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#the mandalorian fanfic
dindjiarin · 11 months
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The Concession - Din Djarin x f!Reader
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gif from @rebeljyn 's gifset here
Din Djarin falls in love. Whoops.
The Savior / The Concession / The Choice (END)
AO3 Link
TAGS: S2 Din Djarin, "Who Did This to You?", P in V, Unprotected Sex w/o consequences because who likes those, m!Masturbation, Fluff, Pining, touch-starved!Din, helmet-less!Din, soft!Din, protective!Din, Grogu bein a sweet shit.
WARNINGS: Star Wars cursing/slang which I know annoys some people lmao, abusive shopkeepers.
A/N: "Shit" is Star Wars canon (thank you, Andor); Din is a groaner (Chapter 5 of TBOBF); & Din is a bit of a poet (thanks pledge to Bo-Katan in Chapter 23); I have cited my sources LOL.
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"No," the Mandalorian snaps. "No droids." 
A gloved hand flies to his holster and the rusty pit droids screech to a halt, beeping nervously.
Leaning against the frame of the Razor Crest, at the top of the boarding ramp, you roll your eyes at Din Djarin's back. His distaste for droids had been made clear to you the first time he'd stopped for parts.
Those droids had been considerably less polite about Din’s preference, and he had taken too much pleasure in enforcing it.
"Listen, buddy, they're my refueling dr-"
"Then I'll take my business elsewhere."
The attendant sighs loudly, glaring at the Mandalorian. The skinny, maroon male with a fin-shaped head rises from his chair behind his workshop desk. He walks toward a shaking pit droid and grabs the refueler.
"It'll cost you extra," the attendant's eye-stalks narrow at the bounty hunter.
Din comes to an agreement with the disgruntled worker, sullenly agreeing to a slightly higher rate.
As the Mandalorian keeps watch over his ship, your footsteps clang down the steep ramp, and you sidle up to him, saying, "We need some things. Ration packs are gone. And - don't tell him -" your voice drops to a conspiratorial whisper, "But I think Grogu deserves a treat." 
"He would agree with you.” Din’s elbow brushes your shoulder, and he realizes he’d leaned closer as you spoke.
You continue, “And you need something to relax.” 
At that, Din’s helmet turns. “I do not.” 
“You’re even more impatient than usual. You’re on an anti-droid campaign; the last time we stopped, you threatened to yank out one’s navigator circuits just for bumping your foot.” You look up at him, raising a teasing eyebrow. 
The Mandalorian goes as still as one of those droids he had deactivated. His intimidating, T-shaped slit brands into your vision. Behind it, you know he’s boring holes into your face. 
“Alright. Nothing for you, then.”
Your shoulders drop when you turn away from him, almost relieved to be out from underneath his piercing, hidden gaze. 
The Mandalorian had paid you a few days before, and this was your first real opportunity to spend your own money. You can’t stop smiling, even as you place the kid in his white pod and stuff your pocket with your credits. Grogu is as excited as you are - giggling in his quiet way.
As you pass the statue of Din Djarin, he extends a closed fist. Obediently, you hold out your hand. The tan-hide fingers of his gloves open and credits fall, clinking. You look up questioningly at him.
“For the food. Your wages are not meant to be spent on communal necessities.”
 Your lips curve into a lopsided, sweet smile that Din immediately commits to memory, and you nod.
Turning to Grogu, his fuzzy ears perked and eyes wide, you ask, “Ready, kid?”
***
The marketplace is huge. Stretching the length of the entire square, it’s busy for a planet this remote, but the size increases the options. 
Grogu floats along beside you, and you keep one hand on the lip of the pod, just to be safe. The responsibility of the kid is the greatest charge you’ve ever been given, in more ways than one. Grogu often holds your hand or squeaks to get your attention to point at something glowing or stinky or flashing. His outright affection is a lamp to your lonely heart. 
After visiting several vendors, you’ve resupplied what was necessary (with credits left over), and now you move on to something for Grogu. You’d be buying that with your own wages. Din could say whatever he liked, but what else do you have to spend your money on except the cute baby?
You walk past a booth advertising repair supplies, but when you realize it’s for clothing repair, something clicks in your brain. Grogu’s ears flop forward with your sudden stop. Your eyes run over the objects, and you select some, a smile splitting your face. You hope he will be pleased.
Several minutes later, Grogu makes a bah! sound, pointing at a live amphibian display. You’re pretty sure it’s a pet vendor, but the look on the kid’s face tells you he won’t take no for an answer. And maybe you should parent him - tell him no - but that’s Din’s job, not yours. 
“Hi. How much for the frog eggs?” You politely ask the vendor, digging in your pocket for credits.
The bug-eyed lady tells you in a language you don’t speak, but she holds up three short tentacles on her hand. She pushes six eggs toward you, which you gratefully take and set in Grogu’s pod. 
When you try to hand her the credits, she’s pushed out of the way by someone behind her. A man with a smushed nose yells in the same language the lady had spoken, and points away, clearly telling her to leave. 
You watch warily, and once the woman has gone, the man turns to you. 
“My apologies. The price is one credit per egg,” he simpers at you. 
Disliking the hike in price, you move to return half of the eggs, but he protests, “Once the item has left my possession, they must be paid for.” 
“But I can give them back to you,” you assert. “I’m not paying that much for frog eggs.” 
His smushed nose twitches up like a feral Loth-wolf, “Yes, you are.”
"I'm not." You set three eggs back on the counter. 
The man seizes your wrists, holding you in place. The crowded market is loud, but your indignant cry and the vendor's screamed accusation of theft cause several people to stop and watch. 
You try to twist out of his hold, but his scaly skin tears at yours. The snarling vendor suddenly ceases making noise, and he releases your wrists to clutch at his throat. Shocked, your head snaps to the child.
Grogu has one little, three-fingered hand raised and curled. 
“No!” You gasp, slamming the button on Grogu’s pod to close it. Far, far too many eyes watch. 
The vendor, choking and sputtering, recovers quickly and lunges at you across the table. His hands grip your upper arms, but you wrench out of his hold. Hoping to draw all attention to yourself, you punch the vendor with all your might. The vendor stumbles.
“Never seen someone pretend to choke over three credits,” your lie is an incredibly lame one, but you hope it’s enough for passersby.
He clutches his jaw; his spat insult is garbled, and he begins to inch around the long table, trying to get a better shot at you.
You turn and walk away with as even a pace as you can manage. Running would make his accusation true. The crowd swallows the two of you up well, and you lengthen your stride.
 But the vendor is regaining his volume. Nervously, you check over your shoulder. You jolt when Grogu’s pod bumps into your hip, then zooms away.
“No,” you yell again, grasping for the white vessel, but it comes to a hovering stop in front of a tall, silver man.
“Thank the Maker,” you sigh with relief. “We have to go.”
Din immediately notices the red ring of heat around your wrists and along your knuckles. He strides toward you. The closer he gets, the safer you feel - his protective aura slowly engulfing you.  
Din grabs your forearm and examines your wrist. There’s a raw quality to your skin where the man’s abrasive hands had clamped down and twisted. After a moment, his face locks onto yours.
“Show me who did this."
Cold, calm, his words are a promise.
Confused by his reaction, and still so used to answering when asked a direct question, you wince over your shoulder. Din finally seems to hear the vendor shouting in the distance as he searches the crowd for a ‘thief’ and her ‘dangerous pet’. Din abruptly straightens and steps past you.
Running after him, you reach for his gloved hand, fingers sliding home. “Din, please; we need to go.” 
The familiar contact makes him stop and turn to look at you. He says nothing, so you use the opportunity to explain.
“The ki- I made a scene, and it would be best if everyone forgot about it. A Mandalorian publicly roughing up the very same shopkeeper would give them more reason to gossip.” 
Din Djarin frowns the longer you speak. He knows you’re right. The kid is far more important than his sudden anger. He nods curtly.
The man’s vicious insults about your likely occupation and parentage echo down the street and make Din’s lip curl. But for the sake of the child, he manages to turn back toward the Razor Crest. It’s only when he passes Grogu’s stationary pod that he realizes he’s still holding your hand, fingers loosely intertwined. 
He gently flexes his hand, letting go.
____________________________________
As the Razor Crest speeds away from the planet, you smile. Vacuous and bone-chillingly cold, space is the worst. For most of your life, the inhospitable conditions had been worsened by your constant transport in the dark hold of some Creator-forsaken vessel.
But the cabin of the Mandalorian’s ship is warm and full of life, occupied by the kid's excited babbling and your semi-nervous laughter.
The kid waves his stubby arms in the Mandalorian’s lap as the Razor Crest dips and rises through a relatively calm asteroid field. Expertly maneuvering the expanse, Din Djarin has little motivation to do so except the smiles on his passengers’ faces. If you ask, he’ll tell you it’s a shortcut to the next system, which is only mostly untrue.
It’s been three months since Din collected the bounty on your former master. During that time, the Mandalorian had found one of the kid’s kind. A Jedi who could’ve taken Grogu, she declined the task. She told the bounty hunter of a place, a Seeing Stone, where Grogu could reach out for a Jedi master himself. 
Though a week has passed since learning of the Stone, Din had yet to bring Grogu to it, instead taking a couple of jobs. The stoic Mandalorian won’t admit, especially to himself, that he’s reluctant to let the child go. 
Reaching a lull in the slow-moving asteroids, Din draws the thruster back to stationary level, then looks down, his helmet nearly touching his breastplate, at the child still waving his short arms. Din turns his silver face to you questioningly.
Before he can speak, you joke, "I don’t want to learn to fly out here, if that's what you're about to ask.”
He shrugs with acceptance. Your eyebrows pinch in surprise, wondering if he’s playing along or serious.
“Okay, kid. We're done here,” he tenderly lifts Grogu and passes him to you. 
Grogu makes a protesting sound and hides one of his hands inside his robe.
“Big, mean Mandalorian is no fun,” you mutter to the child teasingly. Grogu coos in agreement.
Din shakes his head and swivels back to the control panel, flipping switches and entering data. The kid catches your attention, triumphantly showcasing a small metal sphere from his robe. You press your lips together and wink, silently promising you won’t tell. 
The Mandalorian’s gloved fingers run over his ship’s control panel like he’s conducting the Coruscant Orchestra, and then, suddenly, his right hand freezes in mid-air as he reaches for the thruster. 
“Grogu,” Din growls, spinning in his chair.
You laugh openly, “He’s a toddler, Din. You can’t close your eyes for a second.”
The Mandalorian rises, his bulk taking up the entirety of the cabin. He gently wrestles the ball from Grogu's fingers.
Long, soft ears droop, and massive, black eyes turn glassy. 
“Oh, look what you've done,” you croon, looking up at Din with an expression mirroring the kid’s.
Though he doesn't move, you can somehow see when Din’s annoyance is overruled by something stronger. Then the Mandalorian’s wide shoulders slowly rise and fall, a long-suffering sigh leaving his body.
“You are both menaces,” the Mandalorian accuses. He extends his hand, palm upward, “Grogu. Take it.” 
You hold your breath, allowing the child to focus on using his power. Grogu closes his eyes. The metal ball wiggles in the concave of Din’s large palm, then zooms to Grogu’s tiny hand.
Din makes a fist in excitement, “Great job, kid.”
Beaming at the Mandalorian, even more enthralled with him than the magic child in your lap, you wish you could see his proud smile.
Noticing your expression, Din's chin swivels to the side, clearly questioning. 
"Nothing. It's just that - it’s good to see you like this.” You shrug, trying to minimize your staring. “I know you’ve been stressed.”
The silent moment draws out as he assesses your observation. Still standing, the Mandalorian’s right hand hesitantly rises to whisper across the left side of your jaw. The gloved softness of his thumb caresses your cheekbone for an instant and a lifetime.
Din drops his hand like it weighs as much as a rancor. He turns around and sits back in his pilot's chair. Silver armor reflects the red and yellow lights around the cabin as he finishes his navigational procedures. 
Cheeks aflame, you duck your face down into the kid. 
___________________________________
“‘Occasional repairs,’’' you quote at the Mandalorian. “Every karking week there’s a new hole in this poor ship.” 
On the other side of the wing, busy soldering panels together, the Mandalorian's head snaps up. Unmoving, his expressionless mask simply stares at you. You bite your lip to prevent a grin and continue replacing bolts.
The beskar helmet remains for a while longer, hiding Din’s thoughts. He imagines what you’d look like if he put you on your knees and made you pay for your jokes. If he wiped that pretty smirk off your face. He feels a stirring in his flight suit, so he wrenches his mind away. 
The act the two of you committed in that field has not been repeated. His dedication to his helmet - to his creed - is paramount. And you tempt him too much. 
For the second time in the past year, Din has accidentally grown attached to someone - first the kid and now you. But with you, it’s a danger of a different kind.
Din had hoped that he just needed to get it out of his system. Get you out of his system. He had won that mock fight in the field, but he had yielded to his desire for you. 
Instead of feeling sated, Din feels hungrier as the days go by. Useless information, such as the number of sonic showers you've taken, clogs his mind. He would be ashamed of his counting, but he's too battle-weary to care. He does not count how many times he's taken advantage of the privacy of his bunk, remembering your eager face, your receptive body underneath him. 
All that armor wasn't worth a damn thing.
It’s easier for you. As inexperienced as Din but with your self-esteem already in the sarlacc pit, it wasn’t a stretch to imagine he'd had his fill of you and… well, that was that. Though you dream of it nearly every night, waking up to the strange feeling of both gaining and losing something.
Of course, the Mandalorian still needed you to care for the kid or help him replace several wing panels when he inevitably damaged them, as you were currently doing. 
At dusk, white trees sway behind you in the biting wind. This planet is rather cold, and Grogu, asleep inside the Razor Crest, doesn’t join you for the lovely, young Gornt dinner that Din had hunted. The two of you butcher it in silence and place it on the makeshift spit.
You then plop onto a log and snuggle down into your clothes, shivering. Though the items Din had given you months earlier are sturdy and warm, some of the chill of the night manages to seep through. You cross your arms, rubbing them.
Din vanishes from the other side of the fire - the smoky, dark air impenetrable. Squinting, you try to spot his reflective armor, but it works against you in this instance, easily blending him into the flickering, dim light.
A heavy material suddenly falls onto your shoulders, and you jump.
"Oh!" 
The Mandalorian stands directly behind you, the thick cloak he was trying to give you still partially in his hand. 
"I was focused on trying to see you through the smoke. I didn't think you'd be there." You clutch the brown garment tight around you and softly smile up at him, "Thank you."
Din nods, the clinking sound of metal audible as he returns to his log across the firelight. Your mouth gapes for a moment when you realize that the material around your shoulders is his torn cape.
"Do you not get cold?"
"I do." 
"Why not wear one yourself then?" You lift part of the cloak in indication.
"Mandalorians are taught to withstand uncomfortable circumstances. As a foundling, I frequently exercised in far less temperate weather." 
"A foundling?" You query, your eyebrow raising.
The Mandalorian leans back and shifts his legs apart to better distribute his weight.
"My youth was upended by war. When my village was destroyed, I was found by a Mandalorian."
"The name is quite literal, then?" 
"My people are quite literal," Din crosses his arms and his commanding presence is distracting.
He looks so big sitting on the log, his legs open, back straight, and arms folded. 
"We have similar beginnings," you swallow, trying to ignore the burning inside that has nothing to do with the fire.
"I was a little more fortunate in who found me," Din states. He leans forward to finally adjust the rod holding your dinner.
You lose your gaze in the flaming light, remembering.  
“I still can’t believe how much things have changed,” you murmur. 
Din Djarin can’t either. He has a life-altering decision to make, and a child to let go of, and both thoughts weigh on him like a karking Mudhorn. Din sighs internally at his unintended choice of simile.
Your eyes stray upward to the navy sky, breathing deeply. The frigid air burns your lungs, but you only draw more in, relishing your freedom to do so.
"You did not deserve that life," Din’s rough, mechanical voice answers over the sound of the crackling fire. 
You frown, "No one does." 
Running with the Mandalorian was a great way to stay ahead of the slavers. Paid employment, constant movement, and no one besides Din knowing your name - it was too good to be true.
Dropping your head from the sky, you level the Mandalorian with the most heartfelt gaze you can manage, "Thank you. I would've never had the courage to run without you."
Unable to see his reaction, you feel the distance most acutely. It isn't just flame and metal that divides you.
"I-" Din starts, but you cut him off.
"But mostly it's thanks to Grogu," you grin, trying to lighten the mood.
The helmet bobs as though he's amused, then Din sighs dramatically. 
"I need to separate you two."
"I love him," you giggle, remembering a moment a few days earlier when he had picked up a very dignified, sentient species of frog and tried to eat it. "He is such an agent of chaos." You laugh into your cloak-covered hand. 
Grateful that you can't see the fervent emotion glimmering in his brown eyes, Din studies you. Your fond smile is lit by the glowing fire and the cold winds blow redness into your cheeks and nose. You’re secure in his cloak, and it makes his chest ache.
"Shit," he breathes. The hiss through his modulator doesn't pick up the word well, to his relief. 
It's not a surprise if you do truly love the kid. He is adorable and you've been with him every waking moment for three months, but the word you've just introduced is jarring to Din.
Talking about Grogu brings the dangers you all face to the forefront of your mind. Your smile falls.
"Will you continue to teach me to fight?" You don't immediately register the sudden rigidity of Din's posture, so you press on, "It’s upsetting to me that I'm better with a blaster than with the skills I was taught and trained in by my family." 
The Mandalorian is relieved. You've given him an excuse to say no.
"I cannot teach you the methods of your people." 
“That’s alright; anything would be appreciated.” 
Din shifts his thigh on the log, agitated, and you struggle to fill the silence, “You don’t have to, of course.”
Then, as the silence lengthens, and you watch his helmet glint as he looks away, you realize what he must be so uncomfortable about. 
“Oh. I am not asking we repeat that. I’m sorry,” you raise a hand to chest height as if you’re trying to physically defend yourself from the awkwardness. “I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean-”
“I know.” 
“I- Din, really I only meant the…” you grimace and clamp your lips together, unable to bear the tension. Standing, you insist, “I swear to you, I never expected more.”
Forgetting to return his cape, you unconsciously hold it closer as you retreat into the Razor Crest. 
The Mandalorian does not watch you walk away. His conflicted eyes remain trained on the crackling fire. Sparring with you brings every heart tug, every little attraction he has to you to the surface, and that's too frustrating to manage while IMPs track him and he deals with letting go of Grogu. 
But Din knows he really should continue to teach you. It’s in your best interest, as well as Grogu’s. His hangup is entirely selfish, and Din is not a selfish man. 
***
Hours later, when the sun has started to rise once more on this short-cycle planet, the Mandalorian finds his brown cape hung on the door to the refresher. He jerks it off its resting place, and goes to tuck it back around himself, when he notices that something is wrong.
Frozen, the Mandalorian stares at the brown, rough material in his hand. There are no holes in it anymore, only stitches. 
_________________________________________
Combined with the sound of intentionally-loud footsteps, Din places Grogu - who had jumped between the two of you all night - on the edge of your cot, allowing the child to wake you up. Din strides to his weapons cache.
You yawn, then snicker at Grogu’s delighted face as he babbles what must be his version of Good Morning. 
“Morning, kid.” You pet his ear and he begins to purr.
“You should stop babying him,” the Mandalorian doesn’t look at you as he searches among the weapons.
“Why? He’s a baby.” 
Din shuts the doors to his stash. “He is fifty years old."
“He's what?” 
Din shrugs and inclines his head in humor. You stare incredulously at the middle-aged child who rotates his little head between you and his father. 
“His species is unknown, but they age differently than we do.” 
“Uh, yeah. Fifty?” 
Din’s modulator makes a rasping sound. It could’ve been a small laugh, but you’re not sure. 
“Is fifty so terrible?”
Something in Din’s voice makes you look up at him. He casually leans against the hull. 
Unsure if you should have the gumption to even ask, you stutter, “A-are you also fifty?” 
The beskar mask does not move as the man behind it debates his reply. He decides on honesty.
“No,” Din states. He clasps one hand over the other in front of him, adding, “But I will reach that number in less than a decade.” 
You make a small, accepting gesture as you had subconsciously placed him around his early forties anyway. In any case, it doesn’t matter to you. He is the Mandalorian who (somewhat inadvertently at first, you’ll admit) saved you. Even without that gratitude, you would feel an attraction to him. He was strong and kind and protective. Ruthless, sure, but only when necessary.
Din pushes off the wall, “You didn’t ask why I woke you.” 
“Oh.” It hadn’t occurred to you, so used to being woken up - far more rudely or violently - each morning for the prior two decades. “Alright, why did you wake me?”
He reaches behind his back, unhooking an item, and holds out the fighting stick he had used in that skirmish between the two of you. 
“I will teach you what I can.” 
***
Din Djarin is careful not to touch you, even through his gloves. He doesn’t trust himself anymore. Instead, he instructs you in tactics. After clocking your strategy in less than three moves, Din is worried about your future opponents doing the same. 
“You dislike giving ground, but there will be times you’ll have to. It’s how you will outmaneuver them,” the Mandalorian stands, hands folded, his knee cocked, as he speaks. 
“How do you know that?” You ask in response to his first statement. 
Din clenches his jaw at the memory so very close to other memories, and answers you in a contained voice, “You were not subtle.” 
You smile, abashed. “See, that is why I asked you. I’m far too inexperienced.”
Din closes his eyes in frustration.
You continue nervously, thinking about how hesitant he had been to agree to this, “My master took me to many fights, and you’re the best I’ve ever seen. I value your opinion.”
Din is used to compliments. Those whom he returned quarries to often praised him for his work. But your praise is one he actually wants, and something throbs in his chest. Then he grows irritated with his rampant, immature yearning for you. 
Din speaks harshly, “This is for the protection of the child. You are his guardian when I am not nearby.”
Locked onto that T-shaped, black slit, your eyes flicker a little at his callous, impatient pronouncement, but you nod. 
“Of course. For the kid.”
__________________________________
Unhappy to be removed from where he had curled up on his father’s pilot seat, Grogu had insisted upon sleeping in the cockpit with his little metal ball. You had assured the Mandalorian that you didn’t mind staying in the passenger chair for the night. The cushions were comfortable enough, and it made the child happy. 
An hour after Grogu had begun purring in his sleep, you’re brought to consciousness by a deeper, labored sound. Bolting to your feet, worried about the Mandalorian below, you descend the ladder. 
The door to the Mandalorian’s bunk had not fully closed, apparently jamming on some loose junk part that Grogu must’ve picked up. There is no light on in the enclosed space, so you cannot see him. But you can hear the way he mutters your name once, rough and agitated. You can hear the sound of material jerking and his rasping, vocoded grunts. 
Your throat tightens and your breathing stops. Eyes wide, you slowly back up, terrified for him to find you in this way. A molten weight in your stomach wants you to push open the door and take care of him, but after the manner in which he spoke to you the entire afternoon, and the obvious way he tries to forget about that day in the field, you can’t. You can’t even fathom why he would be uttering your name. It’s too confusing.
Dazed, you return to the cockpit and try to block him out. Sleep does not come to save you for far too long, and when it does, it provides you no escape from the Mandalorian.
__________________________________
Din’s tortured use of your name had kept you awake far into the night. When you groggily open your eyes the next morning, you know you won’t be able to let this go. You must talk to him. Bravery is a muscle you’re trying to flex anyway, so you might as well try it on the scariest thing you can think of: an angry Din Djarin. 
While Grogu plays with a ship part you pretend to have never seen, one Din had pried out of the receiving slot of his bunk door this morning, you and he traipse down the boarding ramp, intending to save the rest of the Gornt meat for traveling. 
Absolutely guessing at how you’ll begin this conversation, you decide you’ll just hope for the best. 
“I- I heard you last night.” It’s barely more than a whisper.
The Mandalorian stops dead in his tracks and you stumble, trying not to run into him. He turns on you, a solid wall of muscle and metal, but says nothing. You swallow and force what shred of courage you have to the front. 
“I heard you say my name. You don’t have to do that alone. I can help you,” your final words are almost inaudible.
The Mandalorian provides food, shelter, and companionship. Ignorant to any kind of normal relationship, friendly or greater, you want to show your gratitude. And if that was how you could help him, all the better.
Your inner self, the one that’s been unthawing since the day your master was frozen in carbonite, wants Din in a far more genuine manner. You want him. His compassion and honor, his fatherly love for Grogu, his non-pitying care for you, and his primal confidence have you in danger of becoming a hopeless devotee.
“Help me,” he reiterates, his tone worryingly neutral.
“Passage for assistance,” you try to ease the tension slightly with another old quote of his. “I can still assist you. It’s repayment for your aid.”
Even as you say it, you feel the depth of the lie. You want Din for yourself.
He’s silent. At his side, the fingers on his right hand fidget. The broad bounty hunter leans over you. As he tilts his head, the cold sun glints off his armor. 
Din’s voice is as sharp as his vibroblade but twice as lethal, “You are no longer a slave - do not make me say that again. This is not a business transaction.” 
Not a business transaction? While technically a rejection, his clarification makes you dizzy. Your breath comes out shakily, fogging in the chill air. 
“Okay. What if that’s not my real reason for asking?”
That does it. Stunned, the Mandalorian might as well be a statue made of beskar. Din had found it easy to believe you allowed him to touch you because you felt in his debt, and he hated it. Made him feel as slimy as a Hutt.
“Tell me.” 
Din watches your facial expressions run the gamut and he knows that whatever you’re about to say is the truth. 
“I care about you.” Will you ever stop whispering? “For you, not just what you’ve done for me,” your second greatest act of bravery this morning is touching his cold chestplate. You swallow as you look up into that blank face. 
Din doesn't move. Doesn't think he can move, but then his body responds before his mind does. Soft leather brushes your cheekbones as he takes your face in his large hands. He tilts his cold helmet to your forehead, and you instinctively close your eyes, sighing in relief. This was not what you were expecting when you followed him out here.
You can't hear the first thing he says, but it sounds like dank farrik. You laugh quietly in his hands.
"You are a menace,” he mutters a little louder, the modulator somehow enhancing the timbre of his voice. “You and the kid.”
Grinning, you open your eyes as he lifts his helmet from your skin. “Don’t bring him into this,” you joke. 
Din’s thumb ghosts across your lips and you shiver. The Mandalorian is calm. This is inevitable now. He need not fight himself any longer. He grasps your wrist and brings it upward. Gently guiding your fingers underneath the edge of his helmet, Din presses them to his lips.
Utterly shocked at this new gift, you gasp. A scratchy cloth wraps around the bottom of his chin, but above it, his soft, scruffy facial hair and plump lips make your skin tingle. Nerves jumble in your lower stomach. He presses another kiss before slowly lowering your hand.
You tell him disbelievingly, "I thought there was no way -” 
“What you thought was wrong.” 
Your heat signature rises at the sincerity in his voice. Din tilts his head, watching your reaction to him. He lets his covered fingers drift over your lips again, then he drags them down the column of your throat and past your exposed collarbone, enjoying your whimper. Your pupils are dilated.
“You want me now, don’t you?” He asks, his voice hoarse. 
You nod, whispering past your suddenly dry mouth, “Yes.” 
The Mandalorian crouches for a split second, hefting you into his arms with no effort. Your legs automatically wrap around his middle, arms around his neck. His hands clasp underneath your thighs as he strides up the loading ramp as though every second he delayed was one wasted. 
Din lays you out on his bunk and hits the button for the door without looking at it. He does not turn on the light. In the tiny, black room, you can hear him divesting himself of his flight suit and armor. It makes your heart throw itself against your chest. You sit up and struggle out of your own clothes, wanting nothing between you and him.
“Will I ever get to kiss you?” You ask timidly.
Din answers you immediately. His rough palms bracket your face, then he reverently pushes his lips into yours. His facial hair brushes against your skin and you weakly moan into his mouth, parting your lips for more. The Mandalorian groans, as well, enraptured by this new sensation. 
Din wraps a muscled arm around your waist, crushing you to him in the small space. His warm, broad chest forces yours to mold around him. Your hands gently drag along his torso, mapping him. He shudders underneath your fingers.
His lips break like waves around yours. You could be floating above the bed and it would feel no different. He kisses you like it’s what he needs to survive; his occasional noises of desperation stake your heart and dampen your thighs.
“Need to touch you everywhere,” Din’s real, untampered voice knots your stomach. 
“You can do whatever you want,” you breathlessly repeat the unspoken affirmation you’d given him the first time. 
He chuckles, and you shiver again, drunk with lust. Din lowers you back onto the hard bed, settling over you.
His hot mouth surprises the sensitive skin of your breast. Din moans, involuntarily you think, as he tastes you there, gently pulling and sucking. You jerk, pressing up into him with a cry. Who knew that could feel so good?
His big hands flow down your sides, pressing into you, exploring, and you get a burst of understanding. This man is starved.
Your hands comb into his hair, and while you wonder what its color is, you’re choked up to find that it’s soft and wavy. Din groans loudly when your fingers rub on his scalp. He seems invigorated by it as he growls and returns to your lips with a fever. His tongue demands you allow him inside, but there is no resistance on your end. 
Suddenly, Din breaks the kiss with a wet pop of his lips. He vanishes from above you, but then two large hands slide up your thighs. He pushes them apart and your breath hitches. 
“You trust me?” The Mandalorian knows the answer, he just wants to hear it.
Nodding dumbly in the dark, you realize he can’t see you and squeak, “Yes.”
He shifts down and presses a row of kisses up your inner thigh. His nose brushes your coarse hair, and your breathing breaks a second time. 
Din flattens his tongue and licks the spot he already knows you like. You jolt and his arms wrest around your thighs, holding you in place for him. You whimper as he buries his face in your folds, shocking your system. Your hands return to his hair, and his chest swells as he quickly shoves you toward your end. His nose continually nudges your bundle of nerves and each time it feels like you’re hurtling through hyperspace.
Your back arches when he traps your clit between his lips, and he responds with another obscene noise. This time, the vibration of his deep voice rips your orgasm from your marrow. Crying out his name, you quake, chest heaving through the waves of euphoria. 
Too overwhelmed by all his options, Din moves back to your mouth, breathing heavily himself, “Incredible.” 
He licks into you again, his hand cradling your face to allow him deeper. Taking advantage of his position, you wrap your legs around his trim waist, pulling him down. His hips cant toward you, and you feel his length fall onto your abdomen. You hadn’t forgotten how big he was, but the heft of it makes your body tremble. 
The Mandalorian could be a patient man, but this would never be one of those moments. Din fists himself, rubbing once along your soaked seam. He pushes forward, steadily feeding his cock into your tight, forgiving heat. Din grunts several times, overstimulated. 
“You don’t know what you’ve done, mesh’la,” he gruffly murmurs, his naked voice still so shocking to hear.
You have no idea what he means, and you file it away for later study. Solely focused on how he feels halfway inside you, you clutch at the back of his thick thighs, encouraging him. But then he snaps his hips, driving himself to the hilt.
“Din, oh,” you sharply gasp. 
He grinds his pubic bone into your mound, stimulating you; his chin tilts up, proud, when you shudder. The Mandalorian grabs one of your hands and brings it to where he’s joined with you.
“You feel that?” Din’s voice is weighty, meaningful.
“Mhm,” you sigh, your fingers leaving his hand to explore his dark curls. He’s right. The deviant way his thick member disappears inside you is intoxicating.
He languidly draws himself out, letting you experience every ridge and vein, pulsing with your filthy sounds. He re-enters you just as intentionally, and when he’s given you everything, he leans down and drags you into a kiss. A kiss that means something to him. His tongue surges through your mouth in a single stroke before his full lips pull on yours, one hand gripping the back of your neck.
He lets you go, trailing his mouth down your throat, obsessed with the taste and the feel of you on his skin.
Din returns to your lips, his forearms framing your head. His fingers twist in your hair, and he begins to pump faster. His length strokes along a spot that makes your eyes flutter in the pitch blackness. Your nails carefully rake at his toned back, drawing a strangled moan from him as he shoves himself inside again and again. Losing a measure of self-control, he thrusts hard, placing a palm on the back wall for stability. 
Your hands finally, finally, reach up for his face, expecting at any moment that he’ll stop you. His lips are parted as he pants in exertion, his facial hair fluttering with his breath. Din’s cheekbones are round and high; his nose is angular and fitting. 
“I knew you were handsome,” you praise, the words fluctuating in cadence with his pounding strokes. “Wouldn’t have mattered.”
He scoffs, barely conscious of what you’re saying. His forehead drops to yours again, and he can’t believe the life he’d known had unraveled so drastically. In under a year, Din had gained a child and this. 
“Turn over,” he orders.
Of course, you obey without hesitation.
His calloused fingers slide around your hips, pulling them upward. With your chest still pressed into the bunk, you moan when he slowly re-inserts himself. He nearly chokes when your body draws him in; the angle and drenched grip of you makes him shake his head in disbelief. 
“You okay?” He rumbles. 
Your chin scrapes on the metal bed as you nod, “Please move.” 
He clasps an arm around your middle, hunching forward. His scruff and lips tickle the top of your spine as he begins to rut into you. It’s already too much - Din grunting, his chest hair scratching your upper back, his muscled arms holding you in place as he fills you over and over. You begin to clench around him again, crying out harshly in a rush of pleasure. Your legs shake, giving out underneath you.
The Mandalorian’s large hand splays across your breast, and he pulls you backward onto your knees alone, welding you to his perspiring chest. As his length plunges up into you, his lips brush your ear. He’s whispering something, but you can't understand the words.
Then, Din exhales with a groan and rolls several long, pulsing strokes, burying his come as deep as he can with a final, gravel-filled grunt.
***
In the dark, there’s only the sound of two people fighting for breath. Din has leaned against the cool wall; he tugs you to him. You sit somewhat beside him, your legs tangled together. Your head rests on his heaving shoulder, and every now and then, you feel the press of his lips in your hair. He laughs once, quietly.
“What is it?” 
“Your life is not the only one that has changed.” 
Blinking rapidly, your heart glows with warmth. Yours had changed the most. This Mandalorian had come into your non-existence and given you everything. Courage, freedom, responsibility, love. 
“I know you like to fight, but this is one I’ll win,” you laugh softly. 
___________________________________
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@morks-watermelon
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hyperactively-me · 3 months
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You've seen his face countless times, but every time the helmet comes off, it's as though you're seeing him for the first time over and over again. His expression is more than it's normal stoicism; it's vulnerable, raw. His big brown eyes come into contact with yours as you reach up, your fingers gently brushing through his messy curls. Din closes his eyes for a brief moment, savoring the contact. "Hi there, handsome," you murmur softly, allowing your fingers to linger on his strands of hair. "You clean up well, don't you?"
massaging din’s sore, aching muscles ... leads to ... yeah. I'M SORRY (not sorry at all) PUT ME IN HORNY JAIL FOR THIS IDC. it started off so innocent but then the horny monster came out and took over.
tags: smut, OILED UP DIN DJARIN, I REPEAT, OILED UP DIN DJARIN. established relationship
Din has no issue praising and worshipping you with nothing but love and adoration. In fact, it feels like second nature to him.
When he's the object of your praises, though, he doesn't know how to act. He's caught off guard by your doting attention, your quiet praises, your gentle touches.
The gruff exterior that comes so naturally to him becomes a bit more pronounced when faced with compliments and affection.
His usual response was to deflect and downplay, wanting to be the one in control, the one doing the praising rather than receiving it. It's not that he didn't appreciate your words; it's just that the vulnerability of accepting them was difficult for him.
In those moments, you read his body language like the back of your hand. You could see the conflict in his eyes, a mixture of gratitude and discomfort. He had been alone for most of his time in this cruel galaxy, had spent so long being self-reliant, not needing validation from others, that being on the receiving end of such genuine affection challenged his identity of being the stoic, impenetrable Mandalorian.
So, when he finally comes back to the Razor Crest after catching an elusive bounty, you know exactly what to do to put him at ease, to show him how much you love him, your riduur.
You catch his hand before he can take any of his armor off.
"Don't. Let me do it," you say gently, tugging his hand away.
He stares at you with that ever stoic expression you know he has on his face right now beneath the helmet. A few beats pass, and he relents, letting his wrist fall limp in your grip.
"Thank you," you whisper quietly, now running your hands up his shoulders.
You start with his baldric and belt, catching it in your grip as you unfasten the clasps. It's surprisingly heavy in your hands, and you're already a bit weary to take off the beskar.
Next, you slip his worn brown cape off his shoulders, the rough material scraping across your fingers. You can still feel traces of warmth around the part that was settled around his neck and shoulders.
Din stands before you, now with his baldric, belt, and cape out of the way, the beskar armor still encases his form. You take a moment to appreciate the craftsmanship of the beskar, tracing the shiny metal with your fingertips. The material is cool to the touch, a stark contrast to the warmth of his body you can barely feel radiating off his form. Din still stands rigid, hands flexing at his side.
His gaze remains steady, a silent acknowledgment of your request. You take charge again, delicately unfastening the clasps of his shoulder pads and removing the plates, and you can feel just how tense even just his shoulders are.
You set them gently to the side and start to work on his chest plate, easing it away from his torso with careful precision. The beskar plates release with a loud clinking sound, revealing the fabric of his flight suit beneath. You can clearly see Din's chest rise and fall with a steadiness that betrays the controlled exterior he presents to the world. With a small grunt, you ease the heavy beskar chestplate to the side, shooting Din a look when he tries to take it from your grasp.
"You said you would let me do it," you whisper, a playful yet stern glint in your eyes.
He sighs through the voice transmitter, yet allows you to continue your process of taking his armor off.
His shoulders sag forward ever so slightly as the weight of the chest plate is removed from his body, grunting with relief as he rolls his shoulders back a few times.
Next, you move on to his vambraces, unlocking the beskar from his arms. As you work on removing the vambraces, the sleeves of his flight suit ride up and you notice the subtle scars and markings on Din's forearms. You're careful to not drop the one loaded with bullets and other small weaponry.
Your hands move with a practiced gentleness, and you can sense Din's quiet appreciation for the care you're taking.
As the small pieces of armor joins the growing collection of beskar beside you, the room is filled with a sense of intimacy, a shared vulnerability palpable between you two.
Din stands before you now, the upper half of his body free from the encasement of armor. The warmth of his skin is more perceptible, and you can see a slight relaxation in his demeanor.
You move lower now, unfastening the straps securing the beskar that adorns his thighs. Your hands brush against his skin, and that's when he starts to shift side to side. You smile to yourself as you set the pieces to the side, letting your hands drag from the back his knees down to his shins to remove the final pieces.
Beskar greaves protect his shins, and you get on your knees to remove them. You don't miss the way his breath catches in his throat at the sight of you on your knees before him, but he refuses to move a muscle.
Carefully, you unfasten the straps securing the beskar greaves, allowing them to slide down his shins. Your hands move with a deliberate gentleness as you catch them, setting them on top of the stack of armor. Now that all of his armor is removed, you can clearly tell Din is now more relaxed, not as rigid.
His head his angled directly at you, the black t-visor of his helmet piercing through you. You smile softly up at him, pushing yourself to standing but not without him grabbing your hand to help you up.
You know what he's thinking. You know what he wants. He'll just never say it.
You press up onto your toes, placing your hands on his shoulders. His hands finally move, coming to rest on your waist as you lean into where you think his ear would be.
"Later," you whisper seductively, and he firmly squeezes your waist in his grip.
You take a step back, now turning your focus back to his leather gloves. Taking his left hand in yours, you spread his fingers out so you're able to slip his glove off his easier. The leather glove comes off smoothly, revealing his calloused yet gentle hand beneath. You set the glove aside, repeating the action on his other hand.
Din watches you with that unyielding gaze, his helmeted face betraying no emotions, and the tension in the air does anything but subside.
As you remove the second glove, you can't help but admire his hands; how large they, how strong they are. They're the tools of a warrior: skilled and precise, calloused and graceful. With his hands now bare, you step closer to him, your fingers tracing the lineaments of his palm. The warmth of his skin contrasts with the coolness of the beskar that once covered him. His hands are strong, yet there's a gentleness in the way he allows you to explore them.
You finally look up to his helmet, clicking your tongue with disapproval. You couldn't really get his shirt off without stretching out the neck over his helmet, and we can't have that, can we? Poor shirt, all stretched out. Oh well! Looks like we have to see your beautiful riduur's face!
You run your hands on the underside of his helmet, tracing the hard edges with the pads of your fingers. Suddenly, you latch onto the edges and slowly start to pull it up and off his head. Din's breath catches as the helmet is lifted, his nose twitching ever so slightly.
The helmet comes clean off, revealing his face, his dark hair tousled from the snug fit. You're met with his intense gaze, and for a moment, your own breath catches in your throat.
You've seen his face countless times, but every time the helmet comes off, it's as though you're seeing him for the first time over and over again.
His expression is more than it's normal stoicism; it's vulnerable, raw. His big brown eyes come into contact with yours as you reach up, your fingers gently brushing through his messy curls. Din closes his eyes for a brief moment, savoring the contact.
"Hi there, handsome," you murmur softly, allowing your fingers to linger on his strands of hair. "You clean up well, don't you?"
His lips twitch in a hint of a smile, eyebrows quirking at your playful comment.
"Are you going to finish, cyar'ika? Or are you going to finish undressing me with just your eyes?"
You roll your eyes at his remark, fighting back a laugh at his nonchalant comment.
"I guess I do have some unfinished business," you reply, hands tugging at the hem of his shirt.
You guide his shirt up and over his head, pulling it off his form and letting it fall to the floor. You're met with his tanned, toned chest, marked with scars, the silent stories of the battles he's fought.
You run your fingers lightly over the contours of his chest, savoring the feeling of his tight muscles and soft stomach. He shivers under your touch at the way your nails drag across his skin, pressing into it ever so slightly. Din watches you closely, his gaze never leaving your hands. With a soft smile, you lean in, pressing a gentle kiss to his skin between his shoulder and upper chest.
Din's fingers find their way to your hair, but you pull back, now grabbing the waistband of his pants. You tug them down quickly, helping him step out of the pant legs, but leaving him in his loose boxers.
You reach for his hand, intertwining your fingers with his, and guide him to the bed. There's no rush, no urgency. For both of you, it's a moment to savor, to appreciate each other in a quiet, peaceful moment. Before he lies down, you pull him down for a chaste kiss, savoring the way his lips taste, the way his patchy mustache tickles your face. As he finally moves to lay down, you wordlessly motion for him to lie on his stomach, and he complies. He settles onto the bed, propping himself up with his forearms.
You retrieve a bottle of oil from a nearby table, and the gentle scent of lavender fills the air as you warm the liquid between your palms. You straddle his lower back, and immediately Din is biting his tongue to withhold any premature sounds.
The moment your hands come into contact with his broad shoulders, he's a goner. Your touch is firm yet tender, your fingers finding all of his knots and tension, coaxing them to release.
The room is quiet, save for the occasional satisfied hum or grunt from Din. As your hands move down his back, tracing the contours of his muscles, you slowly feel the tension in his body dissipating.
Your fingers trace the faint lines of his scars, and you can't help but marvel at the beauty of the man beneath you. He finds solace in your touch, a promise that in this moment, he can let go and just relax.
Din's body responds to your touch, his tension gradually melting away. Your hands move with a soothing rhythm, exploring every inch of his back and shoulders. The oil makes his skin glisten in the soft light of the room, and you revel in the way his body looks as though it was carved by the Maker himself.
As your hands work their way down his spine, you occasionally lean down to press soft kisses on his back. The combination of your mouth and hands on him causes Din to shudder, the sensations pulling him into a deep state of tranquility. The rise and fall of his breath shifts into something more rapid, yet you don't catch on quite yet. You lean down, pressing a soft kiss to the nape of his neck, and he responds with a soft hum of contentment
Shifting off his back, you move down to his thighs and calves, continuing to massage his muscles with the same deliberate care. His fingers twist into the thin sheets of his bed, groaning as you knead into his thighs. The tension in Din's muscles seems to subside even more as you move farther down his legs, the oil dripping from your hands creating a smooth glide as you knead his skin.
As your hands move down his legs towards his feet, you notice the subtle tremor in his muscles, a sign that your touch might be affecting him more than he's letting on. You can't see that he's biting the inside of his cheek, stifling every pathetic groan he wants to let out.
You reach the soles of his feet, and he reflexively curls his toes at the sensation. A small chuckle escapes your lips, and you gently press your thumbs into the arches of his feet, eliciting a low, appreciative groan from him.
With a soft smile, you decide to shift the massage to his upper back and shoulders again, allowing your hands to linger in the areas that are the most tense from his heavy beskar. As your fingers work their magic, you lean in close to whisper in his ear.
"Almost done," you murmur, your warm breath sending shivers down his spine. "Does it feel good?"
Din responds with a throaty, affirmative noise, and you can't help but smile at the effect you're having on your typically stoic Mandalorian.
Your hands trace patterns over his skin, kneading, massaging, and occasionally trailing higher than expected. His breathing becomes more uneven, and you can feel the heat radiating from his body.
The atmosphere in the room drastically changes from innocent and relaxed to something more sultry, the air thick with repressed tension. You can sense Din's arousal, the subtle shifts in his breathing, the way his muscles tense beneath your every little touch. A playful smile crosses your lips, realizing the effect you're having on the usually composed man.
The occasional brush of your fingers against more sensitive areas elicits involuntary reactions from Din, his groans growing more audible.
"Enjoying this, aren't you?" you tease, your voice a sultry whisper as you lean down to place soft kisses along his shoulder blades.
"Teasing me, aren't you?" he growls back, looking back at you with a heated expression.
"Maybe a little." You smile innocently. "But the best things are worth the wait, aren't they?"
Din responds with a low, husky chuckle, a sound that reverberates through the room.
"Yes," he states simply, his voice catching in his throat when you slide off his back.
You beckon him to turn over onto his back, and he complies. Once again, you straddle him, now sitting directly on his hips, over his crotch. Taking more lavender scented oil, you lather it onto your hands and start to knead into his chest. His hands reach up to grip your ass, squeezing your flesh.
You feel Din's chest rise and fall faster as your hands start to work over his toned muscles. The oil slicks up his chest, and your fingers glide smoothly over his skin. You can practically feel his desire for you that simmers beneath the surface, threatening to boil over. Din's gaze is intense, and you meet it with a playful yet innocent smile.
"Fuck, cyare," he groans as his hands trail up your sides, the touch possessive yet gentle.
As your hands continue their ministrations on his chest, you lean down to capture his lips in a searing kiss. The taste of his mouth is intoxicating, and Din responds with a hunger that surpasses your own. His hands tighten on your hips, pulling you to grind you down over his crotch, and you can feel the pressure of his cock against your core.
