#din x long

[multy-the-muitiverse]

Dei mais uma passadinha no PixAI e fiz os personagens Din e Long do filme "O dragão dos desejos".

Eu gosto desses personagens por isso os shippo❤

[utterlyazriel]

ain't you my baby?

word count: 4k ish pairing: din djarin x reader a/n: [old timey radio voice] interrupting your regular schedule of bat boy to bring you [does jazz hands] yet another man that could kill u! i will apologise for not updating wtssf and instead giving this but i do not control the brain worms <3 hopefully this is still tasty for sum of y'all ! title from NFWMB by hozier

synopsis: Din gives you an unexpected gift. A dagger crafted with beskar, a fine weapon, a courting gift. You misunderstand. It doesn't take long for you to catch back on. inspired by a convo with my beloved @djarinova

By now, the constant hum and rattle of the Razor Crest around you was nearly unnoticeable.

You travel enough light-years with one stubborn screw in your cot, almost always returning to the spacecraft with one injury or another, and eventually the low lull becomes something more familiar.

Almost, if you'd let yourself admit it, a comfort.

Sleep is funny on the Crest. You'd been a light sleeper for most your life and it had saved your skin more time than you cared to count. Yet, it was the simple knowledge that a Mandalorian roamed in the cockpit above that allowed sleep to drag you deeper than usual.

It had taken months to let your guard down, to realise there wasn't going to be blade buried in your gut as you slumbered defencelessly. In the safety of his company, for the first time in decades, you dream when you sleep.

He hates having to wake you, only doing so if it's absolutely necessary. It's always with the lightest of touches, the leather of his gloves pressing softly against your shoulder, your name murmured and diluted through the modulator of his helmet.

Despite his gentleness, it never stops you from jarring awake.

You shudder awake with a violent twitch, pressing up on your elbow in a split second, prepared to move. You're stopped from moving further by Din's hand on your shoulder. He's knelt beside your cot, visor fixed on you.

You're on a new planet. The foreign atmosphere gives that away in an instant, the chalky taste in your mouth and the swarming heat on your skin. Your jack-rabbiting heart calms a bit.

"Din?"

You know he's only waking you because he must. The momentary calm banishes again as you push yourself up again. Din lets you this time, his gloved hand retreating to his side.

"It's not an emergency." He says, knowing your train of thought already. He tilts his head slightly, gesturing towards the ramp door. "I need to leave the ship. I didn't want you to wake and..."

Your trailing gaze darts back to his visor quickly, swallowing as you fill in the end of his sentence. Din doesn't finish it, but his shoulders readjust in a minuscule motion.

"I'm getting supplies. Watch the kid. Please."

You're nodding before he's finished his sentence. The sleep in your system is already dissipated and you push up, shifting onto your feet and trapping your pained hiss behind gritted teeth as Din rises to his full height.

There's a beep from his valance as he punches a button then a soft hiss as the pressure changes, the ramp door beginning to lower.

It's habit to watch the sliver of the outside grow, the new terrain stretching out before you as the mouth of the ship opens. As expected, a seemingly endless spread of sand greets you. You wrinkle your nose.

Din hadn't indulged the reason or destination of this particular trip. You hadn't asked. A deep slice in your thigh courtesy of a vibroblade and a mouthy Twi'lek had kept you off your feet and eager to rest.

The slice had been by pure luck—or so you thought.

But Din's silence following the patch up in the ship, his quietness suddenly uncanny, left you beginning to wonder if he was questioning your ability to fight. Weighing up your ability to defend.

And if those things were up for debate, certainly so was your position on his ship.

It had just been passed 3 years, almost six cycles if you counted how time passed on your home planet, since you had joined his crusade. Your job had one very simple, very crucial objective.

An objective that was now babbling at your feet, tiny claws reaching out for you.

"Hey, you," You say, reaching down to scoop Grogu up into your arms. He reaches his arms up as he does, making a happy gurgle as you tuck him against your hip.

His round, dark eyes peer up at you, his big ears twitching mischievously and you couldn't help but smile. You turn so he could see the stretch of desert and are surprised to find Din still in the mouth of the ship. He's turned back, his dark visor giving away nothing of his expression.

It's then you get the feeling once more; you're being evaluated. Your usefulness being weighed up. You shift beneath the weight of his gaze, unmoving but still not speaking.

"Did you forget something?" You ask, just to break the silence.

Din finally shifts, his helmet giving a small shake in answer. He doesn't speak, just stares another moment, before he's turning, his cape catching the wind as he strolls down the ramp.

You watch him go, heart in your throat, pondering with an ache of melancholy if your time on the Crest was coming to a close.

Another burbling noise from the little green monster in your arm tugs your attention away. You look down, smile already pulling at your mouth at his clawed hand reaching for you.

"At least I know you still like me," You murmur, letting his cling to one of your fingers. "You wouldn't fire me, would you?"

Grogu makes a noise of agreement, gripping your finger tight. Then he opens his little mouth and tries to direct your finger into it, the clearest declaration of his hunger he can give.

You huff a quiet laugh, turning back to the ship, mentally tallying up your list of things to do.

—

By the time of Din's return, the sun has dipped low in the sky and the dunes glow a scorching orange in its rays.

You see him coming in the horizon, the only figure out on the desolate landscape. You wonder, for not the first time, if he's burning up beneath all his armour. He never seems to use the fresher to cool off like you do.

It's as he reaches the ship, his footsteps heavier than usual and betraying his tiredness, do you realise he's returned with a bag. Your eyes glue to in instinctively but you bite your tongue and swallow the burning question of what the contents of the bag is.

"Get what you need?" You ask instead, hands laying flat on your knees, avoiding the bandage on your thigh.

You're knelt besides the ship wall, sitting on your feet, one of the panels hanging haphazardly by a single screw and a box of tools beside you.

There's a function for cooler air on the Crest but it's been busted since a gnarly shoot up leaving the atmosphere of Coruscant months ago. You've been trying to fix it for weeks, each time with no avail.

Today is no different.

“You haven’t fixed it.” Din says candidly, instead of answering your question.

That suddenly familiar worry of your usefulness shirks up within you.

“Yet.” you counter, aiming for optimistic. It’s impossible to tell what the immovable expression of Din’s helmet means. “It’s not the same problem as I started with, at least.”

After a moment, he gives a short nod as if he understands — which is mean because there isn’t a single thing you can think of that Din Djarin is bad at. Besides talking to Jawas, of course.

He passes you and you force yourself to keep facing forward, even as you long to trail his broad figure. You squint at the tangle of wires within the panel and sigh. It’s feeling pretty fruitless. You were hardly a mechanic to begin with and—

A loud clatter beside you makes you startle, something heavy dropping into your toolbox.

You jump back and after a quick second, realise that it’s Din who had dropped something purposefully. Trying to calm your racing pulse, you lean forward and peer in.

“This might help.” He says.

You blink down at the new tool he’s given you. It’s the one spanner size that’s missing from your toolbox.

The last one had been lost when you lobbed it at an intruder’s head in a blind panic. Not your proudest moment— even if it did distract the guy enough for Din to put him down.

You swallow your heart in your throat. “Thank you.”

You don’t hear him retreat but the part of you that fizzles like a freshly born star when he’s near dims, a giveaway to his movements. You curl your fingers the new tool and try to tell if this a good sign or not.

Behind you, Din clears his throat.

You peer over your shoulder, your brows knitting together — it’s not often he calls your attention so forwardly, much preferring to stand and wait, staring long enough til you notice and flush.

He’s still standing in the hull, one hand curled around and holding the bag he returned with. You twist fully, letting him know he’s got your attention.

For a long moment, he doesn’t move. You stare, waiting patiently and try not to let your eyes roam—especially after the last comment he made when he absolutely caught you staring at the broadness of his shoulders, eyes drinking in the cut of his figure.

You’d be a terrible criminal, cyra’rika.

What’s that supposed to mean? You had retorted, flustering just a bit.

He had turned and fixed you with a tilt of his helmet that meant he was likely smirking underneath it.

You have shifty eyes.

Your face had glowed fiercely at the reminder that just because you couldn’t see his eyes, that didn’t mean he couldn’t see yours.

Across from you in the Crest now, Din coughs awkwardly.

“I,” He starts. One of his hands clenches, the leather crinkling as he does. “I have something. For you.”

Surprise piques up inside you, fiery and delighted. It warms your stomach and there’s no fighting the smile that pulls at your mouth even if you wanted to.

Gifts from a bounty hunter are few and far between and he’d already replaced the spanner. Your bounty hunter in particular doesn't like to spend his credits unwisely.

Even less commonly does he acknowledge that something is a gift—but you've learned to love the quiet hum he gives you when you thank him for something.

"Oh?"

He shifts his weight ever so slightly, the most obvious indication that he's nervous.

You sit up a little straighter. The anxiety from earlier pools in quickly.

He gives a tiny, almost inaudible huff and then, instead of reaching into the bag, he pushes back his cape and reaches back. His skilled hand unclips something sheathed at his waist. He drops the bag and steps forward, his hand outstretched.

You hold your breath without realising.

It's... a dagger, you realise.

A very beautiful blade by all standards. As you press up to your knees, rising to get a closer look, the details of its intricacy begin to call out to you.

The hilt is twined in a delicate, leathery fabric, not yet moulded to any hand. The pommel holds a promise of a shimmer as though it's embedded with a mineral. And the blade itself... A darker metal curls through the lighter one that encases it, like smoke on a sunlit sky.

It's expert craftsmanship, with a precise balance of two metals — and if you stare a moment too long, you swear the darker one matches the hue of Din's armour. His beskar armour.

"Will you accept it?"

It's with the gravel of Din's voice do you realise you haven't moved. You haven't reached out for it, haven't even blinked since he offered it out to you. You exhale, suddenly feeling a little lightheaded.

It's elegant beyond words. It's too much.

Too much for you, too much as a... a... What was it?

A gift? A reminder of your sole duty on the Crest? Of what you nearly failed at during your last mission together? The wound on your thigh seems to throb painfully as if in response.

He's never got you a gift that's anything less than helpful.

"I," You breath, finally tearing your eyes off the dagger and looking up at the visor fixed on you. "Din, I—"

Your gaze drops back to the blade in his hands. This time, you're certain it's beskar twined within the steel.

"It's very beautiful but..." I'm not worthy of beskar. "I couldn't, it's— it's too much. I can't accept it, Din."

The words come out clumsily and you wonder if in your attempt at being polite, you've gone too far in the other direction and offended him. You wring your hand against your thigh, pressing your knuckles into your wound. The pain dances along your nerves, a welcome distraction as you force yourself to meet his gaze.

The hum of the ship fills the space between you and like almost always, you have no idea how to read his silence.

"I understand."

And then he's stepping back, resheathing the blade into its holster in one fluid motion. He does it so quickly you don't see the tremble in his wrist, his hand just a touch unsteady. Above you both, there's a beep in the cockpit.

This time, you do manage to clock his body language, well aware of the way his guard has suddenly been wrenched up and the anxiety in your veins quickens with a sinister twist. Oh stars. You've definitely made it worse. You should've just accepted the dagger.

He turns and wordlessly heads towards the ladder to the cockpit and you watch him desperately, a dozen words caught in your mouth and none of them the right ones to say aloud.

"I—"

Din pauses, one gloved hand on the rung of the ladder, facing forward. He gives you a moment to speak. Your mouth dries.

When it's clear you aren't going to, you catch the slight sigh he gives, his shoulders dropping an inch.

"Grogu will miss you."

What?

You don't even get a moment to consider what he’s said or to digest the implications before he’s climbing the ladder, deft and quick. By the time you’re on your feet, the swish of his cape is disappearing into the hatch on the ceiling.

You stare at it a moment, all your unsaid words suddenly transforming into confusion. Your mouth opens then closes, your hands held out in front of you in evident bewilderment.

“What—” You begin as you take the rungs twice as fast, following Din’s path up to the cockpit. “—is that supposed to mean?”

You’re halfway up when The Crest suddenly lurches to the side with a rumble, the powering of engines thrumming beneath your feet and you stumble to catch your balance. Below you, you hear the familiar hiss of the ramp closing.

Stars, what is he doing? He hasn’t been this eager to leave a planet since a bounty back on Hoth.

“Where are we going?” You ask, forgoing your unanswered question. You shift forward as the Crest continues to rise with a powerful whirling sound.

Casting an eye at the passenger seat, you’re relieved to find it already occupied by your favourite green friend. Grogu coos in your direction at the sight of you and despite the situation, you can’t help but smile.

“I can take you wherever you wish to go.” Din’s flat response has your smile fading, your head whipping around to face him.

But he doesn’t take his focus off the control in front of him for a moment, stoic and silent as he continues to initiate takeoff. The Crest rises higher, the sandy ground of the planet out the window growing smaller and smaller.

Wherever you wish to go?

Does he— does he think you want to leave?

Your head spins in a tizzy as you try to clue together how the hell he had come to that conclusion. The Crest rocks as it breaks through the atmosphere and you stumble again, struggling to keep your balance.

For whatever reason he’s thinking it, he’s wrong.

Action finally possesses you. You surge forward and slam your hand onto the console, killing the power to the thrusters.

The ship stalls with a loud droning noise, coming to a shuddering stop before it begins to float in the darkness of space. The only light is the glowing orange of the planet and stars beyond the glass.

“Why do you think I want to leave all of a sudden?” You demand hotly.

For a moment, you think Din will continue the silent treatment that he’s all but mastered. His helmet, visor gazing out through the windshield, doesn’t move — until he tilts his head toward you slightly. He sighs quietly.

“I don’t imagine after…” He waves a hand idly and you scan his figure intensely, searching for what he could possibly be referring to.

After…?

It suddenly seems quite obvious.

Even if you had no idea what it had meant to Din, clearly this has to do to you turning down his gift.

“Din,” you say very quietly.

His helmet turns another inch, his chin tilted up to show he’s listening.

You swallow and it feels like your heart in is your throat, burning and bursting all at once. But you have to ask.

“What did the dagger mean?”

Now he averts his gaze, his helmet dipping as he mumbles something, nothing, his voice almost too low for his modulator pick up, a gift, but in the gravel of his murmuring, you hear one unmissable word: courting.

Oh.

Oh.

It was a… courting gift.

A dagger blended with beskar, given as a courting gift from a Mandalorian. It meant you- and him — the hope you had been harvesting, the hope of something more blooming between you two, it had not been unrequited.

Your mind casts back to the exact phrasing as you turned what you believed to simply be a gift too prized for you— it’s too much, I can’t accept.

Maker. No wonder he thought you wanted to leave.

Whatever is crossing your face must be the opposite of subtle because as you grapple to find a response to that, Din’s head tilts back up.

“You didn’t know.”

There's a tiny wobble of relief in his voice.

“No,” You breathe. Blinking hard, suddenly you feel a bit wild because Din all but proposes to you but doesn’t even think to check if you knew the depth of what he was offering? Of the real question behind his gift?

You shake your head. “No, I didn’t know, Din.”

Silence lulls between you, charged and heavy. Even without seeing his face, you know Din must be squirming beneath his helmet — his intentions, his feelings, out in the open and you still staring at him speechless.

You manage to find your voice.

“May I see it once more?”

The request comes out softer than you intend, your courage suddenly quivering in your chest. You will it to rise, to embolden you. Din had been brave — now it's your turn.

Without a word, he shifts and reaches back to release it from its sheathe on his waist. For a split second you see it, the hesitation in his hand.

Then he's holding it out, balancing in his open and trusting palm, held out for you. The thickness in your throat grows.

You swallow tightly and grip your courage, searching within you for that warm, safe feeling that beats like a drum, Din, Din, Din. You seize it tightly.

Eyes fixed on the blade, you ask quietly, "Would you... offer it to me again?"

It's impossible to draw your eyes up, too nervous to see yourself reflected in the darkness of his visor.

"Yes."

Your heart becomes a supernova.

"Will you?" You whisper, finally daring to look up at him.

Your protector, your partner, the man who showed you the softness of his heart and asked for nothing in return. "Will you offer it to me again?"

The subtle motions of Din are something you've come to learn with the years you've spent at his side. Now, staring up at you, the inclination of his armour gives away his surprise.

Then he's rising to his feet only to step before you and sink down, brought to his knees before you. His hand remains steady, the offering held out, and this time the meaning of it cannot be misconstrued in any way.

"Cyare," He murmurs — and it's beloved, it's please, it's don't part from my side for as long as you'll have me.

Something within you trembles and your bottom lip quivers in emotion and then you're moving without thinking, sagging until you're on your knees too.

Equal heights, each of you in a position of devotion, facing toward each other.

Hand reaching out, you clasp your fingers around the hilt of the dagger and say thickly, "I accept."

There's a ragged exhale through the modulator of Din's helmet. He shifts, moving to strip the gloves from his hands and the sight of so much skin from him is enough to make you falter. But there's barely time to recover your stolen breath before his bare hand curls around yours, far larger, the dagger gripped in both of your hands.

His skin pressed against yours burns like starlight. You stutter out a breath, your smile coming so easily at the sight of your joined hands.

Din's other hand raises up and pauses momentarily, halting as if he's unsure if he's allowed before it settles gently on your cheek. You lean into the warmth of his skin and hear another sharp inhale through the modulator.

"I—" He begins, quickly cutting himself off. His thumb on your cheeks begins to wander, soothing over your skin lightly. He urges you forward and you bow your head, forehead pressing to the cool beskar of his armour.

"Thank you."

"You're thanking me?" You chuckle wetly, emotion clinging to your words. His thumb on your face traces another soft circle and you shudder beneath the loving touch, eyes fluttering closed.

“You could have been clearer." You chastise lightly, though your evident joy means your words don't have any real bite.

“I offered you beskar, cyra’ika,” He murmurs, voice warm and full of love. His thumbs draws another delicate circle. “How much clearer could I be?”

His point makes you laugh, eyes opening and seeing your own reflection in his visor. "I don't know," You say, averting your eyes down to your still intertwined hands. You squeeze your hand and feel him echo the motion. Your heart sings.

"Use your words?" You suggest with a cheeky smile, well aware that words were not a strong suit of your Mandalorian.

Din sighs, a faux long suffering one, and the mere familiarity of it makes your heart ache in the best way.

The worries of earlier bubble up within you, the reminder of why you had been so sure the dagger had some other meaning.

“I,” You begin, pulling back lightly and casting your gaze towards Grogu, who had been suspiciously silent as if knowing the significance of the moment before him. “I wasn’t thinking about the beskar, I was being stupid.”

With your free hand, you cover Din’s hand with yours, hiding your face away, which suddenly feels a little warmer. The nudge of your hand against his does nothing to alleviate the glow.

“I thought it was, like,” You mutter quietly, embarrassed. “You were saying I wasn’t doing my job well enough or— or something and I started worrying you were gonna…”

You can’t even finish the sentence with how foolish you feel.

“You thought I wanted you to leave?” Din asks, his voice dubious and warm. Like the mere thought of that is so far from believable that it’s amusing to him.

“Shut up,” you groan, eyes closing as if it can save your from your further flustering.

“Didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t need to.” You murmur.

His hand in yours tightens, the other on your face coaxing you out of hiding with the gentlest of nudges.

"Never. As long as you want it, I want you with me." He says and in his voice you hear nothing but utter devotion. "Close your eyes."

You follow his command without hesitation, darkness cloaking your vision and you feel his hands retract from yours. The dagger remains in your palm, still cradled in your fingers. Then, there's the tell-tale hiss of his helmet and you inhale sharply.

"Cyare," He says and this time, it's with all the richness and roughness of his natural voice.

The timbre of his voice is like gunpowder sprinkled across your soul and when his hand finds the curve of your cheek once more, it's set alight.

"May I?" He asks. You can feel the soft heat of his breath fan across your lips and feel your heart quiver in response, bursting forward, as if trying to reach him. His thumb soothes across your cheek, full of wanting.

Your nod would be imperceptible if it was anyone other than Din — if his gaze wasn't trained on your face, drinking the details like a starved man, finally with uncloaked eyes.

He moves forward, presses his mouth against yours, and finds home.

[slimybeth69]

Touch: Part 2

Din x f!reader 18+ MDNI

Summary: The Mandalorian thinks you're an incredible artist and he just loves your doodles so much that he couldn't stop himself from doing what he does. He makes up for it though.

a/n: I know so very little about the Star Wars universe. I dunno shit about fuck when it comes to planets and ships and how things work. You'll see what I mean in later chapters, but I'm just warning you that I make a bunch of shit up, and am probably entirely incorrect about some of the things I may talk about in this chapter or upcoming chapters. I'M SORRY. I JUST LOVE THAT HELMETED MAN AND HIS GREEN CHILD, OK???

unbeta'd, poorly proofread because of my AHDH

Mando was gone when you woke up the next morning. Bed empty. Left you wondering if it was all a dream. He’s gone. 

With your notebook. 

It’s gone too. Nowhere to be found. At your own expense, you tore the ship apart looking for it but you can’t find it anywhere. The child loved this game. He helped massively. 

Maker.

What is he doing with it? Why does he still have it? 

You think you know the answers to all those questions but you’re still freaking out a little. Mostly because he has it.

Really it’s because now you’re stuck with nothing to do besides stare at the child. Which you’re currently doing. Just staring at him. And his big eyes and ears. Little robe. Where’d he get that little robe? You should make him a new one. Ask Mando to buy fabric and sew him a new one. 

He’s so cute. You pick him up and carry him outside so you can lay in the warm sun together. He does, for a while. Snuggles beside you and then moves to your head and plays with your hair. You make him a flower crown.

You don’t know where you are. You stopped asking Mando. Stopped caring, mostly when he made you stay with the ship. He brought you everything you needed. You had to stay with the child. Something about a fire and the ship being at risk if the kids left alone for too long. You don’t know. You didn’t care then but now you’re bored. And your mind is wandering.

