#modern!din djarin

[wildemaven]

A low key Valentines evening on the back of Din’s motorcycle— dinner, billiards and star gazing having you falling even deeper in love with him

#modern!din djarin #din djarin #din djarin imagine #pedro pascal #wildemaven moodboard

[604to647]

Safest with You (Ch. 10 - The Afterglow)

6.1K / Modern AU Retired Mob Enforcer!Din Djarin x fem!Reader

Summary: Din stays the weekend.

Warnings: 18+ Content (MDNI please). Smut with fluff, next day aftercare, kissing, bathing, oral (f receiving), boob slapping, unprotected PiV, slight daddy kink, slight degradation kink (discussed, Din is a respectful king), tons of pet names as usual (sweetheart, baby, pretty bird, babygirl, etc.)

A/N: This is actually a bonus chapter in that it was not in the original outline; I dunno - just really wanted to see what the day after their first time looked like 🥰 I felt a bit self conscious about the last chapter but I quite like this one! Also - even though reader calls Din "old man", there is no implied age gap. I call my husband an old man all the time and he's only 2.5 months older than me (he just acts like such a freakin' old man sometimes 😂😂)

Series Masterlist

You wake the next morning when the bed jostles lightly; opening your sleepy eyes, you blurrily make out Din getting out of bed.  Taking a moment to admire the powerful muscles that lay dormant across the expanse of his back, for the first time you have the chance to see that Din has a tattoo beneath his left shoulder blade.  You study it for a moment, it looks to be some sort of animal skull with a narrow head and tusks; making a note to ask Din about it later, you yawn, “Good morning.”

Din turns and smiles, crawling back onto the bed he leans in to give you a soft kiss, “Good morning, pretty bird.  Sorry, was trying not to wake you.”

“I’m a light sleeper, don’t worry,” you grin lazily, still in a half-dreamy stupor from the evening before, “Are you sneaking out on me, Djarin?”

Din throws his arm over you, pinning you beneath the covers and wiggles his bear paw of a hand under you to start tickling; you shriek with laughter, trying to squirm away.

“Can’t get rid of me that easily, sweetheart,” Din chuckles at your feeble attempts to escape; he stops poking and uses his hand underneath to pull you in close, kissing you with tenderness.  Before the kiss can deepen, you’re both made aware of panting breaths coming from next to the bed.  Turning, you smile wide at Al who was lured into the bedroom by the loud sounds of laughter and is now waiting patiently, tail wagging, to be included.

Reaching over you to rub Al’s head, Din kisses your forehead, “Baby, was going to take Al for a walk and pick up some breakfast.”

“I can come,” you start to say, before a yawn over takes you.

“Sweetheart, you rest.  I’ll be back soon.  Need you to be fully recovered from last night, so you can refuel… and be ready to fall apart on my cock again,” you can feel his smirk against your lips as he kisses you eagerly, conveying that he’s not yet had his fill of you.  Your moan is involuntary; extricating your arms from your sheets, you wrap your arms around Din’s neck and pull him in with renewed hunger.

“Pretty bird, I should go,” Din mumbles, making no effort remove himself from your embrace.

“Mmmhmmm,” you hum, more than your wakefulness starting to stir.

*Bark*

Oops.  With difficulty, Din pushes himself off of you to give Al his full attention, two hands rubbing all over his furry head and ears.

When he’s left you to snuggle back under your covers, you call out, “Keys and leash are on the foyer table.  There are spare toothbrushes in the guest room bathroom next to the kitchen,” before closing your eyes and letting your sleepy, arousal muddled brain take over your body.

With Al trotting by his side, Din looks back to see you already snoozing peacefully, so serene and beautiful with your hair fanned out on your fluffy pillows, and he looks down at Al to whisper, “Aren’t we lucky?” before heading out.

---

The remainder of Saturday passes comfortably and lazily. 

Din comes back with breakfast sandwiches to find you making coffee.  In truth, you are a little sore, and not just in your core where you expected; you silently curse yourself for all the times you dismissed Pilates as “a fad” when you feel the strain in your hips and your upper thigh crease.  Though you try to hide it from Din because you know he’ll feel bad, he’s an ex-boxer trained to look for weakness in his opponent, and he picks up on your little winces as you bring over the steaming mugs to your breakfast table on the balcony. 

Immediately he rushes to your side, “Pretty bird, I hurt you,” eyes worried.

“No, no, I’m okay – I’ve been neglecting my yoga,” you joke, but make sure to kiss him affectionately and reassuringly nuzzle his jaw to show Din there isn’t anything to be concerned about.

Far from being placated, Din insists that he run you a bath after breakfast so you can soak and relax; you don’t argue, but make him promise to join you.

Honestly, you love baths, and given the time, you’ll soak in one for hours with a glass or two of wine; you’re sure today’s bath will be relaxing in a totally different way.  Filling the hot water with more salts and bubbles than usual, you lie in the water with your eyes closed, letting your aching muscles melt until you’re toasty and pliable all over for when Din joins you.  When he comes in, you sit up and cross your arms over the side of the tub, resting your chin on your arms as you watch Din undress, trying not to stare.  His naked physique in the daytime is somehow even more impressive than it was last night.  He towers over you, a mountain of a man, impossibly broad – he isn’t chiseled or as cut as he probably used to be, but his body is still muscular and a force to be reckoned with.  You can’t believe you were able to house all of that between your legs last night; no wonder you’re sore.  Once again, your eyes spot the litany of scars and marks from previous fights (in the ring and out, you’re sure); you beckon Din to come closer with your hand and when he’s within reach, you trace your fingers from scar to scar, drawing a connect the dots picture with the water droplet trail your fingers leave behind.  You look up at Din, eyes full of worry for wounds that have long since hurt, but still pain your heart nonetheless.  Din cups your chin with his hand and says softly, “Should have seen the other guys, pretty bird.”

Your fingers continue their trail down below his belly button, eyes hungry.  Even soft, Din’s cock is impressive; thick and girthy, your mouth waters slightly as your hand wraps around – an easier feat than yesterday when it was hard and throbbing in your mouth.  You’re not sure how long you stay lightly working Din’s length, proverbially and literally drooling, but when Din’s semi hardening cock jumps in your hand, you’re startled out of your daze; Din chuckles and tells you to scoot forward, he’s coming in.

You wanted to sit behind him and help wash him, but that would have defeated the purpose of giving your hips and pelvis a break, so instead, after Din slides into the tub, you sit between his legs on your knees and face him to wash his hair and his body with a little pouf. 

Din is in hell.  You’re once again sitting pretty on your knees for him, this time naked, wet and soapy; his hands are holding you gently by your waist and even there you’re supple and inviting.  He wants you to relax and recover, so he’s vowed not to fuck you until later, but he’s having to tap into years of trained self discipline in order to not sink himself into you right in this tub.  He forces himself to look away from your perky, sudsy breasts, and instead watches your face as you focus on washing him with an adorable look of concentration. 

He thinks he might actually die when you lean over him, pressing your chest into his shoulder and clavicle so you can reach and scrub his back.  All he has to do is tilt his head to the side and down a little and he would be able to bite and suck on that tantalizing flesh; luckily, you save him from himself, “Din?”

“Yes, pretty bird?” hoping you don’t detect the strain in his voice.

“What’s this tattoo?” your fingers tracing the Mythosaur skull; the more you look at the tattoo, the more fearsome it looks.

“Oh,” Din laughs, “…that’s the Mando insignia… we all have it tattooed.”

“Like how the actors from the Fellowship have the 9 tattoo?  Or all of BTS has 7?” you tease.

“Yes,” Din rolls his eyes, kissing and then lightly biting down on your shoulder, “exactly like that… nerd.”

Sitting back on your heels, you straighten your arms, pressing them close to your sides so your boobs are pushed up; you’re not entirely unaware of the effect your nakedness has been having on Din, his growing arousal evident even through the bubble foam.  If he wants to be teasing, you can too.  Pushing out your lower lip for effect, you pout, “Alright cool guy, how come that particular design for the Mandos?”

Din’s eyes are about to pop out of their sockets and his ears tinge pink, “Some of the Mandos went through a D&D phase… Woves found it in a book about fantasy monsters and creatures when we were kids; it’s supposed to be a Mythosaur, like a giant dinosaur, dragon with tusks.  It seemed pretty badass when we were 8.”

You giggle, god he’s so cute.  “It is badass… nerd,” you smile, kissing him lightly once, twice, then a third time in succession.  Turning so you’re facing away from him, you sit between Din’s legs and lay on his chest, “I like it.”

“Thanks, pretty girl.  Sorry I called you a nerd.”

Nuzzling in to his chest, you say light heartedly, “Don’t be sorry.  I am a nerd, and it’s a very cool thing.”

“Very true.  Also, I don’t even know what the second thing you said was,” Din admits.

“Omigod, old man, BTS?!?” you turn up to look at his face, disbelieving.

Little tease.  Din can’t hold back his hands any longer, “Old man?  You’ll pay for that, sweetheart.” Still wanting to leave the lower half of your body alone, he reaches out of the water to give your breasts that are resting above the waterline two playful slaps.

The first slap has you yelping in surprise, but the second has you moaning from the light, but pleasurable sting.  Right away, you feel a wetness between your legs that has nothing to do with the bathwater.

“Oh, does my dirty little slut like that?”

“Mmmhmmm, yes, please, Din.”

Din reaches up and palms your breasts, one in each large hand, covering them completely and groping them rougher than he would normally.

“…daddy,” you sigh.

“Tell daddy what you want, pretty girl.”

“Fuck.. Din.  Want… w-wan… want you to pull on them.”

Fingers rolling your nipples before pinching them gently, Din gives them both a little tug, much to your delight. 

“Ahhhhhh… oh yes, daddy, just like that,” you moan, melting back against him, feeling his hardness pressed against your back.

“Didn’t know my good girl could moan like a whore,” Din whispers hotly in your ear before pulling on your nipples a little harder and releasing them, letting your tits bounce before slapping them like before.

“Holy fu---, oh daddy, that feels so good, love it when you play with my boobs... ohhhhh yessss.”

Din starts sucking on your neck and dips a hand below the water, reaching for your pussy. He swipes two fingers against your slit to find your slick already coating you, “Sweetheart, this for me?”

“Oh god, Din, yes, all for you… please, please need you to fuck me.”

Din stills his hands and returns them to a more innocent position, wrapped around your waist, “Oh pretty girl, we can’t.  You’re still sore.”

You roll in his arms so to face him to plead your case, “Please, daddy.  You take such good care of me, I’m all better.  Want you.”

“Baby –,“ it’s not fair that he has to somehow say no to these big doe eyes you’re giving him, “don’t want to hurt you.”

Crawling up his body, you tuck yourself under Din’s chin and press kisses to his pulse point, “You won’t, daddy.  You only make me feel so good.  Do you need your little slut to beg for it? Please, please, Din.  I need you so bad.”

Fuck. “Let’s get out of the tub, pretty bird.”

Giddy at having gotten your way, you’re practically bouncing as you and Din towel off, and when Din guides you to the bed by the small of your back, gently pushing you up onto the middle of the bed.

“I’m not going to fuck you, sweetheart.”

Your head snaps up, “Wh-“

“And you’re not going to get my fingers.”