"Easy there, Din," you murmur as you pull away from his lips. "We've got plenty of time."
The sound of his name rolling off your lips never gets old to him, and he shudders at the sound.
You sit back, your hands now trailing down his abdomen as you move to sit in between his thighs. Grabbing his hands, you knead into his palms with your thumbs, maintaining an eye contact that you know drives him absolutely crazy. Din's eyes are dark with arousal, and he watches you with a hunger that sends shivers down your spine.
Eventually, you finish the massage after you feel the tension fully dissipate from Din's body. He lies there, relaxed and content, basking in the afterglow of your touch.
Without waiting any longer, you finally give the man what he wants. You bring his hand up to your mouth, and without hesitation, you stick two of his fingers in your mouth. Your tongue swirls around his thick digits as you maintain eye contact with him, eliciting a low growl to escape from the depths of Din's throat.
"You- you fuckin' tease, mesh'la," he growls as he starts to sit up. You take your free hand and push him back down, not letting him sit up.
You push his fingers deeper into your mouth, sucking them harder as your tongue runs over the pads of his fingers. Your other hand comes up to his thigh, resting dangerously close to his now fully erect yet still clothed cock.
After a moment, you release his fingers with a wet pop, a mischievous glint in your eyes. Din's breathing has become more ragged, his chest rising and falling rapidly with anticipation and arousal.
"Feeling better?" you ask innocently, sliding your hands up and down his thighs.
Din nods, swallowing thickly as he locks his eyes onto yours. Without breaking eye contact, you start to slide off your shirt, slowly revealing your skin beneath. Din's gaze intensifies as you slowly lift it up and off your form. Once your shirt is fully off, you let Din rove over your form, and you revel in the way he looks at you with a thirst that mirrors your own.
He tries to reach out for you again, but you stop him.
"I'm still not done. Be patient," you say gently, wiggling your eyebrows at him.
"Mesh'la, how can I be? I have to reward you; you've been so good to me, too good for me—"
You press a finger up to his lips, silencing him.
"Please, let me make you feel good. Please. You always take care of me. Let me take care of you. 'M gonna make you feel so good."
He takes a beat, studying your face with his mouth slightly agape.
Finally, he nods in agreement, his eyes on fire. You remove your finger from his lips, giving him a sickeningly sweet smile.
Your hands trail over his shiny, slick chest, down to the waistband of his boxers. Din's fingers twist in his bedsheets, a silent reaction for what he wants: more.
With deliberate intent, you dip your fingers beneath the waistband, teasingly close to his cock. His arousal is quite evident, straining against the fabric, and your fingers brush over his length; a feather light, teasing touch. He watches you with a hunger that's impossible to ignore, and you can't help but feel giddy at the way you make him feel so good, so appreciated, so loved.
Din inhales sharply, his knuckles going white at the grip he has on his sheets. You move your hands back up and delicately hook your fingers into the waistband, pulling it down slowly. The boxers slide down his legs, revealing his cock, and you discard the fabric on the floor.
You take a moment to appreciate your Mandalorian naked in front of you, vulnerable, and yet as powerful as ever in his raw masculinity. What a sight for sore eyes. Every square inch of his skin is coated in the lavender oil, his skin shining under the dim lighting of the Razor Crest. His body is sculpted perfectly, strong and lean, the power of his muscles evident from one look. The scars that span his skin, small and large, have their own story. You reach out, tracing the lines of a particularly prominent scar on the side of his abdomen with gentle fingertips.
Din studies you with a soft intensity, his eyes holding a warmth that he reserves for you, and only for you.
Your eyes trail up to his face, studying every lineament and pore, every little hair and freckle. He's so extremely handsome you could pass out.
How he chose you, you're not sure. All you know is that this man who has promised to be your protector, stay by your side, and be your partner loves you, and you love him.
"You're beautiful," you murmur, pure admiration coursing through your veins as your fingers now trace the curve of his jaw and the contour of his lips. "Absolutely perfect, in every single way. My big, strong, handsome riduur."
Din's mind goes blank, face and ears heating up as his mouth falls agape. He just studies your eyes, your lips, your nose, every little unique feature you have. Swallowing thickly, Din nods his head just a fraction of an inch, but you catch it; he's acknowledging your words, accepting them in his own way.
Your fingers finally find their way down the shaft of his cock, shifting your attention to his member. His breath hitches as your hand wraps around the base, and you begin to move in a slow, teasing rhythm. His eyes flicker to the sight of your hand wrapped around his cock, staring at the way you pump your fist up and down. Your thumb brushes over the sensitive tip, eliciting a sharp intake of breath from Din.
You lean in, pressing a tender kiss to the base of his neck, then to his chest. You start to kiss down further, from the top of his chest to his happy trail.
"Kriff..." he mutters, his hands loosely grabbing at your face.
You keep moving, now pressing kisses on the length of his member. His grip becomes sloppier as your lips trail down his cock towards the tip, pressing a feather light kiss on his leaking slit. He grunts as the sensation, sensitive and aching for your pretty lips to be wrapped around his cock. You give a swirl of your tongue around the tip, earning a sharp, deep moan from Din.
"Kriffing- perfect," he groans, his hips bucking a few times at your touch, begging you for more. His fingers weave through your hair, a silent encouragement.
With that, you finally lower your mouth over his cock, eliciting a long, drawn out moan from the man. You rest your hands on the base of his cock, pumping the bottom half of his length while your mouth takes the top half. Din absolutely revels in the way your mouth feels against his cock; hot, wet, and velvety soft. His head rolls back against his pillow as your hands squeeze tight around the base, stimulating every inch of his length. You take him in your mouth inch by inch, sucking his cock gently at first, but providing more pressure the farther down you go.
"Fuck— fuck- ing perfect, pretty girl," he groans breathlessly, making you hum in satisfaction. His hips involuntarily buck up as he feels the vibrations from your hum, causing the tip of his cock to poke the back of your throat. You choke on it, but you steady your breath enough to keep going down.
Din fights the urge to fuck your mouth, gripping onto his sheets tightly with one hand as his other hand tugs at your hair. You release a quiet moan of your own when he pulls your hair, encouraging you to take him deeper.
Din's eyes are half-lidded now, a primal need burning within them. He watches you with an intensity that makes your own desire flare. His sounds of pleasure, the way his hands feel on you has yourself throbbing with need, your core painfully clenching around nothing. Your panties are surely soaked through by now, your arousal having built up just by making him feel good. You press your thighs together, alleviating the throbbing pressure in your pussy.
You continue to move with purpose, lowering your hands to knead his oily thighs as you take his entire length in your mouth, the tip of cock hitting the back of your throat with each bob of your head. You suck your cheeks in, running your tongue along a prominent vein with each stroke.
His ragged breaths and the soft squelch of your saliva and mouth on his cock fill the room, and suddenly, Din is pawing at you. The need for more becomes undeniable, and Din, unable to restrain himself any longer, pulls you up with a sense of urgency.
"Wanna- come in you—" he gasps, pulling at your neck.
You press your thighs tighter together at his admission, moaning on his cock.
"Kriff, cyar'ika, j- just, please," he grunts, and you lift your head off his cock, saliva dripping down your chin.
When you finally look up at him, his eyes are blown wide with need, and he's fully sitting up now. You feel the sudden shift as he drags you onto his lap, his still erect cock pressing into your stomach. You push up onto your knees as Din's hand desperately claws at the hem of your pants, yanking both your pants and panties off at the same time as he mouths the tops of your still covered breasts. Once your bottoms are off, he unclasps your bra expertly, letting it fall to the side.
Once you're bare in front of him, he laps his tongue over your breast, sucking at your nipple as his other hand squeezes and massages your other. The sensation send an electric jolt through your body, and a soft moan escapes your lips. Din's touch is both possessive and tender, his free hand coming to knead the flesh of your ass.
In one solid motion, Din is lifting you up high by your hips, positioning you over his cock. Utterly desperate and aching for your cunt around his cock, he slams your hips down, splitting you open on his cock inside your dripping cunt. Your hands fly up to his shoulders, a warbled scream and moan slipping from the both of you as he plunges deep inside of you, filling you up perfectly. You give yourself a moment to breath, steadying your breath. When he rolls his hips once, you whimper.
"Maker, y- you feel so good," you moan, biting your bottom lip in pleasure.
You squeeze his cock tightly, back arching as you feel every ridge of his cock inside you. His hands squeeze your hips tightly as your hands run down to his chest, and you start placing open mouthed, messy kisses on his jawline and neck. He lets you adjust around him, giving you some time to feel his cock molded perfectly inside you.
"Take me so good...s- so kriffing p- perfect, my beautiful riduur," he growls, fondling your breasts as you sit on his cock. Your thighs press against his as you try to clench your thighs at his words, darting your tongue out to give his skin kitten licks.
Ever so slowly, you start to roll your hips against his, moaning at the sensation. Din hisses, forehead falling on your sternum, his hot breath fanning against your breasts.
"Riduur," he groans again, darting his tongue out over the tops of your breasts again. "Ride me."
Your hands find their way into his dark curls, tugging at them lightly as you start to lift yourself up his cock. The drag of your pussy against Din's cock makes him shudder in pure ecstasy, moving his head to rest in the crook of your neck.
"You- you're the best thing that's e- ever happened to me," you whisper in his ear, then you sink all the way back down on his cock.
He moans, sucking bruises onto the junction between your shoulder and neck. Din's face is flushed from your words and the way you feel on top of him. You lift yourself up a few inches and drop back down, relishing in the way he feels underneath you.
"Never thought I'd find s- someone like you, cyare," he admits in his gravelly voice, tightening his grip on you. "Someone I- I could c- come back to."
"You're m- my home, Din," you reply, your voice a breathy whisper.
You start to set a steady pace, rocking and grinding on his cock. Din grunts at the sudden change in pace, helping you up and off his cock as his broad hands help lift you up and down by your hips. With each bounce, his cock stretches you out deliciously, dragging along your slick walls with ease.
You move your hand down to your catch your clit, circling the bud slowly, building up the pressure bubbling in your core. Your back arches as you start to tease yourself, pussy clenching harder around his cock. Din's head is thrown back in pleasure, hands firmly on your hips as you keep bouncing, reveling in the way you squeeze slightly tighter around him.
Your walls start to flutter around him at the stimulation of your clit, picking up the pace as you chase your orgasm. You lock eyes with his, the rhythm of your hips against his causing him to paw at every square inch of your body.
With your free hand, you guide his strong jaw towards your face, capturing his lips in a searing, passionate kiss. You don't stop moving on top of his cock as you slip your tongue into his mouth, sucking and nibbling on his bottom lip with each kiss. His lips are warm and demanding against yours, responding with a fervor that has you leaning back.
The taste of Din is intoxicating, yet something you can never quite put your finger on. His low growls mix with your soft moans, your hands threading in his curls.
Din breaks the kiss, but rests his forehead on yours. His pants mingle with yours, warm breath tickling your nose.
"Can't believe I'm so lucky," Din grits, and without hesitation, he deftly maneuvers you until you're lying on your back.
You admire the way his chest heaves with a controlled intensity as he hovers over you, his cock still fully sheathed inside you to the hilt. Moving his hands, he presses your legs up against your chest, angling them in such a way to allow for a deeper penetration. The newfound angle sends waves of pleasure coursing through each of you, each movement building up the pressure in your lower muscles.
"Maker, Din," is all you can say as his cock reaches deeper inside you. You're utterly engrossed in everything about him; how perfectly he fucks you, how he protects you, how he always puts others before himself, how he never backs down from a challenge.
You watch as his mouth drops open when he starts to move again, pounding into you with a slow, measured pace. Every motion has your hot, soaking walls sucking him in greedily.
"Fuck me so perfectly, you're perfect," you murmur as Din pulls your legs up onto his hips, effectively spreading you wide open. His whole chest presses flush against yours, kissing your words away when he leans in.
Your hands fly down to grip his forearms that cage you under his body, nails pressing into his skin as he fucks you slowly. Each thrust is met with a soft whimper into Din's mouth as he takes his time, relishing the way your chest feels against his own. The measured pace of his movements builds a heavy tension in your core, drawing out the pleasure and anticipation with each deliberate stroke.
Din's hand finds your clit again, pressing his thick digits against your swollen bud. The added pressure sends electric pulses through your body, and your back arches involuntarily as the pleasure intensifies. Your pussy clenches around his cock, drawing a throaty groan from Din, who revels in the tight embrace of your walls.
"So strong, s- so good," you gasp, your words punctuated by your unrestrained sounds of pleasure.
"S' perfect, cyare," he murmurs against your lips breathlessly, pressing a kiss on your lips once again. He nips and bites at your bottom lip relentlessly. You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling his face closer to you as you mewl into his mouth. Your fingers find their way back into his soft hair, scratching your fingernails on the base of his scalp.
With each enthusiastic response from you, he quickens his pace, the unforgiving rhythm pushing you both closer to the edge.
The feeling of his cock moving inside you faster and harder elicits a cascade of moans and whimpers from your lips, your clit being stimulated nearly to the point of your impending release. He's fucking you hard into the mattress, unrelenting in the way he wants to feel every part of you.
Din, ever the attentive man, knows you're about to cum just from the way your face contorts, from the way your body reacts to the slightest touch.
You can also feel him nearing the edge, the tension in his body reaching its peak with each stroke. His skin is warm and still slick with the lavender-scented oil, intoxicating your senses and making your mind go blank.
"Please, come in me," you beg, wrapping your legs around Din's waist to pull him closer to you. "Please, please, Din."
His skin glides against yours, your hands travel across the expanse of his back, feeling the flex of his muscles as he moves with unrestrained strength.
Din's eyebrows are pinched in pleasure, mouth parted open as he pants. His fingers find the sweet spot of your clit, causing you to nearly scream in pleasure.
"That's it," Din encourages, coaxing your orgasm out of you as he maintains the pressure around your sweet spot.
Before you know it, you're cumming around Din's cock. The first contraction of your cunt around his cock has Din shuddering from his own orgasm, the feelings of your muscles spasming around him pushing him over the edge. His breathing is erratic, hot against your skin.
You writhe underneath Din, whimpering his name as you ride out your orgasm. Din pulls you in for a messy kiss as he cums inside of you, cupping your jaw with one hand as he guides your lips to his in a searing kiss.
Settling down from his orgasm, Din falls on top of you, burying his face in the crook of your neck.
Your hands run up and down his back, soothing him with the light scratching of your nails against his skin.
The gentle scratching of your nails against Din's back seems to lull him into a state of relaxation, his body going lax on top of yours. His breath and mustache tickles the sensitive flesh of your neck.
Both of you are still panting, trying to catch your breaths from your shared climax. Din's weight atop of you feels grounding, a comforting, welcoming presence that reminds you once again that he is yours.
"Feel better?" you inquire softly, your hands coming to rest around his neck.
Din lifts his head, his eyes meeting yours with a tenderness he reserves only for you.
Din mumbles in agreement, his body completely pliant in your hands. His chest rises and falls in a steady rhythm, the remnants of his panting gradually subsiding.
"Thank you," he murmurs, eyes studying your face intently. "Ni kar'tayli gar darasuum."
Your fingers move from his neck to gently trace lines over Din's flushed cheeks, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips.
"I love you."
Din's eyes soften even more. His hands, calloused and strong, come up to gently cradle your face. Thumbs brush over your cheeks in a tender caress, as if he's committing the feeling to memory.
He pulls you in for another kiss, a sweet, tender meeting of your lips in the aftermath of your care for him.
A thank you, if you will.
As Din's lips part from yours, he rests his forehead against yours, and you can feel the warmth of his breath mingling with yours.
You snuggle close to him, the scent of lavender surrounding you both. In the quiet aftermath, the only sound that remains is the beating of your hearts.
. . .
Din Djarin (The Mandalorian) Masterlist
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thepascalofus · 8 months
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Supply Run - Return (part two)
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AO3
PART ONE
Supply Run - Exchange (part three)
Pairing: Mando/Din Djarin x afab!Reader
Word Count: 8.0k
Summary: You’ve been Mando’s crew partner for a year now. Throughout that year Mando has warmed up to you and given you signs that your heart throbbing crush on him is reciprocated. There’s one thing making you hesitate. The condoms he bought on the most recent supply run.
Chapter Summary: While Mando takes a trip to the market and gets what he needs, he ponders your relationship and what it means to him.
Content Warnings: MDNI, 18+ only! Switching POVs, post season 2, the Crest lives, strangers to friends to lovers, mentions of Grogu, soft!Mando, insecure!Mando (a smidge), helmet loopholes, pining, idiots in love, jealous!reader, sad!reader for a little, mentions of sex work (sex work is work!), eventual SMUT (making out, grinding, f!receiving fingering, f!receiving oral sex, p in v, PRAISE kink, dirty talk), FLUFF, cuddling, happy ending guaranteed!
A/N: Thank you all so much for the responses on the first part! This is my first fic that I've ever shared and it makes me so happy that other people enjoy my writing! Enjoy!
Mando handed his scope off to you in the worn down store. Wallpaper peeled from the ancient wooden planks of the walls. Cobwebs littered the untouched areas of the store. The work stations in the back, visible from the pick up counter at the front, were in complete disarray. Several projects started, but not finished. Several projects finished, but not retrieved.
You took the scope in your hand and twisted it in your hands until your gaze landed on the name of the manufacturer and the serial number. Your eyebrows shot up once the brand of the scope was revealed, it twisted in your hands once more. Hands raising the metal tube so it was level with your eyes, you looked into the scope. 
“Ah! I know what it is!”
Mando watched in confusion as you ran to a workstation and grabbed a singular tool. How did you know what was wrong so quickly? He sat in the hull of the Crest for hours attempting to fix the scope. The motions of taking the scope apart and putting it back together were etched into his brain from the number of times he did so. 
You returned to the front of the store with the tool in hand. “This manufacturer has been having these issues lately. They built their magnification system like no one else, but they didn’t seem to account for the need to recalibrate the scope every once in a while. Recalibrating too often causes the lenses to misalign.” 
Mando calibrated his every day. He had to. It was part of his job. A miscalibration could be the difference between a two hour hunt and a twelve hour hunt.
Your face twisted in concentration as you inserted the tool into the side of the scope. Jostling the metal, it popped open and allowed access to the inside. “For some reason they put these weird pins in…” You trailed off while you removed a total of three thin metal pins. Once the pins were removed, you clicked the top of the scope back into place and handed it to Mando.
Mando previously took the scope apart countless times. He never noticed any pins.
“Twenty credits, please.” You said with a smile. Your gaze met his–you somehow found it through his black visor–and you maintained eye contact.
The display on the inside of Mando’s helmet only progressed seven minutes after he entered the store. Inside of his helmet his eyebrows shot up. He was impressed. Not only with your efficiency, but with the reasonable price as well.
“I’m impressed.” He stated. Nodding at you, he retrieved a few credits from his utility belt and set them on the paint chipped counter. He turned and walked a few paces and then stopped in front of the door.
He’s been looking for a crew mate for weeks. The potential candidates he’s stumbled across were either annoying, rude, or incompetent. Throughout his time as a bounty hunter he’s been to countless repair shops. The service was always lack-luster, prices were too high, repair time much too long. 
Sure, he just met you eight minutes ago, but you had potential. He turned on his heel and faced you. Armor glinted in the low lighting of the run down shop. 
“Are you in the market for a new job?”
Walking to the market, he’d been reflecting on his decision to bring you onto the Crest as a crew partner.
It was the best decision he ever made, besides saving Grogu from the Empire.
You were intelligent. Friendly. Resourceful. Efficient. Brave.
You stared a Mandalorian straight in the eyes–well, visor–and didn’t even flinch. You didn’t even break eye contact, unlike everyone else. People would turn to whoever they’re with to avoid his gaze. They spoke like he wasn’t a meter or two away–and like he couldn’t amplify their voices with his helmet.
His tall, broad stance usually set everyone on edge. The heavy weight of beskar armor, a reminder of his skillset, didn’t aid in calming the nerves of anyone either. He was typically soft spoken around others, as he noticed people’s reactions when he spoke–eyes wide, speech stuttering, shaking hands–scared. 
Everyone was afraid of him.
Except you.
When you first boarded the Razor Crest, Mando was extremely careful in making sure you were comfortable. The majority of his days not hunting were spent in the cockpit or in his bunk. Whenever you crossed paths in the hull you offered him a small smile and quickly looked away. Did your bravery fade away?
He came back from a hunt one day, quarry in tow, and he was relieved to hear, “How was your day?” Fall from your lips once the bounty was in carbonite.
Still cautious–mindful of how the modulator made his voice sound–he kept his answers short and to the point.
“Fine.”
“Busy.”
“Awful.”
Hearing the four words you said after each return from a hunt, and being able to give you a response without you slinking away, made the hunts worth it.
One night always stood out in his mind. It was just like any other return from one of his hunts. Mando dragged the quarry up the Crest’s ramp by a cord tied around their ankles. He lifted the man to stand up, doing so effortlessly with a few grunts to spare. 
Your living space was in the hull, so he always tried to make the ends of his hunts fast. You didn’t have any choice but to watch. Mando didn’t want to make you watch for too long. Maker, he didn’t want you to watch at all.
His fist slammed the button to begin the freezing process. Breathing heavily, he stood and watched the bounty as they froze into the carbonite cell. A blanket of silence covered the hull once the hissing of the freezing mechanisms came to a stop.
“How was your day?”
There it is. His favorite part after the hunt. Knowing you were there, safe within the hull, and that you wanted to be friendly with him–even after witnessing him freeze a person he tracked down for several hours.
“Nothing you want to hear about,” he replied, his voice tinged with tiredness. The helmet’s modulator most likely didn’t register the sleep in his voice. Truly, he didn’t think that you would want to hear about it. The Mandalorian was afraid that hearing about his hunts would put you on edge. You already extended a branch of friendliness to him twice a day. He didn’t want to give that up by talking about the bounties he tracks down.
“Try me.”
Those words.
Those words have only ever been spoken to him by enemies. It always caused annoyance to wash over him, head to toe. He’s a Mandalorian. Confident of his skills in combat. No matter the odds, Mando knew he would like them.
But when those words tumbled from your lips, it was different. When his enemies weren’t scared of him, it was annoying. When you weren’t scared of him, adoration filled his body. And not adoration in a patronizing way, but adoration as a form of respect. 
It made him want you that much more.
Snapping out of his thoughts, Mando realized the crotch of his pants were tight. Nonchalantly, he clasped his hands together and rested them below his belt.
“Quarry tried to escape and they ran. Would have been back four hours ago,” the modulator gritted out. Again, he was conscious of how the modulator warped his voice. “Not too fun,” he added in an attempt to make the conversation more casual.
You were silent. He whispered a curse to himself under his helmet, one that he was certain wouldn’t be picked up by his modulator. Was his answer too much? Mando quickly became nervous and started to shift his weight from one foot to the other. The silence you left in the air made him a bit anxious.
The T shape of his visor peered over to you. You stood still in shock, reminiscent of the people that saw him in public. Before his thoughts could spiral too much, you replied, “Oh, I’m sorry.”
Dank farrik. He didn’t want you to feel like you had to comfort him. “You don’t have to be sorry,” his chest brushed against your shoulder as he swiftly hopped onto the first rung of the ladder up to the cockpit. “It’s my job.”
“That doesn’t mean it sucks any less,” you said. He smiled underneath his helmet at your consideration. Your eyes widened and your mouth opened and closed as you realized what you said, “sorry, I probably shouldn’t have said that your job sucks.”
You weren’t wrong. Making his way through tough terrain, relying on a blinking red light on a piece of metal to guide him. Finding them was a task in itself, but dragging them back to the Crest was the other half of his job that sucked. Mando looked over his shoulder at you and replied matter-of-factly, “My job does suck.”
A giggle bubbled out from your chest. Every once in a while you would be reading a funny article on your Holopad and your laughs would echo through the hull of the Crest, making their way up into the cockpit. He needed more of them. His silver helmet shook slightly from side to side and he turned back to climb the ladder. But not before he also let out a small chuckle.
If you were comfortable enough to stand up to him, and laugh at his awful attempts at jokes–after he just hauled a bounty onto the ship–Mando realized he was safe.
Not only were you safe with him. He felt safe with you, in more ways than one.
Kriff it. You extended a friendly attitude towards him–a faceless warrior covered in impenetrable armor–then he could extend a friendly attitude towards you as well.
You asked him about this day, both in the mornings and the evenings. He learned about what you like and didn’t like. One item stood out to him. Caf. He always entered into a cloud of caf scent when he sauntered into the hull in the mornings. Mando was usually up before you, so he figured he would start making you a cup every morning. Confident enough in knowing which kinds of caf you preferred, he would stock up on caf every supply run.
The Mandalorian got closer to you, both physically and emotionally. Sometimes he would catch his hands landing on your waist or your lower back when he passed you on the ship. You’d shoot him a small smile in response. The distance he kept from you only decreased. He wanted to see your smile more and more. 
One thing he didn’t see coming was your interest in Mando’a. He would mumble to himself in the ship while completing various tasks.
“What’s that word mean?” You’d occasionally ask. The Mandalorian would explain their meanings, sometimes struggling to translate the word to Basic.
He must have taught you at least two dozen words in Mando’a by now. Each time you asked you would give him your full attention. 
At night, if he amplified the sound with his helmet enough, he could hear you practicing the words and recalling their meanings. It motivated him to share more words with you.
All of these experiences have led to this day. He’s been planning it for a month or two now. 
He wants to ask you on a date. Nerves bubbled up from his stomach and throughout his body. They suddenly came to a halt. 
Not now. First, he needs to collect information on a quarry.
Lost in his thoughts, he looked up and the market filled his vision with you in his peripheral. It wasn’t too busy, part of the reason why he was comfortable enough for you to shop on your own. He clarified the meet up point to you and watched as you took off. You had a bounce in your step, probably due to your excitement at shopping alone. 
Once he meandered further into the market he began to collect information. This market was the bounty’s last location. Mando’s guess was that he either simply wanted to be in a small city, gambled their life savings away, or they paid for visit after visit with the workers at the brothel until they ran out of credits.
Only one way to find out. The gambling and brothels didn’t start up until later in the afternoon. To kill the time, and to possibly find the quarry, Mando wandered throughout the different sections of the market. 
He asked a few vendors about the bounty. Mando described the man to many market sellers and only got a slight lead from one woman donned in patterned fabrics. 
“I think he went that way,” the woman gestured with one of her hands towards an intersection, “Take the left path. I don’t know anything else beyond that.”
Mando dropped a few credits into her hand and gave her a polite nod, “Thank you.” He continued on and curved his gait to take the left path. From the signs and general merchandise displayed on each stall, he knew he was entering the clothing section of the market.
The helmet covering his head swiveled from left to right and right to left. No one matched the description of his quarry. Repeating his previous process, he made his way down the stall-lined alley and asked a couple different vendors.
Once the last vendor finished talking, and provided him with another lead, he dug his hand into his pocket and slid the credits on the stall’s counter towards them. Turning his back towards the vendor, his feet carried him two steps back into the market.
Then he saw you.
You stood hunched over a table of colorful bracelets. Tapping his fingers to the temple of his helmet, Mando zoomed in and the helmet displayed your face to him, deep in thought. Looking down, you were hovering your hands over a grid of various green bracelets. 
You stopped on one. Mostly brown, almost too much to be in the green section, Mando thought. Nonetheless, the green and silver streaks peeked in and out of the thick threads of brown that made up the bracelet. Your fingers sorted through the sizes of the bracelet and selected one that looked close to your size. 
Clutching it in one hand, the other hand searched for another of the same bracelet. It was larger than the previous size. You set the smaller bracelet down and tested the strings. The bracelet was adjustable, and you smiled at the discovery.
You transferred the bracelets onto the table of the stall and used one hand to dig into your pockets. Palm held out flat, Mando guessed that about twenty credits sat in your palm. He followed your gaze to the sign listing the prices.
PRICES
1 bracelet = 15 credits
2 = 30 credits
3 = 45 credits
4 = 60 credits
Shoulders falling, you dropped the credits back into your pocket and returned the bracelets to their original spot in the grid of green. Ground crunched beneath your shoes as you turned and continued wandering through the market.
Mando noted it was the third stall to the left of the bright green stall on the left side of the alley.
Not wanting you to realize he saw you, the Mandalorian walked in the opposite direction you took. After twenty minutes he noticed that the stalls became much more strange than the stalls in the clothing section of the market. Peering at the different products for sale, he saw a potions shop offering “super strength elixir” and a vendor selling various pet-like creatures. A few more vendors passed his peripheral vision as he continued his strides. They came to a stop once a building larger than the surrounding stalls came into view.
His helmet tilted upwards to read the sign displayed front and center on the large building: BROTHEL.
Tapping the side of his helmet, the time on the helmet’s display indicated that the brothel and gambling scenes had just begun. Mando tapped the temple of his helmet once again and the warm bodies within the building lit up, like he had x-ray vision. He counted a dozen in total. One body stood in the same spot inside near an entryway–the bouncer, Mando thought.
The bouncer was the individual that allowed access in and out of the building. If their memory was decent, they would be like a living guest book. Mando figured he could bribe them to reveal information, which was his usual plan with most of the beings he spoke with.
He sauntered over to the side of the building the bouncer was standing at. A singular light flickered over the side door, the sun was still out, so Mando was confused why it was on. The beskar helmet observed the side door.
Metal. Double deadbolts. Keypad on the left side. Small slit at eye level–neck level for the Mandalorian.
As soon as he crouched down to look near the slit, it slid open and revealed a thick pair of black eyebrows. Black eyes bore into the brow of Mando’s helmet, as the bouncer couldn’t seem to find his eyes. 
“Do you have an appointment?” The bouncer asked. The voice behind the door was gruff, as if the words had to crawl from the depths of his throat. 
“No,” Mando responded.
Black eyes blinked and then disappeared when the bouncer closed the metal slit. 
Mando was taken aback and furrowed his brow. His fist pounded on the door. He just wanted this hunt to be over with. He wanted to get back to you.
The slit in the door revealed two black eyes once more.
“I have credits and will pay you if you give me information on a client your establishment may have served.” Mando’s modulator gritted out loudly. Straight and to the point. All business. 
Eyes disappeared again, but were then accompanied with the sounds of the deadbolts unlocking. The metal door swung open to reveal a man dressed in all black with a silver name tag. Black hair matched the rest of his ensemble. 
Still holding the door, the bouncer asked, “What’s the bounty look like?”
An eyebrow raised inside Mando’s helmet, but he figured the bouncer knew the drill by now. Even other bounty hunters knew that brothels were what many bounties visited. A gloved hand unbuttoned a pocket on his belt and retrieved a bounty puck. Clicking the side of it, the puck displayed the quarry. 
The man stepped out of the doorway and onto the pavement, pulling the door closed behind him. His black eyes slightly squinted when his gaze trailed up and down the hologram.
“Ah yeah, I’ve seen this guy. He has a type, always goes for the blondes.” 
“Does he have any upcoming appointments?” Mando questioned.
The bouncer sighed in thought and pulled a small notepad from his pocket. Mando mirrored the man’s motion and produced a pen and notepad from his pocket. 
“The guy has an appointment in two days. He just asked to see a blonde. Figures.” The man shrugged and opened his notepad. Mando noticed it was a planner, and the bouncer flipped to the pages for the appointments two days from today.
“Which workers would take him as a client?” Mando’s modulator churned the words. His pen clicked as he readied himself to write.
The man donned in black made a fist with one hand and raised a finger with each name, “Ari. Taima. And Nomi. They would be in rooms one, five, or seven.”
Wow, Mando thought, this guy really knew the drill. He quickly finished up writing down the names and room numbers of each worker. The pen scratched feverishly against the cream colored paper, leaving behind black strokes to form letters and numbers. Notepad folding closed and the pen clicking, signifying the end of his notes, Mando returned the pen and paper to their place in his pocket. His opposing hand reached into a different pocket and produced a sizable amount of credits. Feeling generous, thankful that this hunt was going to be quick, he compensated the bouncer handsomely.
First task done. Second task on the horizon.
Creaking produced from the hinges of the metal door as the bouncer disappeared behind it once more. Flickering light gleamed off the beskar armor that protected the Mandalorian in combat. Although he wasn’t going into combat, because he wouldn’t be nervous if he was. 
Mando trained most of his life with the greatest warriors in the galaxy. Combat flowed through his blood easily. It was a part of him. 
But he was never trained on how to ask people out on dates.
On top of that, he was never trained on how to ask you out on a date.
He didn’t want to misread the situation. You could just be friendly. Who would want to date a man and not know what he looks like? Who would want to constantly live on a ship, without a permanent home? 
Being Mando, he prepared for the worst. If you said no, he figured that you would be uncomfortable living with the man who asked you out on a date. Knowing that he’s attracted to you. He would fly wherever you wanted and give you some credits to get started. Kriff, he’d send credits for however long it takes for you to get on your feet. Then he’d leave you alone. 
Admittedly, the Mandalorian would probably keep an eye on you to make sure you were safe. You just wouldn’t know he’s there.
But if you said yes.
Mando’s chest bloomed with anticipation. Firework-like tingles trailed up and down his limbs at the thought. He bit his lip within the confines of his helmet when he realized his pants had gotten tighter. Thankfully he was a Mandalorian, because heat washed over his face, half due to arousal and the other half in embarrassment.
The brown eyes underneath the helmet widened. If he wanted to do more with you and you agreed, he didn’t have protection.
Turning on his heel, cape whipping behind him, he made a quick pace back to the brothel.
Once he arrived at the gray building, the light at the side of the building having more of a purpose, Mando glided towards the same door as before. Bringing a fist up to the metal, he knocked three times.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
Clink. Shhhkt.
“Do you sell condoms?” the modulator quickly blurted.
All business.
He arrived at the meet up point before you. Leaning against a nearby tree, Mando checked the time constantly, as if he was devoted to the action more than his Creed. If you were late, he always went looking. 
Thankfully, you trudged up to the food stall on time with a hefty bag full of purchases. Fine, brown gravel grinded against the soles of Mando’s shoes as he made his way over to you. His gloved hand slipped the bag from your grasp and the pair of you began walking back to the Crest.
Both of you carried on with your normal post-supply run routines. You and Mando, but this time just Mando, piled the purchases from the market onto the hull’s floor. From there, the items could be sorted through and put in their respective places around the Crest.
As Mando finished unloading the large bag of purchases, he quickly dug around for the receipts. He knew how much you liked to review the shopping haul each time a supply run was completed. Mando enjoyed seeing the satisfaction wash over your face after you read over the receipts.
But this time was different. You froze once you got to the last receipt.
Mando’s helmet tilted in confusion. He took a few steps closer towards you, “What’s wrong? Did we forget something?”
You remained still while your eyes darted over the lines on the receipt. With your back turned to him, Mando found the opportunity to zoom in on the ink printed on the flimsy paper.
ITEMS PURCHASED (1)
CONDOM - 12 PACK
Oh. Fuck. FUCK.
He hasn’t even asked you on a date yet and now you probably already think he’s a perv. Nerves took over his body as you continued to stand still.
Your hand quickly crushed the receipts and threw them in the trash, “Nope! The last receipt didn’t look familiar but,” you trailed off slightly but recovered, “I remembered what I bought from the place.” A nervous laugh–obviously fake, Mando knew what your real one sounded like–escaped from your lips.
He fucked it up. You knew he was interested in you like that. And you didn’t feel the same. He hasn’t even asked you on the date yet. It’s all screwed up now.
But he also felt like he didn’t have enough evidence. What if you did like him but the idea of…needing to use the condoms…made you nervous.
Mando had to at least try. The least he had to do was ask you.
He cleared his throat and grabbed the bag off of the floor. You stood away from him, biting the inside of your cheek, nervously watching his movements. 
“I’m going to go to the night market,” he informed you, “I have some business with a bounty I need to take care of.” 
The bounty wouldn’t be captured until two days from now. In reality, he was really going to go and purchase snacks, takeout, and a pair of those bracelets you admired. It would have been suspicious if he met you back at the meet up point with bags full of snacks. The beskar man figured it would be best to hold off on buying them until later, and tell you he was getting a bounty, so you wouldn’t catch on.
He should’ve waited for this second trip to buy the condoms, he thought.
Mando left to, “Go to the night market,” he said. You saw the condom listed on the market receipts, you knew where he went tonight. What he’s going to do. 
The brothels.
Yeah, sure, he’s paying a worker to give him a service. No feelings attached. But you didn’t want him to be with anyone else. Was Mando necessarily yours? No. Have you ever had sex with him? Also no.
That didn’t stop you from getting jealous.
And it wasn’t just jealousy. It was fear. What if he fell in love with one of them? Or what if he was going on dates? He could have a romantic interest you don’t even know about. Next thing you know, they’re going steady and you’re kicked off the ship. Or worse, you have to watch him love someone that isn’t you.
No more silence with him in the cockpit, watching as the hyperspace lights soar past the windshield. Feet tapping down the ladder as you both began your nighttime routines. He’d wait in the hull near the door of the fresher in just his helmet, undershirt, sleep pants, and socks. As he lifted off the wall from his leaning stance he’d ask you, “Are you done?” Holding his own hands in front of him, trying to seem relaxed, as if he was trying to look less intimidating. “Yeah,” you’d quickly respond, leaving the fresher and brushing past him. Sometimes his hand found your waist as he passed, or the small of your back. “Thank you,” he’d grunt gently as he closed the fresher door. 
No more of Mando letting out a small, “Good night,” before lingering on your closing eyes and watching as your lips smiled, forming your response, “Good night.” 
Falling asleep, you knew you’d wake up to him. He would be up before you on most days, leaving you a fresh cup of caf and your favorite ration pack (when he had them). The short chatter between you two, going over the logistics of the next hunt, telling stories from your past, or just thinking out loud to each other. Gone.
You would be banished from home.
The fear struck your chest. Heat searing through your ribcage and meeting your spine, the visions repeated over and over in your head. Tears fell like waterfalls from your eyes. Most streams connected underneath your chin and trailed down your neck. Your back met the hull’s wall as you sank down onto the floor. Deep breaths. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Your head was heavy and numb.
Just breathe. You knew you weren’t going to die. Go through some heartbreak? Maybe, but you knew you’d be alive. It helped. Your breath slowed and the fear dissipated into the air around you. That didn’t stop the flow of tears down your cheeks as your eyes were fixed on the closed ramp.
Mando’s footsteps set a steady pace back to the market.
Crunch. Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.
He displayed a map of the marketplace as an overlay on the display of his helmet. Mando usually reserved this practice for combat to aid in determining exit strategies and the best plan of attack.
But now he was using it to calculate the most efficient route throughout the marketplace in order to see you again sooner. 
Closing the overlay from the helmet’s display, he was met with the sight of the market. Long strings of lights decorated the different stalls. Many vendors took advantage of the dark and used different, bright combinations to reel in customers. Some lights were multicolored. Some flashing. Some huge and some small. He thought of the “ooh”s, and, “ahh”s that you would let out at the brilliant display.
The Mandalorian started in the food section of the market. Carefully examining which vendors carried your favorite snacks, he made purchase after purchase in quick succession. His helmet remained on a swivel, scanning the stalls from right to left and left to right. 
A stall offering your favorite kind of takeout came into view.
Once Mando arrived at the stall he ordered two takeout meals. The vendor looked startled and confused as he ordered. They shakily accepted the credits for the two meals. Gazes drifted away from Mando and quickly returned as he stood waiting for the meals to be prepared. A bell rang and he retrieved two warm containers, placing them in his bag alongside the snacks.
One last stop. The bracelets.
Marching through the food district, he came upon an intersection at which the left path led him to the clothing district. Yet again, his helmet pivoted on his neck from one side to another. 
The third stall to the left of the bright green stall on the left side of the alley.
Mando continued his steady pace until the bright green stall came into view. The brightness of the exterior paint was exaggerated by the warm light emitted by lanterns, which decorated the outside of the shop. He didn’t notice before but the store sold children’s clothes. Onesies. Small shoes. Tiny hats.
A small tunic. Small enough for a human child younger than one year old. The tunic reminded him of Grogu’s. Mando’s bare hands brushed against the material countless times as he cradled The Child in his arms.
The last time he spoke about Grogu was with you. You listened and offered support. He’s never had anyone do that for him.
His visor turned to his left. The soft fairy lights of the stall reflected off of the beskar helmet on his head. As if the beskar reflected a dark sky decorated with bright stars. Various fabrics hung from the side of the vendor’s stall to cover the old wooden planks. Little accessories were placed throughout the shop on different tables and displays. 
Mando wasn’t focused on those items, he was focused on the long table of bracelets organized by color. His feet carried him to the green section. The helmet turned downwards to allow him to observe the selection. 
Shit.
There were so many bracelets similar to the pair you held, just all in different combinations of green, silver, and brown. Was it the bracelet with the large green cord and the small silver and brown threads? Or the one with the large silver cord and green and brown threads? Or thick brown cord with streaks of green and silver? His hands hovered over the options, doing his best to recall the details from earlier in the day.
“It’s this one,” a woman’s voice said.
A bit startled, the Mandalorian looked up and found a woman standing on the other side of the table. She wore long robes with intricate patterns. Jewelry decorated every limb and part of her body, like jewels were dripping down from her skin from a storm of gemstones. Hair cascaded around her shoulders and down her back. Her smile was kind and her gaze met Mando at his eyebrow.
A good try, he thought.
“I’m sorry?” He replies. She couldn’t possibly know which bracelet he was trying to find.
“You were watching them earlier. From across the street,” she let out faint exhales as she let out a short laugh, “Maybe you should hide a little better next time.” 
She reached out and picked two bracelets out of the display grid. “I remember the sizes too,” she said, “The person you watched held onto them for so long, they seemed pretty attached to them. I kept track of which bracelets they were just in case.” The robed woman shot him a friendly wink.
“In case of what?” Mando questioned. He was still in shock that the woman noticed him staring at you from across the street. 
The woman glanced up at him like that was a dumb question, “In case you came back to get them, Mandalorian. This isn’t my first day on the job.”
It saved him the time and stress of trying to remember which one it was, so he shrugged and watched the woman’s jewelry dangle as she typed onto the register. 
Beep. Beep. Beep beep. Ching.
“Okay sir, twenty credits please!” The woman extended her hand out and waited for Mando to place credits into her palm. She was met with the tilting of the black T shape on Mando’s beskar helmet. 
“I thought the price was thirty,” he stated as he began to reach into his pockets to retrieve his credits.
The woman let out another small laugh, “Oh, I suppose I should have made the sign larger,” her decorated fingers pointed to a small sign above the one that displays the bracelet prices.
$10 OFF WHEN YOU BUY TWO OR MORE
Mando’s shoulders dip in realization that you could’ve bought the bracelets in the first place. A sigh escapes his modulator and he hands the credits over to the intricately robed vendor. The credits clink into her palm, and then into the register.
He waits silently for her to package them up in a small bag. 
“They like you, you know,” the woman mentions, “No one like them would be deciding on which bracelets to buy for that long if they didn’t.” She paused as she was about to place the larger of the two into the small bag, “And look at the size of this one! It’s definitely for you.” 
The Mandalorian nods, “I appreciate that,” he pauses before turning away, “let’s hope they do.”
Mando sets a faster pace back to the Crest than the one he took from the Crest to the market. He’s impatient, he can’t wait to walk up the ramp and see your body curled up, comfortable and safe, while you sleep soundly in your bed–if you can even call it that, he thought. You usually went to bed early when he went on hunts, otherwise you would be awake talking to him.
Slipping the bag from his shoulder, an ungloved hand rummaged through the contents searching for a small bag. His fingers found the familiar texture and he pulled it out from between the snacks and the takeout. 
Mando slung the bag back over his shoulder, pulled the larger of the two bracelets out of the small bag, and slipped his hand through the ring of brown, silver, and green. Grabbing one of the ends with his fingers and pinning it to his palm, the other hand tightened the bracelet to a comfortable size around his wrist.
Once the small bag was returned to its place inside of the larger one, Mando peered around him to get a good look of his surroundings. 
The sun was about to set, leaving only a sliver of light available to provide dim light to the landscape. Rocks littered the ground. Shadows from each one making them appear larger in the light of the impending dusk. He reached up and tapped a finger to the temple of his helmet. No living thing was around him.
He paused and set the bag on the ground. Doing one last scan of the area, one of his hands gripped the chin of his helmet and lifted the beskar from his head. The hand held the helmet at his side while he marveled at his wrist.
He caught a good patch of remaining light and watched as the green and silver threads gleamed against the thick brown ones. The bracelet was beautiful. Not only because of the design, but because you picked it out. And it was for him.
Becoming paranoid, the Mandalorian quickly slipped his helmet back onto his head. He waited for the seal of the helmet to engage before continuing back towards the Crest. This time, at an even faster pace.
You sat there until you heard heavy footsteps approaching from outside, the hydraulics of the ramp coming to life. Thinking fast, you stood up and made your way towards the fresher to start your nighttime routine.
“Why are you still awake?” Mando’s voice was confused. He stood in front at the top of the ramp with his helmet tilted, hands resting on his hips, but his shoulders were slumped, a bag slung around one. He looked…worried.
Mando was right. Usually when he went on hunts you went to bed early. Nowadays the only thing that kept you awake was him. Talking with him was how you spent most evenings on the Crest, your voices echoed and bounced back to each other in the hull.
He’s used to seeing you curled up on the sleeping pad covered in blankets. Soft breaths came from your body and radiated throughout the Crest. Just like a minute ago, his footsteps would come up the ramp with his bounty in tow. Soft grunts could be heard kitty-corner from your spot in the hull. A hiss of mechanisms as they froze the bounty in carbonite. Then a bit of silence. 
The absence of the carbonite freezing stood out in your mind. No bounty, even when he said he was going to go and find one. Your eyes teared up slightly again as the realization truly set in. Mando really did go to the brothel.
You just wanted this night to be like any other night he came back to the Crest with a bounty.
After the bounty was frozen, heavy footsteps made their way across the floor of the hull. But they always stopped a few paces away from your bed, halting for a moment. Mando would complete his nightly routine. Setting the Crest’s coordinates for the next planet and showering in the fresher if he needed to–he usually did.
No matter what the events of his nightly routine were, it always ended with him standing in the doorway of his bunk–the sound of his footsteps always stopped partially inside.
“Good night, cyar'ika.”
You didn’t know what the Mando’a meant, since Mando never used that word around you, but you knew that the, “good night,” was all you needed to finally fall asleep.
You always waited up for him, only until reasonable hours of the night, of course, but he didn’t know it.
