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thepascalofus · 9 months

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Supply Run - Return (part two)

AO3

PART ONE

Supply Run - Exchange (part three)

Pairing: Mando/Din Djarin x afab!Reader

Word Count: 8.0k

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

Chapter Summary: While Mando takes a trip to the market and gets what he needs, he ponders your relationship and what it means to him.

Content Warnings: MDNI, 18+ only! Switching POVs, post season 2, the Crest lives, strangers to friends to lovers, mentions of Grogu, soft!Mando, insecure!Mando (a smidge), helmet loopholes, pining, idiots in love, jealous!reader, sad!reader for a little, mentions of sex work (sex work is work!), eventual SMUT (making out, grinding, f!receiving fingering, f!receiving oral sex, p in v, PRAISE kink, dirty talk), FLUFF, cuddling, happy ending guaranteed!

A/N: Thank you all so much for the responses on the first part! This is my first fic that I've ever shared and it makes me so happy that other people enjoy my writing! Enjoy!

Mando handed his scope off to you in the worn down store. Wallpaper peeled from the ancient wooden planks of the walls. Cobwebs littered the untouched areas of the store. The work stations in the back, visible from the pick up counter at the front, were in complete disarray. Several projects started, but not finished. Several projects finished, but not retrieved.

You took the scope in your hand and twisted it in your hands until your gaze landed on the name of the manufacturer and the serial number. Your eyebrows shot up once the brand of the scope was revealed, it twisted in your hands once more. Hands raising the metal tube so it was level with your eyes, you looked into the scope.

“Ah! I know what it is!”

Mando watched in confusion as you ran to a workstation and grabbed a singular tool. How did you know what was wrong so quickly? He sat in the hull of the Crest for hours attempting to fix the scope. The motions of taking the scope apart and putting it back together were etched into his brain from the number of times he did so.

You returned to the front of the store with the tool in hand. “This manufacturer has been having these issues lately. They built their magnification system like no one else, but they didn’t seem to account for the need to recalibrate the scope every once in a while. Recalibrating too often causes the lenses to misalign.”

Mando calibrated his every day. He had to. It was part of his job. A miscalibration could be the difference between a two hour hunt and a twelve hour hunt.

Your face twisted in concentration as you inserted the tool into the side of the scope. Jostling the metal, it popped open and allowed access to the inside. “For some reason they put these weird pins in…” You trailed off while you removed a total of three thin metal pins. Once the pins were removed, you clicked the top of the scope back into place and handed it to Mando.

Mando previously took the scope apart countless times. He never noticed any pins.

“Twenty credits, please.” You said with a smile. Your gaze met his–you somehow found it through his black visor–and you maintained eye contact.

The display on the inside of Mando’s helmet only progressed seven minutes after he entered the store. Inside of his helmet his eyebrows shot up. He was impressed. Not only with your efficiency, but with the reasonable price as well.

“I’m impressed.” He stated. Nodding at you, he retrieved a few credits from his utility belt and set them on the paint chipped counter. He turned and walked a few paces and then stopped in front of the door.

He’s been looking for a crew mate for weeks. The potential candidates he’s stumbled across were either annoying, rude, or incompetent. Throughout his time as a bounty hunter he’s been to countless repair shops. The service was always lack-luster, prices were too high, repair time much too long.

Sure, he just met you eight minutes ago, but you had potential. He turned on his heel and faced you. Armor glinted in the low lighting of the run down shop.

“Are you in the market for a new job?”

–

Walking to the market, he’d been reflecting on his decision to bring you onto the Crest as a crew partner.

It was the best decision he ever made, besides saving Grogu from the Empire.

You were intelligent. Friendly. Resourceful. Efficient. Brave.

You stared a Mandalorian straight in the eyes–well, visor–and didn’t even flinch. You didn’t even break eye contact, unlike everyone else. People would turn to whoever they’re with to avoid his gaze. They spoke like he wasn’t a meter or two away–and like he couldn’t amplify their voices with his helmet.

His tall, broad stance usually set everyone on edge. The heavy weight of beskar armor, a reminder of his skillset, didn’t aid in calming the nerves of anyone either. He was typically soft spoken around others, as he noticed people’s reactions when he spoke–eyes wide, speech stuttering, shaking hands–scared.

Everyone was afraid of him.

Except you.

When you first boarded the Razor Crest, Mando was extremely careful in making sure you were comfortable. The majority of his days not hunting were spent in the cockpit or in his bunk. Whenever you crossed paths in the hull you offered him a small smile and quickly looked away. Did your bravery fade away?

He came back from a hunt one day, quarry in tow, and he was relieved to hear, “How was your day?” Fall from your lips once the bounty was in carbonite.

Still cautious–mindful of how the modulator made his voice sound–he kept his answers short and to the point.

“Fine.”

“Busy.”

“Awful.”

Hearing the four words you said after each return from a hunt, and being able to give you a response without you slinking away, made the hunts worth it.

One night always stood out in his mind. It was just like any other return from one of his hunts. Mando dragged the quarry up the Crest’s ramp by a cord tied around their ankles. He lifted the man to stand up, doing so effortlessly with a few grunts to spare.

Your living space was in the hull, so he always tried to make the ends of his hunts fast. You didn’t have any choice but to watch. Mando didn’t want to make you watch for too long. Maker, he didn’t want you to watch at all.

His fist slammed the button to begin the freezing process. Breathing heavily, he stood and watched the bounty as they froze into the carbonite cell. A blanket of silence covered the hull once the hissing of the freezing mechanisms came to a stop.

“How was your day?”

There it is. His favorite part after the hunt. Knowing you were there, safe within the hull, and that you wanted to be friendly with him–even after witnessing him freeze a person he tracked down for several hours.

“Nothing you want to hear about,” he replied, his voice tinged with tiredness. The helmet’s modulator most likely didn’t register the sleep in his voice. Truly, he didn’t think that you would want to hear about it. The Mandalorian was afraid that hearing about his hunts would put you on edge. You already extended a branch of friendliness to him twice a day. He didn’t want to give that up by talking about the bounties he tracks down.

“Try me.”

Those words.

Those words have only ever been spoken to him by enemies. It always caused annoyance to wash over him, head to toe. He’s a Mandalorian. Confident of his skills in combat. No matter the odds, Mando knew he would like them.

But when those words tumbled from your lips, it was different. When his enemies weren’t scared of him, it was annoying. When you weren’t scared of him, adoration filled his body. And not adoration in a patronizing way, but adoration as a form of respect.

It made him want you that much more.

Snapping out of his thoughts, Mando realized the crotch of his pants were tight. Nonchalantly, he clasped his hands together and rested them below his belt.

“Quarry tried to escape and they ran. Would have been back four hours ago,” the modulator gritted out. Again, he was conscious of how the modulator warped his voice. “Not too fun,” he added in an attempt to make the conversation more casual.

You were silent. He whispered a curse to himself under his helmet, one that he was certain wouldn’t be picked up by his modulator. Was his answer too much? Mando quickly became nervous and started to shift his weight from one foot to the other. The silence you left in the air made him a bit anxious.

The T shape of his visor peered over to you. You stood still in shock, reminiscent of the people that saw him in public. Before his thoughts could spiral too much, you replied, “Oh, I’m sorry.”

Dank farrik. He didn’t want you to feel like you had to comfort him. “You don’t have to be sorry,” his chest brushed against your shoulder as he swiftly hopped onto the first rung of the ladder up to the cockpit. “It’s my job.”

“That doesn’t mean it sucks any less,” you said. He smiled underneath his helmet at your consideration. Your eyes widened and your mouth opened and closed as you realized what you said, “sorry, I probably shouldn’t have said that your job sucks.”

You weren’t wrong. Making his way through tough terrain, relying on a blinking red light on a piece of metal to guide him. Finding them was a task in itself, but dragging them back to the Crest was the other half of his job that sucked. Mando looked over his shoulder at you and replied matter-of-factly, “My job does suck.”

A giggle bubbled out from your chest. Every once in a while you would be reading a funny article on your Holopad and your laughs would echo through the hull of the Crest, making their way up into the cockpit. He needed more of them. His silver helmet shook slightly from side to side and he turned back to climb the ladder. But not before he also let out a small chuckle.

If you were comfortable enough to stand up to him, and laugh at his awful attempts at jokes–after he just hauled a bounty onto the ship–Mando realized he was safe.

Not only were you safe with him. He felt safe with you, in more ways than one.

Kriff it. You extended a friendly attitude towards him–a faceless warrior covered in impenetrable armor–then he could extend a friendly attitude towards you as well.

You asked him about this day, both in the mornings and the evenings. He learned about what you like and didn’t like. One item stood out to him. Caf. He always entered into a cloud of caf scent when he sauntered into the hull in the mornings. Mando was usually up before you, so he figured he would start making you a cup every morning. Confident enough in knowing which kinds of caf you preferred, he would stock up on caf every supply run.

The Mandalorian got closer to you, both physically and emotionally. Sometimes he would catch his hands landing on your waist or your lower back when he passed you on the ship. You’d shoot him a small smile in response. The distance he kept from you only decreased. He wanted to see your smile more and more.

One thing he didn’t see coming was your interest in Mando’a. He would mumble to himself in the ship while completing various tasks.

“What’s that word mean?” You’d occasionally ask. The Mandalorian would explain their meanings, sometimes struggling to translate the word to Basic.

He must have taught you at least two dozen words in Mando’a by now. Each time you asked you would give him your full attention.

At night, if he amplified the sound with his helmet enough, he could hear you practicing the words and recalling their meanings. It motivated him to share more words with you.

–

All of these experiences have led to this day. He’s been planning it for a month or two now.

He wants to ask you on a date. Nerves bubbled up from his stomach and throughout his body. They suddenly came to a halt.

Not now. First, he needs to collect information on a quarry.

Lost in his thoughts, he looked up and the market filled his vision with you in his peripheral. It wasn’t too busy, part of the reason why he was comfortable enough for you to shop on your own. He clarified the meet up point to you and watched as you took off. You had a bounce in your step, probably due to your excitement at shopping alone.

Once he meandered further into the market he began to collect information. This market was the bounty’s last location. Mando’s guess was that he either simply wanted to be in a small city, gambled their life savings away, or they paid for visit after visit with the workers at the brothel until they ran out of credits.

Only one way to find out. The gambling and brothels didn’t start up until later in the afternoon. To kill the time, and to possibly find the quarry, Mando wandered throughout the different sections of the market.

He asked a few vendors about the bounty. Mando described the man to many market sellers and only got a slight lead from one woman donned in patterned fabrics.

“I think he went that way,” the woman gestured with one of her hands towards an intersection, “Take the left path. I don’t know anything else beyond that.”

Mando dropped a few credits into her hand and gave her a polite nod, “Thank you.” He continued on and curved his gait to take the left path. From the signs and general merchandise displayed on each stall, he knew he was entering the clothing section of the market.

The helmet covering his head swiveled from left to right and right to left. No one matched the description of his quarry. Repeating his previous process, he made his way down the stall-lined alley and asked a couple different vendors.

Once the last vendor finished talking, and provided him with another lead, he dug his hand into his pocket and slid the credits on the stall’s counter towards them. Turning his back towards the vendor, his feet carried him two steps back into the market.

Then he saw you.

You stood hunched over a table of colorful bracelets. Tapping his fingers to the temple of his helmet, Mando zoomed in and the helmet displayed your face to him, deep in thought. Looking down, you were hovering your hands over a grid of various green bracelets.

You stopped on one. Mostly brown, almost too much to be in the green section, Mando thought. Nonetheless, the green and silver streaks peeked in and out of the thick threads of brown that made up the bracelet. Your fingers sorted through the sizes of the bracelet and selected one that looked close to your size.

Clutching it in one hand, the other hand searched for another of the same bracelet. It was larger than the previous size. You set the smaller bracelet down and tested the strings. The bracelet was adjustable, and you smiled at the discovery.

You transferred the bracelets onto the table of the stall and used one hand to dig into your pockets. Palm held out flat, Mando guessed that about twenty credits sat in your palm. He followed your gaze to the sign listing the prices.

PRICES

1 bracelet = 15 credits

2 = 30 credits

3 = 45 credits

4 = 60 credits

Shoulders falling, you dropped the credits back into your pocket and returned the bracelets to their original spot in the grid of green. Ground crunched beneath your shoes as you turned and continued wandering through the market.

Mando noted it was the third stall to the left of the bright green stall on the left side of the alley.

Not wanting you to realize he saw you, the Mandalorian walked in the opposite direction you took. After twenty minutes he noticed that the stalls became much more strange than the stalls in the clothing section of the market. Peering at the different products for sale, he saw a potions shop offering “super strength elixir” and a vendor selling various pet-like creatures. A few more vendors passed his peripheral vision as he continued his strides. They came to a stop once a building larger than the surrounding stalls came into view.

His helmet tilted upwards to read the sign displayed front and center on the large building: BROTHEL.

Tapping the side of his helmet, the time on the helmet’s display indicated that the brothel and gambling scenes had just begun. Mando tapped the temple of his helmet once again and the warm bodies within the building lit up, like he had x-ray vision. He counted a dozen in total. One body stood in the same spot inside near an entryway–the bouncer, Mando thought.

The bouncer was the individual that allowed access in and out of the building. If their memory was decent, they would be like a living guest book. Mando figured he could bribe them to reveal information, which was his usual plan with most of the beings he spoke with.

He sauntered over to the side of the building the bouncer was standing at. A singular light flickered over the side door, the sun was still out, so Mando was confused why it was on. The beskar helmet observed the side door.

Metal. Double deadbolts. Keypad on the left side. Small slit at eye level–neck level for the Mandalorian.

As soon as he crouched down to look near the slit, it slid open and revealed a thick pair of black eyebrows. Black eyes bore into the brow of Mando’s helmet, as the bouncer couldn’t seem to find his eyes.

“Do you have an appointment?” The bouncer asked. The voice behind the door was gruff, as if the words had to crawl from the depths of his throat.

“No,” Mando responded.

Black eyes blinked and then disappeared when the bouncer closed the metal slit.

Mando was taken aback and furrowed his brow. His fist pounded on the door. He just wanted this hunt to be over with. He wanted to get back to you.

The slit in the door revealed two black eyes once more.

“I have credits and will pay you if you give me information on a client your establishment may have served.” Mando’s modulator gritted out loudly. Straight and to the point. All business.

Eyes disappeared again, but were then accompanied with the sounds of the deadbolts unlocking. The metal door swung open to reveal a man dressed in all black with a silver name tag. Black hair matched the rest of his ensemble.

Still holding the door, the bouncer asked, “What’s the bounty look like?”

An eyebrow raised inside Mando’s helmet, but he figured the bouncer knew the drill by now. Even other bounty hunters knew that brothels were what many bounties visited. A gloved hand unbuttoned a pocket on his belt and retrieved a bounty puck. Clicking the side of it, the puck displayed the quarry.

The man stepped out of the doorway and onto the pavement, pulling the door closed behind him. His black eyes slightly squinted when his gaze trailed up and down the hologram.

“Ah yeah, I’ve seen this guy. He has a type, always goes for the blondes.”

“Does he have any upcoming appointments?” Mando questioned.

The bouncer sighed in thought and pulled a small notepad from his pocket. Mando mirrored the man’s motion and produced a pen and notepad from his pocket.

“The guy has an appointment in two days. He just asked to see a blonde. Figures.” The man shrugged and opened his notepad. Mando noticed it was a planner, and the bouncer flipped to the pages for the appointments two days from today.

“Which workers would take him as a client?” Mando’s modulator churned the words. His pen clicked as he readied himself to write.

The man donned in black made a fist with one hand and raised a finger with each name, “Ari. Taima. And Nomi. They would be in rooms one, five, or seven.”

Wow, Mando thought, this guy really knew the drill. He quickly finished up writing down the names and room numbers of each worker. The pen scratched feverishly against the cream colored paper, leaving behind black strokes to form letters and numbers. Notepad folding closed and the pen clicking, signifying the end of his notes, Mando returned the pen and paper to their place in his pocket. His opposing hand reached into a different pocket and produced a sizable amount of credits. Feeling generous, thankful that this hunt was going to be quick, he compensated the bouncer handsomely.

First task done. Second task on the horizon.

Creaking produced from the hinges of the metal door as the bouncer disappeared behind it once more. Flickering light gleamed off the beskar armor that protected the Mandalorian in combat. Although he wasn’t going into combat, because he wouldn’t be nervous if he was.

Mando trained most of his life with the greatest warriors in the galaxy. Combat flowed through his blood easily. It was a part of him.

But he was never trained on how to ask people out on dates.

On top of that, he was never trained on how to ask you out on a date.

He didn’t want to misread the situation. You could just be friendly. Who would want to date a man and not know what he looks like? Who would want to constantly live on a ship, without a permanent home?

Being Mando, he prepared for the worst. If you said no, he figured that you would be uncomfortable living with the man who asked you out on a date. Knowing that he’s attracted to you. He would fly wherever you wanted and give you some credits to get started. Kriff, he’d send credits for however long it takes for you to get on your feet. Then he’d leave you alone.

Admittedly, the Mandalorian would probably keep an eye on you to make sure you were safe. You just wouldn’t know he’s there.

But if you said yes.

Mando’s chest bloomed with anticipation. Firework-like tingles trailed up and down his limbs at the thought. He bit his lip within the confines of his helmet when he realized his pants had gotten tighter. Thankfully he was a Mandalorian, because heat washed over his face, half due to arousal and the other half in embarrassment.

The brown eyes underneath the helmet widened. If he wanted to do more with you and you agreed, he didn’t have protection.

Turning on his heel, cape whipping behind him, he made a quick pace back to the brothel.

Once he arrived at the gray building, the light at the side of the building having more of a purpose, Mando glided towards the same door as before. Bringing a fist up to the metal, he knocked three times.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Clink. Shhhkt.

“Do you sell condoms?” the modulator quickly blurted.

All business.

—

He arrived at the meet up point before you. Leaning against a nearby tree, Mando checked the time constantly, as if he was devoted to the action more than his Creed. If you were late, he always went looking.

Thankfully, you trudged up to the food stall on time with a hefty bag full of purchases. Fine, brown gravel grinded against the soles of Mando’s shoes as he made his way over to you. His gloved hand slipped the bag from your grasp and the pair of you began walking back to the Crest.

Both of you carried on with your normal post-supply run routines. You and Mando, but this time just Mando, piled the purchases from the market onto the hull’s floor. From there, the items could be sorted through and put in their respective places around the Crest.

As Mando finished unloading the large bag of purchases, he quickly dug around for the receipts. He knew how much you liked to review the shopping haul each time a supply run was completed. Mando enjoyed seeing the satisfaction wash over your face after you read over the receipts.

But this time was different. You froze once you got to the last receipt.

Mando’s helmet tilted in confusion. He took a few steps closer towards you, “What’s wrong? Did we forget something?”

You remained still while your eyes darted over the lines on the receipt. With your back turned to him, Mando found the opportunity to zoom in on the ink printed on the flimsy paper.

ITEMS PURCHASED (1)

CONDOM - 12 PACK

Oh. Fuck. FUCK.

He hasn’t even asked you on a date yet and now you probably already think he’s a perv. Nerves took over his body as you continued to stand still.

Your hand quickly crushed the receipts and threw them in the trash, “Nope! The last receipt didn’t look familiar but,” you trailed off slightly but recovered, “I remembered what I bought from the place.” A nervous laugh–obviously fake, Mando knew what your real one sounded like–escaped from your lips.

