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kiwisbell · 7 months

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The Light of the Stars: Chapter 1 [din djarin]

Your celebration for Din’s name day goes horribly wrong. And a group of pirates sees the worst of your Mandalorian.

chapter 1 | chapter 2 | chapter 3

read part one here (not necessary, but encouraged!): told before and told again

series masterlist | my masterlist!

status: complete

pairing: din djarin x f!reader

rating: 18+ (mdni)

tags and warnings: established relationship, unprotected piv (no following the leader), the helmet stays on, but the gloves come off, in more ways than one, hand kink???, animal handler!reader, grogu being a good kid, extremely protective din, kidnapping, BAMF din, din gets mad, dirty talk, fingering, blood and violence, creampie, rough sex, multiple orgasms, top din, soft din, din fucking the babysitter, extreme amounts of fluff, din is in love, mando'a pet names, porn with feelings, porn with plot (there actually is a plot this time), din is touch-starved, it's din's birthday!! (sort of), din being so in love that it's disgusting

word count: ~ 4.3k

this is installment two of my din djarin series entitled told before and told again, and is divided into three chapters. this series in particular is inspired by joanna newsom's divers album. it's a fantastic listen.

obligatory mando’a to english translation: “Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum.” — “I love you” (literally “I will know you forever.”)

chapter 1: you will not take my heart alive

Looking at you is peering into the far, sunny horizon as a storm rages overhead.

Together in your little cot—far too small for two people, and yet you manage: mostly by draping half your body over his, not that he’s ever minded—you and Din doze. Well, you doze. He doesn’t sleep much on the best of days, but he likes the intimate quiet of this stifling space. Wasting time does not exist when it comes to you.

Your legs are tangled together, one of his wedged between both of yours as your thigh remains hitched up on his hip. You like to sleep as close to him as possible, but his armour makes it uncomfortable, especially in moments like these when he does not have the precious time to take it off. So you curl up your shared blanket and use it as a pillow, tucking your head under his arm. Now, your cheek rests on his breastplate, your breath pushing past your parted lips in soft snores that fog up the steel. Your lashes rest on your cheeks and your hand on his chest.

You are a human lullabye. He does not know how he slept before you. Now, he wants to close his eyes and dream by your side, warmed by your body.

His gloved hand finds your serene face and brushes a stray lock of hair from your eyes.

There are always storms to weather, but you are the telltale rising of the sun. He will look to you when the lighting crackles across the sky.

He isn’t sure how long he’s been staring at you by the time your lips begin to move in the shape of words, your eyes still peacefully closed.

“Do you know what day it is?” you ask him.

He does. He would prefer to forget.

“It's night,” he replies. “Go back to sleep.”

“Evading the question will not avail you, Mandalorian.” He wants to laugh at the frankly impressive way you can twist words even in your state of half-sleep, but does not give you the satisfaction. “What day is it?”

When he does not answer, your eyes peel open and you sit up, his hand falling from your waist. Even through his gloves, he feels the loss of your warm skin as if the sudden cold has seared a hole through the impenetrable leather. Your gaze is sleepy, your irises impossibly thin around cavernous pupils.

“Come back here,” he says plainly.

Your eyes narrow, your mind incisive as ever. He should know better by now than to try and outsmart you with the promise of physical contact—no matter how much he needs that contact right now. You square your hips as you shuffle so your body, all of it, is facing him. You’re wearing so few clothes that he can make out (even in this dusky darkness) the tight press of your nipples through your shirt. The shape of your waist and hips under the loose cotton pants you sleep in. His fingers flex. They crave the softness of your skin to plunge into.

“It’s your name day, Din.”

It is not. But you have always been persistent.

“You mean you’ve never celebrated? Not once?”

He didn’t understand why it shocked you so, but for some reason, seeing you so affronted made him question why, in fact, he’d never celebrated his own birth. “It’s… trivial,” he managed, unsettled by such distress in your face.

You lay on your back in a patch of grass next to his toolkit. Normally, he would scold you for freeloading, but the sun was out, and you saw it so rarely. So, he let you lounge with your eyes squinting harshly against the indelicate shine, casting your skin in bronze. Your collarbones pushed out gently with each exhale you took, and on every inhale, he would watch with rapt attention as your throat hollowed. There was a faint smattering of perspiration in that hollow, but you acted as if the relentless sun was revitalising you, not burning you.

“That’s silly,” you told him, your head turning lazily to face him. He was sitting on the ramp at the mouth of the hull, tucked inside the shadow of the Crest, working on repairing the access panel—again. He was beginning to think it was damned. He did not need another incident where you were trapped inside because the ramp refused to lower, or where neither of you could find the kid until you both realised he was outside, playing with dandelions while his guardians panicked. Din supposed his repair job doubled as child-proofing.

“Why?” he asked. “I don’t remember being born.”

“You’re missing the point.”

“Am I?”

You hummed. “I would think a warrior like you would want to celebrate living another cycle. Not all of you get that luxury.”

He wanted to point out that living was never a luxury until you. He did not.

“I’m perfectly happy to celebrate yours,” he told you. “That’s good enough for me.”

He caught a slight movement of your head out of the corner of his eye and knew, somehow, that you were rolling your eyes. Fondly. “Then I’ll choose a date for you.”

“No,” he said immediately.

But you were already getting up and planting yourself on the ramp next to him. “Today,” you said firmly. “It’s a beautiful, sunny day. Today is your name day, Din Djarin.”

Your fingers played upon the harsh edges of his helmet in some sort of dance, tracing each cool line and dip the way he had so often traced the warm flesh of your body. It knocked his world slightly askew to know there was someone who saw his armour as a body in itself—who didn’t crave to see what lay beneath, because to you, they were inseparable. One.

“Nothing about your life,” you said that day, in a near-whisper, “is trivial.”

Now, he decides being stubborn is the best way to get your body against him once again. “I don't have a name day,” he says.

You try to suppress a smile. “Well, you'll remember I gave you one. Don’t you remember?” Your fingers tap lightly around his thigh guards, down to his calves and back up toward his hip. You do this often: feeling out the shape of him as if you're attempting to imprint it into your hindbrain. He indulges you, but his patience is thinning. “When you were inside me? Deep and rough and—”

“Come. Back. Here.” He practically growls it, his cock stiffening inside his pants, his teeth grinding for a taste of you he can never have. He opts for a tight grip on your upper thigh, kneading the muscle and soft flesh there as he tries to pull you toward him.

You let him drag you on top of him, his strong hands keeping you firm atop his hips. There's a firm pressure at your spine, between your shoulder blades, pushing you down toward him so your bodies are flush. You nudge your nose against the cheek of his helmet and grin.

“Let’s go somewhere,” you say softly. “Somewhere nice. Somewhere we can celebrate.”

A gloved palm catches the line of your jaw, the thumb tracing its path. “My age isn't something to celebrate.”

“You're still spry. I have the limp to prove it.” He huffs, and even the small hint that he's amused spurs you on. “Come on. We don’t have to do anything near a crowd. It can just be the two of us. Even a desert, for stars’ sake.”

“You want to celebrate with the Tuskens?” He tilts his head in the way you're so familiar with: he's looking at you like you're simultaneously the most captivating and foolish person he's ever met. At the same time, his thumbs caress your body like it's precious. It is.

You bite your lip. “I want to celebrate with you.”

