lightning. Starting in your core and radiating outwards.

“N-never as good. When you’re not here.”

His exhale is sharp, the grip on your waist loosening. As he guides your hips against his. Still sliding against him, smearing your arousal on his cock.

Not sure how much longer he can draw this out, not with you saying such pretty things.

Swallowing as your own question comes, almost surprising yourself with your boldness.

“Did you think of me? While you were gone?”

In the darkness you miss the quick, sharp pull of teeth and lips. The growling groan that catches in his throat, as his fingers still circle.

“Yes,” He rasps, “Always.”

The answer has you clenching around nothing. Needy and desperate to hear more.

Barely managing to ask, “What did you think about?”

His fingers leave you, and you mourn them. Gathering at your waist again - lifting you this time. Angling his cock so it kisses against your lips, nudges against your entrance.

“This,” He growls, as he tugs you down.

Your moan is loud as he fills you. That familiar and sweet stretch as you take him in a long, fluid thrust. A stiffness to your shoulders as you sit, your ass flush to his hips.

His cock shoved as deep as he can, stealing your breath and words. Breathing the air back in as you slowly begin to ride him. Shallow bounces as your knees dig into the bedspread.

It’s hazy, in the dark. Near featureless - but as you move, there’s the hint of something. The curve of his nose. The scruff of his jaw, dark and just starting to pepper grey.

Features you’ve tracing with your fingertips, in those evenings before. Pressing a kiss to against the curve of his cheek, instead of the sharp curve of beskar.

You don’t know that he does this, during the day. Far enough out that there’s rarely uninvited guests.

Rising early, as the rest of the cabin sleeps. Feeling the dew-sprinkled grass beneath bare toes, as the morning breeze rustles his hair.

A stolen moment, before the day begins.

Dreaming of sharing one with you, one day.

Until then, he settles for this. Your soft touches and patience and the silky darkness of the night curling around you both.

Enveloping you, with the roll of your hips - your hands braced on his chest. Pushing down with your hands now as you rise up, the soft heat that he sinks into when you drop back down.

Taking him to the hilt, again and again.

Slowly picking up speed, finding your rhythm as his fingers find the soft space between your thighs again.

Dragging you towards something that licks red-hot in your belly. Fueled by the teasing - the knowledge that your swiftly budding feelings might not be all so different that his.

It feels like too much. The flutter of your heart, you eyes close so you can hear the soft grit of his words.

“Feels so fucking good.”

“Stars, cyar’ika. Keep going, just like that.”

It has your warning sticking in your throat, as those two, broad fingers tease at you.

“Din-”

You like saying it, but not nearly as much as he loves hearing it.

“Din, I’m so close.”

“I know.” He husks, as his hips rock up to meet you. Feeling how you clench down around him, how your rhythm has slowed to a sloppy grind.

That press of his fingers winding you up and up and up. An invisible string tugging you toward him, until his mouth is pressing open-mouthed against your neck.

Whatever your response was disappears as you fall, and then shatter. The sound coming out as a sharp gasp instead, one that he can feel as his lips suck a mark against your skin.

Just a senseless rutting of your hips now, as you chase the sweet pulse between your thighs. The way he feels as you clench around him, as his fingers never seem to slow.

Robbing you of your strength, the pleasure that scatters throughout your limbs replaced with a warm, liquid lead. Weighing you down as your body sinks against his, your face curling against his neck.

Remembering how to breathe again, coaxed by a calloused hand that smooths down your back. The shift of his hips that remind you of where you are - your focus on what you want so much more clear, now.

You want to feel him. Want to make him feel just as good as you did right now.

He lets you ride him. Until your arms are trembling with the effort - still coming down from your high.

Pushing himself up until he’s sitting, his back pressed against the metal headboard. His hands moving to grip the underside of your thighs - tugging you up just the slightest bit, until he’s doing the work for you.

Thrusting up, dragging his cock against your walls. Pounding into you as his skin claps against your, each pushing a breath from his chest.

Your arms wrap around his shoulders, fingers twisting in his hair. Fingers biting into your skin, enough to pinch. The cadence of his breathing growing rougher, shorter - until those hands are moving your your waist.

Pulling you down, holding you there, as he pushes deep one last time. His groan seeming loud in this small room, wordless as it echoes in your ears.

As his hips rut against yours - try to work himself even deeper as he spills into you. Palms press into your back, keeping you flush against him, as a nose nudges against your neck.

The warm exhale of his breath eventually slowing, a kiss placed against the spot where your heart thuds in your throat.

After, you curl up in his arms. A smile pressed into bare skin as the evening wind cools your sweat-dewed skin. Listening to the croak of frogs and the rustle of leaves as you wait for the thudding of your hearts to slow.

Your mind is already drifting to tomorrow. To all the things you want to do together, all the questions to want to ask about the latest bounty, even as your eyes grow heavy.

While his is placed more in the present.