The kid just stares back at you.

“I know. I’m bored too.” You say to the child, he responds in little baby coos and warbles. He looks at something on the ground by his feet and picks it up. He inspects it for a long time and then looks between you and the object in his clawed fingers. Then he holds it up to you to take from him. You do, and you inspect it as well.

It’s a dead bug. 

“Thank you...so much .” You gently set the dead bug down next to you. The child goes searching for more; he thinks you love your gift. You must want more. So he goes to find you as many as he can. You end up with a little pile of dead bugs and leaves and pebbles next to you. 

You think you love the child and that's weird to you. Because it's a baby and you don’t normally like babies. But he’s not like any baby you’ve ever met before and you think about what’ll happen when Mando doesn’t need you anymore. It actually knocks the air out of your lungs. 

Impossible. 

Unthinkable. 

You didn’t really plan for this. To get attached to the child. 

It just happened one day. Now it’s your child. You’d do just about anything for the lil’ green squirt. 

But he’s also not your child. He’s Mando’s. Don’t forget that. It’s his kid. 

Mando was gone for two days before you saw him again. When he did return the child was already asleep. But you were still outside looking up at the stars around the fire.

“I told you not to–” A voice rings out in the darkness and you nearly fall into the fire. You move so fast you almost stumble right into it trying to get away from the voice behind you but there’s a strong hand on your shoulder and stops you from moving. 

“What the-” You place a hand over your heart and pant softly. “Why!?” You shout, pushing his hand away. “Always! With the shaking me and scaring me in the dark!” You snap.

“I still didn’t shake you.” His helmet is tilted down to look at you. “Do you need me to define the word shake to you?” 

All you can do is blink at him. 

“Where is my notebook!?” You point a finger at him accusingly and attempt to leer at him. “I thought you’d put it back when you were done.” You say with contempt because you really did think he was going to put it away. 

But really, if you’re going to be honest with yourself, the last two nights have been you laying in his bed thinking about what he’s doing with your notebook. And you’re doing the same thing he you hope he’s doing. And you can smell him on his sheets. It’s his natural muskiness and it’s amazing. You fall asleep when you’re done cradling them to your face just to try and be close to him. And he wasn’t even the one who made you come that night together. You did it yourself! You cannot stop thinking about it though. Not at all. It’s the only thing you’ve thought about besides keeping the child alive. 

“I took it with me. I also told you not to be outside after dark when I’m not here.” He said it sternly, like he did when you made mistakes. 

You could hit him. Maker, you could. You think about how the beskar would feel on your dainty- has never seen any sort of forced punch– fist. Also, he’s got a lot of weapons in there. And the Amban on his back.  So you decide that in his best interest, you shouldn’t hit him.

“Well, it’s a good thing you're here, isn’t it?” You snip at him. He shakes his head. 

Mando stares at you for a long time. Saying nothing like always. Maker please, make him speak. 

“I got you something.” He says quietly from behind the modulator. 

What was that Maker? Huh? What’s a notebook? I’ve never seen a–

“You what?” You ask, stunned. Because he’s barely said a total of twenty non mean words to you this whole time before two nights ago and now he’s getting you gifts? As in something you didn’t tell him you needed and he got it with credits you gave him for it? You know, because he doesn’t let you go anywhere.

“Here.” He says, pulling something out from underneath his cape, maybe stuffed into a pocket or a bag, you dunno, but he pulls out another notebook. Not your notebook.  But another one. A new one. There's a new charcoal for you as well. 

You take it from his outstretched hand and stare at it for a long time. You’re the silent one now. 

“Do you like it?” Mando asks after a few quiet moments. You nod, unable to really find the words for how you feel about it. He watches you, looking at your gift and stands by the fire with you. 

“Thank you.” You finally look up at him. He’s got his head tilted down at you still. 

“You’re welcome.” Said so simply like he didn’t just make the last two days so lonely and bori– Hold on one Maker loving minute.

“Where's my other notebook though!?” You ask suddenly. There is no alarm in your voice, just curiosity, because now you kind of like the idea of him carrying it on him while he travels without you.

Mando’s head turns away from you, like he’s observing your guys’ surroundings so intently. 

“Mando.” You drop your head to look at him through your lashes. 

He doesn’t say anything, he’s staring up now and then points his finger up to the sky. 

“Do you see that star-” He starts. 

You groan in frustration, closing your eyes and putting your forehead in your hand.

“Did you lose it?” You ask after a minute. “I won’t really be that upset if–”

“I didn’t lose it.” He’s offended. “I can keep things safe.” He responds quickly. You blink at him. “I keep the child safe. You.” He motions to you with an up and down gesture.

“First– give me some credit for keeping the child safe.” You’re still looking up at him. “Did you know that he jumped into that river over there–” You point behind you. “Did it two times. He cannot swim. I had to go in after he started floating downstream! I’m here with him all the time. Every waking and sleeping second. I’m not saying you don’t keep us safe.” You hold your hands up. “I don’t really know what you do when you leave us here in these fields or deserts. I really dunno, but I’m sure it is keeping us both very safe. Second– You still have the doodles then?” He nods at you. “Can I have them back please?” He shakes his head from side to side. 

Oh Maker ! Is this what I get for doodling? Is this my punishment?

“I’d like to keep it.” Garbled modulated voice from underneath the helmet says so casually. Like he didn’t steal it out of your bag. Like you let him give it a test run to see if he’d like it and now he does and wants to keep it. “That's why I got you the new one.” He’s trying to justify it, funny.  

You look at him with disdain.

“I’ve upset you?” He asks curiously. “You’re…” 

“I’m just really disappointed in you.” You shake your head at him. You’re not as disappointed in him as you’re saying, you’re just saying that because he’s just being really cute right now but you’re not gonna let him know that. “What do you want it for so bad anyway? Gonna rub the charcoal all off it the way you’ve probably been touching it.” You snap at him. 

“I looked at it while I was gone.” He says. “I thought of you.” 

Okay . He can keep the notebook. He can have it. Because he was thinking about you while he was gone and you wonder what else he was doing while he was thinking of you, looking at it. 

He finally sits down next to the fire with you, not close but he sits, and lets out a loud sigh as he leans against the log behind him. 

“Did you have a rough day?” You ask quietly. He shrugs and picks at something on his beskar. When he does that it reminds you of the child.

“The child got all these dead bugs and gave them to me the other day. Like all the dead bugs he could find. He didn’t try to eat them or anything. Just gave them to me like they were a gift.” You chuckle nervously. 

“I hope you like mine more than his.” He looks over at you. 

“It’s a close one.  I won’t lie.” You smirk at him and wonder if he’s smirking back at you.

“So, can you ever take it off?” You motion towards his helmet. He touches it gently with his fingers. “You kept it on in the complete darkness the other night.”

“I can. No one can see my face though.” He explains carefully. “I kept it on to see you. I like to look at you sometimes.”

“Wh-what?” It’s like the breath got knocked out of you. 

“My religion. It’s a part of the creed I was sworn into.” He explains the helmet.

“ Sometimes ?” You raise an eyebrow. “You’ve done it before?” 

He looks away from you. 

“I’m ashamed of it. But yes. I can’t help it.” He’s still looking away from you, into the woods on the far side of the field and you wonder what he can see over there that you can’t.

You think for a long time, a lot of different thoughts running through your head. 

“What happens if someone were to see you?” You ask, changing the subject because you decide you’re not mad about it. Mando looks back at you.

“I wouldn’t be able to put it back on.” He explains. “I’d be banned from my creed.” 

Oh. That’s serious. You don’t know as much about Mandalore as you thought you did. 

“And that would make you upset?” You’re curious and he’s chatty.

“I’d be…” He trails off again. “ Disappointed .” 

You know he’d be more than disappointed but that’s the word he chose, so, you roll with it.

“Then let's not have that happen. No one likes a disappointed Mando.” You tease, reaching out and he lets you touch your foot to his with a gentle tap. He doesn’t pull away, not even after he sees what you’re doing. 

“Especially you. What’s the ship look like?” He tilts his head down as if he was looking at you through his eyelashes. 

“Clean. Surprisingly.” You snap. “ Someone took my only form of distraction so I actually had to do something today to not die of boredom.” You explain sassily. 

“So I should keep the new one too then?” He teases you. 

“Please Maker no.” You grip the notebook to your chest. “I need it.” 

Then he snorts or laughs or something. But it is the sound of air being exhaled at force through his nose and it's loud enough to register in the modulator. Your head snaps over to him. “Did I just make you laugh?” You’re stunned.

It's been so long since you’ve spoken to someone who wasn’t green or Mando himself that you’ve completely forgotten how to talk to people apparently, because you can’t think of another time in your entire life that you’ve asked someone if you’ve made them laugh. 

Okay. It’s not common that the person you're trying to make laugh has a helmet and face visor on, but still. What a weird question to ask. 

“Maybe.”

Now we're back to the short simple responses and you have an idea. A scary one, but an idea.

“Would you like to know what I did while you were gone? Besides, swimming after the child and cleaning and being bored?” 

The reason you’re nervous is because you don’t know how he’s going to react. At all. He could hate what you’re about to tell him, he’s so particular and he can be a little abrasive sometimes, so yeah, kinda nervous. 

“I would.” He’s still looking at you.

Okay, he’s on the hook and now we just have to reel him in. You lean one elbow on the log behind you and turn to him.

“I slept in your bed.” You say it quickly to see how he reacts. 

He doesn’t move. He doesn’t speak.

“Do you– you sleep on the floor when I’m not here?” He asks, shocked. 

Now you’ve completely forgotten what else you were going to say because you could have been sleeping there the whole time? And you’ve been sleeping on the paper thin mat instead when the bed has been empty.

You blink at him. 

“Don’t do that anymore. Use my bed when I’m gone.” 

You keep blinking at him.

“You didn’t think to tell me that?” You’ve been distracted from your original point. 

“I thought it was obvious.” 

This makes your eye twitch softly. 

“Okay.” Because it wasn’t really obvious. He’s yelled at you every day he’s been here except for the night. So why would he want you in his bed?

“Is that all? Was that supposed to make me laugh?” He asks. You stare at him.

“No. It wasn’t. But now I’m mad and I don’t want to tell you anymore.” 

“Tell me.” He says it softly but the modulator messes it all up and you don’t get his real softness. You might never get it. Probably won't. 

“I touched myself thinking about you touching yourself looking at my notebook.” It comes out way less sensual and sexy than you had planned on saying it but it does the job. He gasps softly but loud enough to register.

“You did?” His voice changed immediately to being filled with awe and excitement rather than just sounding like he was putting up with you.

You nod at him, softening slightly because you like when he talks to you this way. Nicely and sweetly. 

“D-did it g-get..” He pauses. “Did it get wet?” 

You nod. 

“Maker.” He sighs. You can’t help but smirk. 

“How many times? Please tell me.” He’s leaned in, apprehensive of what you have to say. 

“Four.” You sigh at him. “Twice a night. I couldn’t sleep unt-” 

“Would you do it again for me tonight?” He interrupts you. “Twice. Please.” 

“Okay.” 

You barely have time to think about what’s going to happen before Mando is up on his feet, holding his hand out to you. You stare up at him for a moment, not recognizing  the gesture especially from him. You place your hand in his eventually and he pulls you to your feet. Then, he holds your hand as you begin to walk inside. 

“Are there rules about..” You trail off as you get to the ship's entrance. You stop walking. “Are you not allowed to, you know, touch me like that?” You ask as he turns to see why you’ve stopped. 

“No.” He says quietly now that you’re both within earshot of the child again. 

“So why don’t you help me tonight?” You ask hesitantly unsure of how he’ll react. He takes a step towards you so fast you take a step back in fear but he pulls you into him gently. 

“You’d let me? Really?” He asks, surprised, like you weren’t just splayed out at his request a couple nights ago. 

Yes?” You say confused. “Why do you think I said yes the other night?” Mando doesn’t speak. For so long. Again with the silence Maker.

“I don’t know.” 

“You’re impossible. Do you know that?” You ask, rolling your eyes at him. 

“I’ll help.” He says, taking a step backward onto the ramp of the ship. “I can do more than help, too. If you’d let me.” 

“Let you? Like I don’t want it either.” You chuckle to yourself. 

“You really thought about it? About me?” He asks in a hushed whisper as you walk into the ship and you place your new gift in a cupboard high enough that the child can't reach. Once you’re fully into the hull he shuts everything up. You’re starting to undress, Mando has disappeared somehow, he was just in front of you, and you turned to check on the child and now he’s gone. The ship goes completely dark, just like the other night and you’re plunged into the void once again.

“Mando.” You whisper into the abyss. “Mando I don’t like wh-” But you feel his hands.

You didn’t even hear him walk to you, only feeling his hands on your waist. Mando slips two fingers behind the button of your pants and then with his thumb, pops it open. You can’t even comprehend how he did that before his touch is gone again.

“Do you have to keep the beskar on all the time?” You whisper. He’s disappeared from touching you so you start to unbutton the front of your shirt. But then his un-gloved hands move yours away. 

“Do you think I sleep in it?” He teases from behind the modulator. 

“Yeah, kinda.” You respond honestly because why would you not think that? You’ve never even seen Mandos' wrist or ankle. To you, his beskar may as well be a part of him. Something he physically cannot remove. 

He does the laugh again. 

“Do you want me to take it off?” He asks after a moment of silence. He’s undoing your buttons so slowly. 

“If you take it off, am I– am I allowed to touch you?” He doesn’t respond but he’s finally got all your buttons undone and now he’s sliding his hands where your shirt opens in the middle and he’s sliding the flat of his palm across the skin just below your breasts. He groans softly. 

“You want to t-touch me?” He asks, like he cannot believe that you’d want to do that. 

“Yes!” It’s louder than you intended. You put your hands over your mouth because the child is close by. “Yes. You don’t want to just touch each other?” You whisper now.

“No.” He says quickly. “I me– I mean yes. But I want to watch you too. I like doing that. You’re very– v-very… You know how you like to be touched. I want you to show me.” The raspiness of his modulated voice is making your knees weak. 

“Okay.” Is all you can come up with; it’s your favorite word apparently. You wonder if Mando can sense that all the thoughts in your brain just leave when he says things like that to you.

You hear the soft metal clicks of something being set on the floor beside you and now, your heart is racing. He’s a real person under his armor and cape and helmet and you’re about to touch him. Standing in the dark waiting for Mando to disarm himself for you. Your heart is pounding out of your chest, you’re sure that Mando can hear it or he probably had a sensor for it in his helmet, since it’s so  useful to him all the damn time. 

“Touch.” He whispers. You hesitantly reach your hands into the darkness and your fingers brush up against the hottest skin you’ve ever touched. It’s like he’s being incubated inside the beskar. So warm. So… strong . His skin is soft on your fingertips but he’s got muscles under there. You can feel them. You press into him, making sure he’s real because this has got to be a dream.

“Wow.” You manage to whisper in awe into the dark. You’re impressed with how he feels behind your hands, yes, so impressed it’s making your legs tingle again. It’s also nice to feel another person against you again. He’s so inviting now that his armor is off. Now that he’s exposed it’s like a different person is standing in front of you.

You press the flat of your palm against his sides, feeling his ribcage against your hands. Fingers still pressed tightly against his flesh so you can feel him.  

He’s breathing heavily and you’re so close you can hear him under the modulator. 

“You want to keep that on?” You ask, looking up to where the breathing is coming from. He says nothing. “It’s okay if you do, I just wanna make sure you’re comfortable.” You snake your hands around his waist and run them up the length of his back and he’s got even more rock hard muscles back there, Maker, how? He’s like one big rock hard bag of muscles and it’s incredible to feel his strength under your hands this way.

“I’d prefer to see you.” 

You’re pressing your own naked body against his now, the hard peak of your breasts press against him and you feel him shiver against you. 

“I like looking at you.” He rasps quietly. His hands touch you. Really touch you. His flat palms are running down your sides. He started up under your arm and is slowly dragging his hands down your waist and sides. Mapping you out. Taking in every inch of you. 

“I like when you touch me.” You whisper. When you speak, he presses the tips of each finger into your flesh and gropes you gently. 

Maker, the strength behind his touch is almost debilitating. It’s incredible and you feel bad for anyone he’s ever put his hands on in any way that isn’t this because he’s holding back for you. You can feel it, in the tenseness of his arms as your hands now explore his forearms and biceps and triceps. Mando is so tense he’s almost shaking. Like he’s desperately holding back from just grabbing you, tossing you on the bed and not listening or watching you like before. 

You’re obsessed with it, the way he’s breathing while he’s touching and exploring your body. It’s staggered and sometimes, when his hands will roam across your ass or your breasts, he’ll gasp softly like he was surprised. You wish on everything that was good, Maker, that he’d just take the helmet off. You’d do anything to just feel the warmth of his mouth where his hands are right now.

Mando takes both of his hands and lifts you right below your bottom, and lifts so your feet are just barely touching the floor. You have to hold onto his shoulders to keep from falling and your whole body presses into him for support. Mando sighs softly into your ear from behind the modulator before he starts to walk you backwards. You're on just the tips of your toes and you let him guide you to his bed. 

It's not much better than the mat. But it's off the floor and has a little more padding. And the blankets, oh Maker, the blankets are so soft. You’ve slept in them naked the past two nights because they’re the most beautiful feeling on your skin while you twist and turn in your sleep. 

Now, Mando is laying you down on top of them. As he lays you down, he kicks either one of your knees open with his so he can kneel between them, he’s still leaning you back, moving one hand to behind your neck so you don’t fall. 

“I like this better than the doodles .” He says as you finally lay back, his hand slides from behind your neck and over your collar bone slowly. He snakes it around your fleshy mound and between your breasts, still pressed flat against you. “S-so much better.” It’s a sigh through the modulator but you can tell he’s watching his hand trail down between your breasts and over your stomach.

“You can look whenever you want.” You tell him breathlessly as his hand moves across your stomach. His index finger traces over your bellybutton so lightly it almost tickles but this is too erotic to be laughing and squirming from tickles. You are squirming but it’s because he’s still tracing over your belly button but his other hand has found where your thigh meets your hip. Now he’s touching you so close to where you want to be touched but his fingers trace across your lower stomach and he sighs again.

“Do you mean it?” His raspy modulator makes you jump because he’s been quiet for so long. You forgot what you said, it's been so long. He’s been teasing you with his fingers like this for what feels like twenty minutes. 

“Mean what?” You sigh as the back of his hand grazes over your slit. You’re already soaked. If you could think about anything besides how fucking hot this was, you’d be a little embarassed getting to excited for someone who hasn’t even kissed you. 

“I can look whenever?” Mando rests the back of his hand against you and pushes his middle finger into your slit. “Because I would like to. I’d look all the time.” His finger is pushing against your clit gently and it’s sending blaster beams through you. 

“Yes. I m-meant it.” You gasp softly into the dark. The heat of his hand feels like it’s going to burn right through you. 

Mando flips his hand around and cups your sex and pushes. The pressure from your own fold and his hand make you moan softly. Now he massages you, slowly and you assume he watches as he makes you squirm again. You suppress another moan as he increases his pressure and almost pushes you back a little, his massaging getting a little fast. 

“I like watching you try and hold back.” His raspy voice behind the modulator scares you again in the dark after a bout of silence and slow crescendoed increases in his speed of his rubbing. Then he pulls his hands away. You snap your knees up to trap him so he can’t leave and you feel his naked body against your inner thighs and it makes you sigh softly because he is so warm and so inviting as his hands find your legs. He’s gripping you. 

“Don’t leave.” You whine, squeezing him tighter between your legs. You hear him chuckle, a real chuckle and his hands relax and he slides them up to your middle. 

“How could I? You’ve ensnared me.” And then his hands slide up your waist and you can feel him leaning over you. “I won’t leave. Not now.” He whispers to you, his hands now just under your breasts. “I have to touch you.” Mando’s hands slide across your fleshy mounds and he gropes them gently in his palms. Squeezing them. “P-perfect.’ 

“Don’t stop.” You reach up and place your hands on top of his and make him squeeze them harder. “F-feels so good, Mando.” One of your nipples slips between his fingers and he pinches it unknowingly as he gropes and massages. He’s following your lead, feeling the pressure you put on his hands and he mirrors it. “Sss- so- oh shit, Mando.” 

Mando has pressed his erection against your slit, but not inside. You feel the length of him pressed between your legs. 

“Fuck.” He groans through the modulator. “You’re s-so wet already.” The cold metal of the helmet is on your shoulder. “Fuck.” He moves now, slowly and his entire length moves between your folds, the ridges and veins of him moving against your clit. Your hands are still holding his to your chest. “You’re exquisite.” He rasps into your ear quietly. 

“O-oh M-maker.” You moan softly but he pulls away from you, his entire body jerks back. 

“No.” He exhales loudly. “I want to watch you, first.” Like he just remembered that’s what you came here for originally. 

You’re a mess below him and before he can even finish speaking your hands are in between your legs. You’re working yourself in every way you can for him, if he wants to watch you’re going to give him a show. 

Quickly and easily you have two fingers inside you curling and uncurling against your wetness and your other hand is spinning tight circles around your clit. It’s so sensitive it’s not going to take long to get you there. You hear him moan softly in the darkness and his hand holds on to one of your knees that are still resting by his side. 

“Yes, oh y-yes. Little one, d-does that feel good?” He coos down to you. You hear him speak and your fingers are working faster. They’re trying hard to make him want to touch you again. 

“Yes, so g-good.” You moan, the circles getting tighter as he continues to speak down to you.

“Keep going, little one. I’ve been thinking about the sounds you make when you do it.” He grips your knee a little tighter and with the other hand pushes your legs open a little further. “S-so lovely.” 

