warmth of you
art by @thepoisonofgod
summary: din djarin takes on an engineer to his new ship, trying to fill some of the emptiness that grogu left behind. he’s surprised to find that you’re filling all the other missing pieces of him, as well.
rating: E (warnings: SMUT; this is the softest, possibly most wholesome smut i’ve ever written, but it’s still smut. PIV, girl on top, oral sex (m receiving), fingering, kissing [the kissingggggg]; self-doubt, some angst, FLUFF THO)
pairing: din djarin x fem reader
word count: ~3900
note: SHOUTOUT as always to @starlightmornings for betaing. also, to @charnelhouse, @wyn-dixie, and @danniburgh for being bad influences and encouraging this. AND ALSO to @thepoisonofgod because this whole thing is really her fault. when i heard the idea of naked tattooed soft!din, it was over. i couldn’t resist it. anyway, this is emotionally wrecked af post-s2 softboi din djarin and i wrote him how i thought he’d be, i hope you enjoy him and love him as much as i do.
please go take a look at this incredibly beautiful drawing that @thepoisonofgod did of our sweet soft!din: warmth of you
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reblogs are LOVED and APPRECIATED <3
Din hated the new ship.
It was too new and too big and too shiny. Every surface was bright, gleaming, blinding. It was too damn clean. He missed the grime of the Crest. He missed the mess of having a child.
He missed the kid.
Being alone was never something he’d thought too much about since he’d left home. He grew up in the covert surrounded by people and noise, but when he struck out on his own, he shoved that need for companionship into the deepest part of him; locked it away so it couldn’t hurt.
Grogu changed everything. Fatherhood—brief as it was—softened Din in a way he hadn’t thought possible. He let himself understand loneliness for the first time.
The ship was big enough for a proper crew. Not that Din wanted that. He still preferred the quiet and enough room to breathe. Maybe having just one other person on board could fill part of that gaping black hole that Grogu left in his heart.
He found you by chance at a trading outpost on some backwoods planet in the Outer Rim. An ex-combat engineer for the Alliance, he told you he could use your knowledge and skill to keep the new ship running. You’d been listless since the end of the war. You were ready for something new. An adventure. Anything but hanging around this trading post. You weren’t made for sitting still. He didn’t seem to be, either.
“Yes, sir,” you said, when he asked if you wanted to join him. He’d cocked his shiny helmet to the right at your formal address, and you tried to ignore the heat that seeped up your neck. It would take you weeks to shake that habit. He never told you how endearing he’d found it.
And so the two of you set off into the stars and you didn’t look back. No family to speak of, friends scattered to the wind after the war—what did you have left on that desert planet he’d found you on? It was only him; this large, imposing, metal-clad man. He was your universe now.
The first time you saw him without the helmet was a surprise. He’d hired you with it on. He stomped around the ship with it on. He took his meals to the cockpit with it on. He chit chatted with you with it on.
You’d always wondered what he looked like under there, of course. He was surely human. Four fingers and a thumb on each gloved hand. Two powerful arms that could lift heavy, unconscious—never dead—bodies. Two long legs with muscle you could make out even under the flight suit. It was barely a shock when an unwanted spark of desire bubbled up inside of you; forcing your imagination to run wild.
What were his lips like? Soft or chapped? Full or thin? What color were his eyes? What face would he make as he’s falling apart underneath you? The most you’d managed to see was the underside of a sharp, tan jaw littered with facial hair as he’d reached over you to grab something.
When you left your quarters to get some rations and found him sitting at the kitchenette booth with his helmet off, staring into space, you’d had a moment of panic. Your racing heart only calmed when you recognized the glittering beskar of the rest of his armor.
“Mando?” you asked carefully.
“Cyar’ika,” he said. His voice was hoarse and cracked a little. Eyes red, like he’d been crying.
“Everything...okay? Your helmet…” you trailed off.
“Oh,” he replied, like he hadn’t realized he wasn’t wearing it.
“I’ve never seen you with it off,” you said as you slid into the booth seat opposite him, curling your legs underneath you. He moved his head to look at you, a blank stare on his face.
“Well,” he said, “Now you have.”
Stars, he was pretty. Should you tell him that?
“You’re pretty,” you said, before you could stop it from tumbling out of your mouth. It settled between the two of you and he gave you a lopsided smile, a warm blush blossoming across the apples of his cheeks.
“So are you,” he said.
And there it was.
You danced around each other for weeks. Din didn’t know what he was doing. He just knew he wanted to be around you. He wandered the ship, looking for excuses to be in the same room as you. You found reasons to sit in the cockpit, sometimes bringing him caf (“I made too much,” you’d say) and sometimes having a question that he knew someone of your expertise would know.
He loved it. He loved it so fucking much.