Knowing that right now…

There’s no place he’d rather be.

———

The sun breaks on a gorgeous summer day.

It mirrors your mood, as your steps take you out of the small cabin. Through the garden you’ve built together.

It feels like such a luxury, to call this place your own. To have something that feels like it belongs to you, that you’re not just staying there - mingling with the ghosts and memories of before.

It fills a space inside you that’s been empty for some time. Pieces finally clicking into place, as you bask in that sense of belonging.

A small oasis in the rolling planes of desert and earth. Far enough away from town that sometimes, it truly feels like it’s just the three of you.

You had asked Din, one time. If he had minded the quiet, living in such solitude.

“Don’t you miss it?” You had asked, “How things were, before?”

He had been sitting next to you, then. In that little spot just outside the door, a leg kicked up against the a thick piece of railing.

Leaning back against the wall, arms shifting over his chest as he had answered without hesitating.

“No.” Din has rasped, “Not at all.”

The memory makes you smile.

The slightest ache to your knees when you bend down to pluck a ruby-red tomato from its vine.

The remnants of your thorough second welcoming home, while in the sonic that morning. The slightest wobble in your step, from when he had returned the favor, back in the bed.

A hand shielding your eyes when you hear the sets of footsteps behind you. The basket tucked under your arm as you crouch to greet Grogu as he coos, something small and brown clutched in his fist.

Held out, dropped into your cupped hands.

It wasn’t unusual that they brought something back. A small trinket when there was time. More seeds, for the garden.

But there was something about it that makes you slow down, as you reach inside. A fluttering in your stomach, an anticipation.

Something about Din’s posture at he waits, some steps away. Strung-tight - missing the cock of his hips, the bend of his knee.

It glints in the light, as you tip it into your palm. Polished to a pretty shine, though there are areas that are still darkened with age and time.

A necklace, the silver charm dangling at the end of a leather cord. A long skeleton face with curving horns, that looks familiar.

The low voice comes, breaking through your thoughts.

“We wanted you to have this.”

Din hovers near you, hands braced on his hips. Grogu peeks up with flickering ears and bright eyes.

“It’s beautiful.” You tell him truthfully, a thumb sweeping over the metal. A weight to it, a solidness filled with memories and meanings.

“It’s the symbol of the Mandalorians. A Mythosaur.” He explains - tone flat and patient from behind his helmet.

Masking the tones that would color them, if his helmet had been removed. Hiding the full meaning of his gift.

“If anyone comes by while we’re away, they won’t harm you. You’ll be protected.”

It warms you.

That he still worries, even after danger has passed.

Your head ducks as you slip the cord around your neck. Adjusting it carefully with slow fingers.

“Thank you.” You tell them both.

Brimming with something too tender to name, as the pendant rests against your chest.

It feels right, resting there. Against your skin. So close to the place that pounds so steadily for him.

It feels like a promise.

Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum - I love you ("I will know you forever.") / mesh’la - beautiful / cyare & cyar’ika - sweetheart / ad’ika - little one

behot - a citrusy herb that is native to Mandalore

varos - a fruit native to Mandalore, known for its velvety aroma when ripe

Thank you so much for reading! So happy to write something sweet and hopeful for Din. 💖

#din djarin x you #din djarin x f!reader #din djarin x reader #din djarin x female reader #din djarin smut #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin imagine #mandalorian spoilers #mando s3 spoilers

[cosmichahn]

LOVE GROWS

Din Djarin x GN!Reader —☆

ִֶָ 𓂃⊹ ִֶָ about: Grogu wanted to see you, and frankly, he isn't the only one who does.

ִֶָ 𓂃⊹ ִֶָ warning/s: none that's disturbing! (no canon typical violence) this oneshot will include love confessions, so yes. (was listening to love grows by edison lighthouse while writing this.) a few mando'a words, but the translations will be shown at the end!

ִִֶֶָָ 𓂃⊹ ִֶָ word count: 2.2k

ִִֶֶָָ 𓂃⊹ ִֶָ note/s: hello! it takes a while for me to finish writing, and it's my first time writing for din djarin. this might be a little out of character, but i swear i'm trying to write properly for him.

The distant cooing of Grogu echoed around the ship, pointing at a small crown made of dried and preserved flowers that hung near his hammock. His big black eyes pleading.

It's a free moment anyway, and it's just little Grogu and his dad lurking through the galaxies. Only the engine of the ship functioning is heard, along with his little coos, begging for his father's attention.

Din looks behind him, leaving the controls on autopilot for him to go to his little one. He stands up, seeing Grogu patiently waiting for him to get closer as his little hands wave over the flower crown that felt as if it was protecting him from his nightmares; seeing as it's hanging by his bed.

He can't resist the little bundle of joy's pleas, and he of course will bring him to one of the places that bring the two of them that feeling of home and comfort, adamant that Din refuses to admit it, Endor.