He fucked it up. You knew he was interested in you like that. And you didn’t feel the same. He hasn’t even asked you on the date yet. It’s all screwed up now.

But he also felt like he didn’t have enough evidence. What if you did like him but the idea of…needing to use the condoms…made you nervous.

Mando had to at least try. The least he had to do was ask you.

He cleared his throat and grabbed the bag off of the floor. You stood away from him, biting the inside of your cheek, nervously watching his movements.

“I’m going to go to the night market,” he informed you, “I have some business with a bounty I need to take care of.”

The bounty wouldn’t be captured until two days from now. In reality, he was really going to go and purchase snacks, takeout, and a pair of those bracelets you admired. It would have been suspicious if he met you back at the meet up point with bags full of snacks. The beskar man figured it would be best to hold off on buying them until later, and tell you he was getting a bounty, so you wouldn’t catch on.

He should’ve waited for this second trip to buy the condoms, he thought.

–

Mando left to, “Go to the night market,” he said. You saw the condom listed on the market receipts, you knew where he went tonight. What he’s going to do.

The brothels.

Yeah, sure, he’s paying a worker to give him a service. No feelings attached. But you didn’t want him to be with anyone else. Was Mando necessarily yours? No. Have you ever had sex with him? Also no.

That didn’t stop you from getting jealous.

And it wasn’t just jealousy. It was fear. What if he fell in love with one of them? Or what if he was going on dates? He could have a romantic interest you don’t even know about. Next thing you know, they’re going steady and you’re kicked off the ship. Or worse, you have to watch him love someone that isn’t you.

No more silence with him in the cockpit, watching as the hyperspace lights soar past the windshield. Feet tapping down the ladder as you both began your nighttime routines. He’d wait in the hull near the door of the fresher in just his helmet, undershirt, sleep pants, and socks. As he lifted off the wall from his leaning stance he’d ask you, “Are you done?” Holding his own hands in front of him, trying to seem relaxed, as if he was trying to look less intimidating. “Yeah,” you’d quickly respond, leaving the fresher and brushing past him. Sometimes his hand found your waist as he passed, or the small of your back. “Thank you,” he’d grunt gently as he closed the fresher door.

No more of Mando letting out a small, “Good night,” before lingering on your closing eyes and watching as your lips smiled, forming your response, “Good night.”

Falling asleep, you knew you’d wake up to him. He would be up before you on most days, leaving you a fresh cup of caf and your favorite ration pack (when he had them). The short chatter between you two, going over the logistics of the next hunt, telling stories from your past, or just thinking out loud to each other. Gone.

You would be banished from home.

The fear struck your chest. Heat searing through your ribcage and meeting your spine, the visions repeated over and over in your head. Tears fell like waterfalls from your eyes. Most streams connected underneath your chin and trailed down your neck. Your back met the hull’s wall as you sank down onto the floor. Deep breaths. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Your head was heavy and numb.

Just breathe. You knew you weren’t going to die. Go through some heartbreak? Maybe, but you knew you’d be alive. It helped. Your breath slowed and the fear dissipated into the air around you. That didn’t stop the flow of tears down your cheeks as your eyes were fixed on the closed ramp.

–

Mando’s footsteps set a steady pace back to the market.

Crunch. Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.

He displayed a map of the marketplace as an overlay on the display of his helmet. Mando usually reserved this practice for combat to aid in determining exit strategies and the best plan of attack.

But now he was using it to calculate the most efficient route throughout the marketplace in order to see you again sooner.

Closing the overlay from the helmet’s display, he was met with the sight of the market. Long strings of lights decorated the different stalls. Many vendors took advantage of the dark and used different, bright combinations to reel in customers. Some lights were multicolored. Some flashing. Some huge and some small. He thought of the “ooh”s, and, “ahh”s that you would let out at the brilliant display.

The Mandalorian started in the food section of the market. Carefully examining which vendors carried your favorite snacks, he made purchase after purchase in quick succession. His helmet remained on a swivel, scanning the stalls from right to left and left to right.

A stall offering your favorite kind of takeout came into view.

Once Mando arrived at the stall he ordered two takeout meals. The vendor looked startled and confused as he ordered. They shakily accepted the credits for the two meals. Gazes drifted away from Mando and quickly returned as he stood waiting for the meals to be prepared. A bell rang and he retrieved two warm containers, placing them in his bag alongside the snacks.

One last stop. The bracelets.

Marching through the food district, he came upon an intersection at which the left path led him to the clothing district. Yet again, his helmet pivoted on his neck from one side to another.

The third stall to the left of the bright green stall on the left side of the alley.

Mando continued his steady pace until the bright green stall came into view. The brightness of the exterior paint was exaggerated by the warm light emitted by lanterns, which decorated the outside of the shop. He didn’t notice before but the store sold children’s clothes. Onesies. Small shoes. Tiny hats.

A small tunic. Small enough for a human child younger than one year old. The tunic reminded him of Grogu’s. Mando’s bare hands brushed against the material countless times as he cradled The Child in his arms.

The last time he spoke about Grogu was with you. You listened and offered support. He’s never had anyone do that for him.

His visor turned to his left. The soft fairy lights of the stall reflected off of the beskar helmet on his head. As if the beskar reflected a dark sky decorated with bright stars. Various fabrics hung from the side of the vendor’s stall to cover the old wooden planks. Little accessories were placed throughout the shop on different tables and displays.

Mando wasn’t focused on those items, he was focused on the long table of bracelets organized by color. His feet carried him to the green section. The helmet turned downwards to allow him to observe the selection.

Shit.

There were so many bracelets similar to the pair you held, just all in different combinations of green, silver, and brown. Was it the bracelet with the large green cord and the small silver and brown threads? Or the one with the large silver cord and green and brown threads? Or thick brown cord with streaks of green and silver? His hands hovered over the options, doing his best to recall the details from earlier in the day.

“It’s this one,” a woman’s voice said.

A bit startled, the Mandalorian looked up and found a woman standing on the other side of the table. She wore long robes with intricate patterns. Jewelry decorated every limb and part of her body, like jewels were dripping down from her skin from a storm of gemstones. Hair cascaded around her shoulders and down her back. Her smile was kind and her gaze met Mando at his eyebrow.

A good try, he thought.

“I’m sorry?” He replies. She couldn’t possibly know which bracelet he was trying to find.

“You were watching them earlier. From across the street,” she let out faint exhales as she let out a short laugh, “Maybe you should hide a little better next time.”

She reached out and picked two bracelets out of the display grid. “I remember the sizes too,” she said, “The person you watched held onto them for so long, they seemed pretty attached to them. I kept track of which bracelets they were just in case.” The robed woman shot him a friendly wink.

“In case of what?” Mando questioned. He was still in shock that the woman noticed him staring at you from across the street.

The woman glanced up at him like that was a dumb question, “In case you came back to get them, Mandalorian. This isn’t my first day on the job.”

It saved him the time and stress of trying to remember which one it was, so he shrugged and watched the woman’s jewelry dangle as she typed onto the register.

Beep. Beep. Beep beep. Ching.

“Okay sir, twenty credits please!” The woman extended her hand out and waited for Mando to place credits into her palm. She was met with the tilting of the black T shape on Mando’s beskar helmet.

“I thought the price was thirty,” he stated as he began to reach into his pockets to retrieve his credits.

The woman let out another small laugh, “Oh, I suppose I should have made the sign larger,” her decorated fingers pointed to a small sign above the one that displays the bracelet prices.

$10 OFF WHEN YOU BUY TWO OR MORE

Mando’s shoulders dip in realization that you could’ve bought the bracelets in the first place. A sigh escapes his modulator and he hands the credits over to the intricately robed vendor. The credits clink into her palm, and then into the register.

He waits silently for her to package them up in a small bag.

“They like you, you know,” the woman mentions, “No one like them would be deciding on which bracelets to buy for that long if they didn’t.” She paused as she was about to place the larger of the two into the small bag, “And look at the size of this one! It’s definitely for you.”

The Mandalorian nods, “I appreciate that,” he pauses before turning away, “let’s hope they do.”

–

Mando sets a faster pace back to the Crest than the one he took from the Crest to the market. He’s impatient, he can’t wait to walk up the ramp and see your body curled up, comfortable and safe, while you sleep soundly in your bed–if you can even call it that, he thought. You usually went to bed early when he went on hunts, otherwise you would be awake talking to him.

Slipping the bag from his shoulder, an ungloved hand rummaged through the contents searching for a small bag. His fingers found the familiar texture and he pulled it out from between the snacks and the takeout.

Mando slung the bag back over his shoulder, pulled the larger of the two bracelets out of the small bag, and slipped his hand through the ring of brown, silver, and green. Grabbing one of the ends with his fingers and pinning it to his palm, the other hand tightened the bracelet to a comfortable size around his wrist.

Once the small bag was returned to its place inside of the larger one, Mando peered around him to get a good look of his surroundings.

The sun was about to set, leaving only a sliver of light available to provide dim light to the landscape. Rocks littered the ground. Shadows from each one making them appear larger in the light of the impending dusk. He reached up and tapped a finger to the temple of his helmet. No living thing was around him.

He paused and set the bag on the ground. Doing one last scan of the area, one of his hands gripped the chin of his helmet and lifted the beskar from his head. The hand held the helmet at his side while he marveled at his wrist.

He caught a good patch of remaining light and watched as the green and silver threads gleamed against the thick brown ones. The bracelet was beautiful. Not only because of the design, but because you picked it out. And it was for him.

Becoming paranoid, the Mandalorian quickly slipped his helmet back onto his head. He waited for the seal of the helmet to engage before continuing back towards the Crest. This time, at an even faster pace.

–

You sat there until you heard heavy footsteps approaching from outside, the hydraulics of the ramp coming to life. Thinking fast, you stood up and made your way towards the fresher to start your nighttime routine.

“Why are you still awake?” Mando’s voice was confused. He stood in front at the top of the ramp with his helmet tilted, hands resting on his hips, but his shoulders were slumped, a bag slung around one. He looked…worried.

Mando was right. Usually when he went on hunts you went to bed early. Nowadays the only thing that kept you awake was him. Talking with him was how you spent most evenings on the Crest, your voices echoed and bounced back to each other in the hull.

He’s used to seeing you curled up on the sleeping pad covered in blankets. Soft breaths came from your body and radiated throughout the Crest. Just like a minute ago, his footsteps would come up the ramp with his bounty in tow. Soft grunts could be heard kitty-corner from your spot in the hull. A hiss of mechanisms as they froze the bounty in carbonite. Then a bit of silence.

The absence of the carbonite freezing stood out in your mind. No bounty, even when he said he was going to go and find one. Your eyes teared up slightly again as the realization truly set in. Mando really did go to the brothel.

You just wanted this night to be like any other night he came back to the Crest with a bounty.

After the bounty was frozen, heavy footsteps made their way across the floor of the hull. But they always stopped a few paces away from your bed, halting for a moment. Mando would complete his nightly routine. Setting the Crest’s coordinates for the next planet and showering in the fresher if he needed to–he usually did.

No matter what the events of his nightly routine were, it always ended with him standing in the doorway of his bunk–the sound of his footsteps always stopped partially inside.

“Good night, cyar'ika.”

You didn’t know what the Mando’a meant, since Mando never used that word around you, but you knew that the, “good night,” was all you needed to finally fall asleep.

You always waited up for him, only until reasonable hours of the night, of course, but he didn’t know it.

The sound of his footsteps in the present snapped you out of your hazy state. Crying really does a number on your brain.

“Just…couldn’t fall asleep,” you offered him a small smile as you pulled some products out of the tiny fresher cabinet. You wet your face and applied a small amount onto your fingertips, tapping them together for both hands to have the product. As you lifted your face and your hands to the mirror to begin washing your face, you were met with swollen lips, puffy eyes, and slight tear trails dried onto your face, despite the water you just splashed onto it. You froze.

There goes any of your chances to get away with how you spent your night. Staying up late staring at the Crest’s ramp. Waiting for Mando to come home. At least what you thought was home.

“What’s wrong?” Mando’s voice got clearer as he approached the fresher door. His strides long, footsteps clunking, as he removed his leather gloves and tucked the pair into his utility belt.

You went to turn away from him but he got there faster than you could. His ungloved hand rested on your shoulder, grip slow yet firm as he turned you to face him. He rubbed tiny circles onto your skin with his thumb once his eyes beneath the helmet noticed yours.

Your reflection on the silver beskar of his helmet stared back at you. Could you even get away with a lie at this point? What else would have made you cry? It’s not exactly like you could have said the truth either.

Oh yeah, I was sitting here having a panic attack as you participated in a perfectly normal service that is offered on this planet. Then I spiraled and thought about how you might not even want me to be here, that you’ll find another partner to be on this ship with you, and toss me away like none of this meant anything to you.

Mando’s hand waved in front of your face and it brought you back into the present moment. “Did someone come onto the ship while I was gone?” His voice gritted out from the helmet’s modulator.

“Maker, no,” you huffed and tried to look less suspicious, hoping he’ll just drop the topic.

“Then what is it?” He murmured, his modulator barely picking up his syllables. His wide shoulders took up most of the fresher’s door frame. The grip on your shoulder tightened slightly.

“It’s…I don’t think you’ll want to hear it.” You shrugged and repressed the heat of anxiety creeping down the back of your head. Turning to wash and dry your hands, you let out a sigh and started to walk towards the main open space of the hull. Your shoulder gently bumped him as you slid past his large frame in the doorway.

Suddenly your hips were being snapped backwards and dragged back towards the fresher. His damn finger was in your belt loop again.

He pulled you close to him, feeling the heat from his knuckle dig into your hip and spread throughout the rest of your body. His helmet leaned down to look you in the eye and tilted once again.

“Try me,” he paused. He brought his hand up to grip onto the valley where your neck meets your shoulder, slowly enough so you could back away if you so desired. His large palm and thick fingers were calloused and warm. The grip he had on you was still gentle, slightly squeezing. “You know you can tell me, right?”

You let a deep inhale permeate through your lungs. The words flowed through your individual cells. Thoughts of lying escaped your body with each breath. The debate inside your head would end. Whether he had those feelings for you or not.

“I got upset because you went to the brothel.” You told him. Lips trembling and eyes squinted open in an attempt to meet his gaze.

“The brothel?” He held both of your shoulders and brought his visor closer to your face. Thumbs rubbed your shoulders yet again. He sighed as your name left his lips and traveled through his helmet, “I didn’t go to a brothel tonight.” A titled T-shaped gaze met yours. You knew he was looking you in the eyes, and yours into his.

Brows furrowed, you sniffled slightly, “I-, I saw that condoms were on the market receipts.” The thumbs on your shoulders stopped, his chest didn’t rise and fall. He froze. You made Mando freeze.

“Look I know I’m just being dramatic and paying for that kind of thing is completely normal. I just,” you trailed off and thought of a quick replacement for your worry, “I was worried you would get hurt there.”

Mando’s shoulders fell and his helmet cocked to the side. “What?” He questioned. “How would I get hurt? None of the workers there had weapons.”

“How would you know that if you didn’t go?” You whispered to him. Your gaze left his and it dropped to the shape in the center of his chestplate. The crystal shape rose up and down slowly.

“I got information on a bounty there earlier,” he sounded like he was talking to a hurt animal. Gentle. Slow. Calm. “What's the actual reason you’re upset?”

Kriff it.

“I had a panic attack because I thought you went to the brothel. Maybe you would like the worker there more than you like me, I spiraled and thought about how you might not even want me to be here, that you’ll find another partner to be on this ship with you,” your chest heaved and as you listed off your previous thoughts of worry. Your hands shook as they landed on top of Mando’s, and you took a deep breath, eyes meeting his gaze like before, “and toss me away like none of this meant anything to you.”

Mando is quick. He flipped his hands to grab one of yours and tugged you into the hull. Kneeling, he opened a cloth bag, one from the market, and dug into it to search for something.

He actually went to the night market. You thought, now you look so clingy. So needy. He was just going to show you what he got to prove he went.

He turned and held his hand out. Sitting on top of the golden skin on his palm was a bracelet.

The bracelet from the market.

“I saw you looking at these, you looked for a long time and then put them down,” He stood up and set his gait to slow steps as he made his way over to you.

You laughed nervously, accompanied by a small sniffle, “Sorry yeah, I know I just should have been getting the stuff we needed. You didn’t have to go back and get it for-.” Mando raised a finger to halt your speech and continued what he was saying previously, “you put them down. You had two bracelets.”

“They had lots of them that I liked…I had two that were a tie and I just decided to get neither-.” Mando cut you off again.

“You were holding one bracelet consistently and then picked another in a bigger size,” you froze at his words. Dank farrik. Now he was going to think you’re super clingy.

“I wasn't completely sure who you wanted to wear the bracelet, but I took a guess.” He pulled his long sleeve past his elbow and revealed his bare forearm. Strong. Capable. Solid. And a matching bracelet was donned on his wrist.

Your cheeks radiated with heat as he took your wrist and put your bracelet on you. His warm fingertips brushed the soft skin of your wrist, sending chills throughout your body at the meticulous skin-on-skin contact.

Once the bracelet was secure around your wrist, Mando dipped his head and looked down at the floor. One of his hands gripped the underside of his helmet, and the other held onto your wrist. Your breath caught in your throat at the gesture. He quickly lifted his helmet to release his mouth, and he pressed three kisses on your wrist where the bracelet was. Mando’s lips were soft and timid, his hand caressing the skin on yours. Silver from his beskar helmet blocked your view, but Mando sealed his helmet and brought his eyes underneath the visor to look into yours.

“This means everything to me.”

Supply Run - Exchange (part three)

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roughdaysandart · 1 month

Text

ATTENTION ALL MANDALORIAN CREATORS: FREE 3D POV RAZOR CREST MODEL!!!

This is a great rescource I found for anyone who writes or makes art taking place in the ship! It has helped me write more accuratley so its more realistic, and it will greatly help me draw the comic because I can get custom shots and anggles to use as backrounds that are otherwise never shown in the show (I will include some screenshots of cool shots I will be using). And although SOME details are simplified, the main structure of the Crest is accurate and will likley be more than enough for my purposes at least as a base.

https://sketchfab.com/3d-models/the-mandalorian-razor-crest-full-interior-ee72226c953c414ca0b7ab5780fe400a

*Click Settings and click First Person mode to view it all better, Orbit mode sucks.

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random-thot-generator · 11 months

Text

Don’t Leave Me Hangin’

MANDO x FEM READER

Summary: Reader gets stuck aloft in one of the Kom’rik’s cargo nets and has to call out to Mando for help. Filthy Mando smut ensues.

Warnings: explicit language, swearing, explicit sexual content, porn without plot, well, maybe a tiny little hint of plot, oral- f receiving, PiV, squirting, cum play(?), it’s messy- nuff said, Kom’rik sex, improper use of a cargo net, reader is an idiot who should think things through, Mando is an opportunist, no use of Y/N, maybe? bondage - Mando doesn’t help her out of the net like- immediately, but reader ain’t complainin’

(N/A: The brain fog has FINALLY lifted, and I wanted to write about my most recent random filthy thot. This is the result. It’s a long-ish, smutty one shot. Reader & Mando are in a situationship - friends-with-benefits type deal. I’m picturing like a live-in nanny/housekeeper kind of thing, but I don’t think I ever specified. This is post-season 3, and Mando’s living his best life on Nevarro. He and reader are in a Kom’rik, because I need room for my smut to flourish, and I didn’t want to resurrect the poor old Razor Crest from the ashes. If I missed any tags, let me know. And I hope you enjoy.)