The sound of his footsteps in the present snapped you out of your hazy state. Crying really does a number on your brain.
“Just…couldn’t fall asleep,” you offered him a small smile as you pulled some products out of the tiny fresher cabinet. You wet your face and applied a small amount onto your fingertips, tapping them together for both hands to have the product. As you lifted your face and your hands to the mirror to begin washing your face, you were met with swollen lips, puffy eyes, and slight tear trails dried onto your face, despite the water you just splashed onto it. You froze.
There goes any of your chances to get away with how you spent your night. Staying up late staring at the Crest’s ramp. Waiting for Mando to come home. At least what you thought was home.
“What’s wrong?” Mando’s voice got clearer as he approached the fresher door. His strides long, footsteps clunking, as he removed his leather gloves and tucked the pair into his utility belt.
You went to turn away from him but he got there faster than you could. His ungloved hand rested on your shoulder, grip slow yet firm as he turned you to face him. He rubbed tiny circles onto your skin with his thumb once his eyes beneath the helmet noticed yours.
Your reflection on the silver beskar of his helmet stared back at you. Could you even get away with a lie at this point? What else would have made you cry? It’s not exactly like you could have said the truth either.
Oh yeah, I was sitting here having a panic attack as you participated in a perfectly normal service that is offered on this planet. Then I spiraled and thought about how you might not even want me to be here, that you’ll find another partner to be on this ship with you, and toss me away like none of this meant anything to you.
Mando’s hand waved in front of your face and it brought you back into the present moment. “Did someone come onto the ship while I was gone?” His voice gritted out from the helmet’s modulator. 
“Maker, no,” you huffed and tried to look less suspicious, hoping he’ll just drop the topic.
“Then what is it?” He murmured, his modulator barely picking up his syllables. His wide shoulders took up most of the fresher’s door frame. The grip on your shoulder tightened slightly.
“It’s…I don’t think you’ll want to hear it.” You shrugged and repressed the heat of anxiety creeping down the back of your head. Turning to wash and dry your hands, you let out a sigh and started to walk towards the main open space of the hull. Your shoulder gently bumped him as you slid past his large frame in the doorway. 
Suddenly your hips were being snapped backwards and dragged back towards the fresher. His damn finger was in your belt loop again. 
He pulled you close to him, feeling the heat from his knuckle dig into your hip and spread throughout the rest of your body. His helmet leaned down to look you in the eye and tilted once again.
“Try me,” he paused. He brought his hand up to grip onto the valley where your neck meets your shoulder, slowly enough so you could back away if you so desired. His large palm and thick fingers were calloused and warm. The grip he had on you was still gentle, slightly squeezing. “You know you can tell me, right?”
You let a deep inhale permeate through your lungs. The words flowed through your individual cells. Thoughts of lying escaped your body with each breath. The debate inside your head would end. Whether he had those feelings for you or not.
“I got upset because you went to the brothel.” You told him. Lips trembling and eyes squinted open in an attempt to meet his gaze.
“The brothel?” He held both of your shoulders and brought his visor closer to your face. Thumbs rubbed your shoulders yet again. He sighed as your name left his lips and traveled through his helmet, “I didn’t go to a brothel tonight.” A titled T-shaped gaze met yours. You knew he was looking you in the eyes, and yours into his.
Brows furrowed, you sniffled slightly, “I-, I saw that condoms were on the market receipts.” The thumbs on your shoulders stopped, his chest didn’t rise and fall. He froze. You made Mando freeze. 
“Look I know I’m just being dramatic and paying for that kind of thing is completely normal. I just,” you trailed off and thought of a quick replacement for your worry, “I was worried you would get hurt there.”
Mando’s shoulders fell and his helmet cocked to the side. “What?” He questioned. “How would I get hurt? None of the workers there had weapons.”
“How would you know that if you didn’t go?” You whispered to him. Your gaze left his and it dropped to the shape in the center of his chestplate. The crystal shape rose up and down slowly.
“I got information on a bounty there earlier,” he sounded like he was talking to a hurt animal. Gentle. Slow. Calm. “What's the actual reason you’re upset?” 
Kriff it.
“I had a panic attack because I thought you went to the brothel. Maybe you would like the worker there more than you like me, I spiraled and thought about how you might not even want me to be here, that you’ll find another partner to be on this ship with you,” your chest heaved and as you listed off your previous thoughts of worry. Your hands shook as they landed on top of Mando’s, and you took a deep breath, eyes meeting his gaze like before, “and toss me away like none of this meant anything to you.”
Mando is quick. He flipped his hands to grab one of yours and tugged you into the hull. Kneeling, he opened a cloth bag, one from the market, and dug into it to search for something. 
He actually went to the night market. You thought, now you look so clingy. So needy. He was just going to show you what he got to prove he went.
He turned and held his hand out. Sitting on top of the golden skin on his palm was a bracelet.
The bracelet from the market.
“I saw you looking at these, you looked for a long time and then put them down,” He stood up and set his gait to slow steps as he made his way over to you.
You laughed nervously, accompanied by a small sniffle, “Sorry yeah, I know I just should have been getting the stuff we needed. You didn’t have to go back and get it for-.” Mando raised a finger to halt your speech and continued what he was saying previously, “you put them down. You had two bracelets.”
“They had lots of them that I liked…I had two that were a tie and I just decided to get neither-.” Mando cut you off again.
“You were holding one bracelet consistently and then picked another in a bigger size,” you froze at his words. Dank farrik. Now he was going to think you’re super clingy. 
“I wasn't completely sure who you wanted to wear the bracelet, but I took a guess.” He pulled his long sleeve past his elbow and revealed his bare forearm. Strong. Capable. Solid. And a matching bracelet was donned on his wrist.
Your cheeks radiated with heat as he took your wrist and put your bracelet on you. His warm fingertips brushed the soft skin of your wrist, sending chills throughout your body at the meticulous skin-on-skin contact. 
Once the bracelet was secure around your wrist, Mando dipped his head and looked down at the floor. One of his hands gripped the underside of his helmet, and the other held onto your wrist. Your breath caught in your throat at the gesture. He quickly lifted his helmet to release his mouth, and he pressed three kisses on your wrist where the bracelet was. Mando’s lips were soft and timid, his hand caressing the skin on yours. Silver from his beskar helmet blocked your view, but Mando sealed his helmet and brought his eyes underneath the visor to look into yours.
“This means everything to me.”
Supply Run - Exchange (part three)
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psychedelic-ink · 7 months
Text
𝐅𝐄𝐀𝐑 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐀𝐁𝐘𝐒𝐒.
DAY EIGHT OF HAUNTED HOEDOWN
prompt: cult au + “do you like it when i bleed for you?”
pairing: cult leader!din djarin x f!reader
genre: explicit smut, minors dni
summary: din initiates you into the cult.
word count: 1.1k
warnings: dubcon (power imbalance), manipulation, innocence kink, corruption kink, blood/blood kink, blowjob, soft dom!din kinda
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Your eyes follow the man in armor in front of you. 
It’s just you and him, no one else. No one to hear you scream or beg while you are initiated. He removes the plates of his arms one by one, the majority of his armor staying along with his helmet. There’s a fire burning behind him. The flickering orange and yellow bathes his armor in light and you stare, mesmerized by how shadows deepen all around his armor. 
“You can’t leave after this,” he says, voice modulated. “You will be one of us.” 
“Can I see your face then?” you ask innocently, batting his eyes at him. He tilts his head, observing your soft smile and clutched thighs. You want to see him. Be with him. He had been protecting you for years, looking out for you, teaching you the way and how to live a happy life. He’d told you once, how he cared for you, but couldn’t give you a name or show you his face until you were properly initiated. That was the creed. 
He stills for a moment. You see the tension building in his muscles and doubt begins to swirl in your chest. You want to please him and the thought of saying something that might upset him makes your stomach churn.
“Yes,” he answers finally, every word pronounced carefully. “I don’t show my face to anyone though, I want you to remember that and know how special you are to me. Understood?” 
You nod and he shakes his head, “Use your words mesh’la. Use my name, it’s Din.” 
“Yes, Din,” you answer. Your cheeks warm up. His name hits your tongue just right, as if your mouth is made to repeat his name over and over again. 
Satisfied, he nods and pulls out a sharp dagger from his waist. The gleam catches your eye and your pulse quickens. You have no idea how the initiation works, your excitement courses through your veins, and pounds in your ears. His visor reflects your wide-eyed expression. 
“On your knees,” he says. 
You quickly obey, ignoring how the stone scrapes your skin. He displays his forearm, bringing the sharp edge of the dagger to his skin. Din cuts himself slowly, blood trickling instantly from the long wound. Your heart jumps, eyes going wide. You almost feel a cut of your own tingling over your forearm and it pains you to see him bleeding. 
But also, you know this is not something he does for everyone. 
Your pupils dilate, mouth flooding with saliva with the prospect of pressing your lips against the crimson blood. 
“Repeat after me,” he says, drawing you away from your disrespectful thoughts. You nod. The blood ebbs like spiderwebs across his skin, coiling around his bare wrist and dripping from his fingers to the cold stone ground. 
He begins, voice soft and words slow, “I swear on my name and the names of the ancestors. . .” 
 “I swear on my name and the names of the ancestors. . .” you repeat dutifully. 
“that I shall walk the way of the mand’alore. . .” 
“that I shall walk the way of the mand’alore. . .” 
 “and the words of the creed shall be forever forged in my heart.” 
 “and the words of the creed shall be forever forged in my heart. . .” 
“This is the way.” 
“This is the way.” 
He curls two bloody fingers under your chin and tilts your head further up. You feel the warmth of his essence on your skin, the scent of iron filling your nostrils. “Do you like it when I bleed for you?”
“Yes,” you answer without thought, feeling the blood moving down your neck, following the path between your breasts. He slightly bends his knees, leaning over you as he tugs your bottom lip down with his thumb. You exhale when he smears the tender flesh with his blood, marking you, and you taste him. 
He sighs, “Maker, I can’t wait to ruin you.” 
Din pulls away and you lick the blood from your lips. Oddly enough he tastes sweet to you, even though you know it’s impossible. Your eyes drop to the front of his pants where he unzips himself, your mouth goes dry at the size of his hard cock. He’s not too long, but the thickness of it is enough for you to shudder with pleasure. 
“Have you ever sucked cock before?” he asks, coming closer and tracing your lips with his bloody fingers. Insticeticly, you part your lips and he slips them inside, he groans as you swirl your tongue, cleaning him off. 
“No,” you answer. “It never seemed that appealing to me.”
“How about now?” 
The drop of his voice, the rasp beneath the words, all of it makes your mind go completely blank. Silent. You swallow around his fingers. He withdraws his fingers, “It’s very tempting,” you breathe out, tongue swiping over your bottom lip. 
Din ignores your answer, “Open your mouth. Wide,” he groans and when you do, he pushes himself inch by inch into your mouth. Tears build in your eyes and he cradles the side of your face with one hand, keeping you still. He doesn’t stop until you’re choking around him, a moan echoing from underneath the helmet. 
Tears fall one by one as he begins to thrust his hips, burying his cock down your throat with every move. You brace yourself by placing your palm on his thighs. The muscles bulge underneath your hands. Arousal pools between your legs. He’s using you just like you wanted, owning you and making you yours. 
“That’s it. You’re doing so well,” his head tilts back, pushing you down until your nose is buried within the dark curls. You can barely breathe. The mixture of precome and blood heavy on your tongue. You feel him pulse as your throat convulses around him, then he pulls back, a growl reaching your ears. “My sweet girl, always so eager to please.” 
Din pulls out slowly and you can feel the slickness on your tongue. His hand slides from your chin up the side of your head. His rough thumb traces your lower lip. You can feel his gaze like a brand on your skin. he takes a deep breath and exhales before taking himself into his hand. The head of his cock is an angry shade of red, precome glistening beautifully at the slit. 
Before he can command it, you open your mouth and stick out your tongue. He fists himself before spilling his hot cum all over your lips and chin, dripping down your face. His moans and whimpers are beautiful, a sight only you’re allowed to see. 
There’s so much of it, his cock continuously twitches and throbs in his hand. He ruins you, just like he promised. Staining you with his seed. Your insides clench when you imagine Din coming inside instead of on your face. 
When he’s finished, he tucks himself back into his pants and reaches for his helmet. 
“As promised,” he says, voice hoarse, scratching your ears just right. 
You finally see the real face of the man in armor.
And he’s beautiful.
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What Was Unspoken, And What We Finally Said
Din Djarin x fem!reader
Word count-3.6k
Warnings- s.mut (18+ ONLY!), sexworker reader (respectfully), mutual pining, reader is said to have been with both men and women but her sexuality is up to you, unprotected sex, hj, finering, oral (f receiving), protective!Din, soft!Din, feelings, no description of reader other than body parts and no use of y/n
Notes- This is part a bonus Valentines fic and part a thank you for 5,000 followers fic! I would have liked to do a full follower celebration but since I'm low on writing time lately, I'm doing 2 gift fics for y'all instead. I just want to say thank you each and every one of you for following and supporting me all these years!
Since this is Star Wars, I looked up if there was anything like Valentine's Day and while there isn't one canonically, there is a "Lover's Day" that the fandom kinda agreed is equivalent so I used that here but it can be read any time of year since it's Star Wars and we can say it's any time lol! Enjoy!
@flightlessangelwings-updates is my update blog so please also follow that and turn on post notifs to stay up to date on when I post new things!
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~
You were exhausted.
If you were honest, you weren’t even sure what day it was… or even what time of day at all. Things had never been busier at the brothel the last couple days, and you weren’t sure why. Especially today it was back to back clients for you. The extra credits were nice, and much needed, but by the Maker were you wiped out. But it wasn’t all bad. The brothel you worked at was safe and respectable and the clients almost always tipped well. You even had a lengthy list of regulars, which was nice. Many of them even came by today too.
The day started with a visit from one of your favorite bounty hunters, Fennec Shand. She was usually more quiet and stoic, but today she had an air of playfulness about her, and the smirk she wore on her face made your heart flutter. Later in the day, Axe Woves came by, and seemed more flirtatious than usual. He always left you with a wink and a kiss on the back of your hand, but today he left a lingering kiss on your cheek… and extra credits in tip. 
But there was one person you looked forward to seeing more than anyone else. And he hadn’t come by in some time. 
You let out a heavy sigh as you flopped down onto the bed. Wrapping your robe around yourself, you closed your eyes as you finally got some time to rest after a busy day. Just as your body relaxed into the plush mattress and you felt yourself about to doze off, there was a knock at the door.
“Coming,” you sighed as you pushed yourself up, ready to turn away whoever was on the other side of the door. You just wanted to rest for the rest of the night. “Listen, came you come back tomor…” you froze mid word as your eyes landed on the one person you had hoped to see, “Din!” you breathed.
“Did I come at a bad time?” he asked, tilting his helmeted head to the side, “I had a bounty in the area and I thought I would come by.” Since it’s been awhile, he thought to himself, and I missed you.
“No, no,” you ushered him inside before he could walk away, “Come in.”
The Mandalorian walked past you, entering the room while you closed and locked the door, “Everything alright?” he asked, noticing the exhaustion in your voice.
“Fine,” you replied as you crossed the room and sat down, motioning for him to sit next to you, “It’s just been really busy here the last couple days. Not sure why,” you shrugged. 
“Want me to come back another time?” he asked plainly, his tone hiding his true disappointment especially after having not seen you in so long. Din truly looked forward to the days when he could come by the brothel and spend time with you.
“I think I can muster up some energy for my favorite client,” you replied with a flirty wink. It took everything you had to not sound like you desperately wanted him to stay, and even if you couldn’t even pull yourself off the bed you would do it for him.
Din tilted his head to the side slightly as a soft amused huff escaped his lips, “Your favorite, huh?”
You heard the smile in his voice. Biting your lip and subtly shimmying your shoulders, you closed the gap between your bodies and traced the chestplate of his beskar armor with your finger, “Don’t tell anyone else. They might get jealous,” you purred as the room started to warm around you.
Din reached in his pocket, pulling out a generous amount of credits and placed them on the nearby table before he leaned in closer to you. He cupped your face, tenderly caressing the side of your head in his gloved hand, “Your secret is safe with me.” Din gently rubbed his thumb against your cheek while his large hand cradled you softly while he pushed his body against yours.
“Din…” you breathed as your eyes fluttered shut and you allowed him to guide you back until your legs hit the bed. 
“I’ve got you,” he murmured as his hands moved down the front of your body and tugged at your robe. 
A gasp escaped your lips as the cool air hit your skin. But, you didn’t feel cool for long. Even through the darkness of his vizor, you could feel Din’s gaze on you, and you could tell he eyed you hungerly. The way his breath hitched whenever he saw you bare for him, the way his helmet tilted slightly, the way his hands gripped you just a little bit tighter… you knew all Din’s tells by now. And you craved the feeling of being under his touch.
“Beautiful,” Din sighed as he guided your body down onto the bed. He stood in awe over you for a moment as your robe fell open and framed your figure. His pants felt tighter as his cock reacted to the way you settled yourself, spreading your legs wide for him. Din let out a low groan as he tugged his gloves off. They were the only thing he ever removed, and he only ever took them off with you.
“Din,” you whispered again as the bed dipped as he hovered over you, “Let me…”
You ran your hands down his chest once more, imaging what it would feel like to feel his bare skin under your touch instead. You bit your lip when you reached the hem of his pants, and you expertly unzipped and freed his cock without letting any other sliver of skin show. You knew the trust he put in you, and you never took it for granted. You felt honored that he even trusted you with his real name- something else you held near and dear to your heart. 
Savoring the groan he let out, you stroked his length slowly. You made sure to squeeze right where he liked it, and you let out a whimper every time a louder growl escaped his lips involuntarily. But you let out another whine when you felt his thick fingers cupping your pussy, and you mewled when Din pushed them inside you.
Pumping his fingers to the same rhythm as you stroked his cock, your moans harmonized with his grunts as you both prepped the other. Heavy breaths filled the room as you fought to keep your eyes open and locked on his vizor. Din rested his helmeted forehead against yours as he thrust his fingers deeper inside you, causing you to cry out louder. But, being a professional, you kept your wits about you and squeezed his cock harder in response.  
Din groaned and let out an amused laugh, “Are you ready for me, mesh’la?” he cooed.
“Always,” you whispered back with a smirk of your own.
Another short huff echoed from his helmet as he murmured your name and pulled his fingers out of you. At the same time, you let go of his cock, your hand brushed against his as he reached for it to line himself up with your pussy. The two of you froze for a moment as your gazes met, and for a breath, time felt like it stopped.
A whirlwind of emotions ran through both of you as you stared at each other. It was as if you could both sense the other had something to say, and if you both had a secret you kept buried. Yet, it remained unspoken between the two of you. Your mouth dropped open and a deep breath escaped your lips, like you were about to put into words what neither of you would say.
Before you could, though, Din thrust his hips forward, driving his cock into you in one swift movement. Your head dropped down into the bed as you let out a loud, obscene moan as you felt the familiar stretch of his cock. 
“Din!” you cried out as he reeled back and thrust forward again.
“I know,” he grunted as he felt his skin sweat underneath all the armor. You had an effect on Din that no one else did. He lost all control when it came to you, especially when he was inside you. And the way you moan with every thrust of his hips only made him come more and more undone.
You cried out in ecstasy as Din rocked in and out of you in a fast and steady rhythm. Tears filled your eyes as you clutched the sheets. He made you feel something you had never felt before. And every time Din visited you, it became harder and harder to deny your growing feelings for him.
Passions ran wild as Din picked up his pace, thrusting deep into you harder and faster. He growled from under his helmet as he felt your warmth engulf his cock. Grabbing your hips, Din gave one harsh thrust, driving his length as deep inside you as he possibly could.
The gasp you let out when he did that made his cock twitch, and Din knew neither of you would last much longer. Din kept a strong grip on you as he repeated the action, changing his thrusts to slow and deep and deliberate.
“Fuck… Din…”
“I know,” he grunted.
You moved your grip from the sheets to his arms as you clung to him for dear life. With every slow, deep thrust, you felt your climax inch closer and closer and closer until you finally spilled over the edge. With a loud scream and trembling legs, you came hard on his cock. Squeezing your inner muscles as you gushed between your bodies, wave after wave of pleasure pulsed through your body as Din continued to thrust into you, hitting your sweet spot over and over again.
With a low groan of your name, Din came right after you. He spilled himself deep inside you as he drove his cock as deep as he could once more. Din kept his pace as long as he could, riding out both your orgasms as you moaned and groaned together, clawing at each other in desperation as you did so.
After one last thrust, Din pulled out of you. He watched as you collapsed onto the bed while he regained his composure. Heavy breaths filled the room as you both came down from your highs, and Din rested himself on the bed next to you in silence. His breath hitched in his throat as you immediately rolled close to him and nested yourself comfortably against his body.
“Hey,” you breathed, breaking the silence, “Is your bounty urgent or do you want to stay for the night?”
Din let out a short laugh, “He’s frozen in carbonite,” he sounded pleased with himself, “He’s not going anywhere.”
You smirked against his beaker chestplate as his unspoken acceptance lingered in the air like a comforting blanket between the two of you. Together, you laid in silence as Din wrapped his strong arms around you. Your heart pounded at the feeling of being in his arms, and you wished that it could be like this every night. But, he was a Mandalorian bounty hunter, there was no way that was in the future for you.
Suddenly, an explosion of fireworks echoed from outside, making you gasp and jump up with fright. Din tightened his grip around you, pulling you even closer and going on high alert. The two of you looked out the window as another color firework lit up the sky in the distance. More and more fireworks continued as the show went on, and in the distance you heard a crowd ooh and ahh at the marvel of the show.
Then the realization hit you. “Maker…” you breathed as you burst into nervous laughter, “Do you know what today is, Din?”
He turned to you but said nothing.
“It’s Lover’s Day!” you laughed more to cover the nerves. You just spent the evening of Lover’s Day with Din…
He seemed to mull over for several moments, his gaze moving down before he finally said, “So it is,” Din was quiet again as he turned back to you. 
Even without seeing his face, you felt your skin warm under his gaze. Somehow, you felt all his emotions just in the way he held you, and as Din moved his hand and cupped your face your world felt like it was spinning. You savored the warmth of his touch, and you let out a deep breath as you leaned into his hand and closed your eyes contently.
“Since it’s Lover’s Day,” Din was the one who broke the silence this time, “Let me take care of you…”
“Din…”
Carefully, Din rolled your bodies so that you laid on your back while he hovered over you. Looking up at him, your breath caught in your chest and your heart fluttered as he pushed himself down and settled between your parted legs. 
You let out a whine as heat rushed through your body. All you could do was swallow hard and moan in anticipation as you watched Din lean forward so that he hovered over your exposed pussy.
He murmured something incoherent before he rested his hand on your hips, gently pinning you in place. Not wanting to let go of you, Din used the leverage of your body to tilt his helmet up while he positioned his face over your folds.
A gasp escaped your lips when you felt his breath on your skin, “Din…” you whimpered as you closed your eyes tightly.
Din growled as he licked his lips before diving into you. The cry you let out sent a jolt through his veins, and combined with tasting you, Din almost lost all his composure. “Fuck,” he groaned against you before he lapped at your cunt again.
His hips bucked against the bed as he savored the sweetness of your pussy. Din groaned into you as his hands gripped you tighter, as if he couldn’t get enough of you. And the way you moaned and cried out in pure bliss only added to the overwhelming sensations and emotions he felt.
Not having expected this, tears quickly filled your eyes and your mind and body floated in the pleasure that Din’s tongue brought you. With every lap of his tongue, you felt a shock of pleasure tingle through your veins. And it wasn’t because he physically made you feel good either. It was the act itself, Din putting himself into a vulnerable position just to lick and suck at your pussy, and doing this for you.
It had to mean something, right?
“Fuck… Din…” you whimpered as you moved your grip from the sheets to his wrists, finding just the tiny sliver of skin under his armor.
Din grunted into you as he pushed his face more against your body. His hands shifted slightly so that his fingers curled around yours, holding both your hand and your hips at the same time. As much as he wanted to murmur soft words of encouragement, to tell you to cum in his mouth, he also couldn’t tear himself away. From the first taste, Din was addicted to you, and he already knew he wanted more… Wanted you.
Your legs trembled on either side of his helmet as you felt your body warm as your climax was about to hit. Without warning, you came hard with a loud scream, arching your back off the bed and gushing into Din’s mouth as your cries of pleasure filled the room.
He slurped and sucked at your folds as he tongue hit your clit over and over again, allowing you to ride out your orgasm on his tongue. And Din greedily lapped up every drop of your release, swallowing as much of you as he could. His grip on you tightened as he moaned against your body, lapping at you until you couldn’t take any more.
With one final gasp, you flopped down limp on the bed as Din broke away from you with a huff. His helmet slid down to cover his face in one smooth motion as he sat up and licked at the corners of his mouth from under the cover of his armor.  He watched you with captivate fascination as your breasts rose and fell with your deep, heavy breaths as you recovered from your intense climax.
There were so many words on the tip of his tongue. So many things that Din wanted to tell you. The tension in the air was so thick that it almost overpowered the smell of sex in the room. Din ran his hands up and down your body, gently caressing you and letting his touch speak for him instead.
“Din,” you murmured as you broke the silence and blinked your eyes open to meet his armored figure in the low light, “I…”
He moved his hand to the side of your face, not covering your mouth but the motion itself paused your thoughts. He said nothing as he pushed himself up to your face, stopping for a moment to rest his helmeted forehead against your own. As the two of you sat like that for a few moments, he brushed your cheek with his finger tenderly. Din whispered your name as he broke away, moving his hand to cover your eyes as he did so. 
Your lips pasted with a gasp, yet you stayed still, fully trusting the Mandalorian. With your eyes covered by his large hand, your world went black. Faintly, you heard a hiss in front of you, but before you could ask what was happening, you felt something on your skin. His breath.
Din pulled his helmet up just enough to uncover half of his face. His lips felt cold as the air hit his skin, but he was instantly warmed again when he pressed his lips to yours. He swallowed the moan you let out as he kissed you for the very first time. Tightening his grip on you, Din pushed himself even closer against you, desperate to feel you as close as possible.
You surrendered yourself to him willingly. Tilting your head, you were mindful to keep your eyes covered as you deepened the kiss by parting your lips for him. Din eagerly accepted the silent invitation, and you both moaned into the other when you tased each other for the first time. The fireworks continued around you, but the only explosions either of you cared about were the ones happening between you.
“I know,” Din murmured against your lips when he reluctantly broke away from you.
You let out a deep breath against his face, and you knew he felt your smile against his skin. Din placed one last kiss on your lips, lingering on yours for several moments before he pulled away and dropped his helmet back down.
Blinking your eyes open, you grinned when you were met with the familiar silhouette in the darkness once more. A soft smile lit up your face, and it made Din’s chest tighten with the sincere look in your eyes. Just as you were about to say something, though, a knock at the door made both of you jump to attention.
Din was quick to stand and shift into attack mode. Out of pure reflex, his hand reached for his blaster, ready to protect you.
“Wait,” you grabbed his wrist with one hand as you reached for your robe with the other, “It might be another client. Hang on,” you slid the robe over your shoulders and wrapped it around you as you moved around the Mandalorian.
He didn’t stray far from you, hovering behind you as you opened the door and recognized the man who stood on the other side, “Hey, I’ve got an overnight tonight,” you told him in a kind voice, “Can you come back tomorrow? I promise I’ll leave a time open for you.”
The man stuttered as he suddenly felt nervous as the Mandalorian glared at him from over your shoulder, “Y-yeah,” he finally said, “Sure… Sorry,” he mumbled before he turned and left.
Closing and locking the door, you turned back to Din and shook your head as you grinned, “He’s a nice guy,” you explained to him, “One of my best tippers too… So please try not to scare away my source of income.”
“Sorry,” he mumbled an apology as he visibly relaxed. Din had no issue with what you did for a living, he only had your safety and best interest in mind. He had seen you mistreated once before, and while he knew it was a rarity, Din never wanted to see you hurt ever again. Especially not if he could prevent it and protect you. 
“Let’s lay down,” you said softly as you reached your hand out to him. Your heart fluttered for a moment as he took your hand and allowed you to lead him back to the bed where you both made yourselves comfortable. Din immediately pulled you in close and held you in his embrace. 
Settling down for the night, you never felt more safe than you did right now, in Din’s arms. Yawning heavily, you felt the exhaustion start to overcome you once more, and you knew soon you would be sound asleep, “Hey Din,” you muttered sleepily, “Happy Lover’s Day.”
Din’s breath hitched in his throat as you quickly started to snore softly. He looked forward to nights like this, nights with you. And it was pure coincidence that he happened to come to you on Lover’s Day. But perhaps it wasn't a coincidence. Perhaps he was meant to be here tonight… with you. As Din listened to your steady breaking while you slept, he leaned in and whispered, “Happy Lover’s Day, cyare.” 
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absurdthirst · 1 year
Text
One Night on Tatooine {Mando x F!Reader}
Rating: Explicit
Word Count: 8.4k
Warnings: Mentions of safe words, vaginal sex, cream pie, oral sex (male receiving), helmet riding, praise kink, removing helmets, mentions of marriage/children
Comments: When Mando comes back to Mos Eisley to have Peli work on his mech droid, he finds her gone and you watching her bay. When he agrees to let you do the work, he finds he wants you for more than just a mechanic. 
Co-written with @storiesofthefandomlovers​
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You look up when you see the ship land in the bay. Peli had left you in charge for the next few days while she went to fetch new parts. A rare trip outside of the spaceport for Peli, still not leaving Tatooine but she had ventured outside of Mos Eisley. The ship is slick, one you recognize from Peli’s stories and when the infamous Mandalorian appears, you are taken back. 
Peli has told you stories during your brief employment in her spaceport of the brave Mandalorian and his foundling, Grogu, and you must admit you’d been intrigued and eager to meet the beskar clad legend. When his boots hit the sand, he’s just as intimidating as you imagined and he doesn’t hesitate to approach you. “Where’s Peli?” He asks, the child in his arms coos at you. 
“Peli isn’t here. She went to purchase new parts. I am her new mechanic. How can I help?” You offer, knowing that this Mandalorian will insist on Peli but you will try to accommodate him.
Din huffs out a grumble under his breath. He had expected Peli to be here, the one that is most familiar with the starfighter - considering she helped him put the damn thing together. Grogu squirms, reaching out towards you and coos again. “She doesn’t want to hold you.” He murmurs, setting the child on the sandy floor to go explore while he straightens back up to look at you. Sighing, he contemplates going somewhere else because he knows he will be distracted by you and he was planning on leaving the kid here while he found a quick job to pick up. Now he was going to be sitting at the hanger. “What do you know about droids?” He asks, pointing at the mech droid he had broken down and added to the ship.
You stand up straighter, knowing that he is assessing your capabilities and you can understand that. “What don’t I know about droids?'' is the question. Peli hired me because of my expertise. Where did you pick that guy up from? Looks like he’s been through the worst of it.” You can already tell the droid needs an overall from body to drive. “You want me to fix ‘em up?” You ask, looking down at the child who is now by your feet, tapping on your boot. “Hey sweetheart. Aren’t you just the cutest little thing in the galaxy?” You coo, bending down to caress the child’s ear.
Din watches as Grogu gives you a sharp toothed grin, reaching for the shiny zipper on your boots. “Grogu.” He reaches into his belt and pulls out the silver ball from the Razor Crest. “Play with this and don’t mess with her zippers.” His helmet tips back up towards you. “He likes to get in the way.” He warns, knowing the child will do what he wants despite his warnings.
“He’s cute enough to get away with it.” You chuckle when the kid plays with the silver ball in his hand, almost cooing in victory. “So…you want me to fix that droid or are you gonna wait on Peli to come back?” You can tell her doesn’t trust you and you won’t push him.
He sighs and looks around again, planting his hands on his hips. He wishes Peli was here but he can’t wait for too long. “If Peli trusts you….” He trails off, looking back at you and is struck by how pretty you are. It’s been a long time since the pull of attraction curled in his belly and he’s slightly shocked. He’s not had time or opportunity to do anything about it since having the child with him. “I’ll go get the kid something to eat and then come back.”
“Very well. Whatever you want, Mando, I’m here for you.” You tell him, sensing the frustration that seems to vibrate from his very being and if you can lessen it by fixing the droid, then you will feel like you’ve helped him. “See you soon, little man.” You coo at Grogu, already enamored by him.
You shouldn’t have said that to him. His cock twitches in interest at the x-rated images that immediately flood his mind. Making him grateful that he has to bend down and pick up the little one. Instead of answering you, he turns and starts walking towards the hanger doors, trying to banish the peak of flesh he had gotten from your mechanic’s suit not being zipped up the entire way. “Let’s get you something to eat.” He tells Grogu, needing to get his mind off of what he would rather be doing. 
You watch the Mandalorian go, his shoulders broad and gait strong, and you can’t deny the thrill of attraction that rushes through you. You wonder what he’s like under all that beskar. His voice is modulated but sexy and you know you’ll be thinking of him in your bunk later.
Once the kid has eaten, Din brings him back to the hanger. Unwilling to be on the streets in Mos Eisley for too long considering he continuously has problems on Tatooine. He should get a transport to see Boba, but he honestly wants to see how you are doing with the droid. It had given him fits and that was why he had come to Peli. Ignoring the thought that he really wants to see you work. 
When Mando returns, you have already started working on the droid, stripping the unit down to the bare essentials so you can clean everything, work on the programming and get him working. “How’s it coming along?” He asks and you look up from where you are kneeling down on the floor. 
“It’s coming. Just needs some TLC.” You are level with his crotch and you swallow, briefly wondering if the Mandalorian only takes off the codpiece to fuck or if he likes to blindfold a partner, you wonder if he’s ever gotten a blowjob. You shake your head, trying to ignore your train of thought despite unconsciously leaning closer to his crotch.
Din grunts, feeling his cock starts to harden when he imagines you with his cock down your pretty little throat. You would look good wrapped around him. Thankfully his helmet covers the riot of thoughts and expressions. “Good.” He rasps out, thinking about something else that needs some TLC. The child recaptures his attention and squirms to be let down. “Be good.” He warns the mischievous creature, knowing that he will get into trouble in a heartbeat.
You swallow harshly at the rasp you can hear through the modulation. The child waddles over to you, cooing and you reach out to pat his head. “You want a droid friend?” You ask, knowing the child must want friends that don’t involve his adoptive father. “I will make sure this one protects you and is there for you.” You tell the child who grins and waddles off towards the bunk area. He’s clearly been here before. 
“I’ll get him to bed. It’s been a long day.” Mando declares, making his way towards the child and he scoops him up to carry him to the bunks Peli has set up for guests. You wonder if the Mandalorian will rest in there or if he will remain in your company while you continue working on the droid. 
“There’s some food in the cantina area if you want to eat in privacy.” You offer, “I just cooked up some gornt.”
“Thank you.” Din appreciates that you understand without being rude that he would need privacy to eat. He might after he makes use of the sonic shower. It’s been awhile since he’s been able to use one and he needs to take a piss. Setting the kid down on the bunk, he softens as Grogu immediately snuggles into the blankets and closes his eyes. “Night kid.” He murmurs softly, smiling at his answering coo before he steps out of the bunk room and enters the small ‘fresher to clean up.
You decide to finish working on the droid in the morning. The parts have been cleaned and you need to reprogram the mech but you don’t have it in you to do that right now. With a sigh, you stand up and make your way into the compound, surprised to find the Mandalorian coming out of the fresher in just his flight suit, beskar no doubt secured somewhere. “Oh that’s good timing. I was about to have a shower.”
Din inhales sharply, the top of your suit has been stripped down, revealing a thin and worn tank top underneath. Large amounts of skin on display. And you’re sweating. He swallows, turned on by the sight of the dewy hue of your skin and if he were a man who could take off his helmet, he would run his tongue along the drop and see if it tasted as good as it looked. His cock immediately starts to stiffen and instead of letting you by, his hand comes up to block your path. “Are you done?” He demands, half afraid you are.
You raise your eyebrows at the arm that blocks your path, your stomach twisting with both nerves and anticipation. You’ve been feeling this tension between you and the Mandalorian since he arrived. “I’m not finished yet. I just cleaned it up. I gotta, uh, reprogram tomorrow.” You confirm, chest heaving slightly as your heart thumps.
He watches you closely, noticing the way your breathing picks up, his HUD showing that your pulse has increased and your body temperature is rising. You don’t seem worried, you seem like you are waiting for something, anticipating it. “So we have to stay tonight.” He speaks slowly, his voice dipping down slightly into a deeper pitch. 
You shiver at the way his modulated voice lowers. “Is that so?” You hum, crossing your arms, making your cleavage more pronounced. You’re on the precipice of something and you wonder if he will make a move or if he will leave you hanging.
His helmet tips down, pointed at your chest and his own breathing picks up slightly. Heart rate spiking, not unlike when he’s nearly caught a bounty. Slowly, he drags his gaze back up to your face, watching you for a moment to see if you would squirm or drop your arms. You don’t. His blood rushes south and starts to fill his cock. “Say no now.” He growls out, giving you a warning. “Or tell me your safe word.”
His words send a rush straight through you and you gasp in response. “My safe word is rebel.” You inform him, suddenly dripping wet with need for him. The anticipation makes you exhale as you wait for his next move.
Din’s hand shoots out, grabbing your wrist and turning both of you so that he is pushing you into the ‘fresher. It would give you some privacy so you aren’t exposed if anyone comes into the hanger. His groan filtering out from under the helmet as he pushes you over the sink and presses up against your ass.
You gasp in shock before you moan when you feel his body pressed against you. Loving how you can feel him without the beskar creating a barrier between you. His cock is hard against your ass and you grind back onto him. “Mando. Please. Just - just fuck me.” You beg, looking into the mirror to watch his helmet.
He chuckles even as his hands start to move over your skin, wishing that he has his gloves off, but he won’t take off more than he has to. His armor is already off, otherwise he would be wearing that while he fucked you. It takes too long to remove and often he’ll lose interest in fucking if he went through the motions of removing it all. Instead of answering you, he rips your tank top in two, freeing your breasts and cupping them in his hands and squeezing harshly while he ruts against your ass.
The roughness of his touch has you ready for him to slide inside of you and you are panting when he pinches your nipples. “Oh fuck, yes baby. Please. I need - I need you inside of me Mando.” You beg, grinding back against him.
“Shameless.” He huffs, twisting your nipples again to make you gasp out before he drags his hands down your stomach to where the rest of your mechanic’s suit is bunched up. Loving the access to your skin and how soft and warm it feels under the sensory pads of his gloves. “You just want me to shove my cock inside you and fuck you?” He asks, pressing his helmet up against your ear. “Without fingering you?” 
“Depends on how impressive you are, Mando.” You tease, grinding back against him. “I’m so wet right now you could probably slide inside of me without foreplay.” You whimper when his gloved fingers dive past the waistband of your suit. “Please Mando.” You beg, needing something, anything.
He growls, yanking your pants down and kicking your feet apart. Your ass is pushed back against his crotch so that he has to lean back to unzip and pull his throbbing cock out. He would have given you his fingers, made you cum before he fucked you - but the way you beg so sweetly had him impatiently. His hand slides around your sternum and he yanks you back against his chest, making sure he can see your face in the mirror. “You asked for this.” He warns with a snarl before he lines up and drives his cock deep into your pussy.
You cry out, loud enough to wake the child in the bunker next door so Mando slaps his hand over your mouth, his cock practically in your guts as he buries himself deep inside of your cunt. There’s a sting since you haven’t had sex in a while but you love it, knowing you’ll feel him tomorrow. You whimper against his hand, reaching up to grip his forearm as you press against his chest.
“Good girl.” He practically purrs it, loving how tight you are around him. His hips flex forward and he grinds deep into you before he pulls nearly all the way out and drives forward again. Starting a punishing pace that has his hand vibrating with your moan.
You are squealing, grateful it’s muffled against his glove, and you close your eyes. “Open your fucking eyes. Want you to watch me fuck you.” He orders with a growl, making you open your eyes and you struggle when he’s hitting down deep inside of you, stretching you out.
He fucking loves it. You are taking every punishing roll of his hips and squeezing his cock like a vice when he’s balls deep. He groans in your ear, watching your eyes for any signs of discomfort because of his hand over your mouth. Your cunt is perfect, exactly what he needs right now. The arm not holding you against him slides down so he can rub your clit.
You moan loudly against his hand, hips bucking as you grind down onto his cock while he rubs your clit just right. Your eyes roll into the back of your head as you clamp down on his cock, soaking him with your cum as you fall over the edge, thighs shaking.
He groans, hips slowing down because he feels himself starting to get close and he doesn’t want to cum too soon. He needs to ride this out and work out more of his frustration on your cunt. He pushes deep and just grinds into you until your legs stop shaking and he pulls out and turns you around to hoist you up on the sink and drags a leg of your pants off you so he can step between your thighs.
You reach for him, grabbing onto his shoulders, and you moan at how bulky he feels, strong and muscular beneath the flight suit and you wrap your legs around him, pulling him closer as you look into the visor. “Come on Mando, fuck me harder.”
He chuckles at your brazenness. Shaking his head slightly as he takes himself in hand and slides back into you. “Be careful what you wish for, Mesh’la.” He warned, sliding deep and pressing his helmet against your forehead.
You pull him closer, gripping his shoulders, and you moan when he pushes into you, hitting a new angle. “Fuck Mando. Feels so good.” You pant, your forehead bumping against his and your breath fans over the beskar, fogging it as you cling to him.
“Good.” He grunts, reaching up and holding onto your shoulders. “Tight little cunt.” He praises, looking down to watch his cock work into you. “Needs to be fucked often.”
You whine your agreement. “Yes. Yes. Been too long. Fuck, you feel so good.” You let go of him to tilt backwards, changing the angle and he hits something perfect inside of you. “Oh fuck yes. Yes Mando. That’s so good. So good. Wanted - wanted you as soon as I saw you. Wondered what your cock would be like.” You admit breathlessly, chest heaving as he works you towards another orgasm.
He huffs out a goan, knowing that he had wanted you from the moment he had seen you too. “Thought about bending you over the engine panel.” He manages through puffed out breaths as he rocks into you frantically. He wants to feel you cum again. Soaking the fabric of his flight suit before he’s done with you.
You fucking love hearing this Mandalorian talk. In the half day you’ve known him, you can tell he isn’t one for talking but right now, telling you how he wanted to fuck you from the start, it has you soaking his cock with another bout of arousal. Making a slapping noise echo in the ‘fresher. “Maker. Oh Maker.” You pant and he reaches up to grip your neck, 
“Mando. My name is Mando.” He growls. 
“M-Mando.” You choke when he tightens his grip and it sends you over the edge. Knowing he could easily kill you makes you cum, thighs shaking around his cock.
Hissing, he grits his teeth under his helmet. His hand tightens on your neck slightly as your cunt flutters around him. The tight grip you have on him makes his eyes roll back. When he feels your cunt start to loosen up, he wraps his hands around your hips and hoists you up into his arms. He manhandles bounties around so you aren’t a problem. Turning around and slamming your back against the wall.
“Oh fuck!” You shriek, surprised and so turned on despite your orgasm still wrecking you. You swear you’re about to pass out from the pleasure when he starts to pound into you. “Oh fuckkkk.” You sob, head hitting the wall as he ruins you.
He doesn’t stop. Slamming you up against the wall again and again as he drills deep. Pinning you up with his body while he tries to make sure that you can’t walk by the time he’s done with you.
You can only cling to him, unable to believe how he’s making you feel. You don’t think you’ve ever felt so much pleasure in your life. The way he is pushing deep and his fabric clad thighs hit the back of yours…you would scream but nothing escapes when you open your mouth, too lost to the pleasure. It doesn’t take long for him to make you cum again. This time he hits something so tragic inside of you, it’s like a firework going off and you let out a silent scream while you gush, soaking his suit.
His head tucks against your shoulder, slamming his fist against the wall while he works you through your releases and speeds towards his own. Rolling his hips frantically. “Fuck, fuck Mesh’la.” He hisses, panting through his modulator. Gasping when he feels the tingling in his spine before he drives deep one last time, burying his cock in your walls while he lets out a growl of your name.
You sigh when you feel him painting your walls with his cum, thanking the Maker for your implant as he works himself through his high and you are almost unconscious from the pleasure you just experienced. Unlike anything you’ve ever felt before. It was intoxicating. “Fuck.” You pant, eyes closed as you relax.
“Fuck.” He agrees, panting quietly. He keeps you pinned against the wall for another moment before he lets you down. Your legs buckle and he chuckles quietly. “I did it right.”
You lean against him for support, gripping his flight suit and you just about manage to find your balance. “Maker Mando. You make all the girls collapse?” You chuckle breathlessly, shifting back to lean against the wall so you can let go of him. “I’m sorry about your flight suit.”
“Wanted you to soak it.” He hums, watching a small drip of his cum fall out of you and hit the ‘fresher flood. “You could have had another orgasm if you hadn’t been so impatient.” He muses with a grin under his helmet.
You huff, shaking your head. “Impatient? I just - I wanted you to enjoy yourself too.” You stroke his covered chest and you step back from him. You shift from one foot to the other, reaching for the paper to clean his cum from between your thighs as your jumpsuit tangles around your ankle.
He chuckles and watches as you clean up, tucking his cock away. “I was always going to enjoy myself.” He promises. “Sorry about ripping your shirt.”
"It's okay. I have more. It was...it was hot." You admit, pulling your overalls up to cover yourself. You aren't sure what to say now that the deed has been done, what has been building all afternoon between you. You want him again but you know he will be leaving once you have fixed the droid.
He hums and turns back towards you. “Go take your shower.” He urges you, knowing he will need to take another one later but for now, he will wait until you are cleaned up.
You nod, walking over to Mando and you lean up to press a kiss to the beskar helmet over where you think his cheek is. "Thank you Mando." You smile, stepping back from him to turn on the sonic shower, stripping out of the jumpsuit with no care to him still being in the 'fresher. He's seen it all anyway.
Even though he’s just fucked you, his cock twitches and he decides that he won’t wait. Instead he steps into the shower fully clothed, knowing the sonic shower will clean his flight suit as well. “You are beautiful,” he murmurs. “So much skin on display.”
“Maker!” You gasp, not expecting him to step into the shower with you. “Mando. What are you-” You moan when he pushes you against the shower wall, his fingers finding your clit and you whine, “Mando. Shit. It’s -” You can’t believe he’s still wanting you. Most men would’ve gone by now and passed out from their orgasm.