The Mandalorian loves seeing his child happy and comfortable; if Grogu was happy, so was he. Just the two of them against the world… but lately Grogu seems off. Din stressed over not knowing what was going through his mind that sometimes he hoped to have the ability of a jedi to communicate and at least see Grogu's mind.

On the way to Endor, Din welcomes Grogu to sit on his lap, even leaving a little seatbelt for him so he wouldn't fall. It's a quiet journey with only the little one humming a tune that showed his excitement. A tune you once sung to him as he slept in your arms.

Soon enough, the two touch down at the Forest Moon of Endor.

Grogu starts to race Din to the exit, his little feet being too fast. Beneath the helmet, he just smiles. The twinkle in his little Grogu's eyes made his heart swell.

It's evening as they arrive, so patiently, the little one waits for Din outside of the ship. “You're too excited, kid." He chuckles, following behind as Grogu heads for the familiar little cottage that felt like home. It wasn't their house per se, but the person who lived in it was what made it feel like home.

“Grogu?" The warm and familiar voice greets, opening the door before he can even knock with his little hands. 

You. A Jedi.

Wind chimes echo and twirl through his big green ears as he swiftly hugs and tugs on your leg. You carefully pick him up as he snuggles in closer. “We've not seen each other in a while, little one. D'you miss me already?" He nods, tapping on your cheek, engulfing in the warmth.

“Sometimes I think he likes you more than me." Din jokes, crossing his arms afterwards. Somewhere lingers his smile. You can feel it. But you've not seen it, sadly.

“Mando, Mando… He just missed me." You shrug, inviting him to join you inside.

As you hold Grogu in your right arm, the first place you head to is the kitchen, remembering that you just made a batch of wildberry pie. Surely this would satisfy his appetite. A body so small, an appetite so big.

You sit him on one of the chairs, placing the plate of pie in front of him. His smile grows, making his little teeth visible. Before taking a bite, he looks at you happily, giving you a thanks.

While he is busy eating and enjoying his meal, you sit beside Din who was quietly sitting on the couch. 

“So," You give him a suspicious but cheeky look. “this is the third time this month. Odd, isn't it?" Usually they would go here once a month, or sometimes rarely as bounties were always happening.

“Grogu just wanted to see you." Din replies, feeling an invisible lump in his throat before handing you an envelope with little drawings on it that was definitely Grogu's doing. “I have something for you by the way. Well, we." Indicating him and Grogu.

You take it carefully, appreciating the fact that the crayons you gifted the last time they were here got well used. Grogu tried to eat it once, leaving you and Din in a panicked state.

“You sure that's not the only reason?" Teasing him as you poke his armored side a little bit.

“...Yes."

“Ok." It's soft how you said it, and you actually do miss him and want to see him. You miss him everyday which was an overstatement, but you love it every time he and Grogu were here. “Well, it's never too bad to miss a friend."

Remembering the scraps you found when you were looting a couple of abandoned places, you stand up. “Oh! Wait here, I have something for you too." He gets surprised by your sudden movement, but he just waits patiently for you anyway.

“It's a music thing that I found, you just have to insert it in your ship's radio thingy… If you have one of those of course." It looked like a port that could play telegrams like the ones he gets from reports from Karga or Cara. “I designed a little music box to enhance its sound and liven up a room." Ok, you are psyched to let Din see this item you made, and frankly he isn't complaining. It even catches Grogu's attention as he was about to finish his entire plate.

From a random storage room, you pull the music box out then insert the port, the beat of an unfamiliar tune playing. “I don't even know who Rosemary is." You say, seeing Grogu start to sway to the music.

Oh, but love grows where my Rosemary goes…

“So, Din, what do you think?" Questioning him as you get all excited. “Is it nice? It's nice, right?"

“The kid likes it. It's nice." He crosses his arms, the distant light glinting from his helmet as he nods.

The little jedi walks to your leg as he lifts his arms up, wanting you to carry him. Upon shaking your hips to the beat, Grogu looks at his dad.

“No," Din says, crossing his arms. He makes an attempt to intimidate the both of you, but instead, you and Grogu look at each other then giggle. “I will not dance."

Grogu can feel a small, sly smile that begins to grow on Din's face.

A couple of moments pass with you constantly having to carry Grogu because he wanted to dance in your arms and teasing Din when the two of you saw him shake his hips a little bit. Those couple of moments left Grogu tired after a whole day in the hyperspace, longing to see you then relieving that longing shortly.

Din carries Grogu in his arms, leading him into your bedroom where a small hammock hangs beside your bed. Just for him. For Grogu.

Afterwards, you and Din talk in the kitchen, sitting across from each other in the dining area.

“So, that was fun.” You smile, looking at the cup of juice swirling in your hand. It was an exhausting whole day for you, running around doing errands, and ending your day with a surprise arrival by the two people you would trust your life with when this whole galaxy arrived, was the best way of resting from a draining day.