Word Count: 4280

You really should have thought this through better.

That was your first thought after the cargo net stopped swinging, and you regained a modicum of composure. You winced at the sound of the net’s straps creaking under the strain as you tried to shift your weight and then froze. You remained completely motionless, afraid to even breathe, for several more moments.

“Shit...” you whispered in a quaking voice, peering down at the floor of the cargo hold several meters below you. You then glanced up at the winch mechanism above your head, praying it held. How in the hell were you going to get yourself out of this?

It had seemed like such a good plan at the time. You had just stepped out of the Kom’rik’s small ‘fresher, having showered and changed into your sleep shirt before bed, when you’d felt the ship drop out of hyperspace with a small lurch. You heard something clatter in the cargo hold below and blew out a tired sigh, knowing it was probably nothing but also knowing you wouldn’t be able to rest until you checked it out.

Grumbling under your breath, you had climbed down into the hold. Only the emergency lights were on, the ceiling and corners hidden in shadow, but you spotted something lying near a tier of shelves attached to the hull’s interior wall. It was one of the kid’s favorite cookies, the teal ones with the creme filling. Peering up into the gloom, you spied an opened foil sleeve of cookies perched on the edge of the highest shelf.

“How the hell did he even get up there?” you said aloud, shaking your head. Jedi training aside, the kid was far too much like his dad, a little risk-taker. You heaved a sigh, with no small amount of exasperation.

Stars only knew what else he had left up there. Come to think of it, you had given him your datapad earlier to watch cartoons and hadn’t seen it since. Sighing in frustration, you began looking for a way to reach the top shelf. The propulsor lift was still charging, so that was a no-go, and you didn’t see a ladder of any sort that wasn’t attached to the ship already.

And then you had spied the cargo net.

It was dangling by its hooks from a mechanized winch and pulley system attached to the ceiling. It was used to keep extra containers suspended above the floor to free up space, its track running the entire circuit of the area for maneuverability and convenience. Designed to hold several hundred kilograms, you were certain it could support your own weight. You could use it to lift yourself up to the shelf, retrieve whatever was up there and then lower yourself back to the ground. Easy peasy, jogan squeezy.

Detaching the control pad for the winch from the wall, you climbed inside the net, lacing an arm through the holes for a better grip, and then planted your bare feet on the cross sections of the heavy straps. It was a bit shaky at first, but once you gained your balance, you quickly ascended until you were at eye level with the top shelf. Tucking the control pad under your chin, you reached up to feel your datapad under your fingertips and sniffed in amusement. You’d have to give Grogu a good talking-to in the morning, but for now you at least had your datapad back. Slipping it and the sleeve of cookies off the shelf, you shuffled the objects around, your grip on the net slackening.

It was then that the Kom’rik made another jump into hyperspace, making the ship jolt with the transition. You shrieked when the net began to swing wildly, feet slipping out from under you as you let go of everything in your hands to hang on for dear life. Panting for breath, heart thundering in your chest, you clung like a monkey-lizard to the straps and prayed the net didn’t break.

So, there you were, hanging above the hold like a piece over-ripe fruit, arms and legs entangled in the net with no way down, because, of course, you had dropped the winch’s control pad when you dropped everything else. You could see it lying on the floor below you, right next to the broken casing of your datapad.

“Shit!” you repeated, leaning your forehead against the straps and huffing out an angry breath. Could this situation get any worse, you wondered. You’d have to yell for Mando to come get you down, which you weren’t looking forward to, but who knew how long it would take before he even came back this way? What if decided to just sleep in the cockpit? Would you end up hanging there all night?

The thought made your awkward position in the net feel even more uncomfortable. Your feet had slipped through the holes, so your legs were now dangling under you, the straps cutting into the tender meat of your thighs. One of your arms was still threaded through the net while the other one was pinned close to your side. You could feel the cold air of the hold settling into your bones and making you shiver, the thin material of the tunic doing little to stave off the chill.

You knew that the longer you hung there, the colder you were going to get, the number your limbs were going to grow. Your feet were already stinging and your teeth chattering. There was no help for it. You had to call for Mando.

“MANDO!!!”

Your voice bounced back at you, making your flinch. Holding your breath, you waited to hear his boots thudding against the metal floor overhead, but nothing. He hadn’t heard you.

“MAANN-DDOO! HEEELP!”

You waited. Still nothing.

Oh, stars, maybe he had fallen asleep in the cockpit. after all. With the door sealed, he would never hear you. Panic began to creep in, shortening your breath as it constricted your lungs.

“MANDO! PLEASE! I’M STUCK IN THE HOLD! MAN-DOO!!!”

“What the hell are you doing?”

You heard his voice coming through the ship’s comm system and could have cried in relief. You’d forgotten the cams located throughout the ship. Stars, he’d probably been watching you this whole time. You were never in danger.

“I... I’m stuck, Mando.”

A gravelly bark echoed in the hold before turning to static. Great. He was laughing at you. “Obviously. Listen, I need to recheck the coordinates in navi and set the autopilot, then I’ll come get you down. Just, uh, hang tight,” he drawled, another garbled sound slipping out of his vocoder.

You bit your tongue to keep from saying something you might regret. You were in no position to taunt or snark back at him right now. “Fine,” you mumbled, and slumped into the net.

It was only a few minutes before the sound of his heavy boots were thudding across the metal floor above you, his footsteps music to your ears. You heard the clang of his armor hitting against the ladder before he slid down into view, feet landing with a solid thump in the hold. He approached at a leisurely pace, seemingly in no hurry, then stopped to stare up at you. His helmet tilted back, black visor glinting in the low light. Planting his hands on his hips, he tipped his head, first to one side and then to the other.

“M-Mando? What’re you doing? Can you get me down now, please?”

Mando hummed, his stance shifting. His arms dropped down to his sides, hands curling into fists. “You must be getting pretty cold, huh?”

You bunched your brows up in consternation. “Um... yeah? It’s fr-freezing down here.”

He nodded slowly, keeping his visor trained on you. “Hmm. Thought so. You’re not wearing anything but my old tunic. It’s not covering much. Is it?”

You quirked a brow at the change in his voice. His smooth baritone had dropped an octave or three, and it had a distinctive husk to it now. His tone was the one he used when the two of you were alone with the lights off and he was taking you apart, dark and sinfully seductive. It made you squirm despite your precarious position, and the net began to slowly sway back and forth. The edge of a strap slid into the crease where your thigh met your hip, and you felt your lower lips part. A low groan issued from his vocoder. Your mouth fell open.

Sweet Maker, your pussy was on full display for him. You hadn’t bothered with underwear after your shower, planning on putting on a clean pair once you got back to your sleeping quarters. Heat surged through your body, both from embarrassment and unexpected arousal.

“Mando...” Your voice sounded so small and breathy in the cavernous space.

“I can see everything, pretty girl,” he told you, taking an unconscious step closer. He was almost directly under you now, peering straight up at your exposed sex. Mortified, you felt the slow trickle of your arousal easing out of your channel. You weren’t dripping, not yet, but the thought of him standing beneath you, staring at your most vulnerable parts had your breath panting out in little puffs. “You... Are you going to... get me down, now?”

You heard the back of his gauntlet scrape the metal floor as he picked up the control pad for the winch. His breath was rasping through his vocoder, the sound of leather creaking as he moved underneath you. You felt the winch catch and then begin to whir as the net began to lower back to the floor.

“Thank the stars,” you whispered, anxious to be back on solid ground again.

You didn’t quite make it, though. You were still a few meters above the floor when the winch came to a sudden stop, leaving you to sway like the pendulum of a run-down clock. “M-Mando?”

“Look so pretty like this, sweet girl,” he murmured below you, and you felt his gloved fingers trail across the back of your thigh. You gasped at the contact. “Close your eyes,” he husked out, voice gone to gravel.

You didn’t even bother to ask why, just snapped your eyes shut and held your breath, waiting. You heard the slap of leather on the floor, guessing it must be his gloves he’d just taken off, and then you felt his bare fingers tracing the straps that dug into your thighs. His fingertips grazed along the edge where the strap met the skin, the sensation making you tense as heat spiraled in your belly, diffusing through your pelvis to spread in a hot rush of slick that trickled out to cool along the petals of your open folds.

“Oh, mesh’la,” Mando cooed, dark and low. “You’re dripping for me, pretty girl.”

A whine escaped your lips, breath catching in your throat as you felt his fingers slide through your arousal, gathering your essence on his fingertips. There was the pneumatic hiss of air as his helmet disengaged and then the ring of beskar ricocheted around the hold as he dropped it to the floor. You could hear the lewd, wet noises he made as he suckled his own fingers, moaning at the taste of you.

“Don’t move, baby girl.”

“Oh, Maker...” you whimpered in a quaking whisper.

You could feel your walls clenching in anticipation. Mando had never used his mouth on you before, said he’d never gone down on anyone before, but as the winch whirred back into motion only to grind to a stop again a moment later, you guessed you were about to find out if this would be his first time.

When you felt his hair tickle the backs of your thighs, an eruptive shudder passed through your entire body. When his nose grazed over your clit, you jolted in the confines of the straps hard enough to send the net swaying, but he caught you and brought you back to center.

“Sh-shh... Easy, baby girl. I got you...” He paused, sniffed. “Fuck, you smell so good,” he hissed out in a rush, and you heard him inhale, could feel his nose right at your parted lips. It was so filthy, so obscene, what he was doing, but it made you quiver with lust, just the same.

His hands came up to grip your ankles, holding you in place. “That’s better,” he murmured, hot breath gusting over your damp folds, eliciting another shiver from you. “Let me hear you, pretty girl. Want to know how good I’m making you feel. Okay?”

You nodded your head furiously, swallowing in an attempt to bring a bit of moisture back into your parched mouth. “Y-Yeah. Okay, Mando.” You didn’t even care that it came out as a whine.

The first touch of his tongue had you choking on air, hips stuttering, not sure whether to rock forward or away from the lapping muscle, but his strong hands held you fast, not letting your squirm away. He dragged his tongue in a slow, hot line from your entrance to your clit, and you moaned like a porn star. You could feel his cheeks bunch up as he grinned at your reaction, and then he flicked his tongue over your pulsing clit again, pulling a sputtering,” Ha-aaa-aaah!” from your gaping mouth.

“You like it when I do that?” he purred lowly into your folds. “What about when I do this?” He enveloped the sensitive bud with his lips, tongue flickering over it with feather-light touches, making you writhe and grind against his mouth. He groaned, then suctioned his lips around it and sucked, pressing his tongue firmly against it. Your plaintive wail echoed throughout the ship.

“Fuck me...” he moaned, panting for breath, his voice shaking. He was completely wrecked. With a desperate snarl, he dove back in with a vengeance, tongue laving your inner folds, twirling around your entrance, lapping at your juices before kissing and sucking at your puffy, parted lips. He was devouring you whole, winding the coil in your core into a taut vibrating spring of tension. Your thighs were shaking uncontrollably, your breaths wheezing out of your lungs in desperate pants.

“Mando! Mando, I...”

You couldn’t even voice a coherent thought, couldn’t tell him what was about to happen, but he seemed to understand, nevertheless. His fingers slid along your pulsing folds to catch at the rim of your entrance, circling it once before slipping inside. Your walls immediately clamped onto the digits, muscles undulating to pull them deeper. He growled at the feeling and latched onto your clit again crooking his fingers in a come-hither motion, the strokes sharp and quick as they tapped out a devastating tattoo against the spongy membrane of your G-spot.

The world went white behind your pinched eyelids, and you weren’t even aware of the choked scream that tore out of your throat as you were blindsided by your orgasm. The spring in your core gave way with a snap and warmth flooded from your center to gush out around his fingers and over his arm, splattering his lower face, cowl and chest plate.

“Ha!” he crowed. “That’s it! Fuck yes!”

You were barely hanging on, your very bones liquefied as you twitched and groaned with each consecutive pulse of your climax. If you had oozed out through the holes in the net to pool at his feet, you wouldn’t have been the least bit surprised.

“So fuckin’ good, for me. Look at that. Fuck, I need — nngh!”

You heard the motor of the winch whir back into life, then felt the cold sensation of the floor touch the bottom of your feet. You couldn’t have held up your own weight if your life depended on it, however, and so folded up with the netting as it came to rest on the floor. Strong hands lifted you out the mess of straps, hands moving over you, manipulating you as he whispered feverish words in Mando’a like some fervent benediction.

You felt your back come to rest on top of the netting, the worn fabric of his cape spread out beneath you to serve as a barrier against the rough material. You had yet to open your eyes, jaw slack as you floated somewhere high above your physical body in a state of pure bliss.

Mando placed his calloused hand over your eyes, unwilling to test fate more than he already had. He felt crazed, rabid with lust, his only desire to be buried balls-deep in your cunt.

“Need to feel you, sweet girl,” he gasped at your ear, his breath stuttering against your neck. “Please, I need — “

“Yes! Stars, please, Mando. Want to feel you inside me. Do it...”

He whimpered as he lifted himself away long enough to scrabble at the closure of his pants, shoving them down with his underwear to the top of his thigh plates, a frustrating exercise to complete one-handed. When his cock sprang free of its confines, he moaned in relief, pumping it roughly a couple of times as he spread his leaking precrum over the head with his thumb. With a grunt, he fell between your thighs, notching himself at your entrance, inhaling a deep breath before he sank into your greedy, grasping cunt with an audible squelch.

“Fuuuckin’ hellll...” he moaned out as he slid inside your fluttering walls, grunting again when he felt them collapse around his cock and seize it in a vice grip. It was a struggle to draw himself back, the sensation making his balls draw up tight against his body. “Too good... too tight... Gonna make me cum...” he mumbled under his breath, fighting off his orgasm. When he had withdrawn a about halfway, he couldn’t stand it anymore and plunged back in, thrusting hard enough to shift the netting beneath you.

You sobbed, the feeling of being so full overwhelming, your shaking legs coming up to wrap around his hips, ankles locking over the flexing muscles of his ass. He was driving into you with abandon, the toes of his boots squeaking on the floor to find purchase, bracing his body against yours. His other arm he shoved under your back, fingers hooking over your shoulder to pull you down on his cock to meet each hard thrust. He was growling, muttering curses in multiple languages, hissing as you clenched and pulsed around him.

“Ah, fuck, sweet girl, I’m gonna — Shit! Fuck, baby, where do you want — “

“Inside... Want to feel you cum in me...” you moaned out, another orgasm rising like a massive wave in your core. “Ah, fuck!” you whined.

Your words snapped that last thread of control he had, and he surged forward, thrusting in wild, arhythmic strokes that sent you careening over the edge. Your climax washed over you like a euphoric wave, slow and liquid, a golden warmth that engulfed your lower half before spreading like molten honey.

Mando could feel your walls clamp down and spasm, milking his cock, drawing him in deeper. He threw his head back and came with a bellow, a primal, jagged roar of triumph. His chest lifted as his back arched, his cock exploding inside your walls, pumping ribbons of his thick seed deep into your hungry cunt.

He barely managed to throw an arm out to catch himself before falling forward. He was trembling above you. and when his elbow buckled, his head fell to your chest. His nose was smooshed into the side of your breast, his panting breaths teasing the sensitive bud of your nipple into a hard little nub beneath the thin material of his tunic. He gave a dazed grin at the sight, wishing he had the energy to take it in his mouth, but he wasn’t sure he could even lift his head yet.

“Stars, pretty girl. I think you’ve killed me.”

A breathless wheeze of laughter burst out of your chest, and you reached up to pull down the hand now splayed limp over your face to your lips. You left a lingering kiss in the palm as you crooked your other arm over your eyes, just so the temptation to peek wouldn’t get the best of you. You felt him lift his head with reluctance, his weight shifting, before his lips pressed to yours in a sweet, chaste kiss.

“You alright? I know I went pretty hard this time. I didn’t mean to lose it like that, but — “

Your hand came up to touch his face, landing on his neck instead. You slid it upward to cup his jaw, the feel of his patchy beard against your palm endearing. “Don’t you dare apologize,” you told him and drew him down for another kiss. “It was perfect. The best I’ve ever had,” you whispered against his lips.

He sighed, smiling against your mouth in relief and pleasure. When he shifted again, he saw you grimace. “Did I hurt you, sweet girl?” he rushed to ask, lifting his weight off you.

You giggled and shook your head. “No, it’s not that. There’s something cold and sticky all over your chest plate. It feels... icky.”

He glanced down to see your release from earlier smeared over his beskar, and he chuckled, low and dirty. “That’s your fault,” he teased. “You drowned me when you came the first time.”

Your mouth dropped open and, if not for his hand coming down to hold your arm in place, you would have jerked it away from your eyes to stare at him in shock. “I did not!” you gasped. mortified.

“Oh, you did, pretty girl,” he crooned. “I want to make you do it again.”

“What? N-Now?!”

A full-on laugh rumbled out of his chest this time. “No, sweet girl. As much as I’d love to, I don’t either one of us is going to be able to go another round after that last one.”

“Oh, thank the Maker,” you blurted out, and then winced. “Sorry. I didn’t mean —”

He sniffed in amusement and pecked you on the lips. “I know what you meant, mesh’la.” Sitting back on his knees, he rubbed at his face, grinning at the sticky feel of your spend drying in his mustache. He was positively covered in your cum, and he fucking loved it. His poor cock gave a valiant twitch before he tucked it back into his pants and stood. “C’mon, sweet girl. Let’s get in the shower.” He retrieved his helmet, slipping it back on before bending to take you by the hand.

You groaned. “Just lemme sleep here. Can’t move right now.”

“You’ll freeze down here,” he chided you. “Now come on. I’ll help you.”

You whined as he hauled you onto your feet, and you staggered on your shaking legs. He shook his head and turned his back to you, bending his knees slightly. “Hop on. I’ll carry you up the ladder. Otherwise, we will be down here all night.”

You made a face at him, but wrapped your arms around his neck anyway, making a weak hop to get onto his back. Grasping your thighs, he hitched you up a little higher and stood, then trudged towards the ladder at the opposite end of the hold.

“Oh, stars,” you moaned out behind him, dropping your forehead to his back. “Do you think we woke Grogu? We were, uh... ahem... We were, you know, a little loud,” you whispered.

“Well, the ship’s still flying, and I didn’t hear anything break while we were down here, so I’m going to say no.”

You giggled. “He’s gonna get it tomorrow morning,” you vowed. “He was the reason I got caught up in that stupid net in the first place. He somehow managed to get on that top shelf with a whole sleeve of cookies and my datapad.” You paused, moaned again. “Shit. My datapad. It broke when I dropped it.”

“Don’t worry, mesh’la. We’ll get you another one, and I’ll talk to Grogu myself tomorrow morning, right after breakfast. Okay?”

You sighed, a little grin tugging at your lips. “Okay.” You heaved a sigh, tightening your grip when Mando started to climb up the ladder. “I know one thing. I’m burning that stupid net when we get back to Nevarro.”

Mando huffed and shook his head. “Like hell you are. We’re bringing that home with us. It’s going up in the bedroom, right above the bed.”