He hums, watching your eyes close at his touch. It’s been a long time since he had someone just give themselves to him like you have. He rubs your clit while he reaches over with his free hand and presses the button to start the sonic shower watching you while the dirt and sweat vibrates off of you, his fingers still between your legs. “You gonna let me crawl into your bunk tonight?” He rasps. “Fuck you through the night?”
You moan, nodding as the shower adds to your vibrations, his body crowding yours and it’s intoxicating, making you tilt your head back against the wall to look up at his helmet. “If you want. You can do whatever you want to me. Any - anyone that can make me cum like you do can fuck me whenever he wants.”
Din groans in approval, chest puffing out in pride that he’s gotten permission from  you to have you again. That you enjoyed his rougher treatment. He feels more relaxed than he has in months. HIs fingers work your clit like he was piloting a ship, steady and firm. The wetness of your cunt seeping into the leather and he will remember how wet you had gotten his flight suit. “Cum for me again and I’ll take you to your bunk.” He promises, imagining stretching out on top of you and filling you again. 
You whimper at his words, knowing you’ll ache in the morning but it will be worth it to have him inside of you again. The expert way his fingers are working your clit have you whining until you go silent, mouth falling open while you clamp down around nothing, cumming for him like he wanted.
He shuts off the shower, your clean body limp and leaning against his when he pulls you away from the shower wall. Guiding you out of the ‘fresher and leading you, naked, to the bunk he had assumed was yours. It’s not Peli’s and there are small personal items and tools scattered around. “How many times do you normally cum with a partner?” He asks as you sit down on the bed. 
“I, uh, I’m lucky if I cum once.” You admit, “most of my partners didn’t care about my pleasure. Before I arrived here, I was working in a cantina, fixing droids in my spare time just to make ends meet and Peli found me and gave me a place to live. As for my partners…they were passing through, just wanting to find their pleasure and not care about mine.”
Din scoffs under his helmet, rolling his eyes at the people you had slept with. “Pleasure is supposed to be mutual.” He hadn’t always felt that way, when he was young and brash he probably didn’t please as many partners as he thought. But because he couldn’t take off much or use his mouth, he had tried to make sure that he gave pleasure through other means. You lean back on the bed and he shuffles slightly, reaching for the zipper of his flight suit. 
You watch as the Mandalorian starts to unzip his flight suit, letting you see inch after inch of skin, some parts marred with blemishes and scars, others painted with tattoos. "Maker." You moan, unable to stop yourself from surging forward to press your lips to his skin as he continues working the zipper down.
Din moans loudly, closing his eyes as your lips touch his skin and makes him quiver at the sensation. “It- it’s been a long time since I’ve- since I’ve taken off my suit.” He confesses breathlessly. “The helmet stays on though.” He can’t break his creed again. Not for something like sex.
You hum in understanding, kissing every inch of skin he exposes to you and you want him to know how beautiful he is. “I don’t mind.” You promise, helping him take the suit off of his shoulders and you shift to straddle him once he’s naked, your lips kissing along his shoulders while your hands caress his back. When your skin touches his, he shivers beneath you.
He gasps, hands gripping your hips and he turns so that he can stretch out on your bunk. Letting you stay on top of him in a very rare move. The only people who have ridden him have been fellow Mandalorians, sure they would not try to remove his helmet. Trusting you with this intimacy.
You stretch out over him, covering as much of his body with your own, and you lean closer to kiss along his beskar helmet, down to his neck and you shift to kneel between his legs. "Fuck." You moan at the sight of his cock, reaching out to grip it and you moan when a drop of pre-cum leaks, making you lean closer to flick it with your tongue. The salty tang makes you hum in delight before you wrap your lips around the head, taking him into your mouth while your eyes meet the visor.
Making a choked noise, his hand reaches for you. “Y-you d-don’t have t-to do that.” He pants out, even while your mouth works over his cock. He can’t give you the same so he doesn’t want you to feel as if you have to suck his cock. Even if it feels amazing. 
You pull off of his cock for a moment. "One thing you should know about me Mando is I never do anything I don't want to do." You smirk and take him back into your mouth, deeper than before, and you caress his thighs, wanting to feel every inch of flesh he has gifted you the opportunity to see.
Din groans, a filthy sound that peeks out from under the edge of the helmet. Watching you eagerly suck his cock like it’s your favorite activity, he shivers when your hands brush over his skin, igniting nerves that were normally suppressed by clothing that covers him. 
You slide your tongue over the side of his cock, gripping the base and twisting your wrist while your eyes burn into the beskar helmet, wishing you could see his expression. You feel him twitch in your grip so you move quickly. Straddling him and sinking down onto his cock in one swift move, wanting him to cum inside of you. "Fuck." You moan, feeling him so much deeper in this angle.
“Dank ferrik!” Din yelps, hips bucking up and he can’t stop himself even if he wanted to. Feeling his cock harden even more and his balls pull tight against his body. Your mouth and cunt pulling his orgasm out of him before he could even realize it. His hands hold you in a bruising grip and his mind goes completely blank while hot ropes of cum fill you to the brim again. 
You smile, loving the way he easily falls apart beneath you. You rock your hips, feeling his cum push out of you and it makes you moan as you work him through his orgasm. “That’s it Mando. Just feel.” You order, caressing his arms.
“Shiiiiiiit.” His head tips back and exposes the bottom of his chin as he rides out his high. Relaxing into your bed to gasp while he tries to catch his breath. You didn’t cum. He realizes this as soon as he can think about anything else other than how much pleasure you had just given him. “Fuck.” He groans, reaching up to cup your cheek. “You didn’t cum.” 
You shrug, “it’s okay.” You promise and he shakes his head. 
“No. Come here.” He uses his strength to lift you off of his cock, moving you up his body until you are hovering above his helmet. “Ride it. Want to see your pussy while you make yourself cum on my helmet.” His words make your cunt clench and you shift to press your cum soaked folds against the beskar.
It doesn’t matter that his cum is smearing over the beskar and his visor. It’s what he filled you with and he can still see those pretty lips as they drag over his helmet. Making him groan as his softening cock lays against his pubic hair. His hands squeeze your ass and help you grind against him. “I can smell you.” He moans, “you smell so delicious.” One hand moves from your ass to swipe through your folds and he gathers some of your combined fluids to shove into his mouth under his helmet. 
You almost cum from seeing him taste your combined fluids, the fact that he does that nearly makes you cum. When you feel his wet fingers dig into your ass, you move faster. The ridges of the beskar hitting your clit just right and you moan in response. “Oh fuck Din. I’m gonna - I’m gonna cum.” You whine, hips bucking wildly.
“Do it.” He rasps out, wanting to see you fall apart, to watch your cunt spasm right in front of his face. Your head tilts back, a loud cry wrenched from your lips and he groans, soft cock twitching as it tries to get hard again, but he needs more time.
You shake above him, thighs pressed against the now warm beskar and your hands slap against the wall behind your bunk as you try to balance yourself. “Fuck Mando.” You pant, grateful you aren’t smothering his face since you aren’t sure if you can move yet.
He hums, reaching up and caressing your spine gently while you are catching your breath. “So beautiful.” He praises, loving how you had just let yourself go with him. “You look so good like this on my helmet, that cunt is so pretty. Did you enjoy that?” 
You giggle, breathless and still reeling from the orgasm. You shift to lay down beside him, resting your cheek on his shoulder. “That was - I’m lost for words.” You admit with a smile, “no one has ever made me cum like that and that much.”
He loves the feeling of your body stretched out along his. His arm curls around your shoulder and he hums. “Good.” He murmurs softly, fingers stroking your skin while he can. “You will sleep well.” He huffs happily. 
“Oh definitely.” You murmur, already sleepy and you know you should get up and help him clean up, clean yourself up. “You need to clean and polish your helmet.” You smirk against his shoulder, “I made a mess of it.”
“I will do that later.” He murmurs, feeling your body start to get heavier as you relax against him. You will be asleep soon and he doesn’t want to move away from you right now. The kid is still asleep and he wants to be selfish for another minute. “Sleep, mesh’la. You deserve it.” 
You can’t deny him or sleep even if you tried. He’s warm and just the right amount of muscle to make you feel secure as you doze off in your bunk. You feel safe for the first time in forever and you have the Mandalorian to thank for the best sleep of your life.
****
When you wake up, Din is back in his armor. He hadn’t wanted to leave your bed but he needed to. He had to clean up before the kid woke up and reality intruded. He had slept with you in his arms for a couple of hours, which was all he really slept at a time anyway. He had gently eased away from you and watched you for a moment before gathering his clothes to go back to the ‘fresher and cleaning up again. His gloves are on and cupping your cheek with a cup of broth for you in his hands when your eyes. “Hey, it’s time to wake up.” He murmurs softly. 
You blink, wincing against the light until you see the Mandalorian above you, dressed in his full glorious beskar, and you notice the cup of broth in his hand and the other caressing your cheek. You turn to kiss his covered palm, smiling up at him. “Oh. Thank you.” Your voice is croaky from sleep and you move, shifting to sit up so you can take the cup.
You look beautifully sleepy and Din steps back. “I’ll leave you to get dressed.” He offers, shuffling slightly - awkwardly - in the face of the morning after. He wants to make sure that he didn’t hurt you and that you don’t regret it. “Are you- you okay this morning?” 
You nod, “a little sore but I feel good.” You grin before you sip the broth, sighing in content at the warmth. “It was amazing. Thank you for last night.” You tell him as he hovers in the doorway. You need to shower but you are on cloud nine with the aches in your body from last night.
“Good.” His helmet dips quickly in a nod and from the other bunkroom, he hears the baby coo. Grogu is awake. “Well, I better get him before he gets into trouble.” He huffs, knowing that if he’s not careful, the kid will be into trouble in a heartbeat. 
You watch him go, smiling into the broth and you hear him greeting the kid, making your smile transition to a grin. You desperately needed last night, you are aching but in a good way. You loved how rough he was yet so gentle after, such a contrast from the strong Mandalorian. You finish the broth and stand up on aching legs, deciding to get into the sonic shower again before you continue working on the droid.
“No.” Din shakes his head as he looks at Grogu, denying the kid but he’s not giving in. The tiny little three fingered hand presses against the now cleaned cheek of the helmet. He’s not going to remove it right now. “You need to eat.” The kid coos at him, making him huff slightly. “We are leaving in the next couple of hours and we aren’t stopping for a snack.” 
You find Mando trying to feed the child and you giggle at his frustration when the child tosses the food on the food and laughs at the frustrated Mandalorian. “Maybe he wants something sweet. I got something for you, little man.” You promise, walking over to your secret sweet stash in a drawer in the parts area. You bring the cake bar back over to the kid, opening the wrapper. “Here you go.” You offer it to him and he grins at you.
“Great.” Din grunts and puts his hand on his hips. “Kid’ll be bouncing around for hours in the cockpit.” He doesn’t mind, as long as he eats something. Din himself has already eaten before he ever woke you up. He snorts when Grogu looks up and coos at him before he tears into the cake. 
You chuckle, watching the kid demolish the cake. “Sorry. He’s just so cute, it’s hard not to want to spoil him.” You reach out to caress the child’s ear. “I still need to reprogram the mech so he has a few hours to get it out of his system. You need supplies? I can watch the kid while you go out.” You offer, knowing he probably wants some space after last night.
“No.” There’s nowhere that supplies would fit on the starfighter. He didn’t even have room for a weapons locker. It upset him, but he carried the darksaber and his other weapons on his body so it didn’t affect his ability to protect himself and the kid. “Do you need a hand?” He asks, waiting to stay around you. 
“Yeah actually, you can. Thank you. Would you mind grabbing the tools on the side over there?” You ask, working on the motherboard. You want to program the droid to protect the child and Mando while also having some sass since Mando seems to like your own sass. Maybe it will remind him of you when he’s far across the galaxy. “Thank you.” Your fingers brush his gloved ones as he hands you the tools and you look into the visor before you continue working.
He grunts in acknowledgement, shifting his feet slightly in the sand and picking up a ratchet spanner so he can check a few of the seals on ship. He opens a panel on the side of the ship and tries to be casual. “So, uh, are you planning on staying on with Peli?” He asks, biting his lip under the helmet where you can’t see. 
“It depends. I’m guessing that I will outstay my welcome when she finds a droid that can work on other droids.” You chuckle, knowing Peli puts her droids above anyone else. “For now, it’s nice to have a place to call home. I’ve been jumping from place to place and I have been grateful to not need to pack up my things and move on so fast.”
Din nods, understanding that, although for him it’s a way of life. He hums and wonders where home originally was for you. “Wish I still had my Razor Crest.” He murmurs. “It was a little easier when I had a ‘fresher” He chuckles. “And a vac tube.”
“I can only imagine how hard it is to move about all the time. Especially with this one.” You point at the child who is chasing one of the smaller droids around. You chuckle and turn back to the programming, knowing the Mandalorian probably wants to make a quick exit now that he has been fed and fucked. “I like the star fighter. Makes you even more intimidating…it’s sexy.”
Din chuckles and can’t even help the slightly cocky stance as he faces you. “You think I’m sexy?” He asks. “With or without the armor?” He’s curious to know if it was just an armor kink or if you had liked it when he stripped down. Especially because he never does that.
You turn to look at him, leaning against the counter. “Both, but you without the armor? I could barely breathe. You are - you are sculpted by the Maker and you take my breath away. You are beautiful Mando. Both with and without the armor.”
“You’re the first person I’ve taken off everything with in a long time.” He confesses quietly. “It was very memorable.” He sighs and closes the panel. “Think you’ll be here when I come back?”
You smile, happy he wants you to be here when he returns. “I’m sure I’ll be here when you return…unless Peli has had enough of me.” You snort, crossing your arms. “Why? You wanna have some more dirty sex when you return.” You wink, grateful the child is occupied with a rock that the droid kicked up.
Din snorts. “If I still had the Crest, I’d be offering you a spot on my crew.” There was no crew, but he would make something work to have you there with him. Fixing the ship and sleeping in his bunk.
“Yeah? You’d want me making a mess on your ship?” You tease, knowing he’s being serious but you know if you let yourself give in to that fantasy, you’ll both get hurt. “I doubt I could squeeze in with the mech.” You chuckle, a little nervous about how intense this has become. You’d go with him, you know you would and that’s terrifying.
“You’re good with the kid.” He’s noticed that too, not just how good you fuck. Right now it’s not feasible, not with his mission. “But I doubt you would want to go to Mandalore.” Hell, he doesn’t want to go, but he needs to.
You are surprised at his mission, “you are going to Mandalore? But I thought - I thought it was destroyed?” You frown, remembering the stories you were told as a little girl.
“It was.” He walks over to the tool rack and puts the ratchet spanner back. “I have to see what is left and find the living waters.” He doesn’t know why he is telling you this, but he does.
You watch him inspect the tools and you continue working on the droid. When you are finally done reprogramming, you rebuild the mech and within moments, it beeps while it comes back to life. The child tilts his head in response, cooing in excitement and you turn to look at the Mandalorian, wishing you could see his face. You are finished with the task he assigned which means he is free to leave.
Din looks around the bay for a moment before he walks over to you. He takes credits out of his belt and hands them to you. “For the repairs.” He murmurs. When you take them, he steps closer. “Close your eyes.” He orders, deciding that he’s going to give into his desires.
You are anxious but obey, closing your eyes and you are surprised when you feel his lips press against yours. His gloved hands cup your cheeks and the kiss is a little clumsy but your heart pounds in your chest. You squeeze your eyes together when he pulls back, a soft smile on your lips and you reach up to touch them, unable to believe he just kissed you.
“Tell Peli that she should keep you around.” Din walks over to Grogu and picks the baby up while the hoist puts the mech droid back in the Star fighter. He turns back towards you and wishes that there was something else wrong with the ship so he could stay longer. “I’ll be back.” It’s almost a promise but he knows you might not be here when he does come back. 
You open your eyes, knowing he can promise but he can’t guarantee. You already accepted that this would be a one time thing but it doesn’t stop your heart from aching. “I’ll be seeing you Mando.” You declare, hoping that you can say it and it will come true. Once Grogu is in his seat, you walk over to the Mandalorian. “Be safe.” You request, caressing his chest plate. 
He nods, “I’ll try.” 
You step back, biting your lip as he gets into the star fighter. This is likely the last time you’ll see him, certain Peli will kick you out before he returns. You wave when he lifts up, watching until the ship is but a spec in the sky.
****
It’s been six long months since he’s seen the dry, dusty planet but Din shifts slightly in his seat as he makes his way to Peli’s hanger. He wants to see if you are still there. The kid coos in his lap and Din hums. “Yeah, we’ll get you some food.” He promises, concentrating on the landing and trying not to look for you in the shade of the hanger. Once the engines are shut down, he opens the canopy and sets Grogu on the transparisteel before he climbs out.
Peli comes out, followed by her hoard of droids and she grins when she sees the ship. “Mando!” She greets him when the hood is opened and immediately takes the child, cooing at him and telling him she is going to get him something to eat. Mando can’t help but look around the hangar, looking for you, and he hears a clanging and you stumble through the doorway. 
“That stupid droid just squirted me with oil.” You curse as you wipe your face until you pause, seeing the Mandalorian standing there. “You’re back.” You gasp softly.
“I said I would be.” He walks towards you, the feeling in his chest telling him that what he had decided on the way here was right. He hadn’t made a bad choice. He reaches out when he’s close. Swiping away a spot you had missed before he drops his arm again. “Mesh’la.” He murmurs before he takes a deep breath and reaches up to remove his helmet.
Peli’s eyes widen and you inhale sharply, almost reaching out to stop him, but when his face is revealed, your heart pounds. “Mando-” You choke and he shakes his head. 
“Din. Call me Din.” He orders and you grin, reaching up to cup his cheeks. 
“Din.” You whisper, in awe of how handsome he is. His beautiful brown eyes staring at you like you’re the only thing in the galaxy.
“Well I missed something.” Peli huffs, but Din ignores her, leaning into your touch. 
“I have a lot to tell you, Mesh’la.” He hums. “But I need to make sure that what happened, what I thought you felt for me, wasn’t a fluke.” He bites his lip and turns to kiss your palm. “Would you leave with me?”
You glance over at Peli, feeling guilty for leaving her in the lurch. "Don't look at me, sweetheart. You got a handsome man asking you to leave with him? I know my answer." She grins and you bite your lip, turning back to Din. "Yes!" You squeal, surging forward to wrap your arms around his neck. "Yes, I would."
He chuckles. “There are some things you should know.” He warns you, pulling you close but looking into your eyes. They look so different without his helmet. “We- I am the leader of Mandalore.” He admits quietly. “I need- children. I need to lead my people from the shadows.”
You raise your eyebrows as you lean back to look at him, "you need - wow. That is - are you - do you-?" You stammer, unsure of how to ask the question. Does he want you to be the mother of his children or does he want a Mandalorian. "Do you - do you have someone in mind?" You ask quietly and Peli rolls her eyes.
“Mesh’la, I want you to come back with me.” He explains, reaching up to cup your cheek. “To marry and have children with me while I rebuild Mandalore.”
You are surprised but your heart pounds in your chest and you surge forward to press your lips to his. "Yes. Yes. I, Maker, this is crazy but I want that. I want to be yours, to have your children." You murmur against his lips.
“Well it’s about time you settled down. Mando!” Peli crows. “But hey, uh, would you consider leaving the kid with me?” She asks as she looks down at Grogu.
Din shakes his head. “The kid comes with me.” He tells the older woman as he smirks and leans in to kiss you again. “I’m also stealing your mechanic. She’s going to the the Manda’lor’s riddur.”
You grin, shocked but so happy to be his. You are excited for the future and you will be by the Mandalorian's side. His riddur. You look down to see the child who waddled over, offering you a goofy grin and you bend down to pick him up, holding him between you and Din. Your new family. "The Manda'lor's riddur. I like that." You smile up at Din. 
"Just remember to name one of your kids Peli." Your boss claps, a wide smile on her face. 
"Middle name." Din compromises and Peli pouts, making you giggle. Din never imagined a droid would help him find his riddur but now he finds he loves the mech that rides in his ship who beeps happily at the new couple.
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thetriumphantpanda · 7 months
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feel the rain on your skin | din djarin
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Summary | The Mandalorian has never felt the rain on his face.
Pairing | Din Djarin x F!Reader
Word Count | 1.5K
Warnings | Future chapters will include smut, but this one just involves a lot of yearning mainly.
Authors Note | I saw this absolutely stunning piece of work by @plattenbauprinz and I couldn't let it lie, I had to write it. I have never written for Din before, because he's like a comfort blanket to me, but I couldn't resist. This will be part of a longer series which I cannot wait to share with you all. As always, comments, reblogs and freaking out in my ask box are all welcome and if you enjoyed this, please consider supporting me with a donation to my Ko-Fi.
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Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Ko-Fi
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It’s raining. You can’t remember the last time you were anywhere that it rained. The Mandalorian has acquiesced to you wanting the Crest open so you can listen to the drops pelt the ground. It’s comforting. Reminds you of home. Not that you have a home anymore. No family, no base to dream of returning to, but it’s comforting none-the-less. 
It hadn’t even been planned like this, The Mandalorian and you, it had just sort of happened. You’d hurt yourself in front of him, thought that the shootout he’d caused was over. You’d moved from where you were cowering, attempting to run anywhere that might be safer than the boxes you’d used as a barricade. You’d been wrong though. He’d been waiting for his final assailant, who you’d later learned was his bounty, to show himself. He’d done just that, almost simultaneously as you’d started running for the door on the opposite side of the street. The blaster had grazed your upper arm – not the worst injury by any means, but you still cried out, crumpled to the ground in pain, and waited for what you’d assumed would be your ending. 
You’d listened as the two exchanged more fire until the town was silent again. You’d convinced yourself he’d walked away, and you wouldn’t have blamed him really, he didn’t owe you anything, your injury was your own fault, and in the grand scheme of things, it wasn’t even that bad, you were just being dramatic. But then, his shadow fell over your body, blocking out the early afternoon sun as he bent, picked you up bridal style and carried you all the way to his ship. He’d patched you up silently, left you there on your own whilst he retrieved the body of his bounty and returned. 
“Do you have somewhere to go?” He asked, clearing up the mess he’d made cleaning you up. 
Technically you did. The small, dark room you called home on this Godforsaken planet. But no-one would miss you, no friends, just the landlord that would miss his money. So, you shake your head. 
That’s how it had been for months. Trailing behind him wherever he went. It started as him taking you to the next planet, he was going to drop you there, but when he turned to you and asked if you thought it would do, you’d shaken your head and said no. It was a lie, because wherever it was – you don’t remember now – it would have been fine. It was more of a test, testing to see what he would do. You certainly didn’t expect him to shrug and lead you back to The Crest. This had continued for months, a sort of dance between the two of you, until he’d simply stopped asking you. You think it’s because secretly, not that he would actually admit it, he’s lonely. Even though he has The Child, the little green monster who you think might actually be the real reason you don’t want to leave. He’s more silent than The Mandalorian, but when he looks at you with those buggy eyes and starts to cause havoc, you can’t help but let your heart swell. 
He's a man of few words, The Mandalorian – doesn’t like small talk, tends to remain silent when you sit with him the cockpit and chatter away. You don’t really know much about him apart from what you’d learnt about their creed in your younger years. 
“You know, if I’m going to stay with you, you’ll have to tell me something about you eventually.” You teased one time, he was sat in his chair in the cockpit, you were behind him, eating some ration pack. All he’d done was huff through his modulator. Sounded more like a challenge to you than anything else.  
And so here you were, months later, sitting just inside The Crest, just enough to keep yourself dry, knees brought up to your chest as you let the cool air fall over your body. You can hear his heavy footsteps before you sense him next to you. When you tip your head up, he’s leaning on his right side against the opening of the ship, arms crossed over his chest. 
“You know, when I was little, I used to run around in the rain,” You muse, “Get all muddy and wet, I wonder why we never do that when we grow up.” 
“I’ve never felt the rain.” It’s a simple confession but one that almost breaks your heart, because of course he hasn’t. Committed to his creed and The Way, this man who you really think at this point was made purely of beskar, of course he’d not felt the rain on his skin. 
You stand slowly, taking tentative steps down the ramp until you can feel the drops hitting your skin. It’s cold, is the first thing you register, and then you start laughing when you see him, still leaning against the side of The Crest with his arms folded, helmet tilted in a way that you just know means he’s frowning under there. 
“Come on.” You urge, holding out your hand as you walk a few more steps backwards. 
When he doesn’t follow you, you hold your arms out and spin, holding your face to the sky as the water hits your skin. You giggle again until you slip, the mud underfoot making you unsteady. You would have fallen if it hadn’t been for the strong arm that wraps around your middle to keep you up. When you pull yourself up, your face is almost close enough to his visor that you could breathe onto him and draw shapes in the clouds you leave behind. He doesn’t let you go though.
You can feel the rain soaking your hair, seeping through your clothes, and there’s something oddly romantic about the way he’s holding you, his hand splayed across your lower back. If this had been anyone else, they’d lean in and kiss you, you just know it. But he isn’t anyone else, he’s The Mandalorian, so he finally unravels his arm from your back and moves to walk away. 
“Hey,” You say softly, gripping his wrist, turning him back to you, “Just trust me, okay?”
He gives a short nod. You stand in front of him, close your eyes, and put your hands on his helmet. You don’t add any pressure, you’re not going to force him to do this, but you’re going to give him the choice. Eyes firmly pressed shut, you wait. It feels like an eternity, but then you feel his gloved hands cover your own, some kind of mechanical sound you’ve never heard before, but then your hands are moving with his own, moving the helmet from his face. 
You keep your eyes closed as your hands fall from beneath his own. You don’t know why but you place them on the cool metal of his chest as you tilt your head back up to the rain, letting it cleanse you, although from what you don’t know. You don’t know how long you stay like this, your hands on his chest, but it feels like hours. Then, you feel the gloved hand that isn’t clutching his helmet meet the skin of your face. 
You gasp when he cups your face. It’s soft, gentle, and he just rests it there for a moment, letting your cheek tip further into his touch. Then, his thumb starts to move slowly across your skin, rubbing a line across your cheek that feels like it might set you alight. Then, his gloved thumb pulls down and drags across your bottom lip. You think now about how easy it would be to flutter your eyes open and look at him, look at the man he really is under all his metal, but you don’t, you wouldn’t dare. You just stand there, letting him take you in with his naked eyes. 
“Mesh’la.”
You have no idea what it means, but you think it must be important, something he’s not yet ready to tell you, if he speaks it in his own language and not the one you share. But his voice, oh his voice, it’s so pretty, you think. Then, his warm touch is gone. You breathe out air you hadn’t realized you were holding onto. 
“You can look now.” His voice is back to what it usually sounds likes, meaning his helmet is back on. 
You slowly blink your eyes open, letting them adjust to the light. He’s stood in front of you, stoic as ever, as if he hadn’t just been the most vulnerable he’s ever been in front of you. You want to run to him, wrap yourself in him, ask him to touch you again and never let go. You don’t though, you just follow behind him back into the dry cover of The Crest. 
“You’re cold.” He observes simply when you start to shiver, sodden clothes sticking to you. 
“I-I’m f-fine.” Your teeth chatter, betraying you. 
He rummages through a box, pulling out clean clothes. They’re his, they’ll drown you when you wear them, but something about this feels like turning a corner, all of this does, so you take them when they’re offered to you. Set them gently on the counter in the fresher as you wait for the water to warm enough. And as you stand under the slow fall of warm water, you wonder what other firsts you might be able to show The Mandalorian. 
460 notes · View notes
jake-g-lockley · 1 year
Note
Hi, can I have prompt 1 with Din Djarin?
Hypnos (The Mandalorian x reader)
Masterlist | Spotify Playlist | Want to be Tagged?
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Prompt: Accidentally falling asleep in each other's arms
A/N: Hi there! Thanks for the ask, I literally love Din so so much, he’s baby and this prompt suits him. Oh to wake up in this mans ARMS UGHHHH
Word Count: 485 words
.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.
You tried hard to focus on the flame before you but your eyes were swimming with sleep. The Mandalorian was stretched out beside you, leaning back against his bag his helmet tilted up to the night sky. Grogu slept soundly in your arms, snuggled against your chest and your head kept nodding forward, pushing your nose into his big green head.
It had been a long day of running and you were tired, so tired. But you will yourself to keep awake, worried that someone would come and snatch the child straight out of your arms while you slept. Oblivious to you, Din was watching you as your arms tightened around the sleeping child, the unknown feelings of love washing over his heart like the waves of Kamino.
He knew you were keeping awake for the child and his mind broke slightly as you kissed the top of Grogu’s head murmuring “Its ok I’m here.” whenever the little green thing would mumble in its sleep. He was tired too but he wanted to keep you safe, stopping himself many times from pretty much ordering you to close your eyes and relax. The flame before you was hypnotising and you just wanted to let it embrace you as you rocked yourself and Grogu into a soft trance.
“You could just sleep, you know?” The modulated voice snapped you out of your trance and you turned to see the Mandalorian looking at you, the reflection of the flames dancing softly on his shiny beskar armour, bathing him in a glow.
The softness in his voice soothed you and you relaxed, nodding and settling Grogu down before curling up beside him. Sleep took over you instantly and your dreams were pleasant and happy. You dreamt of the Mandalorian, watching as he pulled your sleeping body against him, slotting Grogu between the both of you and wrapping his arms around you.
You woke up in the early hours of the morning to a whoosh of cold air, finding your cheek pressed against a cold metal. You blinked and tried to sit up but were met with resistance. You found yourself staring down at a beskar breastplate and suddenly you realised that your dream had just become a reality. The Mandalorian was snoring softly and his helmet pressed against the top of your head as his arms tightened his grip around you.
He smelled of blaster fire and after a while of breathing him in, you realised that his gloved thumb had been rubbing soothing circles on your biceps and you felt your face flame up at the sweet gesture. It pulled you back to sleep and you relished in his body warmth, nuzzling your nose against the space between his helmet and shoulder plate, where his soft balaclava covered his skin, imagining how sweet life could continue being if you were to wake up like this every single morning. 
Reblogs are appreciated ~~~
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proxima-writes · 10 months
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title: hokaanir riduurok
pairing: din djarin x non-mandalorian female reader
rating: explicit (18+ minors DNI)
word count: 6278
summary: 
hokaanir riduurok - the mandalorian joining ceremony during which one warrior submits themselves to their intended, allowing their flesh to be carved with a symbol of their unity.
or: you marry a mandalorian and their weddings are a little different than you’re used to
author’s note: a gift for @dindjarinslegs , who’s beautiful brain sparked this whole work. the term of endearment “pirun’ner” comes from this list by user @starrypawz . if you enjoy this work, please consider leaving a comment or reblogging!
content warnings/additional tags: explicit sexual material (18+ minors do not interact), no use of y/n, very plot heavy porn, writer considers ‘din’ to be the mandalorian’s first name, exploration of Mandalorian customs and lore, use of Mando’a, ceremonial scarification, mentions of blood and wounds, use of weapons, use of aphrodisiacs, wedding ceremony, oral (f receiving), unprotected p in v, creampie, mild/moderate breeding kink, cum play, multiple orgasms, vaginal fingering, biting/marking, thigh riding, dirty talk, praise, pet names, reader i have taken liberties. let me know if there are any missing!
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You’re washing a dish when you hear the metallic clang of heavy beskar approaching. You turn, ready to greet the Mandalorian, only to find Din holding a blade out to you across both palms, helmet tilted down and feet planted wide. You glance at Grogu, who offers only a slow blink of his large dark eyes and a twitch of his ears in answer.
“Uh…Din? What…what are you doing?” You ask. He lifts his helmet, dark visor obscuring your view of his face but not the white hot feel of his gaze across your skin. 
“In Mandalorian culture it is tradition to present our intended riduur a blade with which to complete the hokaanir riduurok,” his modulated voice explains. 
“Right, right. Of course,” you mumble. You dry your hands on the apron around your waist. “What uh…what’s that, exactly?”
“The Mandalorian joining ceremony.”
You blink. “Joining ceremony? You mean like…marriage?”
“To Mandalorians it is more than marriage but…yes.”
“Din Djarin, is this a proposal?” You ask. You can’t stop the broad smile spreading across your face as you approach him. 
“Yes, cyar'ika,” he murmurs, armor heavy arms wrapping around your waist when you’re within arms reach. “Is this an acceptance?”
He tilts his head, pressing the cold beskar to your forehead. A keldabe kiss, he’d told you once.
“Of course.”
________
Din calls the Armorer following his proposal. She, along with Bo-Katan, have chosen to remain on Mandalore with a number of Mandalorians who wish to rebuild the planet to its former glory after the fight against Moff Gideon.
“She has accepted the blade,” Din tells the Armorer’s hologram. 
“It has been a long time since the Tribe has seen a proper Mandalorian wedding,” the Armorer says. “Even longer since the sands of Mandalore have borne witness.” She pauses, helmet tilting to the side. “Did you tell her the significance of the blade?”
“I told her it was for the joining ceremony,” Din replies. He should have known the Armorer would see right through him.
“Yes, but did you tell her its purpose? How she is meant to carve her possession into your flesh to be kept with you for the rest of your days?”
“I may have neglected to provide that much detail.”
The Armorer sighs. “I would suggest you bring your aruetii to Mandalore ahead of your joining ceremony. We will have much to discuss.”
“We will endeavor to arrive within the next lunar cycle,” Din concedes. 
“This is the Way,” the Armorer intones.
“This is the Way.”
________
“I can't believe I’m visiting Mandalore,” you say excitedly. “I’ve never even been off Nevarro.”
Din is strapping you into the co-pilot seat of the freighter ship he’s borrowed from Karga’s fleet. While he’s content to fly and sleep in his Starfighter, he said he wants you to be more comfortable during your first trip off-world.
“Stop moving, pirun’ner,” he says, fitting the straps across your chest. You wiggle again, just to be stubborn, and he huffs a laugh, tapping his helmet to the crown of your head. 
“You know, you’ve never told me what that means,” you say as he takes a seat in the captain’s chair. You watch as he confidently moves through the pre-flight motions, flicking switches and pressing buttons, inputting coordinates and checking gauges. 
“The literal translation from Mando’a is ‘my water’,” he says. “Water begets life. Without water, there is no living.”
“Din…,” you murmur, words getting caught in your throat. “Makes me feel bad for the nickname I give you in my head.”
He turns his head, somehow managing to look affronted despite you not being able to see his face. “And what nickname is that?”
“Tin man,” you joke. 
“But…this is beskar,” he says, clearly not understanding your joke and you can’t help but laugh. 
The nickname comes from the early days of your relationship with the Mandalorian. 
As Nevarro’s resident baker, you’re familiar with the locals and even more familiar with the gossip around newcomers. The town buzzed with excitement when one of the Mandalorians that defended the trading town had returned and settled on the outskirts with his son. 
The first time you saw him was when his son made a cookie float off your display and into his little green hand. The Mandalorian had shown up while you were bent to the little creature’s level, asking where his parents were.
“Grogu,” his modulated voice chastised. “We talked about this.”
He was clad head to toe in the beskar armor you’re now intimately familiar with, but you didn’t know that at the time, so you called him ‘tin man’ in your mind. You didn’t learn his name until around the third time he’d visited your bakery.
The ship jerks harshly in take-off, breaking you from your trip down memory lane. Your fingers curl nervously against the armrests of your seat.
“Does that usually happen?” You ask.
Din must sense the anxiety coming off of you in waves. He reaches a gloved hand over and rests it over yours. “You are safe with me, cyar'ika. I would never let any harm come to you.”
You smile at him, the tension easing from your shoulders. You turn your hand palm upwards to fold your fingers between his.
“I know.”
________
Later, in the pitch black crew cabin, you’re curled against Din’s body on the scratchy cot as the ship’s autopilot continues your voyage, reveling in the feel of him against you without all the beskar and weapons. He feels human like this, soft, yet somehow still your solid pillar of strength in a galaxy not built for gentle things.
“Tell me about Mandalore,” you murmur. 
“It’s not the same as it once was,” he replies, his unmodulated voice deep like the vastness of space beyond the ship. “It’s harsher now. War ravaged. For a long time we were told it was not even fit for life.”
“Were you raised there?”
“No. I was born on Aq Vetina. There was…a raid. My parents were killed. Battle droids. I was raised as a foundling on Concordia, Mandalore’s moon.”
“I’m so sorry, Din,” you whisper. You trace your hand up his chest and neck until you can cup his stubbled cheek in your palm. 
“I didn’t set foot on Mandalore until recently. I had…removed my helmet, in the presence of others, which goes against the very tenets of The Creed.” He takes a deep breath. “I was an apostate. Dar’manda.” 
“Seems kind of harsh.”
He chuckles. “You and Bo-Katan will get along well.”
“You still wear the armor,” you point out. “If you’re not a Mandalorian, is that allowed?”
“By bathing in the Living Waters in the Mines of Mandalore, someone who is dar’manda can seek redemption. It was a long shot. The Mines were thought to be destroyed.”
“But they weren’t?”
“No. The planet is more hospitable than we were led to believe, even in its ravaged state. It’s why Bo-Katan is able to rebuild, to reunite what once was broken.”
“So, you were able to bathe in the Mines then?”
“Yes. I have redeemed myself in the eyes of the Creed.”
Your mind conjures an image of your Mandalorian, tall and broad though his face is nothing more than a blur, stripped of his armor as he wades into a pool of water. You rub your thighs together, hoping the friction eases the ache forming between your legs.
“What are you thinking about, pirun’ner?” Din asks. His voice has gone lower, darker, and his hand presses you closer to his body. You realize you’ve been caught.
“You,” you reply honestly. He shifts, running his hand down your waist and over the curve of your ass, not stopping until his hand grips behind your knee and drags your top leg across his hips. Your hips shift against his leg.
You’ve not seen your Mandalorian’s face or body before, but you know the feel of it intimately. The hard planes of muscle in his arms and chest, the softness of his tummy and the thickness of his thighs. The stretch of him inside you, the bite of his teeth and strokes of his tongue under the cover of darkness.
“Is my riduur feeling needy?” His hand urges your movements, your hips now rocking steadily against his thigh. Your moan is breathy and desperate in the small, dark space.
“Not your riduur yet,” you gasp. Din’s warm hand grips your chin, tilting your face upwards. You feel his nose trace along your cheek as his mouth seeks out yours in the dark. His lips are warm as they move against yours in a slow, burning rhythm that matches the slide of your pussy over his thigh.
“The next time you cum, after tonight, you will be,” he groans. Your hips stutter, your release hitting you like a burst of light, sparkling at the corners of your vision. He kisses you deeply. “Sleep now, ner’karta.”
Your heavy eyelids obey his command.
________
Two figures stand at the mouth of a cave as Din lands the Alanar N3 Light Freighter on the surface of Mandalore, a woman with bright red hair and blue armor and a helmeted figure with copper armor and a gold helmet with spikes.
“Welcome,” the redhead says as the two of you approach. “It’s been a long time, Din Djarin. Hopefully you will not need rescuing while you’re here this time.”
“Bo-Katan. Or is it Mand’alor Kryze, now?” Din replies. She smirks. 
“Alor Kryze will suffice,” she corrects. Din bows his head in respect before introducing you by name to Bo-Katan and the other Mandalorian, who identifies herself as the Armorer you’ve heard Din speak about at length.
“We have much to show you and discuss,” the Armorer says. She regards you. “Follow me.”
You glance at Din, eyes wide. He gives you a nod, squeezing your hand. Taking a deep breath, you follow the Armorer’s retreating figure as she enters the cave. You meet her at the edge of a cliff that overlooks what appears to be a bustling city.
“Wow,” you mumble. 
“It has taken much effort to restore the Mine City to functionality. But it is prospering.”
“How do you get down there?” You ask.
The Armorer chuckles. “We fly. Come closer. We will go together.”
“Oh, uh. Okay.” You step closer and she wraps an arm around your waist, the jetpack on her back igniting as she takes a step over the cliff. You scream, clinging to her shoulders and squeezing your eyes shut.
Your feet hit the ground and you slowly open your eyes. At this level, other Mandalorians bustle about, some with helmets and others without. There are even children running through the streets.
The Armorer releases you once your footing is solid. “Come, we will visit the Living Waters.”
You trail after her again, head swiveling as you take in the city. Some of the Mandalorians look at you curiously as you pass, and you wonder what they must think. From what Din has told you, his Tribe is very secretive. Do they worry you’re a threat? The thought almost makes you laugh.
She leads you deep into the Mine City, down from the street level until you’re standing at the bank of what appears to be a lake, stone steps descending into the dark depths.
“These are the Living Waters of Mandalore,” the Armorer says. “In the days before the Great Purge, the Living Waters saw many ceremonies. Initiations to the Creed, joinings, the adoption of foundlings, the merging of houses. It is the lair of a Mythosaur, a great beast tamed by Mandalore the Great, the first ruler of Mandalore.” 
“There’s something down there?” You ask. She tilts her head.
“Allegedly. Mythosaurs have not been seen in many moons,” she replies. “Your joining ceremony will take place on these steps. Has Din spoken to you further about what that will entail?” You shake your head. The Armorer continues.
“It begins with a proposal. A Mandalorian warrior chooses a riduur to whom they will submit themselves, body and soul, for as long as they continue to live. The warrior presents their intended with a blade with which they will perform the hokaanir riduurok.”
“The ceremony consists of three parts,” she continues. “The dinui, or gift, where both parties have selected a weapon to give to their warrior.”
You blink. “He’s going to give me a weapon?”
“Yes. It will be forged specifically for you,” she confirms. “And you will select one for him as well.” 
“The second part of the ceremony is the riduurok, or the vows. You will drink spiced wine from the same chalice before reciting the traditional Mandalorian vows.”
This, at least, sounds familiar to you. Vows were common in the few wedding ceremonies you’d seen on Nevarro.
“Finally, the hokaanir. You will take your blade and cut your unifying symbol into his flesh, just above his heart. Then, the covert will host a celebration in your honor.”
“I’m sorry, I have to do what?”
The Armorer tilts her head. “We are a warrior people. Our loyalty is demonstrated with honor and blood,” she offers in explanation. When she’s met with silence, she continues. “I am happy to help you choose a weapon and unity symbol for your ceremony.”
“Thank you, Armorer,” you reply honestly. “For sharing everything with me.”
“This is the Way,” she says, bowing her head. “Do you have any questions?”
Only about a thousand, you think. But there’s one you’ve been wondering about since landing on the planet and being introduced to Bo-Katan, a Mandalorian who showed her face.
“I hope this isn’t insensitive but…you and Din always wear your helmets, right? But Bo-Katan and some of the other Mandalorians…they don’t. Why is that?” You ask carefully.
“The Tribe follows the Creed as described by the Way of the Mandalore. There are other interpretations of the Creed that do not consider the removal of one’s helmet grounds for exile,” she replies. “We are learning to live in harmony.”
“With your Creed…will I ever be able to see Din’s face?”
“As his riduur, he may choose to show his face to you and your future warriors.”
You blink. “Future warriors?”
“Your children. Foundlings or by birth.”
You hadn’t considered children before. Of course, you adore Grogu, Din’s adopted son, but growing your family? Now that the idea is planted, you can’t shake the roots loose.
“Shall we discuss weapons, then?” The Armorer asks, breaking through your racing thoughts.
“Let’s do it.”
________
“You really didn’t tell her anything about the ceremony?” Bo-Katan asks as she walks with Din through the restored Mine City. Din is in awe of the progress that’s been made since the last time he was here. There are a surprising number of Mandalorians now residing in the city, Alor Kryze’s unification efforts clearly working in her favor.
“I haven’t even witnessed one myself,” he says. “In the covert, they only recited the vows. There was no ceremony involved.”
“It’s certainly an experience. And for an aruetii, it may be challenging. We are born and raised as warriors. Blood is nothing to us.” She pauses. “Speaking of raising warriors, where is your son? I miss the little womp rat.”
“He and Karga will join us for the celebration.”
“Din Djarin,” the Armorer calls. He turns just as you collide against him, your arms around his waist. He tips his helmet to your head. 
“Pirun’ner,” he says, holding you to his chest. The reunion is short lived.
“We must discuss your joining ceremony,” Armorer says. “Join me at the Great Forge.”
________
The heat from the fire that burns within the Great Forge is stifling and oppressive. Sweat beads on Din’s temple within moments of stepping foot into the cavernous space.
“Your aruetii was rather surprised by our customs,” the Armorer says. Din can feel the judgment in her gaze, even through the helmet. “But receptive. She will do well.”
Din nods. “Thank you for taking the time to explain it to her.”
“She has chosen a weapon and a unity symbol. Have you given thought to her weapon?” The Armorer asks.
“A vambrace,” Din says easily. “A defense weapon. With shields and a comms unit. Nothing she could accidentally hurt herself with.”
“A fitting choice. It is settled. Your ceremony will commence in two days, upon the completion of your weapons. This is the Way,” she says.
“This is the Way.”
________
Bo-Katan helps you dress for the ceremony in a dress made of material so soft and light, you worry it will disappear into thin air. It reminds you of some of the gowns you’ve seen in holovids from Coruscant, white fabric draped over your shoulders, plunging in a deep V down your chest and falling to the ground, secured at the waist with a broad belt of beskar and crystal. When you ask her about it, she looks away.
“It belonged to the last true leader of Mandalore,” she says, not inviting any further questions you may have. “Women would normally wear ceremonial armor as well, but since you are not a Mandalorian, exceptions can be made,” she says. 
“Have you seen many weddings, Bo-Katan?” You ask. Din was right when he said you would get along well with the new leader of Mandalore. You’ve been enjoying getting to know her over your last two days on the planet. 
“I helped prepare for a few, before the Purge,” she replies. She adjusts the strap of your gown on your shoulder. “But the ceremonies are private. A leader in the community helps to guide the couple through the stages before taking their leave once the hokaanir has been performed.”
“Oh, why’s that?”
Bo-Katan smirks. “The ceremonial wine will have certain…effects on you that you will not want someone to bear witness to.”
“Maker!” You hiss. Your eyes go wide as she laughs. “Are you joking?”
“Guess you’ll have to find out.” She guides you out of the room and down into the city, where the Mandalorians are prepping for the celebration that takes place after the ceremony. There are flags raised with a familiar Mudhorn skull and others with what Bo-Katan explained was the skull of a Mythosaur, the symbol of the Mandalorians.
Helmeted Mandalorians tip their heads as you pass, while those not wearing helmets hold their fist across their chest. You feel nervous but excited and your heart races with each step closer to the Living Waters.
