#din djarin x tall reader

[pedropascallme]

☆Kinktober 2024☆

Day 9: Size kink

Pairing: Din Djarin x f!Reader

Warnings: SMUT (18+ MINORS DNI!!!!) size difference/size kink, mentions of masturbation (f), oral (m receiving), fingering, p in v sex, creampie, kinda fluffy? almost? If I missed anything please let me know!

You’d always considered yourself average as far as Tattooine was concerned. For a human, you were average height, average build—average, average, average.

But Din had a way of carrying himself that made you feel more important by proxy. People moved out of your way, averted their gaze, as if you were an extension of the hefty Mandalorian soldier.

And for once, you felt tiny; puny compared to the heap of man and metal that walked by your side.

You didn’t know how tall he was without his armor, how broad his shoulders would be without the pauldrons that framed him, but the manner in which he walked—brooding and aloof, confident in every step despite the near constant gunfire aimed his way—made you feel as though the beskar only served to heighten his already looming stature.

It drove you insane.

The nagging voice in your head got louder every day; he could kill you with one hand, he could squash you where you stood—he’d probably fuck you out of your own mind.

And what were you to do about it? A glorified babysitter who kept ship and dressed wounds; who occasionally found a spot by the Mandalorian’s side in the cockpit, leaning against him without protest from his modulated voice.

You were a business measure. You were a way to ensure nothing went awry when Din was busy or away. Or worse.

But it didn’t stop you from spending sleepless nights in your cot with your hand in your pants, stuttering out his name when you pressed your fingers to the sweet spot you knew so well, curling up and imagining how the rhythm of his breathing would feel through his armor.

Now, as you made your way to the cockpit, you felt a chill run over you—the cold air of space sunk into the ship and settled in your bones.

You pushed down the urge to imagine the way Din’s unobstructed skin would feel against you, warming you, protecting you from the harm of the vacuum surrounding the ship.

“Kid’s asleep.” You stood at the entrance of the cockpit, not necessarily expecting a response.

You’d come to enjoy your one-sided conversations.

Din didn’t look up, but his head bobbed slightly in acknowledgement.

“I thought he’d never get to sleep…he was hungry, then he wasn’t, then he was toddling like he owned the place.” You sighed, “He was especially grabby tonight. For someone with three fingers, he’s got quite the grip. Should probably teach your son that noses aren’t for pulling on.”

“Not my son,” Din tilted his head, visor pointed over his shoulder as he responded to you, “Just…my kid.”

“Right…” In all the time you’d spent on the ship, you still hadn’t managed to figure out what connection the two had to each other. “Well, either way, I think he’s getting a little better at recognizing when he’s tired himself out—knowing what he wants.”

Din nodded again, just enough for you to recognize that the conversation was over. You turned to leave, cursing yourself for your inadvertent conversational faux pas.

At least you had your bedtime daydreams.

“And you?” Din spoke before you managed to exit.

“What about me?” You stood still, waiting for him to provide an explanation.

“Do you think you’re getting better at recognizing what you want, mesh’la?”

You remained unsure of what that word meant, or why he used it to address you—several times when he’d first taken you in, you’d corrected him, reminding him your name, and every time he’d just stared, nodded, and thanked you.

Din still didn’t look at you, and it was somewhat unnerving that he was so good at playing the part of a statue.

“I don’t…” You took a few steps forward, the gap between the two of you still seemingly endless, “I’m not sure what you mean…”

“Mmh,” was his only response.

But you stayed behind him, curiosity getting the best of you.

“Was there—what are you trying to say?” You pressed for clarity. His quiet intensity made you nervous.

There was a long pause. You momentarily wondered if he would even grace you with an answer. He did that sometimes, staring down at you through his visor as you mulled over something he’d said, refusing to muster a reply to your line of questioning and leaving you to figure it out yourself.

“You’ve done work on the walls.” Din leaned in his chair, pressing his body to the chair’s back and spreading his thighs as if to stretch them.

You swallowed, trying not to watch him move, though your stomach flipped a little when one of his gloved hands came to rest near his crotch.

“I’ve done work that you asked me to do…” You still weren’t sure where he was going with this—if he was going anywhere at all. “Wiring and welding…is there something else? Because it wouldn’t be a bother, ‘specially since the kid’s asleep.”

You were greeted with another long pause, only disturbed by the sharp breath Din let out that caught in the modulator.

It sounded almost as if he was laughing.

You shifted on your feet, uncertain and growing more tense by the minute. Was he unhappy with your work? Was he going to make you rip out what you’d done, start all over again—berate you for your shortcomings?

“You’ve noticed that they’re thin.” Din’s words made your anxious musings of being out of a job vanish, replacing them with entirely different anxieties.

You wondered if he could see you shaking like a leaf.

“I w—Din it’s not…” You couldn’t think of an excuse, and you were suddenly hit with the notion that perhaps he wasn’t even talking about that; maybe he was simply asking you to be quieter as you rummaged through cabinets and closed doors.

“I like the way you say my name.” He turned the chair around, facing you. You stared at him dumbly, his legs still spread in a shamefully alluring manner. “What do you think about?”

Your lips parted as you considered his question.

On one hand, there was still a chance to argue back, plead your innocence, feign ignorance; a chance for you to ignore him, to walk out of the cockpit and crawl into bed.

On the other hand, you didn’t want to walk away.

“You…” You mumbled, looking down at the floor. You fiddled with your hands in an effort to feel less awkward. “I think about you.”

“And?” He wasn’t going to let you omit details.

“I think about…about how much bigger and—and stronger than me you are.”

He stayed silent, and you searched for ways to fill the gap he would otherwise fill in the conversation.

“I think about how you make me feel so small when you stand next to me—sometimes when you give me instructions, you stand so close to me, crowd me against the wall, and I—I like…I like your shoulders.”

You cringed at your words. I like your shoulders? You wanted to kick yourself.

“And I think about how your hands would feel—always think about how big they are, how they’d, um, how you’d probably be able to grab me…play with me and use me so easily.”

Din let you stew in your words for a moment longer before speaking.

“Come.” He tilted his head back, a small gesture to bring you forward.

You obliged, forcing your legs to move, settling to stand between his knees.

“Sit, mesh’la. On your knees.” He watched you, and though you looked at him skeptically at first, you did what was asked of you.

When you’d gotten yourself comfortable, shifting on your knees between his legs, you looked up at him. His face was tilted down, watching you acquaint yourself with the position you’d taken on the floor.

“You are easy to play with.” He said it so robotically, a monotonous acknowledgement of the scene before him as you clung to his every word.

“I knew it,” you offered a sheepish smile, hoping that making light of the situation would help the tension dissipate.

Din reached out to hold your chin, tilting your head up to force your line of sight directly into his visor.

“What else do you think about?” The worn leather of his gloves felt smooth on your skin, and you let out a shaky breath of appreciation at the contact.

“Think about…” You reached up hesitantly, letting your palms rest on the armor plating his thighs. “How you’d feel. How heavy you’d be on my tongue and how—how deep you’d be…inside me…”

You heard him groan, an intensely human sound beneath his helmet, and it spurred you on, suddenly aware of the power you held and the mutual need that both of you were experiencing.

“I think about how thick you are—always imagine that my hands would be too small to fit around you properly. And how much effort it would take for you to fit.” You let your fingers spread over the cloth of his flight suit.

Din removed his hand from your chin, both of his palms coming to rest on top of your own hands. He gripped them loosely, pushing them back onto the armor on his thighs.

You felt a pang of disappointment until you realized that he was giving himself the space to undo the clasp of his suit to give you what you wanted.

He sat up a bit straighter, fumbling with the fastener before managing to undo it with a grunt. He paused, looking at you between his legs for a moment, and then he pulled his cock from its confines.

He was beautiful; long and thick, tan shaft holding up a red, rounded tip. Veins ran down the underside of his length, decorating him.

You tried not to let the feeling of shock show on your face, but he laughed lightly, validated by your obvious astonishment.

“Is it what you thought it would be?” Din’s voice was low as he began stroking himself with a gloved hand.

You whimpered, unable to contain the startled glee in your voice. “Din—”

“Yes,” he cut you off, sighing, “Please.”

You let out a hum, bringing your hands up to his cock, met with the thrilling revelation that your fantasies had been grounded in reality—your hands were insufficient in engulfing his length, fingers struggling to close around him, several inches of him remaining untouched.

You leaned forward, hesitantly sticking your tongue out and swirling it around his tip.

Din’s head fell back as he cursed, fingers flying to grip at your hair and follow you as you began to bob your head up and down over what you could fit into your mouth without choking.

“You’re—you’re warm…” He grunted out, gathering strands of your hair into a makeshift handle. “Did you think about this, mesh’la? Did you think about having me in your mouth like this?”

Your response was muted by his cock, but the happy sound that bubbled from your chest let him know everything he needed to.

You let the spit that dripped over him coat your palms, using it as a lubricant to slide your hands over his cock while your continued to force more of him down your throat.

Din hissed at the feeling, the way your wrists jerked in sync with the movement of your tongue over him, and he tightened his grip on your hair.

He let you continue for a while, before deciding to pull you off. You rested your head on his thigh, one hand still trailing the veins of his cock while you tried to catch your breath, drooling.

“Look at me,” he urged, tugging at your hair to tilt your face up. Your lips were puffy, chin coated in your drool, and there were tears glazing your eyes. He stared, content with how easy it was to get you cockdrunk. “Perfect.”

“I wasn’t done…” You whimpered an argument, pouting.

“Yes, you were.” Din coaxed you up from the floor, hands on your arms lifting you to stand.

He let his arms drop, looking at you, how wrecked you were while still fully clothed before him, and his fingers moved to toy with the buttons of your trousers.

“Alright?” He froze, awaiting a sign that what he was doing was ok, that you were willing to let him continue.

“Din, if you don’t take them off, I will.” You let yourself drag a hand down the side of his helmet, and though you felt cold metal in place of skin and hair, you still felt as though the gesture was intimate, fitting for this scenario.

Din had heard what he’d needed to hear, finally undoing the buttons and letting your pants pool around your ankles. You stepped out of them awkwardly, playing with the hem of your shirt and looking at him expectantly.

He nodded, a more obvious signal this time, and you shed the shirt from your body, too, leaving you fully exposed. You began to lean forward into him, but he placed a hand on your shoulder, pushing you away.

“Turn around.”

You spun, turning your back to him. Without warning, you felt leather-clad fingers squeezing your skin, roaming your hips before gripping harshly at your ass.

“Now sit.” He put both hands on your hips and tugged you back to him, letting you adjust as you fell into his lap. He helped you spread your legs, hooking your knees over him and opening you to the cold air of the ship.

“Bite.” Din pressed a finger to your lips, “I want to feel you.”

You whimpered, carefully biting down on the tip of the glove and letting him pull his hand out. He grabbed the fabric that hung from your mouth and tossed it to the side.

“Good.” His newly ungloved hand roamed your body, groping your tits and squeezing roughly at any untouched skin he could find. His other hand gripped your hip, keeping you steady.

You whined, trying to grind down against him. The pulse of his cock, still hard and coated with your spit, pressed into your back, and it made you impatient and dizzy.

“Stay still.” Another command that had you whining, but you acquiesced.

Din’s bare hand wrapped around your thigh, pulling it further to give him ample room to touch you where you needed him. He pressed one finger to your clit, and though the touch was somewhat soft, you bucked your hips into the feeling.

“Such a little thing,” he mused, “It’s so easy for me to keep you where I want you.”

That made you moan: his acknowledgement of your size difference and the way he used it to his advantage. You squirmed in an effort to get him to give you more of what you wanted.

Din’s finger dropped lower, teasing your slit and hovering over your hole. He dipped the tip of his finger into you, growling at the slick feeling that coated him.

“All this from nothing.” He thought aloud before plunging the finger into your cunt, curling it to jab into your most tender spot.

“Oh m—Din!” You hadn’t expected the intrusion, but you welcomed it all the same. You writhed on his finger, much thicker than your own and filling you in a much more satisfactory way. “More—another, please.”

“You can handle more?” You thought you heard him smiling.

“Even if I can’t, you can make me,” you whimpered, “I want more.”

Your response earned a rumble from Din, a low growl that vibrated through his chest. He pressed another finger into you, leaning over your shoulder to watch your cunt swallow the digits and coat them with your juices.

“Look,” he grunted, “Look how much you struggle with two fingers. How are you going to take my cock?”

And you were struggling, but it was wonderful; his fingers pressed against your walls, stretching you out in preparation for what was to come, and you brought your own hand to your clit to rub circles over yourself.

But Din grabbed your wrist, leather digging against you as he tugged your hand away from your core.

“Mine.” His voice was animalistic, so lost in the way you squeezed his fingers and the way you listened to his demands. He tossed your own hand to the side, replacing it with gloved fingers that pressed rhythmically into you in time with the fingers he had working you open. “Had plenty of time to touch. Thought you wanted the real thing.”

“I do—Din, I do, I do,” you were pleading, begging for his help in getting you to your high. “Please, I do.”

“Cum.” It was all he said, pressing his fingers roughly against your clit and curling those he had inside you to tease your orgasm from your delicate spot.

And you did; with a loud yelp and a chant of his name, you were coming undone on his hands.

You rocked against his cock where it nestled against your ass, whimpering as you let your head fall back against his shoulder.

“Good, mesh’la.” He stroked your hair.

He pulled his fingers from you slowly, and you shuddered, hit with the feeling of emptiness as your body clenched around nothing. He brought his fingers to your lips, and you welcomed them into your mouth, sucking on them and gathering the remnants of your slick on your tongue.

“Din,” you gathered yourself together, releasing his fingers and breathing deeply. You pressed your back to his chest. “More.”

“You’re being greedy.” He couldn’t hide his delight at your eagerness, the modulator picking up on the amused breaths he let out. “Stand up. Face me.”

On shaky legs, you obeyed.

You felt your thighs, gluey against the air, stick together as you moved, evidence of your pleasure that lingered on your skin.

When you turned to face him, went wide-eyed with fascination. His ungloved hand had wrapped around his cock, slowly stroking himself as he watched you.

“On my lap.” His free hand patted his thigh, and you approached enthusiastically.

You maneuvered yourself on top of him, straddling him and letting your knees press into the crevices between the armrests of the chair and his body. He placed a hand on your hip, rubbing his thumb over your skin, trying to feel you through the leather of his glove.

You settled against him, feeling the movement of his arm as he continued to jerk himself off. The tip of his cock brushed against your clit, and you mewled, rolling your hips against him.

“What do you want?” He urged you to speak, his fingers digging into your side.

“You—want your cock, Din.” You were shameless, desperate to feel him split you in half.

“And if it doesn’t fit?” He slapped his cock against you, making you whimper above him. You shifted your hips to savor the feeling of his skin on yours.

“You’ll make it fit.” You found the confidence to look into the visor, certain that you were gazing into his eyes behind the shield.

He groaned, pulling you closer to him as he lined himself up with your entrance.

“I will.” He reassured you, beginning to push into you.

You moaned at the stretch, the pressure of his body against yours as your cunt swallowed the head of his cock. You clawed at the armor on his chest, and he let out a throaty sound.

“So tight,” he seemed almost as breathless as you felt, “Taking me so well.”

“Feels—it feels so good,” you whispered, bouncing on the tip of his cock, “Give it to me, please. All of it.”

With a growl, Din removed his hand from the base of his cock, gripping your hips, manhandling you to contort your body the way he wanted you.

He pushed you down onto him, thrusting his hips upward until he was buried to the hilt in your cunt.

You screamed, head falling into the crook of his neck and writhing as your body accepted the invasion of his length. Despite the suddenness and the extent to which you had been filled, you craved more, dragging your hips against him and trying to see just how deep he could get.

Din cursed, rasping and desirous. “Look at you taking all that cock,” he was transfixed, obsessed with how your cunt gripped him. “You think a lot about having me force it in, little one? Forcing you to take it how I wanted? Ruining you?”

“Y—es,” you sobbed into him, “Wanted you to—wanted you to break me open.” You were choking back moans, arms wrapped around his neck.

He had engulfed you completely, dwarfing you and turning you into nothing but a toy—a doll at his disposal that he used with no regard.

And you loved it. You loved the texture of his veins running down your walls, the filthy wet sounds that he pulled from your cunt with every deep thrust, the way his balls bounced heavy against your ass when he forced you down onto him.

He brought a hand to the nape of your neck, pulling you back and encouraging you to look down at where your bodies connected. He released you, opting to grab your hand and press it into your stomach.

“You know what that is?” There was a smugness to his tone, one that made you feel lightheaded, “That’s my cock.”

You moaned, but he wasn’t done speaking.

“That’s my cock wrecking you—breaking you how you wanted. Not your fingers, mesh’la. Do you hear the pretty sounds you’re making for me? I never heard you scream like that when you were trying to fuck yourself.”

Your jaw went slack, legs aching and hot with the effort you had to put into keeping up with his pace.

“S—o much—so much better,” you choked out, “You feel so much better than my hands, Din.”

“I know I do. Tell me,” he kept your palm pressed against your stomach, watching as you bulged with him every time his cock punched into you. “Tell me how it feels.”

“Din—oh!” You were so far gone, so focused on the pleasure of having him so close, so deep. You managed to breathe a one-word response. “Big…”

“Big,” he laughed, “That’s right.”

His thrusts became slower, his cockhead nudging your g-spot at a delicious pace that made you give up your attempts at keeping up with him.

You fell against his body, happy to let him do the work while you succumbed to his movements.

“Tight little pussy—only cock you need,” he was speaking rhetorically, not posing it as a question or statement for you, per se, but a general agreement spoken into the cockpit that he was certain you would find truth in. “Only cock that’ll ever fit again.”

You felt drool puddle from the corner of your lips, having gone so completely dumb for him.

There was a fire spreading throughout your body, heat licking at your core as it threatened a deluge of bliss.

“Only you, Din,” you mumbled against him, “Please, only you.”

He had resorted to dragging you over him, pulling and pushing your hips over his length and watching his cock split you open. The action ensured that your clit pushed against him, giving you the friction you’d need to reach another high when paired with the stretch of his cock.

“Cum,” his voice had dropped just above a whisper, “Let me feel you squeeze me tight, mesh’la.” He squeezed your hips hard, bucking into you.

You came with a delighted squeal, gripping his shoulders and grinding yourself down into him. He hugged you to his body, further enveloping you, and you felt safe and fulfilled.

His thrusts quickly became more erratic, searching for release. You felt him stiffen against you, not out of discomfort but due to the imminent high he faced.

“Din…Implant,” you whispered, hoping he could hear your voice over the panted breaths you took. “Please. Inside.”

Your words were all it took, and his hips stuttered into you. He moaned, head falling back against the chair and arms hauling you even closer to his body.

You felt the warmth of his spend in your abdomen, painting your walls and filling you with him. You moaned softly, squirming on his lap in a display of contentment.

He brought a hand up to feather through your hair, letting you rest against him as you both settled.

“How do you feel?” He asked, after the silence had become too much even for him.

“So good,” you nuzzled against his pauldron, “You made me feel so good, Din.”

He turned to look down at you. “As good as you thought it would feel?”  

“So much better.”

[flowersforjude]

𝐋𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐈𝐧 𝐓𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 | Din Djarin x Fem!Reader

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | A night in a beautiful meadow and an innocent question leads to a startling confession.

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 1,422

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | Literally none. Just an oblivious reader and nervous Din. Fluff rised to the max.

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞 | Guy’s, this made me weep with how cute it is. So, just fair warning I guess?

masterlist

Like most things, it started with a simple question.

“Cyar’ika, can you hand me that wrench?”

You were helping Din with some repairs on the Crest when you heard that word for the hundredth time.

As you picked up the tool, your mind wrestled with the wandering thoughts of what that word meant. Din called you that all the time. He’d throw some others in the mix every once in a while.

Mesh’la.

Cyar.

Cyar’ika was the most common, though. You didn’t speak a bit of Mando’a, so you had no clue what he was calling you. He could be calling you the worst thing ever, and you wouldn’t even know. But even with his rough exterior, you highly doubted that he was referring to you as anything too horrible.

With every cyar, mesh’la, or cyar’ika your curiosity grew. But you didn’t voice your questions out of fear that you’d overstep some invisible boundary. You and Din were close—well, as close as the Mandalorian would let himself get to you. He’d told you his true name, so you counted that as progress. He still had so many secrets, though. So you didn’t want to push him to reveal stuff he wasn’t ready for. You would take whatever he’d give you. You would have him, however you could.

But sometimes your interest was almost too much.

Like at daybreak when he would touch your shoulder oh so gently and say, “Good morning, cyar.” In that deep, velvety cadence his voice had in the mornings.

Or when you’d just had a close call on a mission and he would rush to you, frantic, and place his hands on your cheeks. “Are you alright, cyar’ika? Are you hurt?” The words would leave his lips in a hurry and sometimes jumble together. You knew what he was saying nonetheless.

It was those moments when he showed you gentleness, concern, and care that you found it hard not to blurt out everything on your mind.

“What does cyar’ika mean?”

“What does cyar and mesh’la mean?”

“Do you know what it does to me when you touch me?”

“Do you love me as much as I love you?”

But you kept quiet and let the thoughts mingle in your mind. You were just going to leave well enough alone. Hoping that possibly ignoring your curiosity would make it, and your developing feelings fade away. That proved to require arduous effort, which you found yourself lacking day by day. And eventually, your efforts proved to be in vain.

The night it happened, the Crest had landed on some forest planet. Din had just wrapped up a difficult hunt, so he perched the ship on the first globe he could. You and the kid had been cooped up inside for days now, so as soon as the hatch opened, you were both bounding down from the cockpit.

The kid ran into the tall grass of the field, chasing frogs and crickets with the moonlight guiding his expedition. You stood close to the ship, just watching him with a loving smile. Din came to stand beside you, quite as ever, but his presence was a comfort you relished in far too much.

The first blink of light had you curious. The second and third and fourth flashes had you in awe.

The serene meadow was set ablaze with glittering brightness. Fireflies floated high and low, strung about the tall grass like hundreds of flawless silvery stars. They blanketed the grassland far and wide, down to the glimmering lake in the distance.

“Oh wow,” you breathed. You ventured farther out into the plain, turning in a slow circle, absolutely awestruck.

You could hear the child’s gurgling laughter from nearby. You couldn’t help the giggle that erupted from your throat. The dazzling excitement from the whole experience makes you somewhat astounded. You've never seen anything like this before. Something so beautiful.

You face Din, still standing guard at the front of the ship. “Isn’t this spectacular?” You questioned.

You could hear the airy chuckle get past his vocoder. “It’s certainly something.”

You rolled your eyes in a very childish manner and tilted your head in confusion. “How could you think this is anything but…what’s the word for beautiful in Mando’a?”

You’ve caught his full attention now, seemingly catching him off guard. He appears stunned beyond words. Beyond thoughts as well perhaps. You don’t understand why. It was just a simple question, but it seemed to have knocked any rational notion from him.

What you don’t know is that while you look at him with such sincerity in your eyes and you wait slightly nervous for his response, his brain is nothing short of a mess.

“Din,” you begin. “If I’ve crossed a line somehow-”

“The word is mesh’la.”

That stops you short. Your heart thudded to a halt for several seconds as you took in the sudden confession.

“Mesh’la,” you repeat softly.

You have no idea that his knees almost buckle at the sound of your voice speaking in his mother tongue.

Your face heats at the implication. Mesh’la means beautiful. Din calls you Mesh’la. Din calls you beautiful. He thinks you're beautiful? Or was it meant as something like a courtesy? Was he just being a flirt? No, Din wasn’t the type. So he must think it if he calls you it.

“Y/N.”

You speak up before he can get another word out. “You think I’m beautiful?”

He nods. “Yes.”

A grin tugs your lips up ever so slightly. Realization dawns on you as your mind recalls all the affectionate exchanges that you fooled yourself into thinking were merely friendly.

A coo from below takes your attention for a moment. The kid is at your feet with his arms stretched up for you. You hold him in the crook of your elbow as you close the distance between you and Din. When you stop in front of him, a radiant smile is permanently placed upon your lips.

“And uh, cyar’ika,” you whisper. “What does that mean…?” You’re a little hesitant to let all your questions come to light. A small part of you still worried you’re reading too much into it.

He takes a deep breath, and you try to ignore the anxiety coursing through you. “Cyar’ika…” He’s never sounded this breathless before. “It means sweetheart.”

The blood rushes to your cheeks with a new fury, painting your skin scarlet. It terrifies you a little that you can’t see his face, that you can’t read the expressions he is wearing right now. You think you know where this is going, but not being able to sense the situation from the other person makes it hard to be sure. You can see that he’s tense, possibly waiting for you to tell him that you were uncomfortable. But you weren't; you were a nervous wreck, but you were not uncomfortable with this knew information in the slightest. You were trying to figure out how to move forward with this without seeming like a lovesick fool.

After waiting an eternity trying to get a hold of yourself, you make a decision. You slowly bring your hands up to him, gently gliding along his arms until they reach the broad expanse of his shoulders, and then the cool surface of his helmet.

You can feel his panic, but you softly sush him. Eventually, your hands still on the side of his helmet, where you imagine his cheeks would be. You picture them flushed like yours. Even through the impenetrable beskar, you feel like the heat of his skin is melting into yours. You imagine how it would actually feel to be skin to skin with him. If you ever had the privilege to experience that, you were sure you could die happy.

What happens next is a surprise. Din clutches your hands in his and brings them down between you both. He then slowly touches his forehead to yours. The shock of cold metal draws a gasp from your lips.

“Ni ganar hid ner kar'taylir darasuum teh gar par chaaj'yc too munit, cyar’ika.” A whispered admission comes from him.

You can’t help but laugh as you have no clue what he said. “What?”

He chuckles along with you. “I said that I have hidden my love from you for far too long, sweetheart.”

Your heart cracks open with so many emotions that it’s overwhelming. It aches inside you, but the pain is welcome because you’d rather have this, him, than the uncertainty you lived in for so long.

I poured over this for days, and I still feel like something isn't right. But oh well, maybe it'll come to me later. 🤷‍♀️

[crowandmousewritingco]

We Liked Your Vibe

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x f!reader x Din Djarin

Words: 3.4 k

Rating: M (it's mostly smut folks)

Summary: Din promised Dieter to a threesome, and you have caught their attention.

Author: Mod Mouse (I know I'm not dead)

Note: Happy Holidays everyone! This is my gift to @guelyury for the secret santa exchange set up by @dieterbravobrainrotclub! Thank you @sp00kymulderrI for setting this up! I hope you enjoy your gift.

On another note, I hope to start getting back in the grove of writing. With the semester wrapped up and my life in general calming down, I hope to start posting fics again. I don't think it will be as often as I was (I can't believe I somehow put two fics a week out lol) But I'll figure out something that works. Anyways onto the smut!

“Oh what about that one?” Dieter asked excitedly, nodding in the direction of a goth looking person strolling up to the bar. 

Din glanced up from his whiskey, the melting ice giving a small tink against the glass. His gaze took in the figure, but he shook his head. “Not that one. Came in with a partner.” 

Dieter signed dramatically and slumped over the bar counter. Din slid his drink away to keep him from knocking it over. This wasn’t the first time tonight. “Diiiiiiiiin” Dieter whined. “That’s the third one you’ve said no to tonight.” 

“Yes but all you’ve shown me are couples. I said they had to be single,” Din replied raising his highball glass to his lips. 

Dieter stuck his tongue out at him before turning his head to survey the room. His dark eyes roamed the space once again. So many people with others. ‘Was no one single in the tristate area anymore?’ The thought crossed his mind and he sighed. Maybe it was just going to be him and Din tonight. 

That was until you saddled up to the bar, seemingly with the weight on the world on your shoulders. Dieter’s head poked up as you ordered a shot of tequila. You sprinkled some salt on the crook of your thumb as the bartender set the glass in front of you. Quickly you lapped the salt up with one hand and down the shot in the other, the sting of the alcohol barely affecting you. 

Without looking away, Dieter tugged on Din’s sleeve. “What about that one?” 

Din sighed, only getting slightly fed up with his husband. But when his eyes took you in, something stirred in him. You were very attractive to say the least despite not trying too hard. The favorite shirt that you choose, more for comfort than for attraction, stuck to you in all the right places leaving Din with a nice outline to admire. 

Din hummed which was the most approval he had given all night. Dieter smiled a big goofy grin and practically jumped from the barstool. Though he quickly straightened his outfit to make himself just a tad bit more presentable. Din followed soon and Dieter quickly grabbed his hand dragging the older man over. 

You hadn’t noticed them approach, your mind wiring a thousand thoughts a second. It was only when you heard someone say “Ya know we saw you from across the bar and we like your vibe.” You glanced up and blushed as you took in the odd couple. One man dressed in what you would call disaster chic and the other in a very monochromatic but well put together fit. 

You smirked. “You know this is a new one for me.” 

The messy haired one tilted his head. “Oh and how's that?” 

“Well you aren’t a middle aged straight couple who’s only way to save their marriage is to have a threesome,” You quipped. 

That got a laugh from the shorter man. “We’re about as opposite as that.” 

You raked your eyes over both of them smiling. “You can definitely say that.” 

“Oh where are my manners? Let me introduce ourselves. I’m Dieter and this is my tall, dark and very handsome husband Din.” 

Din held his hand to you and you graciously took it. The size difference from his hands against yours sent heat fluttering to your stomach. “It’s a pleasure to me you,” Din said, taking interest in your reaction. 

“Uh yes um ditto,” You stuttered, still taken aback. “Too bad I’m not dressed up.” You mumbled to yourself. 

Dieter chuckled. “It seems our friend here sees something she likes.” 

“Hmmm? Oh um yes” You blushed quickly taking your hand back. 

“So how about it? Want to see where else there's a size difference?” Dieter asked, wiggling his eyebrows. 

Your eyes darted back and forth between the pair, but you shrugged your shoulders. “I actually would love that.” 

Dieter’s eyes widened and he clapped his eyes excitedly. “Perfect.” He dramatically pointed to the exit. “Let us make haste and love!” He hurried towards the exit. 

You couldn’t help, but giggle at the man’s antics. You hopped off the stool throwing a few ones onto the counter. “Is he always like this?” You asked Din who offered his arm to you which you gladly accepted. 

“Always.” Din replied, and you followed the chaotic Dieter out the door. 

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

Dieter talked the whole way home to their apartment. It wasn’t so bad. You sat in the back with him as Din drove, and Dieter basically went over all of the kinks he had and what they both were comfortable with. It wasn’t what you were expecting considering your past experiences, but you were thankful for it nonetheless. You laid out what you did and didn’t like to do which Dieter was very receptive too. After your check in, it wasn’t long until you were making out with Dieter, his hands roaming all of you and trying to pull you into his lap. You giggle as you carefully straddled his waist, bracing yourself on the door frame. 

A low purr emanated from Dieter as he nuzzled his face into your clothed breasts. You couldn’t help but giggled as he motorboated against the fabric. With your free hand, you tangled your fingers into his curly hair, giving his scalp a gentle scratch. Dieter squeezed your hips making you squeak from the surprise. He smirked and snaked his hands up your stomach, sighing at your soft skin. You watched as he pushed up your shirt, licking his lips at the sight of your bare tits staring him right in his face. 

He quirked an eyebrow at you. “I see you weren’t interested in the support tonight.” 

You chuckled and kissed his forehead. “Nah, the girls needed to be free tonight.” 

With both of his hands, Dieter gently grasped your breasts in his hands rolling his thumb gently over your peaking nipples. You gasped, pushing your chest forward needing more stimulation from his fingers. Dipping his head, Dieter lapped at your nipples, the chill from his drink still evident on his tongue. You shivered as he lapped at your peaks, loving the contrasting warm and cold feelings. Dieter chuckled, pausing his motions and nuzzling his cheek into your chest. Playfully he bounced your tits saying, “Well I can be their support.” 

You giggled at his playfulness. “Unfortunately I can’t have you holding them 24/7.” 

Dieter pouted. “But I wanna.” 

You smooth his curls away from his forehead. “I’ll see what I can figure out.” 

That returned Dieter’s smile. With one hand still on your breasts, he sneaked his other down your stomach once more sliding them into your pants. You gasped softly as his fingers toyed with the lacey straps. Dieter smirked. “And you said you weren’t dressed up.” 

You blushed. “I wouldn’t consider underwear as dressing up.” 

“On the contrary, sweetheart. I am always an advocate of showing off the fanciest of underwear.” He purred his fingers rubbed against your clothed clit. Slow delicate circles send a pulses of pleasure through your body. Soft pants escaped your lips and you pressed your head into his shoulder. 

Dieter chuckled as he continued his motions, dragging his fingers all around your sensitive bits. His dark eyes caught Din’s in the rearview mirror and he smirked. “My love I believe your eyes stay on the road.” 

All Din gave as a response was a grunt, but Dieter could tell how worked up Din was. Dieter chuckled to himself as they pulled into their long driveway, the car gliding over the smooth concrete. Din turned the car off, quickly unbuttoning his seatbelt and opening the driver side door. It only took a second for him to open the backseat and carefully pull you off of Dieters lap holding you in his arms. 

You bit your lip as Din nuzzled his nose into your neck, his noticeable erection pressing into your stomach. “Oh and what was that about not paying attention?” Dieter teased, closing the car doors behind you. Din growled into your lips and Dieter rolled his eyes. “I’ll get the door” 

Din followed Dieter up the driveway, the footsteps of Dieter’s crocs guiding him into the house. You weren’t paying attention. All of your focus was the taste of whiskey against Din’s soft lips. Quick pants escaped your lips as the warm air of the house hit your skin. Din bit your lips sliding his tongue into your mouth. Gasping your fingers tangled in his hair giving them a firm tug. Din moaned, his cock twitching inside his pants. You chuckled and nuzzled your nose into his stubbled cheek. 

“Oh that’s such a nice sound.” Din blushed, dropping his gaze. You kissed his cheek leaning in close before saying, “I like hearing you moan.” That heard another twitch in his pants as he carried you into the bedroom. 

With your attention focused on other things, you could finally take in the space where Din had carried you. A giant bed lay against the wall with the soft silken covers adorning the top. Memorabilia from Dieter’s collection lined the wall while Din’s areas stayed relatively minimalist. You wondered how such an odd couple ended up together. 

But quickly your mind returned to the task at hand. As gently as handling an animal, Din set you in the middle of the bed. It only took a moment for him to crawl over you, encompassing you with his wide body. You bit your lips as your hands slid up his button shirt, feeling his muscles tensing under your touch. 

“Mmmmm what a lovely sight you two are,” Dieter commented as he sauntered to the edge of the bed. He made himself at home by the pillows as he watched the show. 

You blushed under the attention of the actor, but continued your focus on Din. Your fingers danced over the buttons, slowly opening them to reveal the skin underneath. The sight was utterly delicious and all you wanted to do was lick the saltiness as you made your way down. 

With a slow pull of your hands, you touched every inch of Din’s torso earning gasps from the older man. By the time you reached the tops of his jeans, he was panting, his full erection pressing against the material. Slowly you caressed his cock, feeling the magnitude against your hand. “Shit you are big.” You said, licking your lips. 

Just like his shirt, you undo the button, shifting the material down freeing his cock. It stood at attention with beads of precum already pooling on the head. With a finger, you traced the prominent vein up the shaft to the head where you gathered the precum against your finger. Curiously you brought it up to your lips, not breaking eye contact with Din as the saltiness coated itself over your tongue.

 You moaned at the taste and you could hear Dieter chuckling beside you. “He tastes better than any cocktail.” 

Humming in agreement you shifted yourself bringing your head closer to Din’s. But as you go to take his cock into his mouth, Din stops you with a gentle push on your shoulder. You look up, worried you did something wrong. 

“I want to treat you since you were so kind to agree to this,” Din voiced, a soft pink blush on his cheeks. 

You couldn’t help but blush in return. With these sorts of nights, you were lucky if the man ever went near your vagina with anything other than his cock. Din was such a considerate person that it was a shame this was only for one night. You nodded, returning back to your original position. With dexterous fingers Din pulled your pants along with the underwear off in one fluid motion. You shivered as the cool air hit your legs. Din stared at you with his dark brown eyes as he trailed slow kisses from your calf to your thighs until you could feel his breath against your wet lips. 

“I’m gonna devour you, little flower,” Din purred. 

Dieter rolled his eyes. “We all love your chivalrousness babe, but someone is also getting lonely. And I mean, she did want to blow someone.” Dieter commented and you couldn’t help but smirk. 

With a playful roll of your head, you opened your mouth ready for Dieter’s cock. Dieter smiled pulling down the waist of his well loved yet fashionable sweatpants, his own erection popping out. You lifted your hand giving Dieter a few pumps before kissing the head. His own salty taste mixed with Din’s was like a cocktail of lust in your mouth. 

That was when Din took the opportunity to take a long lick up your lips ending on a flick of his tongue on your clit. You gasped from the sudden pleasure, making you open your mouth. Dieter took the chance and slid the full length of his cock into your mouth. You gagged a little though taking no time to adjust to his size. 