You have a funny way of looking at him. It typically accompanies your most outrageous ideas. Your smile casts a brighter light than the rays of sun through a clear windowpane. He dreams of that smile the way he used to dream about terrors. You’ve encompassed them with that look: the smile and the gentle brush of your mouth against his helmet. “Fine,” he says at last. “We’ll land on Nevarro.” When you open your mouth to gloat, he slides his hand around to the nape of your neck. “In the morning. Now, come back here.”

You can only tease your warrior for so long. Your lips make a path from his forehead to the spot just above his visor. He cups your face in his hands, not guiding nor pushing, just holding you here. Here, in the moment, when all he sees is you.

“When we go…” He tucks a piece of hair behind your ear and lowers his voice to the soft, gentle rasp that sticks to the edges of your skull. “You stay by my side.”

“I’m always by your side.” You smile, squeezing his hands. “You can’t get rid of me now, Din Djarin, no matter how hard you try.”

No, he can't. But he's not in the habit of trying to get rid of the things that are best for him. Not anymore.

He wishes now more than ever he could press his face into the sweet-smelling curve of your throat and kiss all the way down your body. He wants to bury his whole being deep in your soul, unmasked, unburdened.

For now, he will settle for the proximity: the intoxicating closeness he once only dreamed of and now gets to live. Every night, every morning, he gets to know what it feels like to exist alongside another soul. That will do.

“Cyar’ika.”

Your hands cover his. “Din.”

Even if his sensor could not detect the elevated rate of your heart thumping against your chest, he would be able to sense the slightest shift in your very blood from systems away. His own heart matches the rhythm, threatening to burst from his chest and bury itself inside yours.

“I want you,” he says.

He likes the way he makes you feel. Your heart kicks up even faster as your lips part. “You told me to go back to sleep,” comes your whispered reply.

His hands leave your face and skate down your sides, making you shiver when he reaches the hem of your shirt. “Is that a no?”

“I will never”—your eyes meet his, or they try to, serious and unwavering—“say no to you.”

And he doesn't deserve that. He does not deserve your faith or your support. But he will take down the straps of your flimsy shirt and he will shift so he can hover above you, and there will not be a fraction of him that is tempted to let you go despite all he doesn’t deserve.

He slips his fingers into the loops lining the waistband of your utility pants and pulls them down. Behind them follows your shirt, not soon after, his hands grabbing eagerly at the hem. “Arms up.”

You obey, and he tosses the shirt on top of your pants, which are surely somewhere close. He’ll find them later. Now, he looks down at your body. There are no articles of clothing for you to remove, which never makes you pout or whine in spite of any teasing remarks you may make. No—you trace the shape of the pieces reverently, treating them like skin. Like freckles.

“You’re beautiful,” you tell him, your chest heaving as he splays his hand just beneath your left breast, protecting your ribcage.

It is the dead of the night, and you are both exhausted, but Din lets a low laugh slip out. “That’s my line.”

“Well, I won’t be offended if you still want to say it.” Your grin is a blinding thing.

That. That is why he needs to keep your life in a little cage. That smile and the laugh that goes with it. He can no longer picture a ‘verse that exists without it. How can a galaxy turn without the bright force of a smile like that to inspire it?

“You,” he rasps, “are beautiful.”

Your hands find the buttons of his pants, the thick, hard length behind them twitching under your attention. He does not stop as you seek out his cock and wrap your fingers around the shaft. He does not stop the groan that rumbles up from deep in his chest when you look up at him with your tired, black eyes and stroke him slowly.

A drop of precum spills onto your navel, and when you dip your hand between them to swipe it onto the pad of your thumb, cleaning it off between your lips, he goes blind.

His hand is on your hip, grounding himself in flesh. His cock is pushing past the seal of your cunt, wet and warm and eager to accept him. He grunts. Your name. A curse. You take him the way you always do: with a pinched brow and a gasp he aches to swallow.

He watches himself disappear inside you, the way you greedily suck him in, his own restraint buckling along with his spine. He feels himself compressing, compacting, into this small square of time, sinking onto his side next to you. He can be closer this way, face-to-face, slipping his arm around your waist and pressing on your lower back. You hold onto his shoulders as his hips meet yours, your eyes unfocused in the haze of lust. He moves in a slow, experimental thrust, hissing at the way your cunt grips him so tightly on the withdrawal. “Relax,” he groans.

“Are you trying to fuck me,” you gasp, “or teach me how to shoot a blaster?”

He huffs, hitching your leg up over his hip and driving deeper. You cry out his name and he feels sadistically pleased, his hand pressing more insistently on your spine. You bow deliciously under his touch, slotting willingly alongside his shape, your naked body safe and warm against the cold bulk of his armour. He tucks you so close that your breasts are smushed against his chest and you have to bury your face into the crook of his neck. The warm cowl provides you the comfort of a blanket as he begins to fuck you. Properly.

Your gasps are wet and stilted. Din grunts with each thrust, your soft, hot walls stroking his cock. He will never get used to this: your closeness, your strength, the way you will happily clamber on top of him whenever he's frustrated. You aren't afraid of his moods. You always let him grasp your hips, as rough as he needs, and you draw the poison from the wound. You’re a tonic to his weary soul.

“That’s it.” His voice is a ragged grinding of gears in your ear. The punch of his cock inside you becomes easier with every stroke, your body becoming malleable and relaxed for him. “That’s it,” he coaxes.

You're so wet that the sound of your joined bodies echoes in the puny compartment. He will bruise your thigh from how hard he holds onto you, and your hips will be sore from his relentless pounding, but you do not care. “Din. Oh, fuck!” you moan, grasping at his cowl, your fingers bunching in the fabric. A low-pitched growl leaves his mouth, travels through the modulator, and makes your cunt gush around his cock. You are the only one who can get this close, the only one who can grip the cowl like you plan to tear it right off, because he knows you won't.

“You started this,” he says through gritted teeth, the pinching of the steel plates on his thighs sparking delectable pain between your legs. “Could’ve gone back to sleep.”

You laugh through a moan, rocking your hips down against his. The head of his cock reaches so deep that you can feel him in your stomach, and you know that's how he likes it best. “You weren't sleeping, Din.”

“No,” he rasps, “I was watching you.”

“Ever the charmer.” Tears prick at the corners of your eyes as you feel the coil in your belly wind up tight. You're so fucking full. He's thick and heavy, so warm inside you, and all you can think is how desperately you want his hot cum to drown your cunt.

His hand slips between your bodies and presses against your belly. You gasp with the white-hot pleasure, your head jerking back to meet his gaze through his visor. He tips his head forward to drop against your forehead. “Feel me?” He thrusts harder, but not faster, your poor, abused cunt taking him so easily in your pliable state. You mewl for him, your vision blurring, the coil tightening. “Feel how deep I am?”

“Din…”

“I asked you a question, cyar’ika.” The pressure deepens, somehow. Heightens. You feel as if you're floating above your bodies, separate altogether, watching yourself crash hopelessly into his body. “Do. You. Feel. Me?”

Every word is punctuated by the drag and thrust of his cock inside you, the movement of his hips growing sloppy. His cock twitches with the need to pump you full, to give you all of him and keep you wrapped up, safe, until morning. “Yes,” you whimper, your voice crackling. “Yes, Din.”

Good, he thinks. He wants to imprint himself on you forever. He already feels a sick sense of satisfaction seeing the divots he makes in your flesh with his fingers, the bruises already forming. The rest of the world would hurt you to make it hurt. He likes knowing he can hurt you and it only feels good.