“Dinnnnn,” you whine before he cuts you off.

“…I’m going to eat you out until I have you running down my chin.”

“Holy Fu-,“ you don’t even finish your thought as you have to sharply inhale when Din pulls you closer to the edge of the bed by your ankles, gently places your legs over his shoulders and starts lovingly trailing kisses down your inner thigh.

Then he makes you come with just his mouth and his words:

“Such a pretty pussy.  So sweet and perfect,”as he licks long, strong strokes up and down your slit.

“Love how wet you get just from my mouth.  Such a greedy, needy slut,” as he explores your folds with his tongue, swirling and gliding through the most sensitive parts of your cunt.

“Give me those moans, baby girl.  Need to know if my little whore likes what I’m doing to this pretty hole,” as he drinks in your moans and makes the most obscene slurping and squelching noises while open mouth kissing every part of your pussy.

“Come on, sweetheart, soak my face.  Want to drink you up,” as he teases your clit between his teeth before closing his lips over your swollen bud and builds, builds, and builds you up until you topple off the edge, grabbing his hair as you seize, screaming “Daddy!”

You can still taste yourself on his tongue after Din crawls up your body to pepper your mouth with kisses, tucking you into bed before climbing in under the covers to join you. 

“What about you, Din?” you murmur into his neck as he holds you close; knowing you’re too pliant and boneless to argue, he tells you he’ll be fine as you drift off into your nap.

---

Later in the afternoon, the two of you go for a leisurely (and happily pain free) stroll around your neighbourhood with Al, where you proceed to point out all the food places of note; happily, you let Din select an assortment of pastries for tonight’s dessert from a local bakery and try not to side-eye him too much when he doesn’t choose the Portuguese egg tart.  No one’s perfect, you suppose, smiling to yourself. Once back home, you get started on dinner at the kitchen island, cutting up the bread for tonight’s panzanella.  Din is facing you, sitting on a high top at the bar side of the island, helping you organize the ingredients into little bowls when your cutting board gets too full.  Content chatting nonstop while you prep, you smile at Din and ask, “Why did your dad name the gym ‘Mando’s’?”

Smiling back a big grin, Din points to a pad of paper and pen, to which you nod, “You ever watch Back to the Future, pretty bird?”

“Of course, I love Michael J. Fox!”

Din starts writing on the notepad, “Well, before it went bankrupt, DMC had a repair garage where the gym is now.”  He turns the paper towards you, where you see he’s written:

Manufacturer Certified DeLorean Repairs

“Then before the movie even came out, the company went kaput and abandoned the building and the lot.  A couple of years later, Dad bought it for real cheap, and started to fix the place up to turn it into a gym and a place for us to live.  The neighbourhood was a bit rougher back then, and for some reason, maybe because the movie was so popular at the time, people kept stealing the letters on the sign out front.”

Taking the pad back, Din draws a few short marks on the paper before turning it back to you, “When we moved into the apartment on the top floor, this was what was left.”  When you look, you can’t help but laugh, “Oh my god, they took so many.”

Manufacturer Certified DeLorean Repairs

Grinning, Din takes the pad back for a second time, “Dad and Boba tried to scare the kids into leaving it alone, but I think the challenge just motivated them more.  When the renovations on the gym were about done and dad was ready to open, this is what it looked like:”

Manufacturer Certified DeLorean Repairs

“Dad didn’t want to spend any more money, so he got up on a ladder with a bucket of paint and a paint brush, added the apostrophe and the word ‘gym’ underneath, and that’s how ‘Mando’s Gym’ was born,” Din recounts wistfully, “I think if anyone didn’t know the real story, Dad used to just say Mando was his grandfather’s name or something.  He never found out that Paz and I were the ones who stole the last ‘u’.  I think Paz still has it at his place.”

“That’s so cute,” you grin.  You love how Din talks about his dad; it’s so evident that he’s proud of their shared history with the gym and strong ties to the neighbourhood.  You can just imagine a young Din and Paz sneaking around the property, planning their great heist, “I bet he knew though.  You two were probably the biggest scamps.”

Din comes around to your side of the island, “You’re probably right.  Dad always knew more than he let on.  And who are you calling a scamp, sweetheart?” He steals a handful of cut bread before pinching you on the bum and escaping to the living room to share his bounty with Al.

---

After a hearty dinner, you and Din put on some tv in the background, and laze on the couch talking about anything and everything: work, dream places to travel, most embarrassing dumb college experiences, extended family.  Netflix and chill, indeed.  You’re sitting with your back against the arm of the couch, legs laid over Din’s lap as he gently plays with and massages your hands.  On the heels of that last topic, you grow a little more serious, and decide to bring up something you’ve been meaning to address, “Din? You know how you told me yesterday a little more about what you and the Mandos do for Boba?”

At this, Din straightens up a bit.  He knew you would have questions and have every right to ask; he just doesn’t know what he’s prepared to answer. 

“I know that the Fett family is important to you, and you’re loyal to them – I can’t admit I’m not curious about… well everything. But I’m never going to, like, interrogate you, okay?  I might have questions, but won’t demand answers because I’m assuming, not all the answers are yours to give.  I guess what I’m saying is it’s okay that you don’t tell me everything, but Din,” and you look at him with pleading eyes, “please don’t ever make me feel like you’re hiding something from me?”

“Oh, pretty bird,” as usual, you prove to be a lot more pragmatic and understanding than Din had been prepared for.  He’s not sure if he’s ever going to stop being surprised by your forgiving and empathetic nature, “I promise I’ll never make you feel that way.  Everything that’s mine, is yours to know if you wish.  You’re right about there being some things that I might not be able to discuss, but you can ask me anything, anytime, okay?”  He kisses your hands over and over, like a humbled subject showing his devotion and allegiance to his queen.  He might be being a little cavalier about it, but he wants you to know that you’re not misplacing your trust in him, and that he in turns, trusts you, “Is there anything you want to know now?”

You think about it for a second then shake your head truthfully, “Right now?  Not really.  Well… maybe just… do you ever carry weapons?”

“Baby, weapons are part of… the religion,” Din tries to phrase it in a delicate, more poetic way, “but, I never carry when I’m in public, and definitely not when I’m with you.  Is that ok?”

Thoughtfully, you nod.  You’ve never felt afraid or intimidated by Din, and his answer doesn’t change that.  Satisfied, you pull up and capture Din’s lips with yours, drawing out the kiss as if sealing in your confidence on the matter.

When you relaxed back into your previous position, but having now reversed your roles so you’re the one giving the hand massage, Din has a completely different question for you, but one he approaches with the same seriousness and care that you did your last, “Pretty bird, I have to make sure something with you.”

You look at him, curious. Din continues, almost shy, “When we’re… in bed… and I call you names…”

Keeping your expression neutral, you think about the side of Din that’s confident, dominant even, who has a mouthy quip for every occasion, and then fondly watch this other Din, the Din who’s easily flustered when he’s trying to be sincere, who is respectful to a fault, almost SHY; honestly, you’re falling in love with both.  But that doesn’t mean you can’t tease him, “What names?”

Din goes beet red and murmurs after a beat, “dirty names..” You stay silent but arch your eyebrows.

“… you know that that’s not what I really think of you, right?”

Oh.  How is this brute of a man, who’s made you come five times in the last 24 hours, so fucking respectful.  You almost feel bad at the giggle that leaves your throat, and you clasp your hands over your mouth so Din can’t see you smile.  It’s absurd.  This man?  An enforcer for a crime boss? If he hadn’t told you himself you wouldn’t have believed it.  He’s so soft and caring, considerate of your physical comfort and emotional safety.  How is he real?  The other hilarious thought is the idea that you might be offended by some light degradation when really, it turns you on like a lightbulb.

You climb onto Din’s lap, straddling his legs; glad to no longer feel a burn in your upper thighs, you cup his face lovingly and plant reassuring kisses on Din’s face, his lips, his cheeks, his nose, “Oh Din, how did I get so lucky?  Of course, I don’t think you think you mean anything actually insulting or demeaning towards me as a person when you call me a slut or a whore in bed.” Silly man. “In fact, the only reason I even find it such a turn on is because I’m sure that you don’t.  If I even thought for a second that you didn’t value me as a person or a woman, I would never entertain you touching me never mind calling me any dirty names during sex.”

Din breathes a sigh of relief, he loved how you brought out the dirty talk in him, but dirty talk was only hot if you liked the dirty talk, “Ok, baby.  I would never.  You’re the smartest, sweetest, prettiest bird. I’m the lucky one that you even looked twice my way.”

You’re melting, and also incredibly turned on, “You’re so good to me, Din.  That’s why I like it when you call me a slut,” you coo into his ear, “It’s like you’re the only one who gets to see this needy, desperate part of me.  You’re the only one who can give me what I need.”

“Fuck, sweetheart.”

“Everyone else gets to see the good girl too, but only you get to know me like this, a filthy whore that’s desperate for your cock.”

“Goddammit, pretty girl.”

“And you know what else I like?”

“What, baby?”

“I like the idea that you want me so bad, that I drive you so crazy, that you cannot help yourself.  You need to take your little slut so bad that you can’t be bothered to be respectful anymore.”

Din’s face is muffled into your neck, “Yeah, baby, respect you so much.”

“I know, daddy.  That’s why I want you to call me a whore, a slut… then handle me like one,” you pause and give Din a less self assured look, “but… I don’t think I like the word ‘bitch’.  And I don’t want you to call me stupid.  And… nothing said in anger.  Or to humiliate me.  I don’t think I would find that very sexy.”

Stroking your hair, Din kisses you lightly, “Of course, only what makes you feel good, I promise.  Only the dirty talk that makes you feel hot… and safe,”

Punctuating each word with a kiss to Din’s open mouth, “Thank you, daddy.  So good to me.  So respectful.  You take such good care of me.  That’s why you get to treat me like your cumslut.”

“Holy fuck, sweet girl.  Remind me again what else you like,” stutters Din, now thrusting up slightly into you.

“I like being your filthy, needy slut, Din,” grinding down on Din’s lap

“Yes, baby girl.  Daddy’s here, take what you need.”

You can feel Din’s cock pressing into you through his pants, so you lift up to shimmy out of your shorts and panties; climbing back onto Din, you take his hands and guide it towards where you’re already throbbing and aching for him.  Din strokes through your wet folds, sucking in a sharp breath, “Fuck, you are a desperate little slut.  So wet from just talking about how dirty you are.”

Plunging a finger in you and meeting no resistance in your slick hole, he adds another and builds up a steady rhythm, “This what you need, pretty bird?  Need daddy to fill you up?”

Bouncing on his fingers, you cry out, “Yes, daddy.  Please, please, need you to fill me up.  Stretch out this pussy,” you pull your shirt over your head, and let your breasts bounce free.

“Fuck. The tits on you, pretty bird.  And the mouth.  You’re gonna be the end of me,” Din growls, working another finger into you as his thumb draws firm circles over your slippery clit.

When Din leans down to take one of your nipples in your mouth, you gasp; your orgasm approaching embarrassingly fast.  The combination of the dirty talk and the fact that it all stemmed from Din wanting to make sure you got to set the boundaries on your derogatory dirty talk, has you absolutely feral for him, “I’m close, Din.  Can’t help it, feels so good.”