Din knew that when he got Grogu, he knew little to nothing of becoming a father, let alone that of a child who was to only be a bounty for him. But when time passed, the longer he spent moments with Grogu, he knew that he could do it. Or at least try to. The Child wasn’t the only one who benefited and learned from the situation and days they’ve been together as Din also learned in ways which he kept mostly to himself. He wasn’t alone. He’s not alone anymore.

Meeting you was an accident to him, but it was a good accident. It was an evening a couple of years ago where the Razor Crest landed near your house, obviously disrupting your peace. It was a tiring day like this and you just wanted to rest, but it was pouring heavily. You kept your guard up, of course, upon hearing a knock that you assumed was from the recently crashed ship.

You looked annoyed, but still asked him of his intentions. Apparently his ship had a couple of malfunctions where he needed a few parts. Luckily you had extra scrapped stuff that you were about to give out to some Jawas that would visit the place in a few days. A couple of the pieces were what he needed, and you just sold it to him.

He left you that same evening, meeting you accidentally once more at one of the bars where he actually was about to catch a bounty. The rest was a loop of meeting each other in surprising places and somewhat unconventional places until the two of you became friends. Not close friends, but still friends.

“It was fun.” He nods, seeing a glint from his helmet, the kitchen light reflecting on his beskar. He’s quiet, primarily keeping his words short even after knowing each other for quite a couple of years now.

No one says anything after that. It's a comfortable silence between you and Din, like always. You just look at him and wonder what he's thinking of right now. Tilting your head a little on the side while you settle your cup on the table, you furrow your eyebrows.

“Why are you looking at me like that?" Din asks suddenly, tilting his head the same way you tilted yours.

“Nothing."

There's a sense of longing that always went around your head. A longing for him, for some reason. You want him, although for certain he does not want you the same way. You already settle with an early heartbreak, and yet you want to risk every year you've spent seeing him, wanting him to be aware of what you really feel.

“There's something I have to tell you." If now is not the time, then surely that time will never come. It's a risk you're willing to take. “Follow me."

You lead him behind your house where a big tree sprouted in the middle with evergreen leaves, a couple of blue and violet leaves. The atmosphere looked warm, lights illuminating from your house.

“What is it that you want to say?" Din stands near the tree, you follow to stand opposite of him. He anticipates on what you have to say, truthfully he wants to hear such things from you.

It's never common for him to experience such attachment the way Grogu has, but something about those years of meeting you felt as if though he never wants to stop seeing you. He doesn't want to lose you in spite of the fact that he never was yours, nor were you his.

You're a Jedi. He's a Mandalorian. No amount of judgment could withhold such a partnership. Unless he's willing to risk it, unless you're willing to risk it.

Din can't shy away from the fact that his love grows. It continues to do so, and it blooms everyday. He is not admitful of this. Perhaps the vulnerability he is to display to you would give you a sign. You, to him, are different from the rest; with the exception of Grogu, of course. Din knows you would understand that.

“Din, I would go through the deep and dark undergrounds of Mandalore's ruins if it meant that your happiness would be the reward." You clear your throat, feeling that invisible lump that you want to cough out. “You know that, right?"

He grew silent. You immediately regret this. Under all of that hard exterior, that stoic stance, his covered face, is a soft, gentle person.

“I-" The flame in your chest is about to burst, each pump of your heart is firing your body up. Palms sweaty, skin tingling, you don't notice the slight yet noticeable trembling of your body. “Din, I-"

“Cyar'ika," Your eyes grow wide at him, your breaths still unkempt, your eyebrows filled with worry and shame. “Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum."

A slight chuckle of nervousness left your lips, your eyes a bit panicked, relieved, but why? “Din, you know I don't understand Mando'a."

“You're lying." He's right. You've been secretly studying Mando'a ever since he gifted you a box of tools after one of his bounties. It's not the most romantic or symbolistic gift, but Din knew what you liked; he kept mental notes of every detail about yourself that you've talked about.

Although you were learning the language in secret, you've slipped a few times. He's heard you speak in Mando'a at times where you've fallen asleep in his ship whenever you joined him every now and then. Din found it cute.

“Yes, I learned Mando'a." You admit, a little embarrassed. Your hands start to cover your face. “It just…It made me feel closer to you."

You feel his hands touch yours that cover your face. “Cyar'ika, every memory of you makes me feel as if I'm just a step away." It was true. Din felt closer to you with every scene of your beautiful smile, your natural self that had grease and dirt all over from fixing things and scavenging. He adores you.

Din pulls your hands away from your face, holding them both gently as his thumbs circled your palms. He tilted his head to you so as you did, your forehead touching his helmet.

“Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum, Din." (I love you, Din)

#din djarin x reader #din djarin #the mandalorian #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #gender neutral reader #star wars #it's my first time writing for din so please ksndkasjndas #grogu #grogu is my child #well not really but yk hksdhajsd

[magpiepills]

A Rite

Rating: EXPLICIT! 18+ MDNI

Pairing: Din Djarin x AFAB reader

Word count: 900

Summary: just a beej, no biggie.