He opened up to you, bit by bit. Told you about the kid, about the darksaber, Mandalore, all of it. When he told you that there was nothing he wouldn’t give in this galaxy to have the kid back with him, he saw pain in your eyes.
“What is it?” he asked. You were quiet for a moment, thinking.
“I just wish he could have stayed with you. Even if that meant you wouldn't have needed me,” you said, and it broke his heart in half when he realized what you meant.
“That’s not—I’m not just using you as a—I…” he grasped for words that he did not have. Because that’s how this had all started, hadn’t it? You stood up to leave the room, but before you left, you bent down and pressed your lips to his forehead.
“You’ve done nothing wrong,” you said, and he closed his eyes, leaning into your touch.
“You know, right?” he said, even if he couldn’t articulate what that was.
“I know,” you promised.
The first time he kissed you was not on the ship. It was on a supply run, where you found a stall that sold fruit. Messy, squishy fruit that you fell in love with, having subsisted off of rations and portion bread for weeks. Red and plump, it burst when you bit into it and the juices spilled all over your joyful face as you walked back to the ship. You gleefully offered some to him.
“You have something on your face,” he observed, mouth twitching at the red juice running down your chin.
“Oh? Where?” you giggled.
He stepped forward, so close you almost stepped back, and the laughter stopped as he brought his bare thumb up to your bottom lip. He’d started to get more comfortable showing parts of himself.
“Just here,” he said.
“Mando,” you breathed.
He’d not told you his real name yet. He was afraid what would happen if he did. What emotional sea that would unleash, hearing his name fall from your lips. He didn’t know if he could handle it.
Right now all he saw was the glimmering red nectar on your mouth. Din lifted his helmet off of his head, messy curls plastered to his scalp, and leaned down to catch your lips in a kiss. It felt so good and so right, and he couldn’t believe he hadn’t been doing this all along. You melted into his lips, a soft moan eliciting from your throat.
When he broke apart from you, reluctantly, his heart thudded at the sweet, surprised look in your eyes. Surely you knew? You knew how he felt? How could you not?
“You know, right?” he asked again.
“I know,” you replied.
The walk back to the ship was quiet, arms bumping as you leaned into each other; you smiled when you accidentally caught his eye, and he grinned like a schoolboy.
It’s quiet on the ship when he finally tells you his name.
You’ve not gone much further than kissing. Hand-holding. He thumbs the curve of your jaw, your cheekbone. You don’t push. Your desire for him is so heavy and raw, but you don’t push. You let him come to you because he needs that. He’s wounded and new to this. Afraid to lose someone else.
You were gone on your own, just for a couple of hours, to pick up some parts for the ship, and the commlinks were broken as well. He fretted about letting you leave alone, but someone needed to stay behind. The broken part was the door—anyone could walk in and take what they want, and he was more imposing than you.
“I can take care of myself, I promise,” you’d said.
When you get back, exhausted from the journey, he sprints to you, not a bit of self-consciousness surrounding it. You grin up at him, this broad, imposing warrior, running to you like a frightened damsel; pulling you into his chest.
“I missed you, too,” you chuckle, muffled by his hug.
He grunts into the top of your head and lets you go, taking the equipment from your arms and helping you fix the door and the commlinks.
“Sleep with me tonight,” he says absently, while you tinker with the last broken piece of your commlink.
You’ve never slept in the same bed.
“Okay,” you agree.
The bunk is dimly lit and you can just make him out as you roll on your side to watch him sleep, hoping his peaceful face will help you find some calm. He’s as wide awake as you are.
“What is it, mesh’la?” he asks.
“I’m just...a little restless, is all,” you say. That’s not a lie, exactly. You’ve never been so close to his warm body for this long. Usually there is some room to breathe, to calm yourself. Your pussy had been absolutely soaking wet since you laid down next to him.
You wonder if he’ll ever want you like that.
You’re content as it is, with whatever this is, with these soft kisses and gentle touches. You want more, of course, but you want to stay with him. You want him to trust you. You can go forever without the physical part if he needs you to.
He reads you for the liar that you are.
“Really,” he asks, “what’s the matter? You haven’t slept at all.”
Does he know?
“I’m just a little uncomfortable,” you say, desperate to end this conversation. “I—maybe I should go back to my own bed. I’m just going to keep you awake.”
“Wait,” he says. “What’s wrong? Please tell me.”
“It’s nothing, Mando—”
“My name’s Din,” he says. You’re dumbstruck for a moment. You’d never even thought about it, and you’re kicking yourself for being an idiot. Of course, his name isn’t actually Mando. Your mouth drops open and your eyes soften.
“Hi, Din,” you whisper in the dark.