“Let go, baby, I got you,” Din promises, intensifying his movements until you come, shaking and nearly sobbing.

Resting your head on Din’s shoulders as he slips out of you, you purr, “Let me clean you up, daddy.”

“Dirty girl,” Din says, smiling down at you.

And with those two words, you feel a fresh wave of heat in your lower belly even though you haven’t yet fully come down from your high; sucking and swirling his fingers in your mouth, you mumble, “Want your cock, Din.”

“What’s that?  You’re still fucked out from my fingers and you want to be my cock sleeve already?”

Uhhhhhhhgg, he is driving you fucking insane.  Coming off his fingers with a pop, you give Din the most innocent look you can muster, “It’s what your little whore needs.”

“Who am I to deny you, pretty bird?” lifting up to pull down his pants, he releases his already leaking cock and lines himself up with your entrance, giving you the go ahead to sink down when you’re ready, “Take what you need, baby.”

Slowly, you sink down, letting his thickness fill you, feeling every delicious inch and stretch of your walls.  When you’re fully seated on Din, you take a moment to revel in this feeling of fullness, having him entirely inside of you, before you start to work yourself on his length.  Each little bounce pulling a moan from your lips and swaying your breasts in Din’s face.  Groping your boobs and pushing them together so he can take as much of the flesh in his mouth at once, Din mumbles, “Perfect tits, baby.  So perfect for my mouth.  You feel so good, pretty bird.  Need to fuck you.��

“Give it to me, daddy.  Use me like a cumrag,” you throw your head back as Din groans and still grasping onto your breasts, starts thrusting up into you.  You’re putty in his hands, a pliant doll for him to use, and he’s taking full advantage, “Such a good little whore for me, letting me use her hole any way I want.”

Your fingers dip to where you’re joined with Din and swipe across your throbbing clit; it takes only four sloppy circles before you wail out Din’s name, coming quickly but intensely.  Closing your eyes, you tuck yourself under Din’s chin and continue to mewl as Din uses your body for his own pleasure.

“Give me all those needy noises.  Need to hear how good I’m making my pretty slut’s pussy feel.”

“Fuck, Din… feels so good.  It’s your pussy, only you can make me – ngh!  Fill me up, daddy. Need your cum.  Please, give it all to me.”

Hearing you beg for his cum pushes Din over the edge and he comes with a roar, shooting his release deep inside you.  Both of you shuddering as he empties into you, holding each other tight, kisses messy and loving.

When your breathing evens, you straighten up to look at Din, glassy-eyed and fucked out; taking in your expression, Din gently kisses you, satisfied and content, mumbling against your lips, “Good talk.”

Laughing, you give him a little punch in the shoulder before kissing him back sweetly.

---

The next morning, Din drops you off at brunch; you let him know that he’s welcome to join, but he makes a good case for going back to his place, “I think I need a fresh change of clothes, pretty bird.  These kind of still smell like that club.”

Jokingly, you pretend to take a whiff and scrunch up your nose.  Din kisses your adorable expression and promises to come pick you up after.

To say the girls are curious about what’s transpired since the birthday dinner is the understatement of the century; when you let them know in the chat that Din would be dropping you off at brunch, your phone had practically vibrated itself off your bedside table from the successive notifications.  Securing your phone in a drawer, you escaped to the shower without reading any of the messages.

You’re sure you and Din were spotted through the windows, but when you sit down in your usual seat, you’re met with nonchalant, innocent faces… that last for approximately 20 seconds before Bea explodes, “What the hell??!?!”

“You dropped a bomb in the group chat and then radio silence?!!”

“That was him outside?! He’s the size of a fucking refrigerator!”

“DO YOU HAVE A SEX LIMP?”

Rory’s outburst stuns several nearby tables into silence, as your friends all turn to face you, expectantly.  Sheepishly, you nod and giggle, “… but he fucked it better yesterday.”

Your friends whoop and cheer so loud you’re sure that you’re going to need to find a new brunch location after today.  Feeling bad for having inadvertently left them in suspense earlier, you tell your friends everything, minus the details about the Fett Family and Din’s past and current ties, leaving it as Din coming from a rough neighbourhood and being hypervigilant about safety.

“Seems like he was trying to look out for you, but wound up being kind of stupid about it,” muses Lala.  Everyone nods; they’re right of course, but the dreamy look you have on your face convinces your friends that you and Din have worked past it.  They press you for more details about your weekend, and you talk so much that your food goes cold.

At one point, you have to remind your friends that this is Katie’s birthday brunch and you shouldn’t be monopolizing the conversation, but Katie waves her hand dismissively and says that all she wants for her birthday is to know how many orgasms you’ve had since she last saw you.

Popping a strawberry in your mouth, you muse, “Including this morning?”

“GIRL.”

Mouth full after adding a forkful of fruit, you hold up both hands, palms out and fingers spread, then fold down one thumb.

“Holy shit, no wonder you had a sex limp.”

The table giggles uncontrollably and you use the opportunity to shovel more food in your mouth before your friends assail you with more questions.

When your plates are being cleared, you lean back in your chair, stomach full, and spot a familiar hulk of a character sitting at the bar.  Giving Din a little wave, he smiles and gets up when you wave him over.

Getting permission from a waiter to pull over a chair, Din folds his large frame into his seat next to you and says, rather nervously, “Hi.  I’m Din.”

“Oh, we know,” cackles Rory, and you cover your face, you’re giggling so much.

You make the introductions, and Din politely shakes everyone’s hands while your friends all smirk knowingly at him.  They’re such menaces.  Din breaks the ice, “So you guys want my place and time of birth to do my star chart?”  This gets a good laugh, and when that dies down, Bea looks Din dead in the eye, “Yeah, we do.”

Din roars with laughter, “Might as well, I have a feeling there aren’t going to be any secrets between me and you ladies.”

“Right-o, dude.  Can you also get some socials so we can keep an eye on you?”

“No can do, sorry.  Like this one says,” Din’s finger jabs lovingly into your side, “I’m too much of an old man.  But you’re all welcome to come and work out at my gym if you want to check up on me.  Anytime,” holding his hands up in surrender.

“Any cute guys at your gym?”

“You’re looking at the cutest guy there,” you cut in, grinning uncontrollably when Din leans over to give you an appreciative kiss on your temple.

Before your friends can groan at this cute display, the waiter who Jen has been trying to flag down comes over so she can ask for the check, and to the table’s surprise, he responds, “The bill’s been paid.  All taken care of,” and gives Din a nod.

You turn to Din, shocked, “Din!!”

Din looks like he’s been caught with his hand in the proverbial cookie jar, “It was… an accident.”

Incredulously, you say, “Did your credit call fall into the reader?”

“No, no,” Din implores, “I got here early, so I got a coffee at the bar, and then thought I would pay for your meal, pretty bird.”  You instinctively soften at the pet name, and you know your friends do too.

Din runs his hands through his hair, “Then I remembered it was Katie’s birthday, so I asked the waiter if he knew which meal was the birthday girl’s so I could pay for that too,” he’s getting kind of flustered now.  “…Then, I thought that might be kind of unfair for everyone else because you were probably going to split Katie’s meal so now everyone left would be paying more than before… and I couldn’t take it back, so… I just paid for everyone,” he finishes in a hurry.

“Why are you so cute?” you ask, purposefully pouty, pulling Din in for an appreciative kiss – he wasn’t trying to be boastful or impressive, he was just being thoughtful.  You can’t help but feel pride in showing this Din to your friends: he’s charming and confident, but ultimately just a giant teddy bear whose own considerate and kind nature can’t help but shine through.

“Ok fine, you’re forgiven,” quips Rory, and Din breaks out into a huge smile as he mimes wiping his forehead with the back of his hand and exhales, “Whew!”

The girls chorus their thanks, and you know that they’re truly appreciative and touched by his sweet gesture.

“My pleasure,” Din says, genuinely, “and Happy Birthday!” he says to Katie.

“Thank you!  The best birthday gift you could give me is taking care of our girl here,” smiles Katie, with sincerity.

Din wraps his arms around you and you tilt your face up to his, melting into his look of adoration. “Consider it done,” he says softly before lightly pressing his lips to yours.

#din djarin #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin fic #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal characters fanfiction #din djarin x reader #din djarin x f!reader #din djarin x you #modern au #modern!din djarin #din djarin smut #din djarin fluff

[bon-sides-sw]

Grogu's favorite teacher, he really wishes to see him more often!

#bons art #my art #star wars #luke skywalker #the mandalorian #grogu #dinluke #skydalorian #din djarin #implied iguess #bc of course Luke and Din will date later on #modern au #modern day au #teacher Luke au

[heyitsropi]

i just realized—

maybe i have a type:

#what is my life #din djarin #the mandalorian #star wars #bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #winter soldier #marvel #mcu #simon ghost riley #ghost mw2 #cod mw2 #mw2 #call of duty #modern warfare 2 #din djarin x reader #bucky barnes x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader

[netherfeildren]

At the Restaurant

Pairing: Din Djarin x F!Reader

Summary: It’s three days til Christmas, and you’ve never known want like this, and his eyes are glossy with emotion and everything he won’t ever let himself tell you or anyone else, and you so badly want to tell him that it’s only that it’s hard to be casual when your favorite bra lives in his dresser, and also that you’re in love with him.

-OR-

the Christmas situationship AU

Rating: Explicit 18+

Content Warnings: Modern AU; Christmas fic; Angst; Fluff; Miscommunication; Emotionally unavailable idiots; But also idiots in love; Toxic relaationships; Situationship; There is nothing well adjusted about any of this pls don’t come into this house if that’s what you’re looking for; Trigger warning for man with an avoidant attachment style; Condolences to all my fellow victims of The Situationship; Size Difference; Unprotected Sex; Creampie; Oral Sex (F!Receiving); Frankly some pretty pathetic behavior; Girl stand UP; Fuckboy Din; Plan B and Delusion as a form of birth control; Pull and pray baby pull and pray; Possessive Behavior; Jealousy; Insecurity; Trigger warning for Right Where You Left Me by Taylor Swift references

A/N: Hello and welcome to my contribution to the holiday fic pool! This is not at all what I was planning as my holiday piece, but I woke up a few mornings ago and was just completely taken hold by this. Much love and thanks and gratitude and all the kisses in the world to my friend @f0rlornmyths for all the help on the idea and brainstorming and for the gorgeous edits she made for this little story. Mai baby, this is all for you, and I know it's not the Christmas gift I promised you, but I swear, one day that too will get written.

I’m wishing you all the happiest and most relaxing of holiday seasons. I think of you all constantly and wish you all the best always, and I hope you’re taking care of yourselves during this time ❣️🎄✨

Word Count: 8.2K

Read on AO3

He gets this sparkle in his eyes when the bar’s extra busy, cheeks flushed and curls damp with sweat and this shine that speaks; that tells of all the things he does that make a woman belong to him whenever he’s giving her his singular attention. Eyes that laugh and crinkle at the edges with happiness. Eyes that tell you how much he does or does not want you at that specific moment. And he’ll laugh and blind the room into seduction under the Christmas lights, and then he’ll turn, suddenly remembering you’re here for him, and look at you all serious-like, while you sip on your tequila soda, with two limes always because he knows that’s how you like it, and it’ll be a serious, cool look for just a second before it blooms into the best smile anyone’s surely ever had in all history, and you love him. 