And then you give him what he’s been waiting for. It starts in your toes this time and you curl them, pressing your feet hard into the bed as your hips lift– either to let him see better or because the feeling is just so fucking good that it’s making you levitate– and he sighs loudly. 

The wetness between your legs and your little choked sobs of bliss are the only sounds in the ship as you come with him kneeling before you. Mando’s grip on your knees tightens as your fingers continue to move around your clit and curl inside of you. He’s listening and watching and you love it. It makes you come harder.

“Mando.” You whimper softly. You wish you could see him. “Fuck.” It’s a strained through another gasp of pleasure. 

“Can I touch it?” He asks so politely. You nod, panting and letting your head fall back again after looking up into the darkness for him. 

Mando’s fingers leave one of your knees and he’s at your entrance. He’s pushing two fingers into you gently and then he pulls away. He does it several more times before you realize what he’s doing. 

“You taste so good.” He whispers but the rasp of his modulator is gone and it’s just a man speaking to you now in the dark. Your heart almost explodes in your chest because it’s exactly what you imagined it would sound like. You try to keep your composure. Then you feel his hands on the back of your thighs and the warm breath – oh Maker it’s so warm– your lower stomach. 

Mando is kissing you. He’s trailing kisses along your stomach and stops at your belly button. He kisses it gently and trails his tongue around the outside of it like he had earlier with his fingers. You’re trembling, biting your lip and clenching your fists to your sides because this is the most incredible non orgasm feeling you’ve ever felt and Mando is the one doing it to you.

His tongue traces your belly button as his hands trail up the back of your thighs and find the bend in your knee. He pushes your legs up gently and the tip of his tongue dips into your belly button for just a moment before he’s planting kisses down your stomach. 

“Much b-better than just w-w-watching, huuh?” You stumble out as he bites and nips at the skin on your inner thighs. 

“If I can make you do what you did, yes.” Then his mouth is on you. Theres no hesitation, no teasing. Just his lips pressed against your slit and he’s parting you with his tongue. 

“Oh.” You weren’t expecting it. Everything’s had such a big build up that you were expecting this to go on until the sun came up but he’s licking and lapping at your still sensitive clit. 

“You,” He whispers against your slit. “-taste incredible.” 

“Can I touch your hair?” You pant. Your hands have been searching for something to hold onto and grasp and tug at in pleasure but you’ve been too nervous to touch him anywhere since he took his helmet off. 

Mando is quiet for a long time and he’s stopped licking you. He’s still holding your knees up to your chest. 

“It’s okay if I can’t, I just wanted-” You start rambling nervously into the dark because you’re scared he’s gonna back away and tell you to go sleep on your mat on the floor. 

“I think that’d be okay.” He says after so painstakingly long. You sigh and let your head fall back again in relief. 

Tentatively you reach for him, unsure of where he is in the dark. Your hand brushes his shoulder and you rest your fingers against him and trail them up his neck. His hair is thick and coarse and you just know it’s dark hair. You can feel it in your soul as your fingers curl in it. 

As your fingers find their grip, he goes back to licking you. He has no real meaning behind his movements with his tongue. You’re semi disappointed but you come to realize that he’s exploring. Mando wants to know every inch of you and he’s taking his time. 

His hair feels so good between your fingers. You pull and tug on it gently every time he presses the flat of his tongue against you and slides upwards. He’s licking you like you are his sweet treat, his dessert. 

“I like that.” He says suddenly. You’ve been laying on your back, you moved one of your feet to his shoulder and have his hands tangled in hair still. He’s been lapping at you leisurely for an unknown amount of time. You haven't complained at all, it’s heavenly, Maker, heavenly. 

“What?” You ask breathlessly. You care what he likes but you wish he would keep his mouth on you. You never want him to stop. It’s incredible how thorough he is with his tongue. 

“Your hands. In my hair.” He’s back to your middle now but there’s meaning behind his movements now, like your voice ignited something in him, maybe, you don’t care. You let your head fall back and your grip tightens in his hair again and you push him against you gently, letting him know you need him there. 

Mando loves it, he lets you know he loves it by increasing those perfect circles around your clit and then he moans. That moan sends vibrations through you that you didn’t know were possible. They’re head spinning. 

This is when he decides it’s a good time to add two fingers into the mix. He pushes his ring and middle fingers into you while his tongue swirls quickly. Instead of curling his fingers, he angles them upwards slightly and then pulls them back out and drags the pads of them along the spot inside you. 

You arch your back and tug at his hair harder because this is the best feeling, this right here. You’ve never been able to make yourself feel this way. You didn’t even think pleasure like this way possible. 

“Mando.” You whimper quietly. 

“Din.” He moans against you. You’re so confused because what’s a Din? Why is he saying that.

“What?” You ask in bliss filled confusion. “What did you say?” You lift your head to look up at him but it’s still dark and you can’t see.

“Say Din. It’s my name.” His tongue is back on you and your head falls back and you can’t even be excited that he’s just told you his name because his fingers, Maker, his fingers.

They’re thrusting into you; hard enough to make you shake every time he drives them forward and his tongue hasn’t stopped moving in just the perfect way. 

“Din.” You whimper and clench your eyes shut. Your fingers are gripped so tightly in his hair you’re sure you’ll still have some in between your knuckles when he’s done. “Din. P-please don’t stop.” You have to whisper but you’re holding back a moan that would wake the child and you’re just so desperate for release that you’d die from frustration if the child did wake up.

Din’s fingers move faster, he knows, he’s so ready to feel you come on him that he’s panting against your clit as he laps at you.

“Ohh Din.” It’s drawn out in a long moan whisper as you feel it wash over you. This time it’s radiating out of you from your middle and your hips start to rock against his mouth– they’ve been still this whole time– but this orgasm makes you pitch and reel against him because it’s just so fucking good. It’s mind numbing. One hand leaves his hair because you need to cover your mouth and nose to stop from moaning. 

Din doesn’t stop, he keeps going as your walls contract and restrict against his fingers. It’s making him work harder and his tongue is lashing against you because the feeling of you gushing against his hand is a new feeling to both of you.

“Fuck, Din.” You whimper as the sensation now becomes too much. You twitch with every touch of his tongue and your legs clamp around his head in disapproval of his touch.

Din doesn’t move for a couple seconds and then, from muffled between your legs you hear him. 

“You’ve ensnared me… again.” You laugh because you really have. You open your legs and he leans up and kisses along your stomach. “Can I do what we did the other night?” He asks impatiently.

“You don’t want my help?” You inquire knowingly. He says nothing back but you hear him, hear his fist on himself and then he’s stealing your wetness to do it.

“N-no.” He grunts out softly. “No, lay back. P-please. Lay back.” 

You do. But you feel weird about it. Like does he not want you to touch him? He seemed excited when you said you wanted to touch him earlier but he’s being different now. You lay there, legs still bent at the knee and spread around Din’s body. 

He slips his hands between your legs to take more of your wetness. 

“Th-th-this is what I-I thought about.” He groans out quietly but the modulation is back. “I want to w-watch and-and I–” But he cuts himself off and you hear him moan quietly. Then he’s leaning over you again, you feel his hand rest beside your head. You reach up and wrap your hand around his wrist gently while he comes on your belly. “So good. It’s so good, Little one.” And then he’s resting the cool metal of the helmet against your shoulder. He rests there for a while, letting you keep your hand on his wrist. 

You grab his hand when he pulls away and bring the tips of his fingers to your lips and kiss them softly. 

“Let me next time.” You whisper and slip one of his fingers into your mouth and swirl your tongue around it gently. “Can you see this?” You ask with the tip of his finger between his lips. He says nothing but you can hear his modulated breathing still. 

“Yes.” He says softly. “Let me clean you up.” He says, but he doesn’t pull his hand away.

“Feed it to me.” You say, licking the tops of his fingers gently. 

“Wh-what?” He stutters at your question. 

“Let me taste you, feed it to me.” Your tongue and lips are still teasing his fingers and with his other hand you feel him swirl two fingers in the pool he shot into your belly button. He brings them to your mouth and you move your mouth to those fingers instead. He moves his saliva coated fingers down to your stomach and picks up more of himself on that hand and puts them into your mouth when you pull away from his other hand. He does that until there’s nothing left. Neither of you say anything the entire time. You just do it. When his searching fingers can find no more you feel him sit back. 

“You like that?” He asked quietly in the dark. 

“Only yours.” You whisper back, laying with your hands behind your head. “You can clean me up now.” You tease. He eases himself off the bed and you also start to ease yourself off the bed but you feel him stop.

“What are you doing?” He asks softly. 

“I’m going to go back to my bed,” You say because why wouldn’t you? The bed he has isn’t very big and it’s also not very comfortable besides the sheets. 

“Why?” He asks. “You don’t want to sleep here?” 

“With you?” You ask suspiciously. He says nothing in the darkness. It’s quiet for so long. Then a damp cool cloth on your belly is wiping you down, getting everything he spread out across you in his search for more to put into your mouth. Dips the rag into your belly button. You’re waiting for him to respond. “Mando?” He pulls away from you.

“I said call me Din.” He rasps from the darkness. 

You had almost forgotten but really, you were too scared. What if it was just only while you had your clothes formality.

“Din, you wanna share the bed?” You inquire nervously. More silence.

“I– I could sleep on the mat.” It sounds like a question but it isn’t. He sounds a little disappointed. 

“No, you sleep on the bed. I’m gonna sleep on the mat.” You nod your head into the dark and go to get your nightgown.

“Not share?” He grabs you by the upper arm as you try to pass him. 

“No. Not share. It’s too small.” You look up and wonder if he’s looking down at you. He releases your arm and you go back to your mat. It’s cool down here now and you feel refreshed. It’s hot underneath Mand- Din. It’s hot. He’s a hot man, 

You get yourself tucked into bed and wonder if he’ll be there in the morning when you wake up or if you’ll be in the stars once more. You’ve been in this same field for four whole days. It’s starting to look boring. You need a change of scenery. So does the child. He didn’t make a whole sound th-. You sit up suddenly

“Din!” You exclaim quietly. You hear something bang against metal and he groans. “Sorry.” 

“What?” He grumbles, no raspy modulation.

“The kid! I haven't heard him once since we turned the lights off, is he in the bassinet?” You’re sweating now and every good feeling you’ve had inside of you just two minutes ago is gone. You hear him bang again on something metal and then he’s at the bassinet. 

“Shit. I have to get my hel-” He shuffles back to where he came from, you hear him, no metal banging this time and then the light comes on and you’re blinded . 

What was once a void, a terrible darkness you didn’t think was possible is ripped from you and then you are plunged into the brightest lights you’ve ever seen. You raise your hand, trying to shield them from the light above you but you’re not concerned with that. You stumble to your feet and look into the empty orb. 

“No.” You mutter and look around. “Nonononononononoo.” You whine, the sweat starts to bead in the center of your back. “Where is he? The ship’s not that big, where could he be?” You look at Mando for the first time since the lights came on. He’s got his helmet and just black pants. You stare at him for a long time, forgetting what you were so worked up over because he doesn’t look like your doodles. He’s muscular, yes very but there is a softness your doodles are lacking. He’s got shape and curves and valleys to his body and it’s beautiful.

The child.

“Fuck!” You exclaim. “We would have heard the door? Right?” You start to search, every little crevice and door or cupboard you can think of. He’s nowhere.

“He’s still in here.” Din says, looking around much more carefully and less destructive as you are. 

“How do you know? He’s so small Din, what if something happ-” But he shoots his head over at you in a way that steals the words from your mouth. 

“Don’t. He’s still here. I just know.” Then he goes back to looking. 

You two look everywhere for what feels like way too long and finally Din calls to you. 

“I’ve got him.” 

You’re on your hands and knees almost inside the engine  of the ship, a place you have no reason being because you don’t know what goes on inside, just that there was a space big enough for the child to climb through. 

You relax. You can breathe. He’s got the child. Everything is right in the world. 

Making your way back to the room, you wipe off your hands and knees and fix your messy hair because you’ve just been on the floor, crawling around on your hands and knees like an animal. When the child sees you, he reaches for you and you take him gently from Din’s arms. 

“Where were you? Huh? Scared me half to death thinking I lost you.” You cradle him close to you. “Where was-” Din is looking your way with your brand new notebook in his hands. All the pages have been torn apart or chewed on. “How did you even get up there?” You look down at the child who is already sleepily blinking up at you. “How do you do stuff like that?” You rub his forehead with your index finger and he closes his eyes slowly.

“I’ll get you another one. Two.” Din tosses the notebook back into the cupboard. “Sorry.” 

“You didn’t put him in that cupboard… did you ?” You tease quietly now that the kid’s back to sleep. You go to put him in his bassinet but Din stops you.

“Sleep in the bed. With him. Don’t let him sneak around like that again tonight. I’ll sleep on the mat.” Before you can protest he's got his hands on your shoulders, guiding you to the bed. “Please. I feel bad you’ve been sleeping on the floor. I’ll get you a better mat.” 

So you crawl into bed and Din goes to turn the light out. The sheets are so soft. You place the child beside you and curl your body around his. You’ll feel if he decides he wants another paper snack or a midnight stroll around the ship. 

“How do you sleep down here?” Din says with almost no expression from your place on the floor. 

You chuckle and snuggle into the child.

Tag list (I'm putting anyone who showed me love and interest in this story, tell me to fuck off and I'll remove you if you'd like) @glitterymanboy @pedrospookie @thereaperisabitch @furiousmushroom

I'll also add whoever wants me to add them!

<- Part 1 Masterlist Part 3 ->

[wrathkitty]

Short Debts Make Long Friends - Chapter 24 Snippet

The tribe’s opinion of you generally fell into one of three categories: 

Paz, who despised you. 

The Armorer, who tolerated you.

And those who saw you as a harmless oddity who was welcome to stay so long as she continued minding the children — which had turned into therapy from day one, no matter how much anyone tried to pretend it was babysitting. All of the Foundlings lost family during the fall of the Empire. You weren’t encouraging them to draw pictures of their loved ones just because you couldn't come up with anything else better to do.

Problem was, if the grownups didn’t change their approach to childrearing soon (maybe let’s worry a little less about Breha perfecting her Rising Phoenix technique and focus more on managing her anger instead), in a few years’ time the Covert was going to have a passel of dysregulated adolescents on its hands, and in a few years after that, everyone in the Outer Rim would be failing to fend off an entire generation of behavior disordered Mandalorians. 

These were concerns you shared with The Manda’lor (you made a point of intoning it as a proper noun whenever you both were alone, just to annoy him), who quietly arranged for D-5 to drill a small hole in the tribe’s communal barrel of fuel. It took a week to replenish the supply, giving you time to sneak in some basic coping skill lessons between Rising Phoenix 101. By week’s end, Breha failed her flight test and remembered to take three deep breaths before she started throwing blunt objects. And when those blunt objects turned out to be grav charges, everyone started taking the nanny a little more seriously. 

(And if teaching Zones of Regulations to the Mandalorians was how you left your mark on the universe, then you’d die happy.)

Short Debts Make Long Friends - An over-educated, underpaid millennial finally gets to go on her first adventure.

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[pridoo]

Oh, what the hell. Let's go!! ❗️❗️❗️

[sluttylittlewaistenthusiast]

˚₊‧꒰ა fic reccomendations ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

MARVEL

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CALL OF DUTY

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STAR WARS

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MISCELLANEOUS

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navigation . how you can help palestine

[lux-ishii]

Storytelling Analysis (I guess?) I shared this thought with Dinbo Server but thought why not elaborate further? Personally, I think this frame is the moment Bo-Katan realized Din is her ride-or-die (or even a crush). They were specifically arguing about going to the mines, where her stance was that it was just a waste of time and they should get back. However, Din insists on going there without her. What Bo does? A total 180 turn saying she will take him there.

So Bo gives him a trip not only to the mines but also to her own past as a Mandalorian Princess. Specifically mentioning her father, for the first time ever, something she hasn't done in The Clone Wars or even Rebels, where she has been treated with all the honors her Clan once had, as they referred to her "Lady Bo-Katan Kryze" when brief history facts were dropped at unaware Ezra.

DO YOU SEE WHO LOOKS AT HER WHEN SHE MENTIONS HER FATHER LOOKING AT HER PROUDLY? All I'm gonna say is that Cinematic Design regarding storytelling this season is INSANE. Each frame, move, pose, and EVERYTHING has its purpose in the further symbolism of how things develop.

Later in this scene, Bo is really sarcastic about the whole ceremony referring to it as "Such a heart-warming spectacle", which Din mistakenly takes as her mocking her father.

We all know what happens next, but something always felt odd about it to me.

The thing is... Bo barely said anything, just that he made her take The Creed she later broke. So where does the "interesting" part comes from? Of course, Din might be curious to meet someone who ruled Mandalore in its glory, but I think the root of it goes back to the Mandalorian culture, and what Din himself experiences:

You see, the best measure to judge Bo's father is to look at her. And it's safe to say Din IS impressed by her, not only in skills but also with her personality. If he hated her and didn't care about her he would never take her to his covert. In a recent episode, they highlighted how secretive they are about their place, it was almost sacred not to reveal the location. Yet he took her there, despite her different beliefs.

So I think Din is saying that, because he admires Bo as a warrior, and she is the result of how her father raised her. It means her father was a great person Din himself could learn from. It's quite important knowing, that Din is the father to Grogu now, so how he will raise him, depends on who Grogu will become. Bo later revealed even more admiration for her father, calling him great. (Or even comparing Din to him when Grogu had his first fight.) THIS IS NOT A COINCIDENCE, BELIEVE ME.

Din goes as far as showing the biggest form of respect he knows to this man who not only raised someone like Bo, but also died like a warrior.

However, the whole thing leaves Bo-Katan... puzzled?

She really doesn't know what to say, how to respond, until Din leaves her behind with Grogu.

OK HEAR ME OUT

I know she kinda was harsh to Grogu here, BUT it's the same kind of response someone would say if they were caught blushing. You see, I think Bo's (and maybe Din's too) emotions were SO strong Grogu could feel them in the force. He knows what's going on, and Bo was caught red-handed. Now look at this:

"They loved watching the princess recite the Mandalorian tenets as her father looked on proudly." Bo definitely was touched by his devotion to the creed. It sparked something in her, and she did exchange a proud look towards Din with Grogu. The devil is in the details, Bo was now in the position her father once was, which we know of because of her previous confession. It all was in a way foreshadowed to us.

Leter, without thinking Bo jumps to save Din's life again, which led her to discover a mythosaur. This is only my opinion, but I do think the storytelling between them is written really well this season, and it may be the best relationship build-up in Star Wars live-action media in years depending on how they will go with it later.

Going as far as doing psychological parallels between Din and Bo's father, something we as humans do and look for unsubcounciouslly in our romantic interests (the reason why Daddy Issues are such a big problem if the father figure was absent/bad) means that now everything matters like I said in the beginning. Frames, moves, words... it's all part of the bigger picture. The Mandalorian Writers really do build up whatever is happening between them. It's not out of the bat, I've rewatched Season 2 to see how Bo and Din interacted there, and the natural progression of turning distrust to trust was there. They have both been thru a lot, and it really feels like together, they will be stronger.

[dindjarindiaries]

Breakable Heaven - Chapter 10: Breakable Heaven

summary: The summer comes to an end, forcing you and Din apart—and leaving you to hope the galaxy has a different plan for you.

warnings: mild smut, sexual references, parental trauma, angst, emotional hurt/comfort, fluff

rating: M

word count: 4.541k

previous ⟸ masterlist

chapter 10: breakable heaven

There’s not much left to the summer after your ultimatum is set, and both you and Din try your best not to spend what time you have left mourning something you haven’t yet lost. It proves difficult, though, as you feel the weight of it on your shoulders every time you meet his sweet, brown gaze. There’s a light that hasn’t appeared in the golden flecks of his eyes ever since you came back to the covert that day.

When Din’s training, you spend time with your Mandalorian family. You play with the foundlings and teach them everything you know, hoping that at least one of them will play the role you intended to fulfill within this very covert. You also absorb your time with Zena, who took the news of your fate just as poorly as Din—if not worse.

When Din’s not training, every moment is spent right by his side. There’s nothing else you can do than take advantage of every last second you have together. Each day is spent taking walks and imagining the future after your time in the Imperial Academy, and each night is spent memorizing his lips, his body, and the pure feeling of him wrapped up entirely in you.

One day, you won’t have that anymore; you won’t have him. That day is tomorrow.

You’re already thinking about this as Din’s mouth continues his beautiful exploration of your own, as if he and his tongue are trying to memorize you in the same way you have him. You don’t want to be thinking about your doomsday, though. You want to focus on the perfection that’s him with you, one body, heart, and soul for the last time in a long, long time.

Just not forever. Please, not forever.

“Please.” You say the plea aloud, hoping Din will take it for a cry for pleasure rather than a result of the desperate ache in every inch of your bones for him to never leave you. You wouldn’t be opposed to having as much of him now as he can manage.

“Always.” Din’s response is simple, strained from his own ecstasy and certainly his own emotion, but it carries a weight that goes unsaid. His forehead’s against your own, sweat coating his skin and yours—but it’s better than tears, which have been more and more common these nights. “You will have me always.”

You want to reassure him of the same, to remind him for the umpteenth time that you’ll find him as soon as you’re freed of your service, but you can’t manage the words. The mixture of pure pleasure and vast devastation is so dangerous you can’t speak. Only incoherent strings of panting breaths and gentle cries can escape, so you try to reassure him by raking one hand through his hair and the other over the skin on his back. Maybe the marks will go deep enough to leave him with this reminder of you.