“Ah, ah —fuck, Din,” you gasp, your lips perpetually parted once his hand migrates to your clit. Two gloves fingers apply pressure, rough leather circling the bundle of nerves. Your body caves in on itself, your entire brain bursting into flame, your vision white-blind as you come apart.

Your thigh quivering, still wrapped around his hip, you roll your hips into his hand, your brow furrowing in pleasure. He does not relent. He wants to watch you crumble, and he's getting it. “I… I can’t…”

“Yes, you can.” Your nose and lips slide haplessly across the ridge on the right cheek of his helmet, all of you trembling in his assured grasp. You are vaguely aware of the hard, throbbing cock between your legs twitching, pulsing inside you. “Fuck. Fuck, that’s it.”

Din comes hard, his visor tucked under your chin so he can tilt your head upward. He can smell you, the heady scent of sweat and sex and fresh air. You fill his lungs as he fills you, his cock pulsating with each hot spurt of cum. It stuffs you until you're brimming with him, and he still grinds deeper, deeper, so close to you that peeling your bodies apart will make you both colder. Lonelier.

When you both collapse, your spent bodies ending up in the same position as the beginning of the night, Din looks at his vambrace. It will be morning soon.

Your ragged breath is fogging up his armour as much as your sweat, and he will take this. The only mark you can leave on his body. He will take anything you give him, even if it is poisonous. He knows it will taste sweet, anyway.

“Happy name day, Din,” you whisper, your eyes smiling even as you continue to pant, your fingers fondly tapping his cheek.

Beneath you, both of you can feel the wetness of the cot as his cum drips steadily out of you in globs. He knows he has to clean you up. He just doesn't want to detangle himself from you. Not when you look so happy.

“Keep it,” you tell him. Always reading his mind, past all the steel that separates you. “I want to feel you today.”

When you tuck your face back into the curve of his throat and close your eyes, it takes no time at all for your breathing to grow steady. Din stays awake for a little while, idly stroking your hair away from your face.

When he finally feels sleep claw at him, Din does not dream. The colours dancing languidly on his closed eyelids resemble the hues of your irises.

For all his attempts to train you to shoot a blaster, you cannot fight for bantha shit.

“Don’t tuck your thumb,” he says, circling you on the grass.

“You say that like it means something. How ‘bout you come over here and show me how it’s done?” He watches you wiggle your brows and decides he would much rather watch you suffer.

“It means, don’t tuck your thumb.” He mirrors your closed fist but manages to make it look much more assured. “You’ll break it if you try to hit someone like that.”

“I don't want to hit anyone, Din.”

He cocks his head in that annoying way he does.

“But someone may want to hit you.” His body is stiff when he turns to square his shoulders, a little closer to you than you remember him being. The Crest should land on Nevarro within the hour, so you decided to occupy your shared free time with a spontaneous sparring session. Not that he ever actually strikes you. It’s more of a… one-sided talking session. With the occasional scolding.

“Not if you’re with me,” you remind him.

“That’s right.” Still, he circles you, always facing you, assessing your posture. “Kick your legs farther apart.”

You do, planting one foot slightly behind the other. You’ve seen him do it. Clearly, your mirroring attempt is wrong. “Not that far apart.”

“I think you’re doing this on purpose.”

“You need to learn.”

“I know that,” you huff, dropping your hands by your side. “It would help a lot if you actually fought me.”

“There wouldn’t be a fight.”

Cocky bastard. “I’m not asking you to punch me or shoot me. Just… fake it.”

His sigh is audible. “And what if I strike by accident?”

You cannot help but smile fondly. Your warrior, always trying to keep you safe in a galaxy that does not care in the least for your safety. “You’re a fool, Din Djarin, but you know your strength better than that.” You close the distance between your bodies. “If you don’t want me to fight, why am I still here?”

“You’re still here…” He brushes a finger over your cheek. “… because I don’t trust the world not to hurt you like it already has.”

Your voice lacks its typical conviction. “I’m not a child. I can take care of myself.”

“Well, the kid is. And he loves you. He trusts you.” He shakes his head as if trying to make an intricate blueprint of his next words. “ I trust you. I trust you to take care of him, and I trust you to be my partner.”

“It’s a shame I can’t trust you not to get yourself half-dead every time we visit a new planet. Wouldn’t have to worry about my heart giving out if I just up and left this hunk of junk.”

You’re taunting him, that delicious mouth of yours a beacon of wickedness. “Can’t rely on the ‘verse to keep you safe the way I can,” he says.

“That”—you tap him gently on the cheek of his helmet, clicking your tongue—“is dangerously cocky, Mandalorian.”

“Yeah?” He catches your wrist and squeezes. “People hurt you. They take what they want from you and toss you back. Or not. It’s not gonna happen.” He places your hand over his heart. “Not with me.”

You recall the long, lonely days before you met him. You recall the sleepless nights when an animal would be sick or injured, and you were the only handler willing to stay awake all night to monitor its condition. Sitting in a hard, rickety chair next to a bassinet or bacta tank, your fingers drumming nonsensical rhythms on your thighs. Dread curling in your stomach when your charge’s condition worsened. Sickening joy when they pulled through. You remember how cold the nighttime would get and how, when you made your home onboard the Crest, you would awake to find your curled-up body covered in more blankets than you fell asleep with. You confronted him about it one day.

I’m paying you to stay alive, was his cool reply. He never used to bother looking your way as he fiddled with the controls in the cockpit.

I’m used to the cold, you told him.

For a moment, you were certain he wanted to leave the conversation at that—not that it was much of a conversation. Then, as you turned to descend back down the ladder, he said, So am I.

“My life started when I met you,” you tell him now, and he isn’t fond of the little frown that comes over your face. “It could end right now and I’d be okay.”

“Don’t.” His voice comes out coarse as sand. “It’s not going to end.”

You lean forward and press your forehead against the cool metal of his. “You want me to live forever, Mandalorian?”

His hand finds the back of your neck, fingers digging into your scalp, as he keeps you there, firm. Steady. “Longer than that,” he says.

Your smile makes your cheeks ache. “I’ll do my best for you.”

His other hand grasps your hip. “That's my girl.”

“Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum.”

It leaves your mouth stumbling, grasping for the right vowel noises and falling clumsily nonetheless. But he chuckles, a soft gasping laugh that makes you shiver.

“Knew you were listening.”

“Learned it myself,” you whisper. “Your teaching style is ineffectual.”

Above you, in the cockpit, the navigation system begins to beep wildly. Din pulls away from you and wordlessly heads back, but you smile at the way his fingers take the longest to detangle from yours.

#pedro pascal #kiwisbell's fics #the mandalorian #din djarin x you #din djarin x female reader #din djarin smut #din djarin #the mandalorian fanfiction #din djarin fic #din djarin x reader #din djarin fanfiction

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intricatechaosofyou · 7 months

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Types of Kisses

Pairing: Hunter x reader; Wrecker x reader; Tech x reader; Echo x reader; Crosshair x reader

Fandom: The Bad Batch; Star Wars

Summary: members of the Bad Batch as different types of kisses

Warnings: spoilers for season 2 ep. 13 on Hunter’s, blood and injury in Echo’s, storm in Crosshair’s, reader is mentioned being shorter than Wrecker but otherwise all are inclusive to all body types, genders, etc!! And if you feel that they aren’t, please tell me! I want to be as inclusive as I can!