It’s three days til Christmas, and you’ve never known want like this. You’ve never practiced restraint of this kind either. A restraint that suffocates and kills and could probably be taken as a form of self harm were you in a righter, more clear mind, but it’s the only thing you have left against him. Din. A control over yourself that falsely feeds you the illusion of power. You never call him. Never. Any interaction, any late night fuck, any time he comes over and comes inside you, it’s always, always because he calls you, he looks for you. You never beg, not with words at least, and you never text first and you never ask him if you can see him, and it’s the only way you tell yourself you maintain even a semblance of control. And at night, when you’re alone and it’s dark and you’ve only got the cat for some sad company, or you’re crying in bed because he hasn’t called, and you know he’s not at work and he’s obviously not at home, so he’s somewhere you don’t want him to be, that false sense of control that says you’re never the one reaching out, it’s always him coming around so surely that must mean something… it’s all you have at the end of it. 

He’s not your boyfriend. He never has been. And there’s always been that excuse you use to soothe yourself with of, well, we’ve never really talked about it, and he’s not really my boyfriend, so it doesn’t really matter. Does it? Doesn’t it? You’re sure you don’t know anymore. And you tell yourself, lie to yourself, comfort yourself, whatever it is your tired heart needs in that moment, because it truly is so tired, the push and pull is the most exhausting game in the world, that if he’s coming to you it’s because Din’s choosing you. Even if just for a night, even if just for now, even if tomorrow he’ll be with someone else, he chose you for tonight, and so surely that must mean something. It’s the worst thing you do to yourself, but it feels so good in the moment. You just can’t help yourself. 

“Another one?” He calls over his shoulder with a smile.

 You’d had a little bit of a… well, you don’t really know what to call it. A falling out, perhaps, because the two of you never have fights. You never fight, you never discuss the things the two of you should discuss, like feelings or anger or resentment or boundaries and wants and needs. Nothing. Nothing that indicates anything that might define what it is the two of you’ve been doing for two years with each other now. Fights are something couples do, and you two are not a couple. But up until three days ago, you’d not heard from him for two weeks. Two weeks of nothing, of hearing from your friends that they’d seen him out with his friends and other girls who you know probably mean nothing, even less than you do, but still. It’d made you insane. A little bit irrational, and so when you and your friends had gone out over the weekend, picked up a group of guys at the new bar you’d chosen for the night, since Din’s bar was off limits at the moment, and brought them back to your apartment at your roommate, Bo’s, insistence, well, you’d thought you’d give him a taste of his own medicine. After a slightly tipsy, teary eyed rant, explaining to your new friend for the night, a one Toro Calican, who had a very nice smile and very pretty eyes and not at all bad arms, all about your terrible situation with this man who you were not really in a relationship with, but who you have sex with, and only with him, regularly, unprotected, enthusiastically, but who is still not your boyfriend and not even anything close, he’d arranged himself very nice and cozy-looking in your bed with your twinkly lights sparkling in the background and your pink pig stuffy which Din loved to make fun of you for, and you’d taken a very tasteful, in your opinion, picture of him for your Instagram story. Again, a taste of his own medicine. 

Din had been at your front door forty five minutes later, angry. Angrier than you’d ever seen him before, and not at all trying to hide it. Pushing past you and into your apartment all tall and broad and wearing your favorite dark blue hoodie he knows you love, curls mused as if he’d been pulling his fingers through them in agitation. There’d been a sneaky, smarmy little devil inside of you doing a happy dance at that moment, and his eyes when he’d turned to glare at you after giving poor, Toro – casual, entirely unbothered, Toro with his big smile stretched across his handsome face as he’d looped an arm over Bo’s shoulders where he’d been sitting beside her on the couch – a look that said Din had half a mind to take him outside and wipe the floor with him. But your new friend had laughed him off, taking Din’s terribly cocky onceover, the sort he liked to set people down with, in stride. All arrogance and the sort of self assuredness only a man who knew what he was made of and how to take care of himself could possess. He was too hot for his, or your, own good. 

And when he’d turned and pushed you into your bedroom, a little tipsy, a lot desperate and pleased and wet, because yes, finally you were getting exactly what you wanted, exactly as you’d asked for it, and he’d flipped your skirt up and ripped your panties down and buried his face in your cunt from behind, all: this pussy’s mine, what the fuck was another dude doing in your bedroom? You’d been nothing but pleased giggles and hiccupy little moans as you’d come on his tongue just as he’d demanded of you. 

It was wrong. The two of you were wrong and maybe even bad for each other, but also, and this was only your own personal, fanciful discernment, addicted. A mutual addiction. The way he fucked you, hard and deep and possessive, like you belonged to him. Tugging you up by the hips and pulling you back onto his hard cock, the wet slap of your pussy dripping for him so that it surely echoed through the thin door of your shitty little apartment for the man who’d threatened what Din saw as rightfully his could hear exactly what was happening in here. You should have cared more about this ridiculous display of a pissing contest. You should have been bothered by it. You absolutely were not. And when he’d gone harder than stone, shoved deeper than you could comfortably take him so that you were coming around his cock one last time from the stretch and sting of it, and he’d filled you to leaking without even asking, you’d not even blinked at it, had been nothing but contented sighs.

It was all wrong, wrong, wrong.

Even worse, you’d never been on birth control. It made you sick, tired, moody, and the two of you worked around it… sometimes… kind of. Condoms when you remembered, usually ripped off mid fuck, pulling out… also sometimes. Never very responsible or dedicated to the practice of safe sex and level headedness, more focused on how fucking good it always felt when he was inside of you like this all bare and wet and hot and his. And if he fucked other girls, well, you tried not to think about that. Got tested, told yourself you were the only one he didn’t use protection with because you were special when they were not. And if there was, that last horribly misguided whisper that said, well, if he’s taking this risk with you, then obviously that means something too, right? Then so be it.

Again, like you’d said, bad for each other. 

But he always gave you so many reasons to be stupid, delusional, like the way he’d kissed you before he’d gone the morning after, while you were still sleepy and warm and a little sweaty from where you’d been pressed together so close through the night, wet and sticky between your legs from his come. He’d wrapped his arms around you and pressed you so, so close to his chest, nipples bare and tight against hard muscle and wispy hair. The musky sleep smell of him as he’d started at your shoulder, mouth slow and damp, kissed and nibbled his way up your collarbone, your throat, your jaw, settled at your ear to taste that soft place behind, pressed his tongue there to feel the echo of your pulse moving through your whole body, the flutter of his long lashes against your skin because he’s just that close. Your toes had curled and spasmed, little and cold, bracing against his hairy shins and big feet, hard cock nestled between the warmth of your thighs. And he always makes the best sounds, you know, deep and rumbly and all man. Familiar sounds that you’re able to replay again and again in your mind afterwards when he’s gone, sounds that make it easy for you to pretend he’s yours because you know them so well, and you want to keep him so bad it makes your stomach hurt. Gotta go get the kid, he’d said, by way of explanation for why he wasn’t pushing up into your come soaked cunt and having you one more time again, but he’d stayed and kissed you. And when he’d finally found his way to your mouth, sipping on you, tasting behind your teeth, along the wet of your tongue, that was all that really mattered anyway. 

Sometimes, he kisses you like he loves you, and it makes you hate him. 

He hadn’t called in the three days since then, but he’d been kind enough to DoorDash you a Plan B and a bag of your favorite Dove dark chocolate bites, and you want to hate him and maybe even run him over with you car, you really do, but then tonight, out of nowhere while you’d been at home telling yourself you weren’t going to cry, tired and sweaty from lying under your duvet for too long, fingers slippery between cunt and cotton, too many unsatisfying orgasms and a tear worthy film already chosen as your excuse for later, he’d sent a: come to the bar tonight, baby, I want to see you. And well, he’d come looking for you, right? He’d texted first. So really, this was all him wanting you and choosing you.

You need help, electroshock therapy, a lobotomy, anything. But you’d gotten your butt up and dressed, begged Bo to come out with you, and now here the two of you sit, good friend that she is, waiting for him to finally come over and say more than three stringed together words to you. Shaved, lotioned, perfumed, pathetic little ass sitting at the end of his bar in a too sticky, too uncomfortable stool waiting for him. Always waiting for him.

You shake your head no at him and his proffered next round. No you don’t want another fucking drink. What you want is his attention. 

And the worst part is, probably the worst, for there are so many bad parts to this, is that you don’t truly think he’s a terrible person, Din. He’s just so… he’s just– you don’t know. Sad, busy, exhausted, selfish, overwhelmed, so many things. But not bad, not actually a bad person. You’re sure of it. And it might look so differently from the outside, like you’re nothing, like he uses you, and sure, in ways, he does. You’re not so stupid or naive to not see this for what it is, because if there is one thing that is crystal clear here, it’s that you’ve always known what this is and what it is not. But you also see him. You also know him, as hard as he’s tried to keep you at arms length, to not let you see, to not let you in, you’ve weaseled your way inside anyways, or, better said, and something you don’t let yourself dwell on too much for the things it makes your stupid brain and heart feel, he has never been very good at not letting you see him. Because despite all the truths of how this thing between the two of you is, or is not, there is also something, as small as it may be, that is real here. 

So no, Din is not bad, or not all bad. And it’s easy to call them excuses, but you’re not so sure that’s the only thing they are, the ways in which you justify his behavior or yours. Because there is also context to him, and his life, and the things that drag his attention away from you when you so desperately need and want it, why you know he won’t commit to one single thing because he knows how easily lost a good thing can be. 

You take a pull from your straw, paper, and it’s already coming apart in wet flakes on your tongue because this dumb bar he works at pretends to be swanky, and paper straws are obviously a signifier that it’s not the cheap, shitty dump it actually is. Mean, but you’re in a bad mood tonight. Peli, the owner, had him string up multicolored lights and decorations everywhere for the holiday season, and it sort of looks like Santa threw up in here, but it’s also nice. Cozy or comfortable or welcoming, something happy and cheerful about the crowd surrounded by the sparkle of the holiday and loose from the heavily poured liquor. Or maybe it’s just that you know he put up the decorations. That he’d been good and patient and helpful as the older woman, eccentric and curly haired and a little stern and potty mouthed as she is, but always kind to him, had directed him as she pleased. Giving orders so that the bar could look as lovely and warm and cheerful as it does now. He always looks at her with such care and warmth, and you alway see it, as much as he tries to hide it. 

He’d added a splash of sweet grenadine and a maraschino cherry into your drink tonight, and called it your slutty Shirley Temple, said you looked like you needed something sweet followed by one of those cocky little winks he thinks make him look hot, they do, but you tell him only make him look like an asshole. All of which you know is only his way of telling you, without actually telling you, that he’s going to be shoving his cock down your throat later tonight. Something sweet… yeah, sure. There’s nothing sweet about him. 

He always tells you so many things neither of you want the other to know with his eyes. The stupid things, the silly things, the real things, it doesn’t really matter. He can’t ever help it. 