Warnings: oral (m receiving) dirty talk, din thinks he’s the dom, cum eating, facial, helmet is on, gloves are on, mild hair pulling. I think that’s it? She’s not specified, only physical description is that readers hair can be grabbed. No use of y/n.

A word for the author: I don't know why I did this. I had a thot and I got carried away thinking about sucking his dick and licking cum off beskar. Please don’t flay me alive if I’ve gotten integral Mando terminology wrong. I tried to watch the mandalorian but there were just too many muppets. I’ve never written for Din before and I probably won’t ever again. But who knows. I had some dark ideas for this but I got tired of writing so maybe one day there will be a dark version of this blowie.

The lights are dim, the faint buzz of electricity and the beep of some automated control made a soothing background noise to your own sounds. The squeak of leather against metal, the smack of metal against skin, the groan on the captain’s chair, and your own gagging as Din holds your hair tight in his fist, guiding you up and down on his cock.

He was a man of few words, a solid wall of silence most days, changing the energy of the air around him with the pivot of his shoulders. He could give you a chill that tingled your spine with the minute tilt of his helmet, stiffening your nipples against the coarse weave of your tunic.

It was disorienting how quickly he snapped from cold and quiet to hot and direct. Urging you onto your knees before him, nodding to you, a silent command to tug open his pants and take his heavy cock in your hand. Thick and leaking, the sight made your mouth water. “Open your mouth and suck it.” His voice crackled from somewhere under the emotionless mask of his helmet, cool, even, and deep. It sounded raspy, maybe but that could be the modulator.

The next sound from him was a soft grunt as you wet the head of his cock with your tongue, swirling and licking at his slit, greedily lapping up the leaking pre cum that beaded there as your hand slid and twisted up and down along his turgid member.

“You can take more.” His tone left no room for disagreement, so you opened your already aching jaw wider, letting the end of him push and slide against the soft skin inside your cheek.

“More.”

You squeezed your thighs together, aching for his touch that would never come as he demanded more of your throat. Your eyes watered and you reminded yourself to breathe through your nose.

Another half inch more and you heard him groan again. “Like that. Keep going.” His shaky exhale sounded like static, but you knew better, and it egged you on. Giving him this kind of attention and care was a thrill, it made you want to please him, give him something special, be good for him.

His grip loosened enough to let you pull off quickly, your hand working to stroke the entire length of him while you adjusted your kneeling stance. You took a deep breath and licked over his top again before quickly taking him deeper than before. Your eyes were squeezed shut and the sound of his cock in your throat was obscene. Carefully covering your teeth with your lips, you began sucking in earnest, hollowing your cheeks, saliva dripping down his cock and over his balls, wetting the fabric of his pants, opened and tugged below them just enough to allow only the necessary amount of skin to show.

Once again you focused on your breath, on relaxing the muscles of your jaw, your neck, your arm, on giving him everything you could. He wanted more, though.

“Deeper. Don’t tease- all the way.” His heavy gloves hand was at the base of your skull, and you thought he might feel himself there, deep as he was. Your nose and swollen top lip pushed into the coarse dark hair at the base of his wet cock, you swallowed carefully, slowly, lips, tongue, and tonsils working together to overwhelm his senses.

Could he see anything in that helmet? Could he hear your muffled moans, or did he just sense that you wished you could swallow him whole? Your count throbbed when you imagined how his mouth must taste. You wanted it to taste like you. Being the center of his sensory experience, the maker and creator of his pleasure, the only thing he could feel that wasn’t transmitted through a filter was a powerful drug. He had nothing of the world outside his helmet, his metal, his leather except your mouth.

His hand on your head didn’t matter. You relished how your throat ached at the intrusion of his cock, but he didn’t need to know. Let him revel in his control as long as he can. His breath was heavy but controlled through the voice modulator while you gagged and hummed, sending vibrations straight through him. When his hand slid around to feel the front of your throat, you pulled back enough to fit your hand around his cock again, stroking in in a way that might be called loving as you peered up into your own reflection in his visor, admiring how your lips looked around him. It was while you looked up where his eyes must be that you felt his thigh twitch, a telltale sign that his release was not far off. His breath hitched just slightly and you took your mouth from him, leaving you connected by a short string on saliva while ropes of his cum laced over your cheek, his glove, and the steel covering his thigh.

You watched in awe, touched your wet cheek, bringing his cum to your mouth where it belonged.

“You made a mess, clean it up.” Came a voice that sounded less steady than it did twenty minutes ago. You wanted to smirk, but instead you just nodded, dipping your head to run your tongue over the cool, smooth metal of his beskar, lapping up his cum and peering up at him. “Get it all.”