Author’s note: this is the first time I’ve done something like this so tell me if you like it! Slight AU in which Crosshair has rejoined the Batch. Also, you are already in a relationship with your batcher at this point in time.

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HUNTER: kisses on the neck

You were leaning on the rocky wall, overlooking Pabu as the lights came on for the night. The sight was truly marvelous, bringing you a sense of tranquility that usually evaded you.

For the first time since Order 66 was given and your world was turned upside down, you truly felt like you belonged somewhere.

“What’re you up to?” A smoky voice questioned as two warm hands settled on your hips.

Leaning back into Hunter’s chest, you shrugged. “Just looking.”

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” He asked, burying his face in the crook of your neck.

You hummed in agreement as you felt his lips press against his spot on your neck. It never made much sense to you, but every moment like this, when things were calmer than usual, Hunter would press his lips to the same spot on your neck without fail. Every. Single. Time.

It didn’t bother you. Quite the opposite actually. You enjoyed the affection, but you just wanted to understand why.

“Hunter?” You whispered, reaching one of your hands back to card through his hair.

“Cyar’ika?” He responded, breath tickling your neck.

“Why do you always like to kiss me there?”

His eyes flickered up to yours. “Where?”

“That spot on my neck,” you answered with a laugh.

“It’s your pulse point,” he explained, voice lower and softer than normal. “Being able to feel it reminds me you’re here. Makes me feel closer to you.”

Your breath felt shaky and your eyes welled with tears. The sincerity of his admission coupled with the nervousness in his voice made you remember why you fell in love with him in the first place.

“Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum,” you mumbled, turning in his hold so you could look him in the eyes. You were sure your pronunciation was off, but the way his eyes softened told you he understood.

“Someone’s been practicing their Mando’a.”

“Are you impressed?”

“With you? Always.”

A grin broke out on your face at the admission, and you pulled him into an embrace.

“What if we stay here?” Hunter whispered.

You hummed, nuzzling your head into his chest. You’d be content in his arms forever. “I wouldn’t be opposed to it.”

“Neither would I,” he replied with an airy chuckle. “But I meant here as in…Pabu.”

“Permanently?” You asked, looking up at him. “As in, we stop being soldiers?”

He nodded slowly, beautiful brown eyes searching your face. “We could stop running, stop going on jobs for a few lousy credits. We could settle down.”

“Settle down?” You repeated.

“You, me, and Omega. We could have a house here in lower Pabu. We could be…”

“A family,” you finished for him.

His tongue swiped across his lips as he nodded. “Is that something you want?”

“More than anything in the galaxy, Hunter,” you replied, voice almost too quiet for him to hear.

A grin broke out across his face and he brought you into his chest, arms wrapping around your waist, yours coming to rest on his shoulders.

The two of you stood there holding each other as his lips found their spot on your neck and it was as if every star in the galaxy had aligned.

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WRECKER: kisses on the cheek

A sequence of splashes echoed throughout the small clearing, Omega’s amazed gasp following it. The Batch had been traveling for ages and had found a relatively secluded planet to take a short break on. When you discovered it had a small lake, you and Omega were the first ones there.

“Can you teach me how to do that?!” Omega begged, tugging on your arm.

Who knew skipping rocks would be so entertaining? Her child-like sense of wonder still managed to make you smile. Even after everything she had been through, she’d never lost her sense of innocence and hope.

“Course, ‘Meg,” you replied. “First thing you gotta do is find a flat rock.”

Listening obediently, Omega searched the ground, fingers trailing along the dirt much like Hunter’s did when he was tracking something. When she came upon a satisfactory rock, she held it out to you. “Will this do?”

You nodded. “Perfect. Now, you gotta hold it correctly.”

Demonstrating with your own rock, you showed her how her pointer finger and thumb should wrap around the stone. She followed suit, and you gently nudged her fingers so they were properly placed.

“Now when you throw it, you gotta flick your wrist,” you explained, moving your hand back and forth to show the motion. “Think you got that?”

Omega nodded vigorously, copying your motion almost perfectly.

“Good. Now, you wind up and throw.”

Rocking back onto her heels, Omega winded up and threw her rock. It hit the water’s surface and sank, causing a frown to form on her face.

“That’s alright, ‘Meg.” You offered her a reassuring smile and gently patted her shoulder. “You can try again.”

Suddenly, a large splash made you both turn towards the rippling water.

The booming laugh from your left alerted you to the fact the culprit was Wrecker. He grinned sheepishly and came to sit next to you and Omega. “And if you can’t, it’s more fun to just throw ‘em in!”

His statement made Omega laugh. You could always count on the large clone to bring the kid out of a stupor.

You smiled at the two and placed your rock in Omega’s hand. Nodding towards the lake, you squeezed her shoulder.

Taking a deep breath, Omega got ready to try again. Winding up and throwing, the three of you watched as the rock hit the water once…twice…three times.

All of you cheered, pride for the young girl swelling in your chest.

The young girl turned back to you. “Did you see that?!”

“I did, short stack. Good job,” you praised, gently ruffling her blonde hair.

She smiled at you before running down the path to find more rocks to skip, careful to stay within your line of sight.

With a content sigh, you moved to lounge on Wrecker’s lap as he sat down. “She’s a quick learner.”

“She had a good teacher,” Wrecker mumbled, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you closer to him.

You smiled and turned your head to press a kiss to his cheek. The mountain of a man was usually towering above you, his cheek too far above you to even think about pressing a kiss to it, so you took advantage of the situation.

The kiss made him blush and the red tint covering his cheeks made you giggle.

Laying your head on his shoulder, you closed your eyes. “Isn’t this nice?”

He nodded. “Yeah. Wish everyday could be like this.”

“Me too,” you whispered, looking up at the clone. “Me too, Wreck.”

The two of you sat there for as long as you could, content with just holding each other as you watched Omega skip rocks along the lake. And for once, the ever chaotic galaxy seemed to still to let you two have your moment.

━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━

TECH: kisses on the nose

“Spanner wrench.” Tech’s hand stretched out towards you, waiting expectantly for the tool to be placed in his hand.

His head was under the control panel of the Marauder as he tried to recalibrate the controls after a particularly bad landing on the last mission. You volunteered to help him so Omega could go explore the town with the rest of the guys. But so far your “helping” had just consisted of handing him tools as you sat on the floor next to him.

You placed the tool in his hand, watching with amusement as his hand disappeared once again. It was the only part of him you’d seen for hours now.

“Tech?”

“Yes?”

“How much longer until the repairs are complete?” You questioned, leaning back on your forearms.

“Not much longer. Why?”

You shrugged, a smirk gracing your face. “Just wanted to know how much longer I have to go without seeing your handsome face.”

The clone froze mid motion, the spanner wrench almost slipping out of his grasp.

“Something wrong, handsome?” You asked, teasing lilt in your voice.

Finally, Tech removed his head from the control panel so he could look at you. His goggles were knocked askew and his nose was scrunched up like it always was whenever he didn’t understand something.

“Why are you calling me that?”

“Calling you what?” You blinked innocently, playing dumb.

“‘Handsome,’” he clarifies, eyebrows scrunching together. “You’ve never called me that before.”

You frowned and leaned towards the man, lightly kissing the tip of his nose. “Just because I’ve never called you that before doesn’t mean it isn’t true. You’re so unbelievably handsome.”