You gasped in shock, rearing your head back. “Mando!”

His rumbling chuckle bounced off the metal walls of the ship, and a warmth like the sun bloomed in your chest as a smile as big as the Dune Sea spread across your face.

“Okay, fine. We’ll discuss the cargo net later. But right now, I want a shower.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Mando purred, and you could hear the grin in his voice. Taking your hand, he led you into the ‘fresher.

Despite Mando’s earlier doubts, you found out that you both did indeed have another round left in you.

(End notes: Just wanted to mention @saradika because she created the dividers and banners I’m using. She makes them for free. You can check out her masterlist on her blog. Her fics are *chef’s kiss* too.)

#din djarin x fem reader #mando x fem reader #din x fem reader #mandalorian x fem reader #din djarin x reader #mando x reader #din x reader #mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian smut #mando smut #din djarin smut #mando fic #mandalorian fanfic

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starjedi86 · 2 months

Text

Make a wish

Summary: You and Din enjoy a peaceful night wrapped around each other’s arms.

Pairing: Din Djarin x female reader

Warnings: None

Word Count: 882

Authors Note: Hi everyone! This fic was inspired by a picture I saw on Pinterest the other day. I hope you enjoy it!!

As the night progressed, Din lay in the grass outside his small cabin, his helmet resting beside him and his gaze fixed upon the twinkling stars scattered across the night sky.

Finally, he found a moment of peace and relaxation. Having to spent most of his life as a bounty hunter, always on the move and alert to any threat that might arise, he cherished this much-needed break. And now, in this quiet corner on the outskirts of Nevarro, he could finally breath freely, escaping the constant danger he was always faced.

However, despite the risks and distressing circumstances he had faced as a bounty hunter, he knew he would never regret his past. It was through that life that he had crossed paths with you, the person who had brought light and love into his life.

It had been a few years since you started dating, he couldn’t even remember how his life was before he met you. He was sure it was dark and cold, as he wasn’t used to having someone by his side. It was only when Grogu came into his life that he started to realize how much you meant to him, and that’s when he found the courage to ask you out.

Lost in his thoughts, Din didn’t realize that you were walking towards him until you settled beside him, your comforting presence in the stillness of the night. As he turned to you, a soft smile broke across his lips at the sight of your familiar and beautiful face.

Reaching out, he pulled you into his embrace, wrapping his arms around you and drawing you closer to him. Feeling the warmth of your body against his, he savored the moment, grateful for your calming and comforting company.

Leaning into him, you rested your head against his chest, listening to the soft and steady rhythm of his heartbeat as you looked at the stars. Taking his hand in yours, you gently intertwined your fingers with his, feeling safe in his presence.

After a moment, Din finally broke the silence, raising his hand to stroke your hair. “Is the kid finally sleeping” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, his breath warm against your head.

You nodded softly, a small smile forming on your lips as you thought about that small little cutie that managed to steal your heart. “Yes, it took some time, but he’s out like a light.”

Din exhaled a quiet sigh of relief as his expression softened, a playful hint of amusement appearing in his eyes. “Seems like he has started to enjoy your company more lately,” he remarked, a gentle teasing tone in his voice.

You shook your head and chuckled softly, a tender smile gracing your face. “I don’t think he prefers me over you,” you said, reaching out to gently touch his cheek. “You’re his father, Din. You’ll always be his favorite person in the entire galaxy.”

Din’s heart swelled with affection at your words, reassured by your understanding and support. As he gazed at you, an intense sense of gratitude washed over him, knowing that he was blessed to have you by his side.

"Thank you, cyar'ika,” Din said softly, his voice filled with affection as he gazed into your eyes. "For everything you’ve done for me, for us."

You smiled back at him, warmth spreading through your chest at his words. "You don't have to thank me, Din," you replied. "I'm just happy to be here with you."

In response, Din gently squeezed your hand three times, a silent declaration of his love for you—a gesture you both had used since the begging of your relationship. It was a way of saying “I love you” without needing to say it out loud, a silent promise that you’ll always be there for each other, no matter the circumstances life brought.

You returned the gesture, matching his action with three gentle squeezes of your own, your heart overflowing with love and affection for the man you were lucky to call yours.

As you both gazed up at the stars, a shooting star streaked across the sky, causing you to gasp in excitement. “Look!” you exclaimed, shaking his arm with your hand. “Make a wish!”

You closed your eyes eagerly, a smile tugging at your lips as you made your silent wish. Din watched you with love, a small chuckle escaping his lips at your enthusiasm.

When you opened your eyes again, you met Din’s gaze, a curious expression on your face. “What?” you asked, raising your eyebrows in confusion.

Din's smile widened as he shook his head, his eyes shining with affection. "Wanna know something? I don't need to make any more wishes," he said softly. "Because everything I ever wished for is right here with me." He gestures towards you and the child, his heart overflowing with love for the two of you.

Touched by Din’s words, you leaned over and placed a gentle kiss on his cheek, a silent expression of the love and affection you had for him. You couldn’t be happier, the love you had for this man grew stronger day by day, and you knew that he felt the same way. After all, you were lucky to have him by your side.

#din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin x you #din djarin imagine #the mandalorian #the mandalorian imagine #din djarin one shot #mando #mando x reader #pedro pascal x reader #mando fic #the mandalorian x reader #din #star wars #star wars the mandalorian

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lokischocolatefountain · 5 months

Text

Guess

Fandom: Star Wars, The Mandalorian

Pairing: Din Djarin x Reader

Rating: PG13, fluff

Word count:

Summary: A game of guessing goes right in every way for you and Din, your kind of friend, sort of boss.

A/N: Day 1 of my fic advent calendar and my first Din Djarin fic on here! Credits to my friend @lokislittlevalkyrie for co-creating the reader character and for our long conversations about her and Din. Keep checking the advent calendar Masterlist for more fics dropping this month. And leave me a little comment to encourage me to keep the fics going 💜💜💜

“Stop scowling.”

“I’m not scowling,” he lied, trying his best to keep his tone neutral even though he was surprised that she knew he was scowling. Lucky guess, he told himself. But how many lucky guesses could one person have about his facial expressions?

“You so were!” She insisted, sinking further back into the novelty ‘chair’ she bought on their last stop. It was a sphere half filled with tiny soft particles that molded itself to the user’s shape. She slouched on it as she continued watching one of her holodramas, something with a murder or speeders (or both) at the heart of the story.

“I was not.”

“If you say so, Din Can,” she said, using her nickname for him. He chuckled reflexively, unable to control his responses to her. Thankfully, his helmet filtered the sound out, saving him the embarrassment of finding humor in the humiliating nickname. He smiled, glad she didn’t know just how many times she’d made him laugh whether by mocking him or making clever remarks in general.

“I do say so.”

She was beautiful. Taking up the creed meant hiding one’s own face from others. To hide what would serve as the basis of others’ first impression of you so that your valor and your character would serve as your defining features. Vanity was not something he was raised with. Yet he knew beauty when it stared him in the eye and called him Din Can everyday. Or Tin Djarin. Buckethead when he really pissed her off.

Dinny Bear when she was intoxicated.

Blood rushed to his cheek when he thought of the last time she did that. She’d gotten very comfortable around him in the months they’d been crew mates. All her initial jitters and jumpiness around him had gone and been replaced with her stubbornness, strange sense of humour, and a level of confidence she didn’t have with him before.

He had to chase her down to even get her to accept the job he was offering her as a travelling mechanic. He’d never heard of one before. And she was quite frightened of him after the kind of interaction they had at Peli’s shop. But he needed a mechanic on board. With the kid in his hands now, it became hard to juggle a failing ship with hunting bounties and caring for a mischievous kid who waited for the moment he took his eyes off him to cause chaos.

It helped to have a mechanic on board at all times. She was wonderful and came approved by Peli. Over time, she became more than his mechanic. A friend, he would be brave enough to say. If he were braver with women, he would say that he’s caught her sneaking glances at him. That he felt her twinkling eyes rove over his armor every now and then. Sometimes he was confident of it. At others, he convinced himself that his mind was clouded by his desire for her. By his desire for her to desire him too.

The matter of his expressions came up once again later after dinner.

“Stop looking so grumpy.”

“You cannot see my face.”

“Yeah but you look grumpy.”

He grunted, turning away from her to focus on the controls. They were on hyperspeed. There was nothing he needed to do with the controls. But to come face to face with her when she told him exactly what he did underneath his helmet was…too much.

“Heyy! Let’s play a game?” She asked, her voice bubbling with excitement.

“Play with Grogu.”

“He’s asleep. And this is not a game for little potatoes.”

He chuckled softly at the nickname and looked up at her again, awaiting her proposal. “What would that be?” He asked.

“A drinking game.”

“Drinking is a game now?”

“Dank farrik! I missed when you used to be quiet. Just listen to me. I’ll guess what your face looks like under your helmet and if I get it right, you should take a sip of your drink. And if I get it wrong, I take a sip. Let’s do it with the Silver Elixir,” she said, getting up from her seat to fetch the bottle from their liquor cabinet they kept locked to keep away from wandering little womp rats.

She returned with the bottle, two glasses and straws. They’d recently taken to drinking together. She bought him a straw a begged him to join her, using her sweet eyes and her adorable pout to convince him. She said she only had drinks with friends and that drinking alone on the razor crest made her feel lonely.

He gave in to her, just like he gave in to their little green crewmate.

She didn’t need to use a straw, of course. Yet she did. When he asked, she said it was so that he didn’t feel lonely drinking through a straw like a kid. Even in her insults, she managed to be sweet.

“Start guessing,” he said impatiently as she sat next to him and looked intently at their glasses to see if they were filled equally.

“Sure, sure… You have dark hair,” she said, passing his drink to him. “Dark brown.”

“A little too obvious, isn’t it?” He asked, knowing she had definitely seen his hair in the trash after he gave himself haircuts and shaved his facial hair.

“Drink up, old man!” She said, lips wide in a grin as she knew already that she was right.

He snorted, but followed through, taking a sip of the strong liquor. “Alright. Next.”

“You have….big green ears.”

“Wrong,” he huffed, smiling nevertheless at her sense of humour.

“Damn it! I should’ve known they wouldn’t fit inside the helmet,” she said, taking a sip. She was smiling too, and unlike his, it was out in the open and as bright as the stars around them.

“Those were two descriptors. Big and green. Take one more sip,” he argued. He didn’t particularly want to get her drunk, but he liked how adorable she was when intoxicated. One of their drinking sessions ended with her snuggling up to him because she couldn’t find the kid to snuggle like a children’s stuffed animal.

“What? No! It was one guess, so it’s one sip.”

“Again, you guessed the size and color of my ears and they were both wrong. Take a sip.”

She rolled her eyes, but complained, taking another sip. She leaned close and narrowed her eyes at him, as though focusing on his helmet would reveal what was underneath. He smiled unconsciously, taking in the beauty of her from up close. The light in her eyes, the way her eyebrows knit together when she was in deep thought, lips that impressed him with the wittiest remarks… Lips he wanted desperately to pull to his, to devour and make moan his name.

“No moustache.”

“Hmmm….” He hummed, thinking of how he could sort the point for this. He *did* have a moustache, but that was only now. There were times when he shaved it off completely. “It’s complicated. I have a moustache now, but I change it quite frequently. So, half a sip.”

“If I have to take half a sip, so should you.”

“No, I don’t,” he scoffed at her warped logic. Here he was, being nice and giving her some credit even though she was wrong. But she was trying to take advantage of it.

“Yeah you should. If I’m taking half a sip because I was half right and half wrong, you should also take a sip because you’re half right and half wrong.”

“No. That’s not how it works. I have facial hair now, which means you are wrong. I should’ve made you take a full sip, but I decided to make a concession because I am sometimes fully shaven.”

“Dank Farrik! You’re such a lightweight. Just say you can’t handle your liquor and I’ll let you go,” she taunted, a smirk plying at her lips.

“Oh please, I can handle my liquor much better than you can. Here,” he said, drinking the strong undiluted alcohol like it was water in a few big sips. He slammed the glass against the control panel surface and shrugged. “See, I’m good. You are the one who gets drunk after one portion of the Silver Elixir and terrorizes the kid.”

She gasped, as though he made a much bigger accusation. “I don’t terrorize the kid! I just give him extra cuddles and kisses. He enjoys them very much. It’s called affection, Tin Can. Ever heard of it?”

He tilted his head at her in the way that sometimes made her swallow audibly. “So you think that because of my way of life, I have never experienced affection?”

She opened and closed her mouth quickly, as though her mind and lips were in disagreement about whether or not what they were about to say was appropriate. He smiled under his helmet, proud of himself for stumping her. She talked a lot. Since he was a quiet man, everyone else was talkative in comparison. But she was the voice he heard the most as they lived together on the Razor Crest and their other occupant communicated mostly in coos and squeals.

“That’s not what I meant!”

“Say what. Since the drinking thing was already disproportionate anyway because I’m not guessing your features and I can handle my liquor much better than you do….lets change the rules.” He took a deep breath, afraid of the consequences of his words but unable to miss this opportunity. “For each correct guess you make, I’ll give you a kiss.”

“You’re kidding,” she said, scoffing.

“I’m not known for my humor.”

She took a deep breath and looked directly into his eyes, making his heart skip a beat. Kriff, the things she did without even knowing! He thought he could die from the anticipation of hearing her next guess. Would she guess something ridiculous like big green ears to make sure she doesn’t have to kiss him? Or would she make a very obviously correct guess?

“You have…” she trailed in a softer voice, looking at him almost coyly. “…pink lips.”

Not the most obvious guess. Not all humans had pink lips. And he could easily not be human. He didn’t remember telling her he was… But if she was going for something for a higher likelihood of being correct… Kriff he hoped she was. “Do you want me to turn the lights off or blindfold you?” He asked, conveying indirectly that she was right.

“Wh-whaaat? Why?” She sputtered, looking at him with those pretty eyes, vulnerability brimming in her expressions.

Did he get the wrong idea? Maybe her obvious guesses weren’t because she wanted to be right so she could kiss him… Maybe it was just the product of her usual playful nature.

“Because I will have to take my helmet off when I kiss you,” he proceeded to say, even as his heart beat faster with the anxiety of how this could go. They were adults. It it was a misunderstanding, he would simply get over it and do his best to not make it awkward between them. “And you cannot see me.”

“I…” she trailed off before letting out a nervous laugh. “I didn’t think you were serious.”

“Again. Not known for my humor,” he said, letting a smile seep into his words. She was so kriffing adorable, looking all nervous like a blurrg stuck in a doorway. “You don’t have to, of course. I can give you something else. Ten credits, perhaps?”

“What, no. A deal is a deal.”

“Then tell me, my dear mechanic. Lights out or blindfold?”

“Lights out.”

Pity. He was hoping to see her pretty face when he kissed her. Not moving from where he was, he pressed the buttons on the control panel, turning all the lights out. In the pitch black of outer space, he could see nothing. Perfect.

“What can you see?” He asked, just to be sure.

“Nothing,” she said, in her voice so low and soft that it was swallowed up by the darkness. What entity wouldn’t want to swallow up something his pretty mechanic put out? Every word she said, every touch of her fingers against the trees and rocks and flowers. If he were air, he would luxuriate in her scent. If he were water, he would caress her skin and play with her hair as he cleansed her. If he were fire, he would creep into her skin, warm her up when she needed. But he was nothing but man. So, he would have to satisfy himself with a kiss from her lips.

“Are you sure?” She asked as he stepped forward to her.

“I am. Are *you* sure?”

There was silent for a moment before she said, “Yes. Kiss me.��

Needing nothing else, he took his helmet off and placed it carefully on his seat. His heart thudded against his ribs, and his breaths grew labored. And he hadn’t even touched her yet.

In all his years, he had never kissed anyone. It was not part of the culture of his people what with the metal barriers that kept them from it. He remembered the sweet kisses on his forehead and cheeks from before he took the creed. But that was not what his heart desired. He wanted the kind of thing she watched on her holopad, all the holodramas with characters who showed their desire through an intense kiss that left their partner speechless.

He reached forward and found her hand. She gasped softly, the quietness of the ship letting him in on her soft sounds. He caressed up her arm, enjoying the slight tremble of her skin beneath the tips of his fingers. He stopped at her neck and allowed himself to cradle it in his hand. He felt her lean closer and he reciprocated, taking the final step. He tilted his head to his right feeling that she tilted to her right.

As he closed the gap between them, he felt her warm breath on his skin. He swallowed, his lips parting from how nervous he was. What if he was no good? What if he didn’t have good breath? What if he’s such a bad kisser that she— he gasped softly as she pressed her lips against his. In an instant, she quietened the sounds his head. The fast beating of his heart, he realized was now from the effect of proximity to her more than his insecurities.

She placed one hand on his shoulder and wrapped her other arm around his waist. He let out a shaky breath at the intimacy of their contact and let his other hand trail down her back. She pressed herself closer against his beskar clad chest, making him wish he had the forethought to toss that bit of his armor too. He wanted to feel her. Every bit of her that she was offering up to him like she truly believed he was deserving.

Her lips were soft, just as he’d dreamt them to be. He’d never kissed before. It was an act saved for married couples in the covert, as only your spouse could see you with your helmet off. He had married friends who waxed poetry about the magic of kissing. How they felt like nothing and nobody mattered other than your partner. How it turned you into putty in their hands. He thought it was exaggerated… Until now.

He cupped her cheek, her face fitting in his hand and making him feel a new sense of protectiveness towards her. He’d protected her before, sure, but this felt different. This was something to do with a need to be gentle with her. To cherish her and treasure her. She licked his lips and he parted them instinctively, letting her tongue between his lips. He shuddered as her fingers threaded through his hair. He whimpered and pulled her closer to himself in the moment of vulnerability, using her as a crutch to support him. He’d never been touched like that before…

Her fingers explored his hair and he allowed himself to relax in his arms, even letting himself give her comforting caresses of her back. He felt her melt into his arms as their kiss deepened. She tasted of the silver elixir first, but when they were both a little along the way, he began to taste something that was distinctly her. Something sweet, mixing with the fragrance of her citrusy perfume to further dull his senses.

It was soft, but electrifying. He poured his passions into the kiss, exploring her with his tongue and luxuriating in the sweet little whimpers she let out. The technicalities stopped mattering. He was here, holding the girl he’d been pining for, lips connected as the unlikely result of a stupid game. That moment was all that mattered and her sounds of satisfaction told him that he wasn’t doing so bad after all.

She pulled back in a while and they let out the breaths they’d be holding. She let out a laugh and he smiled, comforted by her job. He didn’t even know he’d been holding his breath. He’d forgetting the necessity for breathing as he found her lips.

“You have…a big nose,” she said, confusing him.

“Huh?” He asked, his mind still clouded from her kiss.

“I get another kiss if I’m right, Dim Djarin,” she teased, pointing to his obliviousness when it came to things of this nature.

“Right,” he said, grinning as he kissed her again. He needed to play games with her more often.

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lavendertales · 2 years

Text

Hands to myself || Din Djarin x f!reader**

summary: you confess to Din that you like his hands, and he wants to see exactly how much.

word count: 3k

WARNINGS: hand kink obvs, dry humping, male masturbation, vaginal fingering, a dash of praise kink, cockwarming, sub!Din.

A/N: I’ve been meaning to post this for almost two weeks lmao so here we are. feedback is more than welcome 💕hope you enjoy, lovebugs!