Dieter leaned back his head against the headboard. “S-Shit we should have found you faster.” He slowly thrusted into your mouth, your tongue swirling around and up the shaft. “D-Din we gotta keep her.” 

Din hummed in agreement as he lapped at your clit. Sparks of pleasure tingled in your stomach, making you moan against Dieter’s cock. The full balls slapped against your throat as Dieter’s thrusts started becoming faster. Dieter cursed with each movement enjoying himself immensely. His gaze wandered down to watch Din as he continued to pleasure you like you were his last meal.

“Shit babe, leave some of that for me. She’s gonna need it when I cum inside her.” You moaned at the thought of his cock spilling his seed inside you. Dieter smirked his gaze meeting your eyes. “Is that something you want, doll?” He asked, his thumb tracing your cheek. You nodded the best you could, and Dieter slowly pulled out of your mouth, a trail of saliva connecting you two. 

“You heard the cutie. I think it’s time for the ol’ Johnson to shine,” Dieter exclaimed excitedly as Din shifted away from you. It was your time to roll your eyes at the other man’s antics. Dieter maneuvered around getting on his hands and knees in front of you. 

“You’re ridiculous,” You teased hands cupping Dieter’s cheeks and quickling kissing his lips. 

“Uh ya ridiculously horny,” He replied with a cheeky smirk. 

You threw your head back against the pillows, a loud laugh filling the room. “God you’re funny.” 

Dieter glanced over his shoulder at Din who had kneeled behind him. “See, someone thinks I’m funny.” 

“Just give it a few years,” Din teased back as he gently pulled a very fancy buttplug out of his husband. Dieter moaned at the lack of friction and you preoccupied him with your lips. He pushed for dominance against you, but you pushed back with just the same intensity. 

Din set the butt plug aside and squirted a dollop of lube onto his palm. Carefully he applied the generous amount onto his cock and Dieter’s hole. A soft gasp escaped Dieter’s lips as he shuttered against the chilly material. 

With a quick peck of the cheek, you said “Don’t worry. You’ll be warmed up in no time.” Dieter groaned at your words, his own cock twitching at the idea of being deep inside you. With a slow push, Din entered him a deep grumble vibrating his throat as he felt Dieter pulse around him. Dieter moaned, resting his head on your shoulder as he adjusted to his size. 

Gently you twirled his curls around your fingers, your nails massaging his scalp. It only took him a moment for him to be ready. Dieter gently pumped his own cock adjusting his hips to meet yours. He guided his cock up and down your slit, your arousal coating the head. You both moaned at the feeling. 

But Dieter grew impatient. With his hand he guided his cock to your hole, gathering up the wetness glistening between your legs. With an eager but still gentle push, he buried himself fully inside of you. The noise that escaped his lips was down right sinful as his legs shook from so much pleasure. Small pants flowed from your lips as you felt Dieter filling you to the brim with his cock. It twitched inside of you and you squeezed around it in response. 

“Fuck,” He whimpered nuzzling his nose into your neck, his warm breath ebbing against your skin.

Din took this as a sign to begin thrusting. It was slow at first, gauging how you were handling everything. In and out Dieter’s cock rubbed against the sensitive areas inside you, and you moaned. Fingers pulled at Dieter’s curls earning a new set of moans to the symphony of sex. 

Din grunted as he pulled his cock almost out of Dieter before plunging it back inside of him, sending Dieter deeper inside of you. The trio moaned as everyone was feeling on cloud nine. Din sped of up thrusts, the need for gentleness over. He draped his torso over Dieter’s back, leaning in to bite on the actor’s shoulder. 

Dieter twitched inside of you, and you smirked. “S-Shit I should bite you more,” 

Dieter moaned as Din’s thrusts became more erratic. It was clear that Din was close to cuming and by the way Dieter felt inside of you, he was close too. Your hand slid down your torso and your fingers began circling your clit, speeding up your motions as you felt the heat in your stomach began to grow and grow. 

With each circle you squeezed around Dieter, earning a moan each time. Your fingers pressed on a particularly sensitive bit and you moaned, sending your legs shaking. Dieter couldn’t hold on much longer. With a few more thrusts from Din, Dieter leaned his head back and came hard inside you. You could feel each bit of cum drenching your walls. 

You played with your clit as fast as you could, using your entire hand to gain the pleasure you need. Soon you joined Dieter in the realm of orgasm and came with the tensing of your legs. As you came down from your high, a series of grunts filled the room as Din filled Dieter with his own high. 

All three of you were left panting against the bed. Din was the first to pull out, and with a tilt of your head you could see the cum cascading down Dieter’s leg. Din gave Dieter’s ass a few taps before slowly getting off the bed to grab a towel from the bathroom. 

Almost reluctantly Dieter pulled out of you, his gaze drifting down to see his own seed dripping from you. “Fuck that’s such a pretty sight, doll.” Dieter moaned as he leaned down. You followed his gaze with curiosity. Dieter glanced up. “What? Think I would miss an opportunity to taste the both of us? Not a chance.” With a quick swipe of his tongue, he gathered you and his own arousal on his tongue savoring the saltiness. You gasped at the overstimulation and latched onto his curls for grounding. This only spurred him on, and soon he was devouring like he hadn’t eaten in days. Another orgasm ripped through you, surprising you with how quickly he made you cum. That made Dieter’s ego skyrocket, and he chuckled as he detached himself from you. 

“S-Shit…how?” You asked, panting, mind fuzzy from the pleasure. 

“I can’t give away all of my secrets,” Dieter winked before he settled beside you. His arms pulled you in for cuddles which you gladly appreciated. The warmth from his chest filled you with ease as you wound down from the activities. 

Din reappeared with the washcloth, and with effortless gentleness he cleaned the both of you. He tossed the material aside, dealing with it at a later time, before settling on the other side of you. You practically purred at the feeling of the two men sandwhiching you. 

Everything was quiet as you laid there. Din gently drew imaginary shapes on your skin, and Dieter twirled your hair in his fingers. “C-Can we do this again?” You asked hesitantly not wanting to break the magic of tonight. 

Dieter chuckled against your hair. “I was hoping you would ask that.” You smiled in return happy that your crappy night had turned into something you had a feeling would last a long time.

Credit: @inklore

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[theidiotwhowritesthings]

That's Not My Name

din djarin x reader

warnings: mild spoiler for season 3 finale, I suppose.

word count: 623

summary: “What's in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell just as sweet.” -William Shakespeare

.

‘Din Grogu.’

You let the title roll around your head as you walked beside the Mandalorian and his now adopted son. With everything settled here on Mandalore, it was time for the three of you to leave. You weren’t quite sure where the next stop would be. You were too busy having a mental crisis.

‘Din Grogu.’ 

You glanced over at them to see Grogu babbling happily, a million miles per hour, and the Mandalorian you had come to know and love walked tall with a sense of pride radiating from the silver beskar decorating his body. 

“Din?” You called out. He turned his head with a hum of acknowledgement. “Din, is ‘Din’ your family name?”

“Yes, why?” Your feet came to a screeching halt⏤ so sudden that it took Din a step or two before he realized you hadn’t continued on beside him. He came to a pause and turned around in confusion. Grogu’s babbles had stopped and your companion tilted his head at you in slight concern. “Everything okay?”

“Din is your family name.” You echoed. More a statement than a question. Still, Din nodded at you once more. “Djarin is your first name??” Again, another confused bob of his head. “Are you kidding me?”

“What’s the problem?” He shrugged.

“This entire time, I’ve been calling you by your family name instead of your first name,” Your eyes widened, “And you didn’t think to stop me??”

Din stepped closer, his voice slightly amused, “I am from Aq Vetina. The family name goes before⏤”

“Yeah, no, I get the concept of family names going first.” You shook your head. “But you didn’t tell me that! Maker, this entire time I thought⏤”

Din, or Djarin apparently, chuckled. “It isn’t a big deal. Most people who know my name just call me ‘Din’.”

“Have you told any of those people you’re from a world that uses their family name first?” You asked. Din paused then shook his head with a shrug. Your hand shot up to hold the side of your head in alarm. This entire time. You’d been partners with him for ages now. Maker, you met him a few months before Grogu came along and this entire kriffing time you hadn’t even been aware of his actual name. “I’m an idiot.”

“No, you’re⏤”

“I should’ve asked you. Maker, I should have⏤”

“Cyar’ika,” Din reached out and set a hand on your shoulder in comfort, “It’s fine. I’m not bothered by it. There is no need to stress.”

“Arguably, there’s a little reason.” You pouted. “Do you… I can call you Djarin from now on, if you prefer?”

The Mandalorian, the person you trusted with your life, chuckled once more and tilted to lean his forehead against yours. The cool metal of the keldabe kiss mildly reassuring to you. He spoke once more with only amusement and admiration in his voice, “Din or Djarin, or Din Djarin, I don’t care what you call me, cyar’ika. As long as I get to hear it in your voice.”

You breathed out a sigh of relief and he pulled back and began to walk again. It took you a few seconds before you caught up with him. It was hard to mentally refer to him as just Din considering how long you had done so, but in all reality you were just happy he was still around for you to mess up his name. Watching Moff Gideon drag him away still haunted your dreams. You’d call him literally anything as long as it meant having him by your side for the foreseeable future.

“Alright, Din Djarin, any other deep, dark secrets you’re keeping from me?”

“No, but I’ll let you know if I think of one.”

[noisynaia]

Hi! Can you do a Din x F!reader where when Din is visiting Greef Karga and telling him about how he wants to redeem himself, but then Karga asks him if that's really what he truly wants? Maybe the reader takes Grogu somewhere while they talk and he asks Din something like, "Have you ever considered not going back to Mandalore? You can be happy here with her." Or something along those lines? Thanks! You have a great talent! ♡

𝑊𝐻𝐼𝑇𝐸 𝐹𝐼𝐸𝐿𝐷𝑆

Thank you so much sweet anon 💕 This is such a lovely idea and I had such a great time writing it. I live for soft Din who just yearns for happiness but needs a little help realising that he is deserving of it. 💗

word count: 5.4k 

pairing: Din Djarin x f!reader 

note: Mutual pining. Love confessions. Found family. The helmet comes off. Din has his first kiss. The Razor Crest lives. No use of (y/n). This has not been beta read and English is not my native language.

You are sitting in the passenger seat of the cockpit with Grogu, who is softly babbling, in your lap as he cradles his beloved little silver ball with both of his tiny hands. Din is sitting in the pilot chair next to you, getting the Razor Crest ready for landing. You can’t help but stare at him as he skillfully manoeuvres the ship. You have been travelling with the Mandalorian and his foundling for a little over a standard year now and what had started out as a small crush on Din has now bloomed into so much more, even though you had tried to fight it and protect your heart you have fallen utter and deeply in love with him. 

The three of you are on your way to Nevarro to talk to Din’s employer Greef Karga. You have been with him to Nevarro a few times before and you are exited to be back, but you can’t help but worry that this might be your last time on the planet, at least while travelling with Din and little Grogu.

You have tried to fight your feelings for Din, but no matter how badly you tried there was nothing you could do to stop yourself from falling. You know that you are only setting yourself up for heartache, knowing that there is no way that the two of you ever could be together, even if he reciprocated your feelings which you don’t think he does. He is Mandalorian after all and you are not…  Even though he is now an apostate. But that is why he will be travelling to Mandalore, to proclaim his creed and seek redemption and you can’t help but have a feeling that that journey won’t involve you which hurts. You know that your stay on the Crest always has been temporary. Just a job, after all. Just a needed help looking after Grogu. Staying on the ship with the little youngling while Din is out hunting bounties, but you feel like Din soon will tell you that you no longer will be needed. 

That you will be parted with Din is going to hurt, but losing Groguis going to be unbearable. You have ended up caring so much for the little green kid, loving him so much, you don't think you could love him more had he been your own child. It is terrifying, the thought that you one day will have to say goodbye to him. You try not to think too much about it and you shake your head as Din is landing on the barren ground that constitutes as the spaceport of Nevarro City. 

You cradle Grogu in your arms as you descend down the ramp with Din, the warm glow of the late afternoon sun is reflecting off his beskar making him look even more impressive than usual. You can’t help but feel proud to be walking by his side as you step through the pillars of the tall arch that open Nevarro City up from the spaceport. You are met by Karga that are walking towards you, arms spread in a welcoming gesture and a big wide smile lighting up his face. You can’t help but giggle when you notice that he has two small droids in tow, holding the ends of his long robe so it doesn’t drag along the ground.  

“Mando, my friend! I was beginning to fear you would never return.” Karga greets him before turning his attention to you, offering you a great big smile. “And I see your beautiful travel companion hasn’t left you yet.” He lets out a friendly laugh. “You haven’t got tired of that old bucket head yet my dear?” You let out a giggle, you have missed the older man’s friendly, teasing banter.  

“Not yet.” You smile at him. “Besides, this little one makes me stick around.” You say, looking lovingly down at the little child in your arms. 

Grogu is shrieking with happiness at the familiar face and Karga looks at him with an even wider grin on his face than before, if that is even possible. “And would you look at that, my favourite little green baby! How are you doing kid?”  

“Grogu.” Din says in a flat but not unfriendly tone, looping his thumb in his belt.

“Come again?” Karga turns towards the Mandalorian.  

“His name, It’s Grogu.” Din clarifies. 

“Huh, if you say so.” Karga shrugs his shoulders before taking Din’s gloved hand in his, placing his other hand on the armour of Din’s upper arm in a welcoming gesture. “Now come, come! A great deal has happened here since your last visit.” 

It is true that a lot of things have happened, the city is looking amazing, many of the buildings are new and shiny, more trees and greenery than ever before, even the people on the street look more vibrant and happy.   

“Yes, a lot of things have changed here. It doesn’t even look like the same place.” Din lets out. 

“Yes, yes! We have a construction boom going on in the city, it is all rather exciting. But now come, come! It has been a while and I’m sure we have plenty to discuss.” Karga smiles, clearly proud of the new state of the city. “The two of you are very welcome to join us, of course, but I will not take offence if you would prefer to take a look around instead, it will probably be more exciting for the little one.” Karga addresses you, gesturing to Grogu. “I will happily offer one of my droids to give a tour of the new city if you are interested or maybe show you to the healing baths, those Twi’leks know what they’re doing, very soothing.” 

“Thank you but I think we will be alright. I think we will go to the bazaar, find something nice for this one.” You smile down at Grogu who is happily cooing at your words.  

“Good choice, you have to spoil the little bogwing as much as possible, being spoiled is an important part of being a youngling. And make sure you go to the fruit market. The meiloorun melons are most delectable this time of year.” Karga states before turning to Din. “Well, shall we, Mando? I’m sure we have a lot to discuss.” 

Din turns his head back at you, his visor looking straight at you and you know that his eyes under his helmet must be locked with yours, it is a thought that always sends a warm rush through you and makes your heart beat a little faster. 

“I’ll find you later. You have your com on you, right? ” He asks you which makes you roll your eyes with a teasing smile on your lips even though you still feel your heart beat a little faster than normal by his gaze. 

“Of course.” You say, picking up the little device from your pocket to show him. “But we will be fine. You worry too much.” You say as you put the comlink back in your pocket. “I’ll call you if a reptavian is out to eat us or if we are about to be abducted by pirates or, I don’t know, maybe a kowakian is stealing Grogu’s meiloorun.” You tease him, he is always being so overprotective.

“Ah, ah. You must remember, a man is always allowed to worry about the people he loves. ” Karga chuckles while giving Din a playful pat on the back. Your smile falls at this and you feel your face heat at his comment. Din clears his throat awkwardly. You know that Din cares for you, but in what capacity you’re not sure, he is always making sure that you are safe and comfortable. He, of course, loves Grogu dearly, but Karga’s innuendo about Din loving both of you has your heart beating even faster than before.

“Shall we.” Din comments quickly, clearly flustered by Karga’s words too.  

“Sure.” Karga exclaims. “It was lovely to see you again, now go and enjoy the city. I think you will find the place quite pleasant, we have built a new school too, great for the little ones.” He tells you, gesturing at Grogu, like he is trying to sell the idea of settling down here before turning to leave with Din. 

You watch the backs of the two men as they walk up the stairs before they disappear into Karga’s building. You shake your head slightly before looking down at Grogu. “Shall we?” You ask him, echoing Din’s words from before. The little kid gurgles happily up at you which makes you smile widely. Maker, you love his cute little face so much. 

You walk down the bustling street to the bazaar. You have to admit that the changes to the city really are very impressive, you could actually imagine living in a city like this. You start your shopping, a ration run was long overdue anyway and besides the needed basics you find a lot of other things too. A new robe for Grogu, happy to find some small enough to fit him, Maker knows he needs more, you feel like you are constantly washing the few he has. You also find a few things for yourself and you are happy when you find a booth that is selling Din’s favourite brand of nutrition packs, and in his favourite flavour too, not that he has told you that they are his favourites, but it was easy to figure out as they always are the one he picks.

“So, is it melon time now?” You ask, looking down at Grogu after you have paid for the nutrition packs. Grogu is cooing happily as if he understands and you chuckle down at him making your way to one of the fruit stands. 

Karga was right, the meilooruns look perfect, ripe and mouthwatering. You smile at the elderly Twi’lek behind one of the booths, placing Grogu down on the ground before you start picking out the tastiest looking fruits, making polite conversation with the fruit seller while still keeping an eye on little Grogu. You pay for the fruits and the Twi’lek behind the booth hands you the last one. You feel Grogu tuck at your pant leg as he looks up at the fruit in your hand, clearly very interested in the orange-red melon that is almost bigger than his head. You chuckle at him, bending down to let him hold it which makes him let out an excited shriek.      

“Good job!” You coo at the youngling as he proudly holds the big fruit with both hands, waddling over to the basket that you have lowered for him, where he, with a little difficulty but complete determination, lifts the fruit up to join the rest.     

“Aw, what a good boy, helping mama out.” The Twi’lek coos at Grogu. 

Your heart clenches at the woman’s comment and you yearn by the idea of actually being the little green kid’s mother. You smile at the fruit seller and then down at Grogu 

“Yeah, he is the best.” You sigh softly.  

Grogu is looking up at you with those big bright eyes of his, softly babbling before reaching his tiny arms up towards you in a gesture to tell you he wants you to lift him up. You are happy to oblige, picking him up and nuzzling your nose against his little chubby cheek before leaving a soft kiss on the same spot. 

“Well, sweetheart I think that was all.” You tell him with a smile. “Your dad is probably also finishing up with Karga about now.” 

“Why don’t you take some of these too, on the house, for being such a sweet boy.” The Twi’lek says, putting a few pika fruits and some jogans down a brown paper bag.  

“Oh, no, that’s too kind of you.” You try to politely decline the woman's sweet offer but she just shrugs you off. 

“Now, none of that. We like giving gifts here on Nevarro.” She smiles at you as she shakes her head, making her lekku’s swing from side to side, before looking at Grogu. “Why don’t you give these to your father, little one? Proof that you were nice and helpful while out shopping with mom?” She smiles at Grogu who is cooing and making grabby hands at the bag and you can’t say no to him, so you let him take it and thanking the sweet Twi’lek before going out to see if Din is finished at Karga’s. You can’t help but feel at peace here, people have been so sweet and welcoming. 

—      

Karga is pouring himself a glass of spotchka, offering a glass to Din, just like he always does, which Din declines, just like always does. “Hm, so today isn’t the day I’m gonna see your face either.” The older man jokes, lifting his glass to take a sip of the strong beverage. Din only scoffs at the comment. 

“I came to tell that I won’t be able to take any bounties for a while.” 

“Well, I am happy to hear that, Mando. Finally ready to give up that tumultuous life of yours?” Karga says with a big smile on his face. Now this was not the reaction Din had expected, confused by the man’s words.

“I have shown my face. I have to go to Mandalore to seek redemption in the living waters.” Karga’s smile falls as Din tells him this.

“Oh, Mando. Now I had hoped that you had come to tell me that you were ready to come quieten down here in Nevarro City.” 

“I have taken off my helmet, I need to go to Mandalore.” Din tries to explain, but Karga does not seem to see that as a problem, waving a hand in the air as if what Din is telling him isn’t an issue in the slightest, like Din hasn’t broken the most holy of creeds, cutting him off with an unconcern look on his face.

“Well, have you considered not going?” The other man simply states. 

“I am an apostate now.” Din tries again but it still doesn’t seem like an issue to Karga. 

“Isn’t that just all the more reason to stay here. You might be considered an apostate among your people now, but here you will be welcomed with open arms. You could hang up your blaster, settle down and give the kid some stability, maybe even add a new little one to the family, I’m sure that lady of yours would enjoy that.�� The older man says with a wink followed by a deep belly laugh before continuing. “Now, I don’t know how ugly that mug of yours is under there.” He says gesturing at Din’s helmet. “But I know that ain’t gonna scare her away, even a qartuum could see that that girl is enamoured with you.”

Din feels his face heat up under the helmet at Karga’s words. “She isn’t my lady.” Din mutters, not able to suppress how deeply he wish that you actually were.   

“Hmm.” Karga hums, not sounding convinced. “If you say so. But, Mando, my friend, I have known you for a long time, since you were a young man and I don’t think I have ever seen you as happy as you are now, with her and the kid. I know you keep insisting that there is nothing going on between you and her, and that might be the truth, but you can’t convince me that you don’t want there to be.”

Din wants to protest, to tell the man that his statement is wrong, but he knows that it would fall for deaf ears, and he would give himself up anyway, Din has also always been a terrible liar. Of course he want’s something between you. His employer has seen right through him, hit the head right on the nail. Din has over the last few months started to come to terms with the fact that he has fallen completely and utterly in love with you. It is scary, completely unknown territory and Din doesn’t now what to do with these feelings he has for you, sure that you don’t feel the same - but, as little as he likes to admit it, a little hope has bloomed in his chest by Karga’s words. ‘Even a qartuum could see that that girl is enamoured with you.’ could that really be true?

 Could you really feel the same for him as he feel for you? No, of course not, Karga is just teasing like he always does, right?  

“I can’t hang up my blaster. It’s not that simple.” He sighs, shaking his helmeted head. 

“But it’s not that complicated either.” Karga says, taking another sip of his spotchka before continuing. “You deserve some happiness, Mando and  I think she can give you that. This is just an old man’s advice and you can do with it as you will, but I hope you believe me when I say that all I want is to see you happy.” He finishes this drink, setting the now emty glass down on the table before pulling out something from the pocket of his extravagant outfit.  

“Now go back to that girl and that Grogu of yours and treat them to a nice dinner, I know how much that kid loves to eat.” He chuckles. “I have a nice prime tract set up, right over by the hot springs. You can spend the night there, I’m sure she will appreciate having somewhere nicer to sleep than that old ship of yours.” Karga says with a smile as he slides enough credits for a nice dinner and then some over the table along with a keychip and a little piece of paper with an address scribbled down. “Think about what I’ve said okay? It’s a nice place and it can be yours if you want it.” He adds, gesturing to the key that Din is now clutching in his gloved hand.

Din simply nods at the man and mumbles a quick ‘thanks’ before leaving. Karga’s words ringing in his head as he makes it down the busy street to the bazaar to find you and Grogu.

—      

The house Karga has lent you is beautiful, which makes perfect sense, the High Magistrate has always struck you as the type of person with an eye for finer things, the makeover the city has gotten is proof of this. You had taken a little tour of the house, not able to stop yourself from fantasising about what it would be like to live in a place like this. It’s nice to pretend even if it’s just for a single night or two, you hope you get a chance to try out the soothing hot spring in the backyard before you have to leave again. It will probably be soon, you know how badly Din itches to travel to Mandalore to redeem himself. The thought making a tight knot form in your stomach, you and Din havent really talked much about it or talked about what was going to happen with you. You don’t even know if you would be allowed to come with him as a non-Mandalorian. Maybe the time you have been dreading so badly finally has come, Din telling you that he no longer needs your services and that he will travel to Mandalore with Grogu and reclaim his creed without you. It makes your little tour of the house feel so much more bitter sweet, the fantasy of the three of you living in a place like this seem stupid and silly.

You can’t help yourself from dragging your feet towards the open door of the room in which Din is currently putting Grogu to bed, watching them from the doorway. You are in complete awe by the sight of Din sweetly tucking Grogu in for the night, placing the warm blanket over the little kid who is placed on the soft bed. The contrast of the two is always a sight. The big brute bounty hunter, clad from head to toe in shiny, intimidating beskar, and the tiny little kid with giant shiny eyes and wobbling ears.

Even though you have known for a while that you love and care deeply for both Din and little Grogu, now as you watch them, you know that the love you have for the both of them is deeper than anything you have ever felt before. You love the little green kid as if he was your own and you have fallen deeply in love with his armour wearing dad. 

Your heart yearns so bad by the sight of them, the love Din has for his little foundling is so bewitching and you find yourself stepping into the room, softly tip-toeing over to the bed, feeling yourself being pulled in like a magnet. Din looks up at you when you reach the bed. His helmet conceals his emotions but he doesn’t seem to mind that you have come over to them. Grogu has already snoozed off, Din pats the empty space of the bed next to him, encouraging you to take a seat which you do. The two of you sit there in silence for a moment looking at Grogu as he sweetly sleeps. You wonder how many more of these small moments you have left with them. You suddenly feel like you might start crying. You sigh as you stand up, stepping over to plant a soft kiss on Grogu’s forehead before turning your gaze to Din, giving the man a weak smile as he rises from the bed too. The two of you quietly stepping out of the room and towards the living area.       

You sit down at the soft sofa, Din sitting down in one of the comfortable arm chairs. A silence falling over you as you both seem to be occupied with your own thoughts. 

After Din had found you and Grogu at the bazaar he had taken you out to one of the nicer places to eat in the city. Fancy, but not too fancy to bring a kid. Din had, of course, not been eating, but you had made sure to get some food back with you to the house that he ate while you were out in the backyard playing with Grogu, giving him privacy to take off his helmet. He might have taken off his helmet that time for Grogu, and now is an apostate for it, but he still follows the creed. 

It had been a good evening, one you wished you would have many more of, but that just seems like wishful thinking, but Din had been very quiet. Not that he has ever been a huge chatterbox or anything, but he had been quiet even for his standards. You can’t help but wonder if something is wrong, now that you also sit in silence here.           

“Din?” 

“Hmm?”

“You are being awfully quiet tonight, anything on your mind?” You ask in a low voice, close to a whisper, feeling a little unsure if you should even ask him this.  

“Oh, Karga just said some things to me. I don’t know, I guess it just made me get stuck in my own thoughts, I’m sorry about that.” He says with a slight shake of his helmet. 

You open your mouth to answer but he continues before you get to say anything.     

“Do… Do you like it here?” His voice is softer than normal and slightly shaky. 

“Here on Nevarro?” You ask a little confused, mirroring his soft tone.

“Yeah, here on Nevarro… Wo-would this be the kind of place you could see yourself live in?”

“If I was living in a house like this? Absolutely!” You grin at him, but Din doesn’t seem to be in on the joke, his shoulders tense as he fidgets with the leather of his gloves.   

“Well, Karga he… he offered it to me, the house here... Well, to us. To uhm, to stay.” He adds. 

Us… Could he mean? Your stomach does a flip until you realise what he means by ‘us’. Him and Grogu, of course, the clan of two. You look over at him, offering him a weak smile as you imagine it for a second, Din and Grogu living in a place like this, the warm blanket of domesticity covering them.  

“That sounds nice.” You say, giving him a little smile. It really would be nice for them to have a quiet life, but you know that it is never going to happen. That isn’t the life of a Mandalorian.

“Yo-you really think so?” He sounds startled and you can’t help but giggle softly at him. 

“Well, yeah, of course. I can imagine you preparing lunches for Grogu in the morning, lots of meriloons for snacks, of course, and then taking him to school.” You say with a playful smile on your lips, remembering Karga’s comment about the new school they had built. “And, all the other kids thinking Grogu has the coolest dad ever with all that beskar.” You laugh softly at your little fantasy. 

“So I would be a cool dad, huh?” He finally chuckles along with you. 

“Oh, yeah. The coolest.” You nod. “How many other parents wield the dark sabre?” You snicker. 

“No one, I guess.” He chuckles again and, kriff, how you love the sound of it.

“Oh, and you would bake for all of the bake sales, obviously!” 

“Pff, of course, I would!” He plays along. “I would bake all the pika cakes needed. Hell, the little one gets them for free.” He says, nodding his head in the direction of the kitchen where the bag with the fruits Grogu was gifted at the market lies. “But you would have to help me taste test them, make sure that we come with the best cakes. Can’t lose my cool dad status because I’m being outshined by another parent with better baking skills.” 

Wait is he saying that you would be there too, in this hypothetical scenario?! 

“Would I?” Your tone has lost all the playfulness from before, now low and unsure but also hopeful. 

He stiffens, shoulders getting tense again. “Wouldn’t you?” His voice is now soft and a little shaky through the modulator.

You can’t believe the direction the conversation has taken. “I guess I would if you want me to.” You confess. 

“I do. I really want you to.” He whispers your name. The visor of his helmet trained on you and you know that he is looking directly into your eyes.  “I would want that. I never thought I could have that, but with you… With you and Grogu, that is all I want.”

“Din I…” You feel how warm tears are slowly falling down your cheeks now. “I want that too. I want you.” You get up from the sofa and he rises from his chair, the two of you slowly approaching each other until you stand with only a few inches between you. 

“I don’t want to go to Mandalore, not anymore.” He whispers. “I don’t…” He takes a shaky breath, like he is getting ready to tell an earth-shattering secret. “I don’t mind being an apostate.”  

“Din are you sure you don’t want to go..?” You can’t believe his words. You are happy, of course you are, but this is his creed, his life, his whole identity. You need him to be sure.

He doesn’t answer you, just standing still in front of you, like a statue. You start to think that he might have regretted telling you this, that he is realising that he does want to go to Mandalore and that he just got caught in the moment for a second, but then he moves. It is like everything is going in slow motion, it takes you a second to realise what he is doing as he brings his hands up to the side of his helmet, a loud hiss sounding through the room before he removes the beskar from his head.

A little gasp escapes your mouth as you take in the sight of his unhelmed face. You are met by a pair of the most beautiful eyes you have ever seen, tender and bright, like the twin suns on the planet you grew up on. His hair, that is slightly mussed from the helmet, is a deep brown which matches the colour of his eyes. Dark stubbles are adorning his jaw and a trimmed moustache is framing his upper lip and you notice how soft, how kissable they look. There is no doubt in your heart as you stare into the his eyes, this is the man you love, reaching your hand out to softly cup his cheek, making sure to not make contact with his skin until he lean against your hand himself, not wanting to overwhelm him if he isn’t ready for your touch yet, but he does lean in, letting out a little gasp as your palm gently cups his cheek.   

“Hi.” You whisper, finally breaking the silence.

“Hi.” He echoes as your palm rests against his bare skin, fingers slowly brushing over the stubbles of his cheek. A faint, sheepish smile on his lips and a slightly unsure look in his eyes, clearly not used to being looked at and not knowing how to react to your gaze without his helmet. He has nothing to be shy about though. He is so gorgeous and you are gonna let him now. 

“Din, you are beautiful.”    

He doesn’t answer, still taken in the feeling of being touched without the armour. You let him take all the time that he needs and a little while goes by before he finally breaks the silence.

“I kind of want to kiss you, cyar’ika.” He confesses, voice barely more than a whisper.    

“You can.” You tell him your voice is soft, a mellow smile on your lips as you stare into the deep umber of his eyes. He nods slightly, giving himself a moment to let the idea of finally being able to kiss you sink in, you don’t rush him, letting him do it in his own tempo.

“I-I’ve never kissed anyone before.” The words are coming out soft and shaky, almost apologetic, as he confesses this to you. It doesn’t surprise you, it must be incredibly nerve wracking for him, after so many years behind the helmet, standing bare and exposed in front of another human being. It makes sense that he never has kissed anyone before considering the creed he has lived by. You can’t help but feel a little giddy by the idea of being the one to give him his first kiss, a soft and loving gift he can carry with him forever.   

“Din, that’s okay.” You reassure him before adding with a slightly cheeky grin. “It’s not like I mind teaching you.” This makes him smile too, letting out a low sound, the ghost of a laugh, you have heard that sound before but never without the modulator of his helmet and you feel your heart flutter warmly. 

“I’m glad you don’t.” He whispers gratefully as he begins to lean in closer until your lips meet in a soft, sweet kiss. His hands moves up to cradle your face, gently cupping your cheeks with his broad hands. You hum content into the kiss, your lips moving slowly in sync, a part of you wants to deepen the kiss letting your tongue explore his mouth but you hold yourself back, this will hopefully be the first kiss of many and you want this one to be sweet and soft and not overwhelm him. 

You finally have to pull away to catch your breath, finding those beautiful eyes of his that you have already fallen completely for. 

“I love you.” You whisper into the quietness and he smiles at you, the prettiest smile in the galaxy, before leaning in to capture your lips in another kiss. 

“I love you too.” He mutters against your lips. “I have for a while.” 

You let out a choked gasp, not believing that this is really happening, that Din really loves you too.

“I think I’m ready for something new.” He tells you softly, placing a sweet kiss on the top of your head before resting his forehead against yours. “A new beginning right here with you.” 

“That sounds good.” You smile. “But I think you might have to kiss me again, as your official taste tester I need another sample.” 

He lets out a low laugh before kissing you again. A kiss that tastes like the beginning of something beautiful. 

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[penvisions]

of beskar and kyber {chapter 23}

Pairing: Din Djarin x Force Sensitive! Reader (the Mandalorian x Force Sensitive! Reader)

Summary: You begin to heal in the safety of the Crest, as you travel alongside Din once again.

Word Count: 4.4k

Warnings: canon typical language, canon typical violence, inner musings of reader, mentions of past heartbreak and pain, deadly poison, talks of injuring / killing people, ritualistic and religious activities, talk of past manipulation and administration of sedative drugs, reader has a lot of quiet moments in this, sexual content, kissing, descriptions of the male body, din djarin y'all. those are the ones i can think of, i'm so sleepy

A/N: been recovering from a tooth extraction and needed a little comfort / happiness. so please enjoy this baby chapter that doubles as an interlude before the series picks back up. love y'all

ao3 link || series masterlist || main masterlist || ko-fi

The hum of your lightsaber is a quiet one as you practice smooth movements to illuminate the grove of tall trees you’re in the midst of, slicing through the open air of the field to allow you to see in every direction. The sun had set hours ago, the fire crackling still as Din and ad’ika are settled on the other side of the clearing. Both nodded off, as they sit around it with remnants of a giant bird that had been hunted and roasted over it for dinner. Eyes follow the white of your blade, the energy flowing strongly so much so that it lifts the fine hairs on the back of your neck and prickles your skin.

But there’s no one around, even if you think of the shuffling sound that alerted your senses from your own idle relaxation.

“We’re safe, mesh’la.” The deep rumble of Din’s voice calls, still quiet though enough volume to trickle into your ears even as you strain to hear anything out of the ordinary. “I’m not picking up any heat signatures.”

“I could’ve sworn…” With the push of a button, the saber retracts, and you turn around to face the man where he’s sitting and leaning up against a fallen trunk. Endor was alight with so much energy, left over from many battles of wartime that ravaged the world at one point in time. It had been a simple ask, from your lips to Din’s hears. The last sight of battle against the Empire. The last place you one of your own had been rumored to be. Though that was years ago, the energy still lingered. Strong and sparkling all around. It was hard to focus on what was real and what was whispers from the past.

Everything was all so much, you took a deep breath as you engaged your saber again. The white of it glows brightly even as you made your way a few steps into the tree line and ensured that your trio was truly safe. You trusted Din, you had faith in him to keep you safe but there was an underlying feeling of unease on this planet. If for no reason other than your own connection to the force and how it practically bathes everything in sheen here. The planet was one in a long list of those to visit, to search.

“The glow seems…brighter.” Din’s voice was a low velvet caress as you as you fit yourself beside him, close enough to feel the coolness of the beskar that protects his body. But he’s removed the left pauldron, that same arm wrapping around your shoulders and gently pulls you to rest your head against the thick flight suit he dons underneath. His questions are still more statements made that imply his curiosity, though he does outright ask you things in some instances.

But it’s never serious, not since that day he stood beside you as you buried your mother. You appreciate his caution, almost, but you feel…okay. For the most part, more connected with yourself. Despite taking her life, you don’t feel the pull of dark tendrils around your limbs and mind in the quiet darkness of the light or the moments when your brain recalls the ordeal that led to it.

“It’s the energy, it’s so concentrated here.”

“Is…there a reason for that? Beyond the battle taking place here.”

“It’s because he died here. Anakin.” You say his actual name, not the one you know he has taken on in his journey into the dark side. “He brought balance to the force after all the wreckage he caused, all the destruction he caused. It’s not…it’s not common knowledge but he a good man once. Tried to do good, but the Jedi, the teachings and disciplines….they were constricting. Open to interpretation that went against human nature.”

“You trained under him.” He knows that, from the confession you made the first time you headed toward Nevarro with him, at the request of a pleading Greef Karga.