It took Tech a second before he got his bearings about him again. “Thank you.”

“Anytime, handsome,” you replied with a wink, kissing the tip of his nose again.

A faint smile made its way to his lips as he adjusted his goggles. “I happen to think you’re rather attractive as well.”

“Such a charmer,” you snorted.

“I am simply stating a fact. You are extremely attractive to the standards of many species across the galaxy.”

“And if it wasn’t a fact?” You teased.

“Then I’d still find you attractive,” he admitted, placing a hand over yours.

You felt heat creep up your neck at the admission. Although it wasn’t quite as romantic as the declarations of love you’d seen in the Holofilms, it was Tech’s own way of expressing his adoration of you. “Oh, Tech. I love you.”

“I am fond of you as well,” he responded, earning a light hit on the shoulder from you.

“Just fond?” You teased, faking a glare.

He smiled, leaning in to kiss the tip of your nose, just as you’d done to him. “I love you.”

━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━

ECHO: kisses on the finger

“Dank ferrik!” You hissed, pulling your hand away from the blade you had been cleaning.

It had been a bad battle with the Batch, resulting in you and your opponents getting up close and personal. Thankfully, the six of you had made it out without any damage. The only reminder of the battle was the blood smeared across your favorite viroblade.

Now you had cut your own finger while trying to clean it. You watched as your blood mixed with that of your opponents and grimaced. You stood and made your way to the door to go and wash the blood off, but a gentle hand grabbing your wrist made you pause.

“Cyar’ika, what did you do?” Echo asked, a teasing lilt in his voice.

“Nothing,” you lied, heat crawling up your neck.

“So you didn’t just cut yourself?”

You frowned. You couldn’t get anything past Echo. Despite not having Hunter’s enhanced senses, he could always tell when something had happened to you.

“I’ll never understand how you can be so graceful with that knife in the field but so clumsy while cleaning it,” he chuckled. He was right, it wasn’t the first time you had cut yourself while trying to clean your blade. It was comical really that your only injury was due to your own clumsiness.

Jutting out your bottom lip just a little, you questioned, “Will you patch it up for me?”

“You don’t even have to ask,” he replied with a smile. He placed his scomp on the small of your back and led you to the fresher.

Once you two were in the cramped room, he turned on the sink and placed your hand under the stream of cool water to rinse out the wound.

As you held your finger under the water, Echo retrieved a small bandage and bacta spray. “Give me your hand,” he ordered.

You did as he said and he turned off the water.

“This might hurt,” he warned, grimace crossing his face.

“I’ll be fine, Echo,” you assured the clone.

He nodded. “Alright. Three, two, one.”

At one, he sprayed the small cut with the bacta.

Although it was a small cut, the spray still caused a sting. You hissed quietly, making Echo look up at you with concern.

“‘M sorry, cyare,” he muttered.

“It’s alright,” you assured him. “I’ve been through worse.”

The clone offered you a weak smile before wrapping a small bandage around it. “There. Not too tight?”

You shook your head. “Nope. It’s perfect.”

He smiled. “Alright then, cyare, you’re all patched up.”

“I am?” You asked, tilting your head with a pout. “Because it still hurts.”

A worried frown made its way to his face. Now he was concerned that your small cut was something bigger. He immediately cupped your face with his hand. “What do you need?”

Your heart clenched at his concerned tone. You hadn’t meant to scare him.

“Cyare?”

“I’m okay, Echo. I promise. Just want you to kiss it better,” you admitted with a bashful smile.

A relieved chuckle escaped his lips. “That I can do.” Slowly, he lifted your hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to the pad of your cut finger.

You smiled at him. “Much better.”

With a small smirk, he pressed a kiss to the rest of your fingers. “I’m glad.”

━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━

CROSSHAIR: kisses on the temple

Rain pelted the surface of the planet you were on. It was a simple extraction mission for Cid but the storm prevented you from taking off to deliver the package. For now, all you could do was sit and wait.

Most of the boys were trying to get some rest while you had the downtime, but you sat in the cockpit, watching the raindrops hit the ship as you sat perched on the lap of the resident sniper.

“I still don’t understand why you like this,” he mumbled, eyes trained on a water droplet as it ran down the glass.

“You don’t find it relaxing?” You asked. Watching the rain had always proven relaxing to you ever since you were young. During rainstorms you were able to forget the chaos and war as you watched the rain cleanse the planet.

Crosshair’s arms tightened around you as thunder rattled the ship. “Relaxing?”

“Yeah. Don’t you feel the peace that comes in with the rain?” You questioned, glancing at the hardened face of the sniper.

“No,” he replied, voice curt.

Laughing quietly, you brought a hand up to cover his eyes. “You’re too focused. Let go of yourself.”

The clone hummed in annoyance as his sight was blocked, yet he made no move to stop you. For anyone else, touching was completely off the table when it came to Crosshair. However, he made an exception for you and your soft touches, your gentle caresses. It filled your heart with joy that he allowed you to do something so few others got the opportunity to.

You let out a content sigh as you laid your head on his shoulder. “Just listen to the rain. Don’t think about anything else. Just think about how delicately the rain falls.”

“Delicate?” He asked. You could feel the way his brows creased in confusion under your hand as he continued. “A flower is delicate. A baby tooka is delicate. Rain is not delicate. Not when it’s storming like this.”

Just then, as if to prove his point, a loud crack of thunder sounded, shaking the ship.

You couldn’t miss the way Crosshair’s grip on you tightened just the slightest bit when the Marauder rattled. For a man so hardened by the war, you could only imagine what the thunder claps reminded him of.

Gently, you tilted your head and pressed a kiss to the scar on his temple. “It can’t hurt us in here.”

The clone sighed and nodded, but his body didn’t relax.

“And I’m right here,” you assured him, pressing another kiss to his temple. “And so are you.” Another kiss. “And it’s gonna be okay.”

As you kissed him for that fourth time, finally you felt his fingers uncurl from your hips just the slightest bit and a little bit of the tension slip away from his body.

“I love you,” he murmured. You could barely hear his voice above the rain hitting against the ship, but still you caught the rare affectionate words from the man.

“I love you, too.”

And those four words made the rain not seem as bad.

#the bad batch star wars #the bad batch hunter #hunter the bad batch #the bad batch #echo the bad batch #tech the bad batch #wrecker the bad batch #crosshair the bad batch #the bad batch x reader #the bad batch x you #clones x reader #tbb hunter x reader #tbb echo x reader #tbb tech x reader #tbb wrecker x reader #tbb crosshair x reader #tbb fanfiction #star wars the bad batch #star wars fanfiction

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din-miller · 1 year

Text

Grogu's Stuffed Frog

Pairing: Din Djarin x gn!reader

Word count: 600+

Summary: You buy Grogu a stuffed frog while on a trip to the marketplace on Nevarro.

Warnings: fluff, reader and Din are the best parents in the Galaxy, His first name is Din, married couple, gender neutral reader, based on a post I saw on tumblr.

"What is that?"

You jumped, arms quick to hide behind your back and you gave your husband a shy smile, "What is what?"

"Mesh'la, tell me that you didn't buy the kid another toy."

"I didn't buy him another toy," You said, which is true, it technically isn't a toy, "It's a stuffed frog!"

"That it is," Din grabbed it from you and flipped it over a few times, "It's heavy."

"It's weighted. The seller said it's good for helping children feel safe. Something about the weight comforting them or something," You explained with a small shrug, "Figured it couldn't hurt to try it out."