#din djarin #din djarin smut #din djarin fic #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin x f!reader #the mandalorian #the mandalorian smut #star wars smut #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal character smut #pedro pascal characters #bat writes #no muppets #smut

[foli-vora]

Congratulations on your milestone! That’s amazing! You deserve it so much! I was hoping to request one of the prompts.

How about “You need to wake up because I can’t do this without you.” with Din.

You can make it as angsty as you want. I don’t mind. I like angst and I like fluff.

Thank you so much!

Hello, my sweet! Apologies for the delay in getting this out. I've gone full heart breaking angst, and I enjoyed every second lmao. Thank you for sending a request angel, I hope you enjoy! x

before you go

din djarin x f!mandalorianreader

Word count: 1.2k Warnings: angst, blood, injury and death

He knows it.

Somewhere deep inside of him—he knows it, but he still clings to hope, still looks towards the light despite being shrouded in darkness.

His hands shake as they raise up to grasp either side of your helmet and pry it softly from your head, indifferent to the sounds of battle still echoing around him.

You were safe here, hidden with him behind some destroyed walls that had taken the brunt of most of the explosions. There was no one here to see you at your most vulnerable, face free and bared to the stars. No one would come, too occupied with the fight to even notice the disappearances of either of you.

He’d looked upon your face a handful of times during your extensive time together, and even though he knew the curves of your face clearly, knew the angle of your nose and the shape of your lips, the vision of what had been hidden beneath your helmet was a sweet surprise each and every time.

It’s bad, he knows it, but… but maybe it’s not. Maybe it will all be okay. Maybe you just need a moment. Maybe—

He tears his own helmet off and lets it fall to the ground beside yours, ignoring the familiar vision of them together, so similar in shape and build, the smooth beskar reflecting the shine of moonlight and the occasional flash of more blasts.

Red soaks the roughened palm of his glove when he pulls it away from cradling your head, and warmth of it radiating against his skin threatens to bring bile up his throat. His insides burn, the mix of molten rage and panic tightening his stomach into knots.

“Cyare,” he mutters, heaving you further into his arms and pressing his bare forehead against your own in an effort to press life back into your limbs.

You can take his—take it all, just open your eyes.

Dirt and the taste of blaster fire sits on his tongue when he hurriedly bites at the tips of his glove and tugs it off, but he doesn’t care because he feels it. Beneath his bare fingertips where they press into the side of your throat, he can feel a weak drum and it’s enough for him.

It’s enough to keep him grounded, enough to keep him curled around you and hoping the breath he shares with you is enough to pry you out of whatever inky abyss you float in.

“Cyare, you need to wake up. You need to wake up because I can’t do this without you.”

It’s bad, but maybe it’s not that bad.

Maybe it will be okay.

“Din,” you croak brokenly, and his heart flies.

He moves away from pressing into your forehead, just far enough to see the flutter of your lashes and the furrow of your brows but not enough that you don’t feel the reassuring wash of his warm breath over your face.

You’re here, you’re still here, and that’s enough for him.

“I’ve got you,” he breathes, letting one corner of his lips tug up into a brief semblance of a smile when your eyes finally open slowly and come to an unsteady focus on him, “I’ve got you, cyare.”

Your mouth opens, but no words come out. It’s a clear struggle, and his fingers brush along the skin of your cheek to calm the difficulty you have finding your voice.

He gives you a moment, and then another, patiently waiting for something, whether a single word or sentence, he doesn’t care.

The battle rages on in the distance, but he doesn’t dare move. He sits, arms tight around your armoured body, waiting for the reassurance that his hold is enough to keep you together, enough to keep up that soft drum beneath your skin.

“I—I can’t… feel a-anything,” you finally rasp, and a drop of blood starts to pool at the edge of your lips.

The galaxy shatters around him.

He knows.

Of course he knows.

He can feel how limp you are in his arms, how some of your limbs dragged unnaturally when he hauled you from the thick of the fight and into your secluded safety, and he’s positive the shine of his armour will glisten with red once you leave his arms.

The hope wavers in his chest, and he attempts to swallow around the thick lump sitting at the back of his throat. There’s little to add to your words. He knows, and now you know. He sees it in your eyes—the slow build of understanding that there’s no coming back from this, that this was it, the end of it all.

“Din—”

“I’m here.”

It’s not just a reassurance, it’s a promise.

He won’t leave you like this, bleeding and broken and departing from this existence alone. He’ll stay right where he is, till the very end. He’s sure that if you had any energy, you’d argue. You’d tell him to go, to fight, to leave you and save himself the agony of having to watch you die.

Instead, you’re left to lay in his arms, eyes tracing every familiar dimple and crease of his face, remembering the way his coarse splattering of facial hair felt against your skin and the way it tickled your lips whenever you were graced with a rare physical kiss.