Din’s gentle with the way he holds your jaw, forcing your eyes to meet his own as he searches your gaze. “Use your words, ner kar’ta.” He swallows hard, and you hope it’s from pleasure, but the desperation in his eyes and the slight glaze of unshed tears tells you otherwise as he offers the same plea as you. “Please.”

“Always, Din.” You say his name as reverently as you can manage, never once straying from his gaze so he can sense your severity and deep meaning. “You…” you hiccup on a breath, hoping it’s a pleased gasp rather than a sorrowful sob, “will always have me, too.” You use your grip on his hair to bring his lips back to your own, wanting to taste them like this one last time as you whisper your next words upon them. “Par an ca’nara.” For all time.

That’s when you both break. No longer is sweat the only thing shared between your faces, as tears fall while the love between you rises. The knot within you breaks loose, one of pleasure and one of devastation, shattering you like splintering ice as you tremble from the physical and emotional ramifications of this last high with him. Din’s the very same, though it happens moments later, evidence of a strength you’ll always admire.

The distance won’t matter. This may have been one summer, but that’s all you needed to know what you want your forever to look like. Having to leave him, and the family that comes with him, hurts more than any physical wound ever could.

Din holds you tight as he lays beside you, letting you seek the refuge of his slick neck as you wrap yourself around him. You can’t bear to be even an inch away from him. You want to cling to this moment, to this very feeling, and never let it go. He has to know that.

“I can’t let you go.” The words are nothing short of pitiful as they fall from your swollen lips, your voice muffled by his warm skin. You pull him tighter at the mere idea of leaving.

Din lets you as close to him as you want to be. “Then don’t.” His words are soft, and much more composed than you expect them to be. His lips press a kiss to your head. “Hold onto me no matter how far apart we are.”

You furrow your brow, ashamed by the way the dark hole of defeat is consuming you. “How?”

Din takes a gentle breath, one hand running over your bare back as the other secures your head in place against him. “The stars brought us together for a reason, cyar’ika.” The wisdom you’ve come to adore so much fills his voice as he whispers to you. “No matter where we are in the galaxy, we’ll be looking upon the same stars.” His chin rests upon your head. “Keep them close, and you’ll have me close, too.”

You squeeze your eyes shut and release a breath you didn’t realize you’ve been holding. “Promise?”

Din nods. “Promise.”

You refuse to cry, now, instead breathing in the scent of him and letting it relax you enough to seek some kind of rest in his arms. “I love you.”

Din gives your head another kiss. “I love you, too.” He repeats his promise from before. “Always.”

Somehow, you manage to sleep, and for once since you returned to the covert, it’s not fitful. But it’s not the sleep you’ve been worried about. It’s the morning, and that dawn has now broken.

Din helps you get ready and makes sure you’re fully packed before he takes you to say your last goodbyes. You earn an embrace from everyone: Zena, Paz, the foundlings, and all others you’ve grown close to. Cabur offers one last Keldabe kiss and dries your tears for you, and even the Armorer taps her golden helmet against your forehead.

Din’s grip on your hand is tight as he escorts you out of the covert. Each step towards Scespa’s landing zone feels heavier and heavier, and the silence between you and Din is even heavier somehow. There’s nothing either one of you can say to make this any better. This is the last time you’ll see each other until stars know when.

When you arrive at the landing zone, you see the Imperial shuttle waiting there. Only a few others are preparing to board it, with their family and friends wishing them farewell in a way that makes you sick. You look around for your parents and feel your chest burn with an unprecedented rage as you spot them amongst the others.

But at least there’s a bright light even amidst that darkness.

“Drinna,” you breathe the Twi’lek’s name as you tug Din forward with you. Drinna meets you in the middle, holding you close to her as if you’re her own. In a way, you are, and you don’t fight the tears that soak the fabric of her shirt. “Thank you for coming.”

“I had to, darlin’.” Drinna holds you tighter. “I had to.”

When the two of you finally pull away, she cups your cheek and reveals a bittersweet smile. You muster the courage to offer her a smile of your own. “Thank you for everything, Drinna.”

“You don’t have to thank me, honey.” Drinna kisses your forehead. “Just stay strong in there.” She pulls away and holds both your hands. “Okay?”

You nod, offering her another watery smile. “Okay.”

Drinna pats your cheek and turns her attention to Din. She sets her hands on his shoulders and faces him with severity. “Find ‘em.” She gestures with her head to you, her lekku bouncing on her back as she does so. “You understand? As soon as they’re out, find ‘em.”

Din nods with determination you don’t miss. “Yes, ma’am.”

Drinna returns his nod. “Good.” Drinna gives you one last embrace before she pulls herself away, and you know she’s only turning her back on you to walk away because she won’t be able to leave if she doesn’t do so.

Your gaze slides over to your parents, and you scowl as they try to make an approach. In a subtle move that says enough, Din steps in front of you, as if he’s challenging them to come any closer. They stop, understanding the threat—but not without narrowing their eyes. Din escorts you over to the checkpoint and he stays with you, his hand in yours, even as they gather your information and secure you for transport.

This nightmare is finally becoming real, and all you can do is hold whatever part of Din you can until the last possible second.

At least your parents have left, now. They had waited until you were officially checked in to do so, further proving how little they actually care about you and your future. You scoff to yourself at the thought of it.

“All right, cadets,” the Imperial officer who checked you in announces. “It’s time to board. Say your final goodbyes.”

Your heart drops into your stomach as your blurry eyes focus on your feet. Din’s free hand holds your chin, easing your head up to look at him again. He glances over his shoulder at the Imperial and quickly whisks you into the shadow of a nearby vessel, keeping you concealed from sight as he lowers his voice for only you to hear.

“Listen, cyar’ika.” Din holds your face between his hands, his intense brown gaze searching yours. “You play along as you have to, and as soon as you’re able…” he pauses, releasing your face to reach for a pouch hanging from his belt, “you buy your freedom.”

You furrow your brow, confused as Din sets the pouch into your hands. “What do you mean?”

Din glances down at the hefty pouch. “You take these credits and you buy a ship that’ll get you to the Rebellion.”

You look at him like he’s crazy. “Buy a ship? I…” You consider the weight of the pouch in your hands, your eyes doubling in size as the realization falls upon you. “No, Din.” You shake your head. “I can’t accept this.”

Din closes your fist around the pouch with his hands. “It’s yours.” He nods at you, his brow furrowed in severity.

“Din…” You search his gaze, trying to find the words that are lodged in your throat. “This is for your ship, to see your homeworld.” You bite your lip to keep it from trembling as you study the pouch in your hand. “I can’t take that from you.”

“You’re not taking anything from me.” Din holds your face again, his forehead resting against yours as he nods. “I’m giving this to you, and all I ask in return is that you do me the honor of protecting you one last time by following these instructions.”

You study him, overcome with emotions of sadness, disbelief, and pure affection. “Why can’t I buy a ship and come right back here?”

Din shakes his head. “We both know why.” He runs his fingers over your lips. “Your parents will know you’re here. Even if we try our best to hide you, they’ll find out. This is a small town.”

You take a deep, trembling breath, hanging the pouch on your belt and holding his face just as he does with your own. “Promise you’ll come find me as soon as you can?”

Din smiles, a warm gesture that temporarily relieves every ache in your body as he nods. “I promise.” He brushes his lips over your own. “But don’t let the covert and I hold you back, ner kar’ta.” Those golden flecks appear in his eyes for the first time since you first gave him the devastating news. “You go chase your dream of helping the rebel effort with your remedies.”

You tilt your head, stuck between two feelings at his sweet words. “It’s not a dream if you’re not there.”

Din shakes his head, but his smile remains. “That’s not true.” He kisses your forehead. “Because you, ner cyare, are so much more than just me.” He nods to reassure you further. “You never had a problem with the prospect of my Creed. I’ll never have a problem with you dedicating yourself to this noble cause.”

You don’t know what to say. There really isn’t anything left to say. With these words, Din is proving to you the true depth of his love for you. He’s not letting you go to a fate your parents resigned to you, nor is he letting you retreat into the safety of the life he’s shown you.

Din is encouraging you to follow the life you have always wanted for yourself.

You kiss him, the gesture desperate yet achingly passionate as you taste him one last time. This is home to you, the warmth of his mouth on your own and each movement you make being equally matched with his own. It’s suspended in time, but it’s also not long enough, and you only pull apart when the Imperial calls out your last name in warning.

“I love you, Din.” The words are like a vow as you say them without tearing your gaze from his. “I love you so much. Always.”

“I love you too, cyar’ika.” He runs his knuckles down the side of your face, adding one last kiss to your forehead. “And I’ll say it again the next time I see you.”

Your lips wobble, but you fight the emotion this time. You hold Din’s hands and squeeze them tight, doing the same to your eyes as you force yourself away from him. Each step you take is a large stride, the only kind you can manage to fight the urge to run back into his arms. If all goes well, you’ll sneak off the shuttle on its next planetary stop for recruits, and you’ll use Din’s credits to buy a ship there.

Now, all that’s left to do is focus on the stars and count down the days until you see your beloved again, a man who’s so much more than a simple summer fling.

⋆˚✿˖°☾𖤓⋆˚✿˖°☾𖤓

You smile as you bid your customer farewell. As soon as they’re out of sight, you sit back in the chair behind your booth and let out a quiet grunt at the slight ache in your knees from standing for so long. All that running around the Rebellion’s various bases to help the wounded really took its toll on you.

But you wouldn’t trade that time for anything. Or, perhaps, maybe only one other thing.

You force yourself to acknowledge the ache in your chest that’s been ever-present since the day you left Scespa. It’s only slightly dulled with time, but you know it’ll never fade. There were promises made that day that have yet to be fulfilled, but you feel no ill will. This is a big galaxy, and the secrecy you were sworn to in the Rebellion no doubt made your discovery difficult.

He’s moved on—at least, you hope he has. You gave up on any hope of trying to find another love long ago. Your love of helping others has been enough to fill the void.

This isn’t what’s on your mind, though, as you continue to sit and neaten the booth in front of you. You keep catching sight of the hustle and bustle of the marketplace, the children who laugh with their parents and the parents who can truly enjoy their children being safe and sound.

This planet was occupied by Imperials until the Rebellion effort, now the New Republic, eliminated the Empire’s threat. Now, these families are finally free to be out and about, something you’ve been fighting for ever since the beginning.

You take the ramitrol from the display and put it away. Thankfully, it’s gone untouched. At least this planet is reducing its share of blaster wounds, and that alone is progress you’re happy to see, no matter how much it might hurt your sales.

You set the jar down and widen your eyes as you come face-to-face with a giant brown of brown-black eyes. Pulling yourself away just a bit more, you observe more of the little creature. They’re no taller than your boot, and their green ears are petal-shaped in a way you’ve never seen before. They coo in interest at you, their head tilting as a row of tiny teeth smile at you.

“Hi there, little one,” you greet with a giggle. “Where did you come from?”

The creature babbles and turns around, but when there’s no one there to claim them, they turn back to you with a concerned furrow in their brow.

Your breath is nearly stolen with panic for them. “Are you lost?” You ease yourself onto one knee, gently reaching out for them. They lift their arms to let you pick them up, and you stand as you hold them in your elbow. “Don’t worry, we’ll find them.” You give their head a pat to cheer them up. “I’ll keep you safe.”

“Kid?” You hear a gruff voice from somewhere in the chaos of the busy marketplace, a modulated sound that gets closer and closer. “Where’d you—...”

It stops as the man comes into sight. It’s a Mandalorian, the first you’ve seen since the news of the Great Purge reached the Rebellion’s doorstep. He’s dressed head-to-toe in silver beskar armor, an impressive array of weapons on display and the outline of a mudhorn decorating the pauldron on his right shoulder. You ignore the sudden ache in your chest and muster a smile. “Are they yours?” You lift the little one in your arms.

The Mandalorian doesn’t speak. Instead, he tilts his helmet and takes a few steps forward, his gloved hands curling into gentle fists at his sides. You furrow your brow, slightly concerned by his silence as you resist the urge to take a step backwards. The child’s happiness in your arms, however, keeps you from doing so.

When the Mandalorian speaks again, his voice is so quiet and gentle you nearly miss it. “Cyar’ika?”

Your mouth goes dry as your lips part in disbelief. You give him a once-over, trying to look for something you recognize, but it’s impossible with all his armor on. For a second, you convince yourself you’ve heard him wrong. “Pardon?”

The Mandalorian takes another step closer, lifting his right hand and using his left hand to tug at the fabric that covers his wrist. Your heart stalls in your chest at the dark ink painted on his skin. It’s a wosac flower, the same thing used to make the ramitrol you’ve just set down.

The same thing a Mandalorian once gave you at the marketplace on Scespa.

You blink up at his visor, imagining the sweet gaze that lays underneath. “Din?”

Din nods, his cuirass stalling as his visor evidently takes in the sight of you. You do the same to him. It’s hard to imagine the same Din you once knew underneath all his armor, now somehow even taller and broader than he was all those years ago. At the same time, it makes sense, especially with the gentle way he approaches you.

He lifts a gloved hand as if he’s going to cup your face, but he stops himself, hesitating for a reason you can’t quite conceive of. Knowing you’ve both been waiting for this moment, you let your face fall into his open hand, his touch akin to the first breath taken after a loss of oxygen as you close your eyes and exhale.

“I…” Din starts, his breath hitching before he goes on, “I never stopped looking.”

You open your eyes at that, looking upon him with a ferocity of love you haven’t experienced since Scespa.

“I promise.” Din nods to affirm his words, his other hand now rising to hold your face as well. “It’s just…” he pauses to huff, “your Rebellion was too damn hard to find.”

You laugh, closing your eyes once again in a wave of relief so profound you nearly go weak in the knees. “That means we did our job well.”

There’s a smile in Din’s voice as he responds. “How was it?”

You face him again with a warm smile of your own. “Everything I dreamed of and more.” You free a hand from the child in your elbow to cover one of his hands on your face. “It was only missing one thing.”

Din tilts his helmet, waiting for your answer. Memories you spent years trying to repress flood your mind all at once, from that first wosac flower to his final promise of your reunion.

“You.”

Din’s helmet straightens again, his gloved thumbs running over your cheeks as his beskar comes closer to you. The feeling of the metal against your forehead is new, yet somehow familiar, as if you’ve been preparing for this over all these years. You know you have, even if you tried to convince yourself otherwise. “Well, I’m here now.” Din’s words are soft, crackling through his modulator in a way that proves he’s said them just as much for himself as he has for you. “And there’s something I need to tell you.”

You beam at him. “Yeah?”

Din nods. “Yeah.” He doesn’t hesitate in following through on that promise he made you all those years ago. “I love you.” He frees one hand from you to cross his fist over his cuirass in a dutiful manner. “I always have. It’s never wavered, never changed.” He adds one more nod. “I swear it upon the Ancestors.”

“I know.” Your voice trembles as you reach forward to kiss his beskar cheek. “Because you were always a shit liar.” Din chuckles at that, relief flooding him in the way his tense armored shoulders relax. You wait until he’s fully facing you again to go on. “I love you, too.”

Din takes you close, and you bring yourself even closer, until your body is nearly flush against his armor. The whole planet, the whole galaxy, has faded around you, and neither one of you cares. Din instead continues to cradle your face, his visor inspecting you as if he’s searching for wounds. “Did you look at the stars?”

“Yes.” You answer his question truthfully. “Every night.”

“Me too.” Din’s visor meets your gaze again. “Did it help?”

You nod. “More than you’ll ever know.”

A sudden coo from the corner of your arm draws both your and Din’s attention. The little creature’s ears are raised high on their head as they look between you and Din. The two of you chuckle as you look up at Din with disbelief.

“Is he yours?”

Din nods. “For now.” The way he says the words proves he’s not happy with them. “I’ve been quested by the Armorer to reunite him with the Jedi.”

You widen your eyes at that, at least a hundred questions running through your mind at his words—but only one thought’s able to break through. “I met a Jedi.” You nod to further affirm your words. “I saw him a few times at our bases.”

Din tilts his helmet at that. “Well then, ner kar’ta, I guess you’ll just have to come with us.”

You set a hand on his cuirass and raise your brow. “I was coming anyway.”

Din softens and rests his helmet against your forehead again. “I know.”

“You need to tell me all about your adventures.” You think back on everything from your days on Scespa. “And the covert, and how the Creed’s been treating you.” Your gaze falls to the child in your arms. “And how you found this little guy.”

Din nods. “I’ll tell you everything.” He tilts his helmet at you. “So long as I get to hear about your adventures, too.”

You beam at him. “Of course.” You lower your voice. “So long as we still have time to… make up for all these years.”

Din runs his gloved fingers down your cheek. “All these years later, and you’re still able to say exactly what’s on my mind.” He hesitates, as if he’s just remembered he’s wearing a helmet. “But I’ll have to make you my riduur first.”

You raise your brow. “You say that like I might say no.”

Din draws in a quiet breath. “Well, I just…”

You stop him by going on. “I’ve had plenty of time to think about it, Din. Trust me.” Your hand brushes up to his cowl as you gently take it in your grasp. “I want to marry you.”

Din’s visor studies you once more, as if he’s searching for a lie, before he nods. “All right.” His voice is coated with relief as he sets his visor on the booth you’re no longer interested in running. “Then I’ll help you pack up.”

It’s as if no time’s passed. Watching Din load up your hovercart for you brings you back to that first day you met, when he returned at night to do the very same for you. Every moment feels like sweet nostalgia, even when you exchange your vows and earn the honor of seeing Din’s face for the first time in much too long.

And that’s when you meet those brown eyes again, earning the very same feeling you had the first time you ever saw them. Your heart somersaults in your chest, the moment suspending in time as the same boyish and charming smile you fell in love with so long ago spreads across his lips. Only this time, his brown hair has gotten somewhat longer, his untrimmed jaw and upper lip revealing just how much your adoration of him has somehow gotten stronger with age.

It’s the beginning of your forever, and yet it’s the same beginning as the earliest part of your story—a revival of your shared heaven that is more unbreakable than you could’ve ever dreamt.

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[corazondebeskar-reads]

well it's love, make it hurt - chapter six

well it’s love, make it hurt series

six: sometimes it just feels better to give in

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dom!Din Djarin x sub!f!reader

Word Count: 4.2k

Summary: You have cabin fever and a rough morning. The Mandalorian finds a way to cheer you up and pass the time while you travel across the galaxy.

Warnings: bdsm, d/s relationship, established relationship, dom!Din Djarin x sub!reader, soft dom!Din Djarin, kind of intense scene, domestic nonsense, hand feeding, spanking, one (1) pussy slap, oral (m receiving), oral (f receiving), 69, rope bondage, sex pollen (intentional, Din only), Din Djarin removes the helmet but doesn't reveal his face, subspace, aftercare, no y/n

Originally written for Kinktober 2023 - Day 8: Sex Pollen/Sexual Competition, inspired by @absurdthirst’s wonderful prompt list,

also on a03

3 ABY - Winter

It's day five of near-constant travel across the galaxy. You had worked on the way out, filling the carbonite, and now had nothing to do but return.

Yesterday, you had stopped for fuel and food. Taking the long range of bounties would pay off in the end; you had run the numbers, but for now, it meant things were a little tight. Mando never really lingered at the ports, but you hadn’t bothered to enjoy the market or the rusty crimson mountain range. The faster you got back, the faster you got paid.

It wasn’t as if you would starve. There were reserves; you both knew that. After it became clear neither of you were particularly interested in ending your arrangement, you shifted the way the profits were split in favor of a more communal fund for ship repairs, rations, and medicine. That budget was running low. But both Mando and you had your own caches of credits, earmarked for other purposes.

You regret the quick departure now. You wake up stiff and grouchy, like your body knew it missed out on a leisurely hike full of beautiful sights. After you drag yourself out of bed to stretch, you try to recover the day.

What for, though? There's nothing to do. You're over looking at the stars or the gray walls of the Crest. The datapad only held your attention for a minute or so before the tension in your chest built back up, and you tossed it to the side.

Getting out of bed proves to be another mistake. You burn your caf. When you try to dump it out, you spill a bunch on the floor and have to clean the whole galley to get the smell out. And when you go to rid yourself of the caustic odor and sticky residue, the fresher is exclusively sputtering cold water.

Fuck it.

You dry off and go back to the bunk, not bothering with clothes lest you rip your favorite shirt or trip and fall while putting on trousers. Seemed like the kind of thing that might happen.

You bury yourself in the covers and turn off the light, determined to sleep for the entire day and hope tomorrow was better.

Mando was elbow-deep in the wiring for most of the morning. A long trip was a good chance to update some of the non-critical systems. He was vaguely aware that you were up and puttering around the ship, and as much as he wanted to take a break and greet you, he knew he’d never be able to finish the job.

By the time he finishes and cleans up, securing the panel back to the wall, a couple hours have passed. But you aren’t in the hull eating lunch or fixing your jammed pistol. You aren’t curled up in your chair with a book. Even the refresher is empty (to his slight disappointment. He would have enjoyed the show).

It was unlike you to go back to bed. A deep frown settles as he makes his way to the bunk, and there you are, curled up on your side against the wall. He runs a bare hand up and down your leg, and you stir a little.

“Cyare, you okay?” he says.

“Uh-huh.” It was more of a groan than anything else.

“Are you sick?” His hand tightens a little on your calf, brow furrowing as he reaches up to feel your forehead.

You bat him away (or, at least, he thinks that's what you attempted to do. It was more of a weak flop of your hand before it fell back on the bed). “Nuh-uh. Sleepy. Bad morning.”

He settles on the edge of the bed. “Anything I can do for you, cyar’ika?”

“Nuh-uh. Lemme sleep.”

“Okay.” He sighs and slips back out of the bunk, but leaves the door open. The idea of closing you in there made something grind in his sternum.