“Yes, him and his master wanted me to train to take over eventually. But not when he was a Jedi, I had only glimpsed him over the couple years I was at the temple. There was a war going on, so many people in and out of those doors. So many Jedi all fighting and more training, more providing guidance and protection. A lost of masters and skilled individuals were lost. But only one Sith can be in power at a time, at full power. To kill your master gains you the title. Anakin…he was struggling even with the best medical aid. If he wasn’t in a bacta tank, he was…hooked up to a respirator and all kinds of support. I never asked what happened to him, but I always wondered if it happened during the attack on the temple. The one that he led.”

“But you didn’t kill him.” Din moves slightly, leaning back into the trunk of the tree he was sitting against more firmly before he helps to situate your legs across his lap. Fingers hidden in gloves trace down the length of your legs, swirling over your knees and down to where you ankles flashed as the fabric bunched up around the tops of your boots. He pulled everything back to cover you, hand tracing back up hooking around your left thigh to hold you to him. Safe, content, even as the conversation gains weight.

“No, when I found out their plans to begin the destruction of Mandalore, I intercepted the first few deployments. The first they chocked up to a mistake on the droids. The second, a judgement in error.”

A breeze picks up and makes its way through the small clearing, Din notices the way you tense and pulls you closer into his body. The beskar captures your heat from leaning against it and it warms you to feel the give of his sides in between the plates.

“Akiz, he fought alongside me. Once he was well enough, we tried our best to do what we could. But the last ship we took down, it was…too much for us to handle alone. Storm troopers managed to get a distress signal out and Moff Gideon came after us. He was lost in the crash, too injured to move without causing more damage. He…he gave me his helmet and told me to run. I barely made it out myself. The gunfire alone, the smoke, the fire, all of it was too much. But it gave some people time to get out, to relocate.”

“Is that when you fled to Tatooine?” The deep tone of his voice washed over you, the attentiveness he exhibited and the questions he had begun to seek answers to soothing your heart, your mind. He was engaging in a way he hadn’t been previously, had said he was unaccustomed to. It made you giddy, that he was willing to ask and converse with you more freely, little jokes sneaking in here and there during the lighter moments. Care and concern cloaking the darker moments.

“Figured the desert was the easiest place to get lost in. They wouldn’t send droves of people to search the sands for one person. Resources were abundant, but not enough for that. I was considered a ‘calculated loss’ at that point. The damage I did outweighing the worth I was to them.”

“I was there a few years before the Empire fell. Once I got the news, I fled home and well, you know how that turned out…”

“But you did good, took out what you could. Helped my people to get to safety, to flee.”

“I could’ve done more, I should’ve done more.” You can’t help the heat that tinges your words, emotions strong on the matter, on the memories. There was so much, so many small things that couldn’t been done or done differently. A dangerous free fall that would once awaken the dark tendrils that lay dormant in the corners of your mind. But since Maldovan, you hadn’t felt the pull of them, the motion of them slithering about and biding their time. They were gone, or at least, they didn’t seem to bother you as much.

“You did what you could, that is enough.” He assures you, his voice holding so much emotion even through the modulator. Soothing you and making sure you understand that what you did do was enough, that it was more than enough. Forsaking what could’ve been done was a dirty business and he knew it all too well.

“You and your space sword.” He jostles you a bit, hand running up and down your arm to keep you warm as another breeze flits by. He thinks he’s funny, you know this because the same rumbling chuckle sounds in his chest as when he had first used the term. There’s no use fighting the smile that pulls at your lips, affection blooming in your chest.

“Wish I had one of those pulse rifles, like you.” You can’t help the slight whine that coats your voice, it was always a lavish thought, to purchase one of your own. “Could cause some good damage with one of those.”

“I’m sure you could, mesh’la.” His laughter echoes around the small clearing and your heart skips a beat, he’s so carefree right now. So at ease and it makes you wish for more moments exactly like it.

“Your laughter makes me happy.” Voice dipping, you reach up to plant both of your hands atop his shoulders and shift to straddle his lap. There’s a twitch against the inside of your thighs that sparks flames across your skin despite the chill of the night air. “It’s such a good sound, ikaad.”

Baby.

“Is that a new nick name?” His big hands wrap around your hips, keeping you steady in his lap, fingers toying with the hem of your shirt. He presses his forehead to yours, the coolness of the helmet causing a shudder to race down your spine. He pulls you flush against him, his rough action hitches your breath and it fogs up the front of the helmet.

“Do you like it?” You ask, hesitancy underlying your words even as you press your hands to the sides of his helmet and begin to lift it. Eyes closed, you can hear the compression hiss as you pull it away from him. His hands reach up, helping to guide yours to set it down beside you both. There’s a rustle of fabric, the hiss of leather and then you feel his bare fingers cradle one side of your face while the other spreads across your lower back.

He chuckles once again at the hitch of your breath, the way you worry your bottom lip between your teeth and tighten your eyes against the sensation of his skin against yours. His nose brushes yours, his lips a hairsbreadth away, the feel of them so close making you dizzy.

“Moan it into my mouth and we’ll find out.”

And then his lips are on yours.

You take a seat at the makeshift table, fingers trailing over the cabinets and side paneling that have been left open to reveal the caf maker on your way over to it. There's steam rising from the back of it, from the mechanics inside that heat up the water and transform the condensed grounds into caf. Scenting the air and making your heart calm. you hadn't loaded it up nor pressed the button to it up, but Din had.

The hush of water sounding from the fresher tells you where the man in question had disappeared to. The warmth of his body and the comfort of it pressed to had disappeared from the bed and woken you up from your deep slumber.

The helmet he dons is sitting there in the middle of the table, the beskar glowing in the low light it catches. You take a sip of your steaming drink, just a little sip before you reach for it and cradle it in your hands.

The artistry of it is immaculate. Beautiful. You see him in the visor even if he's not behind it. Feel the energy of him in it even if it's not secure over his head. It's a part of him, it's the first thing you had seen of him. It was him, in a way.

Peering inside as you tip it slightly, the panels lining the inside of it glow as the power coursing through them picks up on the energy tingling your entire body. Gentle fingers trace them, feeling the delicate and careful positioning. You didn't dare lift one up to explore underneath, not wanting to activate anything or disrupt anything on accident.

The sound of the shower shutting off barely registers as you continue to look over the precious thing in your hands. You don't know how long you do nor do you register the figure that steps out of the fresher. Eyes focused and mind at peace as your thoughts wander over the skills that went into the creation and forming of the helmet, of the man who wears it.

You wonder if...the Creed is something you would be willing to take, if given the chance.

If it had been offered to you before your master's had found you in the marketplace that fateful day of your childhood. If your mother would have been just as willing to send you away if it meant you'd give up your purchase on what little your family name had and let you go with those who sought you out. She had been hesitant with the Jedi, mulling it over for weeks before she had made the decision to let you go in search of something greater than what she could offer you on K'ath. A blacksmith's daughter, an armorer in training from her own shaping. But that didn't deter you from holding onto your adoration for the skills, the handiwork and devotion it took. You had cultivated it even amidst the jedi, their lack of need for armor or weapons at odds with the interest you held.

You had been so young, it had been a rare instance of intense interest. The man who had seen the power of the Force flowing strongly through you, the easy direction of such casual in the way you had been idly playing with shells laid out before you and the tools of your trade. And then the journey to where you are now had begun. Taken away on a long travel, the first time you had ever been in hyperspace had been something mesmerizing. You hadn’t asked many questions on the way to Coruscant, you had merely followed closely behind the Jedi Master that had seen the potential in your younger self. Even younger than those around you once you were placed amidst a group of six or seven other children. An age gap of four to five years separating you. You had only been six at the time, far too young for the world you had been taken to be a part of.

But despite that, you can recall so clearly the trainings and the meetings, endless conversations about your life and past. The attachments you may have had beyond your mother and if you had any other family they might be able to trace to see how the concentration of your blood was so strongly suited for the life that had become your own.

It had been dizzying, going from a humble life as a blacksmith’s daughter on the mostly oceanic world of K’ath.

But the Mandalorian's....they prided themselves in the armor they dressed in, created rituals around it. The metal it's comprised of was revered, respected, a culmination of everything you felt with the artistry and creation of even the most basic of metal and armor. The man that Din was, the values he held and tried his best to let guide his life...even if the bounty hunting was a little more black and white, a simple way to provide means for his remaining people, his covert...they were admirable. He was admirable. A good man. At the very core of who he was.

The Creed he had sworn...it was something you had been thinking over a lot. Asking him gentle questions here and there as you mulled over specifics and recalled memories of doing the same with Akiz. The man whose last name you had adapted while on the run with him. He hadn't offered you to take his religion, but he had taught it to you, allowed you any knowledge you had sought after to the best of his ability. But there was a clear distinction between the faction he and Din practiced and that prominent on Mandalore. That had been prominent on Mandalore. Even so...the itch was there, to explore it and consider it as an option to truly become more like the person you thought yourself to be.

There was no reason for you to seek a new identity, not now with the royalty of what was almost your life vouching for you with the New Republic and clearing whatever record you had accumulated. Din too, they had vouched for, in regards to the connection with the job you had both worked for his old crew that seemed to be ages ago now...

He's been going without it more, the helmet. When ad'ika is asleep or occupied in the upstairs cabin, his penchant for meditation picked up from you despite his smaller attention span. You had conveyed to him the feeling of the Force and calmly let it flow through your mind, pushing the feeling into his own carefully and showing him some of the faces you recall. Hoping he could practice reaching out, because you had questions too. There didn't seem to be...anyone and it was a rather lonely realization. You had knowledge, but very little from the time you had trained as a girl to the time you had spent with Moff Gideon in his base, with those who were building you up to learn the darker path...

"You look so beautiful, ner kar'ta." Din's deep, unmodulated voice breaks your silent reverie. You don't look up from the helmet in your hands, the scented steam from his wash wafting into the open space of the hold now that he's leaned up against the doorway. Heat floods your face, his unabashed compliment spurring butterflies in your stomach and tingles in your chest.

You ache for him, you had done it back on Maldovan and every day since. Even as he lays beside you each night and cares for you and adi'ka in the ways he knows how. A quiet job he's determined to keep up even in the hard moments, the low moments, the ones where your aversion to touch and conversation flares and your memory fizzles. Actual jobs were slow right now, more focused on beginning the search for other Jedi, others who had been able to devote their life to the ways you had only been beginning to.

You still hadn't looked upon his face, doubt still lingering despite everything you've been through together in nearly a year.

It is a big step, it is a big decision. Monumental, in more ways than one. Words that meant so much shared between you both, for each other. The vows he had written down in your notebook for you to look over, what he recalled from listening to his fellow people in the covert. Spoken word the only way they persevered as they did. He had wanted to share them with you, have you look over them and contemplate them. He wasn’t asking, he wasn’t pushing, it was simply a way for him to express himself and let you come to him slowly in your own time.

But you look up now and you see the shock wash over his features as your eyes take him in.

Tension fills the hold, thickening the air and the tingling in your chest grows as you greedily take in his features.

His skin is bronze all over, you've seen it before. Flashes of it about the cuffs and neckline of his suit, full swaths of it as he lay in bed beside you in his underclothes or sleepwear he’s begun to walk around in on a regular basis. Seen all of it bared, in that one instance he had indulged you in booking a stay instead of returning to the ship… Felt it before with your wandering hands, against your own skin. Both in innocent settings and some that spark thick, syrupy desire low in your middle…

Stray droplets from his wash catch the dull light as he's in nothing but a pair of flight pants, slung low on his narrow hips. Strong arms that are crossed over his chest make your stomach flip. His neck is thick, shoulders broad, skin littered with silvery scars that tell of his past. A strong jaw you only glimpsed at before is now traced by your eyes adorned with dark scruff, his plush lips parted slightly as he almost freezes in his spot. You had felt those lips on your own, the way they moved desperately against you. Conveying so much in a moment when nothing felt like it would be right ever again.

"You're beautiful too." The words are barely a whisper, but they spur him into movement. He's pushing off from the door frame and crossing the space in three long strides. His hands reach and you don't flinch as they wrap around your ribs and help to pull you up from your seat. He simply holds you as you gaze up at him, eyes taking him in and his own roving over your steadily growing smile.

He’s so beautiful, the man standing before you. The man who, when you first met, never anticipating meaning anything to you. But he’s all you want, all you need, he’s…he’s home for you. The reason behind no place ever feeling quite right, the hiding spots you created for yourself just shy of being accommodating. Off kilter in the way that the space inside his ship isn’t. He’s given you so much with his simple disregard for a bounty out on you so long ago, his own actions allowing this feeling to flourish into what it is now. He’s safety, he’s protection, he’s…he’s your heart.

“Ner kar’ta, you’re so beautiful.” You feel the rough palms of his hands rove up to cup your face, his wide eyes so brown and sparkling in a way that you were sure was reserved just for you. Thoughtful in a way most people wouldn’t expect of the man, the Mandalorian – a feared and renowned bounty hunter.

But right now he wasn’t that man, right now he was Din Djarin. The one who had helped you to reclaim your life back, to give you options when there didn’t seem to be anymore to consider. He was the one who had helped you to reclaim so much that you had lost, even things you hadn’t realized.

“You’re too kind, mesh’la,” His head ducks a bit, gaze focused on the pulse he could surely see jumping in the column of your neck. Thick curls tumble, the water still soaked into the tresses smelling so sweet and exactly like you. You can’t help the urge to reach up and run your fingers through them, delighting in the flutter of his long lashes as his eyes close. A deep hum sounds from within his chest, almost vibrating through you with now you’re held so close to him.

“Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum.” And oh it’s so beautiful the way you see the wrinkles around his eyes deepen as his face breaks into an almost shy smile. Eyes wide and earnest as they flutter open in response to your whispered sentiment. The hitch of his breath visible as his chest rises with it and the way his lips nearly tremble as he dips down to capture your own. The words repeated and breathed into you as his strong nose brushes against yours and his hands curling around face. “Gar're ner yaim.”

I love you. You’re my home.

He kisses you, again and again. His lips a soft pressure that makes your heartbeat fast in your chest and you can’t help but tangle your fingers in his damp hair, returning them with as much fever. His own hands, his warm palms trail over the column of your neck to your shoulders. Stirring tingles to dance across the bare skin exposed in your sleepwear of a tank top and shorts.

 “Bal gar cuyir pal'vut.” He pulls back just enough to trail his soft lips along your jaw breathing words into the skin there. You can’t help but wrap your arms around his neck as he begins to nip and lave his tongue down your neck, seeking and praising you in the most intimate way. Your muscles shake as you resist the urge to jump up and wrap your legs around his waist, resist the urge to lean in and use your own teeth along the golden planes of his chest. As if reading your thoughts, his arms loop down below your arms, your waist and grab at the back of your thighs. Large hands so secure against the give of them he hauls you up into his hold and begins to walk you towards the open door.

Lips meet lips in deepening kisses, almost desperate and urgent as heat begins to swirl in your belly and arousal tingles brightly across every inch of skin that touches his. Small groans and panting breath bubbling up and are swallowed as his words echo in your head.

And you are mine.

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[thepascalofus]

Supply Run - Receipt (part one)

AO3

PART TWO

Pairing: Mando/Din Djarin x afab!Reader

Word Count: 4.6k

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.

Content Warnings: MDNI, 18+ only! Post season 2, the Crest lives, strangers to friends to lovers, soft!Mando, helmet loopholes, pining, idiots in love, jealous!reader, 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!

The ramp of the Crest lowered, revealing the bright sun and arid atmosphere of the random planet Mando chose for a pitstop. In the distance were jagged mountains, the colors of orange, red, and brown coming together to paint streaks across the rocky range. Sparse populations of trees littered the distant landscape. Large–but tiny from a distance–birds flew from tree top to tree top, wings fanned outwards to catch the air currents beneath their wings.

To your left was Mando. His silver beskar armor glinted in the light as he shifted his weight from one foot to another. Broad shoulders blocked a sizable proportion of your peripheral vision. Observing the new planet, he stood like a statue.

Tall. Solid. Strong. Capable. Protective.

Biting your lip, your gaze traveled up and down Mando, head to toe. He certainly had an idea of how intimidating he looked. Yet, he had no idea how that intimidation made him look so good.

People always snuck glances at you and Mando when the pair of you were in public. Whispers could be picked up on as well. Rumors about his Creed. The state of the planet of Mandalore. How dangerous Mando was.

The danger he possessed only made your feelings for him deepen. You knew what he was capable of, but you also knew he would never use his capabilities on you. Not that you didn’t want him to…

Maybe he could lift you up. Carry you across the hull. Place you on the bed in his bunk. His large, gloveless hands smoothing up and down your sides. 

Mando could pin both of your hands above your head while he–.

Ok. Stop. That’s enough.

You cleared your throat, hoping to snap Mando out of his observational state, and you out of yours. “Alright, so we need five things: bacta, medkits, rations, a new flight suit, andddd soap?” You listed as you turned to him. Feet shifting, he turned his helmet to look at you. Shoulders that donned beskar pauldrons followed suit. The classic Mandalorian T shape of the visor burned into your pupils.

He paused, as if he was looking over his own checklist. “That should be it,” he confirmed with a nod. You returned his nod and added a small smile.

“Ok see ya!” You threw over your shoulder as you quickly bounded down the ramp of the Crest.

“Dank farrik, hold on, hold on,” Mando’s modulator gritted out as he clicked a button on his vambrace to close the Crest, running to get caught up to you. He rarely let you stray too far, especially when on new planets like this one. But, the Mandalorian read about the planet–and the quarry on it–before landing. 

“This planet is under the jurisdiction of the New Republic, so crime rates are low,” his modulated voice filled your ears once he caught up to you, “You’ll be on your own for this supply run.”

Stopping dead in your tracks, your shoes crunched against the brown substrate underneath them as you turned to face the man, “Really?” You asked, eyebrows shooting towards your hairline.

Mando responded with a hesitant nod. “I have some business to take care of, business that your presence isn’t required for,” the beskar pauldrons lifted and lowered in a shrug, “I figured you would enjoy having free range over the market.”

“Are you sure?” You replied.

He crossed his arms, the muscles in them appearing larger when pressed together. Mando’s helmet cocked to the side and his hip jutted out. The chin of his helmet lifted slightly as it motioned towards the market. “Go before I change my mind.”

Smile spread across your face, you did a hop of excitement in place and continued towards the market.

Trudging along to explore the unfamiliar marketplace, you recalled the previous supply run at a more populated planet.

—

Mando’s finger was perpetually hooked through one of your belt loops as he dragged you from stall to stall with him.

“Mando, I’m not a child,” you told him. Your eyes rolled as he tugged you along, your hips jerking along with the movement of his arm. Sometimes your hands wound up on Mando’s arm to maintain your balance. The muscles underneath your hands hardened and flexed as he maneuvered through the crowd.

“I never said you were,” he stated as his gaze remained focused on the crowd. His eyes constantly scanned the marketplace. Beings of different cultures and origins milled through the alleyway lined with stalls. The crowd of the market was average sized–no hustle and bustle but also no empty stalls. The occasional sound of credits clinking rang throughout the dry air as someone dug into their pocket to pay for their purchase.

You scanned the market just as Mando did, following his metal gaze to try and catch a glimpse at what he was seeing. “Are we in danger?” Your voice dropped to a whisper, uncertain about what’s going on inside that beskar helmet. 

Deadpanning you once again, he responded, “Not that I am aware of.” The T-shape constantly spun on an axis, and the grip of his finger tightened on the fabric of your belt loop.

Brows furrowing, you finally turned your head fully towards him, “Then why are you doing all this?” You gestured with one of your hands up and down his body. His hand jerked to tug you along, your hip following in response.

A large inhale and exhale made his beskar-plated chest rise and fall, “I want to make sure yo-,” he paused, then quickly continued, “Just want to make sure we’re safe.” He nods. The one he gives you when he's confirming something you said. Like his approval of the items you listed to get on a supply run.

Which brings you back to now. Receiving that same nod made a series of connections go off in you. For the past week you’ve been thinking about what he said. His finger tugged your hips with him, his verbal slip-up found its way onto the center stage of your thoughts every night cycle on the Crest.

“I want to make sure yo-.”

It felt like a confirmation.

—

You started as an assistant, helping Mando with whatever he needed. Marketplace runs? Check. Bounty information? Check. Small ship repairs? Check. But, calling someone an assistant sounded…weird to Mando. He didn’t enjoy the air of subordinacy the word possessed. The Mandalorian thought back to his days with his fellow Mandalorians. The covert worked as a team, with no hierarchy. Sure, some people were assigned roles, but no one was above anyone else. Everyone was part of one unit.

You worked on a small, galactically insignificant planet at a small-items repair shop. Mando entered one day with a scope for one of his blasters. Impressed with your knowledge and efficiency–the scope being repaired in less than ten minutes–the Mandalorian inquired about the chances of hiring you. “Partner,” he said with a nod, when he offered you the job, “You’ll be my partner.”

You both met at a cantina after your shift. Mando explained job responsibilities, pay, and the lifestyle that the job required. Sitting across from the man covered in beskar was intimidating. But near the end of your conversation you realized he was just soft spoken. He was also all business. Any conversation was focused on logistics of the job. He didn’t ask you weird personal questions. He respected your skills and your opinions. There were definitely worse bosses to have, you figured. Eager to explore the galaxy and leave behind the little planet, you loaded the Crest with your personal belongings the following week. 

Living in the Razor Crest with Mando was awkward at first. Mando would keep his interactions with you to a minimum. You noticed that he only left the cockpit when he knew you were occupied, asleep, or off of the ship. If he had to be in the same space as you, he would leave at least a meter of distance between your bodies. Like you were two magnets of the same polarity, refusing to go closer to the other.

All business.

But that didn’t stop you from being friendly. Whenever you did see Mando you would offer him a, “How are you?” Or a, “How was your day?” His responses were consistently short and to the point. 

“Fine.”

“Busy.”

“Awful.”

Dinner was when you typically saw him. He would come down to grab a ration pack and scurry back into the cockpit. You also saw him when he returned from hunts, dragging the bounty behind his beskar frame. His grunts echoed throughout the Crest’s hull as he pulled the quarry up and froze him into carbonite. You claimed a small section of the hull as your living quarters, so you had no choice but to watch.

Trying to break the tension, you asked, “How was your day?”

Mando huffed, his broad shoulders covered in beskar lifted and fell, “Nothing you want to hear about,” he deadpanned to you. If he did offer any emotion, it was cut out of his voice by his helmet’s modulator.

“Try me,” you crossed your arms and raised your eyebrows. Leaning back on the cold wall of the hull, your chest thrummed with nervous energy as you waited for his response. Was that too much? Were you just going to push him away?

“Quarry tried to escape and they ran. Would have been back four hours ago,” the modulator gritted out, “Not too fun.” His helmet tilted to the side and he squeezed his hands together that were clasped in front of him.

The Mandalorian’s wide frame took up the majority of the door frame that separates the carbonite room from the hull. Large gloved hands remained clasped together while he shifted in place, eventually settling on leaning against the frame.

You stood still in shock for a couple seconds. If you listened closely you could have heard the hearts beating in the hull. That was the most that Mando has ever said to you at once. “Oh, I’m sorry,” you started.

“You don’t have to be sorry,” he brushed past you towards the ladder going up to the cockpit, “It’s my job.”

You turned towards him, which halted his ascent, “That doesn’t mean it sucks any less,” your eyes widened and you tried to backtrack, “sorry, I probably shouldn’t have said that your job sucks,” you blurted out in an attempt to save face.

Mando met your gaze with the T of his visor and replied, “My job does suck.”

Did he just try to be funny? A giggle bubbled out from your chest. 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.

His attitude slowly and steadily transformed after that night. 

Mando lingered in the hull longer in the mornings and in the evenings. The mornings were when you asked, “What’re the plans for today?” And the evenings came with your, “How was your day?”

At one point he started making you a cup of caf every morning when he was awake first, and he usually was. He knew you favored the drink in the mornings so he began to regularly purchase it, and he built up a sizable stash in the Crest.

His preferred distance from you shrunk and shrunk. The broad Mandalorian opted to stand next to you in the mornings, helping you make breakfast as well as he could. Ever-so-subtle brushes as you passed each other on the Crest became more frequent. Sometimes he would touch a hand to your waist as he passed, or on the small of your back if you weren’t facing him.

The beskar warrior spoke more too. He taught you a few words in Mando’a, which consisted of a couple basic words and some insults. 

“Di’kutla,” he spat out as he struggled to repair a part on one of his blasters.

“What’s that one mean?” You asked over your shoulder, looking up from the article you were reading on your Holopad.

Mando huffed in frustration and gritted out, “worthless…stupid,” as he continued to try and force the part off of the blaster.

Chuckling, you repeated the word in your mind and watched as Mando continued to struggle. You stored all of the words he shared with you deep in your brain, not wanting to forget this special part of himself that Mando shared with you.

One of your evening chats came to an end and the broad beskar man was drifting back to this bunk. For the first time, he paused and looked at you. You knew his gaze underneath the helmet met yours. No proof, but you knew.

“Goodnight,” the word gently flowed through his helmet’s modulator. 

He’s said it every night he’s been on the ship since then. Sometimes his gaze lingered on yours too long. A couple times you swore you saw the center of his chest rise, as if he was about to say something, but it stopped mid-exhale and Mando retreated into his bunk.

You found yourself to be increasingly longing for the sound of the ramp descending, signaling his return from a hunt. He trudged up the ramp, quarry in tow. Freezing the person in carbonite was always fast. Usually small pleasantries were exchanged before he used the fresher to clean off. 

If your mind were to venture towards more perverse thoughts, your favorite part was after he used the fresher.

He always emerged in a pair of black pants, a black t-shirt, and of course, his helmet.

No armor. No gloves. Not even the usual long-sleeved layer underneath his t-shirt.

When he turned to toss his clothes into a small hamper, you swore small tufts of dark brown hair peaked out from beneath his helmet. Nevertheless, a combination of factors had you in awe. Watching as Mando hauled the quarry into carbonite like it was nothing. You saw the toned muscles in his arms, developed from decades of finely tuned combat. The broad expanse of his back, rippling underneath his t-shirt. His calloused, capable hands are composed of thick fingers. You were in awe at his physique, his presence, the things he did to provide for the both of you.

And it hit you like a cold, ocean wave just how unafraid of him you were.

As if your fondness towards the Mandalorian couldn’t grow any more, he started returning from supply runs with gifts for you. Although he rarely let you go on runs alone, he did have the decency to give you space during pit stops. You would wander near him while looking at all of the different crafts the stalls had to offer.

One day you were peering at a set of comfortable lounge pants. You managed to whittle your wardrobe down to one set after damaging pair after pair when repairing the Razor Crest. Shoulders slumped, you thought about how comfy the pants would be when sleeping in your makeshift bed on the floor of the Crest. You knew you didn’t have enough credits, so you moved along to purchase the items the pair of you actually needed.

Milling about the market weren’t many people, which was most likely why you were alone on this shopping trip. The brown sands of the marketplace intruded upon the surroundings, leaving dunes of sand curving up and into the stalls. Sun rays blared down from the cloudless sky. Heat already seeped through your airy shirt and throughout your skin, conjuring up a layer of sweat. After visiting four stalls you purchased all of the necessary items. 

Bacta. Soap. Rations. Spare parts. You confirmed each purchase on the receipts from the market. A step you always took to make sure nothing was forgotten.

You met Mando back at the Razor Crest and started unloading your bags. Item after item piled on the center of the ship's floor. Rations. Bacta. Medkits. Sweatpants. Ammo. Ra-.

Sweatpants?

The sweatpants were identical to the ones you stopped and looked at while shopping. Your hands reached for the sweatpants and marveled in their softness. Pausing, your gaze lifted to meet Mando’s T-shaped visor. “Did you buy sweatpants?” Confusion oozed from your voice.

His gaze remained on yours and he replied with a slight nod of his head, “Yes. They’re for you.” 

“Mando, you didn’t ha-”

“Take it. Please. I feel bad enough making you sleep on the floor,” he insisted. His gloved hand gestured to the sleeping pad, pillow, and blanket neatly stored in a corner of the hull. 

“Honestly it hasn’t been that bad. The sleeping pad you got is pretty comfy.” You shrugged and told him the truth. Sleeping on that plush pad was infinitely better than the hull’s cold, metal floor.

“You have to set it up every night. You at least deserve a permanent bed,” his modulator made his words sound like churning gravel.

You stared into the black T covering his face. His shoulders drooped, like he gave up on trying to convince you. The gesture was a silent plea to just accept the gift.

“Thank you,” you said to him softly, “it means a lot.” 

It was his turn to shrug, “That’s why I do it.”

—

Today marks a year since the two of you became “partners”.

For you, that marked a year since you’ve met the man you had a heart throbbing crush on. 

You knew Mando wasn’t much of the sentimental type. Everything he kept was for a purpose. Any sentimental things had extreme meaning to him. If you were reading the situation correctly, you had a burning suspicion that the beskar covered man liked you back. So suggesting you two get matching bracelets at the market wouldn’t be completely farfetched. Even if he didn’t like you back you could just play it off as a gag gift…right?

After trudging across the brown landscape for twenty minutes, Mando at your tail, you arrived at the market. 

“We meet at that stall,” you heard from over your shoulder. Your eyes followed Mando’s finger to a bright red food vendor stall, “in 2 hours. Understood?”

A smile plastered itself onto your face and you gave him a sarcastic salute, “Understood.”

A breathy chuckle passed through Mando’s modulator. He shook his head softly and motioned for you to get a move on. You turned on your heel and walked to your first destination.

—

Bacta? Check. Rations? Check. Soap? Check. Medkits? Check.

The only thing left was a new flight suit for Mando.

As you walked towards the clothing section of the market you stopped at a men’s clothing stall to purchase an extra large black flight suit. Once your transaction was completed you walked further into the alleyway lined with stalls selling dresses, flight gear, loungewear, jewelry, bracelets. Bracelets. 

Your eyes landed on a stall with various fabrics on display. The front tables of the vendor were packed with different colored bracelets. Bracelet materials ranged from metal, leather, twine, thick cord, beads, and some materials you’ve never seen before.

The stall became even more enchanting as you got closer. Signs displayed prices, sizes, and ongoing sales. Immediately your eyes landed on a vast array of multicolored bracelets. You were thinking of getting something green since Mando told you that Grogu is green. 

A couple months ago he told you about how he had to give Grogu to a Jedi to train, since Grogu could use the force. Your heart sank. Mando often turned the metal knob of the thruster–a silver ball–over and over in his hand. He only told you recently that it was Grogu’s favorite thing to steal from him.

Your eyes danced over the section of green bracelets. Some were too dark, some too vibrant, others were just ugly. Finally, your gaze landed on the bracelet.

A fine, light green thread, you assumed somewhat close to Grogu’s color, was intertwined with thicker silver and brown threads. Light green and silver streaked across the rough brown surface of the bracelet. It reminded you of light streaking across the windshield of the Crest while in hyperspace.

This was the one.

Sifting through the different sizes you picked out one in your size and one you guessed would fit Mando. The bracelets were adjustable and hopefully that would help if you got Mando the wrong size. Setting the bracelets down to sift through your pockets for credits, you looked up at a weathered sign displaying the prices.

PRICES

1 bracelet = 15 credits

2 = 30 credits

3 = 45 credits

4 = 60 credits

As you reached into your pockets and retrieved your last credits you realized you didn’t have enough. Only twenty five credits sat in your palm. Not in the mood to haggle with the vendor about the price, your shoulders dropped and you returned the bracelets to their original places.

You checked your watch. One hour left until you met back up with Mando. Making it from one end of the market to the other took forty five minutes, so you figured you could take the scenic route back to the meet up point. Getting to see the new sights could cheer you up after not being able to afford the gift you wanted to get for Mando.

Walking up on a familiar intersection, you opted to take a right this time instead of a left. The path on the right was much more…interesting…than the path on the left. One vendor sold exotic pets. The next sold potions that promised to give the consumer various effects. The next stall was not a stall, it was a large establishment.

The establishment stood tall amongst the surrounding stalls. Solid brick walls were painted a dull gray. A sign with old, faded letters was centered on the front wall between two windows. The tall windows of the building were heavily tinted. Shadows of different figures danced across the glass. Some bodies were indistinguishable from the ones they were next to. Music blared from inside, but it barely covered the sounds of moans and the slapping of skin on skin.

Looking up, front and center on the building reads: BROTHEL

Brothels weren’t a common occurrence on the supply runs you’ve been on, but you suppose the service was in demand. You shrugged and walked past the gray building. The moving bodies in the windows almost allowed your vision to gloss over him.

Tall. Broad. Covered in beskar. A black T shaped visor gazing down at a man.

At first you froze in shock. Was this the business Mando had to attend to? The one that, “didn’t require your presence”? You never pictured the Mandalorian to be a man that required services like these, but he is a man nonetheless.

A soft breeze sent goosebumps down your arms towards your fingertips. Realizing you’re out in the open, you ducked into an empty market stall. A gap in the wood planks making up the stall’s sides gave you a clear view of Mando’s encounter with the mystery man.

The man was in all black with a silver name tag on his chest. By Mando’s serious demeanor you could tell that the conversation was strictly business. The Mandalorian’s helmet tilted in question at the man and Mando pulled out a pen and pad to write on. From the man’s stance and close position to the building you could tell he was the bouncer, plus the presence of a name tag. 

The bouncer pulled out an identical pad and began to speak. You couldn’t hear a word they exchanged, but you could tell Mando was writing down a list. A finger on the bouncer’s hand came up everytime he stated something else from his list. Mando jotted down a few things, closed his pad, and returned it to a pocket in his suit.

Then he reached into a different pocket, pulled out a sizable amount of credits, and handed them to the bouncer.

Did he just buy a night at the brothel?

Your heart dropped to your stomach. Blood rushed towards your head and your vision slightly blurred. You felt stupid. You fell for a guy, pretty much your boss, you don’t even know what he looks like, and he didn’t like you back. You were even going to buy you and him matching bracelets. Breaths exited your mouth in stutters. The realization of how naive you were radiated throughout your being. Mando was just being nice to you. He managed to warm up to you. That’s it. 

But you were also so confused. What were the fleeting touches in the Crest? The gifts he gave you after trips to the market? The early morning and late evening conversations? Feelings bubbled up from your stomach and started to seep out of your body in the form of tears. 

You spent a year getting to know this man. Kriff, it took you a couple months before he started replying to you in full sentences. No one else has experienced Mando like this. You didn’t want anyone else to see his ungloved hands, the rolling muscles of his back in just a t-shirt, the way the helmet softly shook from side to side when he heard a bad joke. Those small, “Goodnight”s, are yours. The modulated chuckles are yours. The way he makes a cup of caf for you on most mornings. That’s yours.

Of course Mando wasn’t yours, but jealousy managed to seep into your bones regardless. 

Zoning back into the situation, you realized Mando started walking back in the direction towards the meet up point. Scrambling to get to your feet, you jumped over the wall of the empty stall and made your way back

—

Upon seeing the size of the bag you carried, Mando slipped it from your grasp and into his. He stuffed a small piece of paper, a receipt, into the bag before swinging it onto his shoulder. 

The walk back to the Razor Crest lacked conversation. Sounds of crunching ground underneath your shoes echoed in your ears. Mando followed your lead and kept the trek speechless.

The Razor Crest steadily became larger and larger on the horizon. Once orange, brown, and red mountain ranges were now painted in hues of pink and purple. Colors of the rocky formations reflected off of the Razor Crest.

You bounded up the ramp as soon as it was lowered. Mando followed suit and began to empty the bag of its contents. Each item fell onto the middle of the hull’s floor.

Bacta. Medkits. Flight suit. Soap. Rations.

The beskar man dug around in the bag for a second more and retrieved a handful of receipts. 

“Here,” he said as he handed them to you, “I know you like to look them over.”

Your stomach flipped at the thoughtfulness. Reaching your hand out, his gloveless fingers brushed yours in the handing off of the receipts. After they were straightened out you began to look through them.

First receipt, bacta and medkits.

Second receipt, rations and soap.

Third receipt, flight suit.

Fourth receipt.

Wait. Fourth receipt?

Your eyes scanned the lines of the flimsy paper. The date was from today, so it wasn’t old. But you didn’t visit the vendor listed on the receipt. Pupils skipping a few lines, you read the items purchased.

ITEMS PURCHASED (1)

CONDOM - 12 PACK

For the second time today you froze. Blood rushed up towards your head as your vision blurred. 

He really just bought a night with a worker at the brothel.

From the little details you had, you tried to make sense of the scene you stumbled across earlier in the night. Mando talked to the bouncer, probably asked who was working that night, wrote down the workers he was interested in, and paid for a night with one of them. I mean, what else could you possibly be talking with a brothel bouncer about? The weather?

Good thing you didn’t buy those bracelets.

PART TWO

[cowboygenesis]

1: spice rolls and dew jam | din djarin x reader

part 1 of the "brown eyes" series: masterlist.

pairing: din djarin x reader

chapter warnings: none.

word count: 5.7k

series summary: din settles on the distant planet of lazure prime while seeking a safe-haven for his son. unbeknownst to him, the choice leads him to unforeseen threats—and a deeper connection he never thought possible.

notes: this fic is set a while after the corvus arc in season 2, after din sets to find a teacher for grogu. there's tons of flavor-lore here, some of it canon, some of it completely made up (by me). smut happens late because im a slave to slow burn. but enjoy the mutual pining!