The tip of Din's gloved fingers ran across the soft green fabric, "You have to stop spoiling him. We're going to have to buy a bigger house if you keep coming back with new toys."

"You say that now but you haven't felt how soft it is," You don't even have to reach down for his hand, he's already holding it out for you. You removed his glove and placed a small kiss on his palm, "It's softer than my skin."

"Not possible," Mando declared and stroked one of the frog's legs, "Grogu's in his hammock, he's been waiting patiently for you to come back, almost like he knows he'll be getting a new toy."

"Yeah, yeah," You smiled, taking back the small stuffed animal and heading to where Grogu is no doubt waiting for you, "He's going to love this!"

"And cyar’ika," Din called and you turned to him, "I was right."

"About what?"

"Your skin is softer."

You tilted your head down towards your chest, trying to hide the blush that spreads across your skin. It's no use, Din is well aware of the effect his words have on you.

You entered the living room, you had hung up Grogu's hammock here when you first moved into the house. Din was right, the child sat all wide eyed and excited. Upon seeing you he let out a happy coo, which became even louder when his eyes fell upon the small frog in your hand.

"Hey Bean, have you been good for your dad while I was gone?" You asked picking him up out of his hammock. Grogu curled into the warmth of your body, his tiny hands reaching for the frog. You chuckled and handed it to him.

Behind you Din leaned against the doorway, leg crossed over the other one. His helmet is finally off. Nowadays he only wears it when he's going out or when you've left the house alone. The seconds it takes to put on could cost you your life if you suddenly find yourself in danger. It's a tad dramatic but you expect nothing less from him.

"He likes it." Din guestered to the child who's currently trying to eat the frog's nose.

"You can't eat it you little swamp rat," You scrunched up your nose, trying to dislodge the plastic nose from Grogu's mouth. It took a second but you finally got it free, "Tell your buir that I was right to buy it and that you're not spoiled."

Din pushed off the door frame and pulled you against his chest, "He's definitely spoiled, but what can you expect from a boy who has the best buir this side of the galaxy."

"Damn right he does," You leaned back into your husband's embrace, "Maybe one day we can get another frog."

Din nudged the back of your ear with his nose, chuckling when you tried to squirm away, "He doesn't need anymore stuffed animals."

"I don't mean for Grogu." Your voice dropped down to a soft whisper.

Behind you there's a sharp intake of air, Din's fingertips momentarily digging into the flesh of your hips before he's swinging you around to face him, "Cyar’ika, are you saying..."

"I want to raise warriors."

"We're going to raise the strongest warriors; a whole army," Din pulled you in for a kiss, "Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum."

"Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum sa pirusti."

Translation:

"Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum." - I love you

"Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum sa pirusti." - I love you as well

#im not happy with how this turned out but i needed a distraction and i saw a post about how grogu needs a stuffed frog in S4 #the mandalorian #din djarin x reader #din djarin x gender neutral reader #the mandalorian x reader #married couple | the mandalorian #fluff #justice joy writes #*based off of a tumblr post #sir grogu #din djarin #married couple

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ruinedbylanadelrey · 9 months

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Just imagine Reader taking care of Din’s injuries after he was in a big fight and got lots of cuts and bruises on his chest and back. Of course it starts to turn intimate and Din wants some, but Reader reminds him he’s hurt. It would be steamy, sweet, and funny all at once.

Like You Do | Din Djarin x f!Reader

"You're the one I can't lose, no one loves me like you do" - Joji, Like You Do

summary: Din comes back to the crest hurt and her heart just breaks at the sight of her strong Mandalorian crumbling to his knees. warnings: 18+, MINORS DNI, descriptions of blood, cuts, and needles, his name is din not djarin (i'm sorry he is 4ever din<3), razor crest lives forever, mando'a use, no grogu, reader is so in love with, din is a simp, mando's helmet comes off (i'm sorry), sexual tension, touching, groping, kissing, din begging to be fucked AN: I have had this request in my drafts forever because i kept re writing it so here is the final product. I want to clarify that Din Djarin is my #1 man, i know it's shocking because I write about Joel mostly. But Din is my soulmate and I'm a little embarrassed to share my thoughts about Din. Like my room color scheme is grey, silver, and black I re did my room back when The Mandalorian came out. That's my little secret<3 anyways enjoy my little fantasy<3333 masterlist

translations: cyar’ika- darling, beloved, sweetheart Udesii- "take it easy" Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum- "I love you/I know you forver"

Din could feel the sliced skin stretch with each step he took, all he could smell is blood, blaster smoke, and sweat. His breathing was uneven and his body trembling when he made it to the crest, falling to his knees as he heard your sweet honey voice calling out to him.

"Din! Maker! I don't know where you're bleeding from!" You slide to your knees taking the large Mandalorian into your arms, laying him against your chest, your hands working quickly removing his armor except for his helmet. His flight suit was torn on his left side at the waist, his flesh gashed, red bleeding into the meat of his skin. He needs bacta but the hard stuff.

Din said he will only use it if you were the one hurt; your mind replayed that whole argument when you guys finally gave in and fell through the thin wire of tension cutting it when he thrust himself into your hot core.

You asked him, 'Why can't we use it on you if it ever comes down to it?'

'I will do whatever it takes to keep you alive...you're the one I can't lose.'

You scoffed at him and just spat 'So I can lose you and feel the exact same pain you would feel for me'

'You're so much stronger than me in every single way, cyar’ika' Din chokes up and it broke your heart seeing be so emotional. He was a cold-hearted person until you came along as another recuse he collected. You brought your sunshine and melted away the winter in his heart.

The movie in your head clears when you grabbed the needle of bacta and pinched his skin near the gash and pushed the medicine into his muscles. Din's screams were so visceral and his hands grip your thighs, bruising them to a deep purple. "Udesii! Udesii!" You cry out as you throw the empty syringe across the hull.

His body jolts while the bacta runs through his body, you composed yourself and grab the medpack pulling out the field cauterizer. You laid him on his right side while you fused his skin back together. Burning flesh filled the air making your bile come up your throat burning it and leaving a sour taste in your mouth, your hands slick from sweating and his blood.

Din going limp and taking shallows breaths submitting to you saving him. You wiped your hands on your pants and laying him on his back, you sobbed as you cupped the cheek of his helmet with your hands.

"Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum" Din strangles to say holding your wrist in his hand, pressing your hand closer to the beskar. You collapsed on top of him, your body jerking from the hiccups and sobs leaving your mouth. Din wraps his arms around holding you like a child holding his favorite toy close so it won't leave his sight.

"You're so dramatic, little girl" Din takes a deep breath and laughs it out. You craned your neck to him without his helmet. You quickly turned away, you panic and guilt slamming into your heart. "I want you to see me, cyar’ika" Din grabs your chin and tilts your head where your eyes are burning into his brown eyes.

You swallow as your eyes dance around his face, taking his eyes, the scruff on his face, patchy in a few spots, his mustache bringing attention to his plump lips, so pink and kissable.

"You were crafted by the maker, din" You trace his nose with your fingertip, taking in how his skin feels on yours. "Kiss me, little girl, please" He whimpers while you thumb over his bottom lip. The need in his voice made you ache between your thighs. You carefully straddle his waist and bring your lips to his, Din sits up groaning while he licked in your mouth, his hands exploring up and down your back, his hands grabbing your ass and squeezing so hard.