He lets you sleep for another hour while he takes a quick rinse in the fresher before preparing a bit of lunch—or, technically, breakfast. Neither of you have eaten yet. At the market yesterday, while you were meticulously restocking and haggling with shopkeepers (he could practically see the credit-per-meal calculations crunching in your head), he had slipped a wrap of boiled tipyip, a crusty loaf of bread, fresh tubers, and a few fruits into the bag. With his own coin, of course, and insisted on carrying the bag.

The idea of you stressing over whether or not you’d have enough food made him physically ill. He trusted you to buy enough rations, but it was unusual for you not to buy at least a few fresh items. You were going to be on the ship for another four days.

Before working together, you had both lived that way. Bounty to bounty, ration to ration. But half the point of taking a partner was to have a better life. And while most of his credits went to making sure his people all had better lives, it hadn’t taken long to soften up with you around. He wanted to be soft with you around, or you’d spend every moment flinching away from the thorns you’d made your nest from.

Osik, he’d done the same thing, but he had the armor. The armor he’d been wearing a lot less lately. The past month or so, he found himself shedding everything but the helmet while you traveled. Never on land or at port, but hurdling through the frigid vastness, he preferred to feel your warmth.

Mando eats while he makes your plate and then, slipping his helmet back into place, climbs into the bed. He settles behind you and wakes you.

“S’it morning?” you mumble.

“No, but it’s time to get up.”

“No,” you whine and cover your head with the blanket.

He shakes his head, grinning beneath the mask. “I’m not asking, cyar’ika.”

You pull the blanket down to your nose and look up at him with big, sad eyes.

“Stop that,” he tugs at the blanket, “or are you trying to be a brat?”

You shake your head.

“C’mere,” he says, patting his lap. You scoot up so your back is against his chest.

“Open,” he says.

You obey immediately, but furrow your brows and strain your head back a little to see what he's up to, given that you are very much not in range of his cock.

He presses a berry into your mouth, which doesn’t seem to clear anything up for you, as you raise an eyebrow at him.

“Eat, cyar’ika,” he says, running a finger over your bottom lip.

You close your eyes for a moment as the juicy berry bursts on your tongue, and then you sit up and whip around to look at him. “Hey—” you started to scold.

“It didn’t come out of the budget,” he says, pulling you back down by the shoulder. A wave of affection spreads as you let him rearrange your body, despite your irritation.

You open your mouth to argue, but he fills it with a slice of longfruit before you can make a sound. You bite down on it like you wished it was his flesh, narrowing your eyes in challenge.

“I’m allowed to spend my credits however I’d like,” he reminds you, pressing a piece of stew-soaked bread to your lips just in case you got any ideas about speaking again. “If I want to spoil you, I can spoil you.”

You cross your arms across your chest but open your mouth willingly for the next bite. He brings his idle arm around yours, basking in the way you loosen a little, forehead smoothing over and exhaling softly.

“That’s it, cyar’ika, just let me take care of you.”

Once you had eaten a decent helping of everything, he brings his other arm around you and closes his eyes, resting his helmet in the crook of your neck.

“Are you still hungry?” he murmurs after a few moments of peace.

You shake your head. You're pleasantly full, warmed by the stew, and feeling lighter from the fresh meal. “Did you eat?”

He nods against your shoulder, wiggling you a little so you're nestled between his long legs, and sighs softly. You take the cue to close your eyes and lean your head against his chest, content to go back to sleep.

You should have known he had other plans when his hands started wandering, but to be fair, it was rare that you lay together without him idly fonding you. It didn’t always lead to anything; he just liked to keep you in a near-constant state of arousal through teasing.

“That way,” Mando had purred in your ear once when you whined, “you’re always wet and ready for me, cyar’ika. That way, I can just… bend you over and slide right in.”

You had nearly cum at the thought alone, and so, he continued to be an absolute menace.

Now, he helps himself to handfuls of your breasts and lazily rolls each nipple between a thumb and forefinger. You concentrate on your breathing, having learned well enough that if you let yourself get worked up too soon, he was more likely to laugh and walk away, to let you marinate in it until you were begging for him.

“Cyar’ika,” he says, pitched low and dangerous in a way that never fails to make you feel like prey. Uh-oh.

“Yes, sir?”

He grins at the tell-tale waver in your voice. “I’d like to try something.”

“Oh no,” you breathe, shuddering.

“Oh no?” he says. “You don’t want to try something? Is that why your poor, empty cunt is dripping all over the bed?”

You whimper and bury your face in your hands. He pries them away immediately, holding both wrists in one hand.

“Sorry, I’m sorry, sir,” you say, knowing how he hated it when you hid from him. You're squirming, now, and can feel his hard cock against your lower back.

“What do you say, cyar’ika? Can I use you? I think you’ll like it.”

You nod without hesitation, despite the way your heart rabbits against your ribcage. You had enjoyed everything he's done so far, but every time he starts with “I’d like to try something,” it usually involves something very intense.

“Let me help you forget all about your bad day.” His hand slides down to your cunt, and your hips buck involuntarily, trying to reach him. He snatches his hand away and laughs. “Be patient,” he warns, before cracking his hand down against your pussy.

You yelp and whine, a pout turning your lips down.

“None of that, sweetheart, or do we need to start with a spanking?” He's teasing, but you hesitate. “We can, if that’ll help.”

You nod, your hands twisting at the sheets to keep them from obscuring his view as you flush from your ears to your chest.

“Such a good girl, telling me what you need. Lay across my lap,” he scoots so his back is flush with the wall. He’s so proud he doesn’t even make you beg for it.

As you settle, he strokes the soft skin of your back, one broad hand splayed across your shoulder blades. “Count for me, baby,” he says before bringing his hand down across your ass.

The strikes are firm but not sharp. Your count comes out in soft moans. He watches as your skin reddens a little, the way your plump flesh bounces. His cock is straining against its linen prison. It was going to have to wait a while, too. He had too much self-control, and it certainly wouldn’t be fair to you if he got to take the edge off before starting his little game.

Not that it was going to be fair to begin with.

You’re sprawled now, limbs askew, head hanging off his lap with your arms dangling.

He pauses. “Are you seriously falling asleep?”

“No,” you lie. “It’s just so nice.”

Ooh, mistake, he thinks, and brings his hand down hard for the last hit. It has the desired effect as you yelp and startle from his lap, betrayal across your face.

“Out,” he said, gesturing to the door and pulling his legs from under you so you have to scramble to make room.

You eye him suspiciously when you land on your old bedroll.

“Something you want to say?” he says, digging around in a cabinet with his back to you.

“No, sir.” You bite your tongue and try to see what he’s doing.

“Sit down, impatient girl,” he scolds.

You sit, legs crossed. You thought about kneeling, but with no indication how long you’d be there, you decided to get comfy instead. It’s then that you notice the ropes on either side of the bedroll, neatly coiled. Waiting.

“Don’t touch,” he says as you reach to feel.

“How do you do that?” you say, flinching back and folding your hands in your lap.

He chuckles. “I know you, cyar’ika. Turn around and face the fresher for a minute.” When you’re settled, he sits down behind you and takes one of the ropes. “Can I tie you up, baby?”

“Please.” It comes out as more of a whine than you mean, but your every muscle aches to find out what it feels like.

“You just sit there and relax.” He pauses. “No sleeping.”

You snort and shake your head. There was no need to worry about that. You’re too wound up now.

He begins to wind the cords around you, softly explaining what he’s doing. You would have been fine just letting him work, but to your surprise, it’s nice to know what’s happening. It helps that his voice is so, so pretty. And soft.

As he ties the diamond harness around your chest, he brushes his hands against your breasts, and you can’t help but squirm. He lets you. You won’t be able to, soon, anyway. He ties it off and shakes some of the ropes, running his finger under them to make sure they aren’t too tight.

“Oh,” you whisper, reaching up to feel the knot against your sternum, cupping your cradled breasts, and following the rope up to where he’s woven it over and under your collar.

He lets you explore for a moment. “How’s everything feel? Any pinching or tingling?”

“No, sir.” Your voice is so quiet he can barely hear it over the hum of the mechanics.

“Hands together behind your head.”

You lift them up, fingers knit, and he adjusts them so your neck is cradled in your palms. “Is that comfortable? Think you’ll be alright with them there for a while?”

You hum.

“Cyar’ika. Need you to stay with me right now and use your words.”

You shake your head a little bit, trying to clear away the haze even though all you want to do is sink into it. “Yes, sir. And yes, I’m comfortable.”

“Good girl. Hold still.” He starts first with your arms, threading the rope around to secure your forearm to your bicep. He winds a cuff around each wrist and gathers your hair into one fist.

You moan, less in pleasure than in contentment, so he takes an extra moment to run his fingers through your hair, pulling it neatly back. He slides a loop around it and braids the excess through, tying the end and securing it to your wrists.

Your breathing is ragged. Every brush of his fingers is sparking straight to your cunt, your thighs damp.

“Relax, baby. I’m only halfway done,” he says. He helps you turn around and gently lowers you until you’re lying flat, face up.

He looks you up and down and scraps some of his plan. He had something more elaborate in mind, but he doesn’t want you to slip into subspace yet, and it doesn’t seem like you can fight it for long.

Instead, he takes one leg and bends it to your chest before tying it there. With the other, he bends it over a low rung of the ladder, and secures it so you’re spread and vulnerable. Finally, he takes the loose ends sprawling from under the bedroll and weaves them across your torso, crisscrossing until he’s satisfied.

He checks each tie meticulously, having you affirm your comfort, before he sits back on his haunches. “Move.”

“What?”

“Wiggle, baby. Squirm around.”

You try. When you find that you can only wiggle in place, but can’t actually get any distance, you moan.

“You like this, cyar’ika?” He doesn’t need to ask. Your cunt, spread wide for him, is soaked. But he likes to make you say it anyway.

“Yes, sir.” You’re flushed, but you couldn’t hide from him if you tried.

“Good girl. You ready to try my idea?”

You open and close your mouth a few times. “This isn’t it?”

“It’s part of it, baby. It’s preparation. But last night at the market, I found something very interesting.” He holds up a small canister. “There’s a plant that grows on the mountainsides there with a peculiar side effect, if inhaled. If I take this, I’ll be insatiable for hours.”

Your breathing is shallow, eyes wide as you stare at the little tin.

“Remember, cyar’ika. We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. I won’t be upset with you if we don’t use it.”

“What’ll happen if we do?” You’re curious. “You’re already insatiable.”

“No, pretty girl. It’ll leave me hard. I’ll be able to cum over and over. Y’know, like you get to?”

“Oh. Yes, please.”

He laughs. “I was thinking we could play a little game. You like a little competition, right?”

“Uh-huh,” you nod, feeling a little suspicious again. You enjoy when he makes you suffer for his (and your) pleasure, but that doesn’t stop you from getting nervous.

“I want to see which one of us can make the other one cum more.”

“Oh,” that sounds fun, actually, so what’s the catch? “Wait. Hey, hang on. You tied me down.”

He laughs. When he’s like this, it’s just on the side of condescending that makes your clit throb. “You’ll have your mouth. And I’ll have everything else.”

“That’s cheating!”

He runs his hands over your breasts, pinching and squeezing. “That’s the point. Don’t worry, cyar’ika,” he strokes your cheek. “You kind of win either way, don’t you?”

He stands up. “It’s up to you. You say the word, and I’ll put this away. Plenty of other ways I can use you like this.”

You look up at him, a look in your eye he can’t quite place. “I want to.”

“Are you sure?”

“I trust you. And I want to make you cum. A lot.”

He grins. “Greedy thing. I’ll be right back, then.” He doesn’t want to open the container in the same room, doesn’t want to risk dosing you somehow. One of you has to be of sound mind for this, and he knows in his bones that if you use your safeword, he’ll stop. But he’s not sure you’d use it if you needed to, were you to ingest it.

It takes a few minutes, but by the time he returns to you, he feels warm all over. He had been half-hard already from groping you while you were tied up so prettily. But now, he aches.

“Can I blindfold you, cyare?” He’s breathing heavily.

“Please, sir,” you beg immediately, fairly certain of what that will mean. And you’re right.

As soon as the cloth is secure, you hear the soft hiss as he removes the helmet. He doesn’t make you wait, mercifully, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. You moan and try to lean up for more, but your tether doesn’t let you.

He smiles, you can feel it against your lips, and you think you might lose your mind. You need him. Now. But he backs away.

He shushes you when you whine at the loss of his warmth, and settles himself over you.

“Oh, stars,” you groan as you realize what’s happening. He lowers his hips, letting the tip of his cock brush over your lips as he bows his head and parts you with his fingers. He dips his cock into your waiting mouth just as he licks the first stripe from your clit to your cunt.

It kicks off a chain reaction. You moan around his cock, and the vibrations pull a moan from him, as well. When you try to take him deeper, you realize you’ve been thoroughly tricked. You’re completely at his mercy, can only have as much of him as he lets you. Meanwhile, he’s teasing a finger at your entrance and sucking softly on your clit.

Suddenly, he pulls away, but slides his cock deeper in your throat. “Oh, and you can cum whenever you want. You don’t need to ask right now.”

Fuck.

It doesn’t take him long to draw the first one out of you. He lets you have his cock the whole time, softly thrusting as you suck and work your tongue. When he finally slides a thick finger in you, all the way to the knuckle, you cum. He moans into your cunt, pushing his cock down deep into your throat. He knows you like to choke on it when you cum, which—you realize later—was actually evil. Because it knocks a second orgasm out of you as you gag and struggle.

He pulls almost completely out, moaning as you suck hard to try to keep the head in your mouth. “That’s two,” he says, but it breaks into another moan as you flick your tongue over the slit. “That’s it, pretty girl, I’m almost there.”

He resumes fucking you with his finger, sliding another one in for good measure. He isn’t going to fight his orgasm. It’s not like he needs to try to hold out, and you deserve to get what you worked so hard for. So he thrusts roughly into you and spills down your throat.

He expects you to count or tease.

But you don’t. You gasp out, “Thank you, sir,” before opening your mouth again to wait for him.

“Dank farrik, cyar’ika,” he groans. “You’re going to kill me.” He slides his still-hard cock back into your mouth, and the way you take him is rapturous.

He resumes licking and nipping at you, kissing and sucking bruises into your thighs. You don’t notice the particulars of what he’s doing. Everything is soft and blissful. You’re only vaguely aware when you cum again, a gentle, rolling thing that makes you shake all over.

The world around you has narrowed. You might be floating, but thankfully, Mando has tied you nice and tight, so you don’t have to worry about it. You always love his cock, but right now, you think you might die if he stopped fucking your face.

The exquisite pleasure is just on the right side of painful. There’s a rushing sound in your ears, like a waterfall. You lose count of how many times he rewards you with his cum, how many times you cum just from feeling him twitch and spurt down your throat. Your jaw aches, and you feel raw all over. It’s bliss.

By the time the drugs wear off, Mando thinks maybe, maybe he’s too old for this. His back aches, and his knees lock up. And he’s so, so tired. But he’s still warm all over, and you’re so soft and beautiful.

You whine when he pulls away, but it’s a weak, soft thing. You’re too far gone, too worn out for more. He gives you another kiss before sliding the helmet back on.

“Cyar’ika, I’m going to take the blindfold off now.” He’s turned out the lights in the hull, but the adjustment might be too much still.

“Mm.” Everything is too heavy to move.

He slips the cloth off your head and warns you to hold still.

As if you would move if you could. That would be so, so much work.

You barely notice as he slides the knife, cutting the rope away from your body. You’re both absolutely filthy, but he doesn’t care. Doesn’t even think about getting cleaned up. Instead, he lifts you up and somehow manages to ease you both into the bunk. He brings the canteen to your lips and makes sure you take slow, easy sips.

Running his hands gently over you, he both checks to make sure skin didn’t break and admires the ridges of the rope where they’ve been tattooed into you. You’re limp, curled toward him, and he thinks you’re already asleep.

But then you nestle closer, pressing soft kisses to his bare chest, and he’s overcome again by gratitude, by awe at what he gets to have with you.

“Hey,” you whisper, later into the night. He stirs a little, too groggy to open his eyes. “Who won?” you ask.

“No idea,” he murmurs, and pulls you back into his chest to sleep.

*title from "My Blue Heaven" by Taking Back Sunday.

[weirdsociology]

Distractions (The Mandalorian, E)

Title: Distractions (6.6k)

Series: Part one of Creed, a non-linear series about Din Djarin and his favorite... distraction. 

Description: An artifact from the Mandalorian's past leads to trying something new - and remembering the past.

Pairing: Din Djarin x Female Reader

Content warnings: Explicit sexual content, sex toys, fingering, mutual masturbation, dirty talk, oral sex, penetrative sex, implied violence, spit, a touch of size kink, light manhandling, very mild D/s in all directions because we love a switch in this house, no betas we die like men, canon what canon

Tropes: hurt/comfort, idiots with feelings, angst but it all works out in the end, the helmet stays on

Author's note: I blacked out, I don't know what happened, and frankly I'm embarrassed that the first fanfic I've written in 20 years is kind of fluffy and not significantly more insane. This little offering is canon timeline-agnostic; I just wanted to give our armored dumbass a happy ending. Please don't think this reflects my personality, I am spiritually covered in the blood of my enemies at all times. Also there is one small bit of truth from my personal life in here and I'll give you a hint: it wasn't flashbangs, it was bayonets. This one is for @tarabyte3 who got me excited about what fanfiction can do again.

***

Sometimes, it's hard to sleep in hyperspace. A ship this old doesn't have the automated circadian rhythm programs that dim the lights according to species preference, and all the daylight bulbs are second-hand, their blueness dimmed by repeated use. Darkness is in plentiful supply, but that's only half the equation of an artificial night. You do your best, careful to check the time reads on the navigational display, and adhere to a schedule as much as you can. It helps give structure to long periods of transit, and you know that ten years from now, your body and mind will thank you for being careful to guard their rest.

The Mandalorian, by contrast, doesn't have a diurnal cycle as far as you've been able to tell. His sleep patterns are pure anarchy, having nothing to do with mood or physical need. Sometimes he'll spend a week getting no more rest than a few brief, truncated minutes on the ground after trekking in harsh terrain. Sometimes you'll go looking for him after a quiet stretch in flight and he'll be in the bed he calls his rack, completely dormant for the next fourteen standard hours. You don't know how he does it. He lives like someone who fully expects to die before their body has enough years to register protest - which on the one hand makes you anxious, and on the other you find it hard to blame him for.

Still, despite all your attendance to regularity, there are nights - times - when you can't sleep. Especially when you are headed past the Outer Rim, and the length of travel means nothing to do except read and watch holovideos you've already seen and eat stale food and exercise in cramped, artificial repetition. Nothing new to look at, nothing new to do.

Which is how you end up awake at this hour, dressed in nothing but your bandeau and shorts with goosebumps pebbling your legs as you lean over one of the big crates in the cargo bay. You're digging through the thermoplastic case that holds the Mandalorian's personal possessions, looking for one of the old holonovels you're sure he has stowed, when you find it. A smooth, round black cylinder with a cap on each end. At first, you suspect it's yet another esoteric firearm - but then why isn't it in the weapons locker above?

Curious, you gingerly remove the cap from one end. Life on the ship has taught you to be cautious about any unfamiliar object. You don't know if it's normal Mandalorian living style to have to shove aside a mountain of electronic flashbangs when looking for clean blankets, but it's certainly normal for this one.

What's inside isn't like any weapon you've ever seen. The cylinder is filled with something soft and yielding, silicone or plastisilk you think, and it gives disconcertingly when you brush a thumb over it. There's a small bore in the middle about the diameter of your finger, but the polymer feels like it would stretch. It's textured near where the cap would fit, small ridges inside and a gentle flowering of protuberances around the borehole. Almost like -

You stand up, unsure whether to blush or laugh, and snap the cap back on. You've certainly found something new this time; something that might help break the monotony of space travel if you approach the topic - and Mando - correctly. If you're right there should be something else nearby, something that would make this a little more... usable.

There is. A discreet bottle, neatly wrapped in plain paper.

You take cylinder and bottle and step out in the corridor from the bay, checking the location of your fellow crew. Mando is not in his rack or the lockers, which means he's in the cockpit. The Child is in his usual nest. It's late, and the kid should be asleep for a long while yet. You jam the - the toy, you suppose - and the bottle into one hand and climb your way up the ladder, half appalled at your boldness and half delighted at the thought of making your Mandalorian squirm for once. You're secretly hoping to catch him out, tease him with the evidence of his private sexual habits, a friendly nip around the edges of his Creed. 

"Look what I found," you say as you approach the pilot's chair. His head is turned away from you, bent over something in the navcomp, his long legs in front of him as stretched out as they can be in the small space. He hums an acknowledgement and takes a moment to finish entering something before he looks over his shoulder. You offer the cylinder to him flat across your palms, like a knight offering a loyal blade, which you hope is both funny and at least a little charming.

It doesn't work. He's still looking at you. You wave it in front of him instead, resisting the urge to waggle your eyebrows. The helmet drops to consider the cylinder, then you. "I'd forgotten I had that. Where did you find it?"

You stop, hands still outstretched. "Forgot-- your crate in the cargo bay, but... is this what I think it is?"

Mando can't raise his own eyebrows at you, but his chin twitches upward in the way you've learned to interpret is the same thing. "Do you think it's a cock sleeve? Because it is."

"Is that what you call it?"

"I've always been less concerned about what to call it than how to use it," he says. He's fully turned to face you now. The conversation is not going as you imagined. You flush and he gives you an appraising look, taking in your half-undressed state.