You have known this your entire life.

The air smells like fresh earth and wildflowers when you open your kitchen window that morning. The fog clings low to the ground as a cool breeze seeps into your home, making you swaddle yourself tighter within your knitted sweater.

Your cold-numbed fingers wrap tightly around the ceramic mug cupped in your hands, periodically bringing it to your lips for a languid sip. The caf scalds your tongue, but you persevere. Outside, the sun rises above the horizon, peeking over the tall treeline and illuminating the town with a subtle, golden glow.

Across your makeshift garden stands a small stripe of farmland, glistening with freshly sowed soil and soft patches of stray grass. You spot your elderly neighbor strolling about with a blanket-covered basket and wave her hello when she smiles at you. Her breath comes out in a thin cloud of condensation which you see as it mends with the dewy air.

You exhale. It’s unremarkable, peaceful. Predictable. The way it’s been for as long as you can remember.

You have known this your entire life. But today, the air feels thicker. Your hands slip against the polished wood when you reach for your hairbrush, and the Shiir fruit you have for breakfast tastes soured as you bite into the soft, dotted flesh.

It all started three days ago, when a small craft landed in the nearby woods. It was the dead of night, silent besides the howling of sifflings and a distant cricket song filling the empty void.

You didn't see it happen, nor did your neighbors, as the first whispers came from the children: wide-eyed and brimming with interest, they gossiped quietly of a strange craft that emerged just before dawn, sleek and noiseless, nestled beneath the canopy of trees that surround your little village. No one emerged from it, they chimed. The forest swallowed it whole as if it had always been hidden in the cloud of greenery.

At first, it was just another embellished story—a tale spun from boredom or fantasies, something for the local folk to entertain themselves with during the quieter nights at the cantina.

But as the hours turned into days, the usual vibrancy of your community turned subdued with the whispered rumors. And sure, people started talking, but nobody dared to see the ship for themselves. Such was their Maker-fearing nature.

You, like many others, grew quite curious as the stories spread. When you walked down the stone-laid path to the town’s square every morning, your eyes followed along the treeline, glimpsing between the foliage in a silent hope of catching something inexplicable: a metallic wing, a flailing cape, or even a hint of movement. But nothing ever came.

You finish your drink and place the cup in the sink, the clink of ceramic echoing in your quiet kitchen as you let the residual warmth of the caf envelop you. You make a mental note to stock up on the good stuff as soon as the Mon Gazza traders come through your town next time.

You lean against the wall in your chair, glancing over at the basket you'd prepared last night. It sits by the door, neatly packed with fresh bread, a few vegetables from your garden, and jars of homemade preserves. You’ve made it a habit to bring these goods to the village market as a small way to keep yourself busy and prevent the excess produce from spoiling. Cooking for one is no easy feat.

As you turn to the window again, you notice the sun has fully crested over the trees, casting long shadows down the strip of farmland in front of your home.

You stand up and stretch with a grunt, grabbing your cloak from the green-padded loveseat and tying the ribbon around your neck. You grab the basket, tie your boots neatly, and step out into the crisp morning air with a deep inhale. The bells hooked on your doorway jingle as you lock it behind you.

Lazure Prime’s climate is temperate, yet the mornings are notably chillier at this point of the solar cycle. It’s a good omen for the upcoming harvest, the farmers had always said; something about the condensation that makes the tartness decline. You’ve never been big on food science, but living in an agriculture-based town has illuminated many aspects of the topic over the years.

The walk to the village is unremarkable. Trees sway softly in the wind, their leaves dancing in the early daylight. You pass by familiar faces— fyrion melon farmers prepping the land for sowing and children making their daily hike to school. Each one of them flashes you a bright smile as you walk past, some calling out your name cheerfully.

Your eyes hover over the treeline again, watching the bark weave in and out of the lush greenery but… no metal. No ship. It’s the same as it’s always been. A part of you expects the visitor to be long gone, perhaps in a moment where nobody caught it.

As you near the market square, you catch the distant chatter of townsfolk. They weave in and out of the stalls, exchanging greetings and produce as a weekly ritual.

You skim through the stalls with your eyes and select one of the empty ones. You place your basket on top with a grunt, stunned at how robustly you managed to pack it this time around.

Your hands work quickly, unraveling the protective rag covering the inside and reaching for your produce. Four loaves of oat cakes, amber squash, a few bunches of carrots, and half a dozen jars of dew jam— a family recipe. Because it peddled so fast last time, you made sure to amp up the production this week to at least double the amount.

You hear your name be called, paired with a gentle touch on your arm. You turn around on your heel, gaze dropping to be met with the curious look of a young girl.

“Good morning Nissa,” you smile, giving the child a small wave. She beams at you, exposing a row of milk teeth, two of them missing. “Is your mom around?”

She shrugs half-heartedly, quick to dismiss your concern. “She’s here. Probably getting the stuff we need for dinner tonight— we’re making yak stew. You know yak stew, right?” she explains, eyes suddenly widening, “Oh, you have to come! I’ll tell mom about it, I— We’d love to have you over!”

You chuckle warmly at her excitement, reaching a hand behind you to grab a round, cloth-enveloped parcel and hiding it behind your back as you crouch down to meet the girl at eye level.

“Yeah, I know it. Yak stew sounds lovely. I’ll have to ask your mom if that’s alright with her, though,” you reply with an apologetic look, toying with the package behind your back. “You know how she feels about surprise visits.”

Nissa rolls her eyes, arms crossed. “Whatever, she’ll have to say yes!” she insists, extending her hands as if to make a point, “You have to come, okay? You promised to show me how to shoot a bow last time, you promised!”

“Nini, I said I’ll show you how it works,” you grimace slightly at your own mistake of giving a child the idea to learn of a weapon in the first place. What can you say, you got overly excited as usual and spoke too much, too soon. “I don’t think your mom would like us toying around with a weapon in her home. And yes, I asked her already. It’s not gonna happen.”

She blows a raspberry at your reprimanding, followed by a loud huff. And then there’s that stare, the kind that you’re sure makes her mother scowl at how effective it is. “We don’t need to be in the house. We can go to the garden, right? It’s not technically the house anymore.”

“Technically? Who taught you that?” you chuckle, praying it’s enough to distract her hyperactive mind from the bow-shooting idea.

“Um— you did? Mom says I spend too much time with you, by the way. She doesn’t like that I pick up on the things you say, because now I can _actually_ talk to her with adult words. But I like it. You should teach me more words like that,” She replies, going on a tangent. Works like clockwork.

You sigh, taking the parcel out from behind you and cupping it in front of the girl. “Hey, it’s not a good thing. We don’t want to upset her, right?” you reprimand gently, “Here. You told me you liked the oat cakes I made last week.”

Her mouth widens in profound excitement as she quickly grabs ahold of the wrapped gift. “No way, you baked an extra one just for me?”

“Yes— Hey, it’s for your family, alright? Make sure to share it with your brother, at least,” you wag your finger at her with a smile, your heart slowly warming at the raw reaction.

She nods, but you can tell she doesn’t catch a word you say. Her little fingers reach for the knot, ready to untie the morsel, but she’s stopped in her tracks at her name being called.

You peek behind her shoulder to see a woman striding towards you two with a hurried bounce in her step, a woven basket on her hip, and a young boy trailing behind her. She says your name as she approaches, and you can tell from the way her thick eyebrows stitch that Nissa is not supposed to be here alone.

“Morning!” she calls out, her voice carrying a pleasant, melodic lilt when she addresses you. “Ni, I told you to wait up. Help me out with this, will you?” she adds sternly, motioning to her basket with a tilt of her head.

The girl rolls her eyes but does as asked. She strains a little as her mother passes the basket over, a little grunt emitted from her mouth.

“I’m so sorry, she’s been talking about you all of breakfast,” the woman speaks, breath still heavy from prancing around the market. “Didn’t cause you any trouble, I hope?”

You chuckle softly, shaking your head. You hope the bow idea doesn’t get a mention. “Not at all, Val. We had a nice little chat about your dinner plans tonight.”

Valerie smiles warmly, though there’s a hint of jest in her dark eyes. “Ah, yes, dinner. Kids this age eat for two, it feels like. Half of this moon’s pay went directly to grocery costs, can you believe it? This one’s got the stomach of a bantha,” she motions to her daughter, and you catch Nissa rolling her eyes again. You chuckle, and the woman shakes her head. “I’d love to have you over, but only if you’re free. It’d be nice to catch up, I feel like it’s been a century since we got to sit down over a meal and a nice spotchka.”

You stand up, stretching a little as you lean against your stall. “I’m free. And I’d love to join if it’s not a problem for you all,” you smile politely, “I’ll make sure to bring some dessert, too,” you add with a wink at Nissa who beams at your generous suggestion.

“That’s too kind of you, as usual. You know the kids love your baking, and so do I,” she says, placing a hand against her son’s back and gently pushing her forward. “Right, Ki?”

The boy tucks a stray brunette lock behind his ear, glancing up at you with a coy nod. You smile, giving him a little wave of encouragement.

“Of course. I’ll whip up something good for you guys,” you respond, turning around to start organizing your produce on the wooden boards. “Thank you for the invite, by the way. I’ve been home-stuck for way too long, and I feel like it’s finally getting to my head,” you add, turning around to flash your friend a cheeky smile. She responds with a similar one, a hand now stroking down her daughter’s plaits.

Nissa tugs on her mother’s sleeve, eyebrows knitted. “Mom, we were supposed to get spice rolls today. You promised Kivan you’d buy them for us,” she complains, and Valerie chuckles warmly.

“Right, I guess I did make that promise at some point,” she shrugs, giving a knowing smile that you return absentmindedly. “Excuse us, but priorities call. On this note, you should really try Mrs. Veska’s spice rolls, I hear it’s an original family recipe from Batuu. Which, by the way, did you even know she’s from Batuu? Maker, the things I still find out after living here my whole life.”

You laugh at her small rant, taking a step forward to place an affirming hand on her shoulder. “This town is a gift that keeps on giving, huh? I trust you have plenty of stories to share with me over that drink you suggested.”

“More than I care to admit,” she huffs, straightening out and adjusting the large messenger bag on her hip. “Anyway, I think we better scavenge this market before all the good stuff is wiped out. I’ll see you tonight, okay?”

“I’ll see you. Bye, kids!” you lean down, waving enthusiastically. Kivan gives you a coy nod, while Nissa waves back with a wide grin, the wrapped oat cake now sitting safely within the basket she’s carrying.

As you watch Valerie and the kids disappear into the bustling crowd, you exhale a small sigh of contentment. Dinner and some spotchka are exactly what you need after a long, lonesome week.

Your fingers resume their work, carefully arranging the last of your produce on the stall’s wooden boards. You lean back when you’re done, watching the colorful array with your hands on your hips and a satisfied smile painted across your face.

That’s when you feel it— an odd sense of stillness settling over the market as your back faces the crowd.

You wait a beat, breathing in the thick air. It’s as if the week-long tension had finally culminated in a moment of eternal stillness, hovering in the atmosphere like a prayer about to be spoken.

You turn around on your heel, the empty basket still clutched tightly in your hands. That’s when you spot it.

You watch a sleek figure cut through the bustling market crowd, tall frame draped in armor shining brilliantly under the rising daylight. You catch it immediately, something about him—it sends a surge of hushed attention through the townsfolk gathered around. The loud chatter slowly dampens, havoc turning into muted whispers as the figure strides through. People step aside as if instinctively, letting him pass through uninterrupted as Maker forbid a guy of his caliber gets interrupted.

Your fingers wrap still against the edge of the wooden stall, watching the stranger approach. But it’s the air of him that catches your attention—the way he moves, unbothered, like he’s always on the move yet leveled in some unstated purpose. A droid? No, he’s humanoid. A trooper?

He strides with intent, but not hurriedly by any means. A small, rounded pod floats beside him, gently humming as it hovers by his right hip.

Whoever this man is, he’s unlike any visitor your village had taken in before. There’s an unsettling sense of quiet power that seems to follow him as he struts along the stalls, his visor moving subtly, yet perceptibly, as he assumingly scans for what he’s looking for.

You catch glimpses of villagers giving him a wide berth, murmuring amongst themselves, uncertain whether to approach or keep their distance.

He draws nearer, and for a brief moment, his helmet—polished but tattered—turns in your direction. Your breath hitches. You meet the opaque visor, your reflection staring back at you, but you can’t spot the eyes beneath it, even as you try to squint.

There’s no nod, no words exchanged, just a brief moment where your gaze meets his; you can feel it boring into you even through the slim visor, the air around you stilling with his absurdly authoritative presence. Oddly, you can’t help but wonder what he’s thinking as he stares into you.

The moment passes instantly as his helmet finally tilts away from you. He continues on, stout boots thudding lightly against the packed dirt of the village square. You blink twice, his gaze lingering on your silhouette for a second longer than it should. Your jaw unclenches, though you don’t remember tightening it in the first place. He seems… familiar.

You dig into the depths of your brain, clawing at the grey matter. Something about his armor, or perhaps the blaster tucked at his side, threatens to awaken a hidden memory within your half-awaken mind.

You don’t exactly know why you decide to take a step forward when you do.

Be it primal curiosity or the quiet tension that clings to him like a fleeting shadow; regardless of the reason, you feel compelled to approach him, basket in hand, steadily nearing the armored stranger.

You take a slow breath, steadying yourself as you step forward and drop your emptied basket near the soil by your booth.

When you look up again, you see the armored figure ahead of you finally stop at one of the stalls. He stands silent and still, visor fixed on the selection of produce laid out before him. The stall owner, an older man with wiry hair and sun-weathered skin, toys nervously with the corner of his apron.

Suddenly, a familiar silhouette emerges out of the cantina’s wooden doorway. His broad shoulders sway rhythmically, eyes piercing and focused as he trots down the soil. His weathered hand rests firmly atop his hip, cradling the only blaster the town has ever owned. It’s not something you had ever caught before, but the weapon paired with a tattered chest plate makes him stand out from the rest of the townsfolk. He looks modern, metropolitan, like a big-town sheriff rather than a community-voted overseer.

“Morning, traveler,” he calls out in a deep, gravelly voice, coming to a stop a few paces from the armored figure. “First time seeing you around here. What brings you to Terrine?”

There’s a pause that lingers for a second too long. The stranger doesn’t respond right away, and you can feel the anticipation surging through the air as the marshal takes another step forward.

The marshal steps from foot to foot, the blaster on his hip gleaming in the sunlight as if purposefully making its presence known. “You’re a quiet one, aren’t you? Fine,”

The armored figure finally turns his head, the reflective visor of his helmet catching the morning sun. He doesn’t flinch or bristle at the marshal’s words—just stands there, towering and still. You feel unease mixing in your gut when you catch a glimpse of the stranger’s blaster resting in the holster on his hip, stagnantly, as his hand hovers nowhere near it.

“Bounty hunters and other scoundrels of your kind aren’t appreciated in these parts. I can see that weapon on your hip, don’t you find me foolish,” he motions to his blaster with a nod of his head, “What’s your business here?”

The question hangs in the air, the marketplace unnervingly still. You sense eyes from the nearby stalls watching the scene, everyone holding their breath as tension swells between the two men.

“You deaf under that helmet?” the marshal sneers, his tone sharp as he steps forward, shoving a hand against the stranger’s shoulder. The impact is solid as you can tell from the dull sound it makes, yet the figure barely flinches. “Huh?”

The crowd seems to hold its breath as the stranger pivots his stance ever so slightly, body shifting just enough to fully face the marshal. His hand moves slowly, almost deliberately, hovering near his blaster—just enough to be caught yet not enough to draw it— yet.

“You don’t want this,” he says, voice low, gravelly, and calm as ever, carrying a weight that cuts through your tense body. It’s heavily modulated, yet it’s soft bass draws a shiver down your spine.

The marshal pauses, his chest rising and falling rapidly, momentarily frozen in place as the air hangs heavy between them. You feel the tension peak, a bead of sweat forming on the marshal’s brow despite the cool morning breeze pouring into the market.

“I’m sick of you metal-clad fuckers causing mayhem where you don’t belong,” he suddenly hisses, sizing the stranger up as his hand slowly catches the handle of his blaster, “I’ve heard enough of your excuses for—” he draws it, and your heart drops.

A wave of adrenaline propels you forward, legs carrying you silently between the two men in a mindless, perhaps foolish, moment of clarity.

“Raan—” you call out desperately, cringing the way your voice shakes. “—Marshal.”

Both men turn their attention to you, but despite being shrouded by two deadly weapons, it’s the stranger’s unseen gaze that makes your stomach twist at that moment.

“Let’s not have this escalate,” you say, gaze soft yet determined as it connects with the marshal’s. Here we go. “We all know you’re just trying to maintain order and peace, but this man has done no harm.”

The marshal’s eyes lock onto yours, his expression a mix of frustration and reluctant acknowledgment. His grip tightens on his blaster, knuckles white, but you can see the battle waging behind his eyes.

“Peace?” the marshal spits, his voice rough. “It’s people like him that _disrupt_ the peace,”

The stranger remains eerily still, his helmet angled slightly towards you as if measuring your sincerity. The tension between the three of you feels almost tangible, and you can feel dozens of eyes boring into you expectantly. Briefly, you catch a glimpse of Valerie, her kids shielded behind the fabric of her dress.

“You know what kind of risk these types bring,” the marshal continues, voice rising slightly. “They come in, stir up trouble, then disappear without a trace. Worst damn case, they tell their little bounty-hunting friends about us so we can be plundered all over again. We don’t need that here, and you should know that better than anyone.”

Your eyes shoot wide open at his statement. The marshal's words sting with a quiet truth, yet you take a deep breath, steeling yourself against the personal attacks. You’re too deep to withdraw now, and somehow, the little voice in your head you call intuition tells you the armor-clad figure is no ordinary plunderer.

Your eyes flicker to his visor, and for the briefest moment, you swear you catch something mild in the way his helmet tilts in your direction. Call it stress-induced delusion, but if he didn’t appreciate your interference, why didn’t he try to stop you yet?

“Marshal, I understand your concerns,” you start again, voice steady but firm. “But we can’t jump to conclusions based on fear alone. Not everyone who wears armor or carries a blaster is out to cause trouble, and you should know that better than anyone.” you bite back subtly, a self-satisfied smirk threatening to emerge at the way his eyebrows furrow at your targeted remark.

His hands drop from his holster, snaking around to rest firmly against his belt. He exhales sharply, giving the stranger a once-over before returning to you with a seemingly dampened mood.

“Fine,” he states firmly, taking a step back. His shoulders relax just a fraction, though the tension still simmers in his eyes. “But I’m keeping an eye on this one. If anything goes awry, we’ll deal with it one way or another.”

The stranger remains silent, his posture relaxed but you catch his visor fixed on the marshal as he withdraws.

The man huffs, and for a brief moment, it seems like he’s about to get a last word in but finally decides against it. He murmurs something under his breath, turning on his heel and making his way back into the quiet cantina.

The silence following the encounter lingers for a beat, before murmurs from the surrounding villagers slowly start up again, the crowd beginning to disperse as the scene deescalates. When you breathe deeply to recalibrate, you can feel the weight of their stares, some curious, most wary.

When you finally turn to face the armored man, you catch his visor pinning you in place.

Your breath hitches, your neck craning to appease his height as your eyes flicker for a moment in search of his. You don’t spot them through the darkness, but it doesn’t stop you from imagining them through the metal, like placing two pins on a map.

You step forward, your voice steady but carrying a note of concern. “I’m sorry about him. We truly don’t get many visitors around here.”

The man doesn’t immediately respond. His visor remains locked on you, the helmet’s reflective surface making it impossible to gauge his opinion of your actions thus far.

“Thank you,” he finally says, and the flatness of his tone makes it hard to gauge at first but he seems… earnest. From what you can tell.

You give him a polite smile, feeling gratified by his small praise. “Keep browsing, if you like. We only hold this market once a week, so it’s a bit of a celebration every time.”

He tilts his head slightly, considering your offer, but keeps silent. After a brief pause, he turns his attention back to the stalls, visor scanning down a selection of sweet pastries from Mrs. Veska. Your eyes flicker over pastry labeled ‘spice rolls’, and make a quick mental note to swing by later, once the crowd clears up a bit.

As you turn to walk back to your stall, you feel a quick, firm grasp on your forearm. “Wait,” the modulated voice calls out, making your gaze flicker to his helmet.

You give him that same smile again, his lingering grip making your gaze flicker to his gloved hand. It wraps around your arm effortlessly, the pressure treading dangerously between comfortable and tight. As if on cue, he withdraws, hands resting at his sides when he addresses you. “Is there lodging here?”

Your eyebrows furrow at the question, your gaze flickering to the humming orb behind him. You catch a slit running along its length, and reason it must be some sort of… strangely extravagant basket.

“Lodging? You mean… rooms to spare?” you question back, and his shoulders seem to imperceptibly relax at that.

“Yes. Available housing,” he clarifies, and you hum in thought. You’re about to ask him about his ship but realize it might be a little personal, especially after the feud feels fresh in your mind.

“It’s hard for me to say at this moment. Like you’ve heard before, we don’t get many visitors or tourists here, so most homes are permanently occupied by native residents,” you explain, searching your mind for a solution. “You’d have to…”

You hesitate, realizing that the key to his problems might just blow up in his face if he tries it.

His helmet tilts slightly, as if urging you to continue despite your hesitation. You meet the inscrutable visor with your gaze, feeling a sudden surge of sympathy.

“You’d have to ask Marshal Raan about it. If there’s anything available, he’d be the one keeping track of such information,” you finally explain, gaze growing apologetic as he takes in the announcement.

The armored man nods, his posture remaining quiet and ordered. “Okay,” he replies, the flatness of his tone giving you little to go off.

“Listen, I… I know he came off pretty unfriendly back there, but he’s a good man. If you explain your situation to him, I’m sure he’ll oblige,” you say, yet your eyebrows furrow. You suddenly realize that you don’t know this stranger’s situation yourself, and you’re not exactly in the position to ask, either.

The man’s helmet tilts slightly as if considering your words. “Thank you for your help,” he says, voice steady and unyielding. You nod at him with a sympathetic smile.

Suddenly, you feel like you want to say something more; ask him a question, tell him about the town, anything to keep the conversation going despite it being long over. Then you realize.

You don’t even know his name.

Your lips hang slightly ajar as he nods at you in goodbye, turning to walk away. You can’t bring yourself to speak. His heavy boots make soft thuds against the packed dirt as you catch him mumbling something to one of the vendors.

You sigh, gaze lingering on him as you slowly withdraw towards your stall, the glint of armor disappearing between the crowd once you reach your produce.

You give them a once-over, a wave of tiredness washing over you out of nowhere. Your mind rushes to the stranger before you can tell it ‘no’, eyes glassy as you play over the feud over and over in your head… his figure clear when you picture it.

A full suit of armor, pristinely crafted to suit his body— one of his pauldrons harbored a strange symbol, the head of a horned animal you had never seen before.

You remember his low, stern voice addressing you with an indiscernible tone, something you can only compare to an unusual kindness. Perhaps it’s the dangerous nature of his supposed profession or the fact he stands out so drastically amongst simple townsfolk like you, but the truth is that your breath quickens as you think of his eyes on you through the slim, dark visor.

“Hey,” you hear, but the words seem muddled through your woolgathering.

You blink, the world around you snapping back into focus. The armored figure is standing right in front of your stall now, his imposing presence suddenly filling your bubble. You meet his gaze through the dim visor, the helmet almost intimate in its closeness.

“Hey,” he repeats, his voice modulated but softer now, gently waking you from your haze. “I need a favor.”

His request catches you off guard, your eyes widening slightly as you finally come fully to your senses. Your mind races, trying to moderate the intimidating figure.

“Favor?” you echo, frowning slightly. “Don’t tell me. He turned you down. Just… just come with me, I’ll try to talk some sense—”

“We didn’t talk,” he cuts you off, the initial softness disappearing from his voice. He shifts his weight slightly, arms crossed over his chest. “I… think I’ll manage without the lodging for a while.”

You give him a raised eyebrow but quickly muster up a sympathetic smile when he refuses to elaborate.

“Okay. What brings you to me, then?” you probe gently, watching him pull a pouch out of his messenger bag. It clinks softly as it rolls over his fingers.

“I need supplies,” he explains, tossing you the sack with a flick of his wrist. You yelp, straining to catch it mid-air. Once you feel the weight of it, you realize it’s a lot more than you bargained for. Your lip twitches.

“This is a small fortune,” you frown, withdrawing a singular coin from within. You pass it between your fingers, rubbing gently against the New Republic sigil engraved into the sleek metal. “I don’t have enough supplies to trade you for this large an amount.”

“I’ll take all you have,” he hums, helmet dropping slightly to glance at your small selection of produce. “And you can keep whatever coin is left.”

“What? No— I can’t,” you chuckle nervously, extending your palms with the coin pouch inside. “Why… why won’t you try the other vendors? Market’s open til noon, you’re granted some good cuts of meat and proper bread at least,”

He looks at you. As always, you can’t tell for certain, but you feel his gaze on yours, boring into your very being as he shifts from one leg to another.

“My presence sparks fear in your people,” he says quietly. “They refuse to do business with me.”

Your heart twists a bit at his words. ‘None of them?’ you want to ask, but the silence between you speaks louder than any words ever could. You nod slowly, understanding dawning on you as your arms withdraw under your cloak, the small pouch with them.

“Alright,” you say softly, taking a deep breath. “Alright… let me pack this up for you,”

He nods in acknowledgment, stepping away as you walk around your stall. You feel his presence by your side as your hands work at the jars, placing them gently within a patterned cloth. Next come the oat cakes, then the vegetables.

He watches you in silence, helmet tilted as you skillfully tie the parcel into a knot. You turn to him slowly, straining a bit at the weight in your hands as you present it to him with an encouraging smile.

“Thanks for single-handedly putting me out of business,” you muse, chuckling half-heartedly at your nervous attempt at a joke. The helmet peers at you, but keeps silent. ‘Tough crowd,’ you think.

His gloved fingers move to cup the parcel, your thumbs grazing as you pass it to him. You jerk on instinct and pray to Maker he doesn’t notice.

“Thanks,” he nods, turning to briefly gaze at the humming orb behind him. “Keep the rest—”

“Come with me,” you intercept, louder than planned. He turns to you, helmet tilting in question. You swallow thickly, hands at your hips as you elaborate. “…Come with me. I can’t let you give away all this coin, and I have nothing more to give you from this stall, so… I’m inviting you to my home. Let me cook for you, so we may call it even.”

Your body ripples with anxiety as the words leave your mouth. Part of you wants to retract your invite on the spot when you watch him take a step towards you, unnervingly silently, and— Maker, why does he have to be so damn silent?!

“Okay,” he speaks, voice stern yet laced with something unrecognizable. You glance up at him with wide eyes, visor pointed at you with a silent purpose.

You take a step back as the ghost of a smile crawls onto your shock-stricken face, your words echoing his. “Okay.”

[lokidjarin-7567]

Fortnight

Din Djarin x Reader After being employed by Greef to transport you back to your home planet, Mando comes back from one of his bounty hunts beaten and bloody, and you’re forced to get closer than you expected to the man made from metal. fem!reader, 18+ MDNI 5.5k words TTPD Contents | General Masterlist | AO3

He had been gone for a long time. Too long.

It had been a few weeks now that you had been travelling with the Mandalorian. Greef had arranged for you to travel with him - something that the bounty hunter did not seem happy about, only muttering a gruff, reluctant affirmative when he heard the price, and that there was a bounty on your home planet to make the trip worth it, along with a few on the way.

He barely talked. When it was time for meals, he would place the plate in front of you. When you asked a question, he didn’t respond with more than one word. He was stoic and silent and alone, and he probably preferred it that way. But regardless of all of that, you felt a warmth towards him. An intrigue. There was something about the way he carried himself, authoritative but respectful, never aggressive or outright rude even though you knew he didn’t want you there. He was job focussed and not fussed about home comforts considering the small, metal alcove with one blanket that was his bed. You had opted to sleep in the cockpit most of the time; the co-pilot’s chair was much more comfortable than anywhere else on the ship. 

It had so far been a grim journey to say the least, and without a whole lot of interesting conversation, so, naturally, you had started to make up a few things about him. What he was like under all that armour. You began to imagine what he looked like. Taking his voice into account, he must be attractive. No one who sounded that good had a face that didn’t match. He was tall, you knew that, and strong. You had seen him wrestle bounties on board with little effort, and you couldn’t help but watch as he did. But under all of that, you thought he was caring. He always made sure you were fed, comfortable and safe. He made you feel safe, which was weird considering he was a relative stranger.

You were sure your imagination was running away with you, boredom and necessity projecting a person that didn’t exist onto the shell of a man who happened to always be in front of you, but you couldn’t help it. The person you had created was addictive, even if the illusion was shattered every time he ignored you, or even actively avoided you. And then it changed.

He finally spoke more than one syllable on the sixth day. You were getting close to his third bounty’s last known location: a small planet you had never heard of. You left hyperspace, watching as he slowly piloted you down to the surface. The planet was beautiful, with luscious forests and long rivers, sun sitting low in the horizon even though it was the middle of the day, a wash of orange painting the tips of each tree’s branches. You had never seen anything like it before, and you had to stop yourself physically gasping. Your awe didn’t last for long, though.

“Follow me.” The Mandalorian muttered, heading down the ladder as soon as the ship had landed, and you scrambled to keep up with him like a lost loth cat. By the time you were at the bottom of the ladder, he was shoving something into your hands and you looked down to see… a blaster?

“Do you know how to use this?”

“Yes.. I….” You couldn’t quite compose yourself, flustered.

“Good. If anything other than me comes through that door, shoot it.” You stood in shock for a few seconds as he gathered his things.

“What do you mean? What’s going to come through the door?”

“I mean I don’t know this planet well, and if you die I won’t get paid.”

“Stars, thanks for the sentiment.”

“I won’t be long.” And with that he was gone, and you closed the door behind him.

That was two weeks ago. You hadn’t seen him since. You had sat in the corner staring at the door most of the time, paranoid, only moving to eat and use the bathroom, barely sleeping. Did he know he was going to be gone this long before he left? Did he know what he said would freak you out this much? Maybe it was all a big joke…

You must’ve nodded off again, because you woke to the sound of banging on the door of the ship.

“It’s me, open up.” You heard his familiar voice shout outside, and you lunged to press the right button, blaster still clutched tightly in your hand. As the door was let down, you couldn’t help but breathe a sigh of relief when he stepped inside. He was dragging an unconscious bounty, grimacing ever so slightly as he lifted and froze them in carbonate before turning to look at you, head cocked to one side.

“What happened to you?” What in the stars did he mean? You must’ve looked a little disheveled, but…

“You freaked me out! Do I really look that bad?” You moved to smooth your hair, tucking stray strand behind your ears as he paused, his helmet moving noticeably down, then back up to meet your eyes. If he wasn’t wearing a helmet, the eye contact would’ve made you blush.

“No, you look…” he paused again, but this time it was different. He swayed a little, barely noticeable, but you glanced down to see blood dripping down the shiny beskar that covered his thigh.

“Are you ok?” You asked, quickly moving towards him, and just in time, because he was suddenly reaching out towards you, something you were sure he wouldn’t do unless he was really in trouble, his whole body weight falling onto you. “Hey?” You asked again, starting to get seriously worried.

“Sorry, just…” he groaned, and leaned on you a little more.

“Just sit down..”. You muttered, guiding his body to the floor.

“Just… a leg wound.” He practically whispered it, pointing to a metal box mounted to the wall. “Bacta… shot.” You got up, grabbing the box as fast as possible before returning to his side. You rummaged through the medical supplies while he tried to take off the piece of armour just below the now obvious knife wound. It was jagged and dirty, and unbelievably deep, way beyond just a surface wound. It almost looked like someone had stabbed him first, then tried to slash him, pulling the blade through his flesh. It looked painful. You didn’t know how he was even walking. You would definitely have to clean it out for him, but Bacta was more important right now. You found the shot, grabbing it with one hand and helping him with the other. You managed to undo the thigh guard single-handedly, discarding the piece of metal with a loud clang.

“You’ve done this before.” He chuckled through his moderator, clearly delirious from pain because you had never heard him laugh.

“Surprisingly, this is the first time I’ve undressed a Mandalorian.” Without warning, you plunged the syringe into his thigh, figuring it was best while he was distracted, pressing the bacta into his bloodstream as he groaned, his hand clenching into a tight ball as he laid on his side on the floor.

“Stars, girl, what are you doing to me?” He grunted out, exhaling harshly through his teeth as you pulled out the needle. It stopped your breath in your throat.

“I know, I know, I’m sorry,” Without thinking, you touched his thigh, just the small strip of tan skin where the knife had broken his clothes, lightly circling your fingers around where you had injected him. He just hummed, a shuddering breath falling from his modulator as his helmet leant back onto the hard metal floor. “Do you want me to help you up? Or get more comfortable at least.” He shook his head, or more accurately, his helmet.

“Need to… stay here for a second.” You just nodded, planning to stay with him until he would let you clean him up, but he had other ideas. “Here…” he handed you a fob, pressing it into your hand and lingering for a moment, his glove the only thing between you. “Coordinates.” You had been watching him in the cockpit just long enough to know what to do.

“I’ve got it.” You stood up, legs shaky from adrenaline and exhaustion, climbing the ladder and punching to coordinates into the control board. You took a second to fix your appearance in the metallic fixings. You looked a mess, dark bags under your eyes evidence that you hadn’t slept, hair completely disheveled and clothes wrinkled. Not a lot you could do about most of that now. You just tried to tidy your hair, heading back downstairs quietly.

He was still lying on the floor, on his back now, hands over his face. He groaned quietly - in pain or relief you weren’t sure - his hips moving up and his body twisting slightly to stretch his bad leg out, letting out a soft sigh as he did. Something that felt a lot like arousal shot through you, and you cursed your own body at its involuntary response. You had barely shared a conversation in the three weeks you had known him, and for two of them he hadn’t even been on the ship, and yet, something was still there. It was just because you were lonely. It wasn’t something you could deny. You had gone to Nevarro to work, the occasional fling maybe once every few months when you had a night off but nothing more, and that’s all you’d had time for. And your home planet - Arvala-7 - was full of moisture farmers and Blurrgs and not much more than that.

He moved his hands from his helmet, uncovering his visor, and he seemed to freeze, finally noticing you. You swallowed hard, ignoring the thoughts racing through your mind.

“How are you feeling?” You asked cautiously, and he groaned.

“I’ve been better.”

“Can I help at all?” He paused, a silence you were sure was charged hanging in the air.

“I…” Not for the first time, the Mandalorian said nothing. He moved again, shifting on the cold floor.

“What? Come on, what can I help with?” You silently hoped he would say what you were thinking, but he stayed quiet. “Ok at least let me clean it up…”

“You don’t have to…”

“I want to.” You said it forcefully, with enough finality to stop him from arguing. He just sighed, groaning as he worked himself to a seated position. You moved to kneel down next to him, noticing that the cut had stopped bleeding now. You found the right supplies in the box, grabbing some sterilising wipes, bandages and gauze, and moving to a position where you could reach him, cross legged with one leg up, allowing you to easily bend down so he didn’t have to move the wound at all. The silence you had previously found unnerving proved soothing suddenly, now you were close enough to hear the quiet, filtered breaths through his helmet, it was almost hypnotic. You felt reluctant to break it, so you whispered as you opened the small plastic case that sealed the wipe.

“This is going to hurt…” You started at the edge of the wound, just wiping away some of the blood that had dried there, before folding it up and gently pressed onto the cut, trying to clear some of the dirt there, but he hissed in pain, his hand shooting up to the back of your thigh and gripping in a way that made your heart stop beating for a moment. You forced a breath in, composing yourself so you could talk.

“I’m sorry, I know, I won’t be long.”

“You keep hurting me today, girl..” he grumbled, his hand maintaining its vicelike hold on your leg.

“Well, a few weeks of silence is enough to make me do anything to get you to talk to me...” He scoffed as you continued to work, your other hand absentmindedly tracing softly up and down the skin next to it.

“Anything, huh?” Oh. You blushed at the insinuation coupled with his gravelly tone, continuing to work with a small smile. You finished with the wipe, placing it down next to you and grabbing some gauze, pressing it gently against the cut and taping the outside to keep it in place. It wasn’t until you were certain it was secure that you realised his hand was still gripping your leg. You just looked at his gloved hand for a minute, stunned and not wanting to move for fear of scaring him off, but apparently that wasn’t a problem as he loosened his grip, tracing his fingers around and laying his palm flat on the top of your thigh, spreading his fingers almost possessively and squeezing, leaving no room for misinterpretation. Well, you hoped not.