Din knew what it would do to him, he knew there would be no turning back after he told you his name. He knew that the way you’d say it would ruin his life in the most amazing way. One syllable sounds like a song coming from you.
The dam finally breaks and he’s on you so fast, knocking the wind out of you, pushing you up against the wall, kissing you until you’re both out of breath. He doesn't care about seeming needy because he is. He needs you, and just you. You lay a gentle hand on his chest and he backs up immediately.
“Is—this okay?” he asks, panting. You take his hand and press your lips to his knuckles.
“It’s more than okay for me,” you murmur, “But do you want this?”
“You’ve been patient with me,” he says. You shrug, not taking your eyes off of him.
“There was nothing to be patient about. I just wanted to be with you. You could have never touched me once and that would have been okay,” you tell him.
“I want this, mesh’la,” he says, and you believe him.
“What does that mean?” you ask.
He’d been calling you beautiful all this time, and you never knew.
“I don’t—I don’t deserve any of this,” he says, playing with your fingers, intertwining them in his. You frown at him.
“Killed people. Broke my Creed. Almost let the Imps take the kid. And I sent him off with someone I don’t know—I’m—”
His voice shakes now, and you lean forward to put your lips on his. He breathes in.
“You did what you needed to do. There are far worse monsters in the galaxy than a bounty hunter who gave up everything to protect his son,” you tell him. “You deserve everything. You deserve this, and me.”
Din kisses you again.
“Let me do this for you,” you say. “Have you ever…?”
He averts his eyes.
“Rarely. And not for a long time,” he admits.
“That’s okay. Just tell me if it’s too much.”
You crawl on top of him and tug his shirt over his head, and let him do the same to you. He inhales sharply at the sight of your breasts free from the confines of your tank top and reaches out to caress them experimentally in his large hands. You keen at his touch, and a sweet groan comes out of his mouth in response.
He watches you above him with curious eyes. Your kisses start at his jaw and move to his neck. You kiss three freckles on the hollow of his throat, clustered like a constellation, and his breathing hitches in response. You look up at him, his eyes are wide open, watching you with lust-blown pupils and heavy eyelids.
Your lips trail down his bare chest. You stop at his nipples and take one in your mouth, smiling at his whimper. You linger here for a moment, licking languidly on both of them, enjoying the way he squirms beneath you. Down, down, down you go, kissing his soft tummy, exploring every scar, stopping to admire the tattoos on his arms and chest.
“Beautiful,” you whisper, and that lopsided grin is back. You move further, claiming every mark and scar and freckle with your tongue, as he shivers and whimpers under you.
“You look so fucking good like that,” he groans.
“Between your legs?” you murmur, and he nods, his breathing uneven.
Din has felt nothing like the sweetness of your lips. The women before you meant nothing to him, and he meant nothing to them. It was fast and out of necessity, and when it was over, there was numbness. Emptiness. With you, it was like being filled up. How could he be empty with you pouring all this love into him?
You make quick work of his pants and he’s never been so hard in his life, he’s sure of it. Not when he was a teenager, hormones raging like wildfire; not when he laid awake thinking of you and your wet mouth, stroking his cock desperately, hoping that you wouldn’t hear the soft moans he couldn't contain. Your eyes are jewel-bright and full of desire for him as you hold him hot and throbbing in your hand. It makes him feel wanted. Needed.
He jerks upward—he can’t help it. Your fingers feel so good. You notice, of course, and a roguish twinkle dances in your eyes. You close your fist around his cock and he moans, which only spurs you on. You kiss the tip and pull his foreskin back, revealing his head, leaking pre-come. You lean over to kiss it and lap some of him up.
“Does that feel good?” you ask demurely, moving your lips away from him as you pump your fist up and down his shaft.
You’re soaking wet for him as you squeeze your thighs together, cunt begging for relief. But this is about him, and you can’t resist taking him in your mouth.
The gasp he lets out when you wrap your lips around him is delicious. You tease him a little, moving your tongue around and licking a stripe up the back of his cock before taking as much of him as you can into your mouth. He grips the sheets like he’s trying to keep still. You pull him out of your mouth with a pop!
“Let go, Din,” you tell him, “It’s okay.”
Your permission is what he was waiting for. He bucks wildly into your mouth, forgetting all self-control. He whimpers and groans and tentatively puts his hands on the back of your head.
“Take what you need,” you say, and he pushes your head down and back up again. You knew he’d like that.
“So f-fucking incredible, me-mesh’la. W-wanted you so bad for so l-long,” he babbles, his lovely words shooting straight into your cunt. You try your hardest to keep your hand otherwise occupied, but it’s too much, and you push your fingers down into your wet folds, humming happily when you find your swollen clit.
Din notices. He stops moving your head.