AGELESS/EMPTY BLOGS & MINORS WILL BE BLOCKED!

gif: @themandaloriandaily

read on AO3

Throughout the months you’ve spent traveling with Din, many things have remained a mystery, such as his face and his upbringing. Yet you can say with absolute certainty that you knew each other way more intimately than those things.

You don’t need to hold all that information. You know what truly matters the most. You know him, as he is, the man behind the beskar; you know him as kind, sweet, a protector in times of need—and a damn good lover.

It could be argued that Din is easily the best lover you’ve ever had. The months you’ve spent on the ship alongside him carried no shortage of passion. An initial shy attraction blossomed into a near-fatal carnal desire, threatening to overpower you both. You learned in time his likes and dislikes; you knew how he felt and what sounds he’d make before you even touched him. Once he got more comfortable exploring your body in the dim light of the Crest, you studied each scar on his body, every navel and ridge, everything that was worth knowing.

Din himself was worth knowing.

So while you may not know his face or backstory—all curtesy of the Mandalorians’ beloved Creed—you shared an intimacy that stretched beyond definitions.

But there were still things left to discover between you two, things that you had yet to share.

Now, you’ve seen Din in various postures: hunting, carrying bounties back to the ship, expertly driving the Crest through outer space and even handling you in ways that made your head spin. It would’ve been impossible to witness all of that and not develop some sort of bizarre fondness for his hands. You’ve seen his hands ungloved hundreds of times, but you’ve never actually told him how appealing they are to you, how they exude tenderness and power, much like Din himself.

Instead, you resort to watching him carry the toolbox to the outer side of the Crest and mend its metallic wounds. He grabs each item with confidence and expertise, maneuvering them like they’re nothing. You remain in the background, once in a while gulping as your eyes focus on Din’s gloved hands. He’s too attentive to the task at hand to remark you studying him curiously in the background – and a little parched, too.

Even covered, his hands seem to be doing a little magic of their own; their movement, while concise and harsh in order to be able to fulfill the task, is undeniably enticing. Swiftly, your mind transports you elsewhere entirely, picturing those hands—free from the gloves’ leather confinements or not—moving up your body, fondling you and bringing you to pleasure that you’ve only ever experienced with him.

The sudden callout of your name makes your cheeks burn crimson. You’re slightly ashamed of having been daydreaming right next to him.

“Sorry,” you apologize in advance with a brief shake of your head.

“Are you okay?”

Uh-oh. His velvet, raspy voice paired with your prior wishful thinking isn’t aiding you much. You swallow harshly, the blob of saliva feeling like sand on paper.

Damn, what is it with you today? Down, girl.

“Mhm,” you murmur. “Just a little distracted.”

“By what?”

You falter. You figure you should at least let the man finish his job before starting the next one. You know that if you ask nicely enough, Din will help you out without hesitation.

And that thought makes you squirm with excitement, so much so that you feel heat pooling down below.

“A lot of thoughts,” you settle to respond. “Did you need anything?”

“Can you hand me the hammer, please?”

You comply, walking over to give him exactly what he wants. Then, you keep your eyes on his lucrative figure as he starts hammering a screw.

Good Gods, why am I torturing myself like this?

Once he’s done, Din slouches down, grabbing with both hands two loose chunks of metal and parts them. Your eyes widen, breaths a little shallower.

He has to be doing this on purpose. There’s just no way.

You keep watching him though; you keep watching him gently put all the chunks back and causing fast trepidations of your heart, completely unsuspecting and innocent. He catches your eyes eventually, and you sport a cute smile. You like to think he reciprocates. That’s Din: giving and caring. At least with you.

“That should hold us for a while,” he announces.

“Oh, good.”

Your voice dies down, and it’s only when Din stands back up in all of his broad beskar glory that you truly feel the effect of—well, him. You’ve become quite transparent to him, so there’s not much you can hide. You know that eventually he’ll put two and two together and figure out the reason behind your restless aura.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” he checks, approaching you.

“Mhm.”

“You seem nervous.”

You keep on smiling, hoping to somehow disguise your nervousness. But you don’t really want to; you want everything that Din is willing to give to you, each taste he’ll allow you to have.

“Do I?” you ask, realizing you might be teasing him subconsciously.

He shrugs, tilting his helmet to the side, and something goes off inside you. That’s one of the few gestures that get you going on the spot; an additional touch to the right spot and you’ll be a wet bundle of nerves.

He doesn’t ask you anything. He usually doesn’t need to unless he’s making sure what he’s doing is appropriate, and in this moment, he can tell by the way you’re basically forcing your legs together that you’re in need of something else that sparks his interest as well.

“Tell me,” he coos. “What’s on your mind?”

You inhale, heart thrumming in your ears.

“I hope this won’t sound too weird, but… I was watching you work and it’s very—you’re very good at fixing things, and—”

Maker, you’re babbling. Get it together.

“Bottom line is,” you try to laugh it off, “I… like your hands.”

Din feels utterly taken aback. He’s never paid any attention to his physical traits, barely so since you came into his life. He often wonders if you wouldn’t prefer a younger body, one that’s not scarred or bruised or tired. But when he’s inside you, when he hears your sweet moans, when he hastily kneads the warm flesh of your body, there’s no more doubt in his mind that you want him just as he is. And that he wants you.

But hearing that you like his hands in particular is quite surprising. Especially since he spends all day covering them with those worn-out leathery gloves. The only time he takes them off is when he sleeps—or when they’re on you.

“My hands?” he asks, still bewildered at your confession.

You nod shyly.

“I’m sweaty from working, probably should wash off before—”

“I don’t mind. I like it dirty.”

“Hm.”

His hum is soft and husky, just like he is, and you quiver just thinking about him, vulnerable before you yet again. Everything about Din’s presence is intoxicating, and you wish you could put those words that cross your mind in coherent sentences so that he’ll know it, too.

He inches closer to your figure, and you just know his keen eyes scan you from head to toe through his visor. You don’t move; your body already aches and burns and itches in forbidden places that only he gets to see, and you want to enjoy every second of the thrilling moment.

“Go back inside,” he instructs.

And you obey without fault.

Your legs are guided solely by nervousness, an anticipation that allows you no rest. You nearly sprint back on the Crest, and decide to remain in the cockpit. The little cot Din sleeps in wouldn’t provide much space for… whatever it is that’s about to happen. You could use the mattress Din bought from one of the planets you’ve been on, since you’ve both been sleeping and fucking on it since its appearance aboard, but it was a bit unstable after the last time you used it.

You giggle to yourself reminiscing that night, how randy you both were and how rough and speedy things had gotten.

Din’s presence looms over you, a dark, yet shiny figure that somehow always seems to be watching over you. Heart in your throat, you stare at him with those big, doe eyes that drive him insane. You watch him rest in his usual seat, legs mildly spread; he proceeds to remove the beskar plates from his thighs, cocking his head to the side.

“Sit down, cyar’ika,” he coos.

Gods, you’re getting wetter with each passing second and you swear he could hear it with every step you take towards him. But you don’t falter: you spread your own legs and sit on his left thigh, suppressing a moan when your clothed core unconsciously grinds on him.

“Why did you want me to—?” you begin.

“I need you nice and wet before I give you my fingers.”

You gulp, completely blown away by how insanely attractive that sentence was. Din nods, thus encouraging you to move forward with what you need, and you anchor yourself to his broad shoulders, past the pauldrons. You pull him close as you start rubbing your clothed core on his leg, breaths already hitched in your chest. It’s already electric and it gets you tingly all over, and you wonder how long Din intends to keep playing this game.

The friction is good—too good. It’s debilitating in its simplicity, and you find yourself staring into what you presume are Din’s eyes. You see past the helmet’s visor, past everything else that might stand in between the two of you, and you like to think Din cannot keep his eyes away from you.

It’s absolutely true. It’s even more than that: everything that you do or say runs deeper for Din, much deeper than he could ever explain to you. Each drag of your clothed cunt along his thigh is sending him into a spiral of pleasure, clouding his better judgment and freezing him in this particular moment in time. There is nothing else but you, what you want, and how he can get you there.

He swears he feels your pulse throbbing in your core, and it makes him hard. Painfully hard. He’s truly at your mercy, a victim of your saccharine movements which show no mercy.

And then he remembers your flustered confession, and he grabs your hips to cease your grinding. You’re upset—you’ve been building towards something great, something explosive in your belly waiting to be detonated, and he stops it.

But, as you shift your eyes from his helmet to his lap, you notice the protruding erection in his pants, and the removal of his gloves. You hold your breath.

It should not be this attractive. It shouldn’t be—but it is. It’s simply erotic in its basic motions: Din pulls on the glove, one finger at a time, and frees his left hand. He repeats the gesture with his right hand, and now you gasp. Those calloused hands, the same ones that hold you close to his chest at night and knead your flesh in between them with unbridled passion, hold so much more power than Din himself is aware of.

Right under his cautious eyes and his irregular breaths, Din watches you strip down the clothes from your lower half; he feels his cheeks burn crimson with nervousness, an almost shocking realization that you want him so much. It is reciprocated by far: he gets so hard just thinking about you, it feels downright cruel.

Gods, he wishes he could kiss you right now.

More so, when you pull away from him and sit in the passenger’s seat with your legs semi-open, Din gulps, wishing he could quench his thirst by drinking straight from you. He wonders how you taste, what sounds you’d make should he bury his head in between your legs.

You’d be embarrassed at how wet you are just by looking at his hands and rubbing yourself on his thigh for a few minutes, but this is Din. This is no fling, no regular man.

With slightly wobbly legs, he makes his way to you, down on his knees before you. His fingers find your clit with ease, drawing circles as the other hand presses on your lower belly. You instantly throw your head back, a soft moan escaping past your lips.

“Din—”

“Is this what you wanted?”

“Mhm—”

All coherent words flee from your mind when one of his fingers pushes carefully past your soaked lips. He pushes slowly, testing you, but when you spread your legs further and try to move your hips so that they meet with more of his hand, Din nearly crumbles on the spot.

“You’re so warm,” he says in awe.

You can only moan, thankful when he adds a second finger and truly thrusts them inside you. You grab onto the seat, holding onto it till your knuckles turn white. The pleasure that runs through you is sapping, unbearable. Din’s fingers pump hastily in and out of you as the man behind the beskar watches your every facial expression, listens to your every sound.

His pants are strangling him by this point, and he’s not sure how much longer can he pretend like it doesn’t ache just to think about how hard this is making him.

“Oh, fuck,” you hear him whisper.

You look at him in a frenzy, mouth ajar, and see him fumble with his pants. The thrust of his fingers gets a little sloppy as he works with his other hand to free his cock from its confinement. You nearly gasp when you see how hard he is, the tip leaking with precum already. Din grunts as his hand wraps around his cock, resuming his ministration on your cunt.

“You’re so good,” you tell him. “You’re so good, Din—”

“Yeah?”

“Yes—yes, you are—”

The sounds filling the Crest are a concoction of his grunts and your moans, a delicious blend that has you both in shambles.

You catch a glimpse of him stroking himself, and you finally feel it. You feel that burn in your stomach, that much needed tingle leading to inevitable bliss. He sounds so fucking hot, and the idea that he can get so hard when pleasing you is the highest form of flattery.

He’s losing the string of thought with each stroke on his cock. He needs to feel your walls around him, he needs to feel you.

You gasp once Din ceases all motions on both of you. You’re about to complain, audibly so, but then he brings you back on your feet as he resumes his seat, having you straddle his lap. There’s no need for instructions or additional talk; you know exactly what to do. You’ve learned to recognize his neediness some time ago. And when he grabs your ass to move you closer to his weeping cock, you stand up a little, one hand around his cock as you guide it inside you. You moan brokenly, and so does Din. The feeling of his hardness in your warmth remains unmatched.

You anchor yourself to his shoulders once again and start moving up and down, rocking your hips to the best of your abilities. You’re so sensitive from the previous treatment that you doubt you’ll last long.

And somehow, you doubt Din will last long, either.

“Maker, you feel so—f-fucking good,” he grunts.

To that you smile, flattered and turned on alike.

“You’re so warm and—and tight and—fuck – I don’t think I can last, cyar’ika—”

“That’s okay. You’re doing so good.”

The praise gets to him—like, really gets to him. He loses himself in your scent and loses control of the rhythm, doing his best to thrust upwards and fuck you fast while you’re still riding him.

“That’s it—“ you barely breathe, feeling your climax fast approach for the second time. “That’s it, you’re so fucking good—right there, just like that—”

“I’m gonna come—fuck, fuck—”

“Din, please—”

The breathy enunciation of his name breaks him completely. In the spur of the moment, he yanks your hair and pulls you to his chest, burying himself to the hilt inside you. His breaths are harsher, his hands rigid around your torso and his cock softening inside after shooting his warm load.

You could stay like this forever if you could.

Neither says anything. You take your time to settle down and recover from the force of your orgasms, smiling down on him. You like the feeling of him inside of you so much, you dread the moment when he’ll pull out.

And then, you see him reach for his helmet as your heart settles in your throat, waiting, nearly giving out on you. He lifts it up in the slightest, revealing his jaw and, much to your shock, his mouth. You notice a hint of stubble and full lips, and you swear your heart stops altogether. But the shock doesn’t stop there: he takes the two fingers that had been inside you to take them to his mouth and he licks them clean right under your blown-out pupils.

“I knew you’d taste fucking good,” he says.

You blush, breaths shallower yet again. This time around, you know he is staring back at you. You feel his gaze burning through the visor and right through you, and you’re almost tempted to get him hard again just so he can fuck you angrily. Almost.

Maybe someday he’ll get a taste right from the source.

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roguetonorth · 1 year

Text

Fix you

summary: you've been having a hard time dealing with your own thoughts, but your mandalorian lover never fails to kiss it better.

warnings: hurt/comfort, reader and their bad thoughts, fluff, din being a lovey dovey and lots of kissing

pairing: din djarin x reader

word count: 2534k

a/n: this had been sitting on my notes app for a decade and i decided i might as well drop it here idk what it is i was just depressed and yearning

•masterlist•

When your mandalorian noticed it, he had been fully dressed, armor and all. His weapons had been tied up to his holster and he had a flashing puck in his gloved hand, ready for his next hunt.

you had been sitting on the edge of the little bunk din called a bed, dangling your feet and staring at your hands in your lap in the barely dim light of the hull that crept inside. It was too early for you to be awake, which meant you hadn’t had sleep at all.

The thought of it is enough to make din’s heart clench and he abandons his helmet on a cargo box and walks over to where you were, kneeling between your knees and looking up to study your face. Still, you don't acknowledge him at all, so he places a hand on your calf.

“cyar’ika,” he calls you softly, pressing a gentle kiss to the inside of your thigh. “It’s too early yet.” din tells you, pure concern evident in his voice. you quietly hum in response, gaze avoidant of his pleading one.

Din drops his head to rest against your thigh and he stays there with you for a few moments, waiting for you to say something. When you don’t, you hear his defeated sigh as he gets up and leaves you with a little kiss to your hairline, ascending to the cockpit.

When your mandalorian comes back, he sees the door of the bunk shut and no sign of you nearby. The only tell that you’re still in the ship is the small sniffle he hears coming from inside. That’s when he decided he wasn’t going to leave you today.

but still, as the day went by it’s like he had.

You’d swallow hard, hands fumbling meaninglessly by the pages of your little journal or with your belongings— literally anything that kept you busy and distracted from your own mind.

You didn't snap, you didn't stomp feet around, you didn't do anything at all. But din knew. He knew the way your eyes locked on inanimate things but didn't actually see it, the same fog that blurred your mind seeming to creep into your sight as you busied yourself with mild tasks on autopilot.

The silence on the ship is ever too loud without your jokes and giggles and your mandalorian is way too helpless without your stolen glances and little touches. He hated seeing you like this, wandering around and avoiding his gaze constantly yet just out of instinct, locking yourself in your mind and hiding your watery eyes from him. But you were aware that he knew, aware of his confused glances dancing over your figure all day.

the sun had been down for a few hours now, and you caught din’s ever so expressive eyes on you again through the fresher’s small mirror. But this time, you don't draw your eyes away from him or from the small sweet smile he held for you and for you only.

You were almost caught off guard when he actually acted on his thoughts, his arms coming to cross over your torso and pulling your back flush against his chest.

He doesn't say anything, just holds you close in his firm grasp with so much tenderness like he knew he was the only thing that held the pieces of you together.

You don't dare to meet his eyes again in the mirror in front of you, your gaze falling to watch his arms folded over your stomach in a protective and comforting manner.

It takes everything to let your eyes truly meet his chocolate gaze, because you know he'll read right through them just as you can see through his. But all you find in them is worry, care draped with love, the softness he holds you with dripping from them and bleeding comfort onto your skin.

The notch on his brow disappears the slightest as he welcomes your gaze on his.

"Hey,," Din says softly.

So softly that it would have ripped the pent up pain you trapped in your chest for so long now. Your heart aches as you let yourself weigh on him, his stubble tickling softly your shoulder when you reply in a cracked voice that doesn't even sound like yourself, "Hi."

He keeps your eyes in the mirror, squeezing your waist even tighter. There's a questioning flick in his gaze, you notice, the same one he sustained all day, he wants to know what's happening. But more than that there is understanding as he just stays there, his breath fanning over your cold skin as you bask in his warmth despite the forming lump in your throat the longer you look in his eyes. You tear your gaze away from his, your vision blurring with tears you refuse to set free.

Din lets out a sigh, not one of annoyance but one of uttermost care, the pain you drown yourself in drowning him too. And that only added to said pain, because you didn't want to drag din to the dark pit you were in, specially because you didn't even know what caused this. You hardly thought there was a reason to.

But din didn't care, your din didn't care even if that meant you needed distance from him. All he cared about was that you were okay.

He watches you in the mirror, ever the most beautiful thing he'd seen even as a stray tear rolls down to stain your shirt, letting his hold on you loose a bit as he presses a quick and tender kiss to the nape of your neck.

"Do you want me to leave?" He asks with a soft whisper.

You suck in a breath, hands desperately pressing his arms back into place as a hurried "No." leaves your lips. You knew there was no point on pushing him away

Din smiles a little, tightening his grasp on you again and making you feel safe in the way only he could, "Okay."

He lets his eyes flutter closed as he sees you do the same, nudging his nose in your hair and breathing you in as if you were the first oxygen molecule he'd had in days. He never lets go of you, not even as your breaths even out and you try to reach for his face over your shoulder, he'd never let go of you until you told him to. He looks over at you as he drops his face to yours, the crevice of his nose dovetailed with yours, a cracked smile of yours stealing his heart despite your heavy eyelids and set jaw.

"Do you want to talk?" He asks unsurely, not wanting to push you but extremely eager to help you feel better.

You only shake your head no, your heart sinking upon denying his tender offer. And he waits again, his forehead resting on your shoulder as he waits for you to open up in your own time.

"I just," you sigh loudly, tired of your own bullshit and asking yourself how wasn't he, how and why the hell was he still with you here, "I just need to stop thinking."

"It's okay," he murmurs right below your ear, his eyes meeting yours with the same warm, welcome and home-like gaze, "I've got you." Din holds you a little tighter, almost swaying with you in his arms in a comforting motion.

You let yourself sink on him. drown in his scent and in his soft hold, ignoring the fact that you don't deserve this, that you don't deserve him and actually allowing yourself to accept the care it pained him not to give it to you.