He just stayed there, still as a statue. He was hard to read, and you felt the doubt creep up on you. You finally snapped out of the trance his movement had put you in, moving to get the roll of bandage, then quickly realising the problem. His trousers were filthy. You couldn’t exactly bandage his leg while they were on. You felt yourself getting nervous in his presence again, chewing on your lip subconsciously.

“You might have to do this yourself, I can’t… um…” You fiddled with the edge of the bandage as he sat silently, helmet cocked to one side.

“You can take them off.” His voice was low and serious, a slow drawl that sent shivers down your spine.

“I can…” You whispered, shocked, in a questioning tone, but he cut you off quickly.

“You can take them off…” He repeated. “If you want to.” Kriffing stars, he was serious. Your heart was almost beating out of you chest at the prospect. You were sitting here on the floor of his ship, inches away from a man you barely knew, whose face you had never even seen, and you wanted it more than anything. Maybe it was something about being cooped up with just him in hyperspace, or being paranoid and trapped for two weeks wanting nothing more than to see him walk through the ship doors, or maybe it was just the adrenaline. Regardless, you needed him.

“Ok.”

You started with the shin plate. Then the other. Then the thigh plate you hadn’t already removed. You were still worried that somehow you had misconstrued the situation, that you had made a mistake. That he just wanted you to patch him up and move on. You had seen yourself in the metal of the cockpit, there was no way he was after you.

Then his hand found the back of yours. At some point, while you had been carefully removing his armour, he had taken off his gloves. Your breath caught as his bare skin touched yours, the electricity of it taking you by surprise. He was warm, dry, hands calloused and fingers dipping between yours and gripping on with a soft sigh. You were practically shaking but he wasn’t, his grip strong as he guided you up his leg, all the way up to his codpiece. He let go, and you sighed, instantly missing the feel of his skin. There was no doubt left as you unbuckled the hard piece of armour, and you saw the bulge in his trousers. You almost forgot that you were supposed to be bandaging him up, so transfixed by the sight, and trying to still your shaking hands as you moved up to his waistband. He finally let go of your leg, using both his arms to briefly lift himself off the floor as you slid off his trousers, a small groan escaping his lips as they moved past the cut.

“Kriff, sorry.” It was the first time the silence had been broken in the last few minutes, and you could feel the weight of his gaze on you, the first cut through the tension somehow making it thicker. He lifted his leg a tiny bit and sat up, foot on the floor so you could reach all the way around him. You knelt to give yourself better access, and he draped his arm over your lap, the other one lazily undoing his chest piece. You gulped, trying to focus as you wrapped the first piece of fabric around his bare leg, but your fingers were running across the warm expanse of his thighs, so solid and strong, and you couldn’t help but look in the direction of his under-shorts, the thin fabric straining as he continued to remove armour pieces while you worked, the beskar periodically clanging against the hard metal floor. You couldn’t help but wonder if he would remove his helmet too. Mandalorians weren’t exactly a subject you knew much about, and you’d heard that they didn’t take their headwear off, but you had always assume that was something to do with safety and security, but here he was, half naked in front of you, letting you touch him. Maybe there was another reason.

You finally finished, the soft shake in your hand still very much present as you tightly knotted the white fabric, triple checking it was secure.

“There. It shouldn’t take too long to heal.” You muttered, nervous, and he hummed in response. You looked up at him, seeing him in just his undershirt, a thin brown material that wrapped around his body, secured with a tie and a small button, and the helmet. You could practically feel your heart beating, hyper-vigilant of your hand still resting on his thigh.

“It’s a shame you’re not going to be sticking around longer…” he muttered, his hand trailing up your arm and towards your face, fingers drifting across your jaw, “…you’re good at fixing me up.” You just about managed to hum as your head started to spin. He muttered your name, sitting up quickly in a groan of pain and you tried to say you were fine, but nothing came out, and you saw the world twist around you as everything went black.

You woke up, groggy and confused, blinking your eyes open to see the familiar walls of the cockpit, dizzying lights of hyperspace flashing across the ceiling. You were lying on a makeshift bed that he must have put up for you - just spare pillows and blankets, but comfortable - and you could see his outline sitting in the pilot’s chair. Trying to sit upright, you realised your head was pounding, and you groaned, falling back on your elbows. He noticed, spinning around fast in his seat and striding over to your side. You noticed he was back in his armour, which was disappointing, his gloved hand running down the side of your face and tucking your hair behind your ear.

“How’s your… leg?” You muttered, voice croaky.

“Perfectly healed, thanks to you.” You frowned. Surely that’s not right. Bacta accelerated the speeding process, but not to a matter of minutes.

“What? How long have I been out?”

“About 10 hours.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry Mando…” you weren’t sure where the name came from, something you heard Greef say, but you were frazzled and worried and honestly, you had earned the right to a nickname after the last two weeks.

“You’ve got nothing to be sorry for… are you feeling ok? Hungry? Thirsty?” There was a genuine concern in his voice, a warmth to it you hadn’t heard before.

“Yeah… um… I am a little hungry actually.” He nodded, his helmet bobbing.

“Ok, let me make you something.”

He was back 5 minutes later, bowl of soup in hands that he passed to you. You thanked him gratefully, eating quickly as he busied himself with the console. As simply as that, you were back to the silence you were used to. You were disappointed. You had come so close earlier to something else, something beyond this weird, awkward quiet.

You sat in the corner on your bed, staring at the streaking lights playing across the roof of the cockpit as you sat in hyperdrive. The quiet was almost deafening, just the whirring of space and the beeps of the consoles to keep you sane. You had to get out of the room. It was suffocating.

You moved to stand up, slowly, head still spinning, but it was no use. You fell back down anyway, your ass hitting the floor with a soft thud as you huffed. The Mandalorian’s head snapped around quickly, looking over his shoulder to see you, crumpled on the floor, frustrated look on your face.

“Let me help you.” He stood up, moving over to you but you shook your head, something that only made your head spin more.

“No, I’m ok. I just need to…” you stood again, but this time was just as bad. You swayed, the world going dark for a second as you tried to focus on staying upright. As the spots cleared, you realised you were standing, but only because he was holding you up, his hands gripping your waist. He practically dragged your limp body to the copilot chair, sitting you down unceremoniously and kneeling in front of you.

“Listen to me, you’ve been living off adrenaline for two weeks - you’re exhausted, you’re hungry, you’re probably dehydrated. I…” he paused, shaking his head, “I’m sorry about what I said before I left. I was being genuine, but I didn’t mean for you to… I’m sorry.” It was sweet, the way he was stuttering, genuinely apologetic.

“It’s fine, Mando…”

“No it’s… let me help you now. What can I do? Do you need sleep? Food?” You noticed then that his hands were still on you, thumb running lazy circles across the top of your thigh as he looked at you with what seemed to be earnest. You were getting better at interpreting his emotions based on his helmet, his body language, his tone of voice. He wasn’t as much of a stranger as you thought he was. He was an open book. Like now. He was leaning towards you, helmet tilted up to your face, hands on your thighs in a way that screamed intimacy. That he was comfortable with you. That he wanted you. You had doubted him earlier, but he was so forward, showing you exactly what he wanted. Now it was your turn to take a lead.

“I can think of one thing.” You muttered, shy smile spreading across your face. You moved your hands down to his, gripping and pulling them further up your legs, until they were on your hips and ass.

“You sure, girl? You passed out on me, can barely stand up…”

“I just slept for 10 hours. I think I’ll be ok.” He stayed silent, processing, and but you held firm as your head cleared, any residual aches being replaced with lust for the man on his knees in front of you.

“In that case…” he seemed to spring into life, pulling your hips to the edge of the chair and scooping you up with ease, and moving to the bed. You were grinning as he laid you down gently, hand brushing some hair from your face. He removed his gloves first, and you danced the same dance that you did earlier, removing each piece of his armour with a touch of recklessness. His ungloved hands found the hem of your tee, pulling it over your head as you sat up, finally getting a chance to remove his undershirt. You couldn’t help but run your hands across his expansive chest. His firm muscles, the soft chest hair that curled and swayed as your fingers explored him, the raised edges of scars that littered his torso. And then, all at once, the apprehension from earlier came rushing back, as your hands drifted to his shoulders, intending to run up into his neck and hair and to kiss him, but the helmet…

Your confusion must have been written on your face, as he cautiously grabbed your wrists, thumbs drawing circles on the back of your hands.

“I’m sorry, girl, it has to stay on…” You smiled sweetly, confidence trickling back. At least you knew now.

“I think we can work with that.” You pressed your lips to his chest, a groan escaping him as you continued to plant kisses down his torso until you reached the waistband of his undershorts. You palmed the bulge that was forming, his hips bucking towards you in his kneeling position. You could feel how big he was already, thick and heavy, and you felt a slick growing between your legs at the thought of him inside you, how good he would feel. You pulled down his waistband, letting his length spring free. He was so hard already from just a few touches, precum leaking from his tip. There was something that told you his situation was similar to yours - he was too busy for intimacy, always moving from one place to another, never enough time. Desperate and touch-starved. So you started light.

You backed up a little on the bed to give yourself the best possible access to him, dipping your head and running your tongue lightly up his shaft. That motion alone turned him to jelly, a sigh escaping his lips and a hand instinctively falling to the back of your head, fingers weaving into your hair. You circled around his tip, applying as little pressure as possible, before lifting off him. You slowly lowered your head further, tongue flat, taking his gently into your mouth, but he had other ideas. With a low growl, it was like something in him took over, and his hips were bucking up into your mouth, hand pressing down on your head and sheathing his whole length into you and down your throat. You gagged, gasping around him in shock and he cursed, gripping tighter.

“Stars, girl, I can’t believe how good you feel…” Tears welled in your eyes from the pressure in your throat, but you gripped the sheets, swallowing around him and wanting nothing more than to please him. To make sure he felt good. He finally lifted your head up, and you quickly gulped air into your lungs, but he was pressing you back down again. He knew how to give you just enough air to keep going, and you could almost sense a hint of frustration in his movement, almost resentment at you being here, or maybe for passing out at the crucial moment earlier. That he would’ve carried you upstairs, hard and desperate, laying you down gently but what you had been about to do would have been swirling in his head for hours, pent up need and want bubbling over until this point. The idea was addictive, making you moan around him as he continued to restrict your breathing with his thick cock.

“You know…” he started, every few words punctuated with a grunt or groan as he continued his relentless pace, “I’ve been thing about this… your pretty lips… how they would look wrapped around me… on your knees… Stars you’re perfect…” Every word was like an aphrodisiac, so aroused that you were sure that a single touch would send you over the edge. “Pretty girl… letting me use your mouth…” His hips started to stutter, and you moved one hand from the bedspread to his thigh, letting your nails dig into his thigh and he moaned, truly and unabashedly. That was your warning, and as you opened your throat for him once more, he was emptying into you, hands gripping your hair tighter than ever as you swallowed every last drop.

He was practically a heap on the floor when you were done with him, slumped against the hard metal wall next to him. Your breathing was ragged as you moved to sit down, swinging your legs around and stretching them in front of you. He tucked himself back into his trousers as you smiled sheepishly, listening as his own breaths returned to a normal rhythm.

“Fuck, you take good care of me…” He muttered, hand finding its way to your face to gently brush under your eyes, which were still a little watery.

“Well, I don’t really want you to strand me in hyperspace…” you joked, then frowned. You don’t want him to think you only did that because… “not because I felt like I had to… I mean, I wanted to… really I…”

“I know.” He said, amusement peeking through in his tone. You laughed in nervous relief, suddenly realising you were only half dressed. You reached for your top, intending to redress and help with something on the ship, but he grabbed your wrist just as your fingertips grazed it. “Maybe I should take care of you for a change…”

“Mando, you do, I… oh.” You realised what he meant as his hand found your waistband, tugging on it lightly. You helped him, pulling them over your ass and allowing him to pull them off completely.

“Take it off.” He muttered, gesturing towards your bra, and you blushed at his sultry tone, unclipping and discarding it as per his command. His hand fell to your sternum, pressing you back to the bed until you were lying flat.

“What are you…” you started, wanting to know what he had planned, but before you could finish, he had teased two fingers into your mouth. You hummed around them with a frown, but he didn’t move.

“Trust me.” He spoke quietly, his tone dark, exuding dominance. You just nodded. He released your mouth from his grasp, dragging his thumb across your lip with an intense stare that made you start to pull your legs together, desperate for some relief in your aching core, but he wouldn’t allow it, using his knees to press your legs apart. Your breathing was shallow as his fingertips seemed to swirl across every inch of your body, light, barely there, and you had to bite your tongue to stop yourself from begging. He finally made it to your panties, quickly removing them and grabbing both thighs, spreading you apart even further for him. Your hips instinctively bucked, trying to entice him, but it took an agonisingly long time for him to move. You were practically shaking with desperation, trying not to writhe around too much, but the lack of attention was almost getting painful. Finally, he released one of your legs, his grip on the other only getting tighter, and ran one finger through your folds with a delicious pressure. You whined loudly, body reactive to his touch, and he laughed darkly.

“So wet for me, pretty girl.” Then, he plunged two fingers into you, pressing deep and stretching you out. The sound he pulled from your throat was guttural, and you clenched around him, earning a groan. “Show me how you touch yourself.” What?

“Show you…” you asked shyly, as though he wasn’t already knuckle deep in your cunt.

“Show me.” You let your fingers trace down your body, finding your clit with ease. You set up your usual rhythm - soft, slow circles, gradually increasing in pressure. As you settled into it, moaning as you touched yourself, his fingers started to match your pace, curling into you and hitting that blinding spot. You figured it couldn’t get any better, surely, reaching the edge faster than you ever had, then his other hand found your nipple and gripped hard, pulling as a pathetic whimper fell from your mouth.

“Fuck, Mando… I think I’m going to…” Your breathing grew less regular as an intense pressure rose in your core, and he just continued to work you through it.

“That’s it pretty girl, good job… just come all over my hand, that’s right…” his words of encouragement and praise were enough to send you over, body locking up as white hot pleasure coursed through your body. He continued to talk, but you missed most of it blood rushed between your ears.

He laid next to you as you caught your breath, pulling the blanket over you both and pulling you close to his chest. You sighed, settling into him and listening to his heart beat. His hand found your hair, gently running through it and pushing it from your face.

“I really would like you to stay longer, pretty girl.” You smiled at the new nickname you had picked up, humming contentedly.

“I don’t mind taking a detour…” you muttered. “I have nowhere better to be than right here.”

[burntheedges]

The Hunter

Din Djarin x f!reader | 4.2k | ao3 | masterlist

summary: you were used to seeing all sorts of beings around Daiyu, but a Mandalorian was still unexpected.

a/n: @deathwife happy @pedrostories secret santa! 🧡 I hope you like this fic! I saw "Din" and "cyberpunk" and ran with it. It was fun (let me know how I did with the aesthetic, lol). Thank you to @katareyoudrilling for beta-ing (and keeping me on track).

tags/warnings: bounty hunting, flirting, fluff, canon-typical violence (while bounty hunting, ex. shooting blasters, fighting, etc.), touching, reader is not described but wears black pants, can run and climb and sneak around, set vaguely while Din is still bounty hunting, I played fast and loose with the layout of Daiyu lol

You saw him once before he ever saw you.

Crouched on a ledge well above street level, you watched the crowds ebb and flow below. It was somehow even more crowded than usual, with the new year holiday only a week away. You were in the second-largest marketplace in one of the nicer (but still not nice) neighborhoods on Daiyu. The neon lights from the shops and stalls around you kept you hidden, out of sight behind a sign, almost camouflaged in your matte black clothing. You were alert, looking for someone, when you saw him out of the corner of your eye.

At first you thought it was just something shiny that caught your attention. You turned your head slightly to look closer and found yourself staring at the back of a shiny silver helmet. You blinked. 

A Mandalorian?

You moved silently to the other side of your small ledge, trying to get a better look at him in the crowd. He turned slowly in a circle, obviously scanning the people around him. He didn’t look up at your ledge as you took him in. The neon lights around him reflected off of his extremely shiny armor, painting him in pinks and greens and blues. He was tall and broad, and you tilted your head as you watched him move smoothly through the crowd. You weren’t sure the people around him even noticed how quickly they moved out of his way.

He turned into an alleyway and you moved to follow him without any conscious decision to do so. You scaled the short ladder to your right, jogged lightly over the balcony on the third floor of the neighboring building, and turned the corner.

By the time you got there, he was gone.

…

Two nights later, you were walking slowly through the same market, a few streets over from where you first saw him, when you saw him again.

This time, you caught sight of him in the crowd in front of you. He was moving steadily forwards, helmet turning side to side as he searched the crowd around him again. You wondered who he might be looking for – it wasn’t uncommon for bounties to hide out on Daiyu, after all. 

Your own target would be occupied for at least the next few hours. Without examining the impulse too closely, you shifted your focus to the shiny Mandalorian and started to follow him through the crowd. 

He took his time, you noticed. His steps were unhurried and his scan was thorough. As he led you closer to the eastern edge of the market, you wondered if he even knew where he was headed. 

Daiyu was essentially one big city, but the levels and neighborhoods were often so different from each other that it was like being in many different cities at once. The eastern edge of this market followed a remnant of the planet’s original topography – a river ran along the surface, far, far below where you were now. But the tall, many-storied industrial zone that sat atop the river interrupted the city streets. 

That is, unless you knew how to get through it.

As the Mandalorian approached what basically seemed like a dead-end, you turned and scaled one of the balconies to your right. You settled in about 3 meters back and 4 meters above his head, crouched in a shadow, wondering what he might do next.

He looked to either side, seeming to take in the way the buildings stopped just before the wall, leaving a tiny path along its face. 

And then, to your surprise, he turned and looked straight up at you. You masked your reaction and raised one eyebrow. “Lost, Mando?”

He tilted his head, and the deep voice that came out of the helmet made you shiver. “What makes you say that?”

You shrugged. “Well, you hit a dead end. Where are you headed?”

For a long moment, he just looked at you. You wondered what he saw. Then he shifted his weight. “It was you. The other night in the market.”

You blinked. “Me?”

“Following me.” You scoffed, but he stepped back to scan you up and down. “Looking for me?” 

There was an edge to his voice, and you heard the potential threat underlying the question. You laughed. “Mando, it’s not my fault you’re shiny. How do you sneak anywhere, when you light up like that?” You gestured at his armor, which was still reflecting the neon lights hanging everywhere along the street. 

He didn’t answer your question. “Then why follow me? Again?”

“What, a girl can’t be curious?” You sighed. “My stakeout got a little boring. And you really are very shiny, you know.”

He stared at you, but you noticed some of the tension leave his shoulders. “Go back to your stakeout.”

You stood on the balcony as he turned back towards the wall. “You can’t get through that way.” He looked over his shoulder at you and seemed surprised to find you standing. You dropped down from the balcony as he watched. “You need to go about 10 minutes south,” you pointed to the right, “that entrance is usually less well guarded.”

“You seem to know a lot about it.”

You shrugged. “Local,” you said, gesturing at yourself. You wondered if he would ask for help, but he started to walk away from you. 

Just before he turned the corner, he looked back again. “Thanks.”

Before you could say anything in response, he was gone. 

…

To your surprise, you didn’t have to wait long to see the mysterious Mandalorian again.

The next night you were loitering outside of a bar (technically, you were sitting and having a drink at the stall across the street, completely blending in with your surroundings), tracking your target inside, when a familiar shiny reflection caught your eye. 

He was lit up in orange and purple, this time, and he was walking straight towards you.

“Mando,” you greeted when he stopped next to your table. “Still on the hunt?”

“As are you.” His voice was even, but it was an interesting observation. You wondered if he was as intrigued by you as you were by him. 

You gestured at the bar across the street, which had a line down the block of people waiting to get in. “On another stakeout.”

He tilted his head and shifted his weight. “Who are you?”

You smiled. “Figured out I’m not a bounty hunter?” When he didn’t answer, you continued, “a bit of a freelancer. I find people. Information. Not like you, though.”

He seemed to think about that for a moment before nodding. “Alright. Thanks for the tip, about the factory.”

“Anytime.”

For a moment you both said nothing as you looked at each other, but you seemed to gather your courage at the same time.

“Mando, d’you–”

“I should–”

You both stopped, and you laughed. “Do you want a drink?”

He shook his head and stook a step back. “I should go.” Before you could respond, he turned and started down the street. You wanted to call after him, but your target surprised you by slipping out of the door across the street before you could think of what to say. You turned your attention back to your job and tried to put your mysterious, shiny Mandalorian out of your mind.

…

You didn’t see him for a couple of days, and as you wrapped up your own case, you figured he must have located his bounty. You put together the data packet for your client and tried not to dwell on the fact that he was probably off planet, already. 

You don’t even know his name.

Sighing, you stood from your desk in your tiny office and decided to treat yourself to your favorite cheap street food, from the stall that was kind of out of the way but always so good. You locked up and headed out.

You weren’t sure why the Mandalorian seemed to fill your thoughts, but you found yourself thinking about him again the entire walk to your dinner. He was obviously fit – those shoulders - but that didn’t change the fact that he was a bounty hunter you barely knew. You didn’t really know him at all.

As you joined the line at the stall, you resolved to put him out of your mind.

Of course, right at that moment you felt a presence fall into step with you. You smiled as you looked to your right, already knowing what you would find.

“Mando,” you greeted, crossing your arms. “Figured you’d be gone by now.”

He made a little huffing noise, and you wondered if you’d just made him laugh.

“Still here.” You moved forward in line and he moved with you. “I…” he trailed off, and you noticed the tension in his arms. Was he nervous? “I could use your help.”

Your eyebrows flew upwards and you knew your shock was written all over your face. “Me? I’m not a bounty hunter.”

He shook his head. “I know. But you’re good. And you know this place.” He gestured at the city around you. “He keeps slipping through my fingers, he clearly knows his way around.”

You took a moment to study him. You wanted to say yes and jump right in, but you reminded yourself you still didn’t know this man. No matter how interesting he seemed. “Alright, Mando. Buy me dinner and we’ll talk.” He tensed, but you smiled. “Don’t worry, Mando. Wait ‘til you see the prices.”

He did, in fact, seem relieved when he saw how cheap the stall was. There was a reason it was so popular.

Dinner in hand, though he refused to get something for himself, you led him around the corner and upwards until you were perched on a half-roof that jutted out from where two buildings had been combined in some sort of wonky construction merger that left just part of the original roof alone. You knew there was no roof access from the inside, so it was a great place to sit if you knew how to get to it otherwise. It was even partially hidden by a large advertisement. He followed, scaling the wall behind you effortlessly.

“Alright,” you said, once you and the Mandalorian had settled into your new surroundings. “What’s the problem?”

He retrieved a bounty puck from a pouch at his waist and turned it on. You noticed how big his hands were in comparison with the puck, but brushed the thought aside. “Bounty’s local – a Twi’lek named Lidar Tas. He knows this place too well, knows just where to hide.”

You nodded. You’d heard of Tas and his gang of mudscuffers. “Never met him, but, well. His name is pretty well-known.”

He nodded. “I’ve heard people talking about him, been chasing him for almost two weeks. Almost had him in the factory, but I swear he went into one of the water chutes on purpose.”

The Mandalorian sounded incredulous, and you couldn’t help but smile. “He probably did. Some of them are kept empty, but you wouldn’t know the schedule or which ones without an in at the factory. Or a local. It’s still dangerous but I can see why he’d go for it, running from you.”

He sighed. “Yeah, I figured. Couldn’t even tell which one he went into, though.”

You hummed sympathetically. “Any idea where he’s going next?”

He nodded, and put away the puck. “He’ll be over in the western market again, for the festival. I was hoping you could help me prepare for whatever escape routes he might take.”

You tilted your head, unable to hold back your question any longer. “Why me?”

He turned toward you slightly. “I can tell you know what you’re doing. That first night, I knew someone was tailing me, but I couldn’t find you. And you clearly know your way around.”

You smiled again, a bit flattered. “Really? Just from that?” 

“I know real skill when I see it.” 

“Alright,” you agreed. “Well, then how do you feel about having a second set of eyes?”

He stiffened. “I can’t–”

But you were already shaking your head. “No payment necessary, Mando. I’m happy to help.”

He moved his head in such a way that you thought he might be frowning. “No, I can pay you a fair share of the bounty. I don’t want to put you in danger.”

You scoffed. “Which one of us knows this place? I’ll be fine. People are used to seeing me, the locals won’t even blink if they do. I promise.” He hesitated, and you smiled again. “Come on, Mando. It’ll be fun.”

He made that small huffing noise again, and you were certain this time it was a laugh. You grinned.

“Alright, but if I tell you to back off, promise you’ll do it? I don’t want you hurt.”

You nodded. That seemed fair, even though you knew you could take care of yourself. In agreement, you settled in to plan.

…

The next night you resolutely ignored the fact that you were putting on the black pants that made your ass look amazing. And the jacket that you knew made you look cool and tough (according to your friends). 

You met up with the Mandalorian well away from the market, and found him leaning against the corner of a repair shop. You smiled, knowing he was trying to be inconspicuous, but he couldn’t hide from the neon lights and the way they reflected off of his armor. 

“You know, he probably saw you coming,” you said, gesturing at his armor. 

He sighed. “He did, early on. Tipped him off.”

“You’re just too shiny, Mando.” You laughed and you swore he must have rolled his eyes at you. 

His helmet tilted as he looked you up and down, and you ignored the heat that rose in your face. “It’s impressive, you know. That you can hide around here as well as you do.”

You shrugged. “The secret is to only wear black, obviously.” You smiled. “Should we get started?” You both knew the plan, and you knew where you’d be as a lookout. He nodded and turned to walk towards the festival. 

“Hey, Mando, wait,” you said. He stopped and turned to look at you. “I just realized, I never told you my name.”

He turned back towards you and regarded you silently for a moment. “I won’t tell you mine.”

This didn’t surprise you. “That’s alright. I can keep calling you Mando.” You told him your name and did not fidget. 

He nodded, once, and repeated it. You tried to hide the way you shivered at the sound. “Let’s go.”

…

You split up as you headed to the market, and soon enough you were in one of your normal perches – a balcony well hidden by a neon sign. It gave you a good vantage point without being too bright, at least from the back. The colors and flashing lights also obscured the fact that you were lurking behind them.

“In position,” Mando murmured over your comm. You’d dug up an old ear piece so you didn’t have to fidget with anything. You realized suddenly that maybe this wasn’t the best choice. HIs voice was deep and gravely and it felt like he was right next to you, speaking lowly into your ear. “No sign yet.”

You shook yourself lightly and cleared your throat. “Nothing here.”

You were both silent for a moment. You forced yourself to scan the crowded street below and do your job.

“Target spotted, moving north past the theater,” his low voice murmured in your ear. You shivered as you turned left to look. Sure enough, Tas was walking with a small group past the theater. He looked strangely carefree for someone who knew he was being hunted by a Mandalorian. Maybe he thought the hunter had given up?

“I see him,” you replied. “He’ll pass me soon.”

The Mandalorian was further up the road to your right, staying out of sight (and away from the neon lights). You knew he had to be using some sort of fancy equipment to spot Tas from so far away. 

Tas and his group stopped, suddenly, and you realized where they were going before they turned. “Mando, Tas must be doing a deal tonight. He’s going inside the casino, just him and one of his lackeys.”

The casino was decorated for the holiday with even brighter lights than normal. The facade was almost obscured by the number of moving lights and shapes. You knew people like Tas used it to do business rather than gamble. Though maybe they did both – you wouldn’t know, as you’d never been inside.

“I’m heading your way,” he replied, and you could hear the crowd on the street in the background. “Do you know where they’d go?”

You shook your head, even though he couldn’t see you. “I’ve never been inside. Kriff, I’m sorry, Mando. I just know there’s a back door down the alley, I’ve had to watch it before.”

For a moment the Mandalorian didn’t respond, and you felt your own disappointment start to roil in your gut. But then he surprised you.

“I don’t want to ask this of you.” His voice was low and apologetic. “I can’t go inside, they’ve seen me. Do you think you can without attracting notice? If it’s too dangerous, tell me.”

You hesitated, thinking about it. There were people streaming in and out of the casino – it was probably crowded for the festival. It should be easy to hide inside, with all those people. 

You’d been silent too long, you realized, when the Mandalorian started to say your name.

“I can do it,” you cut him off. “It’s way more crowded than usual, with all the people here for the festival. No one’ll look twice at me.” You looked down at your outfit and nodded. It could pass, you thought. 

He said your name again. “Only if you’re sure you can stay under the radar. I don’t want–”

But you were already moving. You dropped down into an alley a block over and made your way back to the casino. “I’ll be ok, Mando. I’ll check in soon.”

“Be careful. Don’t take any risks.” You tried not to read into the emotion you could hear in his voice.

It was too late for you to respond as you stepped up to the door. The Bothan working the door looked you up and down and then waved you in, looking bored.

You took a deep breath as you stepped inside.

It was about what you’d expected. Not quite seedy, but not exactly opulent. Everything was lit up in lurid red and purple lights. It was decorated for the festival but that didn’t hide the fact that overall, the place had seen better days. You scanned the room as you walked and headed towards the bar along the south wall.

When you ordered a drink, you let the Mandalorian hear it over the comm. You settled in at the bar and thanked whoever designed the tacky interior for all the mirrors they’d installed above the bar. You scanned the room slowly. There were tables for every gambling game you could name and many you couldn’t. Your eyes caught on a door in the back corner, hidden in shadow. Tas’s lackey was hoving right outside of it.

You let your gaze keep wandering across the mirrors as you brought your drink to your mouth. “Northeast corner. Guy outside the door,” you murmured, barely moving your mouth. You heard a sharp intake of breath.

“The side door?” he sounded out of breath, and you wondered what he was up to.

“Think so,” you agreed, taking another sip. “Right spot.”

“Stay there,” he said, voice firm. “I’m going in.”

You didn’t respond, afraid to distract him. Your mind played you images of the Mandalorian bursting into a room and being outnumbered, and you took a deep breath. He knows what he’s doing. You kept an eye on the door.

The next few minutes were excruciating. You waited, straining to hear anything, but unable to, over the crowd and the ringing of the games.

You didn’t hear anything, but you noticed when the lackey outside the door went suddenly tense. You watched as he turned towards the door and without hesitation, you got up and moved to follow.

The room seemed much larger when you turned, ready to cross it towards the door. There were people in your way, people you had to shove past, and by the time you shouldered and elbowed your way to the other side of the floor the lackey was gone and the door was shut. You eyed it, wondering if you should go through. 

The unmistakable sound of a blaster made the decision for you.

Before you realized you were moving, your hand was on the door and you were yanking it open. You were surprised to find a hallway, rather than a room, but there was only one door at the other end. You ran to it.

You took a deep breath instead of barreling through the second door. You pressed your ear to it, but you didn’t hear anything inside. Easing it open, you found a room full of storage shelves. You heard rustling towards the back. 

Stepping softly, you started to edge around the first shelf. You looked down the row and your heart started racing.

The Mandalorian was at the far end of the room, tying the hands of Lidar Tas. He was surrounded by bodies, all clearly down, except for one man sneaking out from between two shelves about halfway between you and Mando. It was the lackey who had been outside the door.

You froze, but only for a moment.

When the man turned and silently lifted his blaster, you were already there, tackling him to the ground. You knocked the blaster away before he even realized what was happening. By the time you’d knocked him out and looked up at Mando, he was already looking at you. 

You grinned. “Fancy meeting you here.”

He laughed. You could tell, even though you couldn’t hear it.

“You’re alright?” he asked, and you felt your face heat, though you weren’t sure why. 

You nodded. “Just fine. Came when I saw him move, and then heard the blasters.”

He stood and tugged Tas up, throwing the unconscious Twi’lek over his shoulder. You were a bit taken aback at his strength. “I need to get him to my ship. Could you, well. It would be easier if I could get there without going through the crowds.”

“I can help with that.” You smiled as you walked past him to the back door. “Come on, Mando. Where’s your ship?”

You heard a blaster fire, and whirled around. The Mandalorian was already putting his blaster back in its holster, and you realized he’d just shot the man you knocked out. “Mando?” You weren’t exactly sad to see one of Tas’ men dead, but you were a bit surprised.

“He might have seen you,” he said. “I told you, I won’t put you in danger.”

You looked down, trying not to see that as sweet.

“Alright. Come on, Mando.”

Your trip to the shipyard was surprisingly uneventful. Once you arrived, you weren’t sure what to do, so you followed him up the ramp of his ship and watched as he put Tas in carbonite.

You realized, suddenly, that he was going to leave. The disappointment you felt at the realization seemed hugely out of proportion with the short time you’d known him, and yet… your stomach sank, and you bit your lip.

You didn’t want him to go.

He turned from the freezer, and you could see it in the angle of his shoulders. He was about to say goodbye. So you spoke before he could.

“Well, Mando,” you said, aiming for a lighter tone and missing by a mile, “you sure you have to go? It’s been fun, having you around.”

He shifted his weight. “I have to turn him in.” He sounded reluctant, and you felt something like excitement start to build in your chest. Maybe he didn’t want to go yet.

“Of course,” you agreed. “But, you know, it is a holiday. If you wanted to stick around for another night.” You tried not to fidget as you looked at him. He didn’t respond, and as his silence started to stretch, the excitement started to turn to embarrassment. 

You sucked in a sharp breath and started to turn away. “I’ll just–”

Before you could even take a step, there was a gloved hand on your arm. A large, warm hand. You shivered.

“One more night?” he murmured, and you felt him step up behind you. The warmth of his body made you want to lean back into him. He squeezed your arm. 

“Yes,” you said, and you were surprised at how breathy your voice sounded.

He stepped even closer, somehow, and his armor brushed your back. You felt him lean towards you and when he spoke, it was like he was whispering in your ear. “With you?” His voice was deep, so deep.

“Yes,” you said again. 

His helmet came to rest against the side of your head and his free arm slipped around your waist. “The helmet stays on.”

You sighed and leaned back into him. You nodded. “Alright.”

“Then lead the way, mesh’la.” 

You grinned and reached down to lace your fingers together. 

...

Three months later your comm pinged while you were on a stakeout. When you looked at the message, you couldn’t help but smile.

Heading your way for a hunt. You in?

...

a/n: happy holidays!

[ak-vintage]

Quarry - Chapter 1

Pairing: Din Djarin (The Mandalorian) x f!reader

Summary: Din Djarin is on what he expects to be his last bounty hunt for Greef Karga. After all, Nevarro is swiftly moving away from its previous reputation as a Guild member’s paradise, and Din has more important concerns now, like finding a Jedi to train his mysterious foundling. However, after capturing a wanted starship engineer who would rather go anywhere other than “home,” the Mandalorian is forced to reassess his priorities.

Your taste of freedom had been brief but glorious. Now you are a prisoner of the most infamous bounty hunter in the Outer Rim – it’s only a matter of time before he turns you in. There isn’t much you would not do to keep from being sent home, but as you find yourself growing closer to your captor and his strange little companion, you start to wonder whether escape is really what you want.

Set after Chapter 13: The Jedi but before Chapter 14: The Tragedy.

Chapter Tags & Warnings: Reader is Mando's bounty, minor peril, threats of violence, second-person POV, no use of Y/N, minimal descriptors of reader character

Series Masterlist | Read on AO3

It was over.

Countless rotations it had taken you to plan your escape. Stolen hours when you were meant to be elbows deep in the bowels of a customer’s starship had instead been spent discretely stashing supplies in hidden corners of the hangar. Endless nights and scores of hours of sleep had been sacrificed to mulling over your options as you lay in your bunk, devising one strategy after another. You would only get one chance. When your moment came, you knew you couldn’t let it pass you by.

And you hadn’t. You had done it. A satchel full of ration packs, a canteen, and the clothes on your back had been all you had to your name, but you had managed to stow away aboard a freighter, wedged into the maintenance access crawlspace near one of the escape pods. Forty-eight hours you spent jammed between the bulkheads, breathing as quietly as you could manage and not daring to move any more than was needed to open and delicately sip from your canteen. When you felt the tell-tale jolt of the ship dropping out of hyperspace, the wave of relief that passed over you had made you nearly faint.

That had been over a month ago according to this planet’s local calendar. In that time, you had found yourself a bed at a local hostel. You had landed a job at a cantina clearing tables – perhaps not the best use of your skillset, but it paid, and to say you needed credits would be an understatement. You had even managed to save enough money to replace the pair of work boots you had been wearing for nearly a decade and had taped back together more times than you could count.

Freedom agreed with you. It was the easiest you had breathed, the soundest you had slept, since you were a child.

And now it was over. It had all been for nothing.

The bounty puck on the bar hummed quietly as it projected your image into the air above it, the blue hologram flickering, your name printed in red below your expressionless face.

Out of the corner of your eye, you could see the man who had presented you with the puck reach into his utility belt and pull out a tracking fob. The red beacon was blinking rapidly as he pointed it at you, the incessant beeping nearly inaudible over the sounds of the cantina. But even as he stood there, clearly expecting some kind of response from you, all you could do was stare at your own face in the hologram. You could hear the blood rushing in your ears, could feel your hands start to tremble uncontrollably. This couldn’t be how it ended. You had worked so hard –

“I said, this is you?”