Bo-Katan leads you down into the depths, the sound of a crackling fire growing louder as you descend. As your eyes adjust to the dim glow of the firelight, you notice two figures standing at the top of the stairs to the Living Waters.
They turn as you approach. Your steps falter as you take in your Mandalorian’s attire.
Rather than the silver beskar and flight suit you’re used to seeing him in, Din now wears a pair of black linen pants belted with beskar tassets that hang to his knees. A black cape hangs down his back to the floor, held in place by impressive spiked pauldrons, a heavy chain sitting at the base of his throat. He still wears his familiar silver helmet.
As he turns to face you fully, your mouth goes dry. He’s shirtless beneath the cape and pauldrons, the tan skin of his chest and abdomen on full display. The firelight illuminates the muscles you’ve traced with your fingers and mouth but never with your eyes.
Perhaps most surprising, however, are the black tattoos that adorn his chest, swirling lines that stretch from his collarbone and down his pectorals until coming to a point right above his belly button. Shiny scar tissue catches the light - a large one on his hip that looks like a blaster shot, thin lines that bisect his tattoos and deeper gashes near his ribs. Your fingers ache to trace them as you commit them to memory. 
Bo-Katan gives you a little nudge, urging you forward until you’ve joined Din and the Armorer at the stone steps. She takes her leave with a nod of her head and the Armorer regards you both.
“Shall we begin?” Her modulated voice asks. 
“Yes,” Din’s modulated voice replies. His bare hand reaches for yours, fingers wrapping around your palm and easing the wild beat of your heart. 
“We will begin with the dinui. You have each chosen a gift that befits your riduur.” She turns, hefting a large ax-like weapon from the low wall behind her. “Din Djarin, your riduur has chosen the munit'kad halberd, the Mandalorian vibro-ax. A weapon worthy of the head of Clan Mudhorn." 
Din takes the ax, testing the weight of it in his hands. A twist of his hands activates the sonic blade, the beskar glowing blue. He swings the ax in a wide arc, slicing it through a nearby stone that crumbles to pieces.
Another twist of his palms and the blade goes still. He hands the ax back to the Armorer, who places it back on the wall before picking up a smaller item.
She holds the item to you as she says your name. “Your riduur has chosen a vambrace, fitted with a communications unit and defensive shield projectors.”
The Armorer gestures for your arm, securing the beskar vambrace to your forearm. It looks similar to the ones Din wears, reaching nearly to your elbow. There’s a screen that lights up when you tap it. You press at it again and a circular shield projection emits from the device, startling you and making you laugh.
The Armorer taps at the screen, making the shields disappear. She unclasps the vambrace from your arm, setting it beside the ax. “Din Djarin, do you accept this gift that your riduur has selected?”
“I do,” Din responds.
The Armorer says your name again, dragging your attention from Din. “Do you accept this gift that your riduur has selected?”
“I do,” you repeat.
The Armorer turns and picks up a chalice. “You will now consume the tal’galar, a symbol of the Mandalorian lives lost before your union.” She passes the chalice to Din, turning her head to allow him the privacy to lift the bottom of his helmet. You follow suit, training your eyes to the floor.
He passes the chalice to you. You glance briefly at the dark liquid before bringing it to your lips and taking a sip. It’s warm, thicker than you expected, but sweet. As you swallow, that warmth intensifies and it feels like it’s already suffusing through your veins, making you feel tingly. 
The Armorer takes the chalice from your hands, setting it aside. She picks up the blade that started this whole series of events, the one Din presented you with in your kitchen what feels like ages ago, and your hands start to feel sweaty. You swallow nervously, heart beating wildly in your chest.
“You will now recite the vows,” she tells you. “You will repeat after me.” Din reaches for your hand and the feel of his skin against yours is electrifying, lighting up every nerve ending. “Mhi solus tome, mhi solus dar'tome, mhi me'dinui an, mhi ba'juri verde.”
Din repeats the words in Mando’a, the deep timbre of his voice like silk. You want nothing more than for him to pull you closer, to whisper those words in your ear. This is your husband - this fierce warrior, this gentle man, this loving father. A wave of emotion clogs your throat, making it hard to swallow as you watch him.
“We are one together, we are one when parted, we share all, we will raise warriors,” the Armorer repeats in Basic. You echo the words back, eyes glued to Din’s helmet. His fingers tighten briefly around yours as you finish the vow.
“Din Djarin of Clan Mudhorn, do you so submit yourself to your intended, until your final battle has been fought?” The Armorer asks. 
Din drops heavily to his knees, chest heaving with breath. “I do.”
She turns to you, holding the blade across both palms. You take the weapon in hand and face Din. You feel hot all over, like anything you touch may catch fire in your wake.
“Your riduur has chosen to symbolize your unity with pirun,” the Armorer says. “You may begin the hokaanir.”
________
Every moment in Din Djarin’s life has led to this - kneeling at your feet and staring up into your beautiful face as you ready yourself to unite your souls. A fire burns in his veins and his body aches with the need to touch you, his cock straining in his pants.
The tip of your blade drags across the skin of his chest and his breath catches at the prick of pain. He can feel his skin splitting in its wake, the sharp sting and burn of a new wound quickly morphing into an ecstasy that has him gasping.
The blade lifts from his skin and you begin the second line of the symbol. His hands curl into fists against his thighs, body fighting against the urge to wrap you in his arms and claim. 
Din can feel the blood sliding down his chest, little rivulets trailing from the most significant scar he’ll ever receive. When his eyes find yours from behind his visor and he sees his own bottomless lust reflected back at him, his restraint frays further. 
You start the third and final line of the symbol, an inverted triangle that represents pirun, water. His water, his life, his everything. He can’t help the moan that breaks free, echoing in the cavern. 
He reaches for you, gripping your hips as his head bows forward and he gets his first glimpse of his hokaanir, the cuts you’ve made over his heart with so much focus and care, stark red against the tan of his skin and bisecting his mandokar markings. His heart swells with pride at carrying a piece of you with him forever.
Din distantly registers the blade leaving his skin and the echo of retreating footsteps but all he can focus on is getting his hands on you, rucking up the gauzy fabric of your gown until his fingers are tracing the soft skin of your thighs. You drop to your knees, your own trembling hands sliding up his arms.
“Take it off,” Din commands. “My helmet, take it off, cyare.”
“Are you sure?” You ask, even as your hands grip the heavy beskar. 
“I’ve never been more certain.”
________
You slowly lift Din’s helmet, revealing a strong, stubbled jaw, plush lips, a prominent nose, soft brown eyes and curly dark hair. You set his helmet to the side without daring to take your eyes off of him, the sound of beskar hitting stone echoing through the cavern. You bring your trembling hands to his jaw, smoothing your thumbs across the high point of his cheekbones.
“Din,” you whisper. His hands wrap around your wrists, steady where yours are not. “Maker, you’re so beautiful.”
He smiles and it feels like a blaster shot to the heart to finally see it, the way his eyes crinkle at the corners and his mouth tilts up a little higher on the right. He wraps a hand around the back of your neck, pulling you forward for a sweet kiss, his lips moving gently with yours.
It doesn’t stay gentle for long.
Din’s lips turn insistent, hungry, bruising in their quest to conquer yours. His teeth nip at your lower lip, making you gasp and he uses it to his advantage, his tongue tangling with yours and exploring to its content.
His hands explore your body, tugging roughly at the straps of your gown until your breasts are exposed to the cold air of the cavern. His lips leave yours, kissing down your jaw and neck, sucking bruises into your sensitive skin.
Your own hands explore his chest, fingers ghosting over the fresh wound of his hokaanir and coming away sticky with blood. He moans against your skin each time your fingers catch on the angry red lines. 
“You feel that, cyare?” Din asks. He takes your hand, holding your palm to the mark. “A heart that beats blood only for you?”
He doesn’t wait for a reply before he’s moving, his body urging you down onto your back, eager hands rucking up the skirt of your gown up to your waist. He presses your thighs apart, settling on his belly between your legs, his thumbs parting the lips of your pussy for his appreciative gaze.
“I’ll never have you in the dark again,” he says, brown eyes meeting yours. “Not when I know what it’s like to see you in the light.”
With his gaze still holding yours, he licks a broad stripe through your folds. His eyes flutter shut as he groans, savoring the taste of you on his tongue. When they open again, there’s a hard gleam to them that wasn’t there before, a mischievous glint that has your breath catching at the intensity.
“Remember what I told you, cyare? On the ship?” He asks. His thumb circles your clit, broad swipes over the sensitive nub that have you crying out, the sound echoing around you. “That the next time you came would be as my riduur?”
Din slips two fingers into your soaked entrance, curling them against your front wall as he sets a pace that has your hips chasing after his hand with every withdrawal. Every movement of his fingers inside of you feels hotter, stronger than it ever has before. Maybe it’s the wine or maybe it’s just Din, unmasked and all yours, but you’re already so close to coming from just his fingers and his words and the look in his eyes.
“Want you to cum on my fingers first, want to see it,” he says, and that’s all it takes to have you clenching tightly, tiny supernovas behind your eyelids as you come undone. “That’s it, ner’karta.”
He doesn’t remove his fingers, instead dipping his head and licking at your sensitive clit and making you cry out, already oversensitive. 
“Din, Din, Din,” you pant, fingers digging into his curly hair and pulling tightly. He groans against your cunt, working his hand faster as his lips and tongue drive you to a second orgasm before the first has even subsided.
He growls when you nearly knee him in the head with your thrashing, removing his fingers and shoving his arms beneath your thighs, rising to his knees and bringing your body with him. Your upper back rests on the ground as your hips are suspended in his hold, your pussy completely at his mercy as he devours you. 
Din’s fingers dig into your ass, grip as strong as the beskar armor he wears as he holds you steady, his tongue working you into a frenzy. The dull spikes on his pauldrons press into your thighs, the discomfort a direct counterpoint to the pleasure he’s lavishing you with.
He sucks on your clit, rolling it between his lips as he hums, the last tether of your control snapping as you fight against his hold, your second orgasm washes over you like warm starlight in your veins. 
Din eases you through it, pulling away only when you start to whine. He presses kisses to your thighs and bites at the sensitive skin, sucking marks into your flesh to match the possession you’ve carved into his.
He finally lowers you to the ground, setting you gently to the cold stone. His eyes are hungry as he stands, removing the beskar tassets and tossing them aside before shoving the black linen pants down his legs. He unclips the cape from his neck, laying it on the ground. 
He reaches a hand out to you, pulling you to stand when your palm fits against his. His hands cup your face, kissing you fiercely, the fire igniting in your core despite how boneless you feel from the two orgasms he’s drawn out of you.
“Ner’riduur,” Din murmurs against your lips. His hands unlatch the belt at your waist and he sets it aside with more care than he’d given to his own ceremonial items. He slides the fabric off your body until it pools at your feet. “Lie down for me.”
You do as asked, settling on the black cloak. He drops to one knee, then the other, crawling over your body, looking every inch the fierce warrior that he is, black tattoos and scars shifting over well-earned muscle. His cock presses to your hip and he groans, shifting until his length glides between your dripping folds.
“Ni kar'taylir darasuum,” Din says. He takes himself in hand, pressing the thick head of his cock to your entrance. “I love you, pirun’ner.”
“I love you, Din Djarin,” you reply as he presses inside of you, the steady stretch of him making you gasp. You glance at his hokaanir, the skin splitting as he thrusts into your body. Fresh beads of blood form along the lines, dripping from his chest to yours. 
Din grunts, hips slamming against yours. You moan and reach up to wrap your arms around his shoulders, pulling him closer and seeking his lips with your own. It’s more of a messy press of your mouths than a kiss, the sharing heated breath as his body works against yours.
He dips his head to your neck, sucking more bruises to your skin as he murmurs dirty praise in Mando’a and Basic.
“So fucking warm and wet.”
“Made just for me, weren’t you, ner’karta?”
“Jate riduur’ika.”
You push him up, shoving frantically at his shoulders until you’re able to reverse your positions, him lying beneath you as straddle his waist, his cock never leaving you. He presses so deep inside of you like this it makes you shiver. 
“Want you to fill me up, Din,” you say, hands pressed to his chest to give you leverage as you move your hips over his cock. His eyes flutter shut as he moans, the sound making your head feel fuzzy. His hands grip your hips, tight and possessive as his fingers press bruises to your skin. “Please, please, please.”
Din plants his feet against the ground, meeting each movement of your hips with a powerful thrust that makes you see stars. Your muscles tighten once more as you pulse around him with another wave of release that you can feel soaking his hips.
You collapse forward against his chest, his arms wrapping around your waist as he pounds into you from below, chasing the release he so deserves. You press little kisses to the skin you can reach as he uses your body to take his pleasure.
With a final harsh thrust he holds your hips tightly to his, his cock pulsing deliciously inside of you as he groans your name in prayer and ecstasy. He works his hips in tiny movements as he empties inside of you.
Din’s movements eventually slow to a stop, both of you panting as you try to catch your breath. You lift up, looking down into his face and smoothing the sweat damp hair from his forehead as he looks up at you with an expression so full of love you want to weep with the force of it.
“Pirun’ner,” he whispers, cupping your cheek. “You‘ve given me the greatest happiness.”
You press a soft kiss to his lips, your smile hard to fight as you do. You hold each other for a long moment as your adrenaline and euphoria settle and Din slips from your body. He gently eases you to the side, urging you to lie on your back. 
He stands, grabbing something from the low wall, dipping it in the water and coming back to kneel between your spread legs. His eyes are dark as he looks at your swollen pussy, glistening with your combined release.
Din swipes two fingers through the mess, pressing them slowly inside of you and making you whine. When he appears satisfied, he wipes a wet cloth through your folds, cleaning you up.
He smoothes the cloth through the dried blood on your chest as well, gently wiping it away. When he’s done, he presses a trail of kisses from your belly to your throat before meeting your lips, slow and languid.
“As much as I’d like to keep you beneath me, we have a celebration to attend,” he says. “Let’s get you dressed.”
He helps you into the dress and belt and you help him fasten the cape back around his shoulders when he’s dressed himself in the pants and tassets. Your hands smooth other the black tattoos on his skin.
“You’ll have to tell me about these one day,” you say.
He pulls you close. “Mhi me'dinui an. We share all. I will be glad to teach you more of our customs.”
You grin at him. “We have many days ahead of us, Din Djarin.”
“I like the sound of that, pirun’ner.”
________
When you arrive at the celebration, a loud cheer moves through the crowd, the sound roaring in your ears as you hold tight to Din’s hand. 
High Magistrate Karga approaches the two of you, a wiggly Grogu leaping from his hold and running towards Din, who scoops him up from the ground, holding him in his arms. A little green hand reaches for you, wrapping around the finger you offer him.
Bo-Katan and the Armorer stand nearby, watching the new clan of three. 
“A successful joining,” the Armorer says.
“Mandalore is healing,” Bo-Katan replies. “This is the Way.”
“This is the Way.”
Want more Din Djarin? Check out my masterlist
852 notes · View notes
ichorai · 1 year
Text
would that i ; din djarin.
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track twelve of WASTELAND, BABY!
pairing ; din djarin x gn!reader
synopsis ; din didn’t consider himself a very jealous person. no, he wasn’t affected at all when the kid seemed to want to spend more time with you than him. not even a little bit.
words ; 1.5k
themes ; fluff, mild pining, kinda sunshine & grump trope
warnings / includes ; grogu eats a frog, mando gets v flustered, reader jokingly calls him daddy lol
main masterlist.
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Bag hitched over your shoulder, you tugged on your hiking boots, bending over to double-knot the laces. “Hey, I’m going out to the market to grab some spare parts for the ship,” you called to the brooding Mandalorian in the cockpit. You were met with a quiet grunt in response. Finished with your shoes, you straightened yourself up and peeked your head into the front of the ship, watching Din work on some frayed wires by the control panel. “I’m taking the kid with me.”
This made him halt in his ministrations, and he turned to you. “Isn’t it easier if he just stays with me? Keep him here.”
Crossing your arms over your chest, you nodded stoutly. “Alright, lemme ask him. Hey, bub,” you cooed, picking up the tiny creature from his floating carrier and setting him on the ground, equidistant between the two of you. Grogu peered at you with wide eyes, before rounding his head to look up at Din, then looked to you once more. He let out a garbled noise of confusion. “You wanna go to the market with me or stay with Mr. Grump over there?”
Silent, Din watched as Grogu began waddling towards you, seemingly excited at the prospect of going out to explore. 
With a hum of satisfaction, you scooped the kid up into your arms, shooting the masked man a victorious smirk, before striding towards the exit. 
“Be back before sunset!” he barked out, earning him a mock salute from you, then proceeded to incoherently grumble under his breath about how going to the market was really a one-person job, whilst fixing up the banged up ship definitely required more than a single pair of hands.
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Clementine flames licked at the air greedily, crackling as Din tossed another wedge of wood into the fire. The setting sun cast long shadows over the secluded, wooded area your little group was hunkering down in, sparsely lit with the heated glow of the fire and the cold luminescence of the distant stars in the sky. You sat on the opposite end of the fire, blowing warm air into your palms to ebb away the numbing cold sewn into your skin.
The kid was snuggled up to your side, cooing as he tried to grab floating embers of the fire that drifted past him, carried away with the frigid night breeze.
Din studied the two of you, his mask betraying no expression whatsoever. Though Din was a man of few words, he was also a man of keen observations, always entirely aware of his surroundings. He noticed the way the orange of the fire tinted your skin with a near angelic glow, how the rustling of leaves behind him seemed to perfectly accompany your tinkering laugh as you smiled at the kid’s ministrations, how your eyes brightened with all the galaxy’s light within your irises. 
His attention was reluctantly drawn away from you when the kid waddled off to the side, having spotted a bulbish frog—which, presumably, looked like a tasty snack to him. 
With a gentle smile, you got up and circled around the fire to sit beside him, foliage crunching beneath your haunches as you settled down. 
“What’s on your mind?” you asked, just audible enough to hear over the pops of the flames. “You’re thinking so loudly.”
There was a moment of silence, the quiet weighing heavily over the both of you.
“It’s nothing,” he replied finally. “Nothing to worry about.”
Not wanting to pry, you hummed in thought, about to tell him that you’d be all ears if he had something to say, but promptly held your tongue when you caught sight of the kid swallowing the poor one-eyed frog whole.
“Spit that out!” both you and Din ordered at the same time. You glanced at each other, and your shoulders shook as you began to laugh, the corners of your eyes crinkling with such genuinity that was rare to find these days. 
You couldn’t see it, but a trace of a smile slowly appeared behind Din’s helmet.
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The kid had finally fallen asleep—it took hours of you setting him firmly on your lap and telling him to shut his eyes until he began to relent, curled against your stomach and stealing your body warmth. Sleep was tugging at your own sleeves, whispering gentle static into your ears and weighing down your eyelids. 
Din had passed by the two of you multiple times as he tended to the many laborious upkeeps of the ship, silent as a ghost, but his mere presence was loud enough for you.
It was only when the ship’s door slid open did you startle out of your half-unconscious state, blearily rubbing the sleep out of your eyes. You glanced down at the small form on your lap, gently patting his little wrinkled head. 
Carefully, you got to your feet and lowered Grogu into his floating carrier, tucking him into a mottled brown blanket with nimble fingers. The kid stirred mildly at the jostling movement, but settled down when you hushed him quietly.
Satisfied that he wouldn’t spring awake and scamper out of his carrier to swallow down more frogs, you left the ship, sliding the door shut behind you.
The night’s chill was stronger than it had been a couple hours ago, the cold steeping into your muscles and freezing your bones. The moon bathed the forest in a hazy, pearl-hued luminescence, reflecting softly against Mando’s armor. He was watching the vast, dark forest, broodingly quiet. You came to stand beside him, shivering slightly.
“Done with all your little errands?” you asked, trying your best to keep your teeth from chattering. You took his silence as an affirmative. “You really like keeping yourself occupied, huh?”
More silence. In the distance, a frog croaked.
“I would’ve been more than happy to help you if you’d asked, by the way. You didn’t have to do all that by yourself. I used to be a mechanic, you know?”
Din risked a glance to you, holding his breath for reasons unbeknownst to him. You looked awfully serene basking in the sweet cold of the night, which made his chest ache with a tender kind of longing he couldn’t quite put his finger on. A life he knew he couldn’t have, perhaps.
He tore his eyes away before he could dwell on that thought too much.
“What are you doing out here? It’s real cold out,” you murmured, angling your head to look at him. It sometimes frustrated you just how unreadable he was—not even considering the mask, he rarely ever gave anything away with his body language. You wondered what went on in his head. “Are you okay?”
For the first time since you came out, Din spoke. It was tentative and slow—fittingly cautious in nature. His voice sent a thrill up your spine—it wasn’t often that the two of you would genuinely converse about something other than the ship’s upkeep. “The kid likes you.”
A surprised look splintered through your expression. Of all things you expected him to say, that most certainly wasn’t one of them. “Well, yeah, I’d hope so. I love the little guy, even though he eats like a starved wampa.” You narrowed your eyes at him, the beginnings of a smile painting across the corner of your lips. “Oh, maker, you’re jealous, aren’t you?”
Before he could formulate a proper response, you stepped closer to him with a teasing glint to your eyes that he misliked. You patted his chest in mock-comfort.
This close, he could see the fine details of your features much more clearly—he noticed the small, faded scar across the bridge of your nose, slightly darker in color than the rest of your complexion, he noticed the soft curve of your cupid’s bow, and he noticed the slight arch to your eyebrows, as if expecting him to say something.
Oh, right. He should probably say something.
Din flushed hotly beneath his helmet, finding himself at a loss for words. 
“I’m sure the kid loves you just as much, if not more than, he loves me,” you surmised, still with a teasing lilt to your words. “After all, we both know he considers you his guardian—if he could talk, he’d definitely be calling you father. Or, actually, that might be too formal for him—maybe daddy, or something. Pops, even.”
Din huffed, amused. “The kid wouldn’t call me daddy,” he deadpanned, finally finding his tongue. 
You beamed devastatingly gleeful, and he could just about feel his heart disintegrating into sand and spilling through the crevices of his ribs. 
“Why not? I think it suits you.” You shrugged, still grinning so wide it was a wonder your face hadn’t split into two. Oh, you were going to be the death of him one day. “I’m gonna head back in—I’m freezing my ass off out here. Good night, Din. Or should I say daddy?” You barked out a laugh, clearly pleased with your little joke, before trudging away from him, chortling to yourself along the way.
Din watched as you slipped back into the ship, your words ricocheting in his head over and over again. He exhaled heavily. 
He was digging himself a deep hole here—and he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to stop.
2K notes · View notes
gloomwitchwrites · 4 months
Text
Frozen Ground: Part 1 (Din Djarin x Female Reader)
Content & Warnings: romantic fluff, love at first sight, Mandalorian culture
Word Count: 5.4k
Din travels to a farming planet to recruit a reclusive group of Mandalorians to help retake Mandalore. The snowy season is starting, and the locals are preparing for their winter observance. While waiting for the Mandalorian covert to come to a decision, Din spends time with the local population, finding a bit of comfort with a particular someone.
A/N: Part of the Winter 2023 Collection
Part 2
ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // winter 2023 masterlist
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Mando’a Translations: buir – father, mother Mando’ade – Mandalorians (plural) vod – brother, sister, comrade
The N1 Starfighter exits hyperspace and cruises through Itera airspace.
Grogu snoozes softly in Din’s lap. His small body is curled up in a ball, and his face is turned into Din’s chest plate as he slumbers. The foundling has been asleep the entire way to Itera, and he shows no sign of waking any time soon.
Din glances away from his foundling and out the N1’s viewport. A small twang of nervousness coils in the pit of his stomach as he observes the quickly approaching planet. It’s not the planet itself that worries Din, but why he was sent here in the first place. It is the task that Bo-Katan Kryze placed upon him with confidence that sits heavy on his shoulders.
Bo-Katan is uniting the clans. She is calling back the tribes in an effort to reclaim Mandalore. She heard a rumor that a reclusive tribe of Mandalorians dwell on Itera. Din is supposed to find them, and convince them to come back with him to Nevarro.
That is all the information he has. Bo-Katan had little intel to give. Din has no idea if these Mandalorians are more like his tribe, or if they lean more towards the ideals that Bo-Katan and her kin follow.
As Mandalorians, this tribe on Itera should welcome him. But Din knows that isn’t always the case. It wasn’t that long ago that Din had his own misgivings against fellow Mandalorians who walked the path differently than he.
When he first met Bo-Katan Kryze and her Nite Owls, Din shunned them. Even when they stepped in to save his foundling, and then later when a group of Quarren attacked him, Din was still reluctant to engage with them.
It’s not his proudest moment, and since then, much about his life has changed. The way he sees the galaxy, and his understanding of what it means to be a Mandalorian has shifted significantly in the last few years. While he holds tightly to his ideals, he knows that his way is not the only way.
Mandalorians should not hide in the dark any longer.
The cloudy expanse of Itera becomes clearer as Din cruises closer. Itera is a fertile farming planet located on the edge of the Middle Rim. Din rummaged around in some public achieves to scrounge up any information he could about it. According to the information he did manage to locate, Itera is relatively peaceful and mostly inhabited by small farming communities.
Even though Bo-Katan lacked information on who these Mandalorians are, she was able to provide Din with an estimated range of coordinates. She told him that they might be located within this range, but wasn’t entirely sure if her intel was reliable.
He’s worked with less.
Din punches in the numbers and the navigation system focuses in on a small bit of land in the northern hemisphere.
The N1’s engine purrs, and Grogu turns over in Din’s lap. The foundling does not wake.
Din’s ship breaks through the atmosphere and effortlessly transitions into the gray cloud cover. The clouds spit Din out over dreary farmland. Below him, droids and people work the land.
Din does not see any buildings that indicate a settlement. He checks the navigation system again and it reveals his suspicions. The coordinates Bo-Katan gave him cover too much land. He’ll need to tighten the search.
“Kriff me,” mutters Din, as he clears the coordinates from the nav system. “R5, scan the surface. Let’s find civilization.”
R5 chirps, and then a little antenna pops out of its head, spinning slowly in a circle. Din reduces his speed over the farmland, waiting for R5 to give him an answer. After a few minutes, the antenna retreats, and then the navigation system lights up with new coordinates.
Din follows the set path. While most of what Din sees is farmland, buildings start to appear in small intervals. At first, it’s just one or two, and then a cluster at a time. Before long, the wall of a settlement appears. There is open land to the left that Din deicides to land on.
He brings the N1 down softly.
Grogu still doesn’t stir. The little womprat has his right hand in his mouth, and a little line of drool runs down the back Grogu’s palm. Sighing, Din wipes it away.
“R5, what’s the temperature outside?” asks Din quietly as he watches a few swirls of snow drift down from the gray clouds. They land on the glass of the N1 and immediately melt.
R5 responds in a series of binary and Din sighs.
It’s far too cold for Grogu to be walking around for long periods of time. The snowy season has arrived on this planet, and Grogu will need something warmer to wear.
Slowly, Din releases the hatch and cold air drifts in. Using the blanket from Grogu’s pram, Din wraps the foundling in it, gently laying him down in the cockpit seat. Din steps out onto the wing and then the hard ground as the hatch closes.
He turns to R5. “Keep an eye on him while I’m gone.” R5 beeps in reply and Din heads toward the open gates.
The wood wall of the settlement seems more decorative than functional, roughly stopping at Din’s chest. Once Din approaches the entrance, he notices that there are no gates at all. It’s entirely open.
Strolling down the main street, Din realizes rather quickly that no one avoids him. It’s the exact opposite. Every person he passes greets Din with a friendly “hello” or nodding of the head before going about their day.
It’s bizarre. Strange. And it momentarily disorients him.
Din thought that he might ask around, see if he could find someone willing to talk to him. But every friendly face only causes him to question who he needs to speak to on locating the Mandalorian covert. No one shies away or avoids looking directly at his helmet. Each person is bold and unafraid of him.
Is the Mandalorian covert known to these people? Do they interact with them frequently?
Perhaps. It would explain why no one seems frightened of him.
Din enters deeper into the settlement, seeking out a cantina or public establishment where he might find information. Not finding any such place on the main road, Din tracks back to the very front of the settlement, deciding to head east and take a look around.
Rounding a corner, he hears the distinct sound of laughter. It’s not one person, or even a few, but a low roar like a small crowd. Din keeps walking, tracking the sound, coming across a small building that hardly looks big enough to hold a drinking establishment. In addition, the door is just red fabric handing from the top of the door frame.
The laughter comes again, and it’s much louder than before. He’s in the right spot.
With all the confidence Din can muster, he strides up to the curtain, pushing it aside and he steps into the building.
Din comes to a grinding halt, nearly tripping on his own feet.
This is not a cantina or anything similar.
A group of women, nearly fifteen in total, occupy the space. They all have large canvas sacks next to them, each one full of something different. Some look like they’re full of flower petals while others appear to hold bright red berries. The women vary in age. Most of them are older than Din, but there are a few who look to be about his age, give or take a few years.
They glance up but keep working, several of them smiling softly at him.
Din feels like an unwanted intruder even though the women appear calm and indifferent to his presence. He mumbles a “sorry” intended to back out the way he came, but the moment his boot slides backward, one of the women stands, her full attention on him.
“How can I help you, Mandalorian?”
You dust a few petals off your apron, missing the one in your hair, and approach Din, hands clasped in front of you. Din’s heart temporarily stutters to a stop before revving into a thudding beat he can feel in his ears. You’re pretty, but that isn’t the only thing he notices. You’re delicate lines and curves appeal to him in a way that trigger’s his protective instinct.
The flash of feeling, this need Din suddenly exhibits flashes bright and hot before his brain catches up and tries to smother it down to cooling embers.
“Excuse me. I didn’t mean to interrupt.” Din tries to back out again but you only push in, and Din’s hand relexify forms a fist in an attempt to thwart the growing need to touch you.
“There is no interruption. How can I be of service to you?” Your head tilts to the right slightly, and the eagerness on your face sends blood to his groin.
Din’s eyes roam all over your body, but his eyes keep going back to the lone petal that’s tangled in the strands of your hair.
The other women still work, none of them glancing in Din’s direction. He decides to seek help, knowing it might not do much.
“There is a Mandalorian covert on this planet that I’m searching for. Do you know where I might find them?”
“Oh,” you murmur. Your eyes round slightly, and your lips part in surprise. “I didn’t realize—I thought you—” You shake your head and the petal in your hair stays put.
“Is there anyone here that might know?”
The gentle surprise morphs into amusement. “Everyone knows where they are.” The corners of your mouth curve up into a soft smile and Din nearly melts under that gaze. He is so absorbed in your beauty that your words are the last thing to catch up to him.
Everyone knows where they are?
Din does not have the chance to follow-up, you’re already talking, telling him exactly what he needs to know. “Just to the north of here. There’s a forested area where the covert lives.”
This is unusual, and Din is slightly unsure whether or not he can trust what he might find once he ventures in that direction.
“Do you know where exactly?”
You shake your head. “We do not go in. They like their privacy, and we are respectful of that.”
This is better news. The two groups must interact frequently. It would explain why everyone in town isn’t afraid of him.
“You’re not from around here?” you ask, curiosity tinging your tone.
“No,” replies Din. “I’m not.”
Your gaze softens. “If no one has, allow me to formally welcome you.”
Without thinking—without pausing to reconsider—Din reaches toward you, his gloved fingers plucking the petal from your hair. He presents it to you, open palmed.
Delicately, you lift it, rubbing it between your fingers. With your gaze on the petal, Din takes a step back, the curtain brushing against his back. You glance up, and Din inclines his head, disappearing quickly before he does something he’ll regret.
Din still burns beneath his armor even after he arrives back at the N1. Grogu is still sleeping, and his ship is entirely untouched. Din is careful with the foundling when he settles back into the cockpit.
He relays the information to R5 who promptly scans the area, sending new coordinates to the navigation system. Once clear, Din follows the trail north, finding the forest you mentioned. Din circles around a few times, eventually settling on a flat spot of land just outside the tree line. Din lowers the N1 to the planet’s surface. Grogu stirs in his lap but doesn’t wake.
He leaves Grogu behind again with R5, knowing that he can come back for Grogu later. The droid will look after him until Din can assess the situation.
As Din approaches the tree line, he pauses, surveying the ground around him. At first glance there are no footprints of even animal prints. He engages the scanner in his helmet. The moment it switches on, his screen lights up with glowing boot prints. They are everywhere, moving in so many directions that Din cannot find a pattern.
Frowning, Din switches over to another scanner. This one seeks out what only Mandalorians leave behind for others of their kind to find. He sweeps the scanner over the ground, and then the trees. He comes up empty.
Sighing, Din starts walking, stepping past the tree line and tries again, this time doing a slow sweep of the ground and trees. The hard ground crunches under his boots, and it is incredibly quiet, the only sound is the whistling wind.
On a tree in the distance, a soft glow catches Din’s attention in the scanner. He pauses, takes one step back for a better view. It’s a glowing Mythosaur with an arrow beneath it pointing to the right.
This is his lead. This is his break. You were telling the truth.
Din heads toward the glowing symbol and then follows the direction the arrow indicates, scanning the area for any other markers. He locates another that directs him deeper into the trees. It leads to a large rock formation. The stone slabs are layered over each other like a twisted crown.
There, glowing bright against the gray rock, is another Mythosaur.
“Hail, vod.”
Din whirls around, his hand on his blaster. The only thing that stays his hand from drawing the weapon is the use of the word vod.
A male Mandalorian drops from a tree branch and strides forward, stopping a few feet away from Din. His armor is dented in a few places and painted in various green tones that emulate the trees.
No wonder Din didn’t see him.
The man has not drawn his weapon, which means he does not see Din as a threat. But why would he? Mandalorians are stronger together, and any reunion, even between tribes, is a joyous one.
Din immediately removes his hand from his blaster, standing tall and proud. He has a job to do. “My name is Din Djarin. I’ve come on behalf of Lady Bo-Katan Kryze.”
The green-clad Mandalorian crosses his arms. “I see,” he replies, tone grim. “And what does Lady Kryze want with us?”
Better to get it out now in case he’s turned away. “She is rallying the clans to retake Mandalore.”
The man is quiet for a beat before he answers. “And she wishes for us to join her?”
“She does.”
The Mandalorian nods, and drops his arms, striding forward. “Well, Din Djarin. You are welcome in our enclave, and we will hear what you have to say.” He presents his hand and Din clasps it. “I am Crix Lera. Welcome to our home.”
Crix releases Din’s hand. He brushes past Din and heads to the rock.
Din follows, and notices a small opening that Crix disappears inside. The space isn’t tight but the formation of the natural rock hides the entrance. You’d need to know exactly where it is to see it.
Din slides through the opening, only to find himself in a small tunnel. Crix walks ahead, and Din follows on his heels along the path. They don’t walk for long. The small tunnel begins to widen, and then opens up into a large communal area.
The first thing Din immediately notices are the lack of faces. Everyone wears a helmet except for a few small children. The communal area is circular, and the center of the room is lower than the rest of the floor. There is a fire burning there, the smoke curling upward to exit through a naturally formed ventilation shaft. In the rocky ceiling are small cut outs that let in some natural light.
When Din enters the area on Crix’s heels, several people pause and glance up, watching the duo as Crix walks along the edge of the room. Din takes this time to take a closer look at the Mandalorians he’s been sent to speak with.
They all appear healthy. Their armor is relatively clean and in good repair. The ratio of men to women is fairly equal, and the number of foundlings is much larger than his tribe’s. Din’s gaze passes over a woman standing by the far wall with a man and a small child. She’s clutching her belly, and that is when Din notices the slight bulge underneath her chest plate.
“You’ll meet with our armorer and tribe leaders,” says Crix over his shoulder, drawing Din’s attention away from the slowly growing crowd of Mandalorians.
“Do they make all the decisions?”
Crix shakes his head. “No. We make them as a group. But when it comes to matters pertaining to the whole clan, they are the ones who mediate the discussions. We will often look to them for final guidance.”
Din does not reply. It’s similar to how his own tribe operates, but he still has too many questions.
Crix guides Din to a small cut in the rock wall. It’s an archway, and it deposits them into a much smaller chamber. A simple forge sits in the center of the room. A Mandalorian Armorer and a child stand together near a workbench. The child is young but old enough to start their training. The two of them talk softly.
On the opposite side of the room, another Mandalorian hammers away at some armor. It’s clear that this is still a child, perhaps a teenager, and must be an apprentice of some kind because his armor is like that of the armorer’s.
The armorer and child both look up when Din and Crix enter the room. Din hangs back near the archway as Crix addresses the armorer.
“We have a visitor, Vikal. This is Din Djarin. Sent to us by Lady Bo-Katan of Clan Kryze. He says she is rallying the clans to retake Mandalore.”
At the mention of retaking Mandalore, the apprentice pauses mid-swing to glance over at Din. The small child at Vikal’s hip shifts slightly, clearly nervous.
Vikal sets the vambrace he’s holding on top of the workbench. He turns toward the apprentice. “Darro. Take your brother and leave us.”
Darro immediately responds, heading in their direction.
“But buir!” protests the child, his little fist tugging on his father’s hand.
“Hush. Go with your brother.” Vikal places a hand on the child’s shoulder just as Darro presents his hand. The child takes it, and Din steps to the side as they pass through the archway.
Once they leave, Vikal steps out from around the workbench and strides forward, pausing just a few feet away from Din. Vikal’s armor and clothes are all black. It’s almost like looking into the void of space. He’s tall, too. Perhaps as tall or even surpassing Paz Vizsla in size.
“Yours?” asks Din, using the question to learn a little bit about the tribe’s practices.
“Mine,” confirms Vikal. But he doesn’t elaborate, and Din decides not to say anything more. “Have you just arrived?” inquires Vikal. “From Mandalore?”
“No,” answers Din. “I came from Nevarro.”
“That is far.”
Vikal closes the distance, his helmet moving with him as he clearly observers Din’s armor. It is not an objectifying look, but an appreciation. “You wear fine work.”
“The armorer of my tribe forged it for me. I am honored by it.”
“This is the Way,” states Vikal.
“This is the Way,” replies Din.
Vikal inclines his head and takes a step back. “You are our guest here. You shall have our hospitality before we speak on more serious matters. As warriors, we are always so quick to take action. Rest. Eat. We will proceed from there.” He turns to Crix. “See to it that Din Djarin has a private room and a hot meal.”
Crix nods, and he and Din depart.
In his private room, Din removes his helmet, and eats.
The food is hot. Fresh. So different from the plain rations he’s used to eating with his tribe. Din wants to know more about this one. He is curious to their ways. When Crix comes for him, the two return to the main communal area. The entire tribe is there, including all the younglings. It is then that he notices several Mandalorians clutching infants.
Din scans the crowd and his heart drops into his stomach.
R5 is here. The droid is on Vikal’s left side. On the armorer’s right, sitting on the floor near his boots, is Grogu. The foundling has a wooden bowl before him. He reaches in, and lifts a handful of something that Din doesn’t recognize and shoves it all into his mouth.
Din immediately aims for Grogu. Seeming to sense him, Grogu glances up and coos, his food covered hands reaching for Din.
“I assume this one is yours?” asks Vikal as Din lifts Grogu and holds the little womprat up to his face. Din checks him over but the foundling is fine. No signs of injury expect the food that’s smeared all over the child’s hands and face.
“Yes,” sighs Din. Crix holds out a hand, indicating he should take a seat. Din does so but he puts Grogu back on the floor. The foundling immediately crawls toward the bowl.
“Your foundling and the droid arrived not too long ago. Found us quite easily. Impressive for one so young.”
Din smiles softly behind the helmet.
Vikal rubs his knees and then stands, striding forward, stopping before the fire. The entire room quiets.
“Mando’ade! We welcome Din Djarin.” Vikal turns toward Din and extends his arm in Din’s direction. The Mandalorians in attendance beat their fists against their chests three times before dropping their arms. “He brings us an important message.”
Vikal retreats, stopping before Din. “Approach, vod. We will hear you.”
Din stands slowly. Grogu’s head tilts to the side, watching Din, his mouth full of food. Din walks to the center of the room just shy of the fire.
“I am Din Djarin. My tribe lives on Nevarro. I have come before you at the behest of Lady Bo-Katan Kryze. She is rallying the clans in an effort to return to and reclaim our ancestral home world of Mandalore. She sent me to ask you if you are willing to join our efforts.”
Din pauses and every single person in the room is watching him, saying nothing. He swallows, knowing that he’ll need to say more to convince them to join.
“I know that I am in no position to ask this of any of you. But we have lived in the dark for too long. Our people are scattered. Like stars in the galaxy. Perhaps it is time for us to live in the light once again. So that our culture may flourish and our children can feel what is it to play in the sunlight.”
The Mandalorians around him chatter softly, but Din cannot differentiate between their conversations. He turns toward Vikal, and the man stands. “Is Lady Kryze certain of success?” he asks, addressing Din. “Mandalorians are few, and our preservation is important. Can she guarantee that there will not be needless death?”
No.
Din sighs, his shoulders heaving slightly. “I cannot give you any such certainties.”
Another Mandalorian stands. It is a man, and his armor is a deep red. “That planet is cursed. The air is unbreathable and nothing grows. We have all heard the stories. Why should we go back to a dead planet?”
“This is not true,” says Din vehemently. “I have been to the surface. I have seen Mandalore with my own eyes. The air is breathable. Life is possible.”
The quiet chatter heightens. Becomes a dull roar.
“What is Lady Kryze’s plan for when the planet is retaken?” This time, a woman asks the question.
“Her goal is the Great Forge. That will be our place of operations and base for reconstruction.”
Din will tell them the truth. There is no reason to hide anything.
“But will we have a place there? Can we call Mandalore home? Or must we return to this planet?”
“All Mandalorians are welcome.”
Vikal nods and stands. “Does anyone else have questions for Din Djarin?” No one replies. “Thank you for relaying Lady Kryze’s message. You have given us much to consider.” Vikal addresses the room. “We will reflect on this, and then convene tomorrow evening for deeper discussion.”
The crowd of Mandalorians incline their heads and place their fists over their hearts. When their arms drop back to their sides, many start to get up and leave.
This isn’t the outcome Din was hoping for. He thought he might receive a quick answer, or even an indication that they are willing to join.
Crix comes up beside Din. “Decisions are never made quickly. You’ll likely be here a few days.”
“As long as I can return with an answer.”
“I’ll come for you tomorrow morning. The local population is holding a festival to celebrate the coming cold.”
Din thinks back to you and the women in that small dwelling. He didn’t exactly get a good look at what you were doing, but Din can only assume the two are connected.
Din tips is head to the side. “You mingle with them?”
“To an extent,” shrugs Crix. “They have no standing army or protection. We look after them, and they take care of us. It has kept our tribe safe for many years.”
Din nods and then bends at the knees to pick up Grogu, cradling the foundling close to his heart.
Crix fetches Din in the early hours of the morning. Grogu is left behind with the other younglings. Din is reluctant to do so, but Crix is persuasive, and Grogu is visibly happy to be amongst other children.
The two men head back through the tunnel, stepping out into the forest. The sun is starting to rise but it’s hard to see through the gray clouds. It snowed overnight, and there is a dusting across the forest floor.
Three Mandalorians mingle just outside the exit. Two men and one woman. They greet Crix with firm handshakes.
“This is Din Djarin,” says Crix. “He’s joining us on our visit into town.”
“Passionate speech you made last night. I’m Jido. Welcome.” Jido and Din clasp forearms and shake.
Jido steps back and points his thumb over his shoulder at the other two Mandalorians. “That’s Ran and Cerra.” Ran gives Din a half-hearted salute while Cerra lifts her hand in greeting. Jido leans in and whispers. “They’re a bit boring.”
“Heard that,” snaps Cerra as she turns her back on the group. “We going?”
The five of them head into the trees, walking in the direction that Din entered from. When they exit, Din heads for the N1, looking it over for any signs of tampering. It’s clean, and Din sighs with relief.
“The people here don’t touch things that aren’t theirs. Your ship will be fine,” states Crix as he walks up beside Din. He runs his gloved hand over the wing in appreciation.
“On Tatooine, I had a run in with some Jawas,” replies Din.
Crix snorts. “What was left of your ship?”
“Nothing.”
Jido, Ran, and Cerra’s jetpacks ignite. Crix and Din follow suit, the five of them launching into the air. Din trails behind, following the four Mandalorians as they jet across dreary farmland.
In minutes they approach the small settlement Din visited yesterday, landing right outside the wall. The people moving about don’t even seem to care that a group of Mandalorians landed amongst them. They keep going about their lives as if is this the norm. It’s the same reaction they had with Din.
Din is almost always the stranger. The unknown variable. In crowded places, he is avoided unless someone needs something from him.
He stays at the back of the pack. Jido, Ran, Crix, and Cerra all appear relaxed. They chat amongst themselves, and even stop for an old woman who presents a basket to them full of the red berries Din saw yesterday. Each Mandalorian takes a handful and deposits the goods into various pockets of their flightsuits.
The old woman approaches Din and holds the basket out to him. He doesn’t want to offend her. He scoops out a decent handful and finds a home for them. He’ll share it with Grogu when he returns.
The old woman inclines her head and moves on. Din’s helmet follows her but Crix taps against Din’s upper arm, drawing his attention away from the woman.
Din inhales, and he isn’t sure if the voice receiver in his helmet picks up the soft sound.
You’re standing right there, eyes bright and eager.
“You found them,” you say enthusiastically.
“I did.” Din is nervous. Why is he nervous? Do you do this to him?
Crix crosses his arms and pops a hip. “The two of you know each other?”
You laugh, and it’s the loveliest sound Din has ever heard. “He stumbled in to Tarra’s workshop while we were preparing the Daily Strands.”
“Make enough for us?” asks Jido, his voice a bit sultry. A bit teasing. Din instantly hates that he’s speaking to you that way.
“There are plenty. So, yes,” you tease back, smiling widely.
Crix shifts, turning his body toward Din. “Since you’re our guest, you don’t need to follow us around while we work.” Crix inclines his head in your direction. “She’ll show you around a bit.”
You look so hopeful that Din cannot say no.
He walks beside you the entire time as you go on about the important buildings, the history of the people, and the finer details of your culture. Din is enraptured by how animated you are toward him. He hardly risks asking any questions, mostly wanting to hear you talk.
“Here we are.” You extend your hand toward the building Din stumbled into yesterday.
“Are we going inside?” asks Din skeptically.
You grin and push back the curtain, gesturing for him to come inside. He follows, and this time there are only two other women in this space. They greet Din politely, but return to their work. You walk over to a large table. On it, are…necklaces? Din isn’t entirely sure what they are.