"I want to help you, cyare." He says, the concern still as present in his voice and eyes as you turn around to face him, his hands rubbing soothingly on your back.

You close your eyes shut, nodding with your face buried in his neck. He smells like musk, spice and something sweet impossibly and uniquely like him. the haze his strong adoration and love inflicts upon you is like a sedative, working so easily into your chaotic mind that you feel like you’re asleep in his arms.

You barely acknowledge him bringing you to the cot and laying you down gently on your shared bed, complying eagerly on holding onto you once again as you make grabby hands motion to him.

he lays down on you, his weight like a rock pining you in place under his care and his love. His arms are on your back, under your shirt warming your skin. His nose tracing your jawline, his brow furrowed like he'd break his own heart to fix yours. Maker knows he would do it without giving it a thought.

You just let him drown on you, your hand cradling his hair and toying with his curls and you can't help but to smile softly like he always caused you to.

Din's heart skips a beat as he sees your smile for the first time today, and it only spurs him on as he starts pressing soft butterfly kisses on your neck.

You release a soft breath, almost like a giggle when he sticks to a little spot below your jaw, softly kissing tenderly one more of his promises onto your skin, one that he'd always care for you in every way he could.

It tugs your heart lighter and a small smile crosses your lips, "what are you doing?"

din smiles too, parting from the crook of your neck to look at your eyes, "i miss your smile cyar'ika,"

Though you do hold a smile for him right now, you feel bad for the way you pushed yourself away from him, building an emotional barrier between the two of you for practically the whole day.

"I'm sorry," you begin, drawing your eyes away from his, "i shouldn't have shut you out like that, I— I'm, I'm sorry, i—"

"Hey," he cuts you off gently, his call barely a whisper, "it's okay, we're okay." din reassures you, shifting from your side to hover over you, the broad expanse of his shoulders blocking part of the light coming from the little panel by the door. "I understand that you need space, I'm not upset," the sound of his voice caresses your heart and soothes your mind, especially when he leans in to press a kiss to your temple, then to your cheek, "just want you to be okay.”

You heart warms up in your chest because you know every word din says is whole heartdly meant.

"I know." The tone of your voice is still a little dull from spending so much time without saying anything and it does nothing to convey the immense gratitude you feel for din.

Din, the man who would go across the galaxy out of his way to buy you mundane little things you liked or wanted without you even asking. Din, the mandalorian bounty hunter who'd slaughter anywone who dared to look at you the wrong way but still would turn himself to a puddle just from seeing you smile or hearing your voice. Din, who gave you everything he had and everything he is, yet would never ask for anything in return.

The metal door you stare at turns blurry and you reach your arms out around dins neck, squeezing him closer as if you wanted him to merge into your form more than humanly possible. He basks in your action, letting out a content sigh and sneaking a hand up your back, fingers grazing up your spine to slip into the back of your neck and into your hair.

You lean onto his touch, unable to focus on anything else but din and the soft scratch of his stubble on your skin as he kisses the corner of your mouth.

The smile you hold for him grows a bit wider as his lips ghost a gentle peck over yours, sweet and soft like a silky warm blanket that could keep you warm even in the coldest planet in the galaxy. Din kisses you again, but this time his lips move against yours tenderly and achingly slow. It brings back the butterflies that dance in your stomach and wander over to heat your cheeks like it happens everytime din kisses you like this.

You reach a hand to touch his cheek, encouraging him to deepen the kiss as you do part your lips for him as well. You sigh into his mouth as you feel his tongue slide against yours and his limbs tangled with yours weigh on your more heavily. You kiss him deeply and passionately, moving your hands to splay over his soft curls and over his back.

The only second you and din part from each other is when he moves you, pulling your waist flush against his and sliding his hand over the length of your leg to urge your to wrap it around him.

And then he's back on you, kissing you like both of your lives depend on it. And he does it so tenderly, you almost believe if you part from him ever again even for a second you'll die.

Din's movements grow hungrier but he stays soft and slow, lips nothing but gentle bliss against yours breathing in your small sighs and hums along with his own. You release a giggle between kisses, which causes din to stop and look at you with wide, warm brown eyes.

"What?" He asks, mirroring your own smile as some of his mussed curls fall over his forehead to make him look even cuter and you giggle again.

"You make me happy," you tell him, not bothered at all by the simplicity of the confession since the feeling is genuine as it can be, "Especially when you start doing this."

din's eyes lit up and his small smile grows smug, "doing what?" you can hear the teasing in his voice he drapes with innocence and you can even feel it as his mouth meets your again, tongue licking into yours like he needed you more than he needed oxygen, "this?"

the last word comes muffled by your kiss, and you don't stop him even as you smile into it, only giving in for a little while longer to feel his careful haze to be enveloped in the love of the man the galaxy gifted you with.

As the both of you comply into your need to breathe, Din's forehead falls to rest against yours and his heavy breaths fall over your lips and you know he's in tune with you and always will be.

You hum contently against his lips as he presses a final, slow and soft kiss to yours, sealing the promise that despite it all he'll be there to fix you.

And even if he's not able to, he'll still want you, broken pieces and all.

Taglist: @girlofchaos @darklordofthesimp @jbbuckybbarnes @dontletyourchildrenwatchthis @mauliebear @starstruck-loner

Please let me know if you'd like to be added, or removed from my tag list, ty <3

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theywhowriteandknowthings · 2 months

Text

Need | Din Djarin x Cobb Vanth

This blog is a 18+ space, Minors, do not engage. If you are under the age of 18 you are not welcome here. Please heed these warnings and the warnings put in place on each individual fic and chapter.

Warnings: Porn with Feelings; Porn With Plot; Anal Sex; Anal Fingering; Anal; Anal Play; Blow Jobs; Prostate Massage; Oral Sex; Lube; Cobb Vanth deserves his own warning; Din Djarin being an anxious idiots; Idiots in Love; Pet Names; mesh'la used liberally; uncut Cobb; Helmetless Din Djarin; the helmet doesn't stay on; set between s2-3; Yearning; Pining; a splash of angst.

Summary: Set post-S2 but pre-BOBF Din can't stop thinking about Cobb, it burns a hole in his chest brighter and hotter than a Supernova. He just needs a taste of intimacy, just a small taste. That'll be enough, right? My first proper M/M fic and I'm so nervous, I hope you enjoy it! Dedicated to my dude @immarocketman, I love you so much <3 Thank you @for-a-longlongtime and @angelofsmalldeath-codeine for beta'ing for me <3 Wordcount: 5.5k Read on AO3

Take it off, or I will.

The words had slipped out of the Mandalorian’s mouth without thought. But the way the marshal’s eyebrows twitched up, followed by the swipe of his tongue over his bottom lip made Din’s insides churn. He’d repeated them the night of the Krayt Dragon’s slaying, when Cobb was naked but for his briefs perched atop Din’s naked form as he lay back on Cobb’s bed. The helmet stayed on that night, but all Din could think about was doing the unthinkable.

He wanted to put his mouth on every inch of the marshal’s body, he wanted it more than anything in the galaxy.

~*~

It’s been over a year since the incident with the Krayt Dragon, and all Din can think about is Cobb. He’s alone in one of the bunks Peli keeps spare for him. His cock is achingly hard as he lays naked, sheets crumpled at the foot of the bed. Peli knows not to disturb him. Ever since he landed on Tatooine with Shand and Fett, he’s been in a slump. Without Grogu things have felt off, wrong, lonely.

Loneliness is not something Din is used to feeling, he hates it with a burning rage that violence can’t seem to quell. Loneliness is something Mandalorians of The Watch steel themselves against, it’s a distraction, a flaw. Wandering alone in the galaxy, providing for the Covert, taking on some of the most dangerous cretins in the universe. None of it leaves room for loneliness.

Loneliness gets you killed.

Take it off, or I will.

The words rattle around Din’s mind as he finally relents, his thick fingers wrapping around his length as he slowly jerks his cock. Cobb’s smug grin is burned behind his eyelids as his hand becomes slick with precome. He squeezes his shaft harder as he imagines Cobb’s lips wrapped around his cock instead of his hand.

He remembers the hot, wet, heat of Cobb’s mouth, the brush of his beard against Din’s thigh. He fixates on the memory of trying to pull out before he came.Cobb instead gripped his ass and held the heft of Din’s cock on his tongue as he erupted into the marshal’s mouth.

“Kriff,” Din hisses into the silence of his room.

His orgasm hits him like a blaster bolt, he comes with a strangled groan that echoes off the walls of the small guest room. His balls tighten and throb as he feels the spike of pleasure burst from his core and up his spine. His breath comes in jagged gasps as white splatters of come coat the dark curls at the base of his cock. His spend leaks down his length, pooling hot against his abdomen as the oppressive heat of Tatooine holds the moment in obscene stasis.

Din lies there for some time, letting the haze of post-orgasm euphoria roll through his body. He doesn’t know what he expected, but the loneliness persists. It gnaws at him as he tries to find the energy to get up and clean off.

~*~

Even in the low light of dusk, the buzz of the thoroughfare speaks to the change in the small town of Mos Pelgo as Din makes his way to the cantina. He slips in, making his way to the back of the bar. He doesn’t want to draw attention, but he needs to see him. Even if it’s just a glimpse. He tells himself that it’ll be enough. It’s a lie, but a convenient one.

It doesn’t take long for Cobb to saunter in, checking in with the bartender. It’s a brief conversation, punctuated with a nod in Din’s direction from the barkeep. Din’s blood runs hot then cold as Cobb makes his way to his table. He has a bottle of something golden in one hand and two short cups in the other.

“Fancy seeing you here,” Cobb says with a smirk as he stops just short of Din’s table, “This seat taken?”

Din grunts in assent, not finding the courage to speak as he nods to the chair on the other side of the table. He’s sweating through his flight suit, and it has nothing to do with the desert planet’s atmosphere. Din knows fear, he knows how to manage something as abstract a concept as fear. But what he feels right now is dread. Dread is a weight on his chest that anchors him in place, trapping him without a means to escape.

He should never have come.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t my favourite Mandalorian. How’ve you been?” Cobb asks as he eases himself down onto the seat opposite. He eyes Mando up and down as he notices the way Din shifts in his chair.

Cobb pours two measures of the spirit before raising his cup in toast. He expects Mando to decline, as always, but his eyes widen as he watches his friend lift the cup. In a slow, purposeful motion Mando pitches his head back in the gloom of the bar. His free hand shifts his helmet up and he brings the drink to his lips, tipping back the liquid in one swift flick of his wrist. In the low lighting Cobb can’t see anything but the act in itself unsettles the marshal.

“Been better,” Mando answers as he reseats his helmet, “You?”

“Things are fine here, thriving since you last visited, we’re working with the Tuskens more and more, it’s a mutually beneficial arrangement,” Cobb says with a guarded expression, he’s trying to figure out what’s eating at his sometimes-friend, sometimes-lover.

“Good,” Din nods, his visor flashing in the low light, “That’s good.”

“Want to tell me what’s on your mind?” Cobb presses as he pours another measure in both their glasses. Mando doesn’t drink this time, instead holding the small container between his thumb and forefinger.

“Nothing,” Din grunts before swirling the liquid around his glass, his helmet dipped low as he avoids the topic. They sit together in silence for some time, Din’s gaze is fixed on Cobb’s face.

He takes in the way Cobb’s beard is fuller than before. His forehead bears deeper lines, crow’s feet crease at the corners of his eyes. It’s been just over a standard year, but the harsh binary suns of Tatooine have taken their toll. However, Cobb’s eyes are brighter than ever, his swirling light brown irises still sparkle with the fire of arrogance but hold a softer glow. Contentment, a wealth that cannot be measured in credits, but in fulfilment.

“As riveting as this is,” Cobb sighs as he stands up, “I’m going to head home, it’s nice to see you Mando, bottles on me.”

“Wait,” Din grabs Cobb’s wrist with lightning speed, his thick gloved fingers firm on the other man’s arm.

“You ready to tell me why you’re really here?” Cobb’s eyes sparkle with challenge, he knows why, he just wants Din to admit it.

“I came to see you,” Din says softly, his voice only just picking up on the vocoder in his helmet, “I missed you.”

“You missed me?” Cobb purrs and Mando’s stomach twists as he feels something like shame flood his system.

“Forget it,” Din snaps as he pulls his hand away, already on his feet, “Enjoy your evening, marshal.”

But Cobb squares up to him, blocking his path out of the cantina, he pushes him back against the wall. Din’s breath hitches in his throat as he watches Cobb’s broad hand flatten against his chest plate. Din’s hands hang limply at his sides as he finds himself startled for the first time in a very long time.

“You missed me, Mando?” Cobb’s voice drops a register as he repeats his question, a sly smile twitching at the corner of his full lips.

“Yes,” Din breathes as he watches Cobb’s eyes drift down to the growing bulge in Din’s flight suit. He can’t help but hold his breath as the other man steps closer, his lips but a hair’s breadth away from the Mandalorian’s helmet.

“Didn’t think you were allowed to miss people like me, Mando,” Cobb says as he looks up into the inky blackness of Din’s visor, “Does it help to know I missed you too?”

Din’s jaw goes slack as he feels the tight knot of negative emotions in his chest unravels. It’s like he’s broken free of a garotte, he feels lightheaded, dizzy, and so very aware of how close Cobb is to him now.

“Cobb,” Din says softly as he scans the room, conscious of any prying eyes to what has turned into such an intimate moment.

“Come home with me,” Cobb says softly as he steps back, giving the Mandalorian some space, “Unless you think you can’t live up to last time.”

“Are you sure?” Din asks as he practically vibrates as he holds himself back. His fingertips itch with the need to touch Cobb’s bare skin again.

“Never been surer of anythin’ in my life, now come on, we’ve got lost time to make up for.”

The pair exit the cantina together, close enough that their fingertips brush as they walk. Pinky fingers touching every few steps. It’s like a silent exchange of intent, flirting wordlessly as electricity sparks between them with every caress of bare skin against textured leather.

Din angles his helmet subtly, letting himself drink in the slight form of the marshal. Cobb unknowingly mirrors the action and his lips curve into a wide smile as he catches the Mandalorian checking him out. Neither say a word until the door to Cobb’s home hisses shut behind them.

There’s a shift in the air between them as Cobb brushes past Din, his hips swaying as he enters the central room in the small hut. Din watches him go, salivating at the deliberate change in the marshal’s gait. His dick strains against the tight flight suit as he tries to control himself. He doesn’t want to spoil this, not with eagerness, not with mindless pleasure.

He wants to do this right.

“Do you want a drink?” Cobb calls over his shoulder as he reaches the far side of the room, reaching up to grab earthenware cups from a high shelf. Din treads lightly as he comes up behind Cobb, his Beskar barely making a sound as he moves. There’s a thrill in this, moving soundlessly in Beskar is no easy feat, it’s something usually reserved for quarry.

“No,” Din says softly as Cobb yelps, Din’s firm hands find purchase on Cobb’s hips.

“I see, right down to business, never struck me as the desperate type Mando,” Cobb laughs but Din growls in response as he grinds his clothed cock against Cobb’s ass, pinning him to the counter.

“I don’t want a drink,” he rumbles as one hand snakes up to grip Cobb’s neck from the front, thick fingers framing Cobb’s jaw, pulling him back against Din’s armoured form, “I want to taste you.”

“I like this side of you, Mando, so bold,” Cobb purrs as he abandons his quest for mugs, he turns in Din’s grip, “How do you propose going about tasting me?” He asks as he leans forward, Din’s thick fingers are still wrapped around Cobb’s neck and the marshal leans into the pressure as he rests his forehead against the cool Beskar of Din’s helmet.

“Going to put my mouth here,” Din glides his hand up over Cobb’s jaw, gloved thumb brushing over his lower lip, “and here,” he trails his fingertip back down his chin, lower, lingering over Cobb’s sternum, “and here,” Din growls and his cock aches at the intake of breath from the marshal.

“Wish I could see you,” Cobb breathes, and he flinches, the words are out of his mouth before he can stop them. Cobb is about to say something, anything to walk back from his slip up. Din smirks beneath his helmet, it’s a twisted grimace turned smile as he realises there’s no point holding back any longer.

“Take it off,” Din commands as he hooks his fingers into the waistband of Cobb’s pants, “Take it off, or I will.”

“Mando, what are you-?”

“Take it off, or I will.”

There’s a charged silence as Cobb tries to move, his body is frozen in place as he fights against the voice in the back of his mind. He knows this is forbidden, he knows it’s a big kriffing deal, but that makes it all the more enticing. His dick twitches in anticipation.

“Are you sure?” Cobb’s breathing hitches as Din’s free hand cups his face, gloved thumb rubbing through his thick, silvered beard.

“Please.”

It’s a plea brimming with desperation, filled with an unspoken need. It’s exactly what Cobb needs to hear.

“Seein’ as you asked so nice,” Cobb smirks with bared teeth and Din’s stomach twists as he feels the flutter of anxiety gnaw at him. He drops his hand from Cobb’s face, both hands move to Cobb’s waist and Din holds himself steady.

Cobb brings both hands up to cup the concave cheeks of Din’s helmet, fingers splayed across the angular Beskar as he holds the object of Din’s Creed in the palms of his hands.

“Close your eyes,” Cobb says softly as he presses his forehead to the Beskar in front of him, “Trust me.”

Din does as instructed, his eyes clamp shut as he tightens his grip on Cobb’s waist. The hiss-click of his helmet depressurising has him shuddering, there’s no going back now.

“Keep ‘em shut,” Cobb coos as Din feels the helmet lift away, the thick, humid air of the evening hitting his skin like a smothering blanket. He gasps as he forces his eyes to stay closed. Tension twists through his whole body as he hears his helmet being set down somewhere to his right.

“You’re beautiful, Mando,” Cobb’s voice is breathless, awestruck and filled with deep reverence that makes Din’s lips part in desire.

“Kiss me,” Din commands and he cringes as he hears Cobb chuckle.

“So needy,” Cobb whispers as he places his hands on Din’s face, just like on his helmet, he spreads his fingertips under Din’s jaw, thumbs pressed into his cheekbones as he takes him in. He studies the neatly trimmed facial hair, with clear patches where it refuses to grow. He salivates at Din’s plush lips, plump and so full. His eyes are still closed, his brow furrowed, and Cobb wants nothing more than to see those eyes open.

“Cobb, please-,”

Din groans as Cobb’s lips brush over his own. Cobb smiles at the guttural sound as he takes Din’s top lip between his own, pulling on it lightly before bumping his nose against the strong plane of the Mandalorian’s own. He releases his lip gently, their short breaths mingling in the space between them as both men pant from the brief exchange.

“Wanted to do that since the moment I saw you, Mando,” Cobb whispers, lips brushing over one another once more as he speaks, “Didn’t care what you looked like under here, just knew I needed this.”

Din’s grip is unwavering on Cobb’s pants as he leans forward and presses their foreheads together. Slowly, Din opens his eyes and groans as he sees Cobb’s flush cheeks, plump lips, and striking brown eyes for the first time without a helmet on.

“Stars, you’re gorgeous,” Din growls as he leans back, looking up into the marshal’s hooded eyes. There’s a moment of charged silence where neither is sure who will make the next move.

“You sure this is ok?” Cobb asks as he looks down, abashed at finally being shown Din’s face. It’s Din’s turn to cup the other man’s face.