You started, wrenching your eyes from the buzzing bounty puck to the man before you. He was tall, broad, and clearly humanoid, and he was clad head to toe in gleaming beskar armor, his face hidden behind a helmet with a distinctive black, T-shaped visor. Even in your brief survey of his appearance, you could see no less than four weapons stashed across his body. A set of binder restraints was clipped to his belt.

You gulped audibly. A Mandalorian. They had sent a Mandalorian after you.

There was only one thing you could do. You had to try to run.

In the same instant this occurred to you, it seemed that the Mandalorian had a similar thought.

“It will be worse for you if you try to escape,” he said, his voice low and modulated through the vocoder in his helmet. He made a movement as if to reach for the binders. “Best if you come quietly.”

Not kriffing likely.

Before you could consider it further, you spun around, grabbed ahold of a rung on the closest liquor shelf behind the bar, and threw your weight back. The heavy steel shelf tipped precariously and then, with an incredible crash, fell forward. You dodged out of the way just in time to avoid the shower of shattering liquor bottles, more than one breaking on the helmet and pauldrons of the bounty hunter before you.

“Dank farrik,” you heard him curse, but you didn’t stay long enough to see how he fared. Instead, you leaped over the bar and bolted toward the rear exit.

You had never been much of a runner, but you were nimble, and this was your cantina. It was just after shift change at the local lommite mine, which meant that the place was packed with patrons of all species dressed in bulky safety gear and carrying dusty equipment packs that made it difficult to navigate between the tables. Ducking and weaving through the crowd, it took you only a moment to reach the door.

You were tempted to glance over your shoulder as the exit door slid open, but the sound of shouting and arguing behind you was enough to tell you that you were being pursued. Instead, you took off running down the back alleyway.

There was no way you were going to outrun him. You had never encountered a Mandalorian personally, but you had heard enough stories to know that they were fierce hunters – clever, resourceful, and at the peak of physical fitness. Your only hope would be to lose him in the maze of buildings that made up this part of town. This area was densely populated, the buildings packed in close together and laid out in such a way that it was clear that very little planning had gone into the design of the neighborhood.

Take him on a wild bantha chase, you thought, your breath starting to come short in your chest, your legs starting to ache. Take turns at random, change levels when you can, try to make it back to the hostel. Get your pack. Head to the nearest space depot. Get off planet. Start again. 

You could do it. You could start again. This didn’t have to be the end of your freedom.

You could hear heavy footsteps behind you.

He was faster than you. He was closing in.

Nearly skidding into a wall, you threw yourself down the next alley, pushing your arms and legs to pump as hard they could. You were getting out of the mining district and into the market district; stalls and carts began to pop up along the walls as you continued to run. You dodged them with ease, but a dozen yards behind you, you could hear chaos erupt as beskar crashed unceremoniously through wood and fabric. If you hadn’t been so out of breath, you would have laughed.

Your joy, however, was short-lived.

As you came careening around the next corner, you found yourself inches away from a moving produce cart being pulled by a rolo droid. You had come in too fast – by the time you saw it, there was no way to stop.

In an instant, you slammed bodily into the cart, bending over the side and flipping headfirst into the pile of what appeared to be some kind of vegetable. The rolo droid squealed in protest, beeping and whirring and spinning in place, but you couldn’t be bothered trying to apologize.

The impact had knocked the wind out of your lungs – you gasped ineffectually, clutching your ribs as you attempted to work up the strength to fling yourself out of the bed of the cart. Every second spent trying to catch your breath was another second for your pursuer to close the distance between you. But it didn’t matter in the end – you weren’t fast enough. The moment you managed to get your arms under you, you heard a faint fwip cut through the air, and a grappling line wrapped snuggly around your leg.

A sharp tug, and you were yanked from the cart and onto the ground. Another, and you began to skid down the coarse pavement of the alley floor. Your arms flew out, scrabbling against the stones, but it was no use. Before you could figure out which way was up, the heavily armored figure of the Mandalorian bounty hunter was hovering over you, the setting sun glinting harshly off his beskar helmet. The grappling line was retreating into his vambrace.

Wordlessly, he stepped forward, planting his boot on the line near where it wrapped around you, effectively trapping you at his feet. You could do nothing but lay gasping on the ground, glaring poisonously at his helmet in what you hoped was the direction of his eyes.

“Put on the binders, or I’ll do it for you,” he said, unhooking them from his belt and tossing them onto your heaving stomach. Bitterness burned in your gut at the sound of his modulated voice. He didn’t even sound like the chase had taxed him at all; he was completely unphased. “And I won’t be gentle,” he added.

You swallowed hard. It really was over.

After a moment of silence, you clasped the binder cuffs around your wrists – one then the other. They glowed blue against your skin, tight, cold, and heavy.

The Mandalorian reached down then and wrapped his leather gloved hand around the connector in the center of the binders. With what appeared to be very little effort, he hauled you to your feet. He permitted you a moment to steady yourself before tugging once more on the grappling wire still around your leg. It slid limply away, and he deftly tied the end around the binders, creating a makeshift leash.

“Let’s go,” he muttered. And with a firm pull on the wire, he set off down the alley, you trailing reluctantly along behind him.

___

As you expected, he led you to the yards on the other side of town, specifically the ones intended for short-term docking. He stopped only once along the way, grabbing several skewers of cooked meat from a street vendor near the terminal. For a wild moment, you expected him to offer you one, but instead he took half of the skewers and stuck them into the small brown satchel he wore across his body. He kept the remainder in his hand, but made no move to eat them, which you found odd.

Had you been in a quieter part of town, you might have heard a wet swallowing sound and a high-pitched gurgle of approval coming from the vicinity of that satchel. As it was, however, you simply continued to follow your captor in silence.

The docking yard was as you remembered it – congested and impossibly loud. Species of all varieties milled about, standing in line to board their transporters, searching for their luggage on long conveyor belts, chasing small children, and arguing with the ticket and security droids that lined the terminal. It had been easy to blend into the chaos when you arrived. No one had batted an eye at the sight of your body slipping awkwardly out of a maintenance port on the underbelly of freighter. Now that you had returned, however, you couldn’t help but feel as though the crowd hushed as you passed. Perhaps it was simply the humiliation of being dragged through the throng on the end of a bounty hunter’s leash like a charhound, but you were certain that you caught more than one judgment-filled gaze as you passed.

The Mandalorian led you through the crush of people with confidence. It didn’t take long for you to realize that his ship must have been parked further down the terminal, for as you continued following behind him, the crowd began to thin, the massive ships designed for transporting large numbers of people falling away and being replaced with smaller personal transport vessels. It wasn’t until your eyes landed on a pre-Imperial patrol gunship that had clearly seen better days that you realized that this was where you were headed.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” you muttered under your breath, taking in the patchwork hull, the fading paint job, the countless dents, the blaster marks… You weren’t entirely certain of the specific make, but you knew it fell into the ST-70 class of assault ships. Then again, you wondered, did it matter what it was if it looked ready to fall out of the sky at the slightest provocation?

The Mandalorian glanced sharply at you over his shoulder, and your heart jumped into your throat. Perhaps it wasn’t the best idea to talk smack about your captor’s ship.

Luckily, you were saved from having to answer for that comment by the sound of a small, blue Rodian dressed in a dock worker’s uniform calling out in Huttese.

“Uba bata shado, murishani,” he said, nodding to the bounty hunter in greeting. You’re back quickly, bounty hunter. Or at least, that is what you thought he said. Your Huttese had always been rather rudimentary.

Your escort pulled up short at this, his head tilted and his shoulders stiff.

“Well, I’m good at my job,” he said, a hint of hesitance in his voice, as though unsure how to respond.

The Rodian replied, once again in Huttese, but there was enough in that sentence that you didn’t understand that you refused to even attempt to translate it. The Mandalorian, however, had no such issues.

“That’s ridiculous. I’ve been docked here less than three hours. I’m not paying you for the whole day.” His deep, raspy voice buzzed through his vocoder. The revelation left a sick feeling in the pit of your stomach. Less than three hours. Less than three hours it had taken him to find you, even in a city of this size. A part of you wondered if that was more of a reflection on his skill as a bounty hunter, or if perhaps it said something about your skill as a fugitive.

Oblivious to your distress, the two went back and forth for a few moments, the dock worker in Huttese, the bounty hunter in Basic.

After a time of seemingly no progress, the latter said decisively, “I’ll pay for a half day, but no more.” He took a step into the Rodian’s space, dragging you stumbling behind him. The reptilian made an offended noise, clearly about to continue to protest, but he was stopped short by the Mandalorian swiping aside his cape and hovering his hand threateningly over his holstered blaster. “I think that’s more than reasonable, don’t you?”

A beat of silence passed as you glanced between your captor and the dock worker. He appeared to be weighing the offer and the potential risk of continuing to argue, but before long, the tension left his body, and he extended his hand toward the Mandalorian in resignation. “Okey-okey. Wamma tonka.”

The bounty hunter nodded once and produced what appeared to be some denomination of New Republic credit from his pocket. Dropping it into the Rodian’s waiting hand, he gave a tug to your grappling line and pulled you toward the shabby gunship.

___

“Tell me, are you going to attempt to run again?”

It was the first thing the Mandalorian had said to you since he had taken you captive. It had taken little time for the two of you to board his ship once he resolved the issue with the dock worker, and he had just managed to pull up the exit ramp and close the blast doors. Interestingly, he had also stashed his few remaining meat skewers from the street vendor in what appeared to be a chilled rations locker that sank into the port-side wall.

Now, he stared intently at you, his hands on his hips and his helmet cocked at an angle, as though contemplating what to do with you next. You were still attached to his grappling wire by your binder restraints, though he admittedly had given you a bit more slack in the line once you were securely locked up in the belly of the ST-70.

You mimicked his stance as best as you could while still bound at the wrists and attempted to project a confidence you weren’t sure that you truly felt.

“What do you think?” you asked, your voice as even and neutral as you could make it.

He seemed to consider the question for a moment before replying, “I think you’ve already put up more of a fight than I expected.”

A thrill shot through you at that – a quick zing of pride that even though you hardly seemed to have been much of a challenge for him, you still had managed to subvert his expectations of you. A smirk tugged at the corner of your lips. “Then I think you have your answer.”

It was the truth, and you knew that he knew it, too. If given the opportunity, you would try to run again. You had fought and planned for too long to give up on your freedom this easily.

Something like a grunt of displeasure sounded through his modulator, and suddenly his posture was less relaxed, becoming straighter and more intimidating. “Fine,” he rasped.

With a sharp yank on the grappling wire, he tugged you toward him, knocking you off balance, and grasped firmly onto your shoulders.

“Hey, what’re you – ”

As the question started to leave your lips, your eyes landed on the padded recess in the starboard-side wall. You didn’t know how you had missed it when you first entered the ship. It was just deep enough for most full-grown bipedal species to stand inside. Several color-coded gas canisters lined the edges of the recess, dispenser funnels pointed inward.

“No,” you whispered, the breath suddenly stolen from your lungs.

A mobile carbonite freezing unit. You had only seen a handful of ships in your lifetime equipped with one. He was going to freeze you.

“Oh, kriff – no, no, no, wait, you can’t – ” Panic rose in your chest, threatening to suffocate you even before the pressurized gases could manage to surround you. Immediately, you began to struggle against his grasp – twisting and throwing your weight, beating your bound fists against his hard, shining breastplate.

Silently, mercilessly, almost easily, the Mandalorian wrestled you into the unit and punched the activation controls.

Your eyes slammed shut and a scream caught in your throat as ice-cold gas shot from the canisters nearest your feet. And then –

…nothing.

A beat passed. Silence. No carbonite panels. No freezing gases designed to hold you in place, in stasis, until someone decided to free you. There was just…nothing.

You gasped, your eyes flying open and quickly scanning your surroundings. A shrill beeping sound came from a control panel somewhere near your head.

“W-what happened?” you stammered, a wave of knee-weakening relief threatening to overtake you. “Why did it stop?”

“Damn it,” your jailer muttered. One hand came up to bear down against your sternum, keeping you pressed firmly back against the padded chamber. The other was aggressively thumbing at the protesting control panel.

A breathless, slightly unhinged laugh bubbled up in your throat. “It’s malfunctioning, isn’t it? Your unit’s broken.” Perhaps your luck hadn’t run out entirely.

“Shut up.” His voice was tight, his words terse.

That wild laugh overflowed for a moment, pressing your chest into his gloved hand.

“Oh no,” you huffed in mock sympathy. “Looks like you’re stuck with me, buddy.”

The bounty hunter cursed again under his breath, slamming his fist into the carbonite unit’s control panel one last time. “For now,” he growled.

“Now what are you going to do with me?” you asked breathlessly. A strange feeling of victory continued to linger in your chest. It hadn’t been you that had caused the malfunction, of course, but you couldn’t help but feel as though somehow the points for this particular encounter should go to you. After all, the son of a mudscuffer wouldn’t be able to get rid of you so easily now.

He seemed to take a moment to deliberate, but then he was pulling you back out of the recessed chamber and instead tugging you further into the ship’s cargo hold. “Come on,” he grunted. “You’ll say here until I can get the carbonite unit repaired.”

Pressing firmly on the tops of your shoulders, he forced you to lower yourself onto the deck plating, sitting you against the wall. He had your binder cuffs separated with a few deft movements, but quicker than you could react, he was reattaching them, this time so that they looped around the base of a ladder that appeared to go to the second floor of the ship.

“And uh…what exactly am I supposed to do in the meantime?” you asked incredulously. He couldn’t really expect you to sit on the cold, unforgiving metal floor with your arms hanging awkwardly from this ladder, could he? Even if he took you right back to where you had run away from, that was a two-day journey through hyperspace. You would surely lose circulation in your limbs by then.

The Mandalorian was less than sympathetic. “Just keep quiet, and don’t bother trying to break out of that binder – you’ll break your wrists before those cuffs release. Otherwise, I don’t really care.”

“Got it, I’ll keep that in mind,” you replied. Your tone dripped with sarcasm.

“Stay put,” he reiterated, jabbing a finger at you as though he were scolding a small child.

You rolled your eyes as you watched him grasp onto the sides of the ladder, one boot stepping up onto the lowest rung. However, before he could begin to climb up to what you assumed was the cockpit, you heard a strange sound coming from somewhere on his person.

A giggle, a high-pitched, gurgling babble – like the coo of a baby.

This seemed to startle the bounty hunter, as he immediately dropped his grip on the ladder and glanced down at the brown satchel strung across his body. Your gaze followed his just in time enough to see a tiny, green, three-fingered hand wave out of the satchel before he shoved it back down. He quickly wrapped his cape around his body to conceal his torso and in doing so, the bag.

“Wait – what was that?” you demanded. He couldn’t be carrying a baby in that satchel…could he?

His only reply was a weary sigh, and before you could repeat yourself, he was up the ladder and out of sight.

___

The next several minutes following the Mandalorian’s hurried departure were almost perfectly silent. You assumed you would be taking off soon, but in the meantime, while you were still on solid ground, you couldn’t help but take a few moments to test your restraints. There would be no point once you were in the air – where exactly would you escape to, once you were in the expanse of space?

You first tried to brace the binder cuffs against the side of the ladder, tugging down as hard as you dared with both hands against the center connector. Perhaps you could force the two cuff units to separate from each other. No success, though this didn’t really surprise you – the durasteel was nearly indestructible. It would take someone a great deal stronger than you to break them.

Your next attempt was simply to try wiggling a hand out of one. It quickly became very clear that that wasn’t going to happen either. Luckily, the insides of the cuffs were lined with padding, designed to mold tightly to the form of the prisoner regardless of their size without wounding them. If they hadn’t been cushioned at all, you may have done as the bounty hunter had suggested and broken your wrist. No matter how you twisted or pulled, your hand simply would not contort into a shape small enough to slip through the cuff without injury. In fact, you would probably have bruises later from the attempt.

Cursing softly under your breath, you took a moment to survey your surroundings as you contemplated your next move. It would be too much to ask for a toolkit of some sort to be sitting around somewhere you could reach. Small tech like this binder didn’t really fall within your expertise, but you were reasonably certain that given enough time and the right equipment, you could override the release code mechanism and remove them that way. However, judging from your current predicament, the likelihood of those conditions being met was less than zero.

Just as you resigned yourself to being tied to this ladder for a bit longer, the deck plating below you started to vibrate, and the distant roaring of the gunship’s engines turning over filled your ears. You were taking off.

You braced yourself as best as you could, folding your legs up to plant your feet flat against the floor and push your torso back against the wall. Given the ship’s apparent age, you could only assume the ascent through the atmosphere would be a bumpy one, and it wasn’t as though there was any safety gear for passengers in the cargo hold. However, to your great surprise, either the Mandalorian was an exceptional pilot or the ship was sturdier than she looked. The rise through the atmosphere featured minimal turbulence, and by the time you could feel the artificial gravity and life support systems activate, there was nothing but the constant, low-frequency vibration of the engines to indicate that you were anywhere other than solid land.

A handful of minutes passed, and then you felt a swooping sensation behind your navel as your body was suddenly, briefly tugged toward the rear of the ship.

You had jumped to hyperspace.

After that, the silence returned.

In that way, this wasn’t much different than your last experience with space travel. You had been alone, cramped, uncomfortable, and frightened, with nothing but your own thoughts to keep you company, and surrounded by an almost oppressive quiet. Though you supposed you could acknowledge the improvement in the view. Rather than staring directly at the anonymous gray hull of an escape pod, this time your eyes had a whole cargo hold to explore.

Really, there wasn’t much to see. The Mandalorian seemed to run quite a bare-bones operation. To your right appeared to be most of the storage space on the ship. A few wall panels that likely pulled out when pressed, as the cooler locker had when you first boarded, a stack of gray cargo bins that had slid to the back of the hold during the hyperspace jump, and, of course, the dreaded mobile carbonite freezing unit in the starboard wall. You suppressed a chill and sent a brief thank-you into the universe that you hadn’t been subjected to that.

Directly across from where you sat tied to the ladder was a large silver cabinet, the contents of which you could only guess at. All you knew was that it must have been important, as it took up the most amount of space in the hold by far and appeared to be under a coded lock.

Finally, to your left, fully open and exposed to the rest of the room, was a somewhat grimy multi-species vacuum ship head as well as an alcove where a thin, bare bunk had been tucked away. You balked at the apparent lack of a full refresher, or at the very least a sonic shower. Did this man who spent all his time wrapped head-to-toe in armor (which you had noticed was also layered on top of a padded flight suit) really not have a way to get clean on his own ship? Silently you hoped you would never get close enough to him to experience the consequences of that choice.

Just as you were starting to contemplate the humiliating eventuality of needing to use that exposed ship head, the sound of footsteps could be heard echoing off the deck plating above you. A distant hiss sounded, like the sliding of a blast door, and in the next moment, the Mandalorian was climbing back down the ladder.

“Didn’t expect to see you again so soon,” you said, feeling your eyebrows raise as you looked up at him.

At first, he didn’t respond. Instead, he gave you a once-over when he reached the bottom, clearly assessing whether you had attempted to escape. Finding you precisely where he had left you seemed to satisfy him, and he nodded once in your direction before making his way back over to the cooler locker he had opened earlier. Opening it, he retrieved the remaining meat skewers from the street vendor as well a couple of assorted ration bars.

For a moment, you thought he might go right back up the ladder without saying a word to you. However, once he kicked the cooler locker closed, he reached out and passed one of the ration bars into your bound hand. “Here,” he said, the voice floating through his helmet low and a touch raspy. “Thought you might be hungry.”

“Oh.” Blatant surprise colored your tone before you were able to school your expression. “Thank you.” 

His helmet tipped in acknowledgement, but he said nothing.

A beat of silence passed, almost as though he was waiting on you to say more. When you didn’t, he took a few steps back toward the ladder, readying himself to climb back up into the cockpit.

“Wait,” you blurted. You had to know – before he hid himself away again, you had to ask, “Are you taking me back? Back to Chardaan?”

The bounty hunter paused, seeming somewhat taken aback by your question. He backed away from the ladder, instead moving across from you to lean back against that large silver cabinet you had noted earlier. Cocking his head to the side, he considered you for a moment, then replied, “No.”

Your eyes widened in surprise. “No?” you echoed.

“You were the first of my bounties on this hunt. I’ll need to collect the others before I can return to my guild agent and make the exchange,” he explained. “He’ll be the one to ensure you make it back where you came from.”

A bolt of relief shot through you at this revelation. You still had time. He wasn’t taking you straight back there. Your freedom hadn’t entirely abandoned you. There is still a chance…

“How many more are you after?” you asked, struggling to keep your voice neutral.

The bounty hunter paused, seeming to mull over how much he wanted to share. After a minute, he said, “Six.”

In spite of the careful control you were trying to exert over your facial expressions, your jaw dropped at the number. You had never heard of a Bounty Hunters’ Guild member carrying more than four pucks at a time. “That feels like a lot all at once.”

He shrugged, the gesture emphasized by his shining beskar pauldrons. “I’ve been working with this agent a long time, and it’s going to be a while before I’m able to pick up more work. Plus, this lot includes a few lower-level quarries. Shouldn’t be much of a challenge.”

“‘Lower-level quarries’?” you repeated. “What, you mean like me?”

“Yes. Like you,” he replied. You could swear his modulated voice sounded smug, though perhaps you were projecting. Something about your classification as “low-level” made your hackles raise. Not just anyone could have escaped from Chardaan the way you did…

You looked away from him at that, your cheeks burning, and busied yourself instead with examining the ration bar he had placed in your hand. You weren’t familiar with the brand, though it hardly mattered, as you had seen bars like this more times than you could count. Nutrient-dense, packed with protein, vitamins, and carbohydrates. Hopelessly bland. Somehow both fudgy and crumbly at once. They were designed for deep space travel and, although efficient and sensible, you couldn’t help but feel a touch of dread looking at the one in your hand.

“That’s not poisoned, you know.”

The sound of the Mandalorian’s voice startled you out of your thoughts, and you glanced back up at him to see him watching you with something like confusion in his body language.

“If I had wanted to kill you, I would have by now. Poisoning isn’t exactly my style,” he added.

You almost chuckled at that. Perhaps this tin can had a sense of humor after all. “I don’t see you eating yours,” you retorted, staring pointedly at the bars he still held in his gloved hand. “I’m supposed to just trust that these are safe for me?”

“I don’t eat in front of others. I’ll eat when I get back to the cockpit.”

That comment did make you smile. “Ah, but you’re not the only one in the cockpit…are you?”

His posture straightened immediately. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” His voice was back to that cool, firm tone you had become accustomed to from him.

Gotcha.

“That thing you had in your bag. I know you didn’t want me to see it, but…” you trailed off, shrugging slightly.

“That’s none of your concern,” he snapped. The response left no room for debate, but you didn’t mind. It was enough for now that he had confirmed that you weren’t, in fact, losing your mind when you saw that little green hand emerging from his satchel earlier.

“Okay, whatever you say, boss.” You were sure you would learn more about that mysterious creature eventually. After all, it looked like you were going to be stuck with the Mandalorian for a while…

“Don’t call me ‘boss,’” was his only reply. His stance was tense, irritated.

You quirked an eyebrow at him. Perhaps…perhaps you should have been playing it a bit safer. Perhaps it wasn’t wise to provoke your captor, not when he quite literally held the keys to your future freedom in his hands. But…it was more fun than it should be to push his buttons.

“Well, what should I call you, then?” you asked. “I don’t exactly know your name.”

A somewhat exasperated sigh buzzed through his vocoder. “People call me Mando.”

You snorted at that. “Mando? What, like short for ‘Mandalorian’?”

“Yes.”

“That’s not really your name, is it?” It couldn’t be. There was no way.

“It’s what people call me,” he reiterated tersely.

That is not what I asked, you thought, rolling your eyes but unable to suppress a chuckle. This guy was like a character out of a holovid. Masked, stoic, almost comically mysterious.

“Fine. So, what’s next then, Mando? On to the next bounty?”

He shook his head. “Not quite. My carbonite unit is malfunctioning.”

You smirked, feeling that same surge of unearned victory from earlier rise in your chest. “You don’t say.”

“I can’t continue with the hunt until it is repaired,” he continued, completely ignoring your sarcasm.

“Why not? You seem to have handled me just fine without it.” You shook your arms, loudly jangling your durasteel binder against the ladder for emphasis.

“You, yes,” the bounty hunter acknowledged. “But this lot isn’t just low-level bounties. There are some that are…higher risk. Some that I’m going to need that additional insurance for.”

All of the good humor that had been building up inside you throughout this verbal sparring match evaporated at that, and a pit formed in your stomach.

Not for the first time, you took a moment to appraise your captor. He cut a powerful image – his flowing black cape, his fine armor that you would guess was worth more than your life, his purposefully anonymous face. It was also impossible to miss that he was armed to the teeth, even while in hyperspace, even while standing in the cargo hold of his own ship. The ferocity of Mandalorian warriors was legendary. He was clearly a formidable opponent. It made sense to you that this man would be someone skilled enough to bring in the…high-risk quarries.

The bounty hunter allowed you both to sit in silence for a moment as the reality of your situation settled in. This man was dangerous. This job was dangerous. And you were stuck along for the ride, at least for now, whether you liked it or not.

After a moment, he sighed and pushed away from the cabinet, once again making his way toward the ladder. “Eat your food,” he said, his tone somehow both commanding and…soft? Gentle? “I’ll be back later to start on repairs.”

He had climbed all the way up and reached the landing outside of the cockpit before you managed to call out, “Mando?”

A pause, and then, “Yes?”

You swallowed hard. “If you are able to fix it…are you going to freeze me?”

Your question echoed off the bulkheads, your heartbeat loud in your ears.

“Are you going to try to run again?” he asked.

You closed your eyes and rested your head on the nearest ladder rung. Yes, you wanted to say. Of course I am. It was on the tip of your tongue. I am going to try to run every chance you give me.

But…you didn’t reply.

He waited a moment or two, and then you heard the hissing sound of blast doors opening, the echo of his footsteps on the deck, and you knew he had disappeared back into the cockpit.

[gingerlurk]

Honey

Din Djarin x f!Reader

A Lovers' Crest one-shot (Here's its Masterlist)

Summary: You and the Mandalorian hatch a plan to trap an elusive bounty. And Din Djarin absolutely hates it. Until he doesn't.

[Or, the characters from Lovers' Crest have a little post-story adventure! Can be read standalone.]

Word count: 2.5k

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, pwp, unprotected piv (be safe), creampie, semi-public sex, (there's an unconscious guy in the room), established relationship, Din lifts you but damn he is a strong strong man, Reader described: wearing a dress, heels, having longish hair, does a lil pole dance. I know this isn't how a 'honey pot' situation works but oh well it's just a bit of fun.

A/N: What's this? It's the first fic I ever wrote. Posted to AO3 in June last year. No idea if it's anything anymore, but it dragged me out of a desperate writing slump - and led me to write the longer fic - so I will always feel affection for it.

--

‘No.’

‘Oh, come on!’

‘I said no!’

‘Why not?’

‘I don’t like it. It’s not a good idea.’

‘It’s a great idea. And… all we’ve got.’

So, Din Djarin sits in an upscale-style club sharing a table with Mythrol mobster Earl Gorstrik. 

The crime boss has been an elusive target for months, and a royal headache for Greef Karga. Taking out shipments of essentials, extorting construction projects and all manner of agency rackets, Gorstrik’s activities had pushed poor old Greef into upping the reward to nearly double.

‘Just get this fucker out of my business, please,’ Greef had begged him last time they’d dropped into town.

Then you had proposed an idea that had set his blood to boil, a constant roll that continued to this very moment. He’d remained unconvinced by the whole plan, but especially by your assertion that you would be sure to ‘really make it worth his while’. Din is dubious.

He doesn’t even get to have Grogu for company. This is not a child-friendly mission.

Gorstrik is yammering in his ear.

‘Seriously, Mando,’ he slurs. ‘I’m so glad a man of your calibre recognises the value of partnering with my… endeavours…’

Din is barely taking it in. Why are these types always so verbose? He mutters something about ‘needing to expand prospects’ and that sets the mob boss off to wax lyrical about property scams.

Din swears he’s going to ditch this whole, terrible attempt, when the music pounding in every corner of the place transitions to one of heavy bass and soaring synths.

Earl Gorstrik slaps at Din’s shoulder. ‘Oh excellent! It’s starting. Ever been to one of these Mando? No, bet not. Haha! Sit back and enjoy!’

Lights dance on the raised catwalk that dominates the middle of the room. Long, shiny polls descend from above, dropping within arm’s reach of the stage. A tall, lovely twi’lek female struts into view. Skin-tight body suit and stratospheric pumps. She reaches up to a poll and spins, smiling at the whooping and hollering rising from the patronage.

A short, sultry routine ends as the poll she holds rises back toward the ceiling. Din follows it, and her, up to spy the lofted gang plank that vanishes into an upper area.

Gorstrik leans into Din’s space.

‘You like that?’ he breathes. ‘Best part? If you spot someone you really like, you can arrange your own little meeting. Heh, up there,’ he points to the disappearing legs of the performer. ‘Just wave down a tender.’

Two human males saunter to neighbouring polls. They look to be twins. A stunning display of athleticism and strength concludes as they too rise upwards. Din spots several hands frantically waving at the establishment’s staff.

Fed up, Din is about to take his leave – to go find you – when a vision walks onto the stage and sucks all the air from his lungs. He’s locked rigid in his seat and his cock swells so fast it’s almost painful.

An adept lighting droid starts with revealing a pair of black, luxurious stilettos that step with languid grace down the catwalk. Silhouetted legs are shown to be bare as they curve up, all the way up – impossibly far – to the hem of a scant black dress. Deliciously tight and hugging every single curve.

Reaching the pole at the very end of the stage, the vision twists to face away from the crowd and is lit up all at once. The Mandalorian’s eyes are wide and his mouth has fallen open behind his helmet, made utterly transfixed by what he’s seeing onstage.

Glossy hair cascades over bare shoulders, swishing gently as you turn back to the crowd with a flourish. Your glittering eyes lock onto Din’s visor for a split second and he fair nearly blows his load then and there. 

You take hold of the pole and give a single lazy spin, letting Din’s eyes roam every inch of you. Then you slide down the pole some and spin again, extending your legs so the sides of your knees and shins skim the flooring. 

A few of these rotations before you tuck your long legs under you to stand for a moment. You make one swaying motion to put momentum into the pole and swing yourself up, using a turn away from the audience to open your legs, kick up and cross them to lock over the pole. 

With your lush thighs riding the cool metal, you lean back and extend an arm out to the audience, gazing upside down into the pulsing darkness.

You let the pole drift back to stillness, allowing every set of eyes in the place drink in your figure, bust heaving, hair falling below you and swaying. Then you swing your upper body upwards, grasp the pole and drop your hips so your legs release out into open air and propel it all into a renewed twist. 

After a moment, you plant your heels and the pole lowers with you as you sink into a narrow squat, facing away from the audience, which is by this time splitting the air with pitched screams and shouts.

You look over your shoulder with mischief in your eyes and the whole place goes ballistic.

The pole begins to rise and you move with it to stand. You let it slip along your figure, waiting until it is moving past your head to slide your arms around it and lift from the floor. It is given to look as if you’re floating on air, still twirling and giving an exquisite 360 view of your legs.

As you vanish into the loft, Din’s reverie is interrupted by a waving hand next to him.

He turns, Gorstrik is beside himself. A frenzy of other hands bat at the air, but Din’s table companion always gets first flush.

‘God damn,’ he exerts. ‘What a show. You do not get enough of that type of cream around here anymore.’

Din fights to quell the incredible urge to rip this pig’s head clean off his shoulders. He channels it all into issuing the slightest shrug he can manage. Gorstrik scoffs.

‘Suit yourself, man,’ he stands. ‘I’m getting my ass a front row seat to the encore. M’sorry, Mando you understand. Particulars can be worked out with my second here.’ He gives a vague wave to the pinch-faced twit next to him and scurries toward the elevator.

Din seethes.

Your voice crackles in his helmet, whisper quiet.

‘Staff access is on the residential side, basic hatch code to get in. Stairs, then make a left. My booth is second along.’

He makes a grouchy show of ‘only doing business with the actual boss’ before leaving the irate lieutenant at the table.

He stalks onto the street and rounds the building to the alleyway that connects the red-light district to the high-density worker housing. Spotting the door you described, he makes short work and slips inside. Climbing the stairs two at a time, he’s trying to concentrate and stop his mind wandering to all the ways this could go wrong.

Could be going wrong.

Why has he let you be alone with this scumbag. That was incredible. What if you’re not quick enough. Hells, fuck! Where had you learned that? What if… So fucking sexy. Why didn’t he just… Maker but that was incredible. He follows your directions and slaps the booth’s open panel.

The door slides across to reveal the scene. A small, velvet-lined room. One long bench against the far wall with a floor to ceiling one-way window looking out over the club floor. Your back is to the door and you’re settled in that narrow squat again, heels spiked into the floor, nimbly cuffing the unconscious Gorstrik, who is sprawled out by a drinks stand.

‘Just in time,’ you say. You peak over your shoulder at Din and slowly, agonisingly, start to rise up. Knees straighten first, keeping yourself bent at the waist. Ass on full display, the hem of your dress has ridden up to show just a hint of cheek. Finally, you lift your torso and turn toward him, something droll to say on the tip of your tongue.

You don’t get the chance. Din has kicked the door hatch closed and barrelled into you. Hands grip your waist first, pushing you back into the wall, then reach down to lift your knees to lock them at his sides. Holding you up, he paws at your ass.

‘Where’d you get this dress,’ he growls into your ear, letting you loop your arms across his shoulders and use the purchase to grind yourself against his erection.

‘Boutique in the main square,’ you mutter, eyes already closed and focused on lust. ‘Only used some of the advance.’

‘It’s obscene.’

‘Mmm, I don’t have to keep it.’ You rub the front of the dress against his chest plate, pushing your breasts into the firm pressure. ‘Could turn it to scrap for engine cleaning,’ you tease.

‘Absolutely not,’ he grinds out. He rubs at your thighs until the dress inches up, exposing your soaking panties. ‘This dress,’ he grunts. ‘This dress is for me now. You’ll wear it for me.’

‘Fuh—Fuck,’ you huff. ‘Thought you’d like it.’

‘Mmm, so fucking divine,’ he keens. He leans back a little. ‘Help me out here, love. Get this cock out for me.’

You reach a hand down and fumble with buckles and garment until you can push his pants low enough for his screaming hard on to bounce free. You immediately move your hand and tug the edge of your underwear aside.

‘Now Din,’ you moan, looking down. ‘Fuck me n— ah!’ He sheaths himself home in one go, piercing you to the wall. 

Hips sitting flush, Din trembles at your tight walls stretching and fluttering around him. He lets you adjust. ‘Oh fuck, so ready for me. That performance of yours get you just as worked up as me, did it?’

Humming an affirmative, you reach up to brace your elbows on top of each pauldron, locking your hands together behind his helmet and nuzzling your face into his neck. Like this, you can tilt your hips back and forth to grind into where you two are connected, his pelvis making a perfect surface to work at your aching clit.

It’s so goddamn sensual when you use him like this.

He holds onto your ass and helps you along by lifting you up with each one of your thrusts, creating a harsher connection each time. You writhe and work yourself against him, legs shaking with effort.

‘Din, Din,’ you lift your head with a gasp. He watches your eyes screw shut and your mouth fall open to release harsh, pained puffs of air. You’re so close, he can see it. You press your face into the sharp curve of his helmet and whisper, ‘Din, tell me t--’

‘Come for me, mesh’la,’ he snarls into your ear. ‘Do it, come now.’

You cry out and smack your head back against the wall. Din loses himself in your blissed out features. In the feel of your legs spasming around him, tightening muscles drawing aching throbs out of his cock. You push your hips in tiny little circles to suck down every drop of your climax. ‘That’s it, beautiful. That’s perfect,’ he murmurs to you. ‘You’re perfect.’ 

Huffing harsh breaths, you open your eyes and smile at him. 

He pulls out of you and takes your quivering legs from around his middle, dropping them to plant your heels on the floor. Then he pushes off the wall, spinning you to face the bench and bending you over. A heavy boot nudges at your ankles to spread them apart. He’s back inside you in one intense thrust of his cock.

This position affords you the view through the one-way window, so you’re both looking down at the bustling bar floor. 

Din begins to move, barely letting any room between your bodies as he grinds hard and deep. You shuffle your feet wider to give him even more. He chokes out a groan.

‘When you were on that stage,’ he hisses from behind, hands in a bruising grip on your hips. ‘Fuck, when you were up there, everyone down there wanted you.’ He sees your head turn to roam over the crowd, you look over your shoulder again at him, eyes unfocused and lustful.

‘Oh yeah?’ you say, hands sliding a little on the bench with your movements. ‘All of them?’

‘Every. Single. One.’ He punctuates each strangled word with a harsh, deep thrust. ‘Wishing they were here now. Wishing they could have you like this, know the feel of your clenching pussy. Sucking me in so hard, can- can barely pull myself- out…’   

He grips a fistful of your dress and uses the leverage to drag himself back before pistoning into you again. The obscene sounds of your slick flesh pumping against each other fill the air.