With caution, he approaches, you present one to him.
“These are Daily Strands. We wear them every day during the winter observance.” You point to the threads holding it together. “The threaded cord is the base, symbolizing the importance of community.” Next, you point to the flower petals. “These symbolize the eventual thaw and growth of new life.” Then the red berries. “These are native to the planet. We dry them out to represent the frozen ground.”
“And what do these symbolize?” asks Din, pointing to long, thin, green, stick-like leaves.
“Abundance. These are needles from local trees, and they grow everywhere.” You smile softly. “But it’s more of a wish for prosperity in the future.”
These are what Jido and Crix were referring to.
 You gently lift the Daily Strand, presenting it to Din like an offering. “It’s customary to wear one of these.”
Din does not refuse. Instead, he lowers at the waist so that you can slide it over his helmet and around his neck.
You gently draw away and your hands fall to your skirts, your fingers fumbling with the fabric in nervousness. “It is also customary for the giver to kiss the cheeks of the receiver.” You shrug. “But I can make an exception given the circumstances.”
Din remembers how eager Jido was to receiving one of these. Briefly, Din imagines you kiss the sides of Jido and Crix’s helmets, and Din instantly simmers.
Not knowing how to ask, Din bends again, this time just enough that all you’ll need to do is to go up on your toes to place those gentle lips against his beskar.
“No exceptions,” he murmurs.
Your mouth forms a soft o, and then it cools, turning into tender satisfaction. Slowly, you kiss the curve of his helmet on the right side and then the left.
Even with the helmet on, Din still manages to catch a whiff of your scent. You smell like the trees and warm sugar. Without instruction, his hand brushes against your hip.
You do not draw away, and that pleases something deep within Din. When you pull back, Din instantly misses your heat.
“I will wear this every day,” says Din, his hand resting against it briefly.
You laugh, and Din doesn’t understand what you find so funny. “It’s a Daily Strand. You receive a new one each day.”
Every day? Does that mean you’ll kiss him every time you place a new one around his neck?
“Then I will be back tomorrow for a new one.”
“Promise?” you murmur.
“Promise.”
Part 2
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256 notes · View notes
omgreally · 2 months
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Defeat
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Defeat - E 18+ - Din Djarin/F!Reader - 900 words Warnings: fluff with a side of smut. The post-Season 3 drabble nobody asked for.
Din Djarin's brooding again.
You are fairly certain he does it unconsciously, like breathing, protecting Grogu, or beating the living shit out of people. Usually, there's a correlation between those. But then there are the quiet moments, the softer moments in between the more visceral ones.
It's like he doesn't know what to do with himself now except exude an aura of I-really-wish-I-was-killing-someone-right-now.
He's sitting on the porch, feet up, watching Grogu levitate some frogs.
"Retirement doesn't suit you, Djarin," you tell him, not for the first time.
The helmet turns, and Mando--Djarin--lowers his feet as if he's ashamed, as if he's been caught doing something he shouldn't, like relaxing. To a Mandalorian, that's tantamount to heresy.
He still keeps his helmet on when he's outside.
You approach slowly, as if he's a wild animal, stopping short of extending your hand for him to sniff. The impassive helmet just stares. So you insinuate yourself onto his lap, and the vocoder digitizes a soft noise as you settle with your back against his chest.
"What are you ruminating about this time?" You watch Grogu juggle a family of amphibians, giggling.
"Nothing," Din Djarin says, a fuzzy rumble against your back. He moves your hair away from your neck, and you shiver at the brush of his gloved fingers. His thumb finds a knot in your trapezius and presses in firmly.
"Liar," you reply, but without any real venom. He's working the knot out with slow circles, and it feels quite nice, actually.
"I think I know the problem," you say, trying not to groan. He makes a noise which means go on, lifting the hairs on the back of your neck. "You're bored. There's not enough adrenaline in your system when nobody's been trying to kill you for a while."
Djarin is silent, which means you're right, but I don't like it.
"Think Grogu can keep himself occupied for a while?" you add, with the dark heat of the forge in your voice and your fingers drifting back along the outside of his thigh.
He stands, and you slip off his lap. "Perimeter's active," he says. "He won't wander too far."
There was a time when he wouldn't let Grogu out of his sight. A robust security system--the one you installed--helped. You're impossibly glad you did as you let Din Djarin grab your hand and lead you back inside the house.
He turns off the lights. Clothes hit the floor like bodies amid the thunk of weaponry and armour. Calloused skin meets yours, and you fight to kiss him, but he dodges away and applies his mouth, impossibly warm, to your neck and lower.
You don't make it easy for him. He handles you delicately--for him--but each touch weakens his defense. The sweep of your fingers over his chest, his stomach, disarms him. He wrestles to pin you to the wall, but he knows he's defeated. The battle was lost the moment he took your hand.
The bed is soft, and Din Djarin is hard above you, inside you. The stretch and burn of him is enough to unmake you. But he is trembling, his mouth open against the hollow of your collarbone, panting as if he's been running for his life. You wrap your legs around his waist and draw him in closer. His scalp is damp beneath your fingertips.
But Mando has always been pinpoint-accurate with both his aim and his timing. He rears back enough to reach between your bodies, and his trigger finger settles on your clitoris. He knows when to strike a last-minute killing blow, and this is it. You curse and cry his name, and you can just about see, in the dim half-light from under the door, the curve of a triumphant grin on his face, and that's what it does you in.
The blinding rise of your orgasm crests, burning through your nerves from his fingers and his cock. You clench around him and try to cover your own mouth with your hand, but he drags it away, pins it to the bed and leans forward to growl in your ear, "I want to hear you."
You writhe and sob, but the Mandalorian is relentless, driving into you with the force of a man possessed, to whom surviving the next thirty seconds is the only option he has left. It's not until you're limp and spent beneath him that he stops moving, that he withdraws his hand and lets you go so you can breathe again.
He keeps his weight off you, his arms bracketing your head, hips pressed to yours, savouring the twitch and shudder of you around him.
"You win," you croak as soon as your ability to speak returns.
"Just because you've surrendered doesn't mean I'm done with you yet," he says, and shifts a little atop you. Oversensitive, you gasp at the hard, wet slide of him; nearly frictionless, he's so deep inside you that you ache.
"I can't," you gasp.
But you can. And you do. And so does he.
Afterwards, he tells you it's a draw.
When you head back outside, limping a little--and there's a definite swagger to Djarin when he notices that--Grogu is more or less where you left him, sitting by the pond. His bat-wing ears twitch, and he babbles happily as the Mandalorian picks him up.
"Hey," you say, frowning as you notice something. "All the frogs are gone."
Grogu burps.
Din Djarin sighs. "Guess he won, too."
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loquaciousferret · 1 year
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Riduurok
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Pairing: Din Djarin/ The Mandalorian x f!reader
Warnings: Descriptions of blood, injury, anxiety, mentions of death. No explicit content. Maybe more so please read at your own risk.
Word Count: 2.1K
Authors Note: Part 2 is already confirmed. Thank you to @lovers-liability and @tightjeansjavi for their help and encouragement with this. I hope you love it.
Thank you for reading! - LF
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You knew something was wrong when the sun began to set. He had assured you he would have an easy hunt today and return long before dark. Your anxiety grew as each star made itself known in the night sky, each passing minute telling you he was in more and more danger.
After what felt like a lifetime of worry, the perimeter alarm sounded to announce someone’s approach to the ship. You hurried to check the cameras and your stomach dropped at the sight before you, Din, clearly very injured, limping towards the ship on shaky legs, clutching his neck.
You rush to open the doors and lower the ramp to take in the scene in more detail. His upper body is a painting of crimson on a hard beskar canvas. Smears of blood of a variety of shades littering his chest and shoulders.
You gasp, reaching out for him. “Din-“
Before you can continue or he can respond, he takes one more wobbly step towards you, and collapses.
You freeze in panic. Grogu cries out from the corner of the room, having leaped from his crib at the sight of his dad returning.
A strangled moan is emitted from Din's helmet. He's not unconscious, yet. But if you don't get to treat him or at least see the condition of his injury, it wouldn't be long before he was.
“Din?" You ask, adrenaline taking over, replacing your fear with an ability to take action. "Din, are you shot?"
“Jus' grazed my neck." He responds, his voice shaky and pained.
"You- Your-" You stutter. "Din, I- You have to remove your helmet. I w-"
"No." He growls.
"Din, I won't touch you. You can lift it yourself, I need to see the wound. I will treat it quickly and you can put it right back on to recover."
"I said, no. Leave me. Bring me a med pack and get out."
You consider his request for a brief moment. He seems in no condition to treat himself. He has already collapsed to the floor, and he lays against the cool metal, hardly able to support his weight on his forearms. You are sure he won't be able to treat himself without passing out. A cocktail of tortured moans and grunts spills from under his helmet.
"Din, you must let me do this. There is no other way."
Grogu continues to cry. He can see his dad is in pain. He can see you are too, pleading with him.
"Take him out of here," Din gasps, "Bring me a med pack, and leave me. That is not a request."
You whimper, terrified with both options, not sure whether to do as he asks or to defy him. After a moment, you give in, rushing to sweep Grogu into your arms and hurrying to Din's quarters to put the baby in the bed. You know you don't have long. You practically toss him onto the bed, "I'm sorry baby, your daddy will be fine, stay here."
You rip a med pack from the wall on the way back to where Din lies. What you see makes your heart stop. A pool of blood is growing around his helmet. He is no longer supporting his weight on his arms, instead he is completely collapsed to the floor, his helmet twisted at what looks to be a painful angle. Laboured, raspy, breaths sound from his helmet.
"Oh, Din." You gasp, dropping to your knees beside him.
He stretches out a hand to reach for the medpack, and you give him a syringe loaded with bacta. He drops it instantly when you place it in his outstretched palm, his hands shaking and weak.
You realise there is no way he will be able to administer his own treatment.
You plead with him again, "Din, please. Please, just let me do this. I will never tell a soul. I w-"
"Stop." He snaps. "I will not let you do this."
"Please, no." You are sobbing now, and he flexes his fingers, stroking your knee.
"Yes, and I am sorry. I am sorry. I really am. Tell me you will look after him."
"N-No, Din. I don't have to look after him. You aren't going anywhere." You argue, in disbelief at what he is suggesting.
"Tell me you will do it." He says, his voice barely above a whisper but somehow still commanding in its tone. "Give me your word, and it's the last thing I will ask of you."
"No." You cry, "Just let me take it off, Din, he needs you. I need you."
He breathes. "I am sorry, truly. But you must not touch my helmet. This is my fate, mesh'la. It is my duty to fulfil it. This is the way."
You start to panic, sobbing, you are confused, devastated, and more than anything, angry at him. You are downright furious that he thinks he can leave Grogu, that he thinks you two can go on without him. And next, you are angry at yourself, for begging him to abandon his beliefs for your own somewhat selfish desire of being with him.
Din has never told you much about his religion other than the basics. But you have picked up bits and pieces. You have heard stories from others, shared around crackling campfires, whispered under night skies from people who suspected what you and Din had, reassuring you that one day you would look into your lover's eyes. And you will, you remind yourself, as long as you can get him through this. Suddenly, you have the answer, and the words escape you before you can fully process the thought.
"Marry me."
"What?" You can't place his tone. If it is shock, then you don't blame him. You are shocked too. The intensity of your feelings towards Din have hit you like a ton-weight tonight. What you had thought was attraction was suddenly proving itself to be profound, ardent, undeniable love.
But perhaps it is a plain rejection of the idea.
"Th- They told me, if we were to be married that I- That-" You splutter, his breathing becoming more and more shallow with each passing second.
"Mhi solus tome." He murmurs.
"What?" You say, unable to hear him clearly or understand his words.
"Repeat it." He instructs.
"Mhi solus tome." He says again, his voice slightly quieter.
You try your best to copy the unfamiliar language. "Mhi solus tome."
"Mhi solus dar'tome." His voice is faint, as if it is coming from the other side of the room.
"Mhi solus dar'tome."
"Mhi me'dinui an."
"Mhi me'dinui an."
"Mhi ba'ju-" His voice trails off, his last syllable turning into a strained exhale.
"Din?" You say. He is completely unresponsive.
You place your hands on his shoulders and shake him lightly, desperate to bring him back to you but scared to cause him more pain or injure him further.
"Din, please-"
He whispers your name.
"Din, please, Din keep going, you have to-"
He whimpers. The sound makes you feel as though his pain is going right through you, too, and you cry harder.
"Din, plea-"
"Mhi ba'juri verde."
You can barely hear his words but you repeat what you could make out.
"Mhi ba'juri verde."
He lets out another hopelessly painful breath.
"Din? What next, Din, keep going for me."
He doesn't respond. Your hands are covered in the blood seeping from his helmet.
"Din?"
"We-" He coughs and you can see that the motion wracks his body with pain.
"Yes, Din? what is it? What next, Din, please, ple-"
"It is done." He chokes out.
You brace yourself to remove his helmet, terrified to discover the severity of the injury beneath. You grip the bottom of the beskar armour and carefully pull.
He cries out in agony.
You sob as you keep going, slowly removing it to expose his skin centimetre by centimetre. His neck is soaked with blood to the extent that you can't even discern his skin tone. As it reaches past his jaw, you see scruffy dark stubble. Then, flushed cheeks and an angled nose. Eyes, of which you don't know the colour as they are screwed shut in pain, but covered with a layer of thick dark eyelashes. A strong brow bone and a few lines of age. Thick, dark hair, plastered across his forehead with sweat, but you can make out scruffy curls.
You can't waste any time looking at him, though, moving on swiftly to frantically wipe blood from his neck and find the source of his injury.
A graze, he had told you. But the sight before you told you something entirely different.
You pick up the bacta syringe from where he had dropped it to the floor and carefully inject it as close to the wound as possible. He doesn't so much as wince, and you are terrified that you may already have lost him. With the thick liquid fully released, you retract the syringe. You spray the wound next, enough so that it closes, and dress it in a thick padded bandage.
Soft breaths still escape his lips but this can only ease your anxieties slightly. Until he wakes up, you are balanced on a precipice, unable to ascertain if you were too late to save him.
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You must have collapsed from exhaustion, spending the longest night of your life, curled into the side of Din, your-
Your husband, Din Djarin.
You remain in a blissful sleep-like state for a mere moment, wondering if it is also a custom of his religion that you will take his last name. You hope it is.
But then you shoot upright, the events and circumstances rushing back of how exactly you went from... well, whatever you were, to spouses, in such a short period of time.
You yearn to feel his warmth, but you are met with cold steel against you.
You yearn to hear his voice, but you are met with silence in the wide-open heart of his ship.
You force yourself to look at him. The lines that were drawn between his brow and across his forehead last night have disappeared, he looks peaceful. He looks beautiful. You take your time analysing his features. You never want to look at anything else now that you have seen him.
A feeling of calm and contentedness washes over you. You don't know why, but you know he is going to be okay. You know he is going to come back to you.
And just like that, he does.
Your name falls from his lips.
His eyelashes flutter and you see him slowly opening his eyes. This seems as though it takes exertion, as he breathes heavily whilst doing so.
For a moment, you panic internally. What if he has forgotten? What if he regrets it? What if he thinks you did this without his consent?
"Din-" You gasp, as he looks up at you and takes you in.
His features flash in a strange expression and you feel as though your suspicions are confirmed.
"Din, I promise, I didn't d- We- I-"
His lips turn up ever so slightly into a reassuring smile.
"I haven't forgotten any of it, my love. I just can't believe you could possibly have looked more beautiful than I already thought you were through my visor."
You throw yourself at him and he grunts but then laughs.
"I-" The tears start again. You are overwhelmed with emotion. Relief and elation numb the hurt, but you don't know how you will ever get over the night you nearly lost him. You know you will never be able to put this feeling into words.
Somehow, you don't need to. It is as though he can read your mind.
"Shh," He says, rubbing your back. "I know, cyare. I know."
You stay like this for a moment until you pull back from him. He removes a glove and strokes a tear from your cheek.
"I'm here now, my love. I will never let you hurt for me like this again."
You nod and sniffle. You believe him.
"Where's the baby?" He asks softly.
"Oh," You say, and you laugh a little, surprised and embarrassed. He was the reason you were here after all, your job was as his caretaker. But for a moment, you had forgotten him. "I put him in your bed last night. I didn't hear him all night . I hope that means he slept through."
"Alright. Go and tend to him. I will get us the hell off this planet. I need to take you to my people."
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MASTERLIST
Taglist: @silkiers @tightjeansjavi @chaotic-mystery @lovers-liability
Tag because I think you might like this: @deceiver-of-gods
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thepascalofus · 7 months
Text
Supply Run - Exchange (part three)
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AO3
Part Two
Pairing: Mando/Din Djarin x afab!Reader
Summary: You’ve been Mando’s crew partner for a year now. Throughout that year Mando has warmed up to you and given you signs that your heart throbbing crush on him is reciprocated. There’s one thing making you hesitate. The condoms he bought on the most recent supply run.
Word Count: 19.1k (HAHAHAHAHAAA)
Chapter Summary: Previous feelings for each other are revealed, and then those feelings are explored. An exchange, if you will.
Content Warnings: 18+ only, MDNI, nervous!reader, soft!!!!!!mando, reader loves facial hair, fluff fluff fluff, helmet comes off, cuddling, SMUT: making out, grinding, PRAISE kink, lowkey size kink, big dick mando, consent king mando (consent king mando is the hottest mando, it is law), m and f masturbation, dirty thoughts of reader and of mando, piv, unprotected and protected piv, fingering f receiving, ass grabbing, a lil nipple play, half naked and naked mando, lovey dovey sex hehehehehe, physical descriptions of reader are as neutral as possible but reader has a vagina
A/N: I cannot thank you all enough for your responses on the first two parts. I also cannot thank you all enough for your patience for part three. It is longer than part one and two combined (y’all voted for me to post in one long part, ya get what ya ask for!), so I think it was worth the wait. Also I didn’t proofread this because I was too excited to post it. Will read over it later though! ENJOY!!
THREE MONTHS PRIOR
A thudding sound was produced by Mando’s footsteps up the Crest’s ramp. Looking up from the article you were reading on your Holopad, your eyes were trained on the lowering ramp. You nestled a bit further into your reading nook–a pile of blankets and some pillows stacked against the wall–as you anticipated the outside air hitting you.
Mando entered the Crest covered in mud. His footprints left a trail up the metal of the ramp. That’s another thing to add to the list of chores, you thought. The planet’s surface was half-swamp, so of course he would come back looking like he just rolled in bantha shit. A struggling bounty that Mando was dragging by the cuffs snapped around their wrists only made the mess worse. 
With a grunt and a push, the quarry was frozen in the carbonite cell before Mando could finish the harsh grit of his, “Dank farrick.” His muddy, gloved hand left a mark on his vambrace when he touched it to close the ramp. 
Silence.
A modulated exhale.
He stood with his expansive shoulders slumped and helmet turned downwards a bit. An apologetic tone crackled through the helmet, “I’m really sorry about the mess,” he slowly said as he used his hands to gesture around him.
Yeah, it wasn’t the most fun chore in the galaxy, but the alternative would be sitting and reading an article on your Holopad. Or sitting next to Mando in the cockpit, the streams of light gleaming off of his armor as you two have a sleepy conversation. They do sound like better alternatives, but you wanted to maximize your time with Mando.
You knew that Mando would help you clean up the mess. More time with Mando greatly sweetened the task of scrubbing the hull.
“I’m going to uh,” he glanced down at the muddy ensemble that covered his body, “go rinse off real quick.” He began his path towards the fresher door and stood still in front of the door. The helmet turned towards his right shoulder, like he was lost in thought. You could tell he concluded his reasoning as the helmet turned back to face the fresher door and he reached up to unlatch his armor. 
First the chest plate was placed on the floor.
Tung.
Then the thigh guards.
Tang. Tang.
Vambraces.
Ting. Ting.
Pauldrons.
Dunk. Dunk.
It wasn’t unusual for Mando to remove his armor outside of the thresher. Occasionally the planet he needed to hunt on was sweltering hot, and removing the armor helped him cool down. Other times it was the inverse, the armor was too cold and he needed to heat up. It made sense to you this time as well. His armor was dirty so removing it before stepping into the fresher helped him clean up easier.
You didn’t realize he would apply the same logic to his mud-soaked flight suit.
Reaching up, his gloved fingers fiddled with the buttons at the top of his shirt. Eventually he was successful in undoing them and brought his hands behind his neck. He gripped the collar of his shirt and pulled it up and over the helmet. Off of his torso and onto the floor.
Plap.
The saturated long sleeve clung to his upper body like a surgical exam glove. Every muscle. Every ripple with his movement. They shined in the light of the Crest and displayed every lean curve of the Mandalorian’s body. Once more he reached up, this time undoing the buttons on his long sleeve.
Oh kriff.
Hands gripping the back collar of the shirt, the removal of the wet, black fabric revealed golden tan skin. Scars littered the expanse of his back from the years of combat he’d endured. The muscles that previously rippled underneath black fabric now gleamed under tan skin, coated with a layer of sweat.
Plap.
Oh kriff.
You were behind the nearly beskar-less man. Knowing he couldn’t see you, your jaw dropped.
Mando stepped out of his shoes, which revealed clean black socks. Hopefully his boots were equipped with mechanisms to keep his feet dry. Lastly, he slid off his gloves.
Plap. Plap.
Veiny, golden hands–matching his torso–were ungloved. His fingers were thick with well kept nails. You supposed that longer nails would make hand-to-hand combat difficult. As he opened the fresher door you watched his hand flex around the handle. His biceps bulged in the process of pulling the metal door open.
Once he was inside the fresher, you heard shuffling. After a minute or two, the door opened slightly. A large hand and toned forearm reached out and discarded his pants and underwear on the floor.
Plap.
The water began to run in the fresher and the pattering of liquid hitting the fresher floor filled the Crest. Occasional variations in the pattering occurred when Mando moved his body underneath the stream of water. 
Then the pattering stopped. Mando must have been drying himself off, the slight shuffling sounds made their way to your ears. Those sounds ceased as well.
The Mandalorian cleared his throat and called out your name, “Um. Hey.”
Blinking a few times, you snapped out of your daydream-like state, “Yeah?” You called in response.
A pause. “Would you mind getting me some pants, please?” His voice was tight–possibly in embarrassment.
Your eyes widened and body sat still, “Uh, yeah sure! Where do you keep clean pairs?” You asked.
“Right side of my bunk. First cabinet on the left.” He raised his voice in order to enunciate his words. 
Before you knew it, you were leaning into Mando’s bunk. Your gaze floated around the space in a quick glance. It was clean and organized. After witnessing his wide and tall frame the bed looked almost too small. Or maybe he just looked that large.
Your hand opened the first cabinet on the left and the other hand selected a clean pair of pants off the top of the stack. They were soft, fleece-like. Realizing they were sweatpants you extended your arm to put them back, but then hesitated as your hand hovered over the pile. Mando just came back from a hunt. A swampy, muddy hunt at that. He should get to be comfortable now.
The sweatpants remained in your hand and your footsteps took you to the fresher door. “I got you a pair,” you shyly announced. 
A squeak came from the fresher door’s hinges as the crack in the door allowed Mando’s hand to stick out of the space. His palm was open, waiting for the pants to meet his touch. Your arm reached forward and placed the soft pants into the grasp of his thick fingers.
“Thank you.” The smooth bass of his voice entered your ears and went south. Air moving through his vocal chords produced warm, honey-like vibrations and they made you melt. “I’ll get the rest,” he concluded, and shut the fresher door. 
You stood and studied your bleary reflection on the fresher door in awe at what you’ve experienced. Mando’s actual voice–without the helmet.
Shuffling began and ended abruptly. Lost in the awe, you didn’t realize the Mandalorian opened the door and took a step out. In consequence, his chest collided with your torso and sent you tumbling backwards. Backwards into a small puddle of swamp water and peaty mud.
“Di’kutla,” Mando let out a now modulated grunt.
Useless, worthless in Mando’a. Your heart stung a bit at the word. It’s not like you wanted to be covered in swamp gunk.
“Sorry, I-I didn’t mean to make more of a mess,” you stuttered, nervous at the potential of him being mad at you.
Without a word, he reached down and hauled you to your feet, large hands grasped you at your waist. You became off balance and placed your hands on his chest for leverage. A slight gasp escaped your throat at the sudden movement–and at touching Mando’s bare chest.
His skin was soft, but rough. Thin black hairs littered his sternum and the surrounding skin. A light trail made its way down his soft, yet toned, stomach and disappeared past the waist of his sweatpants. Once you realized where your gaze settled–the soft bulge displayed behind the black fabric–your eyes snapped back up to his visor and your hands returned to your sides. Mando’s hands brushed the insides of your forearms. The skin on his hands was rough and warm, just like the skin on his chest.
The T shape tilted and then shook from side to side, “I’m di’kutla, not you. I’m the one that pushed you over.” 
His head peered downwards and noticed the placement of his hands, he quickly jerked them back to his sides and nodded, “Let’s get cleaning.”
The Mandalorian quickly pulled an outfit together, which lacked his usual beskar–the same black sweatpants, a black t-shirt, and a pair of black socks–and you mirrored his actions. Thankfully, he only caused your clothes to get dirty and not the rest of you. Your clean outfit was more revealing, which allowed you to bend and twist to scrub the mud off of the Crest’s interior.
While scrubbing, you would catch Mando out of the corner of your eye as he stole glances at you. An eyebrow of yours raised at his glances. You shot him a quick, “Don’t worry Mando, I’m getting it all,” in a teasing manner.
Looking back at the beskar-less man, he shook his helmet and chuckled, “I’m not worried about you getting it all. You keep the Crest sparkling clean. Was just…seeing if you needed help over there.” His visor returned to focus on the task of removing the mud from the floor of the hull.
The cleaning finished after an hour and a half. You were shocked at the efficiency, but you supposed two people cleaning aided in achieving the cleanliness of the Crest. Scrubbing the silver floors and walls tired you out, and Mando certainly felt the same after his hunt and scrubbing.
Sleep permeated throughout the air of the Crest and nestled itself into yours and Mando’s bodies. Fluid motions weaved your bodies past each other throughout the hull. Mando went back to change in his bunk while you used the fresher for your nightly routine. Once you were finished, you closed all the cabinets in the small space, signaling the return of your nightly products to their original places.
Which usually signaled Mando to stand outside of the fresher door.
His footsteps became louder as he strode to his usual spot across from the metal door of the fresher. You weren’t surprised to see Mando leaning against the wall of the hull.
But you were surprised at the bare chest staring back at you. The dark hairs on his chest littered your vision once more. The Mandalorian’s arms were crossed, which displayed every finely tuned muscle in the dim light of the hull.
You wanted to jump his bones. Climb him like a tree. Feel the expanse of his trunk-like arms under your palms.
“Are you all done there?” His modulated bass crackled through your thoughts. Straightening up and snapping out of your daydreams, you stepped to the side and nodded. Mando’s frame became larger as he approached you. Once your bodies were about to pass each other, an ungloved hand settled on your hip and gave you a slight squeeze.
“Thank you,” he said. His visor met your eyes before he closed the door to the fresher. 
You got comfy in your makeshift bed–a nice pillow, a thick sleeping pad, and a cozy blanket–and waited for Mando to finish his nightly routine. You always tried to stay up and say good night to Mando before you drifted off to sleep.
Facing the side of the Crest the fresher was on, your head hit the cushion of your pillow and your thoughts wandered.
Mando looked so fucking good. Deliciously good.
You’ve had thoughts about him before. Perverse thoughts. But they were never this strong. But you’ve also never seen him this bare this many times.
His strong arms could wrap around you and flood your body with his warmth. Broad hands would travel up and down your back, soothing any negative thoughts away. Warm skin against yours could act like a salve for your worries.
You could think of everything vividly. His arms. Hands. Chest. Even his legs.
But the feel and morphology of his lips was blurry in your mind's eye.
Yet, you wanted his lips so bad–wanted him so bad–that you didn’t mind the unfocused image in your brain.
You wanted his lips to chase after yours like they were a bounty with the highest reward he’s seen. You needed to feel the slick of his saliva mixing with yours. The dancing of your two tongues in a battle of lust. Not only did you pine after his kiss, but you sought everything that would accompany it as well.
Mando’s ungloved hands would run up and down the planes of your body. Squeezing and palming your features as he pleased, expressing his want for you. The comfortable weight of him on top of you as your mouths molded together. His shifting muscles underneath your palms as you copied his wandering hands. You’d trail your fingertips over the never-ending expanse of his firm back. The pressure of his hard shaft would grind against your mound.
And the sounds.
The sounds.
You’ve heard him grunt before, in pain, effort, exertion, while he handled his bounties.
But you wanted to cause the sounds instead.
His lips could slide against yours and vibrate as he lets out a soft groan of pleasure. The bare chest on top of yours would rumble, sending shivers of delight up and down your spine. Your fingers would dig into his back in response, which would only increase the intensity of his groans. His breath would hitch as the head of his cock rubbed against the point in your walls that had you reeling.
And finally his voice.
Modulated or not, you hoped he would reciprocate the want you had for him. Your thighs pressed together in an attempt to soothe the ache between them.
“Maker, you feel so good.”
“Need you right now.”
“You like that, baby? Yeah? Good.”
“Fuucckkk, always so good for m-.”
You were cut off by the squeaky hinges of the fresher door, accompanied by Mando’s footsteps. Still shirtless, he came into one side of your vision and slowly walked to the other side. Your face heated up at his presence and the thoughts you just had about him. He stopped in front of his bunk and looked at you. 
The T of his visor became diagonal, “You okay?” He questioned you.
Realizing he caught on, your face heated up even more as you produced a response, “Y-yeah! Yeah. Just…thinking.”
Nice save.
His helmet returned to its natural positioning. “What’re you thinking about?” He questioned once again. His large hands clasped in front of him just below his waist. Maker, he was huge. Mando put the width of the doorframe to shame as he continued to stare at you.
“Just…” You quickly tried to remedy the one sided awkwardness. “Just thinking about a book I’m reading. The plot is getting more complex.” Your shoulders rose and fell in a shrug to make your answer seem nonchalant.
“What book? Is it the cowboy one?” Mando replied. He leaned against the doorframe to get comfortable.
Your heart throbbed at his thoughtfulness. The cowboy-related book was one you brought up to him a couple weeks ago, when he asked what you were reading. Not wanting to lie to him, you shook your head and told the truth, “No, I finished that one a couple days ago. This one is about,” you trailed off, and then lied, “This is a romance book.” Your face became hot once again. At least you weren’t completely lying.
“Romance?” Mando asked, “What’s this book called?” His helmet tilted in interest. You could pick up a teasing tone if you listened closely enough.
“Oh, I don’t think you’d like it,” you returned. He usually asked for book titles when he was interested in reading them as well. 
His bare shoulders shrugged, causing his chest to flex for a moment. “Was just curious what you were reading.” He sounded a bit disappointed. The door frame appeared to widen as he turned to enter his bunk.
Not wanting to leave him hanging, you made up a book title, “Hunter and Prey.” Your eyes widened at the sheer explicitness of the three words that left your lips. Hunter and Prey? Really? It would have been easier just to tell him what you were daydreaming about him railing you. 
Mando’s broad frame filled the entrance to his bunk once again. “Hunter and Prey?” He said in a teasing tone, one much more decipherable. 
You throw his tone right back at him, “Oh c’mon. The book has romance and adventure. Two birds with one stone.” You’ve told him how much you like adventure books, so hopefully your lie stuck.
The beskar helmet slanted in thought. “I guess so,” he settled his playful response and paused. A playful tone arose from his modulator once more, 
“Don’t get too interested in bounty hunters. I think getting caught is only fun in the books.” His chest, dark hairs splaying across the surface, vibrated as he chuckled.
A slight smile spread across your face at his joke, “You never know, some bounty hunters don’t take their job as seriously as you do,” you stuck your tongue out at him in jest. 
Mando shook his head, probably biting back a chuckle, and faced his torso towards you for the final time that night, “Good night.” 
Still smiling, you responded, “Good night.”
The bunk door shut and only a dim light in the hull remained as a light source. Shadows from different cargo boxes cast themselves across the silver wall. It would take too much work to decipher which reflections on the walls belonged to which items. Warm light from a lamp near your living space casted a blanket of relaxation over the area. You couldn’t escape the feeling, and your body slumped into the material of the sleeping pad.
Once you closed your eyes, you realized your body was the only thing that the warm light seemed to calm down. In your mind, one thought took center stage.
Mando.
The way he leaned against the door frame. A broad expanse of dark hair covered his chest and traveled down past his waist, the horizontal and vertical lines of hair mimicking the T of his visor. Crossed arms were decorated with a smooth topography of muscles. His voice, laced with relaxation and ease. How attentiveness was like second nature to him. 
How far did that attentiveness extend?
You thought about how carefully he listened and remembered details from your conversations. Picking up on things you’ve needed without you even realizing they’re necessary. Like the sleeping pad you’re laying on. The warm, cozy blanket he came back with one day. 
Would he do the same in bed?
Your hand traveled down to your mound. Dipping under your waistband, your fingertips found your clit. Slow motions started to stimulate the bundle of nerves, sending waves of pleasure throughout your body. It wasn’t the first time you masturbated on the Crest, you were human after all. But it was the first time you masturbated without assistance–from a book, video, or picture–and were spurred on by thoughts alone. 
He’d probably listen to your breath hitch as his thick, veiny fingers hooked into a spot on your inner walls just right. And he’d continue, hitting that exact spot over and over. With trained precision. Like it was nothing.
Upper teeth bite down on your lower lip as you thought about his fingers inside of you. How thick they are. How skilled he would be with them. Wet seeped from your slit onto your bottoms. The fingertips from your clit reached down to collect your wetness, and you resumed rubbing your clit at a faster pace.
He’d make you cum like it was his duty, as if it was part of his Creed. With confidence. Pride. Mando’s fingers would be soaked, so soaked that he’d raise them to meet your mouth. “Open.” He’d demand.
You knew you’d get that wet for him because you were already that wet for him. One of your hands continued rubbing your bundle while the other dipped into your entrance. A singular finger eased its way into your hole, but you wanted to feel the stretch. The stretch you knew his fingers would easily provide. Bringing another finger against the original one, you prodded at your entrance once more. You pushed into your wetness with two fingers.
That’s it.
Your eyes closed. Jaw dropped. 
Your thoughts wandered to his fingers once more, syncing your thoughts with the way your body felt. 
You’d take his fingers into your mouth and suck your slick from them. Right before they would retract, you coated the two digits in a layer of saliva. He observed his own fingers and understood your silent plea. “You want more, baby?” You nodded. His fingers returned to your wet hole and filled you once again.
Your own two fingers weren’t as thick as Mando’s, so you got used to the feeling of two. You needed more. The circling at your clit kept a constant pace as a third finger joined your other two. Your thoughts jumped to something that wasn’t his fingers.
His cock.
The soft bulge underneath the black fabric of his sweatpants. It was sizable, even when he was soft–you assumed he was soft–so how big would he be when he’s turned on? If his genetics maintained their pattern, he would be big.
He’d lean over you and line his hips up with yours. Each of your legs rested on one of his sides. A large hand would grip your hip to steady you, as he pushed the thick head of his cock into you. Mando would remain attentive. You knew he’d watch your face and listen to your breaths, your moans. His heavy cock found the same spot inside of you that his fingers did.
Your inner walls clenched around your three fingers. The strokes you took were slow and drawn out, savoring the fullness of your warmth.
Once he saw that you were comfortable, he’d pick up his pace. Your moaning increased, littered with, “please,” and, “Mando,” over and over. He’d groan at his name, fucking into you with more strength. Mando put the weight of his body behind his thrusts. Your body shifted up the mattress from the effort he put in. 
A small, wet sound began to echo across the hull, but you were too close to care. The hand at your clit fell into a perfect rhythm with the thrusts of the fingers entering and leaving your soaking hole. You bit your lip as you quieted a moan that threatened to leak from your mouth.
Mando’s broad palm and thick fingers would lace between yours, holding your conjoined hands above your head while he fucked into you. The head of his cock perfectly brushed against a spot deep within your walls. A place that you couldn’t reach by yourself. The Mandalorian’s hot breath fanned across your neck, he panted and groaned from his exertion. 
Another brush against your walls and you squeezed around him. “Fuucckkk,” he’d moan into your neck. He continued his pace and littered your neck in sloppy kisses. “That’s a good fucking girl.”
Both of your hands worked faster. Three fingers fucked into your hole, curled to try and hit the spot deep inside of you. Your other hand increased the pace of the study rub over your throbbing clit. The bottoms you wore felt soaked against your lower hand, yet you couldn’t care less.
Mando’s thrusts would be relentless. Hard. Fast. The weight of his heavy balls slapped against the tighter hole beneath the one he was fucking. 
Plap. Plap. Plap.
Each thrust would be so final. Conclusive. He fucked you like he knew exactly how this would end. His visor hovered over your face. Your jaw was dropped and your eyebrows were furrowed. The horizontal line of his visor filled your vision. His voice was merely a growl, as he demanded, “Cum for me.”
Your body went stiff as euphoria washed over you in waves. Each wave took you apart and brought you back together. The wetness of your hole only became wetter, the sound echoed a bit louder than before. Despite your attention to staying quiet, your orgasm raged on. Every reassembly from each wave of pleasure calmed your being, and your stiff form slumped into your sleeping pad. Your hands kept moving, but at a slower pace. Another wave followed every thrust of your fingers. You savored the warmth your orgasm brought you. Halting your hands, your mind came-to. 
That was the hardest orgasm you’ve ever had.
That hunt kriffing sucked, Mando thought.
Cold water ran down Mando’s body as he rinsed himself off in the fresher. Drops of liquid pattered onto the metal floor, pooling at his feet. Everything in his body felt limp, a result of his exhaustion from the hunt. 
The only thing that wasn’t limp was his dick.
Mando was already on the edge of his perverse thoughts. Seeing you, comfortable and cozy, made his heart swell–and his cock. Providing for you was like breathing. After every hunt he looked forward to meeting your gaze and a soft smile spreading across your face. 
Not only did he get to see you comfortable, but he saw you displaying your attraction to him. A display that included dropping your jaw when he took his shirt off.
He caught you gawking at him in the reflection of his chest plate. Your jaw dropped when he removed his final layers, and Maker, it only made his situation worse. Not only was his body dirty, his thoughts were dirty too. 
Before his brain started to spiral, he quickly completed his rinse-off and turned off the shower in the fresher. Stepping out, he realized he didn’t bring any fresh clothes in with him. 
Shit.
You were in the hull and would probably bring him something if he asked for it. But what does he ask for? A full outfit? He at least needed bottoms. He thought of how complicated it would be to explain where multiple things are in his bunk through the metal door of the fresher, so he opted to just ask for one thing–pants.
“Um. Hey. Would you mind getting me some pants, please?” Mando asked. He was a tad embarrassed. He plans hunts meticulously to save the most amount of time, he’s attentive to every detail in combat, and he forgot to bring pants into the fresher with him.
You brought him the pair and the Mandalorian quickly changed. Pausing before he touched the door handle, Mando became nervous. What if your jaw-dropping was one of disgust and not of attraction?
Only one way to find out.
Mando laid on the mattress in his bunk and finally let his thoughts wander. They wandered like a desperate quarry. So desperate to find a discreet place to live, but showing themselves at some point in the end.
He thought of the book you were allegedly reading: Hunter and Prey. You were reading a romance novel. About bounty hunters. 
His hardened cock only made his sweatpants tighter. Hips shifting upwards, he sought relief in adjusting his position. The only thing adjusting did was rub the head of his cock against the fabric of his pants. Black fabric created a heart-stopping friction against his tip. 
Dank farrick.
Finally giving in to his perverse thoughts, he let them wander. Just like how he would let an easy bounty wander around town. At any minute, he could capture them and complete his hunt, but sometimes he enjoyed “playing with his food” first.
His imagination put you on center stage. Your hair. Your eyes. The shape of your body and the planes of it he sought to run his hands over. Warm skin would glide underneath his palms and act like a sedative. Calmness washed over his mind. Then he thought of your lips. So delicately crafted. Your lips framed your gorgeous smile, like they were housing an ancient masterpiece in an art gallery.
The smile you gave him whenever he returned from a hunt made his heart melt. You’d be snuggled up reading, bent over the small stove cooking, or hunched over a mechanical issue. No matter the situation, you would look up and find his gaze behind his visor. Something anyone else could rarely accomplish. He finally felt like he had a purpose hunting, besides survival. 
You.
You’d meet him halfway and wrap your arms around his torso. His arms would snake around your torso and hold you in a tight hug. “I missed you,” he’d say. “I missed you too,” your response would vibrate against his chest. His hands would run up and down your back, relishing the feel of your body in his capable arms. 
He groaned at the thought. In frustration of not being able to have you. The simple image of a hug had him reeling, desperate to meld his being with yours. You were so perfect and lived in his damn ship. You spoke with him as if he were just Din, and not Mando. Images of domesticity juxtaposed images of his bounty hunting profession. It was a blessing and a curse. 
The pair of you would retreat to his bunk and turn off the lights. Your bodies would press together as the two of you shared the space of the mattress. He would press his helmet into your hair, smelling the faint scent of you through the metal–and the shampoo you recently bought at a market. He’d use his broad hands and thick arms to bring you closer to him, nearly crushing you via cuddling.
Mando’s face heated up at the thought. Feeling the heat of your body against his was something he would be willing to get on his knees and beg for.
Hands would begin to drift and adventure in a bold manner. His palms would glide up and down your body, stopping occasionally to grasp and rub different areas. He thought of the way your ass would feel in his palms. Soft. A cushion. A spectacle he almost didn’t feel deserving of. His hands would wander north and his fingers would tease your nipples through your shirt. You’d gasp in response and squirm against him.
Maker. He almost forgot. The sounds you would make. The Mandalorian groaned and reached down to palm his cock through his sweatpants. Relief flooded his body like how precum flooded from the head of his cock. Rough palms glided up and down the silky skin of his shaft. Once the friction became too much, he reached into a side compartment and produced a small bottle. Squeezing the plastic sides of the bottle, a small dollop of lube was squirted onto his fingers. He quickly returned to his thoughts and his actions. The lube allowed his large grip to seamlessly run along the length of his shaft.
Shit. Would you be this wet?
After exploring the feel of your body, Mando would pull you to sit in his lap. You’d be in between his legs with your back facing him, your legs resting out in front of you. He’d grip the insides of your knees and encourage you to let your legs fall to either side. Once he was pleased with the positioning he asked, “Is it okay if I take these off?” Rough fingertips pinched at the waistband of your pants and underwear. Getting an enthusiastic nod and a small, raspy ‘yes’ in response, the Mandalorian pulled both articles of clothing off of your lower half. 
He focused his strokes near the tip of his cock. The nerves in the head of his shaft sent electric currents through his body. Normally his self-pleasure sessions weren’t this intense, but you did something to him. You were special. Better than any brothel service. Any piece of pornography. You were gorgeous. Beautiful. Mesh’la. 
He thought of dipping his fingers into your slit. Hopefully, that would pull another gasp from you. Every breathy exhale and pleasured sound only increased his need to hear them more frequently. Starting with one finger, his fingertip would push into your entrance. He’d go slow at first, pumping in and out of your wet sex knuckle by knuckle. Mando would give you some time to adjust to the feeling, and then increase his pace. Moans and gasps fell from your lips much more frequently than before. Your pussy was soaked from just a few fast strokes from his thick finger. If you were comfortable with it, he’d slip another finger alongside the singular one. His pace slowly increased to resume the speed that had your back and shaking legs pressed against his. 
“Ohhh, Ma- Mando-o,” would quietly cry from your throat.
“Fucckkk,” Mando said under his helmet.
Wet sounds emanated from the action of stroking his rough grip up and down his thick shaft. Underneath the helmet, he bit his lip in frustration. He already imagined you could feel heavenly around his fingers, but he needed to feel your slick walls around his cock.
First he would make you cum with his fingers. The orgasm would send you reeling back into his hold. You’d be a shaking and stuttering mess, reaching for one of his broad hands and lacing your fingers between his. An effective way to ground yourself.
“Good girl,” he’d praise.
After you came down from your high, his strong arms would bring you to lay down long ways on the mattress. Parting your legs once more, Mando’s broad hips settled between yours. Glistening folds were presented to him at the center of his vision. You looked delicious. He wished to taste you, but his need to fuck you overtook the pleads from his tastebuds.
His thumb rubbed slow circles on the bundle of nerves between your legs. Your sparkling eyes would meet the gaze behind his visor and your brows would furrow in desperation. He’d do anything you wanted. Anything to please you. 
“What do you want, mesh’la?” His gravelly voice echoed throughout the small bunk.
You’d bite your lip, shyness creeping over your face, but you overcame the feeling. He loved it when you were confident in asking for something from him. “I want you to fuck me,” you requested.
Mando let out a strangled groan at his thought of the words. He loved knowing that you wanted him. He loved when you voiced your desires, sexual or not. Your comfort in his presence was the most potent aphrodisiac Mando could consume. The tip of his cock throbbed at the thought, and his thumb reached up to attempt to sooth the sensation. Bare hips bucked into the air at the touch.
He would line his hips up with yours and prod the wide head of his shaft against your wet entrance. Before pushing in, he reached towards a cabinet to produce his bottle of lube. Mando quickly spread a generous amount over the veiny surface of his cock. As much as he wanted to fuck you, your comfort was his upmost priority. Giving himself a few strokes with his large grip–your eyes trained on his hands–he lowered his hips once more. The T of his helmet stared into your face as he slowly pushed into you. 
Your jaw would drop, just like it did in the reflection on his chest plate. The slick walls of your pussy hugged his thick cock, making his jaw drop in unison.
His wide hand tightened around his hardness. Each stroke had him fucking himself into his grip. Mando’s jaw clenched in concentration, the combination of his hand and thoughts of you were furthering him closer and closer to the edge.
The Mandalorian nearly collapsed on top of you, but he caught himself on his elbows, caging you in his hold. Silver beskar making up his helmet hovered over your face, his eyes trained on yours. A whimper escaped from your throat when the head of his cock brushed against a particular spot. He honed into the point and hit it repeatedly, with precision. 
Your fingers dug into his bare back, most likely leaving crescent marks in their wake. He dropped his helmet into the crook of your neck. The action allowed him to hear every sound you made. Sometimes simple breathy moans, interrupted by his slow, yet strong thrusts. Other times, you’d attempt sentences:
“Ma- Mando. Maker, you feel so good.”