“I wouldn’t have come if I wasn’t sure,” he promises as he tilts the marshal’s head up to look at him once more, “I’ll explain everything later, but for now?” Din asks as he presses his lips to the corner of Cobb’s mouth, lips brushing his silvered moustache as he speaks, “Let me taste you, all of you.”

It’s Cobb’s turn to moan as he turns his head to kiss Din once more. This time there’s an urgent hunger to it, their lips crash together, mouths ceding to tongues as they waste no time in consuming each other. Din’s tongue dips into Cobb’s mouth as he backs him towards the bedroom. His hands are on the marshal’s shirt, pulling at it with thick, eager fingers.

The back of Cobb’s knees hit the bed and he flops backwards, pulling the Beskar-clad man down on top of him. Din plants his hands either side of Cobb’s head as he lands, softening the blow of his heavy, armoured form from crushing the marshal.

“That was reckless,” Din growls, but his face is alight with desire as he sees his lover’s face flushed and needy beneath him.

“You make me reckless,” Cobb responds with a wink and Din fists the bedsheets with both hands as he drops his head low, nudging the other man’s head to the side with his nose. His lips brush against the thatch of silver hair that lines Cobb’s jaw, and Din smiles in triumph as the marshal arches up against him.

“I want you to strip for me, can you do that?” Din whispers as he grinds his cock down onto the other man’s equally hard bulge. The friction from Cobb’s pants and Din’s flight suit makes both men groan, Din’s breathy and desperate, Cobb’s low and thick with desire.

“Sure thing, handsome,” Cobb groans as he watches the Mandalorian retreat a few steps, hands already making quick work of his armour as his dark brown eyes never leave the marshal’s. Cobb kneels on the bed, removing the stained red bandana from his neck as Din drops his cape. The pair can’t stop smiling as they undress.

Cobb removes his overshirt, off comes Din’s pauldrons, his chest plate. Cobb kicks off his boots and Din’s vambraces are placed in a pile of ever-growing Beskar. Belts come off in unison and the rumbling chuckle around the small room is infectious.

“This is a lot slower than last time, Mando,” Cobb quips as he works at his pants, shoving them down as Din removes the last piece of his armour. He sets the boots to the side, clad only in his dark flight suit now.

“Please, Cobb,” Din says as he unzips the top half of the suit, “Call me Din.”

“Din,” Cobb says as he kicks off his pants, discarding them as he sits in just his tight black briefs, “I like it, punchy.”

Din shakes his head, his cheeks burning from how hard he’s smiling at the flirtatious man before him.

“Did you talk this much last time?” Din growls affectionately as he shrugs off the top half of his suit, baring his tan skin, adorned with tattoos that range from dark inky blue to luminous icy tones. Cobb licks his lips as he maps the inked, scarred, tapestry before him.

“Last time I didn’t get much time to talk, I recall my mouth was otherwise occupied,” Cobb flutters his eyelashes playfully up and Din and the Mandalorian shakes his head in disbelief.

“Well, that won’t be a problem this time,” Din says with a wolfish grin as he strips the last half of his flight suit off, “On your back, briefs down marshal.”

“So bossy, where’s the romance, the wooing Mando?”

“Din,” he corrects Cobb as he frees his cock from his briefs, kicking them off with the flight suit, “And if you wanted to be wooed, you wouldn’t have let me fuck your pretty little mouth so easily last time.”

“You’ve got me there,” Cobb says as his cheeks flush bright red before he pulls his briefs down. Din groans, palming his cock as he strides over to the bed. Cobb leans forward, eager to touch Din again but he’s reprimanded with a gentle shove to the sternum and a tsk from Din.

“On your back, mesh’la,” he says as he gets on his knees in front of Cobb, “Let me return the favour.”

Cobb does as he’s told, but he props himself up on his elbows, he doesn’t want to miss a single second of Din’s handsome face now he’s had a glimpse. Din parts his lover’s legs slowly, palms flat, fingers digging into the firmness of his muscular thighs. He places soft kisses to the inside of Cobb’s left knee, chaste, teasing brushes of his plush lips and stubble that make Cobb tremble beneath him. There’s a soft tang of sweat on Din’s lips as he makes his way up the inside of Cobb’s thigh, he laves soft swirls of his tongue over his lover’s skin as he makes his way up to the apex of Cobb’s thighs.

“Such a gorgeous cock,” Din mutters, almost to himself as he settles his torso between Cobb’s legs, keeping him open wide. His one hand cups Cobb’s balls, the other wraps gently around the base of his dick. Din’s own cock throbs at the way precome beads pearlescent at the tip as he pulls Cobb’s foreskin back a little to reveal the ruddy head.

Din eases his lips around Cobb’s cock, flattening his tongue as he hollows his cheeks to accommodate the marshal’s length. The bitter, musky taste of precome coats Din’s mouth as he groans around the thick weight of Cobb’s cock in his mouth. He eases himself down to the base, the telltale tightness in his throat from the panicked thrill of being so full, so close to gagging, has Din leaking over his own shaft.

“Kriff,” Cobb lets out a soft, breathy cry as Din worships him.

Din eases back as he runs the tip of his tongue over the ruddy head, suckling gently as Cobb shudders and whines beneath him.

“I could listen to you all night, mesh’la,” Din hums softly as he runs his tongue down the underside of Cobb’s shaft.

“Din, please,” Cobb whines as Din slots his mouth over one of his lover’s balls, rolling his tongue over it as he hums.

“Said I wanted to taste you,” Din says as he dips his tongue lower, his palms pushing on the backs of Cobb’s thighs as he angles his ass off the bed, “I’m taking my time.”

“Patience isn’t one of my virtues, Din,” Cobb says, voice light and breathy.

“Hmmm, then what do you want from me?” Din asks, hoping beyond hope it’s what he’s been thinking about since he fucked his fist only last night.

“I want you to fuck me,” Cobb says through gritted teeth as Din dips his head lower, his hot tongue inching lower to Cobb’s taint, teasing just shy of his asshole.

“Kriff,” Din groans against the soft weight of Cobb’s balls, “You want me to fuck this tight hole with my cock, marshal?”

Din brings his middle finger to his mouth, soaking it with his saliva before he slides his hand underneath Cobb. He teases his slick finger over Cobb’s exposed asshole as his balls reast heavy in Din’s palm. Cobb groans and bucks his hips up at the sensation, a soft series of pants follow as Din presses the pad of his fingertip to the puckered ring. Din licks a slow stripe up Cobb’s shaft before flicking his tongue against the head of Cobb’s cock.

“Quit with the teasing,” Cobb hisses as Din refuses to breach his hole, the wet heat of the Mandalorian’s mouth on his tip only drives the pitch of his voice higher.

“Not doing this without lube. You do have lube, right?”

“I’m not some inexperienced pup,” Cobb huffs indignantly as Din looks up at him from between his knees. The Mandalorian’s dark eyes are addled with lust as he wraps his lips around Cobb’s cock before sinking down to the base, “It’s in my nightstand,” Cobb’s head falls back at the way Din sucks his cock, mouth tight and tongue unrelenting as it massages the underside of his shaft.

Din bobs his head up and down torturously slow as he savours the weight of the cock in his mouth. He finally releases it with a wet pop before sitting back on his heels, watching how the strong man before him twitches and pants for him. He knows Cobb is close, and as much as he wants to know what it’s like to have the marshal finish inside his mouth, he has other plans.

“On all fours, facing the headboard.”

The command is curt and without fanfare, Din’s own restraint is running thin. He wants to bury himself inside Cobb, carve a space out inside the other man that no-one else can fill. He wants to lay claim to his body and soul, the way Cobb – knowingly or not – has already claimed his own.

Cobb watches Din over his shoulder as he makes his way to the nightstand. Din rifles through the drawers to find an assortment of plugs and dildos nestled amongst different containers of lube. One large black dildo catches Din’s eye, and he relishes in the challenge of meeting the marshal’s expectations.

“Adventurous,” Din says absently as he looks over his shoulder to see Cobb grinning wolfishly at him.

“This isn’t my first rodeo, handsome.”

The pet name stirs something in Din’s lower belly, a tight twist of desire that has his balls throbbing and his dick twitching. He says nothing, grabbing the open container of lube from the drawer before squirting a few pumps into his hand.

Din glides the liquid over his cock and shudders at the way it feels. It’s wet, sensual, filled with promise as he kneels on the bed behind Cobb. He bites his lip as he runs his free hand over the swell of Cobb’s ass, cupping and kneading the firm skin. His fingertips brush over Cobb’s asshole and Din can’t help but smirk at the way his lover’s body reacts.

Din squirts some lube onto his fingers, making sure some of the liquid drips over the puckered hole before easing his middle finger inside Cobb. The lube lets Din slide in with little resistance, the tight heat of Cobb’s asshole is divine as Din gently feels for his prostate.

“Dank Farrik!” Cobb cries out, his body stutters and Din wraps a supportive arm around his waist, holding him up as he nips at the curve of Cobb’s ass.

“There it is,” Din purrs as he varies the pressure on Cobb’s prostate, “Want me to fuck you here, nice and deep?”

“Din, please, I’m so close, please just fuck me,” the marshal begs and Din smiles as he feels heat stirring at the base of his cock, he knows he’s going to blow his load in seconds the moment he’s inside Cobb.

“Alright,” Din growls as he eases his finger out, “Tell me if it’s too much, ok? Didn’t give me much time to work you open,” Din says, without a trace of humour in his voice as he squirts some fresh lube over Cobb’s needy little hole. It gapes ever so slightly from Din’s thick finger and the sight makes Din squeeze the base of his cock to try and calm down.

“I’m a big boy, Din, I can handle-,” Cobb starts but a deep snarl catches in his throat as Din lines up the tip of his cock at Cobb’s tight hole before he can finish his sentence.

“Relax, mesh’la,” Din says softly as he grips Cobb’s hips lightly, his thumbs soothe over his lover’s skin as he holds him steady, “I’m going to take care of you, ok?”

Cobb’s face is pressed into the bed now, his arms giving out on him as Din eases the tip inside him. He still manages to convey a muffled “Mhm!”.

“Kriff,” Din groans as he lets the lube do the work, he eases into Cobb at a painfully slow pace, but Din promised Cobb – and himself – he wouldn’t rush this.

Cobb writhes as Din presses deeper, his skin slick and his whole body consumed by the feeling of being split open. It doesn’t take long before din is fully sheathed inside Cobb, his brow furrowed and his mouth agape as he feels the way Cobb’s walls clamp around his cock. It’s heaven to be buried so deep, to be so close to his lover, but it’s not enough.

“Din,” Cobb tilts his head to the side, cheek pressed into the mattress as he looks sideways at the Mandalorian, “You’re gonna have to move, I’m desperate here.”

“I can’t say no to that,” Din grunts as he slowly eases back out, the tightness of Cobb’s ass is like a vice. It makes Din feel lightheaded as he starts to ease back in, the tightness is blinding as he fills Cobb over and over.

Din rolls his hips forward with every thrust into Cobb’s tight ass, grinding against his prostate as he drops a hand to fist Cobb’s cock. There’s no more burn or stretch for Cobb, the only thing he feels is the tightness in his balls as he feels the sudden rush of his orgasm approaching. The slow, firm pumps of his cock driving him to the edge as he feels so utterly consumed by Din.

“Din,” Cobb mewls as the sound of skin slapping skin fills the air.

“I’ve got you,” Din breathes as he leans back on his thighs, pulling the marshal back against his chest, cock buried deep inside him as he changes the angle, “Come for me, mesh’la, let me see you come undone,” he presses his nose into the sensitive skin behind Cobb’s ear as he pants against his jaw from behind.

“Maker,” Cobb groans as he leans back on Din, he’s so full.

Cobb feels his dick twitch as Din’s cock fucks up into him, nudging his prostate with every upwards snap of the Mandalorian’s hips. Cobb comes with a cry as Din thumbs the head of his cock while rolling his hips up, grinding up into his ass. Hot spurts of come explode from Cobb’s cock, covering his abdomen, coating Din’s fingers as he shudders through overstimulated aftershocks as Din picks up the pace.

“There you go,” Din snarls as he takes the marshal’s lobe between his teeth, nipping at the skin as he feels the coil of pressure in his abdomen snap. He falls forward, pushing Cobb back down on all fours as he fucks down into Cobb’s ass with fervour. He manages another few hurried, stuttered thrusts before he’s coming hard.

His vision blurs at the edges as he empties himself inside Cobb’s ass. He lets out a soft groan as his fingertips dig into Cobb’s hips. He stills finally as he rests his forehead between Cobb’s shoulder blades.

Din’s thighs are weak, and his grip is slipping as the only sound in the small bedroom is the heavy panting coming from both men as they come down from their high. Din eases out of Cobb slowly, making sure not to pull out too quickly. Din’s breath hitches at the sight of his come leaking out of Cobb’s tight asshole. The viscous, pearly spend dribbles down the marshal’s balls, Din has to fight the urge to lean down and lap it up.

“Come on,” Din wheezes as he struggles to keep the marshal from falling into the come soaked sheets, “’Fresher.”

“Yessir,” Cobb slurs happily as he lets Din manhandle him upright.

“How was that for you?” Din asks with worry tinging his voice as he regains clarity, concerned he had gone too hard.

“You kidding?” Cobb laughs, his voice sounding less floaty by the minute, “That was the best fuck I’ve ever had Mand- Din,” He corrects himself as he stumbles over to the toilet to relief himself. He flops down onto the toilet seat and grins up at Din. Din feels like the sound of Cobb relieving himself should make him feel bashful, but there’s something oddly comforting about it. It feels domestic and familiar, like they’ve done it a thousand times before.

“I’m glad,” Din says, still in awe at the sight of Cobb’s face, he reaches out and cups his lover’s cheek gently, “Thank you.”

“Thank me?” Cobb scoffs as he stands, cupping Din’s jaw in a perfect mirror as he really looks at him “Thank you,” Cobb says softly as he presses his forehead to Din’s, “Thank you for coming back.”

Din pauses, unsure what to say as emotion overwhelms him, tears pool in the corners of his eyes as he leans forward to kiss Cobb. It’s a slow, gentle series of lips sliding over one another, with no intended goal, no meaning or fanfare.

A stolen moment, an unspoken admission, a silent promise.

“Now clean up and get your ass to bed,” Cobb murmurs against Din’s lips, “I’m beat.”

Din laughs as Cobb grabs his ass affectionately before slipping out of the Refresher.

The Mandalorian crawls into bed minutes later, nestling into Cobb’s side as he loops a strong thigh over the other man’s waist.

“Promise not to wait so long next time?” Cobb asks, already falling asleep, his lips pressed to the crown of Din’s head as he speaks.

“Promise.”

Din lets his eyes fall shut as he finally feels the knot in his chest unravel, leaving only one thought in his mind.

Home.

135 notes · View notes

talaok · 1 year

Text

Close your eyes

Pairing: Din Djarin x reader

Summary: After a few months of living in your new cabin on Nevarro, Din confesses to you he's ready to take the next step.

warnings: smut| oral sex (f receiving) and baby-making sex

[I know his name isn't Din but I couldn't bring myself to call him Djarin, sorry]

"he's getting really good at it" you sighed happily.

You and Din sat on the porch of the new cabin Greef Karga had granted you.

The air smelled fresh, the sky was beautiful as the sun set, and your head rested on Din's shoulder while his arm kept you close.

Grogu was "playing" with the frogs inhabiting the pond right in front of the house, although I'm not sure the frogs would have called it that.

Everything was alright.

After all this time, these fights, these adventures, everything was fine, actually, more than fine.

It was perfect.

"he is" he agreed, his thumb stoking your side "but he still needs training"

You scoffed "Please, he could beat you with a flick of his hand"

He laughed "he wishes"

"don't worry" you pretended to reassure him "There's no shame in being the least strong of the family"

"least strong?"

"weakest sounded mean" You bit down a smirk

"You think you could take me?"

"I know I could take you"

" Sweetheart, there's only one way you can take me," he said "and even for that you needed training"

you felt heat rise to your cheeks at the remark, and it was as if you could see the smug grin tugging at his lips even through the helmet.

"Don't flatter yourself mando" You placed a hand on his chest "there's many ways I can take you" you explained "What you're thinking of is just the one you like the most"

His hold on your side got tighter "I sure do like it"

"do you?" you mocked, raising a brow " Would have never guessed it" you giggled, hearing him chuckle also.

Your eyes trailed to the sun behind him, its light almost completely engulfed by the horizon.

"it's getting late," you said "The kid needs to go to sleep" You got up, walking to Grogu.

He didn't offer much resistance today, and you were able to pick him up with just an annoyed coo.

"say goodnight to Daddy" You stopped in front of the entrance, facing him towards Din.

He emitted the cutest sound you've ever heard, and as always, your heart warmed.

" 'night kid" he waved in return, before you stepped into the house.

In the few months you'd been living here you had managed to already make it a home.

Pictures and memories filled each shelf and empty space on the wall.

Grogu's room was small, but not any less full.

Din had built him a course where he could jump from the floor to the wall and to the ceiling thanks to some wooden panels.

The kid loved it. What was hard most times, was making him stop.

"alright" you smiled, setting him down into the crib Din had created for him "It's time to go to sleep sweetpea" You kissed his forehead, earning a happy coo "Sweet dreams" you whispered, glancing at him once more before turning to the door.

You almost gasped as you saw Din standing there, casually leaning on the side of it.

You shook your head, laughing a bit as you followed him outside, closing the door behind you.

"you scared me" you scolded him

"I'm sorry sweetheart," he said, stoking your cheek.

He paused for a second, like he was hesitant, before speaking again.

"you're really good with him," he said

"I know"

"I mean... you're good with kids"

"thank you?"

He let out a breathy laugh,

"he seems happy"

"well he's got a family" you smiled "We all do"

"right, but don't you think he's a bit..."

"What?"

"lonely?"

your mouth gaped open

"You mean...?"

"Maybe he needs someone his age to interact with"

"like a brother?" you intertwined your hands behind his neck, "you think we should give little Grogu a brother?" you grinned, not able to hide your excitement

You could hear his breathing from underneath the helmet.

he was nervous.

"would you like that?"

you paused, stunned at the fact he even had to ask.

"I would" you smiled so wide your cheeks hurt "I would really like that baby"

He let go of a sigh of relief, and you wondered for a moment, how long he'd been worrying about this.

He gripped your waist, his hands loving yet hard.

"then we better get to work" he smiled, not giving you any warning before picking you up.

A little squeak fled your throat as you grabbed onto him.

"Eager much?"

"you have no idea" he purred, kicking the bedroom door open and closed in one swift motion.

He sat on the bed and you ended up in his lap.

"Close your eyes, sweetheart"

You were just waiting to hear that.

It was such a simple sentence, and yet it meant so much.

It was the symbol of trust and passion, but most importantly, of love.

It was his way of saying he would trust you over anything, and your way of saying it back.

You closed your eyes, the world going pitch black once more.

You heard a familiar sound, and then something hit the ground,

his helmet.

Seconds passed, but the anticipation was so strong your skin felt on fire, and then, like water in the desert, came his lips on yours.

He kissed you sweetly, a way of thanking you, of loving you, and you kissed him back with everything you could.

Your hands went to his face, stoking and palming all you couldn't normally feel, while he was holding yours between his fingers like you were about to slip away.

"You're beautiful" he breathed, leaning back ever so slightly,

"you too" you smiled, making him laugh.