He’s so deep he can feel the pressure building within you again right as you slam your fingers hard against your clit, letting the friction of his furious thrusts carry you over the edge into another orgasm.

‘Fuuuuck,’ you both groan in unison. He loops an arm across your front and slings you up, back flush to his chest as he drives up into you. His rhythm is starting to falter, the haze of pleasure reaching toward unbearable. You know what he needs and how to bring him over the edge with you. He trusts.

‘But none of them can have me,’ you gasp. ‘Only you. Only you- know- this- pussy, Din.’ The final words are accompanied by the last few slams of his hips as he spills inside you with another strangled moan. He feels, as always, like his soul is being sucked from him and drained into you. It goes on for an age, wave on wave as you squeeze and clench around him. He finally slows.

His hand moves from your chest up to cup your face, fingers sifting through the hair at your shoulder.

As he huffs deep breaths into his helmet, you squeeze again and he gasps in near pain.

‘N-n, please mesh’la, you’re gonna kill me.’

‘Mm, sorry, thought you liked “the feel of my clenching pussy”.’

‘Oh I do, I do. Hope you let me feel it again when we’ve actually finished this job.’

‘Admit it was a great idea,’ you clench one last time and at that he withdraws from you. Groaning a raspy sigh. He turns to your captured prize.

‘Honey pot,’ he mutters. ‘Ridiculous.’

--

Din tucks himself away and bends to hoist the limp quarry over a shoulder, readying to exit. 

You adjust your dress, feeling delicious as Din’s seed slides past the hem. A job well executed and a fucking great time had by all. You grin to yourself. You’re going to walk down the street with this man’s spend slicking your thighs together. It’s filthy and you love it.

--

Thanks for reading! Have a great day and drink some water x

[theidiotwhowritesthings]

INEVITABLE [2]

din djarin x female!reader

warnings: language, mentions of the slave trade, canon violence, blood and injuries

word count: 6,030

Summary: It was like fate or destiny had planned from the beginning for you to be on the run from the law. With the words ‘I can bring you in warm, or I can bring you in cold’ adorning your rib cage you always wondered what was worse: Knowing you were bound to being wanted or realizing your soulmate was a cursed bounty hunter. You had a mission to finish and no bounty hunter, soulmate or not, was going to stop you.

[previous] [next]

02: FALLING FOR YOU

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"courage is knowing it might hurt, and doing it anyways. stupidity is the same. and that's why life is hard." ⏤jeremy goldberg

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It had been a very long time since Din was nervous before a hunt. Wary, maybe, or concerned, but not nervous. He had retreated to the Razor Crest for the night, needing the time to mentally and emotionally spiral while in the safety of his own ship, then the next day he started tracking you down once more. Din thought surely you would’ve left Bespin entirely, but he tracked you back to a cantina. A different cantina. But still.

 Just as he had yesterday, Din simply stepped into the building. He had planned to be more tactful today, but realizing you were in another cantina had been curious enough to throw him off entirely. You sat at the bar this time, turned so you could lean your back against the counter, with pretty eyes glancing around the room. Your eyes darted to him, away, then back again. Din expected a lot of reactions to his presence, but he never would’ve guessed that you’d roll your eyes with a huff and turn back around. 

What the hell?

Din crossed the room. Grogu whined from inside the closed pram floating behind him. The child hated being locked away, and Din hated locking him away, but he didn’t trust himself around this quarry. And that’s what you were. A quarry. He had to remind himself of that again.

“Can I buy you a drink, bucket head?” You asked. Din narrowed his eyes at you in a glare⏤ knowing good and well you couldn’t see it, but it made him feel better to do it. You glanced over your shoulder at him with that same infuriating smirk you shot him yesterday. “What’s your poison of choice?”

“You’re coming with me.” Din demanded.

“Mmm, no thanks.”

Din shook his head, “That wasn’t a choice.”

“It kind of felt like a choice when I kicked your ass yesterday and ran.” You snickered. “Mandalorian.”

The way you said his title was mocking and it made Din’s skin bristle with irritation. His hands drifted to his hips and he leaned in toward you. “Get up now.”

You groaned. “Seriously, bucket head⏤”

“Don’t call me that.” He snapped.

“⏤what do I have to do to get you off my back?” You had continued on, unphased by his demeanor. “Credits? Is that what gets you going in the morning?” You turned back around, maintaining your confident posture, and it put your face by his. “I can get you some credits. Probably. Do you take IOUs?”

Din tried to keep his composure. He had dealt with plenty of quarries who mouthed off to him, but this was the quickest it had actually worked. Din leaned back to stand tall once more. You quirked an eyebrow up at him and he locked his jaw. He wondered if you could hear his teeth grind together. Din reached to his belt, pulling off the binders, and slammed them on the counter by you.

“Put them on.”

“That’s a bit lazy of you, don’t you think?” You replied. “At least all the other hunters I faced did their own dirty work.”

Briefly, Din felt a flash of anger at the thought of a bunch of hunters manhandling you. It was gone as quick as it came, and the feeling was replaced with annoyance that it came at all. This soulmate thing was becoming a real nuisance. Fine. You wanted to make this difficult? Din would be the bounty hunter you expected him to be.

Din grabbed you by the wrist roughly, spinning you in your seat so he could twist your arm behind you. His other hand grasped you by the back of the neck and he slammed you into the counter. The sound of your grunt of pain made his grip marginally loosen. He leaned in once more, “Anything to say now?”

“Now? No.” You replied. “But I’ll let you know if I think of something.”

If Din thought fate had been ridiculous before for picking a quarry as his soulmate, he was really hating it now. Not only was his soulmate a quarry, but it was a smartass slave trader with the most aggravating of smirks. Maker, he was looking forward to shoving you into the carbonite freezer. Din grabbed the binders off the counter and connected it to both your wrists behind your back. He ripped you up and out of your seat then without a beat he began to shove you out of the cantina. 

You begun to kick your feet, slowing your pace, and Din grabbed you by your upper arm so he could drag you along as needed. Din turned his head to look at you in skepticism. Yesterday, you had been quick to plan an escape route, but now you were going willingly? He didn’t trust it.

“Tell me, why would you go to a second cantina knowing I’m chasing you?” Din blurted.

“You want me to just reveal my grand master plan? I think not.” You chuckled. “You can just keep on wondering, bucket head.”

“It’s… reckless.” Din wanted to use the word ‘stupid’, but he couldn’t force it out.

You shrugged best you could with his hand wrapped tightly around your arm. “I’m reckless. What’s your point?” He shouldn’t have even asked. Din shook his head and mumbled curses under his breath. He was able to get you a few more streets over before you cried out in pain and hunched over. “Ow, ow. Wait⏤ Hang on.”

Din’s feet skidded to a stop. “What?”

“My leg. I just⏤ Let me lean for a second, okay?” You grunted and limped over with him in tow to lean against a hand railing. Din looked for any obvious injuries. “You’ve been dragging me down the road, you ass.”

Guilt rolled through him like a crashing wave no matter how much he tried to hold it back. His fingers loosened around your upper arm. Half a sigh left his lips a fist suddenly slammed up into his side right under his diaphragm making his breath stutter. Din spun, but you had already hooked one end of the binders around his wrist and the other to the metal bar you had been leaned against. He went to grab you, but you threw yourself over the bar and away from him. His hand shot to his blaster, but Din found it in your hand.

“How…” He breathed and glanced down at his situation.

Din reached for the keys on his belt, but while one of your hands held him at blaster point the other held up the keys. He blinked in shock. Din would never admit it aloud, he could barely admit it to himself, but he was mildly impressed. In fact, he’d be very impressed if his anger wasn’t overshadowing everything else.

“I’m a pickpocket. Should’ve warned you.” You shrugged. “Listen, how about we end our working relationship here.” Din huffed and tried to pull his arm free from the metal bar uselessly. “I’ve hit all the cantinas I need to in this city so I’m gonna be on my way, and I’m gonna leave you here. Let’s just agree to part ways as bitter friends.”

Din gnashed his teeth. “Release me. Now.”

“Yikes.” You made a clicking noise with your mouth. “You’re not exactly in the position to be making demands, bucket head.” You threw the key over your shoulder and then tossed the blaster as well⏤ so both would be out of reach from him. “It was so nice to meet you, by the way. Would love to never meet up again.”

You winked at him and he glared at you the entire time you sprinted away. Din turned to the pram to see Grogu had already opened the hatch and was staring at him. Din tugged on the binders once more, fruitlessly, then motioned to them. Grogu hopped out of his pram with a mischievous giggle and Din let his head fall against the metal bar with a ‘clang’. 

The Mandalorian was pestering. You had a bad feeling he wouldn’t just give up. In fact, arguably, he could come after you with a vengeance after you hooked him to a metal bar. He’d get out free, but you hoped you could get a few worlds away before he did. You had a feeling no matter who he asked on the street to grab the key and blaster they’d steer around him without making eye contact. The faults of being an intimidating Mandalorian, you supposed.

You were on your way back to the local tarmac in hopes that you could bum a ride off someone. As you walked, you had pulled out your list to scratch names off. Technically, there were a few other places you needed to check, other cities, but it’d be a little awkward for you to sit in your third cantina of this world and have the Mandalorian walk in again. Maybe for now you’d put off the rest of Bespin and come back later.

“Lookie, lookie.” A whiny voice sang in a tone that made you wince. A slimy looking human stepped into your path from around the corner. A group of four other unfamiliar men stepped out behind him. He whistled. “The Mandalorian’s friend is all alone.”

You narrowed your eyes in disbelief. “Friend? Excuse me?”

“Don’t play coy.” He snapped. “We saw you with him.”

“Yeah, alright, and what part of seeing us together made you think we’re friends?” You scoffed. “Was it the part where I broke a bar stool over his head or when he put me in a pair of binders?”

The men behind the first began to mumble skeptically, but the first refused to cave, “No, no. I’m telling you the two of them are⏤ look! Look, here he comes to save her already!” You stiffened in shock and whirled around to see the silver Mandalorian stalking toward you from down the road. How in the hell had he gotten out that quickly? “What did I tell you, boys?”

You scanned the area. To your right were the backs of buildings and the closest alley was further down, beyond the men blocking you. To your left was literally nothing. A protective guard rail and a view of the clouds. So that was out. And now you had a fucking bounty hunter stalking you from behind. Great.

“How about this,” You hissed, “Let me pass then you can beat up on the tin can, yeah?”

“Boss, I don’t think she’s⏤”

“Fine, fine, whatever.” The man snapped. “Get the kriff out of our way.” You gave the Mandalorian, who had paused, a brief salute and hurried past the men who left a space for you. You got a few steps away when you heard the man speak once more. “Don’t forget, I want that beskar. As for the kid, we can just sell it.”

You came to a screeching stop. A chill ran up your spine. A kid? You turned around to see the men slowly approaching the Mandalorian who continued to stand his ground. The pram behind him now rested right beside him and the hatch was open to reveal a small, green creature with large ears and wide, innocent eyes. A kid. Fuck.

The men had completely forgotten about you to focus on the Mandalorian so not a single one of them noticed when you began to approach them once more. In a swift, practiced motion, you drew your dagger and threw it with a precision that came from years of ingrained muscle memory. The blade buried itself into the back of the closest man, and his scream of agony made his friends pause and whirl back around. The Mandalorian took this as his opportunity to strike.

You lunged forward to get your blade back while hiding behind the man’s body best you could to avoid being hit by stray blaster fire. He spun, startling you, and began to swing out to try and make contact. You ducked under his arms to avoid a blow but that put you further into the fray. You didn’t notice the attack coming from your side until an elbow slammed into your face. You heard a crunch, felt the warm blood spray down your face, and with a groan, you hit the ground dazed. One on one you did fairly well in a fight, but more than that and you struggled. You rolled over and glanced up to see even more people showed up to the fight⏤ all friends of the ones you were fighting. They came up from behind the Mandalorian. 

Once you were on the ground, it seemed like nobody cared about your presence at all. They swarmed the bounty hunter in a mass. You knew beskar was rare, but this seemed like overkill. A young cry filled the air and you spotted one of the men rushing toward you with a squirming bundle in his arms. The roar of anger that left the Mandalorian was ground shaking, words in a language you didn’t recognize ringing loudly, and it was followed by a wave of fire from his vambrace as he took on every single adversary that came at him.

You jumped up as the guy with the kid rushed by, and on instinct you ran after. Your face throbbed with pain, but you didn't let it hinder your speed. Luck was on your side and the man ended up cornering himself by staying too close to the railing. When he tried to turn down a different road you were able to cut him off and back him up against the guard rail once more. 

He reached for the blaster at his hip, but you were faster. You drew the weapon from under your jacket and aimed it at his head. “Don’t.”

“What?” The man narrowed his eyes. “What the kriff is that?”

“Firearm.” You replied. “Nice, isn’t it?” He shifted and you tilted your head. “The slug in this weapon isn’t meant for you. Set the kid down, and I’ll let you walk away.”

The child in his arms squirmed enough to be able to look at you and even from this distance you still couldn’t tell what species it was. But, you could see the kid was young⏤ a toddler at best. You stayed firm in your stance, and the man was nervously shifting as if trying to gauge how serious you were. As if to prove your point further, you pulled back on the revolver’s hammer so the slug clicked into place.

Slowly, the man held the kid away from his chest in surrender but he stopped suddenly, “How do I know you won’t shoot me the second I hand the kid over?”

“I told you,” You said, “This slug has someone else’s name on it.”

“What about the Mandalorian?” He cried. “He’ll kill me.”

“Probably.” You shrugged. “But I figure, you set the kid down and you’ll have time to run at the very least. You hurt the kid, and that block of angry beskar is going to stomp your teeth down your throat.” You gave him a mocking grin. “So, make your choice and make it quick.”

Blaster fire came much too close and you had to duck to avoid being hit by a stray bolt. The Mandalorian was barreling in your direction while the last few fighters fired after him. He barked something and you turned back to see the man holding the kid had been hit. He slumped to the side, hitting the guard rail, and with a surprised chirp the kid went right over the side of the city. 

You dropped the firearm and leapt over the edge right after him.

It was perhaps one of your least thought out plans, but the moment your hands grasped the kid you spun in the air and used all the momentum you had to throw him right back over the rail. The few broken bones or concussion he might get from being thrown so violently was better than the fate you were about to meet. Loud wind whipped past you as you fell. This is not how you thought you’d be leaving the world of the living and despite your entire body being filled to the brim with terror and fear as you hurtled through the air there was still just enough room for regret to take root.

Not regret at leaping over the edge for a kid you didn’t know.

Regret that you never got to see the life leave Viktor’s greedy eyes.

Nothing could have surprised you more than a solid force tackling you from behind. The air left your lungs while firm arms wrapped around you and the trajectory of your fall changed as you were suddenly being rocketed up. Glancing over your shoulder best you could, you spotted a chest of silver beskar. Before you could comprehend what was happening your feet touched down on solid ground. The hands wrapped around you dropped and you found yourself falling to your hands and knees⏤ still shaky from falling a few hundred feet.

“Patu.” A chirp followed by excited babbling made you lift your head to see the child standing right in front of you. He reached out and gave your face a little pat. He looked entirely unharmed. The situation was starting to become clear once more and you saw your firearm lying on the ground out of your peripherals. 

You lunged for the weapon, but a heavy boot dropped down to rest on it⏤ pining it to the ground. Sheepishly, you peered up to see the Mandalorian staring down at you with his hands on his hips. You pressed your lips together and then scrunched your nose out of habit only to wince in pain from the movement. You cleared your throat. “We, uh, need to stop meeting like this.”

“Get up.” He said tensely. You sighed and pushed to stand, dusting off your pants, and tried to puzzle out if you could make a clean getaway by breaking into a sprint now. The Mandalorian stepped forward, lifting a hand to your face and you flinched back. “Stop. Stay still.”

The bounty hunter’s hands cupped your face in an almost tender way. Your eyes widened in confusion both at his actions and the flickering flame of warmth that sparked in your belly at being this close to a man who was hunting you. His hands shifted, thumbs tracing your cheekbones, and then he used both thumbs to snap your nose into place. You let out a howl of pain and shoved him back, “What the⏤” You lifted to touch your nose and realized it wasn’t nearly as tender anymore. “What the hell, man!?”

“Your nose was broken.” He replied.

“Yeah? Well, warn a girl!” You scoffed.

The Mandalorian tilted his head. “Would you have let me fix it if I warned you?” No. Of course not. You mocked him under your breath by mumbling his words. He nodded. “Thank you.”

“Hmm?”

“Thank you. For saving my son.”

You glanced back at the small child standing by your boot now. He gave your leg a little pat before waddling over to this father. The Mandalorian picked him up and you wondered if the man under the armor was just as green as the kid. How did he fit ears like that under his helmet?

You pointed down to his boot, “That’s mine. Giving it back to me and letting me walk away would be a real cool thank you gift.” The metal pram from earlier drifted toward the two of you and when it came to a stop the boy jumped from the armored arms holding him into the floating crib. You were surprised to see the man move his boot out of the way and bend over to pick up your weapon. The Mandalorian held it out to you and your lips twitched up in excitement. “Glad to see we could settle this, bucket head.”

The second your hand grabbed the firearm you realized he wasn’t letting it go, but before you could tug or even speak his other hand shot up and clicked one binder around your wrist. You gasped, “You dick.” You could’ve sworn a chuckle left the helmet’s modulator. He tucked the firearm into his belt and then clicked the other half of the binder to his own wrist. “Is this because I called you bucket head?”

“That didn’t help.”

“So, I save your kid, and you still arrest me?”

“Yes.” He nodded and leaned into your space to pull the blade from the sheath around your thigh. He tucked that into his belt as well and took a few steps away. You dug your heels in. “Walk.”

“What about⏤”

“Walk.”

You grumbled in annoyance and picked up your feet. He seemed nonplussed with having to drag you down the road and it looked like his end goal was the tarmac where you had initially planned to be. The pram lingered beside you and the green child was babbling excitedly as if the two of you were having a full blown conversation. You kept glancing at him out of the corner of your eye.

“Your kid talks a lot.” You said, tugging on the arm connected to him⏤ not that it seemed to bother him.

“So do you.” He hit back.

“That’s…fair.” You admitted. “Where are you taking the savior of your child?”

“I could’ve saved him without you.”

You scoffed, “Yeah, well, if I knew you had a kriffing jackpack I would’ve let you.” The Mandalorian came to a sudden stop and it jerked on your arm. “Bucket head, come on! Seriously?”

“You didn’t know I had a jetpack?”

You narrowed your eyes at him trying to figure out the catch behind this obvious trick question. You shook your head. “Why would I know that?”

“When we met, I saw you watching me.” He replied. “You were checking me for all my weapons.”

You winked, “Maybe I was just checking you out.”

“Stop.” The Mandalorian said firmly and started walking again. The two of you got a few more feet before he spoke up once more. “If you didn’t know I had a jetpack, why would you jump over the edge?”

“Did you miss the part where your kid went flying over first?”

“You’d be willing to die for a stranger?”

You shrugged. “He’s a kid.” The Mandalorian stopped again and turned to stare at you. Your eyebrows furrowed in mild annoyance. Why was this conversation still happening? Maker, at this point you were hoping to be thrown in a carbonite freezer just to avoid his heavy gaze and questions. “Can you finish arresting me please?”

After a beat, the Mandalorian began to walk and you took that as a victory. You’d take what you could get today.

Watching that bastard grab Grogu and run away while he was left trapped in a mob of smugglers was the most rage Din had felt in quite a long time. He had been ruthless in cutting down the men that swarmed him, and he would’ve killed every last one in that moment if he had the time. As soon as he had a window, Din was sprinting after the man who had taken his son. 

Din hadn’t even realized you were still around until he saw you holding the man at the end of your weapon. The blaster bolts that fired around him missed you by an inch, but it hit the man right in the side and all of Din’s rage turned to fear when he watched Grogu get thrown over the edge. Even knowing he’d be able to fly after him⏤ it didn’t stop his stomach from turning to lead. Then fear morphed into absolute confusion when he watched you drop your weapon and literally leap over the railing. You disappeared out of sight and seconds later Grogu came flying over the railing back to safety. Din lunged forward to catch the kid before he hit the ground.

“Gev!” Din set Grogu on the ground, pointing at the boy to make it known he was serious, and then Din dove over the edge.

He didn’t understand, couldn’t fathom, what was going through your head. What kind of quarry would stop mid-escape to risk their life in the way you had? You had been in the clear. The smuggler’s let you pass and instead of disappearing when the opportunity presented itself, you came back and stabbed one of them. Din hated to admit it, but he had also been very aware that you stayed in the fight and he had a visceral reaction to watching you get elbowed in the face hard enough to collapse.

It was how the smugglers got the opportunity to grab Grogu.

Like a kriffing idiot, he had gotten distracted and nearly lost his son because of it.

‘He’s a kid.’ Your voice echoed through his head the entire walk to the tarmac. Initially, Din had been confused why you’d trust him to actually catch you. Did you actually know who he was? Your soulmate? And you assumed he’d have to catch you? But, when you admitted that you had no idea he even had a jetpack, Din felt floored. You hadn’t jumped over the edge trusting he’d catch you. You jumped over the edge thinking it was going to be the last thing you ever did, and you did it to save a stranger. No, a kid. That’s what you said. The look on your face, the tone of your voice, it was natural instinct for you. The obvious choice. 

You hadn’t given sacrificing your life for a child a second thought.

Din hadn’t decided yet if that made you honorable or insane.

A thought drifted through him before he could stop it. It was an action taken right out of a Mandalorian’s playbook. He forced it out of his head. You were not a Mandalorian. You were a quarry wanted for slave trading. A quarry. His soulmate quarry. Dank farrik. Din lowered the ramp of the Razor Crest and led you on. 

“Can I use the fresher before you shove me in carbonite?” Din did a double take at your words⏤ a common occurrence with you he was learning. You seemed to be entirely serious with your request though. You shrugged nonchalantly. “Being frozen with a full bladder is miserable.”

“You’ve been in carbonite before?”

You paused then pointed to your face with a tight lipped smile. “Bounty.”

“I’m not putting you in carbonite.” Din replied. He ignored the confusion drawn on your features and closed the ramp. Din then unlatched the binders and pointed down the very short hall. When Peli had rebuilt the Crest for him he had it modified for just a bit more space, but the fresher was nearly laid out in the same position. “Fresher’s that way. There’s no weapons in there.”

Din wanted to get the ship up in the air right now, but he didn’t trust you not to make a break for it. He got Grogu settled with a ration bar and then he perched himself on the edge of a supply crate facing toward the fresher. While waiting, Din pulled your weapon out from his belt and admired the metal work. A slugthrower. Impressive. He hadn’t seen one in a hot minute, and this one was built by someone who knew what they were doing. The dark metal was carved with swirls and designs of gold. The handle carved in wood and ivory. Though he hadn’t seen one in ages, Din was familiar with firearms. He popped out the ornate cylinder and raised an eyebrow at the single slug loaded in. All other five slots were empty.

The other weapon you carried was a simple metal dagger. Not as rare, but vibroblades were more popular. 

The mystery of who you were seemed to grow with every second he was stuck with you.

Din set the firearm down by his thigh and unintentionally his hand drifted up to rest over his left ribcage where your words stained his skin. ‘Would you really arrest your soulmate?’ All those years he thought those words, rolled them around in his head, there was a sharp difference. Now, he heard the words in your voice rather than his own. Even once he rid himself of you, that would linger.

He heard you shifting in the fresher and drew his own blaster to rest on his thigh⏤ pointed toward where you’d be, but with the trigger finger resting on the side of the weapon. He didn’t think he’d need to use it, but if Din had learned one thing about you thus far it was that you were unpredictable.

The fresher doors slid open and you stepped out. When your eyes landed on him, you let out a huff and lifted your hands in surrender. “You did a lot of work to just shoot me now.” Din motioned to the ladder leading up into the cockpit with his blaster. “You… want me to climb?” He pushed off the crate and gave a single nod. “Yeah, alright, sure.” You sighed and walked to the ladder. You paused to glance over your shoulder to Grogu who was still scarfing down his ration bar. “Your dad is kind of a dick. Anybody tell you that before?”

“Buir!” Grogu laughed and followed it with babbling.

“I’m taking that as a yes.” You mumbled to yourself and began to climb. Din followed. He wanted answers from you as much as he wanted to get off this world. At the top of the ladder, Din passed you and ushered you into the cockpit. He pointed to the passenger seat and didn’t miss how you rolled your eyes before dropping down. Din took his own seat, but spun the pilot’s chair around to face you first. He pulled the binders from his belt.

“Hands.” He ordered.

“Oh, good.” You smirked and offered him your wrists. “I was starting to miss these things.”

Din clamped them in place then turned back to begin lift off. It wasn’t until hyperspace that he turned back around, and Din was startled to see your eyes had been drooping closed. At his movement, they snapped open once more and your posture stiffened. He took the moment to really soak you in. Specifically, he let his eyes trace the golden band around your neck⏤ the lights of hyperspace reflected off the material same as it did his own beskar. At first glance, he’d label it a gaudy accessory that didn’t match the worn down nature of the rest of your outfit. However, even from here Din could see the faint scars that half hid under the gold. 

It wasn’t a necklace. It was a collar.

“What now, bucket head?”

“Now, you tell me why someone who is clever enough to escape multiple bounty hunters is reckless enough to visit another cantina right after running into me.”

You shrugged. “Maybe you’re not as intimidating as you think you are.”

Din leaned back in his seat, arms crossed, “All the other hunters find you in bars as well. Why’s a slave trader visiting every cantina in the galaxy?”

He really doubted the backstory the bounty puck was giving him now, seeing the metal that adorned your neck, but Din wanted to see your reaction. There was a brief flash of anger across your face, gone as quick as it came, and Din could tell you were biting the inside of your cheek to refrain from saying whatever words were spinning around in your head right now. Finally, you smirked, “I’m on the search for the galaxy’s best cocktail.” You leaned forward. “You wouldn’t believe what world is in the lead, Mandalorian.”

Din wasn’t sure what was more ironic⏤ that fate lumped him together with a quarry or that fate picked a person who never knew when to shut up. He shook his head, “You asked me earlier what it would take to get me off your back.” Your eyes marginally widened. “Do you still want to know?”

“Name it.” You answered.

“I want answers.” He stressed and watched as your jaw locked in irritation again. “What are you searching the galaxy for?”

For a long moment, you just stared at him. Din could see you analyzing him. It was that simple action, and the way he saw you sizing him up when you first met, that told him you weren’t just some mouthy, arrogant idiot. You were clever. It was probably how you escaped so many bounty hunters in the past. 

You shrugged, “Revenge.”

The answer didn’t necessarily startle him. It was only revenge, love, and greed that could have someone dedicate so much time to their end goal. Piecing together the parts of the puzzle he had gave him a blurry image. Din nodded, “Whoever you’re going after, do they deserve it?”

“Yes.” You replied without even a pause. “They do.”

You didn’t fully understand the line of questioning being thrown your way, but considering the options it wasn’t the worst scenario you found yourself in. The Mandalorian had turned back around without another word after asking you his last question and it now left you sitting in your seat exhausted and confused. More than anything you craved sleep. After your last 24 hours that wasn’t surprising. What did surprise you was how easily you were dozing off while being in this too small cockpit with the Mandalorian bounty hunter. It was like your stupid body didn’t perceive him as a current threat.

Maybe he wasn’t. He said he wasn’t going to throw you in the carbonite freezer, and from what you knew about Mandalorians they were the type who held honor above nearly everything else. You had given your freedom to save his kid and you prayed he didn’t take that action lightly. 

“I have another question.” The Mandalorian spoke without turning.

“Alright, but if you get another one then I’m allowed one now too.” You argued.

You just barely saw the tilt of his helmet in agreement. A part of you hoped he was done questioning you about your goals in life. It wasn’t a topic you wanted to explore any further with this stranger. But, the Mandalorian caught you off guard by veering far away from his previous questions.

“What you said when we met…” He hummed, “What did you mean by that?”

“The soulmate thing?” You snorted. “Yeah, hilarious, isn’t it? You spooked me for a second with how quiet you got after I said it, but now I know silence is just your go-to intimidation tactic, bucket head.” From where you sat you could see him stiffen and assumed it was from your chosen nickname for him. “Does your kind even have soulmates? Do I need to explain⏤”

“My kind?” He finally glanced over at you.

“Yeah. Whatever you are.”

“I’m human.”

You rolled your eyes. “Okay, you’re not allowed to sound so surprised that I didn’t know. You’re covered from head to toe in metal, and I just assumed you were the same kind as your kid.”

“Grogu was…adopted.” He replied. 

Huh. Grogu. That was the kid’s name. Well, that was one of two that you got. You leaned forward, resting your elbows on your knees after he turned back around to scan a map on the control panel. “So? What do I call you then? What’s your name?”

“Mando. You can call me Mando.”

“Mando as in Mandalorian?” You laughed. “Maker, even ‘bucket head’ is more imaginative than that. You seriously go by that?” Mando didn’t reply and you snickered some more under your breath before leaning back. “I’ll consider it, bucket head.”

You could hear him mumble a string of words that you were going to assume was his native language. You'd also assume he was cursing. That's usually the response you got. The cockpit was filled with the comfortable silence of hyperspace and despite being seated on a metal chair, you began to doze off again. It was getting harder and harder to keep your heavy lids open, and faintly you thought you heard the Mandalorian speak once more before you lost the battle against unconsciousness.

“Sleep, mirdala runi. You’re safe.”

mando'a translations:

gev: stop (stay) /// buir: Parent (father) /// mirdala runi: Clever soul

taglist: @onceinamando @hrtsforpascal @lil-dragon-draws @harriedandharassed @aheadfullofsteverogers @elfamosotoga @the-anchored-sailor-girl @garbo-lesbo @moonlqghts @stokeholdsblogdsblog @morks-watermelon @http-onie

[djarinsbeskar]

HERE, THERE BE MONSTERS: THE MINOTAUR PART 2

A/N: Imagine not updating a fic for nearly two years... hah-- couldn't be me (sweats). But my Minotaur is one of my most darling boys and I just couldn't leave him sitting in my drafts. Special thanks to the #1 Minotaur fan probably ever @astroboots for giving this a look over and for being the biggest hype woman for out hornyed hero. Artwork by machiavellicro on deviantart!

Pairing: Minotaur!Din Djarin x Nymph!Reader

Rating: Explicit (18+ NO Minors)

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: gross misuse of mythology, mentions of unsolicited attention/dub-con, discrimination and prejudice, suggestive themes. Reminder that this is a MONSTER FUCKING fic, so be warned for future chapters.

NOTICE: I learned the new lay of the land, so there's no more taglist. Instead you can turn on notifications for @djarinsbeskar-writes to stay up to date.

Prev Next

Day 1

The stars were veiled.

Something hovered just out of sight that impeded your view of them. They remained dim despite the darkness and shied their faces away from shining down on such a netherworld.

You’d never felt so alone.

Taken immediately from Hera’s court, the guards who had once addressed you as familiars, friends and lovers over the years escorted you to your prison with rough hands and cold hearts. In that moment, they became strangers to you, and you had to wonder if you ever knew any of them at all.

A sprawling void of space greeted you when you arrived. A no man’s land forsaken by the gods as unconquerable, and those that lived trapped within its ever-growing perimeter at the mercy of the beast that prowled with eerie bellows and heavy footfalls.

Half man, half beast. With the horns of a bull and the strength to match, you feared you wouldn’t survive the night as you were pushed unceremoniously through the outer hedge.

You squeaked – frightened – and stumbled through the dense brambles that should have prevented your entry, but instead dragged you in deeper with thorny, greedy branches snagging on soft skin and the wafer-thin linen of your dress.

You fell to your knees on the other side, hands sinking immediately into a morass of mossy, damp earth. Hair falling around you in a tangle, you blew at the strands futilely before giving up and used your hands to push them back instead.

Scrambling to your feet, the dainty sandals you normally wore were useless against this unrelenting land. You’d never had to worry about footwear before… you hardly even needed it dancing under the moonlight or swimming among the stars.

The breathless, euphoric laughter of that time felt eons ago as your lungs constricted with fear.

Just breathe, you coached yourself, in and out… in and out.

It wasn’t working.

Not when your eyes finally moved past the initial, blinding panic to take in your surroundings. What you could see of them, anyway. A coffin of shrubbery greeted you on all sides, so tall they practically eclipsed the sky, the air cloying with a simmering malice you were reluctant to inhale as it tightened around your windpipe with the flex of a brutal grip.

And still, your wracked breathing was too loud in the oppressive silence.

Disturbed carrion birds flying overhead made you jump, squeezing your eyes closed reflexively. A fell wind followed the birds, blowing through the maze ruthlessly. It howled and whipped up the detritus as you folded in on yourself for protection, screaming in your ears with the anguish of those who found themselves trapped here.

However, unlike their torment, the wind eventually passed, and you cracked an eye open warily.

The labyrinth had changed.

Already? You thought with a hitched sob, swallowing it soon after lest you burst into tears and never stop.

There hadn’t been a path behind you where you first fell through the hedging. But by the looks of the narrow stretch of dirt that eventually became clouded by fog, you were deeper into the labyrinth than you first anticipated.

The thought had your stomach sinking.

There went your plan to keep to the perimeter in the vain hope of possibly escaping. You had no choice but to follow the path, deeper into the maze and towards the maw of the beast that inhabited it.

The wind returned intermittently, sometimes changing the labyrinth, sometimes not. Sometimes, it revealed hidden holes between hedgerows that led to another pathway that – while thrilling initially – proved just as complex and endless as the path you escaped from.

Hours of walking and nothing changed.

You were completely lost.

Tears spilled freely down your face now as you tried to stifle the sobs that escaped on every hiccupped inhale when your doom finally dawned on you. No one was coming to save you. Your feet hurt, your dress was filthy, and you were freezing.

You just wanted to go home.

But there was no one to hear your sorrow or respond to your pain. No one to care for you or comfort you or tell you that everything would be okay. You were alone after an eternity of living amongst others.

How little you knew of your own self.

Your vision blurry, you swiped the back of your hand across your eyes to glance at the next intersection of more dreary hedges. Quelling your sniffles, you listened. Trying to pick out any sound that wasn’t the breeze or your misery. A din of chatter or a chime of music, a—

Wait.

You held your breath. Was that—?

There!

A faint gurgle of running water filled your heart with song. There was a river nearby! Or a stream at the very least. You wanted to squeal at just the sound of something other than the wind and rustling branches you’d been subjected to for the last few hours.

And a river meant you could finally bathe.

It was hardly the most useful thing you could’ve done. You should have been looking for shelter, for warmth, for company and safety in numbers, but just the thought of getting clean… it was something familiar and you couldn’t let it go. It was something you would do whether at home among the stars, in the residencies of various deities or indeed, even here, in hell.

Yes, you smiled as bravely as you could, a bath would make everything better.

But you still had to find said river and that proved more than difficult. It was nigh on impossible after several more hours of walking.

Your grand plan of keeping left as much as possible proved fruitless as you came upon two dead ends that forced you to double back until you were confused again. It seemed like the promise of getting clean was growing less and less likely, your feet aching, and spirit defeated.

What a cruel… cruel place…

It was during your pursuit of water, however, that you happened upon the first settlement unfortunate enough to have been swallowed by the maze.

Doors latched shut and chimney’s smoking, you mistook the warm glow behind shuttered windows for warm inhabitants. But this was the labyrinth. No one cared for a sobbing woman banging at their doors for help, whether she was innocent or not.

You carried the condemnation of a goddess and for that you were shunned by even those forsaken by Olympus.

“Please, help me…” you hiccupped, voice raw when your forehead met the cold wood of the last door you tried to no avail, self-pity turning your fear to fury for a white-hot second. “It wasn’t my fault! It wasn’t me… he—”

Your voice broke as it rose, agony bringing you to your knees on the doorstep of indifference.

“Why won’t anyone listen!” You roared at the door, your face a mess of tears and a supernova of hurt illuminating your irises.

“Damnable woman!”

Everything that followed happened in a blur. The door flew open far enough for the man on the other side to shove you off his doorstep where you fell back on your bottom heavily.

“You’ll bring him here with all your wailing.” A frosty, uncompromising glare met you where the human looked down his nose at you. “Take your wickedness away. We might all be prisoners here, but do not think for a second that makes us the same. We were born into this hell, you were sentenced to it, filth.”

“But I—” You scrambled back to your knees only to be met with a bucket of dirty water that chilled you to the bone.

“There, consider it a gift.” He scoffed. “He won’t be able to smell you under all that for a while. Be grateful for this much and leave our village in peace!”

You sat frozen, in shock and unable to speak or move or do anything as the door was slammed in your face once more. Humans had… never treated you this way before and even though you knew their cruelty could rival the gods, it shook you to your core to be on the receiving end of both.

A rank smell made you gag, breaking your stony cage enough for you to get back up on shaky legs and leave.