The first time he’d told you about his parents, you’d thought: this is it, this is something real. The come down had been a singular type of devastating you don't think you’d recovered from to this day. They’d died in a home invasion, a robbery gone terribly, terribly wrong, when he’d been two months shy of eighteen; left him with too much responsibility and too much grief for a boy of seventeen to bear, to ever be able to grow into without growing a little bit skewed in the process. When he’d introduced you to his little brother, the first time, you’d been better prepared, better in control of yourself and your expectations. But still, still you’d let a small, small part of you let it mean something. Grogu, Greg, but they used to watch this cartoon together about this man, a warrior, a space cowboy of sorts, who finds a little green baby, more frog looking than baby looking, called Grogu and takes him in as his own, bringing him along on all his adventures through the big, wide galaxy. They’d always joked that Greg looked like the frog baby, and so, Grogu. 

The first time he’d asked you to come over, you’d forced yourself to not throw up as you’d seen the text come in, had to force away thoughts of this has to mean something, please, please, let this mean something more. And the kid had been asleep already anyways when he’d smuggled you inside, quick and quiet, locking the door to his bedroom behind you, messy and lived in and Din, Din, Din everywhere, pressed you into his rumpled mattress, and fucked you til you’d cried and bit your tongue until you’d tasted blood to keep in all the things you had inside to tell him. And in the morning, when he’d made you a cup of coffee and oh, isn’t he nice for that? The kid had stumbled out of his bedroom, dinosaur pj’s and sleep rumpled curls the same warm mahogany shade as his older brother’s turned pseudo father, and he’d had his waffles while you’d sat there between the two of them as Din’d clucked around making lunches, sipping from your mug trying as best you could to be a good girl and not whip around and scream at the man that this has to mean something more, please. 

The kid had eyed you skeptically, as if you’d had two heads, little fuzzy brow cocked high up towards his curl covered hairline while he chomped loudly on his waffles. More syrup than bread, but who were you to judge? 

“Are you Din’s girlfriend?”

And rather than drop dead on the spot or bear the devastation of hearing the refusal come out of his older brother’s mouth, the second you’d seen Din’s own eyebrows shoot up towards his hairline, mouth falling open to probably tell him no, absolutely not, she’s nothing even close to being my girlfriend, you’d said as easy as you could manage, “No, we’re just friends.” Even added in a fake, tepid smile as you’d said the words. And now, as time’s passed since then, when you think back on the memory, you tell yourself that you’d imagined the frown and scowl that’d pulled Din’s face down into something that looked a little like annoyance or anger or confusion. He’d never done anything to make you think you were anything otherwise, and so what good did it do to dwell on the maybe false memory of his look of disappointment at your words? None at all, surely. 

But you’re pretty sure you’re the only girl that’s ever been let into their space like that.

He’s at the other end of the bar now, engrossed in a conversation with someone who’s too sparkly and too pretty and too blonde to be anything but trouble for you. His tall, deceptively lanky form that you know beneath the dark baggy, long sleeved tee he’s wearing is strong and muscled and warm as a furnace, curved over the lip of the bar to lean further towards her. They’ve been talking for about five minutes now, yes, you’ve been counting, and your heart is doing that horrible thing it does where it hurts so bad it feels like it’s ripping in half all on its own. You want to look away, especially as you watch the long, gorgeous form of his hand, big, strong hands that you know exactly what they feel like wrapped around your throat, clutching your breasts, lift slowly towards the glowing Christmas lights necklace the girl’s got hanging around her neck, the cheery red and green lights nestled deep in her cleavage. He plucks at the necklace, giving it a little tug and says something to her that has her throwing her head back, and she sparkles, she really does, with those sort of laughs that tinkle like bells or something equally fucking ridiculous.

“We should just go, babe,” Bo says from beside you, glaring down at him so intensely you’re shocked he hasn’t keeled over dead at this point. 

“Just a little bit longer, Bo, please.” 

“God, I can’t watch this shit anymore.” She pushes up and out of her stool with a roll of her eyes, but passes a loving hand down the back of your hair as she goes. “I’m gonna go try and pick up that red head sitting in the back. She’s been eyeing me all night,” she smirks at you. 

“You cannot date another ginger. That is too much ginger for one household.”

“Oh, shut up. You’re in love with the devil, I can do whatever I want. And I can’t watch him anymore, I don’t have the stomach for it.”

You try and protest as she walks away from you, tell her that you’re not in love with him, that he’s not the devil, that you don’t have the stomach for it either, but she’s gone before you can muster your lies. When you turn back towards the bar he’s abandoned his Christmas lights blonde and is pouring drinks for a group of frat guys, checking I.D.s and making easy, charming conversation. He’s strange in that way, quiet and reserved by nature, which you know now because you know him, but he puts on a face in here, in Peli’s bar in front of the customers and the pretty girls and the people expecting him to perform for them, making nice and pleasant. It’s just one more thing that feeds your delusion, the fact that you see his smile for what it is, the too handsome, too shiny version you know isn’t the real one. 

You know that despite the fact that Bo loves you, she also thinks you’re a little sad, a lot weak, when it comes to him. Maybe even, and you know she’d never say this because she’s a good and loving friend, but maybe even a little pathetic or desperate. And maybe you are, or definitely, you don’t really care about the details of it at this point, but maybe there’s also something about him that’s slightly desperate too. Desperate for love or attention or companionship. Maybe that’s why he always feels the need to search for it in so many different places. Maybe he wants it so bad he’s scared of it. Or maybe he’s just easy. Maybe he’s just a whore. 

You don’t know if the why’s of it all really matter anymore. 

He serves the group their shots and beers, all of them clinking their glasses together loudly, hooting and wishing each other a Merry Christmas, and you want to snap that it’s not Christmas yet, it’s still the twenty third, it’s a special day that should be remembered, but you turn away. Try to swallow the heat in your face and throat, take deep breaths. Bo’s right, the two of you should go, but when you turn to search for her, she’s deep in conversation with the red head, gorgeous, strong and tall and just her type. Their two heads huddled closely together beneath the red lights that turn their hair both brighter shades of auburn. And you know you can’t interrupt. At least one of you should have a good night tonight. But when you turn back around, ready to join the frat bros in on their shots, he’s there. 

You swivel in your stool, catching yourself on the lip of the bar, digging your nails into the wood grain until it hurts, staring at him in silence. 

“What?” he asks with that slightly provoking smile he forces on you when he knows you’re bothered and refuse to open your stubborn mouth and just speak up. 

“Nothing.” Stubborn, sullen. Terrible.

He hums, laughter dancing in his eyes that pisses you off. He knows you’re bothered, knows you won’t say anything about it either. “Want another?”

“Sure.” You might as well get drunk if you’re going to have to watch him be a jackass all night long. 

He starts to move about, gathering the things for your cocktail. “You like the grenadine I added?”

“Yeah, it’s good.”

He looks at you with a half smile and a cocked brow as he measures the shot. He never makes your drinks as heavy handed as the others, says you’re a bad drunk. Whatever. “Yeah? You like the Christmas decorations?”

“They’re nice.” He hums again at your sullen tone. And you want to be nicer, happier, peppier, whatever it is that would be enough to make this all right and better between the two of you, inside of you, but you just can’t. You can’t force yourself into a shape that’s okay with being without him, and it’s getting harder and harder to pretend it’s something you’re capable of. 

He adds your two limes and tops the drink off with a Santa printed mini umbrella Peli had gotten an order of in bulk, pushing the glass into your hand. He braces his hands against the bar edge, watching you as you bring the drink up to taste, peering over the edge to keep your eyes on him. The lights twinkle over head, washing him in a glow of greens and reds and warmth, and his eyes do that terrible sparkle you hate in return. 

Sometimes you think he likes it when you’re pissy. Turns him on or something which sickly, stupidly, in turn, riles you up, knowing he’s turned on by your anger. 

You take a long pull of the fizzy, mildly sweet drink, licking your lips of the tang and bubbles when you pull it away, and watch as his eyes go a little hazy, glassed over as he watches the wet of your tongue peek out to lick up the drops of sweet liquor. You watch a swallow pass through the strong column of his throat, and his gaze is still on your mouth when he cocks his head at you. “C’mere,” he murmurs, eyes shifting to take in the crowd, the customers and the status of their drinks before he’s tugging at your hand over the bar, drawing you out of your seat and along the length of it from the other side. 

“To where?” You whisper at him, nerves of excitement, of want, fluttering in your belly and throat all fizzy and sweet. He tips his chin at the cracked open door of the stock room, the warm glow from within peering out, and then back again once over at the crowd before you’re at the end of the bar, and he’s tugging you inside after him. You tip your chin over your shoulder just before he kicks the door shut behind you, taking in Peli’s knowing look and the laughing shake of her head, and then it’s just the two of you. Hungry and hurried as he’s pulling you into himself, big hands immediately cupping your ass to tug you up into him with a cracked groan. “Want to fucking kiss you so bad,” he licks into your mouth, tasting like the coffee he drinks too much of and the cinnamon gum you know he’s always chewing. 

“Din–” and you’re about to protest, say that everyone’ll have seen the two of you come in here, Peli, the blonde Christmas light girl, that the whole bar is going to think he brought you in here for a quick fuck, but you and he both know you don’t really care if anyone thinks that. That probably, if you’re really honest, you’d be glad for everyone to think you’re his that way. So you kiss him back. Arms looping around his neck to hang off of him, fingers twining in the thick curls at the nape of his neck, the hair there so silky smooth, cool at the ends but warm and damp at the roots. And this is what you were talking about, when he kisses you like he loves you which makes you hate him. All tongue and teeth and desperation. His mouth sliding against yours, spit slick and heat heavy. Big hands kneading at your ass, clutching at the short skirt of your dress, pulling it up so he can shove his palm between the nylon of your tights and your warm skin and cup you over the wet mound of your cunt. 

“Fucking warm and soft for me, baby.” He kisses his way down your neck, licking at your cleavage, tugging at your ear. “You smell so good,” and he squeezes you against himself, dragging his palm back and forth over your pussy as best as the constricting tights let him. “I can’t wait to fuck you later.”

“Me either, Din,” you say because there’s nothing else to say besides, I love you. Please, love me back. He groans into your mouth, pressing you back into a little arc hooked over his arm, something frenzied and a little sloppy about the way he kisses you like he wants you so much he can’t control himself. And when the two of you stumble out a few minutes later, hair tousled and flushed with heat, the shine of your lipgloss transferred onto his own lips and those sparkly eyes of his cranked up to blinding so that the whole bar can see what it is the two of you have been up to in the stock room, there’s nothing but sweet, fizzy pleasure suffusing your belly. Even if it isn’t real, everyone else thinks it is, maybe for tonight that can be enough. 

-

“The tree’s really cute,” you say as he helps you out of your coat, unwrapping the scarf from around your neck, round and round until he lets it slither from his hand onto the messy floor of his bedroom. 

“Yeah, well, G wanted a real one so… my ass went out and got him a real one.” 

You reach up to card your fingers through the floppy curls falling over his forehead, pushing them back to twist in your fingers and pull his head down towards yours. “Good brother,” you murmur against his mouth. You want to ask him if he remembers what tonight is; wanted to ask him all night but kept your mouth shut for fear of that utterly vacant look in his eyes when he’d have no idea what you were talking about. 