He doesn’t know how long you have left, so he takes one more opportunity to remember the feel of your soft lips, eyes screwing shut in an effort to calm the sting of tears as he attempts to pour everything he couldn't say into that final press of lips. He holds there, against your mouth and savouring what he could, uncaring about the way your blood feels melting into the dark scruff covering his chin.

When he pulls away, he sees a tear of his own sitting on your skin, sliding down your cheek alongside your own and he’s sorry he wasn’t strong enough to hide it from you.

“I… I’m with you,” you whisper weakly, eyes noticeably heavier, “a-always.”

He watches the last breath get dragged between parted lips and he swears his heart stops with your own. He hears the broken inhale that is never balanced with an exhale, and then he knows you’re gone.

Gone.

It echoes in his mind, chipping away at the tightly wound restraint he has on his emotions. He couldn't break, not here, not now.

No, he makes a silent vow he would see this all through, that he wouldn't disappoint you wherever you are. He'd carry you with him, until the day comes where he might see your face again.

He doesn’t move for a time, taking his one last chance to memorise every little detail of your face before he finally rests your limp frame delicately against the ground and reaches for your helmet.

It's solid in his hold, and he carefully cradles your head to slip it back over your head. The heavy thud of his heart only fuels the rage simmering in the pit of his gut as he carefully returns you to a warrior, ensuring your helmet was fit snuggly before reaching for his own.

He takes a breath, the modulator crackling with the pain of it, along with one final moment of weakness to steal one last keldabe kiss with the gentle press of beskar, before standing and leaving you among the rubble and ruins, kicking back off into the air with a new fire flowing through his veins.

-

Tags: @maievdenoir, @javier-pena, @lv7867, @dihra-vesa, @katronautt, @radiowallet, @januarystears, @missminkylove, @beskarprincessjenny, @mswarriorbabe80, @danidrabbles, @amneris21, @eri16, @absurdthirst, @hnt-escape, @acourtofsnakes, @ezrasbirdie, @mstgsmy66, @lovesbiggerthanpride, @coaaster, @sherala007, @greeneyedblondie44, @wyn-n-tonic, @you-got-me-starry-eyed, @shirks-all-responsibilities, @withasideofmeg, @harriedandharassed, @andruxx, @buckybarneshairpullingkink, @spideysimpossiblegirl, @prostitute-robot-from-the-future, @tanzthompson, @mad-girl-without-a-box, @hope-for-the-best-98, @fangirl-316, @christina-loves, @jediknight122, @hallway5, @xoxabs88xox, @nicolethered, @churchill356, @massivecolorspygiant, @just-here-for-the-moment, @gracie7209, @pinkie289, @lavenderluna10, @goodgriefitsawildworld

#foli's 3k #din djarin x reader #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin x f!reader #the mandalorian x f!reader #din djarin x you #the mandalorian x you #star wars fanfiction #the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian fic #din djarin fic

[pagesfromthevoid]

Cowboy Like Me | d.d. | 4

Din Djarin x princess!reader

Word Count: 1.4K

Warnings: Sexual tension. Mutual pining, though they’re both oblivious. Din is a simp for pretty things that are nice to his son

Author’s Note: Spring break ends for me tomorrow and I return to teaching children of my own at work so expect postings to become a bit erratic again. The goal, as always, is to post at least once a week. We shall see. But thank you for all the support and excitement about this story!! Makes my heart happy 🥹🥹

Series Masterlist | Talk to Me!

The Child

It wasn’t a long hike back to the ship, though it certainly wasn’t a short one. She had been on the lam for only a few days now, but her legs ached and she longed for a break. If it wasn’t for the fact that the Mandalorian was taking her back to Senex, she would have been thankful for the chance to sleep somewhere secure.

What a shame her security was just collecting his credits.

Behind her, the baby giggled and bounced the toy she’d given him. She smiled as she slowed, walking alongside the pod now. The child held the toy to her, and she patted the head gently. In front of her, the hunter glanced over his shoulder, as if to check she was still there.

She tried to ignore him, though whenever she caught a glimpse of him, her chest tightened. It was an involuntary reaction; one she knew painfully well as the start of something she shouldn’t want. But their close encounter with her mother’s droids brought them close together —closer than she’d been with anyone in some time —and the feel of his armor under her palms was cool against her panicked heated skin.

It was a dangerous game; one she knew wouldn’t end well for either of them.

The child hummed as they approached a ship that sat alone in Nevarro’s volcanic plain. The Mandalorian lifted his wrist, tapping into the pad that rested there. The hatch to the hull lowered slowly as they approached, and he motioned for her to go ahead of him.

“You can have the bunk,” he offered, pointing to the back of the ship as they boarded.

She glanced back at the bed —small, cramped, and certainly not what she was used to but far better than the ones she’d been sleeping in that week. Her bones ached for a chance to lay down, to relax and sleep without worrying about someone finding her. Since she was already caught, it didn’t really matter, did it? And she wasn’t going to deny the chance to sleep comfortably before she left the galaxy for good.