"Isn't that... Against your Creed?" How does he do this. How does he always turn the tables. How is it you're the one quailing under the calm scrutiny of his helmet. You'd meant this as a good-natured ribbing, not a come-on, but suddenly you're picturing what you were decidedly not thinking about earlier - Mando, years ago, alone in his rack or fresh from a hunt, with his beskar still on and his arming jacket rucked up, screwing the toy down onto himself with his fist. The thought makes heat pool between your legs. It also makes you a little melancholy. Suddenly you want to fuck him and hold him in equal measure.

"You weren't always here, you know," he says calmly, honest and unembarrassed as he is shockingly honest and unembarrassed about everything to do with sex. He reaches for you, captures your wrists, pulls you further into the cockpit and down into his lap. You thrill as always at his casual possessiveness, his desire to be close. At the breadth of his shoulders under your hands. "The Creed isn't against pleasure, only distraction. Sometimes it's more distracting to make your body suffer than to give it what it wants."

"Like me?" you ask. It's a joke that once would have stung, an echo of your first night together - you are nothing to me but a distraction from my work - but it's an old wound, long since rubbed over by the smooth edges of time and shared affection.

An amused huff through the modulator. "Like you," he agrees, and though the helmet dampers every inflection you now know, where once you only imagined, the statement is fond.

***

You'd been traveling together for months, a reluctant passenger paired with an unhappy custodian. It had been weeks since the first time the tension between you rose to the breaking point, pulling his hands to you like a gravity well. You were now fucking the Mandalorian regularly, enthusiastically, and, at least to you, inadequately. Regardless of how well you took him, how perfectly he fit when he slicked and stretched his way into you, your heart hammered the same rhythm: no room, no room. His attitude toward you had made that abundantly clear. There was no room for you in his life, on his ship, in his Creed. You were his... distraction. That's all.

You mostly ignored it. When you were working or hunting, you barely thought about it. You pushed the thought down and stored it away to keep from slicing yourself on its sharp edges. But there were moments when it pressed forward again, tumbling out of the drawer of your heart in disarray. The Mandalorian was behind you or over you or under you and you were crying out the name you knew him by even as your blood rushed in your ears demanding more. Not more sex, not more of the heavy punch of his hips against you or the feeling of his hands in your hair, but more of him. You wanted him. You wanted everything.

You wanted to know what it kriffing meant when he called you his distraction.

And sometimes, after you had been fucked within an inch of your life and left lying on your bunk or still pressed against the weapons locker, it hurt a breathtaking amount.

You were pretty sure the Mandalorian was not unaware of how he affected you. Beyond that first epithet which became routine, he was not intentionally cruel. Away from the heat that flared between you and his resentment at his own inability to ignore it, he was considerate and distant and respectful. Unfailingly polite. You loathed every moment of it with a growing bitterness that threatened to replace food and sleep. It reminded you of the time you'd run into a recruiter after she’d turned you down for a job. Sorry kid, you had your chance to convince me and you blew it. Except Mando, being Mando, had never given you a chance at all.

It was worse when you fucked. For weeks, you had resolved over and over to put an end to his careful handling of you. Better an angry rebuttal or cold silence than... whatever this pitiful halfway connection was. Next time he approached you with that weight in his step or crowded you into a corner, too close, you would force his hand. You knew that was the time to do it, when you had his full attention and the bargaining chip of your body. You'd seize his wandering gaze and stare into the helmet: "Why do you call me a distraction?"

You had told yourself this a dozen times. But his practiced fingers were already slipping inside you and all you could do was whine as his modulated voice, sounding not quite human, breathed a word that meant nothing to you in your ear: Mesh'la, mesh'la, mesh'la.

***

You had entreated him to show you how he used it, before you joined his crew. Before, as he drily puts it while running a gloved hand up your thigh and teasing along the waistband of your shorts, he had a far superior array of options. Now you're mostly naked in the dim light, seated between his spread legs, his helmet tipped against the headrest as he leans back. You're watching the arched column of his throat, watching his gloved fingers wrapped around the cylinder and most of all, watching his thick cock disappear into the plush expanse of the toy. He's hard but not fully erect, probably because you refused to touch him until you got to see him touch himself. Not that you needed to threaten - you both know that Din, and it's Din now, in the privacy of the cockpit with both of you partially undressed and warmth radiating from him, will deny you nothing where his body is concerned. Except, of course, his face.

His cock is stirring to full attention, and you suspect it has more to do with your rapt gaze on him than his own ministrations. It's a novelty for you to watch him for once. The way you two fuck, he normally has the better view, pulling back to see your cunt swallow his length and hear you moan in gratitude. He likes to watch you touch yourself while you're speared on him, chasing your own orgasm as you clench. He likes to see your thighs tremble when you ride him, and your face when he makes you come too much. "One more, mesh'la, one more for me, let me see you," he'll croon, as one hand worships your sore clit and the other bats away your arm as you try to bury your face in the crook of your elbow. Din likes to watch anything that shows him how good he makes you feel.

Your Mandalorian might be on to something, you decide. Watching certainly has its appeal. You can hear the soft slide of the toy, see the tension in his forearms and his stomach even through his tunic, his breath through the helmet fast but even. He looks gorgeous like this, a warrior half-undone for your enjoyment. You slide the palms of your hands up his thighs and run them lightly along the bare skin peeking through where he's partially shucked himself of armor and clothing. His breathing alters a little, hitching as your skin makes contact with his.

"How does it feel?" you ask, watching the steady rise and fall of the cylinder. You idly trace a finger up his groin and along the sensitive skin just under his sack. He hisses, and you twitch in response to the noise you know so well, your cunt giving a little spasm as if to remind you of its needs.

After a moment, Din answers your question. "Tight, but not warm. Better than nothing but... Like a ration bar when I have a meal right in front of me," he adds pointedly, and one booted foot slides between your folded knees, leather rubbing along the seam of your sex to make his point clear. "I like that you like looking at me, but we could have bought a mirror instead. I could be fucking you in front of it right now."

Your cheeks warm as you think about it: Din, arching over your back, holding your chin, making you watch your own face as he nudges the head of his cock into you. You don't know how you'd feel staring at yourself like that, but your cunt twitches again, letting you know that more important parts of you fully approve of the concept. The helmet has dropped back down. He's observing your reaction. You file the idea away for later. "I like seeing you like this, though. Did you really never use it after you met me?"

A chuckle. "Oh, I used it. Before... when you were first here. I used it so much I think I did permanent damage."

A little shiver of heat winds up from the base of your spine. This is new information. But he's not done. "Which is why I should be allowed to show you how much I appreciate you, not this plastic junk." He makes a show of slowing down, grinding up into the toy and letting out an exaggerated groan. You know he's still watching you closely, waiting for his cue.

You give him a wicked grin. "Sometimes... it's more distracting to make your body suffer than give it what it wants." Din groans for real in response, but you have other things on your mind. "Back before... when you... were you thinking of me?"

He makes an uninterpretable noise. "Oh no, mesh'la, I wasn't thinking of you. Only of your hips. And your hair. And your tits. And your ass. And your cunt, and if I could get you wet for me, and what that pretty mouth would look like around me, and how you'd sound when I put my cock down your throat."

"... Fuck," you say breathlessly. What started as a flutter has become an aching, empty pulse. "Fuck, Din," and you lean forward, bringing your face almost close enough to nuzzle where he's still sheathed in the toy, breathing in his scent. It has the unintended effect of driving the tip of his boot further into you, a solid mass pushing on the thrumming bundle of nerves between your legs.

When you first started doing this, he said very little to you. You could read nothing in his body except desire and frustration, both of which he extinguished in the furnace of your sex. Later, after Mos Eisley, when anger was no longer the single note of your shared existence, he talked to you constantly. The man of few words outside the ship became the man of many words when he was buried inside you. He told you what he was going to do to you, what he wanted to do to you, how good you felt and what you did to him. He talked like he was trying to construct a gilded cage of words you wouldn't fly away from. You had been dumbfounded by the change, shy and unsure, unable to find a way to reassure him you had already stooped to his lure. Part of you was afraid that if he knew the truth - that you'd have him any way he wanted, silent or talkative or babbling in Tuskan sign - he would stop. He hadn't, but the stream had slowed. More deliberate, less frantic. Somehow even more indecent.

He's being indecent right now, timing the strokes of the toy with his words. "I wanted you every morning and twice at night." Down. "I couldn't think - could barely shoot straight." Back up. "I wanted to bend you over the crates and fuck you until you felt the same." A slow slide back down. "Fill you up with me until you cried, until you knew you were mine, until that sweet cunt wouldn't want anyone else." Up, until just the tip of him is still out of sight. He's losing his even tone, the modulator turning gasps into static. "And then I did fuck you, and it got so much worse. You let me pull you open and put my cock in the hottest, wettest place in the galaxy and-- are you really going to come on my boot instead of letting me fuck you?"

You come to with a little start, pulled aware by the abrupt shift in subject. There's dampness under you, and you realize you've been rocking back and forth on his boot, rubbing the folds of your cunt against the worn leather, and moaning into his lap while he talks. It feels so good to be here, sitting at his feet as he strokes himself for you, hearing the jagged details of your shared past transformed by pleasure. The scruff of the boot against you, the bite of a seam into your tenderest flesh, the smell - steel and old smoke and hot sand - so uniquely Mandalorian it has you panting for him.

"Din," you breathe. "Stop -- stop. I want to feel you."

That's all it takes. The toy is gone in an instant, he's off the pilot's chair and dragging you upright and his half-bare hips are against yours, crowding you into the console. His cock is painfully hard against you, already smeared with precum and the lubricant that makes someone of his size using a toy like that even possible. You realize with dizzy delight that this is going to be one of those times where he fucks you without preamble, pushing his way in, making you feel every inch of his invasion. The pleasurable burn of your cunt adjusting to his girth will be revenge for making him use the toy - a revenge he knows you will enjoy.

More leather, this time at your mouth. The feel of his glove as he curls his fingertips under your chin. "Spit," he commands, and you do.

"Good girl. Now turn around."

***

It was after the first time he'd had you in the cockpit that you'd found the courage to ask. It had already been one of the worst days of your life, what more was there to lose? You were so numb there was no cliff you wouldn't jump off, no risk you wouldn't take. If you asked and the answer was indifference, well, it was just one more pain to add to the litany: your cracked lips, your shredded feet, your bruised ribs, your bloodied hands. And soon, maybe, your broken heart.

Mando had left, as he always did, after you were done, leaving you on the steel floor mostly naked and entirely without the desire to stand on your own. You told yourself that you would simply sleep there, if you had to, rather than getting back up on your cut soles. After all, you'd slept in worse places recently. Though you'd meant it to be fierce the thought sounded pathetic even to you.

The sound of boots climbing up the ladder interrupted your self-pity. Mando had not only come back, he had come back with a box: the medkit he kept in a crate in the cargo bay. He knelt beside you on the floor and started to lift you to him, one hand on your back and one hand under your knees. It was close and familiar in the worst possible way, like the fuck wasn't, and you made a hoarse inhuman noise and tried to kick him. You slammed a broken toe into a beskar vambrace instead and then you screamed for real.

He was patient with you and you hated it with every aftershock of white-hot rage in your body. You struggled even once he managed to get you up in his arms. After a bad moment where you thought you might actually try to bite him, he stopped attempting to haul you down the ladder and dropped both of you into the pilot's chair abruptly instead, pulling his hands away like you'd burned him. "Hey, it's me, just me, the one who's on your side," he'd said, attempting a touch of humor, and strangely it was the buzz of the modulator, so unlike the voices you'd been hearing for the past few days, that had incrementally slowed your galloping heart.

The medkit was in reach and at first he was gentle but even that was too much. You pulled away without leaving the chair, putting distance between you and that damned helmet. All you wanted was to rest, except you were afraid of what you might have time to think about if you did. There was a tense minute as he resumed his work with gauze and tape and bacta spray, but even in your exhausted state you somehow felt him make the decision to stop trying to be tender. He took your cue and bandaged you with impersonal efficiency, like you were a soldier in his regiment or a fellow Mandalorian. It made his touch tolerable, and you were so tired you almost resented him for it.

By the time he was done, you were nearly asleep. You heard the click of the medkit closing and, calmer now, a little more returned to yourself, braced for him to lift you down the ladder. But he surprised you by making no move to get up, resting his hands on his legs, around you but not on you. You could tell he was waiting for something but not what. Maybe it was something from you, but you were all out of give. It was his turn.

Another moment of silence, then momentary confusion as you both spoke at once:

"I have to tell you so--"

"Mandalorian, why are you--"

He stopped. You pressed on. "Why are you always calling me a distraction?" Your tone was flat. You sounded like you could be asking about the price of power cells.

The helmet twisted. This was clearly not the direction he expected your post-coital, post-triage conversation to take. "Because you're distracting."

You thought anger might be the only thing keeping you upright. "Not good enough. What the fuck are we even doing here? Why did you come after me? You told me we were done, that you didn't owe me anything. You could have left me there and pocketed the bounty for yourself. They would have let me go once they convinced themselves I didn't have the information.” A lie, but he doesn’t need to know that. “That doesn't sound like I'm just a distraction."

"I said you're distracting, and you are. That's different." You were sure he was being pedantic but your tired brain couldn't keep up with Mando at his most evasive. "You're not just a distraction. I don't make a habit of coming back for-- distractions."

Coming back for was a polite euphemism for the amount of killing Mando had done in the past few hours. None of it mattered to you if he was doing it because of his damned Creed. Maybe none of it mattered at all. Maybe you had kept your mouth shut for nothing. Your chest hurt and you had no idea if it was because of your ribs or because of your heart. You kept going.

"It makes no difference if I'm a distracting fuck or something worth coming back for or a kriffing bantha, Mando. I'm still..." Exhaustion made you blunt. "I'm still against your Creed."

He made a noise that could have been agreement, or negation. "The Creed is not against pleasure. Or companionship. Only... distractions." He sounded like he was reading out of a textbook. You'd heard it all before. You had wrung everything out of him you could about his Creed, because you wanted to find somewhere to fit. That was all he'd ever said.

He surprised you again. "Distraction is a-- it's not easy to describe. It's not as simple as wasting time or effort. Distractions are... things that pull you from your orbit without returning value, like a comet disrupting a planet's path around a sun. Too many and you begin to drift away from the tribe, the Creed, the things that make you a Mandalorian. You lose yourself chasing what streaks past you, already gone."

That little speech was probably the most words you'd ever heard Mando say at once, and there was too much there for you to process in your wasted state. You latched on instead to the thing that seemed most personally insulting, given how you'd been spending your time the past few days. "Maker, Mando, do you think that's all I am, a comet? That you'll turn around one day and I'll be gone? Do you think I did-- what I did– what we did– for fun? Do you think that's all you are to me?"

There, you had said it. Or at least implied it. Your cortisol response gave one last death rattle and suddenly you found you could sit up a little straighter, could feel your pulse in your throat. Your feet ached.

There was a long silence. 

Then the Mandalorian sighed, and in that sigh was more defeat than you'd ever heard after a hunt gone wrong. The sound seized you and squeezed your breath as it stuttered in your chest. When he spoke, it was low, tired, and edged with brutal honesty. "No mesh'la. I don't think you're a comet. Not after... today."

And that, somehow, was what did you in: his surrender. The first acknowledgement of what you had endured for him and what you'd done together and what it meant between you. You dropped your face into the filthy duraweave of Mando's shoulder, not caring if you caught the edge of beskar beside it. Something boiled up in you and you weren't sure what it was, only that you snapped your mouth closed hard over a noise like being struck and fisted your hands in his tunic. All the fear you'd put aside came slamming in, the torrential wave presaged by an empty beach. You drove yourself as close as possible to your Mandalorian and shook as though a blaster bolt had found its home in your brain after all.

When you knew where you were again, you found you had shifted - or he had shifted you. You were curled between his legs, your arms still around his neck, your face against where his cheek would be in the cruel parody of a kiss. You froze for a moment, anticipating the helmet to feel hostile against your lips, but it was only Mando, the smooth silver of him that you'd come to know and expect. With sudden resolve you drew back an inch or two, away from the spot where your  mouth left a sliver of fog. Your heart beat in your ears, marching steadily onward toward its inexorable conclusion. You had always known what you needed to do for both your sakes', and now you even thought you knew the bargain that could make it bearable.

"Mando," you whispered. "If that's the way it is, I wouldn't... I would never ask you to go against your Creed. I couldn't."

The warrior under you was so still you feared he might not respond at all. Then he blew out another long breath and put his hands around your waist, impossibly solid against you. It was the second time that night he'd reached for you with gentleness and, leaning against him, you could nearly imagine what it would be like to feel safe again. It would have been so easy to sink into shared delusion. But you owed him something more.

"I couldn't," you said again. "You couldn't. We could never-- it would never be right between us. I don't want that." You were certain you were crying by then, silent tears racing down your cheeks. "But please... I'm not ready yet. I'll leave tomorrow. Please, please... just give me tonight."

The hands on your waist spasmed, gripping you so hard that for one deranged instant you thought he might throw you down on the steel and fuck you all over again. He did the opposite and hauled you painfully upright, stood you in the tight space between his knees and the console. You winced when your abused feet took your weight. His own posture and the set of his shoulders told you absolutely nothing. He was still holding you like a lifeline.

"No," he said. After everything you'd done it was absurd that one word could make you want to crumple to the floor again, but you stayed upright, nails digging into the console for support. "I won't give you just tonight. I know you. You walked into that warehouse for me. You were so afraid for me you couldn't be afraid for yourself. You bled-- you killed-- because you hoped it would buy me time. I know you. Now you're offering– this. I refuse. You're not a Mandalorian, but your courage puts ours to shame. Who would I be if I returned your loyalty so little of my own?"

"Mando, what are you saying?" You were so numb with exhaustion that you weren't sure you had it in you to hope. You tried to keep your gaze steady, but you knew your eyes were wet.

"Stay with me," he said quietly. You did crumple then, your knees turned to water, and only his grip still on you kept you standing. "Stay with me, and let me prove my honor to you."

"Yes," you breathed, and that was all he needed. He hauled you to him, pulling you down, until your chest was pressed to him as he ran his gloves frantically over your neck, your shoulder blades, your hips. You rested your forehead against his, against the blood-warm beskar, and waited. You wanted nothing more than the feeling of his hands on you but you were so tired. "Will... will the tribe understand?"

A pause. He slowed, but did not stop, tracing soothing heat across your body. The blank faceplate tipped up to gaze out at the desert night. "Some will. Some won't. It doesn't matter. How I feel about you can't be against the Creed any more than my helmet. You can't turn a thing against itself." His head was still turned away, looking past the canopy to the starless sky outside. "You aren't a distraction from my Creed, mesh'la, and you never have been. You're part of it. You make me a better... a better Mandalorian."

His hesitation did not go unnoticed. You heard what he didn't say: a better man.

***

The problem with having sex in the cockpit is that when you want - no, need - to lay down afterward there isn't quite room for both of you between the chairs. Also, the floor is that textured, anti-slip steel they use for gantries, which pokes uncomfortably into bare flesh. You end up squashed together, half on top of your Mandalorian, letting his still partially-armored back take the worst of your combined weight as you roll on to your side and throw one leg over him, pillowing your head on his pauldron. It's not ideal, but after the three orgasms he pulled out of you with as much dedication as he'd ever chased down a bounty, you don't really have a choice. Going down the ladder in your current state might actually be the thing that kills you.

Din is still breathing hard from his own climax, sought only after he'd made you so sensitive that he'd had to put a callused palm over your mouth to keep you from shrieking and waking the Child. He'd started, as you thought he would, by pulling off your flimsy shorts and shoving the thick head of his cock into you with no preparation other than telling you to bend over the console and stay quiet. You'd cooperated, knowing that the position put his mouth conveniently close to your ear, and were rewarded with that smooth modulated voice telling you he was going to make sure you never made him use a toy again, never want his cock in anything but you. He told you he was going fuck you so thoroughly you'd beg for him to let you come on his cock. He'd started rough, his pace matching the coarseness of his words, and you'd bitten down your whimpers at the stretch. 

But Din knew you far too well to let you off so lightly. Fast had turned to slow and deep, caging your hips with one forearm while skillful fingers lightly circled your clit, never giving you quite enough pressure to get you where you ached to go. Then you had begged, and he'd almost given in: pulled out of you abruptly, replacing his cock with three fingers after ripping off his gloves. You'd come so hard Din had groaned at the feeling of you clenching around him, your legs trembling uncontrollably, but even that wasn't what you were hoping for and he knew it. He'd coaxed you to a second orgasm by turning you around and crudely shoving his knee between your legs, making you ride the textured cuisse on his thigh. He'd insisted you work for it, rubbing yourself against him and leaving streaks of arousal on the beskar, and that was less satisfying still. Only after you'd gotten yourself off did he ask you what you wanted, and by then you were so needy, so desperately raw and sex-drunk, that all you could do was whine, "You-- please, Din-- you." The sound of his name seemed to shred whatever last bit of composure he had left, and he'd pressed into you harder than ever as your hand dropped to provide the friction you'd needed. You'd come apart with him buried deep, your cunt gripping him like a vise, and he'd followed not long after, your name on his lips as his cock twitched and softened in you.

The nice thing about steel floors, you decide, is that they're easy to clean. You can feel Din dripping out of you and you're pretty sure you're going to leave a wet spot. You’re also pretty sure that the cylinder rolled under one of the consoles and is still jammed there, but that's a problem for later. You pull yourself even closer to him, enjoying his warmth in the shared quiet, watching the strange false light of hyperspace dance outside the canopy.

You don't notice that Din’s turned his helmet to you until he speaks. “Another 26 hours and then we’re off this boat.” He sounds relaxed, pleased both with your current configuration of tangled limbs and the prospect of no longer being confined to the ship. “Felucia is a jungle world. Plenty of frogs for the womp rat to chase.”