“Are you—are you touching yourself?” he asks you in a husky voice, and you look up at him, mouth full of his cock, and nod. It takes everything in him not to come inside your mouth right then.
“Does it f-feel good?” he asks, resuming bobbing your head up and down on his cock. “Tell me. Please.”
You hum in affirmation and rub yourself faster, slipping two fingers inside yourself, sighing with pleasure. He pulls you off of him because if he doesn’t this ends right here, and he needs to feel you.
Din sits up to meet you in the middle and pulls you into a kiss. He can taste himself on your mouth. He needs to feel your pussy on his fingers. He pulls you into his lap, pressing your naked body against his. You wrap your legs around his waist and lean into his neck, licking his skin, desperate to taste him.
“Can I touch you? Please?” he begs. You guide his hand between your legs and he slips one exploratory finger between your lips. He forgets himself entirely at the silk of your wetness as he finds your entrance and pushes his finger inside of you. You cry out and arch your back.
“Like this?” he asks, moving his finger in and out. You nod furiously. He’s seen nothing more beautiful in his life. No sunset on any planet could match your face right now. He plants a kiss against your lips and you guide his thumb to your clit. He moves his thumb in circles against it, slowly at first, and then faster at your coaxing. He doesn’t know if he ever made the other women come, but he will make damn sure you do.
“There, Din, yes, like that,” you pant, and every time you say his name it goes straight to his cock. He slips another finger inside of you. You arch up, and he moves his mouth to your breasts, taking one nipple in his mouth and suckling softly. Every hair on his body stands up at the noise you make when he sends you over the edge.
“Fuck, I—I’m coming, I’m coming,” you whine, grinding into him. He almost loses it. He really does. The growl that escapes his throat is full of a deep and primal hunger, one that he has quelled in the past with violence. The only thing that will satiate him now is your tight, warm pussy.
You ride his fingers through your orgasm, eyes rolling up into the back of your head, pussy fluttering around his thick digits. He pulls his fingers out of you and shoves them in his own mouth, moaning at your taste, licking them clean. You watch him lazily, grinning a bit. When you come off of your high, every part of you needs his cock.
“Do you want me?” you ask him, and his brown eyes drill deep into your own.
“More than anything,” he says.
You push him backward, and his eyes widen with surprise.
“Let me take care of you,” you simper. He closes his eyes as you sink down on to him. There is barely any stretch at all, so relaxed are you after your orgasm. The look on his face is everything. Eyes closed, face screwed up in concentration, feeling you.
“Fucking tight, how are you so tight?” he mutters, more to himself than you.
When you start moving back and forth, he moans and watches you grind into his cock. He grips your hips with two big hands, kneading your flesh, moving around to your ass. He helps you move back and forth, and the two of you find a rhythm. Your hands are all over him and his chest and his lips. He hits deep inside of you. You moan and whimper his name.
Din is so overwhelmed with this feeling. It’s not just your cunt clamped around him—though that is some of it. It’s the warmth of you, all of you, your words and care and kindness; giving a man who deserved none of it a chance; making him believe that he maybe did deserve it after all. As you rock back and forth, crying out his name, he realizes it’s because you love him and he loves you.
He clamps his hand over his mouth to stifle a sob, eyes misting over with tears, trying not to ruin this. You notice it anyway, pull his other hand to your lips, and murmur, “it’s okay, it’s okay, I love you, I love you.”
Din can’t stop himself now. He pulls you down to press his forehead to your own with his long arms and fucks up into you, hitting the deepest part of you, wishing he could stay there for the rest of his life.
“Say it again,” he says.
“I love you, I love you, I love you,” you chant, over and over until his hips stutter and he spills into you moaning your name so loudly you’re sure the whole parsec hears him. It makes your heart flutter as he slows down.
“I love you, mesh’la, I—”
But he is so overcome that he can’t go on.
“Shh, shh,” you say, and cradle the man in your arms, kissing him until his breathing calms. You can feel his heartbeat through his chest.
“No. You’ve done nothing wrong,” you remind him for the millionth time.
“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers.
“So are you,” you say.
He is quiet for a moment.
“You make me think I might deserve this, sometimes.”
“You do,” you say simply.
The two of you bask in each other for a long time after that, and at some point you drift off to sleep.
Din stares up at the ceiling, thinking about you. About the kid, wondering if he’s doing all right. Conceding that maybe Grogu is where he’s supposed to be. Maybe every choice Din’s ever made led him to this moment, wrapped in your arms, with a sense of contentment that he’s never let himself have.
He turns to look at your sleeping face, peaceful and unguarded, the tiniest of smiles on your lovely lips. And he thinks, maybe, it might not be about whether he thinks he deserves your love, but whether you do; perhaps he should let you fill him with your light. Din sighs, calm for the moment, and kisses your forehead. Loved.
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