"you can't see me"

"I can feel you," you said "I know you're handsome"

He kissed you again

"I love you"

"I love you too" you promised, but were quickly cut off by your own gasp as he quite literally manhandled you so your back was on the bed.

"maybe give me a warning next time?" you chuckled, as you felt his hand on your thighs.

He was kneeling in front of you.

"oh but I like the pretty sounds you make" he kissed your skin

"do you?"

"I do" he kissed you again, his trail getting closer to the hem of your skirt "I like them a lot" another peck "Although I do like some other sounds you make better"

"Like what?" you asked playfully

He grabbed the end of your skirt "Like the ones you make when you're desperate for me"

"desperate?"

"yes, desperate" he murmured, pulling your skirt off.

Your mouth opened but you forced the gasp climbing your throat back from where it came from, making him chuckle.

"I'm never desperate"

You couldn't see it, but you could feel the smug smirk on his lips.

"Are you now, sweetheart?" he mocked, his fingers grazing your panties and making you hold your breath.

"I actually seem to recall many times where you were the one begging"

touché, he thought

"That's because you tease" he explained, his torturous fingers still just dancing on where you needed him the most.

"so you're telling me that I stopped touching you right now you'd be fine with it?" the bastard asked.

"Din..."

"What?" he kissed your clothed cunt "You wouldn't be desperate would you?"

you sighed, frustrated "No, just-"

"What, baby, what is it?"

"don't stop"

"why?"

God, you hated him so much.

You'd never taken back something so quickly, but he was able to do that. That taunting asshole.

"Because I need you" you confessed "Please"

He smirked "There she is"

You didn't even have time to breathe that your panties were off of you.

He spread your legs, and you had to bite your lips in anticipation as he gripped your thighs.

"you're so wet baby" he groaned, his breath fanning against your core.

"I wonder why, you bastard"

"Easy there" he kissed your clit, making you gasp "Wouldn't want me to stop,"

"Baby-"

he didn't let you finish as he finally dove in, his tongue tasting all of you before he started focusing on your clit.

"Oh my god" you whined, already a mess.

He was holding you firmly as your whole body begged to move.

"fuck baby, please" you moaned loudly, as he kept going unfazed.

It felt like a fire had started inside your body, and once his fingers grazed your hole, a bucket of gasoline spread it everywhere.

"din!" you cried once he pushed them in, your hand going to grip his hair.

"That's right, say my name sweetheart" he murmured as he pumped his digits in and out of you.

A filthy sound spread through the room, and you were shutting your eyes so forcefully you were seeing white dots.

"fuck, din" you breathed, feeling yourself get closer as he sucked your clit so perfectly.

His fingers curled inside of you, hitting your spot and making you cry, but his mouth didn't stop, licking and worshipping all of you.

"c'mon sweet girl, come for me, I know you're close" he murmured "I can feel it," he said, before resuming his work somehow even more intensely.

Shocks of pleasure kept coursing through you, but as he curled his fingers one more time, you were sent over the edge, your orgasm washing over you powerfully as you gripped his locks for dear life.

Who cares if you hurt him. He caused this.

"shit" You let out a breath, once you were done and he leaned away.

"You're so beautiful when you come honey," he said, taking your hand still on his head and kissing it softly " I wish you could see it" he murmured, leaning away.

You whined, reaching for him through the dark behind your eyelids "Where did you go?"

"I'm here baby" You heard some noises and then a louder one.

He had taken his suit off.

When you felt him again, he was holding your waist. Not for long, however, as his hands quickly started exploring your body, spreading goosebumps with his touch.

Then finally, you felt his digits infiltrate under your shirt, and in a moment, you were fully naked.

Next, his lips were on you, on your jaw, your neck, your collarbones, all painted with the sweetest of tiny pecks as he kept caressing your body.

One of your hands went to his back, keeping him close, while the other trailed down his bare chest longing for his manhood.

"please baby" you whined "I know I said I wasn't desperate before but I take it all back" you laughed softly "Please, I need you"

"You need me?" he kissed your mouth, and you nodded

"I do"

"I do too" he purred, kissing you again before positioning himself at your entrance.

"you ready?"

"please"

And just like that, he thrusted into you.

You moaned far too loudly as he groaned.

For as many times as you'd felt him, you could never quite get used to it, he still stretched you in the best way.

"god" he growled "you feel so good sweetheart" he started moving "You're perfect"

There were so many things you wanted to say, but his dick hitting you so deep was causing troubles to the communicating part of your brain.

"I can't believe you're mine" he spoke, "that you want this"

"of course I do" you moaned " I want to be yours Din" you cried "only yours"

The bed was creaking underneath you, and his thrusts were soft and sweet, but god if they weren't deep.

"I want to have your kid"

"you do?" his breath fanned over your mouth

"I do, Din" you promised "I want to have another mini-you that will help you make me go mad" you laughed "I want to have a bigger family" you breathed "to be yours, forever"

He couldn't do anything but kiss you, hoping that at least one percent of his adoration for you passed through.

"I love you more than anything y/n" he said "and I want to give you my kid" he swore "to see in them all I see in you" he continued, as his thrust continued undaunted "and to grant them the best mother one could ask for"

You smiled widely, feeling tears prick your eyes.

"then do, baby" You intertwined your hands behind his neck, bringing his lips to yours "give me your kid"

794 notes · View notes

livyjh · 1 year

Note

either Joel or Din you can pick

11 ✨ 17 ✨ 20 ✨ 24

ps absolutely love your work babe 🖤

Thank you so much!!! I decided to go with Din on this one ;) thanks for the request, dear!

Following Orders

Din Djarin x Reader

Rating: EXPLICIT 18+

Word count: 1.4k

Smutty prompt list: 11, 17, 20, 24

11. “Louder. Let me hear you.”

17. “Hands behind your back.”

20. “Breathe through your nose.”

24. “You can do better than that.”

Summary: Din teaches you how to give a good blowjob.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I’ve just never really…” you begin, embarrassed.

“You’ve never given oral?” Din asks, voice serious through the modulator.

You shake your head, blushing.

In the short time you’ve traveled with Din, helping with the kid or with bounties as needed, you two have had one sexual encounter. It was late in the cargo hold one night, cleaning guns together. It was your fault, really. Din’s gloves were off and you couldn’t stop staring at his hands as he meticulously wiped away at smudges on his favorite blaster.

“See something you like?” Din tilts his helmet up to look at you.

Your eyes shoot up to his visor from his hands and you feel heat creep up your chest to your face. “If I did?”

“Do you want me to touch you?” His voice drops an octave and he tilts his head just slightly.

“Please.” You beg.

So that night he fingered you, making you cum three times.

Since then, you hadn’t talked much about anything sexual, both of you trying to respect boundary lines that had already been crossed.

But when Din randomly asked the craziest place you’ve ever done anything sexual, you had nothing interesting to say. Then the conversation led to you asking him the same question. He said one time he got a blowjob behind a cantina on Tatooine around 3am. Which led to you admitting that you’ve never given one.

He turns around in his chair and looks at you, his eyes no doubt raking over your body. You make the first move this time. “Teach me.” You lean forward in your chair.

You hear him choke on air before he gives a gentle nod. “Get on your knees.” He points to the floor space between his legs.

You get down and do as he says, kneeling in front of him. He plants his hands on the arms of his chair, tilting his head down to look you over.

“Open my pants.” He speaks with firmness.

You sit up a little, resting your arms on his thighs as you reach for his button, noticing that he’s already hardening. You undo it, then the zipper, slowly pulling it down until it stops.

His breathing picks up as you do this, hands gripping the chair just slightly. “Good.” He breathes. “Now, pull them down.”

You lick your lips as you hook your fingers into the hem of his pants and underwear, pulling them both down until his cock springs free.

You gasp softly at the sight, Maker, he’s big.

It hangs heavy against his hip and he groans, pushing his hips up in the air just slightly before settling back in the chair.

“S- stroke it.” He stutters, watching you, restraining himself from just pulling your hair and pushing down your throat.

You take him in your right hand, ghosting your fingers over his hardness before you slowly tighten your grip around him. You stroke him rather slowly, brushing your thumb over the head when you reach it.

“Fuck.” He curses under his breath as he watches you.

“Now- now lick the tip. Brush your lips over it.” He orders.

You oblige, leaning forward, swirling your tongue around the head of his cock before kissing it once. You rub your lips back and forth over it, your lips glistening with precum when you pull back.

He chokes out a moan, finally giving in as one hand tangles in the hair at the top of your head. You whimper ever so softly at the touch.

He pulls your hair gently as he gives his next demand. “Start sucking. Go down slow.”

Once you put the tip in your mouth and start to suck, “Hands behind your back.” He says sternly.

You put your arms down and put your hands behind your back before slowly moving your head down on him. “That’s it. Breathe through your nose. Don’t try and hold it.”

You shyly suck down as much of him as you can before pulling back up, sucking on his head for a moment before moving down again.

You feel his cock flex against the roof of your mouth and it almost makes you gag so you pull off of him completely, looking up at him as you blush. He whines at the loss of wet heat around him.

“Come on. You can do better than that.” He encourages, free hand holding his dick straight in front of you until your mouth is on it again.

You suck him down further this time, focusing on slowly breathing through your nose. He grips the chair once more, other hand still in your hair.

“Suck ha- harder.” He stutters between soft moans.

You do as he says, adding more suction as you bob your head up and down his length. Each movement down he manages to push you an extra millimeter.

You begin to consistently gag on him, tears forming in your eyes as you try to breathe evenly, failing.

“Fuck… just l- like that.” Din tilts his head back as you keep working on him. He’s panting, dick impossibly hard.

You feel tears go down your cheeks just as he thrusts up and cums down your throat without warning. You try to swallow as much as you can.

“Ah, yeah, fuck… keep- keep going.” He groans as he pulls harder on your hair until he’s starting to come down.

He finally releases your hair and looks down at you. “Fuck, o- okay. That’s enough.” He breathes out a whine as you pull off of him.

You wipe at your chin and then the tears on your cheeks.

“Shit, I’m sorry.” You can hear Din frowning, reaching down to cradle your chin with one hand. “Come here. Take off your pants and sit down.” He pats his thighs with both hands.

You put your hands on his knees and stand yourself up before slipping out of your pants and straddling his lap.

He takes his gloves off and throws them on the floor, both hands moving up your thighs. You shake as he touches you and you feel yourself getting even wetter.

One of his hands moves to cup your heat through your underwear, making you roll your hips down against him. He presses two fingers against your clit through your panties and looks up at your face. “Get yourself off.” He demands.

Your thighs quiver at the words, cunt squeezing around nothing. “Din, please, I need-“

“Do what I told you.” He says softly.

You nod and start grinding down against his fingers. He does his best to keep them in place, letting you move and add pressure as needed.

Your panties are soaked with your slick, sliding easily against his fingers as you move your hips. You hold onto his shoulders, grounding yourself so you don’t scream.

You let out a couple soft whines and he pulls his fingers away. “Louder. Let me hear you.” He tilts his helmet, looking for affirmation from you.

“Okay.” You nod, biting your lip a moment. He finally returns his fingers to your covered pussy and then you’re moving again.

“Fuuck…” you gasp as you rut down. You’re whimpering loudly with each thrust backward and he decides to reward you.

He suddenly pulls your panties down your thighs, exposing your dripping cunt to him. Then, he’s pushing two fingers into you, thumb on his other hand massaging your clit. “Keep going.”

You let out a groan as you fuck yourself on his fingers, bouncing up and down until you’re almost sobbing. “Din… Din, I’m gonna cum.” You let out a shaky breath.

“Go ahead, pretty girl.” He curls his fingers forward and the next thing you know, you’re squirting your release over his hand.

“Ohh, fuck!” You’re gasping as you cum, toes curling and hands gripping Din’s shoulders hard enough to bruise.

“Maker, you look good.” Din moans to himself, fingering you until you’re whining with oversensitivity. He pulls his hands away and you collapse against his chest, burying your face in his neck.

Eventually, he picks you up and moves you to your seat before grabbing a rag and cleaning you up. He helps you back into your clothing before guiding you down the ladder to the bed compartment in the cargo hold.

“Get some sleep.” He whispers as he covers you with a blanket.

“G’night.” You smile at him before he closes the compartment and leaves you in the darkness. You fall asleep quickly, dreaming of more naughty things you want to do with him.

450 notes · View notes

thepascalofus · 8 months

Text

Supply Run - Exchange (part three)

AO3

Part Two

Pairing: Mando/Din Djarin x afab!Reader

Word Count: 19.1k (HAHAHAHAHAAA)

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

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

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

THREE MONTHS PRIOR

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

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

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

Silence.

A modulated exhale.

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

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

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

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

First the chest plate was placed on the floor.

Tung.

Then the thigh guards.

Tang. Tang.

Vambraces.

Ting. Ting.

Pauldrons.

Dunk. Dunk.

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

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

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

Plap.

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

Oh kriff.

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

Plap.

Oh kriff.

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

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

Plap. Plap.

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

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

Plap.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

–

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

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

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

–

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mando looked so fucking good. Deliciously good.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And the sounds.

The sounds.

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

But you wanted to cause the sounds instead.

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

And finally his voice.

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

“Maker, you feel so good.”

“Need you right now.”

“You like that, baby? Yeah? Good.”

“Fuucckkk, always so good for m-.”

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

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

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

Nice save.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Still smiling, you responded, “Good night.”

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

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

Mando.

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

How far did that attentiveness extend?

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

Would he do the same in bed?

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

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

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

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

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

That’s it.

Your eyes closed. Jaw dropped.

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

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

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

His cock.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Plap. Plap. Plap.

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

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

That was the hardest orgasm you’ve ever had.

–

That hunt kriffing sucked, Mando thought.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Shit.

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

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

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

Only one way to find out.

–

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

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

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

Dank farrick.

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

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

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

You.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Shit. Would you be this wet?

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

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

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

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

“Fucckkk,” Mando said under his helmet.

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

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

“Good girl,” he’d praise.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ma- Mando. Maker, you feel so good.”

“K-kriff you’re b-big.”

“Mm-mm-mm, don’t, stop.”

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

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

Hiss.

Tunk.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m cumming, oh fuck. Oh, Din!”

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

That was the strongest orgasm he’d ever had.

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

Maker, he needs to ask you on a date.

–

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

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

He cared just like you cared.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

–

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

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

His gaze was focused on you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And what does mesh’la mean?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His voice.

His unmodulated voice.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He got you there.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“For everything,” he added.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then you feel him.

And you kind of freak out.

He’s big.

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

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

Your hips stilled, and of course Mando noticed.

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

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

–

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Forty four, forty five, forty six…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I just feel dumb.” You deadpanned.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Here or in the Crest?”

“Crest.”

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

His bunk.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh. Fuck.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nodded up at him.

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

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

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

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

“Can I take this off?” You asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then his digits left your clit.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mando looked down and groaned at the sight.

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

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

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

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

But now you wanted it all.

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

You needed it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What do you want, baby?”

Baby.

Kriff.

You shook your head, “It’s nothing.”

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

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

Immediately, “Try me,” he calmly demanded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hissss.

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

“Relax.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Nnnghh, oh fuck. M-Mando, yes.”

All because of one of Mando’s fingers.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mmmm. What about my cock, cyar’ika?”

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

Shhlkt. Shhlkt. Shhlkt.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Shhlkt. Shhlkt. Shhlkt.

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

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

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

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

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

“Mando…holy shit,” you said breathily.

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

“This means everything to me.”

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

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

You didn’t even know what they looked like.

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

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

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

Baby.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The condom.

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

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

Silence.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mmm-Mando. Please. Fuck me, please.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Such a good girl.”

“You’re so perfect, mesh’la.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“My name is Din.”

Din.

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

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

“Din! Din, oh fuckkkk, Diiiin!”

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

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

His head dropped next to yours and your ears were filled with breathy grunts.

Plap. Plap. Plap.

Softly bounced around the metal walls of the bunk.

“Wanted this for so long, baby.”

“Always thought about you, fuck, I think about you all the time.”

The intensity of his grunts increased and you could feel his cock swelling inside you. Soft lips brushed against the shell of your ear, hastily whispering out, “Where do you want me?”

Digging your fingers into the waves of his soft hair, you eagerly responded, “In the condom, Din.”

“Fuucckkk,” he groaned.

His cock started to twitch within your warm walls. The speed and depth of his thrusts no longer followed a formula. Your head raised slightly when large fists balled the bedsheets into his hands. One of your hands drifted up and down his back, soothing him through his release. He was shaking with every excess thrust he gave your wet heat.

Then his heavy body slumped against yours. Mando’s breath was still heaving, sending strong winds across your neck. Open mouthed kisses were gently placed onto the skin there. Your fingers massaged his scalp and he let out a satisfied sigh. Silence filled the space of the bunk.

What if he regretted this? Was this just a one time thing?

“Mand-,” he cut you off with both his voice and the motions he put the pair of you through.

Suddenly you were on top of him. Your head found the plush meat of his relaxed pecs and you laid your head on them. A firm grip from Mando came to wrap around you. His strong arms held you against him like someone threatened to take you away. Mando’s fingertips traced languid shapes across your back. The tip of his nose dug into your scalp as he pressed a couple soft kisses in your hair.

“Din. Call me Din, cyar’ika.”

Your cheeks rose in temperature at his insistence. Fighting your nerves, you asked, “Is this a one time thing?”

The Mandalorian stiffened underneath you. Here it goes. You’ll have to crawl off his body and resort to the sleeping pad in the hull.

“No. Mesh’la, of course not,” a low baritone soothed your worries. Your head slumped onto his chest even more. Feeling nervous, yet confident–even though you literally just fucked him–you brought a hand up to feel his face.

His hand resumed its drawings of small shapes on your back. Humming came from beneath you when your hand made contact with his stubble. Your thumb grazed the short hairs and your fingers followed the curve of his jaw.

His lips felt as soft as they did when they were on yours. Your fingertips reached upwards a bit more. Longer hairs tickled at your digits and you let out a small giggle.

“Mmf, what, pretty girl?” His tone was laced with sleep and curiosity.

You smiled at him in the dark, “You have a mustache,” you told him in a whisper, as if he didn’t already know. A smile from him creeped up under your touch.

“Mmm. Yes, I do,” he replied matter-of-factly.

In a teasing tone, you inquired, “Who’s that for?”

A low chuckle from Din’s chest made your head rumble. The hand on your back ceased its movements. His nose dipped down to find yours, aiding him in lining up his mouth to kiss you. A gentle kiss was placed onto your lips, and you were acutely aware of the hairs that made up his mustache.

He sighed in content and murmured, “At first it was for me. I don’t know. I just liked it,” his shoulders went up and down in a shrug, he continued with a hum, “but you like it. So now it’s for you.”

Your face became hot at his words. Slightly embarrassed, you nestled your face into his chest. The thin hairs there wisped at your face.

Sleep quickly caught up to you and your whole body relaxed against Din’s. His large frame made for a comfortable bed. Muscles, none of them tense, gave you a plush surface to melt into.

Din’s strong arms wrapped around you. He continued to press soft kisses into your hair. Right before you slipped out of consciousness he whispered to you.

“I meant what I said,” he paused to wait for a response. You didn’t register him speaking until it was too late, but he continued his sentence nonetheless.

“I’ll do anything for you.”

Supply Run - Review (part four) (Coming soon)

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