You grin. “Or eat. How long are we staying? Are we dropping in somewhere civilized or staying off the radar? And who are we even after? You didn’t show me the puck yet.”

“Off the radar, and this one’s a solo job.” You start to protest, but he stops you. “Really. The contact says he’s holed up in a cave in the middle of nowhere. We’ll set down in the nearest open spot, then it’s half a day overland to the hideout. No point in you coming, nothing for you and the kid to do but get wet and feed the gnats.”

After space travel, a hike doesn’t sound unpleasant, but you know he’s right. There’s no reason to go to the extra trouble of packing supplies for two more when it’s a straightforward retrieval. At least you and the Child will get to explore your landing site. You can do your work outside in the open air, and if all goes well, Din will only be gone a day or two.

“Hey,” you say softly. “You’ll come back, right?” It’s only half a serious question. You trust your Mandalorian. You’ve trusted his competence and drive and ability since the moment you met him, and have learned to trust that his desire to return to you is real. Still, you always ask. It’s a private ritual between you, something soft built over top of hard truths. 

You think of the times he’s left you. To work a job or on a hunt or sometimes just for the cold, hard recesses of his mind where you cannot touch him. Once, although you try not to remember it, for a black and shaking depression that terrified you both. Most of all, you think of that night, on Mos Eisley. The crunch of sand under his boots as he turned away. The glimpse of beskar through the door. The feeling of his hands on your battered ribs. His voice, very tired, I don't make a habit of coming back for distractions.

"Of course I’ll come back, mesh'la." You’ll never not thrill to Din’s electronic baritone calling you beautiful. "How could I do anything else? You're part of my Creed."

***

series masterlist

[alvfr]

So I’m thinking of accepting requests again

Not for full fics, but short stuff/imagines/headcanons /that sort of thing… just want some low-pressure fun writing exercises (that I know will at least make one reader happy ❤️) and to interact more with fandoms again

So, yeah, send them my way if you want 🙏

[obislittleone]

My roman empire is the fact that I think some of the Mando S2 writers killed the razor crest intentionally. Obviously, they meant for him not to have transportation, but what I actually mean is: do you guys ever wonder if they might have read the downright FILTHY things we've written about that ship? Like.... the smutfics that take place in the razorcrest are too many to count.

They probably hopped on after the release of S1 and were like "alright let's see what people are saying about our new show!" And it was just Din x Reader fucking in the razor crest for miles of scrolling-

Anyways i think about that every day.

[slimybeth69]

Touch: Part 4

Summary: Din shows you what special thing he's been wanting to do with you.

Rating: Explicit

Warnings/tags: SPOILERS FROM HERE ON OUT. THE MANDALORIAN & THE BOOK OF BOBA FETT. eventual angst, slow burn, graphic depictions of wounds and violence, eventual non-con, eventual therapy speak, Grogu, Mando takes off his helmet, so much shit happens in this story.

chapter warnings: object insertion (v&a), graphic depictions of blood and guts (not sexual), and some fluff at the end.

a/n: This was very much inspired by the legendary Rough Day. It's such an incredible story and so well written. Don't have as high hopes for this, it's mostly just me being horny for Din Djarin.

a/n pt2: So, hello-- it's me, Beth. I have a couple things to say- This is when the reader and The Mandalorian's story starts. Before this chapter, the first three had been one-shots written with no intention of turning it into a story. But I did, so.... here it is. I hope you all like it.

unbeta'd, probably not proof-read because of my ADHD. still unbeta'ed, not as poorly proofread and changed slightly from ao3.

SORRY EVERYBODY ELSE

Masterlist

<- Previous

"That cannot be safe."

You are staring where you think Din is standing with your mouth hanging open, jaw almost touching your chest. He has just gotten done explaining to you what he wants to do to you.

His Maker forsaken helmet is back on now and the lights are still off.

He needs to see what he’s doing for this. 

“It will be safe, I promise.” He chuckles quietly, as if that is supposed to be reassuring in a moment of vulnerability like this. “Are you ever not safe with me?” He asks that last part like his helmet might have a special mood sensor in there that tells him exactly what you're feeling.

You’re hesitant because this was unusual, even for Din.

"This could potentially be the first time," you chuckle nervously as you press your cheek to the cool metal.

If you're being honest— with Maker and yourself… what Din wants to do to you is making your apex tingle again.

Despite the nerves flowing through ever fiber of your body, you're sinking to your knees in the void. The moment your chest touches the floor of the Razor Crest for the second time tonight, you're actually thankful for the darkness. Doing something like this feels far less naughty in the dark.

"I don't want to get vaporized."

"Little one," Din runs one of his hands— which is always as hot as the sun, always— up the line of your spine slowly to comfort you. "I won't let anything bad happen to you," he rasps from behind his helmet. "I took the charge out already, besides… that happens on the other end."

The Amban rifle is long, about as long as you are tall. The non-business end is where the shoulder crook is. It’s shaped in a dramatic arch. One end is slightly longer than the other. Both ends of the arch are dull and rounded. Perfect for your shoulder to rest in when you aim.

It’s smooth and cold as Din traces it along your folds.

It surprisingly fits perfectly there as well.

"Looks so tight," his rasp is quiet, almost like he's ashamed to admit it. The tip of one of the horns is pushing against your entrance now, sliding in further and further— so slowly. "Need to see you filled."

His words make you shiver. It was clear that Din thought about you while he wasn't here… he had taken your notebook so that he could think about you all he wanted. You just never really thought about what he been imagining while looking at the pictures you had drawn of yourself in that notebook.

“It feels good?” Even through the modulator, you can hear his excitement— but it's intermingled with concern for your comfort, and that makes you melt against the hard metal of the ships floor.

You let Din know it does feel good with a content hum as he pushes the Abman's horn further into you.

It's been so long since anything has been inside you besides your own fingers and very, very recently Din's thick, long, ten billion degree digits. So long in fact, you almost forgot how delicious the stretch of something inside you feels.

You sigh happily again as the smooth, polished wood slides further into your soaked entrance. “It does feel good.” A moan as it glides against that utterly sweet spot inside you. “So good.” 

Din respires loudly as he watches the second horn of the Amban inch closer to your untouched hole. "You stretch so nicely, little one," he murmurs from under his helmet.

Sweat starts to bead across your brow as Din starts to work the first horn in and out of your wetness at the absolute perfect pace. It's not to slow, not to fast— he's allowing you to adjust while still giving you friction. To you, right now on the floor, the thrusts feel tender and sweet.

Loving, almost.

Your hips instinctively start to rock back to meet his thrusts, needing more, wanting it deeper inside of you, but that's when the second horn notches at your second hole. It hasn't penetrated you yet, but the pressure of it at your opening has you feeling rather intimidated.

Din pulls the Amban away from you. There is a moment of pause, nothing happens, and then you feel his tongue massaging against your tightest hole.

"Oh my Maker," you sigh loudly as he pushes past the ring of muscle to open and loosen you up for what he wants to see so badly.

"…would do this forever…" he murmurs from between your supple cheeks. The vibrations from his voice make you shiver and you have to bite back a smile at the sound of him unmodulated.

You wonder where the helmet is— did he take it completely off or is he just wearing it on the crown of his skull?

It doesn't really matter, you don't even really care as he pushes his tongue back inside of you. His breathless panting as he pushes two fingers into your cunt simultaneously and makes you arch your back down towards the floor, pushing your ass back against him.

"So good. S-so good," he pumps his fingers in and out of you a few times before he pulls away and loudly spits against your now loosened hole.

"Maker," you sigh at the obscene noise and the withdrawing of his fingers.

Din replaces the horns of the shoulder crook and slowly begins to work the first one in and out as the second tip taps your now other wet and ready hole. Slowly, he starts to push forward and you whimper at this new stretch. A different kind of feeling, it feels ludicrous. Out of place.

“Din…”

The word escapes your lips, and your fists clench in response. Through gritted teeth, you utter one long Maker as he removes the Amban from your body and rests a comforting hand on your back.

“It hurts? Are you okay?” He’s concerned. Sounding almost apologetic.

“No. It doesn’t hurt. It’s just different, go slower.” You don’t want to stop. It did feel good.

“Touch yourself while I do this.” His modulated whispers into your ear make you push back against the Amban again and it presses against your asshole again. “Touch...like the first night, please. I want to see it.”

The fact that Din remembers, and thinks about that first night the way you do… it makes your heart start to beat faster against the floor of the ship.

“Okay.” You breathe, one hand reaching for your clit. Your fingers find it and desperately start to circle and swirl around the wet mess between your legs. 

“Yes. Just like that, little one.” Din trails one finger down your spine gently, watching as you begin to play with yourself. “Fuck. You’re always so ready… and wet…” He admires you while his thrusts forward with Amban a little more aggressively now.

“You want to make yourself come while I put it in?” He whispers, dragging of his fingers back up your spine.

You nod silently.

“Was that a yes?” He’s wanting to hear you say it.

“Yes, Din, please…” You’re whining quietly as your fingers cease to stop touching your aching clit.

With more force behind his movements as his traveling hand grips one of your ass cheeks and pulls you apart so he can watch. The second horn presses against your tight hole with each thrust, he’s careful not to enter until you’re ready.

“You take it so well....” It’s a modulated whisper. "So wet--"

“Only for you,” sigh happily, feeling silly for saying it but in the moment, you don't what he thinks.

It’s true. You’ve never gotten this excited for anyone else.

Din gasps softly, you almost don’t hear it over the sounds of your fingers in your slick and the horn pushing into you over and over. “S-Say that again, p-please…”

“Only for you, Din…” You murmur with your eyes closed. Your touching had been getting you ready, your fingers had been spinning around your clit quickly— release was so close.

The thick wood horn inside you plus your fingers on your throbbing clit, and now this new sensation pressed against a new hole that’s never been explored before tonight, are all coiling something deep inside your lower belly.  

“Gonna…gonna come…” You strain the whimpers out, your body trembling right on the precipice of bliss.

Din presses his groin against the outside of your thigh and begins to move in a steady rhythm. You feel him pushing harder and faster, rubbing against you as he picks up speed.

"Oh! Oh!” You cry out, pushing your hips back as the coil inside of you snaps. “Diiiin!”

He pushes the Amban forward gently and you feel it enter you from behind. It’s a fiery pain, dulled tremendously by the bliss coming from between your legs, but it’s still pain.

A sharp intake of breath through your teeth is quickly followed by a pleasurable tightening of your inner walls around the smooth wooden horn inside. The feeling draws another loud moan from you.

Din continues to push and pull the shoulder crook in and out of you while you ride out your orgasm. You’re shoving your self back against the Amban now, wanting more, needing it deeper in your cunt while you come on it. The horn in your tighter hole stretches you wider, a new sensation, not pain or pleasure but a feeling of being completely full. You shudder on the floor of The Crest. 

“You’re s-so good,” Din sounds like he’s in awe once again. You amaze him. “Did you like that?” He asks, his modulator voice is gone and now he’s kissing your spine. When he removes the Amban from inside you, you whine at the empty feeling. The gaping feeling.

“Yes.” You pant on the floor. “So good, Din… So good.” You collapse, body fully going flat against the floor.

Din lays down beside you and wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you against him tightly.

There is a moment of silence while he listens to you catch your breath while one of his strong, calloused fingers circle around your belly button slowly.

“I just remembered how you clean.” He whispers into your ear. “We should get off the floor.”

For a moment you’re offended, but then you remember how well you cleaned before he started touching you and you chuckle.

“I did better this time,” your hand hesitantly finds his on your stomach. He stretches his fingers wide so you can slide yours between them. “Didn’t you notice how shiny it was?”

“I didn’t notice anything besides how you looked in your beautiful dress,” he murmurs, planting gentle kisses the back of your neck.

There is only one word you have in your vocabulary to describe how you need him to kiss you: desperately. You need to feel his lips on yours, need to feel his tongue swirling against your own. You might want that more than anything else he could offer you- but you won’t tell him that.

“We should get to bed.” You whisper to him instead.

Din doesn’t say anything for a moment, he just holds you close to him with the bridge of his nose against the back of your skull. Finally, and reluctantly, he lets you go but not for long. He’s on his feet before you can even sit up, and he’s got his hands under your arms, lifting you off the ground.

You’re suspended in midair for one second before he gently sets you back down on your feet.

“Do you need help walking?” He asks as you hold your hands out in front of you, feeling for obstacles in the dark. 

“Do you not need help?” You’re snippy, stalled in the dark waiting for his response.

He’s quiet for a long time. When he does speak, it startles you. “It’s my ship…” He sounds offended that you’d even ask him such a question. 

“Fine…” You grumble as he slips his hand into yours and takes the lead.

“Here’s the ladder…” he places your hand on one of the rungs and then stands behind you. “Go on, little one. I won’t let you fall,” he whispers into your ear as you hesitate to start climbing.

There is no need to do any of this in the dark when Din isn’t here. You keep all the lights on until you’re in bed and then you make it dark. You’ve never had to climb the ladder in the void.

Surprisingly enough, you make it up to the second level with no issues. Din follows close behind and once he’s beside you, his hand is in yours again, leading you to the sleeping quarters.

You’re not shocked when he puts you into his bed and crawls behind you. 

“What happens in the morning? Hm?” You whisper curiously, turning around to face him. “Because I almost broke my nose last time… I’m not doing that again.” 

Din chuckles, slipping one hand under your cheek, the other slides to your waist, his lips touch your chin softly. “I’m always up before you.” Then he presses his lips to yours, just as lightly.

Din’s lips are soft and warm— perfect. He’s perfect. He smells faintly of oil from the engine and sweat from being stuck under his helmet all the time.

To you, right now, he smells like what a home would feel like.

“Close your pretty eyes, and let me worry, okay?” He asks with his lips still pressed against yours. He kisses you again quickly before you can really react, and then rolls onto his side. Your chest is pressed against his back and he grabs one of your wrists to drape it over his side, then holds your hand to his stomach. 

How are you supposed to sleep after that?

What?!

That was your first since long before you even got on this ship! It’s been so long since you shared a kiss with anyone. Ages it felt like!

Your first kiss with Din— and he does it twice and then just rolls over ? Din did this on purpose. You’re sure of it.

The child is what you wake up to— his little green face right in yours.

You’re still in Din’s bed, and the child is touching your lips, pushing them apart with his little clawed fingers so he can get a good look at your teeth. You let him and wonder what he’s looking for.

Then you wonder how the hell he got into the bed with you but as your head turns to inspect your surroundings, Din is standing— fully dressed in his beskar, staring down at you.

“He was fussing.” It’s said flatly. “I’m surprised you didn’t hear him.” He’s turning to walk away. 

“I had a long night!” You call out to him as he leaves the room. 

The child is full of energy. He wants to play. Right now. 

But you’re naked under these sheets. 

You set the child on the floor and wrap yourself up in the sheets and tuck them under your arms.

The clothes you bought yesterday aren’t where you put them when you got back from the market… and then you remember the fashion show you put on for him last night. The smirk on your face is hard to hide as you make your way into the lower level of the ship.

Once you’re down there, you turn the corner and find Din with your white dress in his hands. He’s massaging the fabric between his gloved thumb and forefinger carefully as if he can feel it through the yellow leather. He’s just staring down into the mess of crumbled, white linen in his grasp.

“I don’t know if I wanna know— I don’t think I do— but can I have those back, please?” You extend your arm for the clothing he’s holding. He turns to look at you.

“Last night…” Din walks to you slowly. “You were so beautiful in this,” he holds the dress out to you as he continues to speak. “I could look at you all the time.” He’s in front of you now, looking down at you with the dress in his hands. “Clothes. No clothes.”

“The kids awake,” you smirk up at him as you take the dress out of his hands. “Get your helmet on straight.”

“I have to leave,” He says as you're turning to walk away. “Tonight.”

“For how long?” You ask, chasing him down the hallway towards the ladder that leads up to the first floor.

“I’m unsure… possibly a couple days… maybe longer. A week—”

That’s the longest he’s been gone since you’ve been here. You turn your head over your shoulder. “A week!?”

Suddenly, Din’s sweet kisses from last night don’t seem so very sweet anymore. The feel dirty and almost like a ploy to keep you from complaining about this.

His helmet nods silently.

“Is where we’re going nice?” You ask curiously. If it is nice… then you might not care. You see him shake his head and groan in frustration. “Why!? Why do you cart the child and I around out here instead of finding us a plac-”

Din presses a gloved finger to your lips to quiet you.

“So I can keep both of you safe. You’re not safe with so many planets and stars between us.” He explains gently, trying to not upset you further. “I want you close by.” 

Even though your heart is bursting in your chest because Din wants to keep you safe, wants you close— something about him choosing to kiss you last night, knowing he was leaving for so long today makes you angry. You say nothing in response to him.

“I know you’re upset. I’m sorry.” Din apologizes.

“It’s just part of the job description.” You say coldly, turning your head to the side so you don’t have to stare back at your reflection in his helemt.

It’s hard to not be upset after the night you just shared together, the touching, the kisses, the sleeping in his bed with him all night? How could you not feel some sort of emotion after that?

Din grips your chin in his thumb and forefinger, turning your head to look at him. “You want more money? For the job ?” With his free hand, he reaches behind his cape and pulls a fistful of credits out and pushes them into your chest forcefully. “Take them then,” he hisses through the modulator. Din pushes your chin as he pulls his hand away, and then he turns to leave. The credits scatter to the floor before you have time to catch them.

The child hears them falling noisily, and comes running to start grabbing them so he can begin putting them into his mouth. 

“No, no, no, no, no, no...” You whimper through the tears pricking at your eyes, trying to get all the credits back from him. You have to stick your whole hand in his mouth to get the last one back.

With all the credits in your hands and tears in your eyes, you throw them into the hallway Din just walked down. They scatter across the floor as you scoop the child up in your arms and make your way to the second level.

Once you’re in the sleeping quarters again and the child is preoccupied with one of his new toys, you allow yourself to come undone.

Din went from calling you beautiful one moment and then next, he’s shoving credits at you like you get paid to get fucked and then treated badly. What did you do to deserve that?

Tears start to roll down your cheeks, and the child freezes seeing you in distress. He’s never seen you cry. Not one time. He watches you, his head tilting side to side slowly as you press the heels of your hands into your eyes. 

He makes a quiet cooing noise at you but you don’t look. You can’t. There are too many tears and you feel so embarrassed for being so enamored with Din lately. He’s your boss. That’s it.

This was never going to happen again. You’ll sleep on the mat forever and never even look at his bed again. You might even move to a different part of the ship. You and the child.

You feel little hands on your leg and you finally look. The child is standing beside you, his big eyes are wide and he looks concerned for you, his little fingers are gripping your leg softly. 

The child makes you cry harder, because what if Din kicks you off after this?

What if he tells you that this isn’t working and you need to go back to the casino? You’d be devastated. This child is your world now. Din had slowly started to become a part of your everything— but not anymore!

Fuck Din!

As you change into fresh clothes and wipe away the stubborn tears that refuse to stop, you carefully make the bed with clean sheets. You tidy up the ship and wash any dishes or toys that need it. The baby watches you with concern as you move around the room, struggling to control your emotions. He sticks close to you as you pace back and forth, trying to find something - anything - to occupy your mind. All of your sewing supplies are in the same room as Din, but you can't bring yourself to go there right now.

You break out your notebook and lay on the floor with the child. You give him a page and your old charcoal. You show him how to doodle. You draw him. He sees it and points to himself. You nod and clap for him. Then you draw yourself. He points to the picture of you and then touches your nose. It makes you cry again. 

All day. 

You’re in that room all day spontaneously crying, when finally, the door opens and Din walks past the two of you with no acknowledgement. You stand up, grabbing the child and leave into the room he just walked out of. 

You two sit on the floor again and you show him how you sew. You hold up the almost finished robe to him, seeing if it’ll fit. 

“You’re gonna be the most well dressed green baby on the ship.” You tell him. He coos and warbles up to you, his fingers touching the fabric of his new robe. “Do you like it?” You ask but he doesn’t respond as usual. He’s a baby.

“We should talk,” Din’s modulated voice makes you jump. He’s standing in the doorway watching you two. 

“‘Kay.” You say curtly, going back to your sewing. You don’t look at him. 

“You’re upset?” He asks softly.

You turn your head and blink at him in disbelief.

“I already gave you more cre-” He starts to say, but sees you’re trying to hold back tears. 

“I don’t want your money.” The words come out quickly before you can cry. You strain back the sob forming in your throat. “I don’t want more.” You have to look away, you don’t want him to see you cry. “Just leave me alone, please.” 

The child touches your arm comfortingly and warbles quietly at you. 

“If you’re so unhappy here, I can take you back to Canto Bight.” Din sounds so angry when he speaks from behind the modulator.

All you can do is sob loudly. It’s the only sound coming out of you.

Din is quiet for so long listening to you cry. When he speaks again, his tone is softer and quieter. More kind than before. “Are you unhappy here?”

“No. I love it here,” you weep softly. You do love it here. You blink and tears roll down your cheek again. You attempt to turn your body away from Din but he’s beside you now, kneeling with his hand on your shoulder. 

“I thought you did too…but you are crying,” he says nervously. “Happy girls don’t cry…why are you crying? Please tell me.” 

“You were s-s-s-so mean about th-the credits,” you wail. “I didn’t a-ask for m-more c-credits.” You cannot stop crying no matter how hard you try. “I d-don’t want you t-t-to take m-me back to Can-Canto B-bi-” You can’t even speak it, it makes you cry too hard. 

“You think I’m going to take you back there?” He tries to turn you to face him but you turn the other way, further away from him. “I thought you were unhappy. I didn’t think you wanted this anymore. I don’t blame you. I worry about you too much and I don’t let you leave because of it. I’m not always nice.” 