Suddenly, scattered cottages became bear traps in your eyes, and you fled from them lest you get punished by their fiery teeth once again.

The maze was safer and, perhaps it was coincidence, but when you came across a lazily meandering river breaking the perpetual rows of hedging minutes later, you chose to believe the land had rewarded you for thinking as such. Turning your face up to the kraken-cruel clouds above, tears tracked through the stains on your face gratefully.

How odd… where before gifts of splendour hardly made you bat an eye; you’d never felt more thankful to an environment that was technically your foe for merely leading you to a river.

When you looked back down to take in your surroundings, you were shocked to see trees line the far side of the river in place of towering hedges. A forest lay within the maze, a fact you’d never heard about in rumours before. But then, an endless forest could be as disorienting as the labyrinth itself… so you didn’t count yourself lucky just yet.

But first… you stripped.

Down to the nude, your nipples pebbled at the cool air as you kicked off your ruined shoes to step into the gentle course of the water. Cold! You shivered. Accustomed to more tepid warm waters, the cold was startling on your soft body.

Baths here were less about enjoyment and more about brevity, you supposed.

You gave yourself a hurried wash, scrubbing yourself free of the dirt and grime and who knew what else had been in that water you’d been drenched in. Cupping the water over your hair, the back of your neck prickled from something other than the cold, but when you looked back, only ominous shadows greeted your paranoid gaze.

Right, you swallowed around the bulbous lump of fear in your throat, best not to linger. Something told you staying in one place for too long would spell disaster.

That in mind and with a wrinkle of your nose, you pulled back on your soiled dress with the promise to wash it during the daytime. A soaking dress during the night would only make things more miserable for you, after all.

And that was how you made your way into the forest, for nothing else if but a change of scenery and hopefully, a safe enough place to rest your weary, heartbroken bones.

It wasn’t half an hour later, though, that the same patch of grass where your dress had lain while you bathed was disturbed anew. A scent, tempered by filth that irritated his nostrils, cut through the bloodlust that guided him every night and caught his attention. That, and a trail of light powder clinging to the grass like morning dew.

It led him to the water’s edge, a great horned shadow that hushed even the rivers gentle gurgle when his eyes fell upon it.

The powder clung to him when he touched it, iridescent specks catching in the reflection of his dark eyes before he brought it to his muzzle and sniffed. His pupils dilated, starlight catching like kindling in the back of his mind, his body responding.

An exhaled plume of condensation sent the dust into the air where it scattered like the spray of blood from his last victim’s jugular.

Stardust…

He crouched low to find the scent again, picking it up over the water where his long tongue moved distractedly over his muzzle to catch what remained of the powder there. Suddenly, lust of a different kind rose to battle with his insatiable desire to spill blood, and the trajectory of his hunt changed.

A star had fallen into his domain, and he was going to find it.

[decembermidnight]

Ner Mircet'ad (My Slave)

Summary: The Mandalorian breaks into the Imperial safehouse where you're held captive and kidnaps you to use you as his slave... and you're not complaining. Kinktober 2023 special

Pairing: Din Djarin x f!reader

Word count: 4.6k

Warnings: no plot - just smut, 18+ mdni, CNC, kidnapping, handcuffs, use of gag, bondage, dom!Din, sub!reader, unprotected sex (p in v), oral (m receiving), tease and denial, edging (m and f), creampie, cumplay, degradation kink, Mando'a speaking kink, dirty talk, face slapping, glove kink

A/N: Happy Kinktober! Here's my contribution! This should have been a fantasy of the reader in another story but I got a little carried away and it became its own oneshot. I'm feral about how it turned out. See below for Mando'a translations. I hope you enjoy it!

Divider: @saradika-graphics

You only saw him a few hours before, when he entered the Imperial safehouse where you’re held captive, forced to work as a scientist at the facility.

You couldn’t take your eyes off him - tall, broad shoulders, mysterious, a dark and raspy voice that made you melt in an instant. You have heard he’s one of the best bounty hunters in the outer rim. He acted disdainful towards the Imperials, pointing his rifle at them as soon as he perceived a hint of menace.

You looked at him completely entranced the whole time, devouring him with your eyes. You noticed he tilted his helmet towards you more than once, and felt his hunter gaze scouting your figure as he barely paid attention to the Imperial officer talking to him.

When he left, you felt the urge to immediately go touch yourself.

You locked the lab door behind you and slipped your hand in your panties. You sighed when you reached your slit and felt you were drenched at the mere thought of him. You started circling your fingers around your swollen clit and rested your head against the steel door behind you. Your mouth let out a groan too loud and instinctively your free hand went covering it to muffle how much thinking about the Mandalorian warrior was getting you off.

You let your body slide down until you were kneeling on the floor with your legs spread open. You thought of how hot his masculine voice would sound moaning your name while you’d be on your knees sucking his cock. You circled your clit in a frenzy, trying to be as silent as possible, but the wet noises of your arousal were betraying you. You thought of his heavy, thick body on yours, of how hard he’d fuck you, of him panting in your ear. Those thoughts drove you over the edge and felt the hot spark of the orgasm setting you aflame. You squeezed your eyes shut and had to hold your breath as that hot wave of pleasure was traversing your whole body, reducing you to a weak, trembling mess collapsed on the lab floor.

The very same night he comes for you.

He breaks into the safehouse, exterminating everyone in it, mercilessly, using his huge rifle, and then he opens the door to your room and finds you there, laying in your bed, still half asleep, scared and disoriented by all the noise, dressed only in a light nightgown.

In a second he is on you, his heavy armoured body is preventing you from moving. You do not even attempt to resist him, you stay completely still and carefully observe every action he does.

He’s holding both of your wrists in the tight grip of one of his hands, as the other one rummages in his utility belt to take out handcuffs, which he immediately uses on you.

You feel a tingle of excitement as his fingers slowly loosen their grasp and start to lightly trail down your naked arm, until they reach your neckline, where they delicately pull the fabric of your dress down to free one of your breasts.

He admires your hardened nipple, tilting his helmet sideways as his middle finger gently brushes it, drawing circles around it. You sigh at the tender touch of the leather against your sensitive skin, and when he hears that sound, his inscrutable visor immediately jerks towards your face, to look at your aroused expression.

To your disappointment, his hand stops touching your nipple, goes back to his utility belt and takes out a piece of cloth with which he gags you - not because he needs to prevent you from screaming and pleading for your life, no. You immediately realise that he’s turned on by it - treating you like one of his preys, hunting you, kidnapping you, making you his. The thought of it gets you more and more aroused the more this unspoken, borderline wicked dynamic plays between the two of you.

He then picks you up from your bed and carries you on his shoulder like his trophy through the dark, desert streets of Nevarro, all the way back to his ship, where he lays your body down on the cold steel floor and fixes your handcuffed hands to the bottom rung of the ladder leading to the cockpit.

He kneels before you and rips your thin clothes off with his hands, rabid and longing, making you gasp in arousal at that vulgar display of strength, and looks at your naked body and at the marvellous way it responds to him, so eager at the thought of being owned by him.

When his hands start to touch your body and you feel the leather of his gloves against your skin, you let out a deep, muffled moan and pathetically try to follow his movements with your body, craving for more contact.

He indulges on your breasts, tender and soft, groping and squeezing them. His touch is unexpectedly delicate, and you carefully follow it with your eyes, seeing the way he makes you simmer as he takes all the time he wants to reduce you to a whimpering mess.

He plays with your nipples, feeling how hard they get with just the brush of his fingers circling them, making them hard and stiff.

Use me. Use me. Use me. You beg for him with your muffled voice and body language.

His hands then trail down to your soft belly and round hips. He caresses and squeezes your feminine curves, longing for the moment when he'll finally dig his fingers into them while using you for his pleasure.

You can’t help spreading your legs for him, letting him have a look at your glistening core, already so wet for him, warm and inviting. He lets out a low, guttural hum when he sees how yearning and desperate you are for his touch, knowing his painfully slow teasing is working wonders on you.

His fingers trail so close to your wet folds, and the whimpering noises you make are absolutely pathetic as he taunts you, softly brushing your inner thighs and outer lips without touching your most sensitive spot yet. Your breathing gets laboured as he gets close to your clit and barely brushes it, teasing you, making you stutter with a brief, imperceptible touch, only to proceed down your slit and slide two fingers inside of you, making you arch your back in pleasure, moaning as loud as you can as you clench around them.

"You like this, don't you?" he asks as he takes out his fingers, completely soaking wet. He seems so pleased as he admires the leather of his gloves glistening in your arousal.

"Go on. Taste yourself on my fingers." he ungags you as he pushes them inside your mouth.

You obediently suck his fingers, gently licking them with your tongue, tasting the salty of your arousal, the bitterness of the leather and the faint metallic taste left by his guns. You look at him with lustful eyes right in his visor as your tongue swirls around his fingers, letting him know with your gestures that you'd suck his cock any time he wants, that all you care for in the galaxy is just to give him pleasure.

He hums in satisfaction, thinking of the way your sweet mouth will welcome his cock, how far it'll go into your throat, and how badly he wants to cover your pretty face in cum.

He takes out his fingers from your mouth and gags you once again. After that, he stands up and goes to his well-stocked armoury, taking some ropes out and coming back kneeling between your legs. He spreads them even more open, to the limit, and enjoys the view of your achingly needy cunt, drawing a few circles on your clit with his thumb, driving you insane as he looks at you whimpering and rolling your hips towards him.

He starts by tying each of your legs to the same ladder where your hands are, so that it’s impossible for you to close them. After that, he patiently wraps a rope around each of them, tying your thigh and ankle together, immobilising you, so you’re always available, at his mercy, any time he wants, and the thought of that gets you even more aroused. You’re drenched by now, you feel your sleek coating your inner thigh and dripping on the floor below you. Maker, you've never been this wet in your life, ever.

He looks at your helpless body, trailing his gloved fingers on your inner thigh, making you feel leather against your skin once again, rejoicing in the fact that you can’t move, making you quiver with lust as he smirks under that damn helmet seeing that you are so wet for him. He sees the way you react to his body, to his dick, to his touch, and Stars, he is so turned on by that.

He unfastens his utility belt and unzips his pants to finally take out his big, thick cock. It's throbbing and veiny and its tip is deliciously red and glistening in precum. You mewl just looking at it, feeling your walls clench in anticipation.

He immediately starts sliding it painfully slowly between your folds and it’s fucking debilitating after all of that excruciating teasing. You arch your back while moaning hysterically, begging for more as your eyes uncontrollably cross as you try to keep your gaze on his tip teasing your aching cunt. He keeps rubbing, keeps rubbing it on your clit and you feel so close already, and right when your body starts shaking in preparation for the imminent orgasm, he stops, taking it away from you, and starts stroking himself at the sight of you - so desperate for his cock, getting off from your agony. He gropes the soft flesh of your thighs and keeps giving himself pleasure in front of you. You can barely hear him panting under the helmet and oh, damn, he sounds even hotter than you’d imagined. It's such a pleasurable torture to be forced to look at him without being able to do anything, to hear the wet sounds of him fucking his fist so close to you when you wish you were the one who makes him feel so good.

He gives one last squeeze to his cock, letting a drop of precum out, then he slides his tip inside of you, making you roll your head back, sighing at the feeling of having him inside of you, finally.

When he feels how welcoming and hot you are, he groans in pleasure. His raspy voice makes you clench around him. He feels how tight you get when your muscles clench, and he lets out a barely audible curse.

He takes it out and immediately slides it back in, just the tip, just to play with you, to tease you, to get you on the verge of your orgasm and who knows, maybe he won't give it to you. You're at his mercy, you have to accept anything he's willing to give you. Will he make you come? Will he fuck your pussy, or will he just tease you like that indefinitely, leaving you crying and begging for him, as he gets off in your frustration, covering your body in his cum?

He goes on tormenting you like that for what feels like forever. A long, pleasurable torment where you desperately beg for him to put it back in everytime. Your whole body is shaking at the cruel game he's playing with you.

You wonder what he looks like. You bet he's handsome and he's smirking sadistically under that helmet, getting off from your desperation. His body exudes sexuality and confidence, his voice is deep and sensual - he is hot for sure.

He puts his tip in one more time, but now he's pushing all his shaft inside of you, and he's looking at your tearful eyes and how they widen in wonder when you feel him sliding slowly inside of you - deep, so deep, like you've never been fucked before, making you feel owned, marked, his property, his. He knows how good his cock is making you feel and that you'll never be fucked this good by anyone else in the galaxy.

He can't help sighing at how tight you are, and he sounds so hot when he does. You're so wet, the obscene sounds of him sliding in and out of you fill the hull of the ship. He's grabbing your legs, thrusting deep and slow, his head leaned back, completely sinking into the pleasure that is fucking you, controlling you, owning you.

When he picks up the pace, he starts cursing in a foreign language, gasping and groaning at the way your walls clench around his cock.

“Bid pel bal piryc par ni.” he growls in between sighs. He sounds even hotter when he speaks what you assume is his native language. There's something about the way that ancient language of warriors sounds that fits him and his husky voice so well. You don't understand a word, but you can tell by how pleased his voice sounds that he's praising you and the way you feel around him. You too are enjoying his cock so much. Maker, the pleasure he is providing you with is one you’ve never felt before. You’re forced to take him in any way he wants, completely subjugated by him and his desires, and it’s so perverse and thrilling that you’re already addicted to it.

You feel every ridge and vein of his cock as he thrusts into you, hitting your clit at just the perfect angle, building your pleasure gradually, until you feel on the edge - your breathing is getting laboured, your body starts to shake, you’re just there… but he takes it out and you feel like you’ve been robbed of air from your lungs.

You're so desperate, your whole body is shaking, your handcuffs rattle against the ladder behind you in protest and you let out cries. You must look pretty pathetic to him, who is enjoying the sight of your desperation and the sound of you whimpering by viciously stroking his cock in front of you, letting you see and hear how wet you've made it, his helmet is cold and won't betray any emotion. You can only arch your back and roll your hips begging for him to put his cock back into you.

When he's satisfied and has seen you beg for him enough, he slides it back in, the both of you moaning at the same time at the feeling. He immediately picks up his rhythm and grips your throat in his hand, forcing you to look at him while he’s choking you.

"Mircet'ad." he growls as he thrusts into you. "Ner mircet'ad" rasps again.

You look at him, not sure about what it means, but his voice is hot like lava against your skin as he speaks that foreign language.

"Yes, that's what you are. Do you know what it means? I want you to. It means slave. My slave. Ner mircet'ad. That's the only way I'll be calling you."

He made a point of what you are to him - nothing more than a sex slave that he will use when he comes back after his hunts, to let off steam after catching his quarries. Bounty hunting is tough, and you'll be his relief, something warm and giving always waiting for him with open arms and legs and that will make him feel so, so good any time he wants. His Mircet'ad. That word keeps echoing in your head and you drench yourself at that thought. He feels the way you're spasming around him and how aroused that made you.

"Do you like being called like that, little whore? You like being used?" he wraps his hands around your throat even tighter.

You nod as you look at him with needy, lustful eyes.

When he sees that, he goes crazy and just starts jackhammering you, digging his fingers in your hips as leverage, making you lose control over your mind and body, completely overwhelmed by the way he's fucking you brainless.

"What a fucking slut. Feel how wet you get when I call you my slave. Fuck, you’re such a whore. Wanted to fuck you so badly since I saw you. Do you think I didn't notice the way you were looking at me, whore? Made me walk out of there rock hard, thinking of the things I'd do to you. Gonna fucking wreck your pretty cunt. You feel so good, ner mircet’ad." his voice alone could make you come, and you both feel the way your pussy reacts to him, uncontrollable spasms of excitement that further add to the already overwhelming pleasure, hoping he maintains that promise.

He takes it out again when he feels you're on the edge. And again, your body begs for him. You know he's enjoying seeing his slave begging for him.

"Fuck. Killed so many people to fuck this little pussy. Let me enjoy it. Let me hear how much you want my cock." he pants as he looks at you.

Your back arches and you let out desperate moans as the hand wrapping your throat grips your jaw instead, blocking your face in that position, letting him look at your face.

"Beg for it like the needy slave that you are." he lowers the gag from your mouth.

"P-please, please put it back in. I want your dick inside of my pussy. Please, I need it." you let out in a pleading voice on the verge of tears.

"Hmm. Go on. What do you want me to do to you?"

"Anything you want. I am your whore. I'm here to please you. I want you to wreck me and fill me with your cum. I want to come on your dick so badly, so fucking badly, please! I want you to make me scream until I beg you to stop. I want to give it to you any time you want and hurt for days. I want you to use me, please! I want to be your slav-"

He slaps you in the face, stopping that flow of obscenities from coming out of your mouth.

"You are my slave." he snarls as he grips your jaw tighter, bringing your face so close to his helmet. You look at him right in his visor, so heavily aroused by the rough way he's handling you, asserting his dominance and ownership. You are his slave. His slave. The thought of it sends a thrill of arousal down your spine and turns you on so much.

"What a filthy little mouth you have. Let me use it before we're done." he growls as he takes a good look at you.

"Damn you're pretty. Wanna ruin this beautiful face. Look at these perfect lips. Can't wait to see them wrapped around my cock." he says while tracing your lips with his thumb.

He positions himself over you, with his dick right in front of your face and you can't help elongating your neck towards it, sticking out your tongue to lick the salty slick of your arousal from its shaft, making him grunt as he feels how hot and velvety your tongue is.

"Yes, yes, lick it. Feel how wet you've made it, ner mircet'ad." he slides his wet cock inside your mouth and you welcome it, brushing it with your tongue, tasting yourself on him, adoring it.

He gasps at the feeling and goes on sliding all of his length in. You take it in greedily, keeping your gaze on his visor. He pushes it in your throat without resistance on your side. The Mandalorian is amazed at the way you take his cock.

"What a greedy whore you are. You want it all, don't you?"

You moan at that, sending vibrations to his cock, making him throb and choke a sigh as his hand grips tight to the ladder.

He loses it completely at how obedient you are and starts thrusting into your throat, making you feel used like an object for his own pleasure - you can feel by the way he's panting that he's loving it… and you are, too. When he takes it out it’s completely drenched in your saliva, and he grabs you by the hair and looks at you.

"Ner mircet'ad, I knew your mouth would be perfect. You take my dick so good. All of it, deep in your throat. Good girl, you deserve to be fucked so hard." he praises you, then he positions himself once again kneeling in front of you, lifting the gag over your mouth.

He grabs his cock in his hand and slowly slides it back inside of your desperate, throbbing cunt, letting you feel every inch of him.

"Oh, fuck, you take it so good" he lets out in a low, pleased whisper.

He immediately starts to rail you once he's buried deep inside of you, making you uncontrollably moan and tremble.

"Bet you never had a cock this good. No one's ever fucked you like I am right now. Gonna give it to you anytime I want, and you'll be taking me like the fucking whore that you are, ner mircet'ad." he buries his cock deep inside of you and he stops, as he’s close to his own orgasm this time. He’s panting and shaking as he grips tight to the ladder with both of his hands, towering over you with his broad figure. You can see the outline of his biceps from under the thick layers of duraweave and Maker, it's such a delightful view. You roll your hips against his so as not to stop stimulation, moaning provocatively. It’s so good, you don’t want him to stop just now.

“S-stop it.” he grunts as you keep moving your hips, disobeying him, getting even more aroused by the way his voice sounds when he's restraining himself.

“Fuck. Greedy slave, you want all of my cum, don’t you? You want me to fill you up and drain me, to be my cum slut, huh? If you k-keep moving like this I’ll - I’ll - fuck” he lets his dick slip out of you with the very last inch of self control he has left. His whole body is trembling and he is panting as you beg for him with your muffled voice.

“Fuck, you’re a temptress. An insatiable slave. A fucking cocksucking, cum addicted whore. Stars above, if you want it so badly, I’m gonna give it to you. You make me want to fuck you so hard and fill you so deep. Damn, take it.” he puts it back in and starts to rail you at a debilitating rhythm, making you shake your legs out of lust and roll your eyes because of the pleasure.

"Shit. I'm so close" he grunts as you look at him with pleading eyes, making your handcuffed hands rattle on the ladder.

"Do you want me to make you come, mircet'ad?"

You frantically nod your head.

"Yeah - bet you did. I will make you come. If you ever make it out alive from my ship, I wouldn't want you to say that the Mandalorian didn't satisfy you. It would be bad, wouldn't it?"

You keep nodding your head, feeling your cunt throbbing with need and lust at the thought.

"Get ready, I know you're close."

The angle at which his cock is hitting your clit is sending you to heaven, just as the thought of him restraining from his own orgasm to give one to you first.

"Let me hear you. Let me hear how fucking good I'm making you come" he finally frees you from your gag and you can finally let him hear your desperate, loud moans.

A few more thrusts of his thick cock inside of you and you feel the devastating force of the orgasm blazing through your body, making you burst. Finally, after a never-ending edging torture, he lets you come. From the position you're forced in, with your legs completely spread open, the power of your orgasm seems even more shattering than ever, nothing like you've ever experienced before. You can feel your pussy uncontrollably spasming around his cock, making him grunt as you let out the hottest, headiest moans he's ever heard.

"Fuck. F-fuck. How can you feel so good?! M-maker you're tight. Fuck. Killing me. G-going to fill you. Fill you with my cum. N-now. My slave. F-fucking mine." he snarls and fills you with his hot load, his cock pumping it deep and hard inside of you as you groan loudly and sensually and won't stop looking at him. He tries to muffle his own moans by gritting his teeth, and Maker, he sounds even hotter when he gives up, letting those heady moans out, losing control, wholly abandoning himself to that overwhelming pleasure. He grips tight to the ladder with both of his hands, preventing his body from collapsing on yours, burying his cock deep inside of you as you both slowly come down from your high.

“I’m your slave.” you softly whisper in your post orgasmic haze, smiling.

"Ni gar mircet'ad" he teaches you. He trails his fingers on your mouth and you kiss them sweetly, looking at him in the visor.

“Ni gar mircet'ad, Mando” you repeat in a sweet, tender voice.

“Gar serim, ner mircet’ad. So fucking hot when you speak Mando’a to me.” he lightly wraps his hand your throat once again.

"You too." you reply.

"Oh, you like it when I speak Mando'a to you?" he lets his hand trail all over your body, making you sigh when it stops between your legs and starts rubbing your clit.

"Yes. So hot. You're so hot." you go on praising him in between moans as he picks up the rhythm of his fingers.

"'lek, ner aikiyc mircet'ad, k'olar tug'yc par ni bat ni cere. Come for me again on my fingers." the sound of his dark voice, sweetly whispering those words while touching your clit drives you wild and you can't help obeying his order, coming again after a few rubs of your clit, so unbelievably aroused by that. His visor is locked on you, on your eyes that uncontrollably cross and roll because of the pleasure, on your mouth letting out filthy sounds of pleasure, all while he keeps speaking his native language throughout your orgasm, encouraging you.

"'lek. 'lek. Jate, ner mircet'ad. Bid mesh'la. K'olar par ni."

After that second orgasm you feel completely debilitated and just collapse, exhausted but so, so satisfied.

When he slips out of you, he enjoys seeing your exposed cunt slowly leaking his cum out, wrecked and still spasming in aftershock. He uses his cock to gather all the seed that escaped from you and push it back inside of your hole. When he’s done, he looks at you in the face, his cock is still hard.

“Will you clean it for me, mircet'ad?” asks gently as you have already opened your mouth wide open for him.

“Good girl.” says as he slides his cock in your mouth. You taste both of your orgasms in your mouth and hum, sucking it avidly and licking it clean.

“Damn you’re perfect” says as he tucks his softening cock back into his pants.

"So hot when you come for me. Taking my cock like a hungry whore. I will keep you here on my ship. You'll be my slave. No one except for me will ever lay one finger on you. You belong to me now. You're my property.” he tells you as he frees you from the handcuffs and ropes. You swear you are so tired you could fall asleep right there, right now, but he picks you up in his arms and lays you down in a cot - his cot, you will learn later.

Translations:

I have used mandocreator.com as reference.

- Bid pel bal piryc par ni = So soft and wet for me

- Gar serim = Yes, that's right

- 'lek, ner aikiyc mircet'ad, k'olar tug'yc par ni bat ni cere = Yeah, my desperate slave, come for me again on my fingers

- 'lek. 'lek. Jate, ner mircet'ad. Bid mesh'la. K'olar par ni. = Yeah, yeah. Good, my slave. So beautiful. Come for me.

[justagalwhowrites]

Lost & Found: Part of For You - A Collection of Requests Benefitting Palestine

When Grogu wanders off, Din finds him in the arms of an enchanting stranger.

Event Terms: Commissioners could choose to donate between $15 and $50 via Ko-Fi for one fic of 1-2k words to be written by April 1, 2024. Payment due after completion of the fic. Donation with a match by the author was paid to PCRF on April 2, 2024 in honor of Pedro Pascal's birthday ❤️ Commissioners had the option to choose to keep a fic private and all fics may not be shared here.

Pairing: Din Djarin x Curvy!Female!Reader

Warnings: Mild depictions of fantasized sex.No use of Y/N, Minors DNI 18+ only.

Length: 2.5k

A/N: This is just very soft and very fluffy and is Din being both awkward as hell and jumping at the chance to play the hero for someone who needs it. Love that for us! Written for the exceedingly wonderful and kind and talented @knopes-waffles! Thank you for participating in this event ❤️

For You Masterlist | Main Masterlist

“What do you mean you don’t know.” 

Din was trying very, very hard to keep his temper. 

“I mean, I don’t know, Mando,” Peli replied, hands defiantly planted on her hips. “What did you think I meant?” 

“I thought I might have been mistaken,” he said. “Because I didn’t think you would let my son out of your sight long enough for him to wander off!” 

“It doesn’t take that long….” 

“He’s half a meter tall!” He snapped. “How fast could he be!” 

“He’s quick!” 

He paused and took a deep breath, trying to ignore the rising panic in his blood. 

“You really have no idea where he might have gone,” Din said. “No one could have come in here and taken him.” 

“No one’s been in here,” she said before she paused, frowning. “Well… there was one customer who was looking for someone to fix his speeder…” 

“Do you know where he was going?” Din asked. He tried not to think about some stranger wandering off with Grogu in their arms, taking him away to trade to the Empire or who knows what. 

“I think toward the marketplace,” she said. “He mentioned a farm outside of town, where the speeder was. He was going to tow it in…” 

Din didn’t wait for her to continue. He set off, forcing himself to move slowly enough that he could scan the ground for any sign of Grogu. But there was no flash of green, no little clawed footprints in the sand - the area too heavily trafficked - not even a trail of things he shouldn’t be trying to get is small hands on left abandoned when something else that was bright or shiny caught his eye. 

He kept running and searching, not apologizing for smacking into people or grabbing them roughly to see if what they held in their arms was, in fact, a bag and not his child. He was getting uncomfortably close to a panic - heart pounding, breaths short and shallow, head swimming - when he saw him, Grogu’s small, green body in unfamiliar arms, held close to a plush body. 

“Grogu!” Din stalked over to you, all but ripping the child away from you as he looked him over. “Are you OK?” 

“Hey!” You grabbed Grogu back and Din’s attention shifted from his son to you, his fists clenched. But instead of reaching to take back the kid or hit you, he froze. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting but it wasn’t… you. You were beautiful, almost shockingly so. There was something just so soft about you. Everything on Tatooine was rough and harsh, a lifetime of sand and twin suns and arid heat wore down people and buildings and ships quickly. But not you. You were like a flower that had somehow fought its way up through the sand, lush and bright and full. 

“Do you know this man, little guy?” You considered Grogu carefully, a small frown on your face as you propped the boy on your hip, one of your fingers tightly grasped in his little hand. “Or is he a stranger?” 

“Patu!” Grogu said, throwing his tiny arms out for Din, straining and reaching for him. 

You laughed a little and looked at Din properly then, a smile on your face. 

“Sorry about that,” you said, handing Grogu over. “He just toddled over to my stand a few minutes ago, I wasn’t sure where he came from and I couldn’t understand anything he was saying. I didn’t want someone just taking him…” 

Grogu reached for Din’s helmet, cooing and babbling, gesturing to you before looking back to Din, his dark eyes wide. 

“Thank you,” Din said eventually. “He can be a handful…” 

“I can tell,” you laughed. “He ate a few things off my stand and he was only here a few minutes!” 

“Oh,” DIn said quickly, fumbling for the pouch with his credits. “Let me…” 

“Oh, no,” you said quickly. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that you needed to pay! Really, it’s fine. I’m just happy I was able to help him get back to where he belongs.” 

You just stood there, the smile on your face slipping a bit as Din stared at you. Like an idiot. He knew he was staring like an idiot and he couldn’t seem to bring himself to stop. 

“Is… is everything OK?” You were frowning a little now. “I promise, I didn’t hurt him or…” 

“Mando!” Peli ran up alongside him, panting a little before doubling over, planting her hands on her knees. “Stars, just a second… Some of us aren’t used to running like that…” 

“Here,” you said, reaching behind your stand for a canteen and offering it to Peli. Din noticed what you were selling for the first time, fresh fruit piled high in baskets on display. “This might help, the suns are brutal today.” 

“You’re tellin’ me,” she said, gulping the water down and standing up straight again before handing the canteen back to you. “Thanks for that. Looks like you’re the one who found our little friend here!” 

“Oh, I didn’t know he was yours, Peli!” You said. “When did you get a youngling?” 

“He’s not mine, but I keep tellin’ Mando he should just leave the kid with me…” 

“And look what happened when I did,” Din cut her off. “Five minutes and you let him wander off…” 

“It’s not like he got into trouble!” She waved him off. “He just found the sweetest stand in Mos Eisley because he’s so smart, yes he is! Just the smartest little guy! Appreciate you looking out for him, can’t let this cutie run off with just anyone.” 

“It was no trouble,” you replied. “He was a nice way to mix up my day!” 

“Patu!” Grogu said, reaching for you. You laughed and Din sighed before passing the child off to you.

“Have any plans later?” Peli asked. “The kid likes you, you should come by. Have to get time in with the little one when you can, Mando never sticks around for very long.” 

“Well that’s too bad,” you said, bouncing Grogu on your hip but looking at Din. “Always nice to get pleasant folk here in town. But sure, I’ll come by once I close up. Maybe bring him some snacks for the road, would you like that little one?” Grogu cooed and clapped his little hands. You nuzzled his cheek. “I’ll see you later, buddy. Going to give you back to your daddy now.” 

You passed the child to Din and gave him another smile before saying your quick goodbyes to Peli. Din kept looking Grogu over, like he was expecting to find something wrong with him, as he and Peli made their way back to her hanger. He had to resist the urge to look back at you. 

“You’re sure she’s OK to be around the kid?” He asked, finally satisfied that his son was, in fact, safe and whole in his arms. 

“Her?” Peli looked at him like he was insane. “Of course she is, you think I’d let someone around the kid who wasn’t safe? Besides, meant it when I said it’s the sweetest stand in Mos Eisley. It’s not just because of the fruit, if I didn’t know she was from here I’d say she was some naive off-worlder with how sweet she is. Probably how she wound up in the situation she’s in.” 

Din frowned. 

“What situation.” 

“She’s stuck working for the Hutts,” Peli said. “When her father died a few years back - sweet guy, just like her. He built the greenhouses she grows all that fruit in - she didn’t have the money to pay for protection. Next thing she knew, they trashed one of her greenhouses and the moisture vaporator. She still hasn’t been able to fix it all, just about every credit she makes goes to the Hutts so they don’t take anything else.” Peli sighed and shook her head. “Tried to warn her…” 

Din ground his teeth, looking back over his shoulder toward your stand. How could anyone prey on someone like you? Someone so soft and sweet and beautiful and… 

He shook himself mentally. He was not going to stand there and think about you, even though you’d sent a shockwave through him, sparking a kind of want he hadn’t felt in years. It would be so easy to picture it, gently pulling the linen from your body, running his hands - bare, not gloved - over every inch of your plush curves, sinking into the soft, welcoming warmth of you. 

“Has anyone tried to help,” Din asked. “With the Hutts?” 

“I mean, maybe not her specifically, but,” Peli shrugged. “Not like people pay up because they want to, Mando. People have pushed back. It never goes well. Short of taking down the whole operation? No help for it. But that’s life, eh?” 

Din nodded once, holding Grogu a little closer. 

You came by a few hours later, a small basket of fruit propped on your hip and a smile on your face even though your eyes looked distracted. 

“Here you go,” you broadened your smile as you handed the basket to the Mandalorian. “I thought he might like some more. These were what he was eating most of earlier. What’s his name, anyway?” 

“Thank you,” Din said. “And his name is Grogu…” 

“Stupid name!” Peli called from another room. 

“No it’s not!” You called back before looking at the child. “It’s a good, strong name. Perfect for you, hm?” 

“Patu,” Grogu said, his tone serious. You smiled. 

“Thought so,” you said. 

You stayed for dinner - a barely passable soup that you were kind enough to pretend to enjoy - and played sabacc with Din and Peli. Grogu climbed into your lap and you splayed the cards out in front of him, his little hand reaching out to touch them. 

“See, this is a good hand,” you said, leaning in to whisper into his large ear. He kid stretched forward and smacked his hand on one of the cards. “Good pick, that’s a high value card, a whole 10 points…” 

“You’re making it easy to beat you,” Peli said, smirking across the table. 

“Can’t lose when you’ve already won,” you replied. “And which one of us has the youngling in their lap? That would be me.” 

“You’re just new,” Peli waved you off. “He’ll be back to me eventually.” 

“We’ll see about that,” you kissed his little head. “I’ll just keep plying him with fruit, keep him on my good side.” 

“Patu!” 

“Exactly,” you said, and Din was so distracted picturing you aboard the Razor Crest with his son on your lap that he forgot it was his turn. 

As the evening wound down and you got ready to leave, Din had almost convinced himself that he could let you go. It was the only logical choice, after all. You barely knew each other. Just because you were beautiful and gentle and looked like you might be the softest thing he’d ever touch didn’t mean that you belonged anywhere near him. The opposite, in fact. The life he led would be no good for you, it was useless even day dreaming about what couldn’t be. 

You said your goodbyes to him, Peli and Grogu and Din had the unfamiliar ache of longing in his chest as he watched you go, staring at the doorway you’d left through for a few seconds too long. 

“Aw kriff,” Peli groaned. “She left her shawl and I’m wasn’t planning to go to the market tomorrow…” 

“Here,” Din said before he could think better of it, taking the linen wrap from Peli’s grasp. “I’ll catch her. Watch the kid for a minute. And actually watch him this time.” 

“Yeah yeah,” she waved him off before turning her attention to Grogu. “Is your dad just a big shiny menace? Huh? Yeah, I bet he is…” 

He thought he was going to have to track you to catch up with you but, instead, he found you standing in the middle of Peli’s hanger, staring up at the night sky. Stars sparkled over your head, the light reflecting in your eyes, and Din could see the streaks of ships leaving the atmosphere as they shot into the galaxy. You had that distracted look on your face, one worn by people with problems that took time - and muscle - to solve. 

“You forgot this,” Din said, holding the shawl out and making you jump. 

You laughed a little. 

“Thanks,” you said. “I’m not sure where my mind has been lately.” 

You looked back up at the stars, wrapping yourself in the shawl, and sighed in a sad, longing way. 

“What are they like?” You asked, still looking up. “The stars. From up there, I mean.” 

“Far away,” Din said. 

You laughed again. 

“Don’t I know it. Part of why I’ve never made it off-world…” 

Din frowned. 

“You’ve never left Tatooine?” 

You glanced at him, a sad smile on your face before looking back to the stars. 

“Never had the chance,” you said. “But I hope I will, some day. But… doubt I ever will.” 

You looked at him for a moment, your eyes finding his below the vizor. 

“Well, it was good to meet you,” you said. “Take care of that youngling of yours, he’s too sweet to let anything happen to him…” 

You started to leave but he stopped you, his hand shooting out and catching you at your elbow, the contact with you like an electric jolt running through his body. You gasped at it, looking to where he was touching you before looking toward his face again. 

“Mando…” Your voice was quiet, breathy. 

“Do you really want to leave?” He asked before he could stop himself. 

“Yes,” you whispered. “I want to see some of the galaxy, I want to do something I love, I want a life, a life I can’t have here.” 

He could feel it then, a chance at the life he’d pictured, one that had you there with him and his son.

“Come with me,” he said. 

“What?” You laughed a little. “Mando, we just met…” 

“I can get you out of here,” he said, ignoring you. “Make sure the Hutts never bother you again.” 

Your eyebrows knitted together. 

“Did Peli…” 

“Does it matter?” He asked. “I’m offering you a chance to see the stars.” 

“With you?” You asked, your eyes finding his below the visor and he had the thought, again, of undressing you, of touching you, of feeling you in a way he’d never allowed himself to feel anyone else. 

“Yes,” he said. 

“And Grogu?” 

“Yes. We can leave tonight, now, if you want it.” 

You looked up at the stars again, the soft sparkle of their far away light shining on your skin. 

You looked back at him. 

“I want it,” you said quietly. “I want all of it.” 

Din smiled below the helmet. 

“Then let’s go.”