He settles into your kiss, knees bent to come down to your level, sighing deep and long as he licks at you slowly, sucks on your bottom lips, a gentle nip. “Looked so pretty for me tonight,” he says, and he’s such a good kisser, and all you can say is a breathless thank you, trying to swallow the immediate lump in your throat back down because the only other thing to say would be you’re right, it’s all for you, or I hate it when you say these things to me, I hate it when you’re nice to me and then turn around and act like I’m a stranger, like I’ve never meant anything to you at all. You press up higher, insistent, on your tiptoes, trying to get closer, more of him. He runs his hands up the length of your spine, one arm banding around your waist, the other coming up to twist in your hair, tugging your head back sharply and pulling your mouth from his. 

“What do you want, sweet girl?”

And what a cruel, terrible question. You, is what you should say. Ruin the moment or the false magic, glass shattered on the white cloth. And so, “Fuck me,” is all you say instead because that’s all this is anyway. He peers down at you, fathomless look on his face, no more bright sparkle in his eyes, something more like an ember. You think you like this look better, it’s more for you, and there's something satisfying about that. 

“Okay, baby. Whatever you want.”

He pulls your clothes from you slowly, and he can be so tender sometimes, slow and precise in the things he does, the way he moves. Sometimes he fucks you hard and fast and sloppy. But not always. Other times he does it in a way that is much, much worse. Slow and deep and intentional. He lays you out across his messy bed and spreads you open for himself. Starts at your feet, kissing the soles and the creases and marks over the arches and around your ankles from your tights and boots. Up the slope of your calf, teeth dragging sharply, a little too hard over the muscle. He kisses the backs of your knees, a place only he has ever thought to kiss, and you won’t cry, but you’d like to. His tongue along the soft of your thighs, stubble chafing and tickling, and when he finally gets to your cunt, soaking wet, glossy with your slick for him, his tongue drags up your slit slow and teasing one second, deep, fucking inside of you the next. He makes you come on his face twice before he even thinks of being nice and letting up. Sucking on your clit, taking each soft lip gentle, gentle between the edge of his teeth and tugging so soft you almost don’t feel it. He licks and licks and slurps up your wet, and you know he enjoys this because of his own sounds. When he rips his t-shirt over his head because he’s steaming with sweat and want, the zip of his jeans ringing so that he can get his fist around his cock and jack himself while he licks up the splash of your second orgasm. 

He kisses you everywhere when he’s had his fill, twists and turns you this way and that, groping and kneading and taking every inch of you in so that no spot of skin is left uninspected or untasted. Pulls you up and under his arm so he can peer down at you from behind, lemme look at that little asshole now, he says all nasty the way he gets sometimes, and spreads your cheeks apart. You brace yourself against the column of his throat and hold on to the bulge of his bicep and try and breathe through your mouth and pray for control and temperance and the will to not spill all your truths to him. Difficult, when he manhandles you like this, when he pets and licks and kisses you all over and tells you how pretty all your holes are for him. 

His cock is so hard when he finally settles on his knees between your spread thighs, on your back again so that you can see his pulse in the tiny, subtle beat of his erection as it stands up, curving towards his flat belly. No condom, and you want to say thank you for letting you feel him like this. 

He pushes your knees wide and grips his cock, twisting his fist around the sticky glossed head, flushed red almost purple. You love it when he’s this hard, when you know it’s all for you, when you know you’re the only one in this moment that can fix it for him. 

“Get it wet for me,” he nods his head at your slick cunt, parted and bared to him just like he likes. You dip your fingers into the well of wetness, play in it, watch the shiny string of slick stretch between your pussy and fingers, and no one makes you as wet or as desperate as he does, and like he can read your mind he tells you, no one makes me as hard as you do, and you do not tell him that that isn’t something you want to hear, that that isn’t something that makes you feel good. The reminder that there are others. 

You wrap your slippery fingers around his cock, coating him in yourself and when you pull him towards you, notching him at the mouth of your cunt, and finally – finally, I’ve been waiting for this all night, and you can’t even tell who says it – it’s so fucking good that all the rest of it is worth it for this singular feeling right here. 

He pushes in, in, in, heavy balls pressed against the wet curve of your bottom, and you’re so soaked it’s slid down between your ass, marked his sheets with you, swings his hips back all smooth and wet and shoves back inside. His mouth is at your tits, folded over you, caging you in, biting and sucking on bare, tight nipples he tells you belong to him, cunt he fucks hard and deep he tells you also belongs to him.

He pulls an ankle up over his shoulder, changes the angle and drills into you hard and fast, other knee hooked over his elbow so you’re pressed and folded and presented to him just how he likes and needs, and he makes you say his name over and over, tells you exactly how he wants you to come on his cock just for him. His pelvis bumps your clit on every push forward, too thick cock wedged inside your cunt so that you’re stretched around him and no matter how many times you do this, it always hurts just a little. Like everything else the two of you do together. 

“You feel so fucking good,” he groans. “You take it so fucking good. Don’t come yet– don’t come. With me– wait for me. I want it together.” And you do cry at that, when he changes the angle once more and shoves in hard against your g-spot, the fat tip of his cock punching against it over and over so that there’s heat pooling at the base of your spine, stars flashing behind your closed lids, your breasts going hot and heavy and tight, stomach clenching with the effort to stave off your orgasm and do as he asks. He breathes into your mouth, and it’s all hot and damp skin and your sweaty limbs sliding against each other, open mouth to open mouth. 

“Now,” he says, pulls you onto him deeper with a tight grip on your ass, long fingers wrapped over the curve so that he can feel the wet, stretched place where he takes you, makes you his. “Take the whole fucking thing,” he whispers against your lips, and as your cunt goes tight as a knot, painful in that way that only he can make it, that’s so good, that way that always keeps you coming back for more, you finally start to cry real tears. Not just from his cock but from the whole of him, from everything he does to you. Your heart beats fast, fast, fast, and you count the days in the month til your period, the little game you like to play with yourself when the two of you are bad like this, and then decide you don’t really give a fuck as he starts to fill you with the heat of his come.

He stays inside of you for too long after the last throb of his cock. Rubbing his lips all over your neck and shoulders and tits, tasting you and giving you too much time to memorize the pattern and cadence of his breathing. And when he pulls out and pulls back to look at the slick, puffy sight of your cunt full of his come, he bends to lick you clean like he always does. Gives you one more orgasm, the last nail in the coffin or your heart. 

Sated and spent, you glance at the clock, and it’s officially Christmas Eve. You know he goes all out for Grogu, milk and cookies for Santa, stockings and gifts, the works. He is an exceptionally good brother, all a child could need in a father figure, and there had never really been any chance of you doing anything else besides loving him. 

When you pull the gift from your bag, heart in your throat and halfway to regret but more resolve than you’ve ever had in his presence, you tell yourself that if this brings on the end of everything, that you’ll find a way to be okay with it. If you’ve gone too far, done too much, you’ll accept it, count your losses, and what great losses they’ll surely be, but you’ll move on as best you can. 

You’d picked some pretty, baby blue paper with little red robins on it, a soft gold ribbon tied around the package. The sight of it makes you want to cry. You’d tried so hard, you really had. 

He’s quiet when you put it into his hands, staring down at it like it’ll reach out and bite his head off if he blinks even once. Swallowing several times before he says, “You didn’t have to get me anything.”

“I know. It’s– it’s for the both of you, kind of.” Him and his little brother.

“I didn’t get you anything.”

“No– that’s okay. I know. You didn’t have to.” Your voice comes out all breathless and full of nerves. You should’ve put your clothes on before you did this, made for a quicker, easier get away if necessary. 

He pulls the wrapping apart slowly, gently untying your ribbon, long fingers carefully picking at the little pieces of tape at each end so that he doesn’t tear the paper and disturb the robins. 

“Where did you get this?” He says when he’s finally unwrapped it, his voice telling you instantly that you’ve made a terrible mistake. 

“It– it was in your drawer. I–”

“You went through my stuff?” He says, eyes snapping up to yours, finally looking away from the photograph you’d copied and framed for him. A picture of him and Grogu and his parents. Grogu, a baby, Din, a boy of maybe eight, gap toothed, cheesy grin and messy curls between his smiling parents. They looked, very much, like a deliriously happy family, and you’d thought it such a shame it was stuffed in his sock drawer when you’d found it, left to be forgotten. You’d only wanted to do something nice for him. 

“N–no. I mean… not intentionally. I was looking for my extra clothes – the ones you told me to leave here – and I–” your lashes flutter, overwhelmed. He suddenly looks so angry. “I saw it in your drawer. I didn’t mean– I didn’t mean to… I’m sorry, I–” You don’t know what to say. All of your falsely held control in tatters at your feet and tears in your eyes as you take in the horrible look on his face. Shocked, angry, hurt, but his gaze leaves the photograph again, shifts back to your face at the crack in your voice. 

He presses forward, as if to reach for you, realizing you’re about to cry. “It’s fine.” I’m sorry, Din, you murmur again. “It’s just–” He shakes his head, a frustrated noise in his throat, his voice all graveled and cracked like yours. He seems so much like a boy in this moment. A child confronted by a past he was too young to lose when he did, forced into the shape of a man too soon. “You know that this–we–” He motions between the two of you.

“Yes. I do,” you cut him off quickly. Assuming what he’s going to cut down here between the two of you before he gets the words out. He doesn’t need to say it, not out loud. He doesn’t need to be that cruel. The strength it takes the both of you to bite your tongues in that moment, as you take each other in, swells to a near painful pressure, and there is something so sick here between the two of you. His eyes are glossy with emotion and everything he won’t ever let himself tell you or anyone else, and you so badly want to tell him that it’s only that it’s hard to be casual when your favorite bra lives in his dresser, and also that you’re in love with him. 

“Thank you,” he finally says quietly, and you can’t answer, looking away out at the dark night through his murky paneled window. It looks like it’s about to snow, all the ingredients for a perfect Christmas at play. The room is so warm and his bed is so comfortable, and you feel so full of fragile and soft things inside. “You’re going to see your family tomorrow?” He still has the picture frame in his hands, fingers smoothing methodically over the edges, thumb swiping gently over the happy faces inside. 

You clear your throat, “Yeah, tonight. I’m going to my parents house, spending the night there.” And it’s on the tip of your tongue to invite the both of them to come too. You know your parents would love to have them, you would love to have them there, him, but the words stick in your throat with the fear of his rejection, and the two of you fizzle awkwardly into a heavy silence. 

You look out at the window again, too much of a coward to look into those bright eyes, but you can feel his gaze on you, singing the side of your face, and suddenly you feel him scoot over towards you. Deep sigh, dragging the duvet with him, wrapped around his bare shoulders all messy hair and flushed cheeks still steaming from your sex. No one should look like he does. No one. It’s the most unfair thing that’s ever happened to you in your whole life. He grips you around the bend of your bare knee, pulls you halfway into his lap, and your eyes are still fixated out on the night, the dark much safer than anything that lives inside this room.

“You remember when we met?” He says. The tears are back. “It was tonight.” Two years ago.

You tip your chin at the window. “At the restaurant…”

“...Down on eighty seventh street. Two years ago.”