“K-kriff you’re b-big.”
“Mm-mm-mm, don’t, stop.”
A knot coiled in the pit of Mando’s stomach. He threw his head back into a plush pillow and focused his grip towards the tip of his cock. Quiet, slick sounds filled the space of the metal-lined bunk. His breath quickened as his imagination delved deeper.
Mando’s thrusts slowed to a near halt as he raised an arm and propped an elbow to hit a switch on the wall. The space went dark. Everything went silent.
Hiss.
Tunk.
In a hurry, he muttered, “can I kiss you, baby?”
Instead of replying in words, you craned your neck to meld your plush lips with his. Delightful needles ran up and down Mando’s body in pleasure. In disbelief. Feeling your lips on his was something he’s only dreamt of, knowing that completing the action would be a risk to his Creed.
But at this moment, Creed be damned, he craved the motions of your mouth against his. Fighting and expressing a bond that he longed for, slick lips slid against each other in a battle of lust-influenced emotions. Mando pushed his tongue into your mouth, and in the same motion, pushed his cock further into your wet heat.
His mouth swallowed your moans as he rutted the head of his cock against the particularly sensitive spot within your walls. The grip you had on his broad back became stronger. Skin against his hips brushed against the skin of your inner thighs, and your legs captured his body closer to yours. Lips tightened against his, shifting into a portrayal of pleasure, leaving you unable to kiss him properly. In response, the Mandalorian buried his head into the crook of your neck and placed sloppy kisses along your skin.
Almost there. Jaw clenched and teeth gritting, Mando fucked into his fist at a brutal pace. Soft pants accompanied the slick sounds in filling the space of his bunk. Maker, he hoped you were asleep. He didn’t know how much louder he’d get, and more importantly, how much control he had over his volume.
Unable to maintain a steady grip on his back any longer, your grasp traveled to the soft, wavy locks of his hair. The Mandalorian groaned. He didn’t realize how much he craved that simple contact, one many took for granted. Your fingertips massaged his scalp, and it was as if you massaged all of his worrisome, negative thoughts away. 
“Oh, kriff Mando, keep going. F-fuck, you make me feel s-so good.”
A few more firm, yet gentle thrusts of his cock made you squeeze your soaking walls around his shaft. His balls felt heavy against your ass. He knew he was close.
“Mando, oh, oh, Mando, I’m gonna cum,” you whined out, the sound filled his ears as he continued his pace and his languid kisses against your neck.
Mando squeezed his eyes shut. Teeth dug into the thin skin of his lower lip, the hairs of his mustache tickled the skin directly below his lip. Large hands maintained the quick pace along the silky skin of his cock. Just a few more strokes and he was done for.
A knot twisted and turned in the pit of his stomach, and he fucked into your glistening seam with more vigor. Your moans became strangled whines. Each escaping gasp climbed octaves until you finally snapped and clamp your pussy around his cock.
“I’m cumming, oh fuck. Oh, Din!”
The Mandalorian snarled as thick streams of cum erupted from the head of his cock. Translucent, white liquid covered his stomach and chest. His head spun as the waves of pleasure washed over him. The sensations dug themselves deep into his bones and he felt like he was floating. A cloud of ecstasy trapped him and he didn’t want to leave. Seeking to draw his orgasm out longer, he continued fucking his hand until the sensations became too much. Mando’s chest dramatically rose and fell in the aftermath. Panting, he looked down at the mess he made on himself.
That was the strongest orgasm he’d ever had.
Reaching towards a different cabinet, he grabbed a soft towel and began wiping up his mess. Thoughts rushed throughout his mind, in contrast from his usual mindset after masturbating. In the chorus of wandering thoughts that still occupied his mind, one made itself bold and prominent.
Maker, he needs to ask you on a date.
Mando stood a meter or two in front of you. His hands hung uselessly by his sides. Posture slightly askew, you could sense he was doubting himself. Thick fingers played with the strings on the bracelet while he waited for your response.
Your jaw went slack, eyes widened. So you weren’t crazy. Everything added up. He made caf for you every morning. The small ‘good nights’ he gave you every night. The even smaller ones with an added word in Mando’a, one he never said around you. The things he told you, about his son, about his feelings, that he never said to anyone else. How he was careful around you, trying not to look intimidating. He tried to make you comfortable at all times.
He cared just like you cared.
You placed one foot in front of the other, giving Mando time to back up if he wanted. He remained in place as he waited for your approach. The armored man stood like a statue in the hull. The beskar and the metal of the Crest became one. If you didn’t focus on him too much, he almost looked like a statue erected in the middle of the hull. As the toes of your boots met the toes of his, you snaked your arms around his waist and pressed your head to his chestplate.
Mando instantly wrapped you up in his solid arms. His helmet was buried into the crook of your neck, the cold metal delightfully stung your skin, and he squeezed you. The Mandalorian’s large hands ran up and down your back as his hold refused to let you go.
You didn’t want to let him go either. Your body sought fusion with his warmth, with his being. All of the comfort he provided. All of the safety that he gave you. It seeped through his body to yours. A sense of peace washed over you.
Mando’s helmet shifted towards your head more, the modulator crackling near your ear, “Is it safe to say we feel the same?” His broad hand continued to rub along your back. The warmth from his palm created the most soothing sensation you’ve experienced. Bringing yourself out of the state of bliss to recognize the question he was asking, your brows furrowed. He almost sounded uncertain of himself, voice tinged with hope.
You leaned backwards to look into his visor. A Mandalorian. The Mandalorian. Sworn to a creed of combat and honor. Mando didn’t have a problem taking down a dozen people at a time, but confessing his feelings to you made him nervous. A small chuckle escaped from your chest at the realization.
The corners of your eyes crinkled from your laughter. His helmet tilted in confusion. “Yes, Mando, we feel the same.” You raised a hand to hold the crook of his neck, rubbing your thumb along the fabric of his cowl.
He pulled you into another hug, this one with more space between the two of you, so he could look down and into your eyes. Your hands rested on his chest plate, and his rested on your waist. A rumbling feeling against your hands made your head tilt in confusion this time. Mando continued to clear his throat. His breaths got slightly quicker.
“I feel like I need to explain th-,” the Mandalorian cleared his throat once again, “I need to explain the condoms.”
Your eyes widened. He doesn’t have to explain himself, but if he wasn’t going to the brothel, why did he need them? Mando only expressed interest in you, as far as you know.
Oh.
Oh.
The beskar-clad man’s chest rose and fell with a deep inhale and exhale, preparing himself for explaining the condoms on the receipt from the market.
“I was going to ask you out on a date. Just something simple,” he shrugged and brought his covered eyes to meet yours, “I bought your favorite snacks, got us some takeout, and I was going to give you the bracelet then. I just wanted to be prepared in case anything…escalated.” 
Cheeks burning, you took Mando’s hands into yours. You smirked and gave him a light chuckle. “You would try to fuck me on the first date, Mando?”
He looked down at the floor of the hull and shook his head. “I’d only do what you’re comfortable with,” he said, giving your hands a squeeze. 
“You also don’t even know if I would have said yes to a date,” you teased him.
A low rumble resonated from his chest, he hooked a finger through one of your belt loops to pull you closer. “I think I might have made a fair assumption.”
Hands glided up Mando’s chest, and you clasped them behind his neck. “You’ll never know unless you ask…” Another rumble came from his chest. A hand snaked its way from your waist to your chin. Mando’s index finger and thumb grabbed your chin and made you look at him face-to-face. 
“Well, would you like to go on a date with me?” The beskar helmet tilted and gleamed in the faint lights of the Crest’s hull. 
“Yes, Mando, of course I do.” Your eyes took after Mando’s helmet and they gleamed with joy. The dull silver of the hull starkly contrasted your excitement. Warmth between the two of you radiated and exploded throughout the space. Your energies seeped into the metal of the Crest just as your feelings seeped into each other's consciousness.
Mando’s large hand returned to rub long lines up and down your back. “I got your favorite snacks, some takeout…” He reminded you as his speech trailed off.
“How soon can we go on the date?” You asked eagerly in response. Snacks, takeout, and Mando sounded like the perfect combination. A perfect way to turn around the anxious thoughts that clouded your mind not even an hour ago.
“We can do it now…?” Mando suggested slowly.
“Yes! Yes please!” You bounced in place and threw your arms around the Mandalorian. He reciprocated your hug with an even tighter squeeze and pulled away from you.
“Let me find a good place to park the Crest,” Mando walked away and climbed the ladder to the cockpit. You went to follow him, but he turned and stopped you at the base of the ladder. “You stay down here, it’s going to be a surprise.” Before you could respond he bounded up the ladder and began takeoff.
Mando pressed his vambrace and the ramp slowly revealed the market in the distance. Lights flashed and others were lit in different colors. Rolling hills were lit up by the faint glow. The sun was fully set, which allowed the sky to display an array of stars.
“This is beautiful, Mando.” You turned towards the man in silver and he wasn't looking at the sky. Not looking at the gorgeous colors streaking out from the center of the market, onto the landscape. Not even the different lights and colors that lit the small town.
His gaze was focused on you.
“I was hoping you’d like it.” He took a few steps closer to you with the market bag, a blanket, and two pillows in hand. Stepping in front of you, he laid out the blanket where the hull’s floor meets the ramp. Reaching into the market bag, he took out an assortment of snacks and a takeout meal for each of you.
“Mando, you didn’t have to do all of this,” you chuckled in amazement.
“I didn’t have to, yes. But I wanted to,” he bends down to sit on the blanket and he offers a hand to help you down. You took it and plopped down next to him, your thigh brushed his as you reached for different food items. Mando leaned on his arms placed behind him, watching in amusement as you enjoyed yourself.
The assortment he managed to purchase amazed you. Each item was something you’ve mentioned to him before. A shiny bag of one particular food, a box filled with something else, and a steaming takeout container of another dish. Relishing the diversity of it all, thoughts of Mando’s enjoyment prodded your mind.
You turn to him, “Aren’t you going to eat?” 
His helmet turned towards you and he waited a second. The helmet. No kriff, he can’t eat with you.
“I’m sorry, I for-.” Mando stopped you.
“You know I don’t mind when you eat in front of me,” he started.
He was right. You felt bad in the mornings when you sipped on your caf and indulged in your breakfast. He was probably hungry after a night’s rest. The Mandalorian told you at the time, “I’m used to it. Mandalorians never bonded over food or eating.”
Expecting the same reasoning to leave his mouth and filter through the helmet, you were shocked when he chose a different path.
“I’ve been planning this for a while, mesh’la,” he paused and adjusted his positioning on the ground, “I’ve been thinking of ways to eat with you…” He explained, and then trailed off. 
He’s been thinking of ways to eat with you. To eat. With you. Something he’s never done with you before. In the past, you’ve tried to get him to, even saying you’d wear a blindfold, but he never wanted to take that step.
And what does mesh’la mean?
“You don’t have to, I understand if-.” You began to tell him.
“I think I found a way that I would be comfortable with,” Mando said.
“What is–. Oh, Maker!” You squealed as Mando scooped you up and placed you in his lap. Your back to him and your legs tangled with his. As soon as you settled, the Mandalorian took his takeout container and brought it between your back and his stomach. 
“There’s one rule,” his modulator crackles in your ear as he rests the temple of his helmet against your actual temple, “you can’t turn around.”
“I won’t,” you squeaked, heart beating out of your chest, “I swear to you.” 
The cold feeling of the beskar disappeared from the side of your head. What you didn’t expect was the hiss of the helmet breaking its seal around Mando’s head, even though it was implied. What you definitely didn’t expect was for Mando to place the helmet just enough forward that you could see it in your peripheral as you ate.
You forgot Mando was a human. He had a head and a face. And his face was not the one that peaked at you from the corner of your eye. His face is the one directly behind your head.
The popping sounds of the food container being opened snapped you out of your thoughts. Mando’s utensils clinked against the sides of the container as he gathered food to put into his mouth. 
“Mmmm,” he grunts out, his mouth probably full of food. A few more seconds went by, “that’s really good.”
His voice.
His unmodulated voice.
It was like honey dripped over your body. Soaked through your skin and traveled through your veins. Soothed you. The warmth between you two increased yet again. Not just physical warmth, but the warmth you felt when you discovered new things about each other. When you discover new ways to care and new things to remember.
“What’s on your mind?” His large, calloused hand found the crook of your knee and gave it a light squeeze. His other hand set his empty food container to the side. That was fast, you thought. But you suppose he eats for business, not for pleasure.
“What does mesh’la mean?” You asked him as you marveled at the sight of the market again. His knees pressed into yours and the hand not on your knee snaked around your waist as he pulled you closer to him. 
He tucked his face into the crook of your neck. His breath fanned over your ear and he tightened his arm around you as he spoke, “Mesh’la is Mando’a,” he hummed as he pecked a quick kiss onto your neck, “Mesh’la means beautiful.” 
You smiled, face heating up, and hummed another question, “and what does cyar’ika mean?”
Mando buried his face into the back of your hair and left another quick peck on your head. He pulled away to mutter near your ear, “Cyar’ika roughly translates to sweetheart.”
Your torso vibrated against his, that’s really sweet, you thought, but you wanted to tease him a bit, “First date and you’re already calling me beautiful, huh? And you’ve been calling me cyar’ika for a while now.” A smirk splayed across your face.
The Mandalorian went stiff and asked, “For a while?” Confusion radiated from him and his beskar.
Your smirk morphed into a small smile. “Sometimes I wait up for you when you go on hunts, or I happen to be awake when you come back,” your heartbeat picks up at your confession, but you continued, “I like hearing you say good night to me. It’s…comforting. But then you started tacking ‘cyar’ika’ onto the end of it.” You shrugged like it was nothing.
Mando shifted underneath you, realizing he’d been caught red handed. Then he countered with, “One year of being crew partners and you’re already planning matching bracelets, huh?”
He got you there.
Softly giggling, you reach an arm backwards and bat a hand at his chest, playfully tapping him. A chuckle comes from behind your head. His hold around your waist fastens and he brings his wrist donning the bracelet out in front of you. He wraps his large hand around yours, the one with your bracelet on your wrist. You peer down and admire the identical weavings of thread.
Mando’s throat clears behind you and he speaks softly next to your ear, “I think you have good taste. It matches my armor,” his knee comes up to nudge yours. A moment of silence followed, “The green is for my son, isn’t it?”
“Yeah,” meekly comes from your throat. The broad grasp covering your own gave your hand a squeeze. Mando rested his chin on your shoulder and faced the crook of your neck. Soft breaths fanned over your exposed skin.
“Did I get his color right?” You questioned. He previously said Grogu was a light green color, and you hoped the color on the bracelets mimicked his color.
The Mandalorian brought your joined hands up to focus on the color of the light green thread weaving from between the silver and brown. When he spoke, his tone sounded strained, “Yeah, yeah that’s probably it.”
When Mando last spoke to you about his son, he said it’s been a year or so since he gave them to the Jedi. A year without his little one, the bundle of joy that Mando cherished. Then the reason for his uncertain answer and strained voice washed over you.
“You,” an exhale steadied your soft speech, “You can’t remember his color that well, can you?”
A shaking breath made the man’s torso shudder against yours, “No, I can’t,” he admitted in a tight voice. His face pressed deeper into the crook of your neck and he held you close to his chest. You rubbed circles along the back of his hand in comfort. Hesitantly, you brought your other hand behind you and ran your fingers through his hair.
The texture of it made your heart melt. It was longer than you thought it’d be, you assumed he would keep it short so it didn’t bother him within the confines of his helmet. Soft waves brushed through your fingers. Your fingertips lightly scratched at the roots of his hair on his scalp.
You thought your heart melted, but Mando melted exponentially more. The large frame that was his body nearly crushed yours with the tension he released. A soft groan left his throat and vibrated against your neck. Mando’s body loosely wrapped around yours in a protective shell.
“I was hoping that the green on the bracelet would make you think of him. It could make you remember,” you explained to him, continuing the scratches against his scalp.
Then it was silent. Sounds of your exhales and the small rustling sounds of your fingers through his waves of hair were the only ones that traveled to your ear drums. The Mandalorian was heavy against you, boneless, acting as a beskar-weighted blanket. His warmth permeated from his body to yours. It was comforting. He was comforting.
Then a sharp inhale from Mando, “I have to thank you,” he began.
You nearly snapped around to respond, but you kept your gaze trained on the twinkling lights of the market. “For what?” You asked.
“For everything,” he added.
Was Mando really giving you a job review right now? On your first date? “Mando,” you chuckled and shook your head, “I’m just doing my job.”
“I’m not talking about the job, cyar’ika.”
Your eyes widened. Oh. No words exited your mouth.
Mando continued, “I need to thank you for making me feel safe. You’re, you ju–,” he sighed in annoyance with himself. “I’m sorry. I’m not too good at this.” His strong arms gave your waist a squeeze. 
Before you could reply, he resumed his train of thought. “You make me feel emotionally safe. I know I can tell you anything. Share whatever is on my mind. And you’ll be there for me,” a deep inhale interrupted his speech, “and I haven’t had that since I had Grogu.” 
His tone was strained once again and he shook his head while it was nestled near your neck. Gaining composure, he explained, “People look at me and see this bloodthirsty Mandalorian. They’re scared of me. Kriff, I’m sure some have mistaken me for some emotionless droid,” his speech snarled at the word.
You smirked at his distaste for the metal beings, but you didn’t want to interrupt his thoughts with a snide remark.
“But you see me as human. As a man with emotions and thoughts. You talk to me like I’m just a guy that happens to be covered in beskar.”
That was where you butted in, “Because that’s what you are Mando. And you’re not just some guy. You’re a Mandalorian, an actual one, the ones that no one seems to recognize today. Mandalorians are bound to a Creed of honor. Mandalorians stick to their word. They rescue. They protect. They care,” you paused to grasp the hand laying on top of yours, “You’ve told me enough about your Creed for me to realize that very little of it is truly about being solely physically and mentally intelligent. It’s about the combination of those strengths with emotional intelligence. Because what is using your head if you aren’t using your heart too?”
Mando was silent behind you. His body was stiff, no longer relaxed. Shit, did you offend him? You weren’t Mandalorian, should you have been interpreting the Creed?
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be analyzing your Creed like that. I’m not Ma-”
“No,” he stopped your speech, and resumed his, the baritone of his voice being small within his throat, “You got it all right.” Strong arms squeezed you. Mando held onto you as if someone threatened to take you from him. His face returned to its spot by your neck and he whispered, “Maker, you’re perfect.”
The words sent chills down your spine. Before you could fully relish in the implications of his phrase, small kisses were being planted up and down the curve of your neck. Eyelids closed, you bit your lip at the brushes of his lips against your skin. No longer distracted by the visuals of the market lights, your attention focused on the feeling of his face on your neck. Soft lips meticulously placed pecks up your neck. His face slid against your warm skin, leaving a prickling sensation in its wake.
Prickling…your eyes widened and you straightened up, just slightly.
Mando froze in his tracks, voice laced with concern, “you okay?” 
You cleared your throat and let out a small chuckle, “Yeah, yeah, I just,” your body vibrated against his as you chuckled again, “I just realized you have facial hair,” you explained as your face heated up. Half in embarrassment of not realizing earlier, and half in excitement. You loved facial hair.
“Oh. Yeah,” he hesitated, “do you not like it? I can shave if you-.”
You stopped him before he could finish, “No! No, I mean. I like facial hair,” you explained sheepishly.
A smirk grew on Mando’s face, and you didn’t even have to see him to know it was there. Stubble prickled on the skin of your neck once again. This time, the man rubbed his face across the slope in front of him in an attempt to tickle you.
A giggle bubbled out of your chest and you twisted in his hold. The fanning of his breath over your neck created a delicious warmth on your skin. Warmth that soothed the pin pricks from the man’s stubble. Mando’s trunk-like arms caged you in and kept you tight in his grasp. He stopped after only a few seconds, placing soft kisses on the skin that he just scratched.
The kisses down your neck became more intense. Mando would graze his teeth against your skin and tighten his hold around you. The small marks trailed further down your neckline. Receiving the trail of small marks felt like a dream. Each mark gave you a slight pinch, sending your hips rocking backwards to grind against him. 
A soft moan left Mando’s lips and vibrated against the skin of your neck. His grip tightened near your waist and brought your hips closer to his groin. Soft lips returned to your neck, the other side this time, and began placing small hickeys down your skin. One place in particular, where your jawbone meets your neck beneath your ear, sent your ass grinding down into his lap. 
Then you feel him.
And you kind of freak out.
He’s big.
Were you ready for this? Of course you’ve dreamt about it, you kriffing came to the thought of it, but the opportunity overwhelmed you. Your mind raced. You felt like you didn’t consider all of the factors that went into this. 
Sure, you’ve had sex before, but what if you weren’t good enough for Mando? You’re still clothed and he already has you hot and bothered. You haven’t done anything to him yet. You had to do something or else you’re going to be a dead fish in bed. Were you ready to actually do something with him?
Your hips stilled, and of course Mando noticed.
His actions also paused, “You okay, cyar’ika?” He asks softly. Mando’s words make their home in your heart and you melt. You are okay. You’re with him. But being with him made you anxious. Mando didn’t deserve to put up with shitty sex.
“I just,” you paused and shifted in Mando’s lap, “I think I need to lie down,” you lied to him. He quickly reached for his helmet and sealed it back around his head. The pair of you organized the garbage and the remaining snacks, quickly getting ready for bed.
You were almost there. You could’ve done it. You dreamt about it for months and yet you chickened out. His hands were right there, and you got up and went to bed. Dank farrick.
Mulling over your thoughts, you laid on your bed and stared at the ceiling of the Crest’s hull. You could masturbate to the thought of him again, sure, but it just wouldn’t compare. The thoughts of Mando’s hands, his broad chest pressed against your back, the warmth of his legs wrapped around yours haunted your consciousness and refused to allow you to fall asleep. 
It was only amplified by the thought Mando put into the date.
“I’ve been planning this for a while.” He said.
How long? He happened to get your favorite snacks, your favorite takeout, he went back to get the bracelets, and he parked the Crest to get an amazing view of the light-filled market. Mando put all this thought into the date and he made some moves on you.
Your heart and clit were beating at the same loud pace. 
In an attempt to focus on something other than the ghost of Mando’s hard-on on your lower back, you opened a side door and exited the Crest. The door opened and closed quietly with your careful treatment of the doorknob.
The market is still it up beautifully, projecting the colored waves of light onto the surrounding hills. You sat just a few feet away from the Crest, knees tucked up towards your chest, your chin resting on your kneecaps. After a couple minutes of sitting outside, you found that the best way to distract yourself was trying to count all of the different vendors you could see. The lights made it difficult to distinguish one stall from another, and it didn’t help that the market was sizable. 
Forty four, forty five, forty six…
“Do you mind if I join you?” The voice came from the exact man you were trying not to think about. But he was also the exact man you wanted.
You looked back towards him and patted the ground beside you. He accepted your silent invitation and plopped his body down next to yours. A breeze swept through the night landscape and left you covered in goosebumps, slightly shivering. Mando must have noticed, since he draped his long, black cape over your shivering frame. His arm followed the embrace of the cape and pulled you closer towards his heat-radiating body. The other arm snaked under your legs and he barely lifted you, so you settled into the shape of his body. Just like Mando’s cape, silence fell over the both of you. His grip around you remained tight while he did his best to warm you up.
“Why are you sitting out here?” He whispered to you. The helmet crinkled his voice, resulting in the crackling of the syllables. Delicacy laced the syllables that flowed into your ears, despite their choppiness. 
Your shoulders rose and fell and you followed it with a sigh, “I was just thinking too much. Couldn’t fall asleep.”
The shoulder leaning against Mando vibrated when he hummed in understanding.
“Do you want to talk about it?” He offered.
Your head fell to his shoulder to rest. The pair of you talked about a good majority of things. Whatever ended up on your or Mando’s mind. You found it to be a great stress reliever and knew that the Mandalorian did as well. If you didn’t get it out, by talking to Mando, the regretful feeling would just ruminate in your brain forever. At this point you highly doubted that this was a conversation topic that could cause Mando’s feelings about you to change.
“I just feel dumb.” You deadpanned.
“Dumb? Why’s that?” He responded immediately.
You paused and considered your choice of words. Being blunt was probably the best course of action. It was Mando after all.
“You wanted to do more with me and I rejected you,” you sighed and pressed your face into his shoulder.
Another quick response followed, “That’s completely okay. You don’t have to do something just because I want to do it. I apologize if I made you uncomfortable earlier. I meant what I said. We’re only going to do what you–.” 
Your head left his shoulder and faced his helmet to look into the depths of the thin black line running horizontally across the beskar. His speech stopped at your action.
“I wanted to do it. I wanted you to do it,” you admit.
Mando’s bones turned to jelly beneath you–you didn’t realize how tense he had gotten–and yet his helmet tilted in confusion.
Before he could ask the question, you answered, “I was nervous. I haven’t done anything like that in a while. Maybe I wasn’t going to be good in bed.” Your face returned to his shoulder to nestle itself into the crook of his neck.
His embrace tightens around you once more. The T shaped gaze dropped to meet yours and he shook his head from side-to-side.
“Cyar’ika,” his chest jumps from a chuckle, “all you have to do to be good in bed is lay on the mattress,” he slowly grits out. His voice is so smooth you’re surprised his speech is still modulated. Still in doubt, the corner of your mouth pinched upward and your brows bunched together.
He noticed the uncertainty of your expression and slowly added, “I also haven’t done anything like this in awhile,” a pause was accompanied by the shaking of his head and a harsh exhale, “and I’m kriffing nervous too.” 
A small smile spread across your face at the confession. It did make you feel better. He was going through the same emotions you were. The somersaults of butterflies that wound your stomach into knots. Lightheadedness that flooded through your bodies at the sight of the other. Your emotions were so strong, these physical responses accompanied them.
The Mandalorian’s actions put you in a state of awe for the trillionth time. He does things that would make you freeze, panic, scream for help, for his help. Physical conflict was like breathing to him. It was involuntary. Completed without thought.
So many nerves bubbled within him. All because of you. All he had to do was confess his feelings to you and his composure shattered into a million pieces.
A million pieces you would pick up and put back together. You would reassemble the puzzle that was Mando over and over again. If it meant spending time with him, you would do it for eternity. Each time finding a new piece, a new feature to treasure and combine with the rest. 
Mando continued to hold your body and your gaze. The combination of him and his cape have warmed you up considerably, and you find yourself being languidly pulled closer into his torso. Your butt settled between his two thick thighs. Both of your thighs settled on top of one of his. The warmth and physical contact was appreciated, and you rested your head on the Mandalorian’s shoulder once more. 
You’re quite literally being cradled by him. One of his toned arms finds its way behind your back to keep your torso against his. The other arm found its way to your knees, holding you closer to him as much as possible. A gloved hand runs up and down your thigh once he’s satisfied with the method of cuddling. 
The friction his leather hand creates on your thigh is delicious. Every bit of heat from the contact is being transported throughout your body. You felt heavy and relaxed. But the heat from his hand turned into a burning need. The strokes up and down your thigh got riskier. His hand made its way farther up your thigh. Thick fingers splayed across your clothed limb, the wide spread covered more surface area, which drove the heat from his touch right to your clit. On some strokes, his thumb would graze the inside of your thigh. Almost there, but not close enough.
Bathing in the warmth of his touch, you didn’t realize your eye contact with Mando was maintained. He must have noticed your expressions morph into ones that you make when deep in thought. His thumb grazed the inside of your thigh once more, and you bit your lip at the tingly sensation on your bundle of nerves.
That’s all he needed to see what was on your mind. Still maintaining eye contact, his hand stopped on your upper thigh. Mando’s grip gently tightened as he spoke. The modulated voice sailed across a smooth sea of honey as he laid out his words.
“Tell me what you want me to do, and I’ll do it. Anything, mesh’la.”
You got your do-over. There’s no way you’d reject him now.
The bone of your teeth grazed your lip. Eyes closed, you took a deep breath and gained some composure. Mando’s helmet filled your vision once you opened your eyes. His chest rose and fell in anticipation.
A small smile made its way onto your face. “Can you pick up where we left off?” You suggested.
Rumbling emanated from his chest, his grips on your back and your thigh tightened in delight. He pulled you closer to him in a hug and buried his modulator near your ear.
“Here or in the Crest?”
“Crest.”
The beskar man helped you onto your feet and led you back inside of the Crest. Once the door was shut and locked, and once Mando triple-checked the security systems, he sauntered over to you. His hands found their way to your waist as he pushed you back in the direction of his bunk. 
His bunk.
Before you could fully process it, you were lying on the long bed watching Mando as he stood, removing his armor from his body piece by piece. Just his flight suit remained on his large frame. He hardly gave you time to admire him before he sat beside you and pulled you into his lap once more. The Mandalorian’s hands–now bare–settled back into their previous positions. 
Feeling more confident than you were before, you leaned into his neck and placed light kisses along the curve. A deep groan rumbled from his chest and his hands ran up and down your body. You playfully bit the skin of his neck and sucked, bringing a hand up to rest on his neck to keep it in place. Your hickey-like kisses trailed upwards towards his jaw. Once you met the juncture where his neck met his jawbone, you sucked on his skin harder and left a light mark. 
He loved that. The grip on your thighs and waist became impossibly tight as he growled. Every noise that escaped from his helmet went straight to your clit. Your hips ground downwards onto his thigh, but to no avail. A look of desire painted your face but a sound of frustration–desperation–left your mouth.
Mando hummed in agreement. The low tone through the modulator questioned you, “Where do you want me to touch you first, mesh’la?”
You turned into a puddle. A horny, wet, puddle.
“I’ll do anything.” He said conclusively. 
Biting your lip, your brows furrowed in delight at the sensation of his grip. The hand on your thigh was higher up your thigh than any time before. Warmth from his palm traveled from the neurons in your quads to the nerves in your clit.
“Rub my clit? Please?” you asked. Desperation leaked from your mouth at the request. If Mando didn’t put his hands down your bottoms in the next thirty seconds, you were sure you were going to explode.
Mando’s chest vibrated as he chuckled, “Mmmm. I like it when you ask nicely. Good girl.”
Oh. Fuck.
You were molten beskar in his hands, at his forge. You trusted him. His skill. His knowledge of you. His perceived obligation to you. And you were ready to be shaped. Molded. Created into something new. With his support. 
His stare remained on your face as his fingertips found your clothed clit. You tensed at the contact and his motions slowed. 
“That alright?” He asked, concern melded to the grit of the voice that left the modulator.
A confirming hum vibrated from your throat. Your nod accompanied the sound.
“Have to hear you say it.” He responded. At first you thought he was teasing you, but the tone he used and the intense stare that was glued to your face said otherwise. 
“I need to and I want to make sure you’re alright every step of the way, yeah?”
You nodded up at him.
“Good,” he reacted to your body language, “then be a good girl and tell me if this is okay. Tell me how it feels.” His voice dropped incredibly low with his demand. It was gentle, but firm.
A shaky exhale escaped from your mouth as you whispered your reply, “I-I want you to keep going. It feels so good.” Wide eyes looked up at Mando and he continued his motions.
The friction of his fingers on your clothed clit was delicious. Each movement sent sparks up and down your limbs. Your head fell to rest on Mando’s shoulder as he maintained his pace. His gaze remained glued to yours. 
Then you realized he was wearing too many clothes. The friction against your clit was amazing, but you wanted as little friction as possible between your bodies. Reaching down, your fingers tugged on the edge of Mando’s shirt.
“Can I take this off?” You asked.
“Of course,” he replied. Thick fingers deftly undid the buttons at the top of his shirt and you aided him in pulling it over his head. The tight long sleeved layer was removed in the same fashion. Mando’s chest, littered with dark hairs, filled your vision. Broad plains of skin rose and fell, making his pecs stand out on his chest. Strong shoulders that framed his chest only made his body look wider.
While you were gawking at him, Mando slid his hands partially under your shirt and around your waist. His fingertips pinched at the hem of your shirt.
“Can I take this off?” He echoed your previous question.
You nodded and muttered, “yes,” in response, helping him pull the fabric over your head. 
His fingers became more confident and he applied more pressure, quickening the strokes of his fingertips over your clothed bundle. Your jaw dropped in response. As you returned Mando’s stare, your eyelids drifted downwards over your eyes, but not all the way. Your breaths were more audible, bordering on being moans.
Mando seemed to love your reactions, the hand you placed on his neck rumbled as he let out a guttural moan. He picked up his pace in response. The clothing between your bundle of nerves and his fingers created the perfect friction. Wetness pooled in your underwear with the increasing speed of the Mandalorian’s thick fingers.
Then his digits left your clit.
You let out a slight whine, disappointed at the loss of his touch. Before you could question him, his fingers dipped just below your waistband. Not enough to really feel anything. Just enough to make a point.
Making eye contact with Mando, his visor tilted in questioning.
“Can I pull these down?” He asked gruffly.
You nod at him, knowing your gaze is burning into his from behind his beskar. 
“Do it,” you half demand, half plead, “it feels so good when you touch me.”
His helmet drops next to your temple in reaction to your words. A crackle escapes the modulator with his harsh exhale. Without hesitation, his hand slid down past your waistband and brought your bottoms with it. Mando threw them to the side and slipped his hand down your underwear. His fingers easily found the pressure point of pleasure past your mound.
You thought the feeling over your clothes was delicious. The feeling of his bare hands on your bare clit was divine. Nothing could replicate the feeling. Nothing came close to the sensations he willed your body to produce. The sensations he produced with just his fingertips.
Mando resumed the slow pace he set previously. He was testing the waters, seeing if the feeling was just as good before. Your hips bucked up into his hand and another exhale left his helmet, this one quicker.
“Mmmm, okay, okay,” the modulator let out a soft understanding.
His fingers sped up to reach the fast pace he had set over your clothed clit. This time, the feeling was a thousand times more potent. The fibers facilitated most of your pleasure before, but now it was all Mando. Rough skin on his fingertips, created by years of pulling triggers and colliding fists, produced amazing friction. A feeling so electrifying you swore you could feel every ridge and valley of his fingerprints.
Your cunt squeezed around nothing and you mewled in desperation. Mando’s helmet still stung your temple with the cool temperature of the metal. His breathing was heavy, arm stiff, making sure your pleasure was maintained.
One circle around your bundle. Then another. And another. The pleasure was phenomenal, which caused your wetness to leak from your hole.
Mando looked down and groaned at the sight.
“Ffuucckk. So wet for me.” He gritted out, continuing the pace of his fingertips around your nub.
Your hips attempted to follow his motions to make more friction, but to no avail. Mando’s fingers were amazing, but his digits just on your clit weren't how you wanted to cum.
The sentence flowed through your brain: “Have to hear you say it.”
Before when you were sitting in Mando’s lap, his fingers inching towards your waistband, you didn’t know if you were ready. You didn’t know if you would be enough. Hesitation blocked your desire and you worried about taking too much and giving too little.
But now you wanted it all. 
Everything you thought about before. His hands. His fingers. His lips. His unmodulated voice. His cock.
You needed it.
It was as if Mando had a switch to turn you off and on. The motions of his fingers wavered your switch off and on, and your confidence flickered on. No more shyness. You had to be direct, and then you would get what you were desperate for.
“Mando…mmmm…M-Mando,” you attempted your request.
His fingers slowed, his attention divided between your speech and your clit. “Yes, cyar’ika?” His grip on your back tightened, indicating that he was listening.
You bit your lip in nervousness, but mustered up the confidence to finally say what you needed, “I want you to f-finger me,” you said between waves of pleasure.
Mando stopped altogether and dipped his fingers lower, edging his reach towards your hole. One finger prodded at your entrance and that feeling alone made you squirm.
More liquid seeped from your seams and your thoughts returned to the ones you had earlier today. You wanted to kiss him. So badly. 
Biting your lip at the thought, you accidentally stuttered out, “I-I w-want.” You realized your request was ridiculous and buried your face in his shoulder, acting as though nothing ever left your lips.
His fingers trailed upwards along your wetness and then back down, hesitating before he began your request. Confused, you brought your head up to look at him.
“What do you want, baby?”
Baby.
Kriff.
You shook your head, “It’s nothing.”
His helmet tilted in a, “I know you’re lying,” type of way. “It isn’t nothing, and we both know it,” he gently reasoned. A large hand ran up and down your back, the other rested on your sex. 
Shaking your head once again, your eyes widened and the corner of your mouth turned up in matter-of-factness, you whispered, “You wouldn’t do it.”
Immediately, “Try me,” he calmly demanded.
Kriff it. The most he would do is reject you.
“I want you to kiss me.” You confessed.
The T of his visor stared at you blankly. In contrast to the steady gaze of his helmet, his chest heaved and lowered at a faster rhythm. 
Then you were on the mattress, Mando was standing up in his bunk, going for the door. Dread hit you like a brick wall. 
“Mando, Mando I’m sorry. I knew it was ridiculous! I-I shouldn’t have even asked,” you pleaded to him.
Then it was dark. And a large pair of hands were on your waist. 
Hissss.
Your brows furrowed in confusion and your eyes remained wide in a pleading expression. 
“Relax.”
The word dripped from Mando’s lips and traveled to your ears. His tone was like thick, warm honey. A soothing bass resonated throughout the room and into your bones. Once the tone reached the marrow within them, they turned to jelly. Your body slumped into Mando’s broad hands.
A dip in the mattress alerted you to his positioning within the bunk. He sat beside you, hands remained around your waist, and he gave you a slight tug as a request to move closer to him. Once you were close enough, Mando slid you into his lap to resume your previous entanglement. 
Your head relaxed on his shoulder and he pulled your torso closer to his with the tree-trunks he had for arms. Instead of his hand slithering down to find the band of your underwear, it traveled up your arm and towards the crook of your neck. The Mandalorian’s thumb rubbed soothing circles on your jaw, just in front of your ear. He shifted a bit, and then you felt warm air fanning over your face.
His helmet was off. The room was dark. Yet you knew that you were looking him right in the eyes. You knew his face was centimeters away from yours. The series of events amazed you. If the lights were on, his Creed would be broken. You didn’t know if the Creed had a clause about being helmetless in the dark, but you knew this situation was risky.
And yet Mando was willing to put his Creed at risk. Just to kiss you.
As if he was reading your mind, his thumb halted its motions. The air that fanned over your face did so with a higher intensity.
The honied voice washed over you again, “I’m going to kiss you now, mesh’la.”
In shock, you could merely nod and whisper, “Please, Mando.”
You daydreamed–and actually dreamed–about this moment for months. Months. Different visions clouded your mind. Soft, supple kisses could be placed on your lips. Feather lip and hesitant in how they approached. Or the kisses could be rough and demanding. Muscles and embouchures would battle in combat motivated by lust.
In reality, Mando was a mix of both. His lips were soft, yet firm. Intention laced the way he moved his mouth against yours. Saliva soon wet both pairs of lips in your entanglement. Your mouths fell into a synchronized rhythms of pecks, tongues, soft bites, and sloppy kisses.
You were so focused on his lips that you didn’t notice the calloused hand making its way down your underwear. His fingers rubbed your clit once more and your hips bucked into his hand. Teeth clashed together as Mando smiled into your kisses.
He placed shorter, close mouthed kisses on your lips and pulled away to speak. Tension from the waistband of your underwear alerted you to Mando’s gesture.
His warm breath fanned over your face, “Can I take these off, baby?”
You nodded vigorously, realizing he couldn’t see you, you stuttered out, “Y-yes, please.”
In haste, the underwear was peeled from your legs and thrown into the darkness of the man’s bunk. Warm, wet lips crashed onto yours once more. You reached up and tangled your fingers into his hair. Soft waves traveled through your hands as they ran through his locks. 
The Mandalorian let out a low groan at the presence of your fingers in his hair. Firm and demanding lips met your mouth, and small bites pinched your lower lip from time to time. You supposed that this was one of the first times someone carded their fingers through his hair. 
Then you felt a rough finger at your soaking entrance. You clenched your walls around nothing in response. His fingers needed to be inside you. Fantasies have filled your mind’s eye about them for months. They’re thick, and you know the digits would stretch your wet hole. Thoughts of the tasty feeling manifested into words.
“Kriff, plea-please Mando. I want your fingers in my pussy,” you pleaded.
He stopped kissing you, but his breath remained close. The motion that was in his lips translated to his finger. One thick, large digit sunk into your wet heat.
From between the clouds of pleasure that fogged your head, you heard Mando’s syrupy voice in your ear, “You’re going to cum like this.”
Your body melted into his. Reaching up, you grabbed where you thought his face was. After a second of wandering in the darkness, your hand cupped his jaw and kept his face in front of yours.
Soft moans and gentle groans emanated from your chest. Each individual knuckle of his finger rubbed along your walls and left its own unique feeling. Mando pumped his middle finger into you slowly. After you were used to the feeling, it was as if his finger was the one pulling moans from your throat.
Mando picked up his pace and you began to pant, moans mingling between your loud exhales. Gripping his jaw and his neck, you anchored yourself to him. His large arms were easily holding you against him, and his torso was solid, but the deft finger in your wet pussy made you feel like you were levitating off of him.
“Maker, baby. I knew your pussy would get fucking soaked,” he gritted into your ear.
Wet sounds of his finger pushing in and out of your heat filled the darkness of his bunk. Your legs were spread wide in his lap, allowing Mando room to curve his wrist to push his finger along the tight walls of your sex. His fingertip traveled and searched, like a hunter after a bounty, and it finally found its reward.
Your hips jumped into his hand at the euphoric feeling. Awe swept over you. You thought Mando was going to be attentive, but attentive was too light of a word for his focus. 
Groaning, he remarked, “Mmmm. That’s it, huh? That’s my girl.”
The Mandalorian was obsessed. His obsession led him to hit the pressure point on your soaking walls over and over again. Mando’s chest rumbled when your pussy clenched around his fingers. Resistance against his fingers only spurred his actions further.
The grasps of your hands tightened around his face and neck. Every muscle in your body clenched. Your face was screwed together from pleasure. Not only was your body taught, your moans were too.
“Nnnghh, oh fuck. M-Mando, yes.”
All because of one of Mando’s fingers.
Your grasp on his jaw shifted when he inquired, “You want another finger, mesh’la?”
Without thought, you moaned in response, “Yes! Oh Maker, please Mando!” 
An empty feeling in your pussy almost made its way to your brain, but then you felt the stretch. Two of his fingers made you see stars, and the delicious stretch created by his thick digits went right to your clit.
His chest vibrated against your shoulder as he let out a deep, rumble, “That’s my good girl.”
A whimper escaped from your throat and your hips ground onto his fingers.
“I- mmf, I thought about this so many times,” you admitted.
Mando growled, “Fuck. Yeah? Tell me what else you thought about.”
His fingers picked up their pace, hitting that soft spot on your walls repeatedly. The Mandalorian made you a whimpering mess in his arms. More wetness weeped from your seams, dripping out past his thick fingers.
“I-, oh, fuck, I th-thought about y-your cock,” you confessed another fantasy that plagued your thoughts.
“Mmmm. What about my cock, cyar’ika?”
The sounds of your wet pussy and both of your moans filled the small space of Mando’s bunk. 
Shhlkt. Shhlkt. Shhlkt.
“H-how you’d st-stretch my pussy w-with it,” you managed between whimpers and shaky exhales.
Fingers fucked into your messy hole faster and faster. “Is that what you want, mesh’la? Need me to stretch your pretty pussy out?”
“Yes, yes. Oh-oh fu-fuck, please,” you begged him. The hand on his jaw brought his lips down to meet yours. Mando’s tongue immediately dove between your lips, wrestling with yours in vigor. Rough, scarred skin was grounding in your hands. Each pump of his fingers tightened your muscles, curling your figure into his strong hold.
“You want my cock next, baby? Hm?” He cooed at you, never faltering the rhythm of his fingers.
Your mouth fell away from his when your jaw dropped. “Mh-mmm-mhm. Yes, please!” You squealed in reaction.
His face leaned down to hover in front of yours, “Then cum on my fingers, pretty baby,” he growled to you.
Shhlkt. Shhlkt. Shhlkt.
A few more pumps and your wet walls clamped down on Mando’s thick fingers. Broken gasps left your mouth as your body stiffened in his strong arms. Your legs shook and you left crescent marks on the man’s back.
Despite your body-shaking orgasm, the man continued his motions until you placed a hand over his to push it away. Your limp body slumped into his, the waves of pleasure left a warm sensation glowing in your skin. 
No amount of dreaming could have predicted the feeling of Mando beckoning an orgasm from you like he swore to do it. The situation you were in wasn’t exactly what you dreamt of, but the reality was so much better.
A strong hand grazed your back, leaving a trail of heat from its up and down motions. Another hand pulled you in closer to him, and the warm air from his breath made its presence known on your face.
The tone he used starkly contrasted the growls from earlier, “How was that? Are you feeling okay, cyar’ika?” A deep tone, covered in honey, was laced with a small amount of concern.
“Mando…holy shit,” you said breathily. 
Silently chuckling at the state you were in, the Mandalorian peppered light, slow kisses on top of your head and over your face. You relished in the feeling. His lips mimicked the sentiments of the kisses he placed on your wrist earlier in the night. 
“This means everything to me.” 
The phrase echoed in your mind. Of course Mando let you know before that. He didn’t have to say it, but it showed in his actions. Every cup of caf. Every conversation. Every inquisitive response he would give after you told a story. Every small intention behind each action built up within you, and you guided Mando’s lips to meet yours.
Your lips moved in sync and in slow motion. Ridges and valleys imprinted on your lips and in your memory. If Mando was dedicated to his Creed, you would be dedicated to the set of lips pressing against yours. The set of lips that made you laugh. The lips that reassured you. The lips you looked forward to hearing produce words everyday.
You didn’t even know what they looked like.
And you couldn’t find it within yourself to care. They were his lips. Mando’s lips. That’s all that mattered.
After a long stint of sloppy kisses and crescendoing moans, Mando removed his lips from yours. He was panting and en route to placing the same sloppy kisses onto your neck. His plump lips traveled down, leaving saliva marks in their wake, and then they trailed back up, settling next to your ear.
The thin skin of his lips tickled the shell of your ear as he spoke, “Still want me to fuck you, baby?”
Baby.
He’s said it before, but the word still made you squirm a small amount in his arms. Your teeth imprinted on your lips before you let out a meek, “Yes, please.” If the lights were on, Mando would see your wide eyes and your scrunched together brows. As if you had to beg him for it.