You gasp and moan "Din...you're h-" he cuts you off and bites your lip. He grabs your hand and places it on top of the outline of his hard cock. "C'mon baby, let's fuck," his words entice you as you tighten your grip around his clothed length, and he winces and whimpers and you remembered you're the stronger one and need to stop this so he could rest.

"Din, no you need to rest," he kisses your neck and bites at the thin skin. "Little girl, let's have fun..." That damn name made you want to say screw it. "Let's sleep, I'm tired and you have to be too," You helped Din to the steel slab that he calls a bed and lays down holding out his arms for you to be his human-weighted blanket.

"We will talk about the bacta when we wake up" Din mumbles as sleep takes over him and relaxes with you on top of him.

#din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin x f!reader #the mandalorian #pedro pascal #din djarin fluff #din djarin smut #pedro pascal is the mandalorian

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tbbs-best-hair · 4 months

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Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum, mesh'la <3 Will you be ner riduur?

Anyone else getting anonymous marriage proposals, or is it just me?

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kalevalakryze · 5 months

Note

Not really a question and not to be dramatic, but Ni kar'tayli gar darasuum.

That is all. Have a good day, burc'ya 🙃

🥹🥹🥹 ori'vor'e, burc'ya! gar sol'tan! shereshoy!!!

#mando'a #Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum!

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aintinacage · 2 years

Text

Sabine Wren realizes she has feelings for Ezra, but are the feelings mutual?

Part 1- Ni Kar'tayl Gar Darasuum

Part 2- I Love You

#sabezraweek2022 #Sabezra #sabine wren #ezra bridger #ezra x sabine #Ezbine #Star Wars rebels #Star Wars fanfic #star wars rebels fanfic #Sabine wren fanfic #ezra bridger fanfic #Sabezra fanfic #Ezbine fanfic #part 1 #part 2 #more than friends #Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum #I love you

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ariundercovers · 11 months

Text

One Last Time (Din Djarin x Reader)

Summary: You made it to the waters with Din and Bo - but what does that mean for the two of you?

Pairing: Din Djarin x Reader (no gender descriptors used in this one!)

Word count: ~1.5k

Warnings: fluff and angst abound

a/n: this is a lil one-shotty thing that I have a lot of other ideas for additional installments if there is any interest! But let me know if you do!

The three of you head into the cave, though you and Din stop just in the mouth of the entrance as Bo’katan continues forward. She speaks up, over her shoulder. “And here we are: The Mines of Mandalore. I’ll give you two a minute, I’m going to scope things out.” Din nods back at her affirmatively, and you turn to him, excited.

“You made it, Din. You did what no one else thought was even possible. The living waters are still here! You can set everything right again.”

He sighs, his voice audibly terse through the modulation. “I know.”

Your brow scrunches in confusion. “Why don’t you sound happy about it?”

He turns to you and seemingly stares for some time. When he finally speaks, his voice cracks slightly, like it pains him to do so. There is a curve to his upper back that wasn’t there before and a weight to his shoulders that he didn’t carry on the way down.

“Because after I am redeemed in the waters, I will no longer be an apostate, but I will not be able to kiss you again.”

His words visibly take you aback, shattering the happy moment and splintering your heart. “What?”, you whisper. He pauses briefly before responding.

“I cannot remove my helmet.”

Realization settles over you slowly and unwillingly, eventually letting out a near-silent, “Oh,” as means of acknowledgment. He hasn’t moved from his spot by even a millimeter.

“Is this still okay with you?”

“It… It’s not my choice, Din. This is your religion, your faith…. I support you in whatever you need to do for this. Always.”

“Even this?”

“Even this.”

“Cyare…”

“Even this, Din. I promise. Even with this.” Finally, he breaks his stoic posture and walks over to you, placing his gloved hand on your face tenderly, stroking your cheek with his thumb. The scratch of the worn leather prickles your skin as you look into his visor, wishing you could see the expression on his face. “If you’re going to, uh… be redeemed after this is all over anyway, can I ask you for something?”

“Anything, cyare.”

You were still his beloved, even if he couldn’t kiss you to prove it.

You take a deep breath, steadying yourself before asking. “Can I kiss you one last time? Please? I promise I won’t look. I’ll keep my eyes closed until you tell me to.”

He responds with a hum and you blink down at your feet.

“If that’s asking too much, I understand. I’m sorry. I don’t mean to overstep, and I don’t want to test your faith, so please don’t let me do that.” His hand travels down your arm to grasp the back of your own, the other hand mirroring it on the opposite side. Slowly, he pulls your hands up toward his head, placing them on either side of his helmet.

You lock eyes with his visor again and he commands lowly.

“Go ahead.”

Your eyes go wide. “Really?”

He nods, touching foreheads with you as you close your eyes.

“Yes.”

You feel his right palm come up to your cheek and pause there before he drags it across your eyes to shield your vision as he pulls slightly away from you, though still within your reach. His voice is low and gravelly when he repeats his earlier command.

“Go ahead, cyar’ika. I mean it.”

You slowly, so slowly, lift the helmet off his head and drop it into your right hand, where he takes it from you and places it somewhere on the damp rocky floor beside him with a soft clink.

“Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum.” He whispers, as his left hand wraps around the back of your neck, pulling you into a kiss. It's the fieriest kiss you think you’ve ever had, all passion, teeth, and tongue. The hand on your neck travels down to the small of your back and you snake your own up to his face, running your fingers through the sparse hair on his chin and cheeks. You savor the feeling of his skin against your own, trying to commit the shape of his cheekbones and nose to memory before it is lost to you forever.

Suddenly, the gloved hand that was covering your eyes shifts, moving to the side of your face and then wrapping behind your head and fisting into your hair. You squeeze your eyes shut even tighter, afraid to stop thinking about it for even a moment.

When he finally pulls away from you for a moment, the two of you are breathing heavily. Din rests his forehead on yours and you breathe together for a few beats before he finally breakas the silence with another instruction.

“Open your eyes,”

The order shocks you and you instinctively shake your head ‘no’ in response, yet he continues to urge you further.

“Open your eyes, cyar’ike.”

You hesitate, letting your breathing calm down as you attempt to rationally respond to him. “I can’t, Din, I can’t do that to you.”

Your hands are on his shoulders now and you can feel his body heave out a sigh at your response. “Then do it for me. Let me see you. Open your eyes.” You pause for a moment before giving in, as you slowly creak one eye open, and then the other. Din has a soft smile on his moustached lips, his wide brown eyes boring into your own. Something primal wells up in you as you get a full view of his face for the first time, and your body lets out an involuntary squeak. His thumb rubs lazy circles into the back of your cheek as your eyes dart about, trying to commit all of his features to memory.

“Din, you’re… you’re so beautiful.” A barely there tinge of pink develops over his features and you smile wide. “I love you. I love you so much.” His face is deeply expressive - showing all of the embarrassment and self consciousness that he’s feeling at once, pulling on your heartstrings like nothing else ever had before. It breaks you just a little bit when you can feel the heat in his cheeks become to much for him and he kisses you again.

This time is deep and slow, savoring the taste of your lips on his. It feels final - you know you need to get moving, even in the midst of such major shifts between the two of you. Eventually, you break away and speak once more.

“Din, I love you so much that I’ll let this be both the first and the last time I get to look into your eyes, and I promise you that I will never, ever, ask you to remove your helmet ever again. I respect you, and your Creed, way to much to ever possibly do otherwise.”