“Yes.” You finally look at him. “I remember,” you whisper. Your mouth feels so dry, your heart so flinty.  

“The place had all those string lights put up, and we sat at that table outside in the back behind that group having their Christmas work party. You remember?” Of course you do. You only can't believe he remembers. He’d been wearing an olive green half zip sweater, and he’d smelled of laundry detergent and whiskey and cinnamon gum when he’d kissed you for the first time. 

“I had the best old fashioned I’ve ever had at that place. We should go back. And it was so cold, you remember? You never stopped shivering.”

“Yes, Din. I remember.”

“That was a good night.”

“Sure it was,” and it comes out with a bite you can’t help, for so many reasons you can and cannot explain. 

He gives one of those non committal hums he loves to provoke you with, that little glint back in his eyes. “Sure it was? What?”

“Nothing.”

“Is there something you wanna talk about?” The white elephant in the room, come to ruin everything, shatter all the glass, disturb the dust in your hair and break your heart. 

He tips your head back by your chin, two fingers holding you there, never letting you go. You shake your head at him caught up in his grasp like that. “No. I don’t want to talk about anything.”

And he gives you the strangest look, and for one second you wonder suddenly if that look you’ve always taken as provoking is not so much teasing, but more pleading, more knowing. “No…” he says, chews on his thoughts, strong, scruffy jaw with the heart shaped patch moving side to side. “I know you don’t,” and leans forward to press one single soft, chaste kiss to your open mouth. “You know what you are?” He says then, and the look is now entirely unknowable, confusing. 

Your eyes flick back to the window. “What?” Back to him again, breathless. 

“You’re my girl.” And out of the corner of your eye, you can see that there, finally, is the Christmas snow.

Netherfeildren's Masterlist

Updates Blog!

#vic fic #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin AU #din djarin modern AU #the mandalorian AU #din djarin x reader #din djarin x female reader #din djarin smut #din djarin imagine #pedro pascal characters #din djarin angst

[noramsblog]

Pick up

#the mandalorian #din djarin #din grogu #luke skywalker #dinluke #ashoka tano #can yall tell ive been binging dinluke modern au fics?? #hehehe #drawing ashoka in modern au was so fun #i love her #i don't know how to draw tattoos #so don't mind me

[ediehhil]

modern dinluke au and very jealous dad Anakin :3

upd: I changed the dialogs bcs the original ones were so cringe :D I have big problems with written english, but my friend helped me hehe

part 2

#fanart #star wars #dinluke #luke skywalker #din djarin #anakin skywalker #modern au

[darlin-djarin]

“omg i love the teacher!luke and single dad!din au!!”

but like. isn’t that what they are. like in canon.

#just say modern au maybe?? lol #bc in canon it would translate directly into the same trope in modern #yk?? #uhhh idk anyway #star wars #din djarin #the mandalorian #luke skywalker #dinluke #skydalorian #oil. #delete later #probably

[mjpens]

Summer shade convos 💞

#dincobb #the mandalorian #din djarin #cobb vanth #a modern au for you 🤲🏻 #maia draws #q

[keethus-arts]

Mandalorian Special Forces anyone?

#intimidating t pose #the mandalorian #mandalorian #star wars #din djarin #mando #baby yoda #fanart #my art #mandalorian fanart #Mandalorian OC #Keera Torealiis #Keethus arts #modern au #special forces #au

[omaano]

MMA Fighter AU for @bobadinweek's bingo - with which I have a bingo! (I'll post my card under the read more cut for proof) I treated it more as a pose drawing exercise, but in the process I grew very fascinated with the idea of Boba having some biomech tattoos (as opposed to the geometrical armor based design I default to for Din) especially on the leg he is often headcanoned to lose to the sarlacc - and if you can make out anything of that on Boba it was inspired by Arno B Ink's work

Whoop whoop! I've never achieved a bingo before!! I did a bit of colour coding, because that's how I work, and the blue ones needed to be switched up (the orange ones are the prompts I REALLY want to complete, and the yellow circles are the ones with the possibility of an idea.... So I'll want to go off these prompts outside of the deadline as well, I suppose. It'd be a shame to waste all those reference images I took for the Razor Crest Lives prompt XD). I've been aiming for the T-shaped bingo, but I don't have very high hopes with finishing anything for the FREE and Assassins & Spys prompts in the remaining time - gotta get back to work and all that....

I will make a round up post in two weeks with all my finished prompts all the same however many that will be - we shall see! :)

#bobadin #bobadinaubingo #boba fett #din djarin #boba x din #boba/din #modern au #my art #the mandalorian fanart #tbobf fanart #I took this easter holiday off of working on commissions to make this #took much longer than expected but I'm quite happy with Din and his blush here #was thinking about covering him up fully as well but then I realized I finally worked out the design for his leg tattoos... #might as well add them here as well #throughout this whole thing I haven't figured out how to draw boba in a way that I'm happy with him wow #damn if I'll give up tho #one day! #I had another competing pose for this prompt but this one won in the end #also my youtube algorhythm is very confused now

[604to647]

Birthday Bunny

1.5K / Modern!Din Djarin x fem!reader

Summary: You prepare a special gift for Din's birthday. (This is our Safest with You couple, but can be read as a stand-alone; all you need to know is that Din lives above the gym he owns.)

Warnings: 18+ Content (MDNI please); established relationship, allusion to smut, lingerie, anal toys, pet names as usual (Pretty bird, sweetheart)

A/N: It's *somebody's* birthday today 🥳🎂so just wanted to write a little something where one of his characters gets a well deserved gift 🤭🍑 Also - Sorry! I try not to use images that denote physical attributes for reader but I had specific lingerie in mind and the website didn't have any pictures where it wasn't being modelled 😔 I hope it doesn't bother anyone or can be ignored/you can just imagine the garments on their own while reading 🙏🏻

Din always says that one of the things he loves about your lingerie is that you choose it for yourself, and he's just there to enjoy what you enjoy, what makes you feel sexy.  An innocent, but very lucky, bystander.

Once in a while though, you’ll pick something to wear for him, and that’s when he feels like he’s won the lottery.  Something purchased with him in mind, as much as yourself.  Something still quintessentially you, soft and pretty, but picked just for him.  A little less practical.  A little more rippable. 

Those are the times he can barely control himself when he sees you sprawled out on some soft surface, waiting coyly for him as he enters a room; he becomes feral the instant his brain catches up to his dick and it clicks for him that you’re there for him, that you want him, that he’s going to get to ruin you.

Those are the times when you feel like a pretty present to be unwrapped. Even if Din’s eyes darken to obsidian with want, his hands, his mouth, his lips, his cock still unravel you with care, first and foremost seeking to pleasure you.  He makes you feel precious and so fucking sexy and it just makes you want to give everything, all of yourself, to him.

This is one of those times.

A special occasion.

When Din deserves a treat.

What to give a man who says he doesn’t want anything for his birthday except a good meal?  Who you know has no use or desire for extravagant or luxury goods?  Who has lovingly declared he already has everything because he has you?

You know what he deserves.

It’s taken weeks of prep.  Literally.

First, you had to pick the right lingerie.  Something that would present your body and curves to Din in a way that left no question that tonight is about him.  That all your delicate parts are covered only so they can be discovered and undressed by Din, if and when he chooses. Something that has the pretense of elegance but masks a lascivious purpose underneath.   

He likes you soft and teasing, his pretty bird.

You narrow it down to three baby-doll night dresses; unable to choose, you added them all to your cart earlier in the month and when they arrived last week, you had tried them on, giggling at what Din’s reaction might be to each one.  Ultimately you settle on the third option, a lace and chiffon dress set with demi lace cups held up with three thin straps to give a cut-out impression over the breast with an attached short skirt made of the same material.  You love how the tops of the lace bra graze just above where your nipples lie and that there’s a chance (a chance you’re counting on, actually) that when hardened, your nipples would peek out overtop.  You give this a little try when adjusting yourself in the piece and find yourself shuddering at how the middle strap feels rubbing up against your exposed nipple.  Yep, this is the one.  You’re glad you splurged and got the accompanying robe.  More for Din to take off, you think.

You had carefully put the other two nightgowns away, certain there will be future occasions to wear them.

Next was panties: none.  That was easy.

Finally, accessories. 

It had been more difficult than you anticipated finding a pair of bunny ears that didn’t look cheesy and cheap or didn’t recall the look of a 70s playboy bunny - neither of which was what you were going for.  Eventually you found something you liked; a pretty pair that included an unexpected little lace mask that dips just over your eyes. You could forgo the mask and tuck it under the headband but you opt to keep it as is; it feels just the right side of sultry, not costume-y.

Lastly, the pièce de résistance.  The entire point of tonight’s outfit; the actual gift you would be offering to Din.  You run your fingers through the soft almost luxurious feeling synthetic fur of the bunny tail before your fingers come together as they smooth over the tapered shape of the stainless steel plug attached.  After warming the metal between your fingers, you drip some lube onto the tip and coat the plug generously, spreading the excess with your fingers over your tight back hole.  No matter how many times you’ve done this the last few weeks, there’s always a feeling of anxiousness right before you insert the plug.

When you purchased your fluffy bunny tail plug, you had also purchased a 3-set of silicone training plugs which you had been diligently wearing over the past several weeks, getting used to the ascending sizes until you could comfortably take and wear the metal one that you’re now gliding in past your closed ring.  You have to admit, the exhilaration and relief right after insertion has overridden any anxiety twofold by now, and you find yourself getting immediately wet just from the fullness that was foreign to you only a month ago.

You and Din have experimented a little with anal play, but it’s hasn’t gone beyond him drawing tantalizing circles over your unexplored bud during sex, or pressing his thumb or one finger halfway in.  You’ve never had anal sex before, but ass play with Din never fails to send an electrifying shock of arousal through you, your slick practically dripping down your thighs when he pays special attention to your backside and growls in your ear that all your holes are his.

The bunny tail plug that now sits snuggly in your ass with its pouffy fur ball perched between your butt cheeks is still a size small; not nearly large enough to approximate Din’s cock but you’re fairly proud that you’ve been able to train yourself to take it comfortably, and loosen yourself up to take more.  You don’t have any definite plans to be fucked in the ass tonight, although it’s not off the table.  Confident Din would never push you beyond what you feel comfortable doing, you figure you’ll just go with the flow and let Din work your ass open and see where it takes the two of you.  You’ll get there eventually, you’re sure. 

Din’s birthday surprise tonight is your offering via this little getup for him to be the first (and only) man to fuck you back there.  You hope he likes it.  (You hope he wants to!)

Kneeling pert and pretty on Din’s bed, you snap a shy selfie of your bunny ear clad self looking away, angling your phone from above to capture your spread thighs and ample tits barely covered by the lingerie, the matching robe lolling casually off one shoulder.

Din had agreed to stay down in the gym until you had finished “setting up” for his birthday upstairs.

You send Din the picture with a message: Come get your bunny, birthday boy. Giggling to yourself as you register Din’s thundering footsteps running up the stairs less than a minute after you press ‘send’, you hear the front door open with a bang and a breathy ‘Hey Al’ as Din dashes through the living room before appearing breathless in the doorway of his bedroom.  He raises his right arm and uses it to lean against the doorframe, sending a shiver down your spine with the dark look in his eyes and his low baritone purr, “Hey pretty bird, are you my present?”