Kisses between the two of you resume as the Mandalorian shifted both of your positions on the mattress. His strong arms still clutched your figure as he slowly leaned downwards, until the pair of you were lying on the bed. Both of your hands reached up and weaved your fingers into the soft waves on his head. Mando’s thick hands traversed the planes of your body, randomly grabbing onto you and giving you a slight squeeze where his hands were.
“Uhhhgg, fu-fuck,” left his chest and escaped from his throat when you gave his hair a small tug. One of his firm, capable hands reached down and encouraged you to spread your legs. In the same motion, he shifted upwards to settle between them. 
Your locked mouths never broke. Mando’s lips remained on yours as if he were tethered to them, like they were the only thing keeping him in this universe. His groin pressed against yours and your hips bucked upwards at the feeling. Your mouth watered, like it was somehow conditioned to, after sensing the large curve of his cock covered by black fabric.
One of your hands reached downwards and palmed his shaft through the clothing. Mando’s hips ground down into yours in response, and he let out a low growl.
Your fingertips found the elastic waistband of his sweatpants and tugged on it in suggestion. Before you could even ask the question, the Mandalorian sat up, leaving your upper body to feel the cold air of the bunk. 
Shuffling came from in front of you. Then a soft, muted, plop.
The man was back onto you like it pained him to be away. Moans and rumbling exuded from his chest as he kissed you. Firm muscle of his tongue lapped against yours, challenging you to lustful combat. You accepted and the volume of your pleasure joined his. A couple kisses felt like forever, but it was the best eternity that you could be stuck in.
Mando’s body shifted lower to grind his hips against you once more. His thick shaft slid through your folds. A whimper came from your mouth as the head of his cock grazed your clit. Moans from the man only became more gravely, animalistic. The grit of the vibrations could have convinced you that he put the helmet back on–if his mouth wasn’t sealed to yours.
Swollen lips broke the seal from yours and Mando’s head fell into the space between your head and your neck. Heavy breathing flooded the audio in your brain. Rough hands ran up and down your inner thighs, intermittently squeezing the flesh there. 
A chaste kiss met the side of your head, above your ear You could feel the slick on his lips against your ear as he gently demanded, “Tell me what you want.”
Without hesitation you replied in a whining whisper, “Please put your cock in my pussy.”
The side of your head vibrated when he let out a blissful groan into your hair. His broad chest left yours as he sat up and pulled some items from a nearby drawer. Your face heated in anticipation.
Sounds were the only thing available to you to figure out what he retrieved. A crinkling and then a tear echoed through the bunk.
The condom.
Rubber noises made their way to your ears as Mando rolled the condom onto his shaft. Maker, you wish you could see him. Those large hands forming a strong grip. The thick head of his cock leaking before he puts the contraceptive on.
You thought you’d feel him shift back towards you, but then a short pop echoed through the bunk. Like he just opened a bottle of shampoo. 
Silence. 
Then the slick sounds of his large grip stroking his shaft filled the air.
Your heart swelled at his thoughtfulness. You were definitely wet enough, but the consideration for your comfort made liquid seep from your pussy.
The mattress shifted around you as he lowered his torso towards yours. One side dipped much more and the slick head of his cock teased your entrance. A small moan left your throat at the contact.
Mando paused when he was lined up with your wet hole. A wet kiss was placed on your forehead before he asked, voice strained, “Are you ready for me, my cyare?”
“Yes,” breathy and quick, passed through your swollen lips.
Maker. His cock was thick. The feeling of him pushing into you was fucking amazing.
The walls of your pussy wrapped around him. A delightful stretch pricked at your soaking entrance and your eyes rolled into the back of your head. Mando was slow and careful as he pressed his wide shaft into you. Movement ceased once his balls laid flat against the flesh of your ass.
You were so lost in the new sensations that Mando’s heavy breaths suddenly made their way into the foreground of your mind. Warm air fanned against your face and his strangled moans vibrated against your chest. Head heavy, his face found its way to the crook of your neck.
“Oh, f-fuckkk. Kriff, cyar’ika, you put my dreams to shame.”
Your arms weaved around his torso and your fingers ran down his back. His face only pressed further into you, and your walls were straining against the thickness of his cock.
“Mmm-Mando. Please. Fuck me, please.”
Another rumble from his chest vibrated against you. His hips shifted backwards, and the thick head of his cock dragged against your walls. The pair of you moaned in unison, amazed by the feel of the other.
His torso rose up and slipped from your hold and you involuntarily whined. A small, gravely chuckle left Mando’s lips, “You want me back down there, baby?”
Your hands reached into the darkness and collided with the man’s chest. Hairs brushed against your fingers as you attempted a grip to pull him back down. Before you could adjust your hands to pull his shoulders down instead, he lowered himself once more and nestled his head in the space above your shoulder.
“I-I-, nngghhh,” you tried to justify your desire, but the ridges of his cock grazed against the warmth of your pussy just right. But then you tried again. “M-makes me f-feel safe,” you let out a whimper.
“Aghhh, fuck baby.” The speed of his thrusts picked up, but his strokes were still long and languid. “Want you to feel safe with me,” he grunted as his breath fanned over your neck.
You always felt safe with him. Without question. In populated cities with shoulder-to-shoulder crowds. Out in the wilderness, the forest canopy darkening the forest floor. At a run down market with nasty glares being sent your way.
“I always have,” you manage to clearly respond.
Another deep groan resonated in your ear drums. A large, calloused hand found your arm and dragged its grip towards your hand. Thick digits intertwined with yours, and the pace of his hips picked up once more.
The hair above his shaft created mind-numbing friction on your clit. Each stroke sent a shockwave of bliss through your body. The bliss made its way back down to your pussy. Wetness dripped out from around his thick cock. Soft, wet sounds filled the space of Mando’s bunk.
“Kriff, cyar’ika. Maker, you’re fucking soaked for me,” he gritted out into your ear. His mouth found yours and weak, distracted kisses were placed on your lips. 
Fingertips dug into the skin on his back. You reeled into his touch. His thick cock still left a tinge of stretching throughout your walls. Each thrust of his hips soothed and invigorated the sensation in your pussy. You thought back to your fantasies and masturbation sessions. Squeezing three fingers into your soaking hole just to get a taste of how he’d feel. Now you have the real thing. And it’s so much better than your fingers buried deep in your cunt.
“What’re you thinking about, mesh’la?” The smooth baritone filled the air around you.
You bit your lip. How the hell did he know you were thinking? Small gasps left your lips, releasing the skin from the hold of your teeth. You knew he wanted you to say it, but your cheeks became hot in embarrassment.
You probably waited too long, because Mando grunted out, “I can tell you what I’ve been thinking, baby,” a soft grumble came from his chest, “been thinking abou- fuck. About how much of a good girl you are for me.”
Mewling left your throat and you tightened your wet pussy around his hard length. Mando growled and quickened his pace in response. A combination of moans and exhales from your chest were punctuated from each of his thrusts. Thick fingers splayed across the underside of your thigh and shifted your hips slightly upwards.
 He found the spot. The same one his fingers came familiar with.
Brows furrowed and eyes scrunched, you moaned out a whiny, “O-oh-oh, Maker. Mando!” 
“Tell me what you’re thinking about, my cyar’ika,” Mando repeated.
“Y-your cock, oh k-kriff, your cock, Mando,” you let out a shaky breath to conclude, “I’ve been thinking about your cock.”
A low hum came from the man, “What about it, mesh’la?”
You let out a keening noise when Mando reached down and grazed your clit with his thumb, drawing circles on your sensitive nub. Strong fingers splayed across your lower stomach as he rested them there. He listened to your moans and shaky breaths and concentrated on a technique. The Mandalorian figured out your body and had it down to a science. Every movement and sound that resonated from your body was a signal to him. Sound waves from you were like signals, and he replied to your every call.
His hips remained flush against yours as he gave your cunt shallow thrusts, repeatedly brushing the firm head of his cock over the most sensitive point deep within you. The combination of stimulations made your pussy clench around his shaft. A guttural moan emanated from Mando in response.
Your fingertips dug into the broad expanse of his back when you confessed with a whine, “Th-thinking…fuck…you’re so-o bi-ig.”
The thumb rubbing your clit sped up, and Mando’s other hand tightened its grip around yours. You let out a breathy sigh, your cunt only became tighter around him. The Mandalorian’s bunk was filled with the sound of your combined moans, heavy breaths, and light plaps of skin against skin.
Visions of what he looked like fucking you flashed through your mind. His huge shoulders, strong arms, veiny forearms, thick fingers. The delectable tree-thunk thighs accenting his toned waist.
You pictured a man with dark hair, probably brown eyes, with the softest lips your pair have ever met, framed by dark stubble. The man would be focused, brow furrowing in concentration. His eyes rolled back into his head and his jaw fell open when you tightened around him. Just like Mando, he’d growl in response to your wet heat, and bring his jaw back up to tighten it while he focused on you.
His hands. His cock. His voice. His lips. Kriff even the feel of his hair and skin. Each component came together to melt you into a puddle of pleasure. Moans escaped from your throat in higher and higher octaves. Sentences didn’t exist anymore, as you could barely form them.
“Think, oh shit, Ma-Mando. Think I-I’m gonna cum,” your voice sounded desperate as you alerted him.
Harsh breaths blew onto your face from Mando’s focused exertion. Your lip was captured under your teeth for the umpteenth time. Only tight whines left your throat. Pussy squeezing around Mando, your body followed suit. Thighs wrapped around his waist and the embrace of your arms held him close.
The Mandalorian left lazy kisses across your face and muttered endless praises.
“Such a good girl.”
“You’re so perfect, mesh’la.”
“Not going to last long after you, my pretty baby.”
Then his kisses paused from being placed on your face. “Hey,” Mando said to get your attention, “listen to me, cyar’ika.”
You whimpered in acknowledgement, but Mando wasn’t having it, “Have to say yes for me,” he let out between strokes.
“Yes-yes I’m listening,” you quickly blurted. 
Almost lost in your pleasure, you realized you had to actually listen to him. To comprehend and process his words. Not that you weren’t listening to him, but the motions he pressed into you made your mind blur together. Your mind snapped to attention at his words.
Mando spoke in a gentle, yet commanding, tone. The grip sealing your conjoined hands together tightened.
“My name is Din.”
Din.
It was simple and to the point, just like how Mando was. No wasting any time. No frills. No banthashit. Just Din.
Then the tight knot in the pit of your stomach snapped. Sounds that once poured from your body ceased as your figure curled into his. The pleasure was something you couldn’t have fathomed before this. Every cell in your body ignited in a passion filled radiance.
“Din! Din, oh fuckkkk, Diiiin!”
Your wet heat clamped onto Mando’s thick cock, sending him into a frenzy of growls and grunts. His calloused thumb remained on your clit until the spasms of your orgasm fizzled out. Then you were left empty handed, but your body lifted up slightly off of the mattress. The Mandalorian snaked his arms behind your shoulders, his hands under the pillow cushioning your head.
Sloppy kisses met your mouth. Tongues pushed into mouths to wrestle with their counterparts. It was like Mando wanted to memorize every ridge of your lips and tongue. To add them to his Creed. Worship them forever.
His head dropped next to yours and your ears were filled with breathy grunts.
Plap. Plap. Plap.
Softly bounced around the metal walls of the bunk.
“Wanted this for so long, baby.”
“Always thought about you, fuck, I think about you all the time.”
The intensity of his grunts increased and you could feel his cock swelling inside you. Soft lips brushed against the shell of your ear, hastily whispering out, “Where do you want me?”
Digging your fingers into the waves of his soft hair, you eagerly responded, “In the condom, Din.”
“Fuucckkk,” he groaned.
His cock started to twitch within your warm walls. The speed and depth of his thrusts no longer followed a formula. Your head raised slightly when large fists balled the bedsheets into his hands. One of your hands drifted up and down his back, soothing him through his release. He was shaking with every excess thrust he gave your wet heat.
Then his heavy body slumped against yours. Mando’s breath was still heaving, sending strong winds across your neck. Open mouthed kisses were gently placed onto the skin there. Your fingers massaged his scalp and he let out a satisfied sigh. Silence filled the space of the bunk.
What if he regretted this? Was this just a one time thing?
“Mand-,” he cut you off with both his voice and the motions he put the pair of you through.
Suddenly you were on top of him. Your head found the plush meat of his relaxed pecs and you laid your head on them. A firm grip from Mando came to wrap around you. His strong arms held you against him like someone threatened to take you away. Mando’s fingertips traced languid shapes across your back. The tip of his nose dug into your scalp as he pressed a couple soft kisses in your hair.
“Din. Call me Din, cyar’ika.”
Your cheeks rose in temperature at his insistence. Fighting your nerves, you asked, “Is this a one time thing?”
The Mandalorian stiffened underneath you. Here it goes. You’ll have to crawl off his body and resort to the sleeping pad in the hull.
“No. Mesh’la, of course not,” a low baritone soothed your worries. Your head slumped onto his chest even more. Feeling nervous, yet confident–even though you literally just fucked him–you brought a hand up to feel his face.
His hand resumed its drawings of small shapes on your back. Humming came from beneath you when your hand made contact with his stubble. Your thumb grazed the short hairs and your fingers followed the curve of his jaw.
His lips felt as soft as they did when they were on yours. Your fingertips reached upwards a bit more. Longer hairs tickled at your digits and you let out a small giggle.
“Mmf, what, pretty girl?” His tone was laced with sleep and curiosity.
You smiled at him in the dark, “You have a mustache,” you told him in a whisper, as if he didn’t already know. A smile from him creeped up under your touch.
“Mmm. Yes, I do,” he replied matter-of-factly. 
In a teasing tone, you inquired, “Who’s that for?”
A low chuckle from Din’s chest made your head rumble. The hand on your back ceased its movements. His nose dipped down to find yours, aiding him in lining up his mouth to kiss you. A gentle kiss was placed onto your lips, and you were acutely aware of the hairs that made up his mustache.
He sighed in content and murmured, “At first it was for me. I don’t know. I just liked it,” his shoulders went up and down in a shrug, he continued with a hum, “but you like it. So now it’s for you.”
Your face became hot at his words. Slightly embarrassed, you nestled your face into his chest. The thin hairs there wisped at your face. 
Sleep quickly caught up to you and your whole body relaxed against Din’s. His large frame made for a comfortable bed. Muscles, none of them tense, gave you a plush surface to melt into.
Din’s strong arms wrapped around you. He continued to press soft kisses into your hair. Right before you slipped out of consciousness he whispered to you.
“I meant what I said,” he paused to wait for a response. You didn’t register him speaking until it was too late, but he continued his sentence nonetheless.
“I’ll do anything for you.”
Supply Run - Review (part four) (Coming soon)
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moondirti · 1 year
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all the ways i can have you
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pairing: Din Djarin x f!Reader rating: explicit (18+ mdni) word count: 1.3k summary: he's hooked on making you feel good. warnings: naked female clothed male, edging, overstimulation, fingering, pussy slapping, squirting, unprotected p-in-v, blowjobs, hickeys, biting, cunnilingus, rimming, face sitting, this is so filthy don't look at me. notes: here's a little thirst i wrote in my down time. It's not affiliated with The Remedy in any way; i just really needed to get all my thoughts about our favourite beskar man out tbh because the slow burn with those two is killing me
The Mandalorian is absolutely filthy.
It’s not something you expect. He’s awkward at the best of times – pointedly avoiding any possibility of social interaction by the drawing of his blaster or an elongated silence. Honestly, for the first few months that you’d known him, you actually thought he hated you. Sure, you were never the unfortunate soul skewered onto his spear, nor had he ever threatened to throw you into his carbonite freezer, but he always had a handy excuse at the ready when you tried to make conversation. It was torture until you learnt not to take it personally; you figured he was probably used to being alone, and that’s no fault of yours. His lack of social skills could not be your burden to bear. So, eventually, when he gave nothing but a grunt to your occasional bizarre musing, you’d simply shrug it off and go back to playing with the kid. 
In hindsight, maybe you should have picked at the source of his reticence. It certainly wouldn’t have taken you as long to get to this point if you had. Because now, it occurs to you that he’d probably been so tense from withholding the desires that the two of you, in fact, shared.
It seems so obvious once the dam had lifted, but keen deduction has never been your strong suit. 
Back to the point, though. Mando is beyond borderline obscene once you manage to tease it out of him. Truly, he’d have never instigated things had you not been so uninhibited. But when his resolve shatters, it’s like his mind goes into overdrive of all the things he’d do to you. You actually think that, if given the opportunity, he’d lay you out for days on end to enact every fantasy he has. Because life has its way of intruding, though, he settles for the in-betweens of your day to day, taking you in the small gaps where it can just be the two of you.
You think he’s wild when he edges you the first time, his gloved hand palming your front while you stand in nothing but your towel. This is on you, he said, you little tease. It’s deliciously painful; his fingers find your clit with practised ease and he presses down on it, rubbing you in small, tight circles. With the way his hardened body presses into you from behind, clad fully in his armour – a stark contrast to your exposed frame – and his rough praise meets your ear, you almost cum from the miniature ministration alone. But he recognises what your quickening pants mean; he sees how your back arches into him like you’re trying to match the overwhelming pleasure his hands administer, and he pulls away at the last second, fingers returning only to give a sharp smack to your cunt. And of course it echoes – you’re soaked, for Maker’s sake – which only serves to make him repeat the action again and again until you’ve significantly darkened in shade. 
By the time you’re on the brink of collapse, Mando has you sitting between his legs, back to his chest, one leg hooked over a strong arm while you sob your pleas into the empty space of the hull. He fingers you fast and rough, delighting in your high-pitched wails and whiney begs, and forces your first orgasm out of you with an expert quirk of his fingers. It’s torturous relief, like white hot embers dancing upon frozen skin, and your vision blurs as you gush over his vambrace. But he doesn’t let up; he continues drawing them from your sopping core, turning in a complete 180 to overstimulate you until you literally have nothing else to give. 
He manages to serve you in a way no one ever has before – you're a complete, quivering mess by the end – so, you assume that’s the extent of it. But time with Mando proved that was the least he can come up with.
He revels in spreading your legs whenever he gets the chance, taking his time to pull your glistening lips apart and absorb the sight of your clenching hole. He says it amazes him – how such a tight thing is able to stretch over his length – then promptly digs his cock from within the confines of his pants. You find yourself agreeing with the wonder of how it fits; it’s by far the biggest you’ve taken – thick with throbbing veins that weave up to an angry, leaking tip – but his thumbs always dance in reassuring circles along your inner thighs when he presses it against you. And when he pushes in, you forget all about your worries, because the stretch is divine. Mando absolutely fills you up to the brink, the ridges of him catching along your inner walls, and he pounds into you with reckless abandon, like a man starved. It’s simultaneously too much and not enough as he reaches those hidden parts of you – that spongy tissue at the front, the wall of your cervix – and the sensation becomes absolutely addictive. You go cock-dumb without fail, drooling, eyes rolling to the back of your head, and you think he might disappear someplace else as well, with the way his words pour unfiltered. Good girl. Beautiful. So fucking tight. Cum for me, I want to feel you. He turns reverent when he gets you this way, awkward fronts be damned. 
Funnily enough, he’s too impatient for you to go down on him. In the rare moments he forfeits, he has to hold himself back from pulling you up so he can just fuck you already. It’s not that you aren’t good at it, either – no, your tongue is enough to drive the strongest of men wild – but he just… doesn’t put as much priority in his pleasure as yours. It’s something different with you entirely. He doesn’t see sex as a means to relieve his mounting tensions, it’s not the same exchange he’s found in all those brothels. With you, Mando is overcome with the unshakeable urge to wring out every pleasure imaginable. He’s obsessed with the plump of your lips and the folds of your flesh. He dreams of every single part of you everywhere – under his hands, between his legs, in his mouth. 
So, he takes off his helmet to put his lips on yours. And you, who’s naive enough to again suppose that the last, world-ending orgasm was the scope of what he could do, experience it as he transforms into something else entirely. 
His kisses leave no area untouched. They find your neck, tightening as he sucks purple hickeys onto your skin, then pepper down to your chest, where he pecks your pebbled nipples and bites the swollen tissue underneath. Mando leaves a trail of spit and welts in his venture, and you moan under the calamity, combing through his soft curls with shaky fingers. And when he finds you soaked through your panties, your nails dig into his scalp, your tummy flushing with slight embarrassment. The pain sparks something in him, it seems, because he pushes your thighs up with a renewed vigour so he can press his nose onto your clothed cunt. My favourite, he groans between long inhales, before he rips off the cotton barrier that separates his tongue from your clit.
Mando eats you out like he’d rather be doing nothing else. He doesn’t. It’s his favourite pastime, solely for the way you mewl and squirm underneath him. He licks, sucks, drinks from you, uncovering every patch of skin with his warm tongue, which flicks over your bud until you cry and drives into you to collect the subsequent nectar. He spreads you on the floor like a meal, dominating in every way. He kneels before you on a chair, open as you rub his stubble into you. He even insists that you sit on his face: ‘I need to taste you more than I do air.’ You have no reason to doubt it, though. He fucks into his fist when you grind down on his chin, his free hand directing you forward until he can lap at your asshole as well. Mando wants you surging, spilling onto him; crying out his name, his real name, which he whispers to you as you come down from his onslaught.
Din, he beams. To you, mesh’la, it’s Din.
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Stripping Away Our Armor
Din Djarin x fem!reader (no use of y/n)
Word count- 5.6k
Prompt/Summary- “Who did this to you?” / You are an informant for the Mandalorian, and secret, unspoken feelings start to blossom between you. But how does he react when he comes by one night and you’re hurt?
Warnings- smut (18+ only!), sex worker reader (we respect sex workers in this house), oral (m receiving), soft romantic sex, praise kink, mutual pining, kind of forbidden romance, hurt/comfort, protective!Din, Din likes cheesy jokes, allusion to violence (nothing excessive), injured reader (nothing super descriptive), minor character death, slight grumpy/sunshine vibes
Notes- Surprise @misspearly1 I’m your Pedro gift exchange writer!!! 💖 I’ve had fun being a sneaky anon and writing this for you!!! I’m sorry this is a little late but I hope you enjoy this!! And thank you @pedrostories for organizing this event!!!
Reblogs/asks/follows are highly appreciated! 💖
@flightlessangelwings-updates is my update blog so feel free to follow that too and turn on post notifications to stay up to date on when I post!
Graphic made by me (I love the Star Wars vibe of this so much!!)
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~
Colorful lights flickered to the beat of the dance music in the club as the Mandalorian walked through the crowd. All types of characters surrounded him: from the young and eager to see the spectacular around them to those who tried to blend in while on the run. Men crowded around the small tables and threw credits and sleazy looks at the dancers. Women with barely anything on their bodies sauntered by carrying trays of drinks. Some gave him a flirty glance, but most recognized him and left him alone. 
There was only ever one person who he saw at the club.
“She’s not here right now, Mando,” one of the other girls, Sonya, set her tray down at the bar and addressed him as he approached. She gave him a subtle flirty glance before she flagged the bartender and gave him a drink order for her table. 
“What happened?” he replied, his voice masking the concern that laid below.
Sonya shrugged, “I think she’s on a personal visit to a vip client. You’re welcome to wait for her,” she gathered fresh glasses and filled them as she spoke, “I’ll let her know you’re here when she gets back. But it might be late,” she eyed the Mandalorian up and down and her done dropped as she smirked, “I can always keep you company in the meantime,” she traced her finger along the beskar on his arm. She knew that the Mandalorian only ever asked for you, yet she couldn’t help but grasp the opportunity while she had it.
Mando gently moved his arm away from her reach, “I’ll wait for her,” he stated plainly yet without malice.
Her expression dropped as she let out a heavy exhale, “Suit yourself.” Sonya knew it was a long shot, yet she wasn’t immune to the beskar-clad man’s effortless charm. But she took his rejection with dignity as she turned and walked away. 
The Mandalorian turned to face the crowd and leaned against the bar. Keeping on high alert at all times, he scanned the crowd and studied the faces he saw. There were some he knew he recognized from bounty pucks, but they weren’t his concern at the moment. He had a higher paying target he was after, and he needed your help to find him.
This arrangement started many months ago when Mando first came into the club to look for a target. Most everyone else who was there at the time was too scared or too intimidated by him. Except for you. You took him into the back and gave him all the information he needed… and then you gave him a taste of your services.
From then, he was drawn back to you time and time again. Mando refused to admit he was addicted to you. But there were times that he looked more forward to the time he spent with you than the information you provided. And once you were behind closed doors, the facade of the toughness you kept up melted away to reveal a kind, good person. And that only made Mando more mesmerized by you. 
It was something he understood fully: keep your emotions out of your line of work. He did the same. Yet, when the two of you were alone together, the Mandalorian felt like you were the only person in the galaxy that really saw the true him. And the way your tough exterior faded away as your face relaxed and your smile lit up the room told him that you trusted him too. You were even the one person to actually make him laugh too, and it felt so good to Mando to let his guard down. 
As he stood at the bar and waited for you, Mando couldn’t help but drift back to the day the two of you met… 
*
“I’m looking for someone,” the Mandalorian asked the bartender as he set the bounty puck down, “He been by here?”
The bartender just huffed and turned to serve others at the far end of the bar without even glancing at the holo image.
Mando let out a heavy sigh as he turned around and faced the crowd. Most danced to the pulsing music and didn’t even give him a second glance. Some scurried out of his way, but he paid them no mind. 
The target had to be here somewhere…
“Need something, Mandalorian?” a sultry voice called his attention, “Perhaps I can… be of service…” your tone dropped as you bat your eyes flirtatiously and shimmied your shoulder subtly. 
Mando looked you up and down and his posture stiffened; you were captivating. Even as a hardened bounty hunter, Mando couldn’t help but notice the way your tiny outfit sparkled right at your breasts to draw men’s eyes. His fists tightened as he fought to keep his composure, “This man… Supposed to be a regular here…”
Just as Mando was about to activate the holo image, you covered it, “Not out here,” your eyes narrowed as you leaned in, “Follow me…” 
The Mandalorian wasn’t sure why but he felt a pull as you slid your hand in his gloved one and took him back to one of the private rooms. And that’s when it happened: the hardened exterior faded away the moment the door was closed and the sultry expression morphed into a genuinely bright smile. 
“Man it smells like upbabe in here…” you sighed in exasperation once you and the Mandalorian were alone.
He stood silent, the slight tilt of his helmet was the only movement as you felt his gaze heavy on you.
You rolled your eyes playfully, “You’re supposed to say ‘what’s upbabe’ and then I say ‘not much what’s up with you!’”
The Mandalorian was caught off guard by your joke once our tough exterior melted away. He stared at you for several moments before he couldn’t help but let out a soft laugh- the first time he did that in a very long time…
“Mando…?” 
Your voice broke him out of his thoughts, and he was brought back to the present where you stood before him. You looked as radiant as ever, and Mando couldn’t help the wave of relief that washed over him at seeing you were alright.
“Hey,” he replied.
“Here for the usual?” you asked coyly. When he nodded in response, you slid your hand in his gloved one and your tone dropped seductively, “Follow me.”
He welcomed that familiar touch… that familiar routine. 
Once the two of you were alone in one of the private rooms, you placed a hand on Mando’s chest and gently guided him backwards. His visor never left you as he allowed you to lead him: something he didn’t let anyone else do. He couldn’t explain it, but there was something different about you. The Mandalorian didn’t trust easily, but he trusted you. 
All the breath left his body as Mando landed on the chair behind him. But he wasn’t sure if it was the landing that knocked the breath out of his chest or if it was the way you looked at him with a fire behind your eyes. Mando’s knees instantly parted to allow you to settle in between his legs, and neither of you broke eye contact as you slowly dropped to your knees on the floor before him.
Mando breathed your name as he reached out and cupped your chin. Your hands landed on his inner thighs just above the plates of beskar on his legs and you gave his flesh a firm squeeze. But just as Mando tried to reach for you and touch you more, eager to make you feel as good as you always made him feel, you stopped him. 
“Let me, Mando,” you whispered as you ran your hands along his thighs and fiddled with the seam at the center of his pants, “I want to take care of you today.”
He couldn’t help but groan as his cock hardened at the thought of what you had planned. Mando watched as you freed his cock from the confines of his pants, and his hands balled into fists when you licked your lips involuntarily. You glanced up at him for a moment before you settled yourself and wrapped your hand around his length.
You worked slowly at first, raising and lowering your hand along Mando’s cock. You watched with eagerness as he hardened more and more with his pump of your fist until he was fully erect before you. A soft whimper escaped your lips as you shifted your position to rub your thighs together for some friction that you suddenly desperately needed. 
Before Mando could address your action, though, you leaned forward and wrapped your lips around the tip of his cock, your tongue lapping at the sensitive head as you did so. He growled as his hands landed on your shoulders as you lowered your head down his shaft, taking as much of him into your mouth as you could.
“Fuck,” Mando hissed as the warmth of your mouth engulfed him, “So good mesh’la…” the praise dripped from his lips in a low tone before he could help it.
You hummed around his cock as you hollowed out your cheeks and sucked him off as hard as you could, knowing exactly what he liked. Raising your head back up, you popped off his cock to instead lick at the salty sweet skin there. You nibbled gently at the head before you ran your tongue flat down the shaft.
Mando groaned your name as you made your way back up his length, your tongue hitting every vein and sensitive spot along the way. Before you took him into your mouth again, you paused and looked up at him and Mando swore the universe froze for a moment. You looked so tantalizing as you looked at him with a desperate fire in your eyes, a trail of spit still connected the two of you.
“You look so fucking beautiful like this,” he sighed heavily.
Without replying, you took Mando’s cock into your mouth again and swallowed as much of it as you could. This time, you had a specific intention in mind, and you weren’t going to stop until you got what you wanted. Mando growled as your warmth became his whole world once more as you bobbed up and down on his cock.
“Fuck… Cyar’ika… I’m…” was all he managed to get out between a string of curses in Mando’a before he exploded in your mouth.
You never let up, even as Mando’s cum filled your throat. You kept going, working and sucking his cock as he came hard into your mouth. And you greedily lapped up and swallowed every last drop, not wanting even one bit to go to waste. You kept going until Mando grabbed onto your scalp and pulled you off of him when he was completely spent.
The two of you stayed in a heavy silence for several moments. Both of you just panted as you both caught your breath, and even though you didn’t see his face, you felt the intensity of his gaze behind the helmet. It sent a fresh wave of need through you and you couldn’t help but moan as you suddenly became aware of how tightly he held you.
In a rush, Mando pounced off the chair and crashed your bodies to the floor. Normally, he preferred to fuck you in a bed, or at least a table, but there was something about you today that filled him with need. He couldn’t wait. He had to feel you, hold you… taste you…
“I need you, sweetheart,” Mando growled as he covered your body with his own and his hands roamed all over you. 
All the air was suddenly forced out of your chest as you hit the floor hard. Too wrapped up in the euphoria of having the Mandalorian on top of you, his hands roaming all over your figure, you almost forgot about why you didn’t allow him to touch you for a moment. But you were painfully reminded when his large hand grabbed your waist and pulled you close against him.
You cried out in pain and all the ecstasy of Mando’s touch completely vanished.
Right away, Mando pulled off of you and sat up on his knees, “What is it?” he asked in concern as his hand hovered over you, “What’s wrong?”
You were not going to shed tears in front of him. You were determined not to show any sign of pain or vulnerability. But the pain in your side screamed at you until you could barely hear anything else. It wasn’t until Mando said your name again that you opened your eyes and looked at him. And even though you didn’t see an inch of skin on him, you could tell he was concerned just from the way he held himself in front of you, his chest puffed up and his shoulders tense. 
“It’s…” you let out a deep breath as you steadied yourself, “It’s nothing,” you tried your best to hide your pain as you scooted away from him slightly, “I’m alright. Just hit the ground a little too hard…”
“It’s not nothing,” Mando’s tone turned serious as he inched forward to stay in your proximity, “Let me see.”
“N-no…” you tried to protest.
“Cyare…” His tone was soft yet it left no room for argument, and the Mandalorian moved too fast for you to block anyway. That came as no surprise, considering he was the best bounty hunter in the galaxy. What did surprise you, however, was the tenderness and care in his touch as he held your sides and carefully lifted your shirt up.
Mando couldn’t stop the low growl that escaped his lips when he saw the wound on your side. It was fresh, but not bleeding. And a scan with his helmet told him that it wasn’t deep, which provided some relief. He sighed as he looked up at your face and he internally kicked himself for not noticing the slight swelling just below your eye before now.
“What happened?” Mando couldn’t help the anger in his voice, though it wasn’t directed at you, “Who did this to you?” he tenderly cupped your face with both hands. When you stayed silent as you looked into his visor with sad eyes, he added softly, “Tell me.”
You let out a heavy breath as you caved, “Shaun…” your voice was hushed as your gaze dropped to the ground, “Shaun Deggs.” All the light that Mando admired in your eyes was gone, and the normally bright smile that drew him back time and time again was clouded over with the tears that you fought back. 
Mando knew the name: it was the target he came to ask you about. His blood boiled as he thought about all the ways he would make him pay for hurting you. You, who was his one light in a dark world. You who was the only person he looked forward to seeing. You, who Mando… cared a lot for. 
He let out a low growl as his grip tensed.
Feeling the intensity of his emotions, you filled the tense silence, “He’s been a regular at the club for some time… deep pockets. He gets himself into trouble with gambling though,” you rambled, “I don’t know how, but somehow he found out I was working with you…” you sighed wearily, “He didn’t like that…” your voice trailed off as you let the Mandalorian piece together what happened.
Mando never felt a rage like this before; he never felt the need to protect someone so greatly like this. At that moment, it didn’t matter that Shaun was worth more alive than dead. He was going to pay for what he did to you with his life. He was going to pay for taking away the light in your eyes.
“Where can I find him?”
*
“No, no, no… P-please…” Shaun begged as he crawled on the floor. Bruises erupted all over his skin as cuts bled and he was sure he had at least three broken bones.
Hovering over him was the imitating figure of the Mandalorian. Blade in hand, he leaned over and smacked him across the face once more as he grumbled lowly. Never before had the Mandalorian felt a rage like this, and with every smack to this low life, he saw your face flash before him. Mando wondered if you looked like this when Shaun paid you a visit, if you were this scared. And he wasn’t there to protect you…
“Tell Gar I promise I’ll pay him back,” Shaun’s voice cracked as his body weakened, “Just don’t kill me please… I’m worth more alive, Mando.”
“I don’t care,” Mando growled, “You hurt someone… Important to me,” he spoke your name, “You remember her?”
Shaun bit his lip and nodded as he whimpered, “I-I’m sorry… I won’t go near her ever again. I swear!”
“I know you won’t…” 
The scream Shaun let out echoed in the room. 
*
You let out a heavy sigh as you ran your hands across your face. It was late into the night, and Mando made you promise to stay at your place until he got back after he walked you home and bandaged your injuries. He barely spoke while he carefully set the bacta patches on the gashes in your skin, but you felt the tension there without the words needed. Even through the layers of amor, you felt his anger radiate and you saw the tension in his arms and shoulders. You had never seen him like this before, and it made your mind spin.
Ever since you first laid eyes on the Mandalorian, there was something that drew you to him. Instead of being scared of him, you felt safe in his presence, and he was the one person you felt like you could let your guard down around. The routine came easily for the two of you: he would come by the club for information on a target, and you would take him to a back room and give him what he needed… and then some. Fully expecting him to be rough with you, it came as a pleasant surprise when Mando was so tender with his touches and he handled you so gently.
Feelings weren’t a luxury you could afford in this life, though. And you knew being a Mandalorian, he couldn’t let himself get too close either. So you kept your true feelings buried deep down, and you were grateful for the time you got with him. It caught you completely off guard though when Mando went into a rage once he saw you were hurt.
“That has to mean something, right?” you whispered to yourself as you clutched the small vibroblade Mando handed you, not wanting to leave you unarmed. There were two things you knew about the Mandalorian and his culture: the helmet never came off, and weapons were as important as air. 
You bit your lip and held the weapon close to yourself as you heard his words to you in your head: “Stay here. Keep this close. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
But you were jolted from your thoughts by a knock at your door. A specific, rhythmic knock. Your face lit up as you set the blade down on the table and jumped for the door. When you opened it, the familiar figure of the Mandalorian greeted you on the other side and your shoulders dropped with a heavy exhale of relief. 
“Mando…” you breathed.
He cupped your face as his heart fluttered in his chest at the sight of your smile, “You’re safe now.”
Glancing down, you noticed a small splash of blood on his beskar. Your eyes went wide as you realized what his words meant, and the way he held your face confirmed your suspicions. You grabbed onto the fabric around his armor and dragged him inside without another word. Emotions ran high as he locked the door behind him and gladly followed your lead.
“Mesh’la,” Mando murmured as he leaned forward and rested his forehead on yours. His hands lightly trailed down your face so that he caressed your jaw on both sides as he exhaled deeply.
“Mando,” you repeated, too lost in a whirlwind of emotions to form any other words. What he did for you was… 
“Din.”
You blinked your eyes open, not even aware you had closed them, “Is that…?”
His hands trailed down your sides so that they rested on your hips, though he was still careful of your wounds, “Yes.”
Tears of happiness filled your eyes as you smiled brightly, “Din…” you echoed his name.
Din groaned at the sound of his name in your voice. “Close your eyes,” his tone was soft as one hand came up and cupped your jaw, “Trust me.”
“I do trust you.” A soft moan escaped your lips as you obliged without a second thought. You trusted the Mandalorian… Din. And you were sure he trusted you too. From the way he reacted when you were hurt, to him leaving one of his weapons with you, to killing a target that would have brought him a higher payout if he had been alive. There had to be something there.
When your world went black, you felt the hand come off your hip before a soft hiss echoed in the room. Your breath caught in your chest as you felt his breath on the skin on your face. He murmured your name as his fingers caressed your jaw before the gap between your faces closed.
This was the first time he kissed you; every time before, the hamlet always stayed on. And kissing Din was even better than you had imagined. Without words, his kiss conveyed all the unspoken emotions, and when his tongue touched yours, everything bubbled over into an explosion of affections. 
Din moaned into your mouth as his hand tightened on your face and he kissed you deeper. Your lips parted as you tilted your head and surrendered to him completely. The taste of him sent a wave of heat through your body, and your core fired up at the way his tongue tangled with yours. 
Keeping your eyes closed, you grabbed onto his shoulders and dragged him back towards your bedroom. Nerves tingled against your skin as vaguely you realized this was the first time you took him back into your private, personal room. But, you felt safe with him, you trusted him, and you wanted him there.
Din broke away from the kiss when he crossed the threshold into your room, and he lowered his helmet only to have his hands free to hold you. His arms wrapped around you carefully as Din savored the lingering taste of you on his tongue. He let out a contented sigh as your warmth wrapped around his heart, and he had you safe and sound in his embrace.
But, you had other plans in mind, and after you stayed in his arms for a moment, you lifted your head and started to yank at the pieces of his beskar. A soft laugh escaped Din’s lips as he let you strip him, and his heart fluttered as he watched how expertly and with such care you took off his armor: a gesture he allowed to you and you alone.
Once the outermost layer was off, and only fabric adorned his body, Din decided it was your turn. As you tried to rip off his shirt, he tenderly took your hands and lowered them, “Let me, love.”
Your eyes scanned his helmet, as if you desperately tried to read his expression though the beskar. 
“Let me take care of you, tonight,” he clarified in a soft voice, echoing your own words as he delicately stripped you of your clothing piece by piece before he ripped off his own clothes.
As hot as you felt, a chill still ran up your spine as the fresh air hit your skin as you allowed Din to strip you. He had seen you naked many times before, yet this time felt different. You were in your home, no music from the club played in the background, and he took his time with you. Times before, he seemed to be in a rush, or he was still riding the adrenaline from a bounty hunt, or you were on a timer.
This time, though, you both had all the time in the galaxy.
That same vulnerability was reflected in Din’s helmet; he had never before been stripped completely. Always needed to keep his guard up, he usually left most of his armor and clothing on, until now. But, just as you felt safe with him, that same security and trust beat in Din’s heart. And it fluttered in his chest as you gasped softly and your eyes poured over every inch of his skin, and a rush of heat pulsed through his veins at the wanton look of desire in your eyes. The way you licked your lips involuntarily made his cock twitch with need. 
Din scanned you over once you were both bare, and a fresh pulse of anger flooded his system as he saw the bacta patches on your skin. Carefully, he ghosted his fingers across the wounds, “I’m sorry I wasn’t there,” his voice was nothing more than a whisper.
Tears filled the corners of your eyes as you looked into his visor and this time you had no doubts what his expression looked like, “It’s not your responsibility, Din.”
His hand trailed up your body, pausing as he tickled the skin of your breasts and for a moment Din really soaked in how beautiful you were. When his hand reached your face, he wiped away the tear that threatened to fall from your eye, “Yes it is,” he said plainly yet with firm conviction. 
“Din?”
He let out a low growl as he took control and guided you back to your bed. Need guided his movements, yet Din was still careful not to hurt you as he lowered you onto your bed so that you laid on your back. Wide eyes looked up at him, nothing on his body but his helmet, and you gasped as you noticed how hard he was.
“Please Din,” you pleaded, “I need you…” You felt a rush of wetness in your pussy as he climbed over you without hesitation.
Din hovered over you as he rocked his cock along your folds, yet he was still careful not to hurt you or brush against your injuries. He groaned as he felt how wet you were, and his cock twitched between your bodies. Your name escaped his lips in a prayer as he shifted himself to caress your breast with one hand while staying over your body.
The moan you let out went right to his cock, and Din brushed across your nipple with his calloused fingers. Your breast was so warm and soft under his grip, and every time you cried out in pleasure, he inched him closer to losing control. But, Din fought to keep his composure. This wasn’t like times before. This wasn’t a desperate need for release. This was… something more.
“Fuck me,” you breathed, “Din…” you bucked your hips against his body, grinding yourself against him.
“Fuck…” he groaned as he felt your wetness on his length, “So beautiful… You’re so beautiful.”
You opened your eyes as you took in the sight before you. You couldn’t help the way your eyes roamed down to his chest as Din stayed overtop of you. It was then you noticed the way his arms strained on either side of you, his muscles tight and tense as he held himself back for fear of hurting you. But, the way he cared only made you more desperate, and this time it was your turn to caress his face.
Reaching up, you cupped his helmet, mirroring the way he touched you earlier, “I’m ok, Din,” you reassured him, “I’m ok because of you,” he heard the emotions in your voice as the room warmed, “You won’t hurt me. I want you… Need you…” you pleaded. 
He moaned your name as he dipped his head down and touched his helmeted forehead to yours once more, “I…”
Din interrupted himself when he slowly pushed into you, still careful not to hurt you as he filled you with his cock inch by inch. You broke the connection from his forehead as you dropped your head onto the pillow as you felt the familiar stretch. Instead of fucking you quickly, though, Din pushed into your slowly, taking his time until he bottomed out inside of you.
“So good… Feels so good…”
Neither of you were sure who spoke those words. Perhaps it was both of you overlapping at the same time.
“Din… Move please…” you pleaded as you ran your hand along his back before you slipped it under his helmet. Soft, thick hair met your hand at the nape of Din’s neck and you couldn’t help but give it a gentle tug.
Unable to deny you, Din groaned as he rocked back and slowly thrust forward again, filling you to the brim. You cried out in pleasure as he fucked you at a slow and steady pace. There was no rush, no need to pound into you. All you both wanted was to feel the other, and you clung to his shoulders as his cock hit that sweet spot inside you over and over again.
Din wasn’t just fucking you this time. He was making love to you. And it was everything you ever thought it would be. Tears filled the corners of your eyes again, but they weren’t tears of sorrow. They were tears of joy, tears of elation, tears of emotions. A string of curses and praises flowed from both your lips as your warmth engulfed Din over and over again as he rocked into you.
“Fuck… Din… Yes…” you moaned as you dug your nails into his skin and wrapped your leg around him, desperate to keep him close, “You’re gonna make me cum…”
He growled as he fought off his own climax, “Show me how beautiful you look when you cum on my cock, cyare.” Din snaked a hand between your bodies and rubbed at your clit as he sped up his thrusts. 
Without the music of the club to fill the room, Din was able to hear the wet sounds of your pussy with every thrust. And it turned him on unlike anything else before. He growled softly as the need to send you over the edge fully overwhelmed him. At that moment, nothing else in the galaxy mattered: only you. 
“Din…” you cried out as he pushed you over the edge. Your entire body trembled as you came hard, your inner muscles squeezing his cock as you rode out your climax. 
“Fuck,” Din growled your name as your orgasm triggered his own as he came deep inside you, spilling himself into your body and filling you up even more. 
Just as Din was about to collapse onto your body, he stopped himself. The ecstasy of his climax took over all brain function for a moment. But, he caught himself and instead carefully pulled out of you and landed on your bed beside you. Right away, you rolled over and laid your head on his chest as you wrapped an arm around his waist. Together, the two of you came down from your highs, lost in the other’s arms.
Your eyes stayed closed as you peppered soft kisses on Din’s chest and listened to the pounding of his heartbeat. A warm smile lit up your face as you felt his hands gently stroke your back comfortingly, and you were aware of how careful he was to avoid any of your injuries. 
“Din…” you waited for him to hum in response, “Thank you,” you whispered.
His breath hitched in his throat, “You never have to thank me, mesh’la,” Din replied, “I’ll always keep you safe.”
You trembled as his words went right to your heart. You stayed in the comfortable silence for several moments before you spoke again, “Hey Din…” your voice wavered as you traced random patterns on his bare chest. You felt him tighten his grip on you and you summoned the courage to ask, “Do you think love is in the stars for either of us? Do you think our lives would allow that?”
Din was silent for a time, and you knew he was choosing his words; he knew exactly what you meant by asking that, “Probably not,” he answered honestly, “But,” he interrupted your heavy sigh, “That doesn’t stop me… or you…” You’re stronger than you know…
He felt the way your entire body relaxed in his grip and he knew you understood the meaning behind his words. The truth was, he would do anything to protect you, to keep you safe. It didn’t matter who it was, Din wouldn’t hesitate to plunge his vibroblade into the chest of anyone who would dare harm you…  
As you laid in his arms, Din lifted his helmet for the second time that night and placed a soft kiss on the top of your head. The contented sigh you let out told him you were still awake, and you felt it. He smiled against your scalp, another gesture he saved only for you, before he lowered the helmet and settled in your bed.
When the sun rose, the two of you could face what lay ahead. But for now Din just savored the feeling of your body safe and warm in his arms. And while the words themselves remained unspoken, the feelings were there. And he was sure you heard them loud and clear: 
I love you, cyar’ika…  
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