He blinks back at you and smiles, sadly, bending down to pick his helmet back up. You pull him in for another quick and searing kiss before launching your arms around his torso and pushing your cheek fiercely into his cuirass. As you pull away, he lifts his helmet to place it back on his head, but you reach out to stop him.

“Wait. Let me? Please?” He nods and yields the helmet to you, taking a knee in front of you so that you could reach more easily.

You place it above his forehead like a crown and slowly bring it down, covering his forehead, his eyebrows, his eyes, then his cheekbones, and the tip of his nose. You pause there, leaning into him to grasp his lips with your own one last time. You try desperately to burn them into your mind.

When you finally force yourself to pull away, you finish slipping the helmet over the rest of his face, and he reaches up to re-engage, tell-tale hiss of an air-lock slipping back into place. He stands slowly and you give him the best sad smile that you can muster.

“I love you like this, too, Din Djarin.” The words creak out of your throat with tears in your eyes, and he once again presses the forehead of his helmet to your own, a keldabe kiss, as he told you a few weeks ago. “I love every version of you.”

The stare coming back at you from his visor is obviously blank, but you imagine him smiling underneath of it.

“You ready?” He questions, voice modulated once more.

“As I’ll ever be.” he turns you around with a hand on the small of your back and leads you toward Bo’katan and the steps below.

#din djarin x reader #din djarin x y/n #din djarin #din dijarin fanfiction #din x you #writing

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to-proudly-go · 1 year

Text

To know is to love

And I will know you forever.

Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum.

#dinluke #lukedin #the mandalorian #star wars #may the 4th be with you everybody #and today we celebrate our delusions #din djarin #luke skywalker

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zoeykallus · 1 year

Note

Awww! May I request The Bad Batch and maybe Howzer ? Speaking Mando’a to their S/O like saying something funny or romantic that they wouldn’t say out loud or maybe S/O learns a few phrases for them? I love it when couples with different cultures try and learn one and another’s ❤️❤️❤️

Sounds like a cute idea to me :))

But I don't know anything about Mando'a so... let's hope for the best ^^'

The Bad Batch x Reader HC's - Speaking Mando'a

No Warnings

____________

Hunter

You two walk through the streets of Mos Eisley and Hunter can see you are a little nervous. The people around here are mostly gangsters, at least in the part of town you are roaming around right now.

"Don't you worry, Cyare, I'm always your cabur", he says softly, grabbing your hand.

You look at him puzzled.

"What's a cabur?"

"It's pronounced KAH-boor, and it means 'guardian' or 'protector'"

"Is it Mando'a?"

Hunter nods.

"I didn't know you really speak that language"

Hunter explains, "At some point I thought it's part of where we are coming from, even if we are cloned, not born, it doesn't hurt to know about it"

"Cyare is Mando'a too, right?"

"Yes, and it does mean 'love'. Madalorians use it to address their partners"

You smile at him, warmth spreading in your chest. You knew it was something sweet, but to finally really know it, felt different, much more real.

Echo

You two are walking thorugh a market and Echo got into a fight with one of the vendors over a faulty item he sold him an hour ago.

"Di'kut!", calls Echo over his shoulder at the vendor when you pull him along.

"Stop, Echo. You won't get anything out of this. You got your credits back"

Echo huffs, "A brazen son of a bitch is that!"

You chuckle, "I'm not used to you talking like that. What does 'di'kut' mean?"

Echo calms down a bit, smiles at you and says, "Sorry, I didn't mean to make you feel uncomfortable. 'Di'kut' means 'idiot"

"Is it Mando'a?"

"Yes, dear, it is"

You grab his hand and ask, "Can you say something nicer in Mando'a?"

Echo nods, "Sure. What would you like to hear?"

"What would you like to tell me?", you ask back.

"Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum, ner kar'ta"

"What's it mean?"

Echo smiles and kisses your cheek, "I love you, my heart"

Wrecker

"Kandosii'la!"

"What?"

You are trying on an outfit for a party tonight. Wrecker and you are invited, and you want to look good at your man's side.

"Kandosii'la!"

You chuckle, "Yes Wrecker, I heard that, but what does it mean?"

He laughs, "Oh! It means 'amazing'. You look amazing, sweetheart"

You smile and turn around once more.

"Really?"

"Mesh'la!"

"Is that Mando'a again?"

"Yes, it means 'beautiful' ", Wrecker explains, gets up from his seat and pulls you close.

As he places a soft kiss on the top of your head, he says, "I can teach you a few words if you like"

"That would be nice"

"Okay, first of, we call Crosshair 'di'kut!"

Tech

You sit with Tech outside the Marauder in the shadow of a tree, leaning into one of his arms. He's holding his holopad with the hand of his other arm and is answering all your questions about Mandalorian culture.

Listening to his voice, cuddled to his side, you picture the things he's telling you about in your mind. Mandalorian's culture is anything but boring, and it's more or less part of his ancestry.

"Can you speak Mando'a?", you ask him.

"Indeed"

"Say something in Mando'a"

"What do you want me to say?"

"Do you love me, Tech?"

He raises his eyebrows in surprise.

"Yes I do, I thought it was obvious"

You smirk at him.

"Then tell me in Mando'a"

He smiles and says softly, "Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum"

Crosshair

"What are you doing there, Kitten?"

You almost jump off the chair at the table.

"How do you always sneak up on me like this?", you ask with a wildly pounding heart.

Crosshair smirks.

"You are always with your head in the clouds or something, it's not exactly complicated to sneak up on you. So? What is this? Are you trying yourself at Mando'a?"

"Mhm", you hum in agreement.

He sighs and sits down next to you.

"Give me that", he snarls and picks the pen out of your hand, "Most of this is wrong"

He corrects an embarrassingly high number of mistakes you made and hands the pen back to you.

"You should read this carefully and remember it, I've added the pronunciation. Tonight I'll quiz you, if you get more than half right I'll show you how to shoot with my rifle."

You look up at him excitedly as he stands up.

"Your rifle? Really?"

He smirks.

"Now focus and learn, Mesh'la" he says, kissing the top of your head before leaving the room.

"That means beauty!" you exclaim, feeling your ears and cheeks grow hot.

Howzer

"You are calling me all these names and I don't know what they mean"

Howzer smirks at you.

"You want to know?"

It always sounds so sweet and soft when he uses these words you don't understand. You know they are something nice and sweet, but you want to know for sure.

"Of course"

He caresses your cheek and says, "'Mesh'la', means beauty or beautiful"

It tingles under your skin where he just touched you.

Howzer softly lifts your chin with his finger, "'Cyar'ika', means Darling"

His face comes closer, and he says softly, " 'Cyare', means love"

Howzer's lips touch yours softly as your eyes close. As you open them again, you ask, "What about 'di'kut'?"

Howzer laughs, "I never called you that"

"No, but you called one of your brothers that"

He chuckles, "It means 'idiot'"

Ko-Fi (If you feel like giving me some coffee)

@rintheemolion

@andyoufollowyourheart @clone-whore-99

@brynhildrmimi @kaliel2310

@misogirl828 @tech-deck

@meshla-madalene

@chxpsi

@thebahdbitch

@nahoney22 @ladykatakuri

@darkangel4121

@ttzamara

@arctrooper69

@padawancat97

@agenteliix

@puppetswithteeth

@palliateclaws

@either-madness-or-brilliance

@ortizshinkaroff

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