“I appreciate it,” she offered, setting her backpack on the bed, opening it before looking around the hull of the ship. “Where will you sleep?”

“If I do,” he responded simply, pushing the child’s crib gently so it hovered in the corner. “The floor.”

Her hands froze in her bag, and she turned back to him with a frown. “You cannot sleep on the floor of your own ship.”

“I have before.”

“I will,” she insisted, taking her bag back into her arms. “I am technically your captive anyway, it’s only fair.”

The Mandalorian stared at her, and she suddenly decided she did not like the expressionless face that was before her. Her ability to read people was something she was quite proud of. Years of honing it and learning to decipher meaning in body language was a great tool for anyone wishing to enter the political world. People were easy to read; their faces told so much without saying a word. But with his helmet on, it masked everything and she couldn’t determine a thing about what he was thinking or feeling. It was frustrating to say the least.

“No,” was all he responded with.

“Yes.”

“It’s the bed or it’s the carbonite. Take your pick, princess.”

Her mouth snapped shut, though not necessarily because of the threat. She would take the damn bed; it was a ridiculous argument. And if she was locked away, then she couldn’t fulfill her last attempt at salvation. The threat wasn’t the problem —it was the name. She was used to being addressed as such, but it was with respect. Adoration, awe.

It should have felt patronizing, the way he spoke to her. Rude, pushy. But something about the tone, behind the modulator of his helmet, made the nickname feel…electric. It struck her like lightning, making her toes curl in her boots and the hair stand up on her arms.

She thanked the Maker for the long sleeve shirt she wore for hiding her skin. The hunter was a man of details; it was part of his job description. If he noticed that the way he spoke to her did…anything to her, she wasn’t sure she’d make it to the end of the week without ruining two lives: her own and his.

While she wasn’t entirely sure why the name made her react in such a way, she knew what it meant. Flustered and warm from the thought —especially with how close they were earlier…Maker help her, because he was solid and strong and even if he was taking her to the end of her life…she felt safe. And she knew it was a terrible idea.

Which made the next thing she said completely and utterly inappropriate.

“If you change your mind, I’m sure we can make it work for two.”

*****

If she saw Din tense, she didn’t mention anything as she turned away from him and started to unpack. He simply stood there for a moment, staring at her back, unable to focus. Combined with how close they were prior to being on the ship —how warm she was pressed against him, with wide eyes and her hands on him —her comment was too much.

Din just…nodded in response, knowing she could not see him, and turned to climb the ladder to the cockpit. Grogu babbled behind him, though did not follow like he usually did. Din didn’t want to turn around; he couldn’t look at her. Not…not from behind, at least. Not right now.

“Grogu,” he ordered, hovering just barely off the ground as he clung to the ladder.

“Grogu?” She asked, and Din could hear her turn to face him. “Is that his name?”

Grogu cooed again, climbing from his pod to get onto the bed. Din silently cursed, being forced to climb down and face her. She sat beside the child, offering her finger to him with a soft smile. It was that softness that drew Din in more.

“He can stay down here with me, Mandalorian. I don’t mind.”

Din sighed heavily, shaking his head. “No, he can’t. He’s just…he’ll cause you trouble.”

She laughed then. A wonderful sound —light, genuine and all consuming. He wanted to hear it again; be the cause of it.

He was playing a dangerous game, he realized. One that he should have known better than to have even started.

“How much trouble can a child cause on this ship?” She countered as her laughter faded off, lifting Grogu into her lap. “He simply wants attention; he’s just a baby, after all.”

“He’s fifty,” Din corrected. Though technically she was right. Grogu was just a child by the standards of…whatever his people were.

“And not a day over.” She lifted Grogu in the air above her, smiling at him adoringly. “Let him stay with me. I’ll read to him, I’m sure you want a break —some privacy for your own sanity.”

Din swallowed hard, wondering if she knew about the dilemma he was facing regarding her. Or if she simply was being genuine for the sake of it. Given how she was looking at his child, hardly at the hunter himself, Din assumed she just…she was nice.

That wasn’t a good word to describe her. But he couldn’t think straight at the moment.

“That’s…thank you. That’s kind of you.”

“You’re just lucky he’s sweet,” she teased, looking back at Din finally with the same smile she had given Grogu.

With that, she set Grogu on the bed and pulled a book from her backpack as well as a parcel that was wrapped neatly. She glanced over her shoulder, giving Din a playful but pointed look.

“Go, Mandalorian.”

“Mando,” he finally corrected, turning to climb into the cockpit once more.

She repeated his nickname to herself and Grogu, and Din couldn’t help the smile that touched his lips. Far less formal, just like he thought. It wasn’t laced with fear, or anger. It just felt soft, spoken like she had known him as a friend and not the man who was collecting a bounty on her head.

It was then that Din suddenly realized another dangerous dilemma:

He didn’t want to collect the bounty anymore.

———

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