You nod shyly, not wanting to give away your secret yet, and beckon him over with a curl of your index finger.  Din towers over you, eyes wide with want and a smidgen of disbelief that you’re real, taking in your lingerie set and the way it shapes over your tantalizing curves.  He can’t wait to get his hands on you, not sure yet if he wants to just rip it all off or toy with the fabric and see how it reveals your delicious parts to him.  When you tilt your head back, he bends over to capture your mouth in a searing, all consuming kiss.  His tongue licks into you and roams the cavern of your mouth, mimicking the way his hands have started to roam your body. He starts with cradling your head between his hands, then runs them down your smooth, arched back.  He’s got both his hands groping the plush globes of your ass when his hand brushes over something foreign, unexpected… something furry. 

His body stills, “Sweetheart?”

You smile against his lips, “Happy birthday, Din.”

#happy birthday to that old man #din djarin #din djarin fic #din djarin fanfiction #modern!din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin x f!reader #pedro pascal characters fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #modern au #no y/n

[bon-sides-sw]

Happy Valentine's Day!

Luke just gets really excited, Din just woke up.

Here a quick thing that can be taken as @dinlukeweek valentine's special. Run by @stardads

#star wars #dinluke #bons art #my art #luke skywalker #the mandalorian #din djarin #grogu #human grogu #modern au #skydalorian

[starwarstweets]

#star wars #twitter #incorrect quotes #star wars twitter #incorrect star wars quotes #star wars original trilogy #star wars memes #star wars sequel trilogy #star wars funny #star wars shows #the mandalorian #star wars au #star wars modern au #smau #din djarin #grogu #baby yoda #mandalorian

[chiriwritesstuff]

... in Every Universe - A Roswell-inspired Modern! Din Djarin x F! Reader Soulmates AU (Prologue)

Chapter Rating: M

Chapter Summary: At five years old, you're found wandering alone in a weird town called Roswell and have no recollection of how you got there. 20 years later, you're working at your adoptive family's diner and you can't help the connection you feel with the town's bounty hunter, who just can't stop staring at you... what happens when you're on the brink of death and the man in question saves you in a way you can't explain?

Chapter Tags and Warnings: Canon divergent, minor descriptions of violence towards the reader (she gets shot), flashes between different universes and POVs, eventual smut, explicit language, loosely based on 'Roswell' (the 1999 WB series), Grogu exists in all universes, no beta we die like men!

Word Count: 1.7k

Nova

"Here we go! One meteor shake and one Alien Blood for the lady!"

You place the drinks down on the table, a forced smile gracing your lips as you eye the eccentric couple across from you. Arching a curious eyebrow, you take in their vibrant Crash Festival shirts, suppressing the urge to snort. "So, are you two here for the Crash Festival this weekend?"

"We sure are!" the man excitedly says, placing an arm around his girlfriend. "It's our first time here in Roswell. Are you from here?"

"Proud to say my family's been in Roswell for at least the last four generations," you declare, a hint of pride coloring your words as you wipe your hands on your apron.  Sure, you think to yourself.  I was actually found wandering around town by myself not knowing who I was at five years old before being found by your adoptive father one night, but how would they know?

The couple's faces light up with excitement, drawing closer to you. "So your family must know about what happened all those years ago then?" the woman asks, her voice barely above a whisper. "...with the crash, that is?"

"Well, I guess since you both seem like nice folks, it wouldn't hurt to share this with you," you say conspiratorially, reaching into your apron and withdrawing a folded paper. "I assume you can keep a secret?"

The couple's eyes widen as they slowly take the photo out of your hands, their mouths agape in astonishment. Your coworker Omera rolls her eyes as she passes by, coffee pot in hand, chuckling quietly to herself. "You are so bad," she whispers in your ear. "You're lucky your dad isn't around, I'm sure Greef would sprout another head if he had to deal with your antics once again," she adds, offering refills to the two men at the table next to you.  

"Refill, gentlemen?" Omera asks the men, frowning as she notices their aggravated state.

"Does it look like we need any refills?" one of the men asks harshly, waving her off. "Just go away!" he shouts, glaring at her. She gives you a frown as she turns around.  

You wave her off quickly, turning your attention back to the couple.  

"My grandfather actually was working near the crash site when he was younger and managed to take a picture before the feds arrived to clean up the scene," you whisper, glancing to your side to make sure no one else can hear your conversation. The photo shows a grotesque alien amongst the wreckage of a crash site, obviously fake.  

"Does anyone else know about this photograph?" the woman presses, taking note of your hesitance.  

"Well, I know about it, and now you guys know, too." You say seriously, trying not to laugh at their obliviousness.  

"Woah, this is fucking insane!" the man exclaims quietly, looking at the photograph once more.  

"I'll be right back, alright?" you suddenly say, a serious look on your face. "Don't show that to anyone, okay?"

"Yeah!" they both sputter, the man folding the photograph and placing it in his pocket. "Your secret's safe with us!" the woman whispers, nodding.

You nod back at her, straightening yourself up. You catch up to Omera as she laughs at the mischievous expression on your face.  

"You are such a menace!" Omera playfully smacks you as the two of you make your way back to the kitchen, a satisfied smirk on your face. "Oh, and Din Djarin is staring at you again," she adds, discreetly nodding in his direction.

"No way!" you exclaim, pushing her into the kitchen. "Omera, that is so in your imagination!"

You turn to look in the direction of the man in question, your eyes meeting his as he clears his throat, quickly breaking eye contact and glancing at his young son seated next to him. Your breath suddenly catches in your throat as you nervously glance back at your friend, the collar of your scratchy uniform suddenly too tight and constricting. "Din Djarin? This?" you point to yourself, shaking your head at your best friend. "No, uh-uh."

"Oh, but with those cheeks and that smile of yours? How can that handsome brooding man resist the princess of Roswell, huh?"

"Omera, come on, cut it out!" you exclaim, waving your hands in protest. "...and even if he was staring at me, it doesn't matter. I'm with Cobb! He's steady, sexy, and totally into me!" you declare, nodding to yourself as if trying to convince yourself as well.

"It sounds like you're describing a golden retriever or something," Omera deadpans, walking back towards the dining hall. "Sounds awfully exciting, shacking up with the Sheriff and all that," she mutters to you, shaking her head. "Why have dependable vanilla sex when you can have exciting mysterious sex with Roswell's resident bounty hunter? I bet he could fuck you five ways to-"

"I gave you a week!" the man from the neighboring table shouts, jumping up and pulling out a gun from his pocket. "You're about to see what happens when you mess around!"

"Nova!" Omera's voice rings out suddenly. "Call your dad, things are getting crazy!"

Before you can react, the other man lunges at the one with the gun, struggling to disarm him. In the chaos, the gun goes off, and you feel a sharp pain as you're hit.

"Oh my god!" Omera exclaims, turning to the other patrons. "Is everyone okay?" She looks towards your direction, her eyes widening in shock as she sees you curled up on the floor. "Nova!" she screams as the dining room descends into chaos, the two men running out of the restaurant in a hurry before someone calls 911. "Someone, help!" she screams into the crowd frantically.

Din 

Din jumps as he sees the bullet go in your direction, glancing at his young son still seated in the chair next to him. "Grogu, are you okay?"

"Yes, dada," he shakily responds, his eyes glancing at your crumpled form. "Nova's hurt!" he exclaims, pointing in your direction. "Grogu help her!" he cries, attempting to get out of his seat.

"No!" Din shouts, "You stay right there, I'll help her, okay? Stay with Uncle Boba!"

"Din, no," Boba warns through gritted teeth. "We can't risk getting exposed-"

"I can't just fucking leave her to bleed out!" Din cries helplessly, looking in your direction. "I need to help her!"

As he rushes toward you, Omera follows closely behind. "Call 911!" he commands, using it as a diversion to keep her away, not wanting her near the two of you as he grapples internally with what he's about to do.

"Nova," he whispers, ripping your uniform away from your body, his eyes trained on the blood pooling on your torso. "I need you to look at me, can you do that for me?" he pleads, placing a hand behind your head. "Nova," he begs, "Please baby, I need you to look at me."

Your eyes flutter open slightly as he gazes intently back at you, his hand applying pressure to your wound with gentle urgency. Vivid images flood your mind as Din focuses on healing you.

In an instant, you're in a desert, brandishing a laser sword against a lizard-like adversary. A voice calls out, and you're struck from behind by a blaster shot. Then, as Din presses harder on your wound, you're transported to a spaceship, writhing in pain as you clutch your abdomen. A figure stands beside you, armored and mysterious, their helmet removed. But before you can identify the man in armor, you snap back to reality, meeting the deep brown eyes of Din once more.

Din breathes a sigh of relief as the wound on your torso closes, his eyes fluttering closed as he recalls the visions he shared with you moments before. She can't be, he thinks to himself, his hands cradling your face gently as he draws you closer to him, pulling you into the safety of his chest. "You're okay, Nova," he whispers against your ear. "You're with me, alright? Stay with me."

"Dada," Grogu's sudden cry breaks the moment, his face etched with concern. "Did you heal mama?"

"What did you say?" Din's voice is filled with disbelief as he looks at his son. "What did you call her?"

"Mama," Grogu repeats, attempting to reach you. "I felt her pain just now, I knew I saw her in my dreams-"

"Djarin!" Boba's sudden shout startles you, and Grogu protests as he's lifted up, reaching out toward both of you. "We've got to go, NOW!"

Din swiftly assesses the situation, gently setting you back down on the ground before grabbing a nearby bottle of ketchup. Squeezing it over your chest and uniform, he meets your gaze with urgency. "You took a fall and broke the bottle accidentally," he whispers to you, swiftly rising to his feet. "Please, if Cobb asks, just say it was a nasty fall, okay?" With that, he dashes towards the door, joining Boba and Grogu already waiting in the idling car outside.

You nod as Omera rushes to your side, helping you up as you watch Din jump into the car and speed away.

"Nova," Omera says, her voice filled with concern as she takes in your disheveled appearance. "What in the hell just happened?"

"I don't know," you stammer, trying to make sense of it all. You close your eyes once more, and it feels as though you're still in that spaceship, with Din's hands clasping yours as he gazes back at you, tears streaming down his face. Your heart races as you glance down at your wounded form, only to find yourself suddenly pregnant, your eyes widening in disbelief at your swollen abdomen.

"Stay with me, Nova," Din pleads in your memory, tearing away your tunic as blood gushes from your abdomen. "Please, stay with me," he cries, tears cascading down his face as he tenderly caresses your pregnant belly. "Please Cyar'ika, please don't leave me!"

"Nova!" Omera's desperate screams are the last thing you hear as you slip into unconsciousness, the world around you plunging into darkness.

#Din Djarin #modern din djarin #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal fandom #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character fanfic #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin imagine #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin/reader #mando #grogu #din djarin x female reader #din djarin x original female character #din djarin fic #the mandalorian x y/n #the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian fanfiction

[ediehhil]

Dad Anakin is angry again 😪

Part 1

Part 2

#fanart #star wars #obi wan kenobi #anakin skywalker #obikin #din djarin #luke skywalker #dinluke #modern au