“But I care for you! And the child so much!” You wail. You scoop the child who is trying to crawl into your lap in your arms and hold him close to your chest. “I love him so much and I can’t be away from him.” You sob harder. “He’s all I’ve got now and if you take him from me it’ll kill me.” The child wraps his little arms around your neck as much as he can. Coos and baby warbles fill your ear. 

“I wasn’t-” Din is desperately trying to turn you now, both hands are on your shoulders and he’s spinning you on the smooth surface of the Crest’s floor. “-look at me.” He says it sternly enough that you listen and look up at him with bloodshot eyes and tear stained cheeks. “I don’t want to take you back to Canto Bight. I don’t. You didn’t see the child when you were at the market. He missed you. Cried for you.”

“You said he had fun!” You wail again. “He cried?” You hold the child closer. 

Din chuckles. 

“I wasn’t telling you that you have to leave.” He explains after a moment of silence. “Do you still want to stay? Knowing what happens, knowing that I leave. I have to. Do you still want to be here?” 

You stare up at him for a long time. You do. You’re still sad though. At a loss for words.

“You were so cold to me. Then you called it ‘part of the job description’ so I assumed you wanted more credits. More compensation for what you do. I got mad because I thou-” He cuts himself off. 

“You thought what?” You ask nervously. He stays quiet. 

“It’s nothing. I thought you wanted more. I tried to give you what I thought you wanted.” He sighs and takes his hands from your shoulders. You can feel where the heat from his gloved hands held you. 

“What were you going to say?” Your eyes haven’t left his helmet. 

“I have to go now. When I get back we will talk more. Okay?” 

You almost start crying again but he pinches the tip of one gloved finger between his opposite index and thumb and pulls his hand free. He reaches for you with it and wipes the tears off one of your cheeks with his thumb before cupping your face in his palm

“Perfect, beautiful little one.” He rasps softly. “So perfect.” He rubs his thumb along your cheek and wipes the new falling tears. “Don’t cry. Please. Don’t cry. I’ll be back soon and we will talk about this.” You nod quickly. 

“Okay.” You sniffle softly, trying to calm the fear and sadness inside you. ‘Okay.” 

Din rests the top of his visor to your forehead softly. 

“Try and find forgiveness in your heart, for me. Please.” He keeps you there, pressed against his helmet as he speaks to you. “I’ll be thinking of you. Looking at your doodles . Waiting to see you again.” 

Then he pulls away and stands. 

“Are you staying on the floor with the child or do you need assistance getting up?” He asks, extending a hand out to you. You shake your head at him. 

“I’m gonna finish this.” You hold up the almost finished robe with one hand, the other arm is still cradling the child to your chest. He’s resting his head on your shoulder. 

“I’ll be back. Stay safe. I’ll set up the perimeter when I leave. Do not go outside of it. Please.” He rattles off his ‘Din is leaving’ list to you. You hear it every time he goes.

“You be safe. Come back in one piece.” You smile up at him softly. Din looks down at you for a long time before he speaks again.

“Perfect. Beautiful.”

Din does not come back in one piece. Well, all together yes, but he’s hanging on by threads.

In the dead of night, you are jolted awake by the sound of the ship's door opening. It has been ten days since he left, and you've been unable to sleep properly ever since. As you strain your ears, you can hear his boots hitting the ramp with uneven steps, like he's struggling to stay upright.

Jumping out of bed, not needing to turn any lights on because you can hear him banging around in the adjacent room. 

“Din.” You whisper into the darkness of the entryway. “Din, is that you?” You search for the light button on the wall desperately trying to see something. Finally, you find the small button and press it. 

You see Din facing the metal hull of the ship, leaning against it with his arms curled up over his helmet which is pressed tightly to the wall of the Crest. He’s supporting all of his weight on one leg. The other foot hovers inches above the ground.

He’s hurt.

Time feels like it stops as you rush to him. In the short amount of time it takes you to get to him, you manage to stumble over your own feet twice. When you reach him, you put one hand on his shoulder and he flinches under your touch.

“Where?” You ask nervously.

You’ve never seen him like this before. He’s been injured before, sure…but never like this. Never to the point where he can’t speak to you. He points to his leg, inner thigh and you kneel before him, inspecting. It’s a burn or a cut or both, you don’t know. Some of it’s been cauterized already, other parts of it are still bleeding badly. It looks so deep.

“What do I need to do? Tell me?” 

Everything about you feels like a Mimbanese mudslide. It feels like all the hard parts that keep you upright have been stolen from you. Din says nothing as you kneel in front of him helplessly. You can hear small, stifled groans of pain coming from his helmet. 

“I don’t know how to help you.” You whisper powerlessly. It’s like time has stopped and the world fell silent around just the two of you. “Tell me what to do.” You beg him. 

“Shh. Please just be quiet.” He snaps at you in frustration. He’s still got his helmet leaned against the wall.

Instead of being upset you stand, and run to get clean water and a rag. You check to make sure the child is still asleep in his bassinet. When you return he’s sitting on the bench. He’s got his beskar off and he’s leaned against the hull of the ship, still groaning through his modulator. 

“It’s going to hurt and I’m so sorry.” You warn him, taking the clean wet rag and ringing it out into the bowl of water. “Okay? Are you ready?” He isn’t watching, he’s looking up to the ceiling, choking back sobs of pain. 

“Go.” Din chokes out. You move the rag closer to his wound and his hand finds your wrist. He grabs you tightly as you hover over the bleeding mess. “S-so g–gentle. P-please.” They came out sobbed and choked on soft whispers. 

With the most feather and gentle touch you can, you start to clean it, and once the rag is covered in blood you realize you don’t have another bowl of water to rinse in. 

“I���ll be right bac--” You start but Din grips your wrist tighter to the point where it starts to hurt. “I need more water.” You explain quickly, not upset he’s holding you tightly. “I’m coming right back. I promise.” His fingers loosen on you. “I promise.”

With more speed you’ve ever used in your life you grab another bowl and more water and rush back to him. He hasn’t moved. His good leg is shaking, like he’s shivering.

“I’m back. See?” You look up at him and rinse the rag in the new bowl and watch all the dirt and blood and muck float and twirl in the water. “I came right back. Just like I said, I’m here.” You try and comfort him as you go back to cleaning him carefully. “I’m right here. Just breathe and think about us and those nights. It’ll be okay.”

Desperate to help him find some comfort in this you start rattling off whatever nice things come to your head. Nervously babbling because you can’t hold it in. “I’ve been waiting for you to come back so we can share the bed again, and I’ll hold you like I did before you left.” You're fighting back tears of fear and frustration and worry for Din. You fight them back though because this isn’t the time for tears.

Of course, he says nothing. He’s probably worried about biting right through his tongue with the grunts and groans he’s making under that helmet.

You continue to clean him up until you can start to see things that make your stomach turn inside you. Inside of his muscle and fatty tissue. Blood starts reappearing as you pat it away. You grow more fearful and nervous. 

“You need something to bandage this, where is it?” Din doesn’t answer before you’re looking around. Din points to the opposite wall and you see a small box strapped to the wall. You run to it, rip the straps from around the sides, you stumble again as you turn around and almost fall as you rush back to him. 

Everything about cleaning him and even being near him had to be so slow and so careful that when you weren’t near him you tried to make up for lost time, sometimes moving too fast for your own good. You slide a couple inches as you kneel before you even stop moving. You drop the box on the floor and your nervous fingers fumble with the snaps on the front. 

“Fuckin– c’mon, open!” You can’t get one of the snaps undone. A hidden sharp edge slices your index finger full across the length of the pad from under the rim. “Fuck!” You exclaim, looking and seeing blood pooling on your own finger now. You wipe it off on your pants and more carefully now try the stuck snap. It opens fine with your newfound care. “Fuck you.” You whisper again to the box, your finger hurts, it’s still bleeding.

“Abyssin grafting patch.” Din hisses through clenched teeth. 

Looking for what he’s talking about you find it, and set it on the bench beside him. 

“You need to take off your pants or I can cut them.” You explain, seeing that you won't be able to get the patch on without taking off his pants. The fabric was sliced through with something so hot that it melted some of the fabric to his skin. 

“Cut.” He groans, letting his helmet hit the hull with a loud clunk. You find the medical scissors and carefully peel the melted fabric away from his skin. He hisses loudly and you slow down as much as you can. You try to breathe. You let the scissors do most of the work, they’re sharp and let you cut down Din’s pant leg so you can open the fabric and get more access to him. 

“Okay. I’m gonna put it on now.” You walk him through what you’re doing as you rip open the patch from its wrapper. “You ready?” He’s still not looking down at you but he nods. 

You tenderly press the patch against his leg and watch as it fuses itself to him. You sigh with relief. He’s safe. He’s here. You fall back onto your buttocks and let your legs stretch out in front of you.

“You’re bleeding.” Din sighs when he finally takes his head away from the wall. “Why’re you bleeding?” He’s panting, pointing now to your finger. You look and there is a small circle of blood on the floor where your finger is resting. 

“I cut myself on the stupid fucking box.” You grumble, reaching for it. You grab a wipe and a small bandage. You clean yourself up and root around for what else could be in there. “Do you want the pills or the gas?” You ask, holding up a small bottle filled with capsules and a container with a mouth and nose mask attached to it. 

“Do you need either?” He asks seriously. You look at him with confusion. 

“I don’t do drugs, Din, what are you talking about?” 

“Your finger.” He points again. He’s gotta be delirious. 

“It’s just a cut, I’m fine. You’re missing some of your– the gas. You need the gas.” You decide for him. You put the canister under your arm and stand. “Can you walk?” He nods and goes to stand. You put one of his arms around your neck and shoulders, letting him put some of his weight on you. 

The two of you slowly make your way into the sleeping quarters. He’s part limping, part hopping on one foot. 

“What happened?” You whisper now within earshot of the child who surprisingly didn’t wake up for any of that. You don’t know what you would have done had the child awoken while you were panicking. 

“Fight.” He groaned quietly as he sat down on the edge of the bed. You hand him the canister. 

“I’m going to sleep in the other room tonight with the child.” He tilts his helmet up to you and starts to shake his head. “Yes. We are. You need to rest and you’re going to be knocked out with the gas. I don’t want to take any risks of you not waking up before me.” You lean forward and press your forehead to the top of his face visor. Din wraps one hand around the back of your neck. 

“I missed you.” He rasps softly. You close your eyes and keep your forehead pressed to his helmet. 

“I missed you too. So much.” He brings the other hand to your cheek and holds you to him. 

“I should sleep-” He pulls away from you and tries to stand. “-in the other room.” You put both hands on his shoulders and gently force him to sit back down. 

“You are not moving. Please. Use the gas and sleep. You can sleep in the other room tomorrow night, okay?” You tease him gently. 

“You’ll stay here tomorrow?” He asks, tilting his head to the side again. You nod. 

“Yes, I’ve been waiting for it.” You smile down at him. “But tonight you need to sleep. As long as you can. No worry of anyone seeing you. We’ll be okay,” You motion towards the baby's bassinet. “I’ll see you whenever you decide to wake up. Okay?” 

He nods up at you. You press your forehead to his helmet again and sigh. 

“Glad you’re back.” You whisper before you turn and push the baby’s bassinet into the other room. You have to come back in and grab your blankets and mat. He watches you, as you walk back and forth. 

As you pass him to leave the room for the last time he reaches for you and his fingers graze your wrist. You stop and look down at him. 

“Perfect. Beautiful.” He rasps quietly. 

You smile at him, taking his hand in yours. You bring his fingers to your lips and kiss each one gently. 

“Sleep.” You whisper to him again. 

Then you leave because he does need his rest. It kills you to leave the room and shut the door because you so badly want to run back to him and hold him while he sleeps and keep him safe but you know you can’t. You know you don’t have the willpower to not look if given the opportunity. Especially if he were to never know. You’re ashamed of it, but you know it to be true. 

Din doesn’t leave the bed for the next two days. You wait on him hand and foot, happily. Bringing him any and everything he could ask for. Laying with him when he wanted, you and the child both. You actually cooked for him. Really cooked. And didn’t even burn yourself. 

That night after the child had been put to sleep, with just the dim overhead light above his bed, you lay next to him and planted well placed kisses across his strong chest. He’s mostly smooth with just the smallest dark hairs speckled around his nipples and across his chest. The hair mostly rests in a faint line from his belly button down to below the waistband of his pants. 

“I think about you all the time.” You whisper between kisses. “You’re on my mind all day long. You’re in my dreams at night.” His arm is behind you, his fingers rubbing up and down on your back. 

“Really?” He asks, tilting his helmet to the side. You nod at him and lay your head on his stomach gently. “Good things I hope?” He rests the flat of his palm on you. Feeling his warmth, you sigh and nod again.

“Very good things.” You smile. 

In moments like this, you hate the helmet. You hate it so much. 

There are other times that you forget he can take it off; when you talk normally or argue but in moments like this, where you speak so gently to each other and the things each of you say sound like things out of a love story read to you as a child of princesses and princes’.

“I’m sorry if I scared you that night.” He whispers, his fingers press into softly. “I didn’t mean to. I would have done it myself. I always do.” His hand goes back to moving up and down on your skin. You listen. “You did a good job though. Really, I’ll have to pay you more credits now.” He tickles along your side gently and you frown. “ Nurses get paid more.” He teases you. 

Giggles escape your mouth as he starts to tickle the frown off your face. 

“Stop, stop. The kid," you whisper, sitting up from his stomach. 

“Beautiful.” He says softly, moving his hand to your cheek, his thumb rubs across your lips gently. You kiss it with each pass of his thumb. “Perfect.” 

“Why do you say those things?” You roll your eyes at him. “I’m not perfect.” It’s said with a hint of sadness, because you know you’ve been having terrible wishes of him losing his helmet or forgetting it and you just seeing him because you have to know. You pang with guilt every time you look at it lately.

Din doesn’t say anything for a long time. He just rubs his thumb across your lips slowly, sometimes pulling your bottom lip down gently and he lets it pop up back against your top lip. You're hypnotized by it. You lean in against his hand. 

“I think about kissing you every day.” He whispers to you. “I love your mouth. Your lips.” 

Your head starts to buzz. Did you hear Din correctly when he just said he loved something about you?

Maker, you must be about to meet right now because this cannot be real. You’re snapped back from your buzzing thoughts when Din speaks again. 

“Does it make you feel nice?” His hand falls from your face, and you almost fall over into him, not realizing how much you had been leaning into his hand. “When I call you those things?”

“Sometimes. Most times.” You whisper honestly. You don’t like lying to Din. 

“Why not every time?” He asks gently, taking one of your hands in his. 

“Because, I’m not. I don’t always want–” You think about how you want to say it, so it doesn’t come out wrong. “I sometimes am selfish with the thoughts I have about you.” He tilts his helmet to the side. 

“You– Ther– I-I.” He has to clear his throat. “You know that th-” He sighs softly in frustration. “You’re the only one. No need to be selfish.” He laughs nervously. 

In love. You thought it was infatuation but you love him. So damn much. Especially right now. Maybe you only love him right now, you didn’t know. You haven’t been in love before. You’ve definitely never felt this way. Not the feeling you feel right now in your heart. But it’s shadowed quickly by the fact that you’re still feeling guilty. 

“That’s not what I meant.” You chuckle at him softly and squeeze his hand. “Sometimes what I want wouldn’t be good or nice to you.” You try to explain nicely in a way that doesn't sound like; take your helmet off. I don’t care what happens. I wanna see. 

He tilts his head to the side again, still not understanding.

“You… want bad things to happen to me?” His modulated inflection makes you chuckle again. 

“No,” You’re still chuckling, shaking your head. Then you stop. “Well, I don’t know. I don’t know if what I wish for would lead to bad things. Or cause you harm. I know it’d make you disappointed. ” You try and get him to remember the conversation about the helmet, right after he bought you a new notebook for taking your old one. 

“Ohh.” He whispers to you, nodding in understanding. 

Then it’s quiet. For so long, Maker, how is this man so quiet for so long?

“I know it’s not nice of me to wish and want those things. I can’t help it though. My mind and heart wonder. It’s never wishing those things upon you either. I just know they might be an effect of what I want. So technically, yes I do want bad things to happen to you.” You talk nervously. Trying to listen to something other than nothingness. You joke to try and lighten the mood. Nothing works. He stays quiet for so long. 

It’s very aware you’ve made him feel something. You’re not sure what it is yet. 

“You can’t be upset with me.” He says finally. His raspy voice scares you in the silence. You jump but he squeezes your hand. “Promise you won’t be upset?” 

Unsure if you can actually make that promise, you nod your head at him and bite your bottom lip nervously. 

“The child is more than just a child.” He starts. Your heart is racing for a new reason now. “It’s so difficult to explain… but I need to take him, and I need you to stay here.” You rip your hand from his and pull it into your lap.

“You’re taking him from me?” You whisper softly in shock. Din shakes his head quickly. 

“I’m going to bring him back… eventual-” You hold your hand up.

“How long?” Your chin starts to tremble. 

“I don’t know. I really don’t. And I’m sorry. If I knew you two were going to get attached like this I would have never asked you to do this.” He tries to explain.

“You’ve known this whole time that you were going to have to take him!?” It’s a strained whisper of disbelief. “Where are you taking him?” 

“He has to learn the way of the Jedi. I’m taking him to Luke Skywalker.”

You gasp audibly. 

“The Luke Skywalker?” You ask again in disbelief. You've heard stories about him since you were a child.

“Yes. He’s going to teach the child how to use the force, how to be stronger.” Din explains. 

“I’m going. I don’t care what you say or if you have to try and tie me to the Crest. I don’t care. I’m going with you this time.” 

Din sighs loudly. 

“And I’m staying with him.”

“No. You cannot do that.” He tries to grab your hand again but you pull it away. 

“Why not? Why can’t I stay? He’s a baby and he needs someone to care for him. Do you think Luke Skywalker is going to care for him the way I do? The way we do?” You’re still whispering but you are exasperatedly trying to prove your point. Your hand is now pointed at the baby’s bassinet. “Is Luke Skywalker going to make sure that all the bugs he eats don’t have stingers on them? Is he going to give him a bath every night before bed and change his robes and do all the things we do for him?” 

You’re upset that you never asked what Din was doing out in the galaxy while you stayed cooped up in the ship. You always thought that he was just a bounty hunter with a green baby and now you find out that this green baby has always had a destination in mind that you didn’t know about? Your heart was breaking in your chest. 

“You can come with me but you cannot stay.” He’s serious and it makes tears burn your eyes. 

“Will you ever get him back? Will I ever see him again?” Something new comes into your head and you’re fighting back the urge to ask about it. 

“I don’t know. It’s a possibility. I need to take him to Luke.” 

“And then what?” You implore nervously. 

“What do you mean?” Din asks, reaching for your hand again. You let him take it and hold it in his. 

“What happens to me?” Tears roll down your cheeks. “Just don’t l-leave me b-back on Canto B-bight. P-please take me an-anywhere else.” You’re drawing in big gulps of air between each sobbed word. Din squeezes your hand tightly.

“I’m n– I’m not leaving you?” He doesn’t understand what you mean, 

“Without the ch-child what g-good am I to you?” You sob softly.

“You hold a place in my heart. I care for you dearly. I’d still pay you to clean, now you know how to nurse me back to health.”

“I’d do it for free.” You whisper through quiet sniffles.  

Din stays quiet for a long time. 

“You want to stay with the child?” He ask, his hand cupping your face again. 

Eyes have never moved so fast in history the way your eyes flick to Din. 

“Is it an option?” You ask softly, leaning into his hand, the burning hot heat of him overtakes the rest of your face and you’re hot, but it’s so good. Because it’s his heat. Din’s body pressed against yours. 

“If it’s what you desire. I’ll make it an option.” Din’s raspy modulated voice says quietly. “I’d do it for you.” 

“Why? What were you going to say the other day before you left?”

Din presses his thumb to your lips gently, quieting you. “Yes or no?” 

All you can do is nod.

tag list: @thereaperisabitch @pedrospookie @furiousmushroom @creepycorbeaux

I love all your comments and tags and sweet words. Thank you to anyone showing support on this story and me in general.

What does this metal man have in store for you?? What's gonna happen??

[astralisbelle]

Dead Man's Hand 16 - Give In

Dead Man's Hand Masterlist tags: tags: engineer!reader, gambler!reader, loose canon timeline, eventual smut, fluff, action, casino aesthetics, touch starved reader, touch starved din, reader and din get on each other’s nerves, also they’re idiots, defrosting ice king din, cinderella vibes, everybody loves grogu

chapter summary: They've settled into a routine, however unconventional it may be. warnings: smut, r18, minors dni

notes: I can't believe we're done omgg this was definitely a short fic (short for me anyway) but it's been a blast writing it and sharing it and reading all of your wonderful comments. There's more mando content coming, though, so don't despair! If you liked this story, please share it/recommend it. I'd really appreciate it. Thank you and please enjoy

NEVARRO — ONE YEAR LATER

The sound of a steady hammer clangs and vibrates against the metal. Grogu sits in a small patch of grass, various metal and wood toys surrounding him as he finishes a blue cookie. He watches her from a safe distance as she pulls out a wrench and screws a bolt in place. Using the rope attached to her belt, she slides down to another part of the ship and pulls out a blowtorch to weld metal together. Once she finishes the final touches, she jumps and slides back down to the ground, unhooking the rope from her belt and using her forearm to wipe her forehead of sweat. “Alright!” she calls out to the droids. “Start her up!”

The engine hums to life without a hiccup, purring smooth and stable. The owners of the ship, a few Rodians, hold up their hands in praise and make noises of joy. She smiles, shaking their hands and accepting their credits. “Be gentle during the warm-up, but then she’s good to go. Remember that.” She gathers her things and leaves the droids to clean up. “Whew!” she says when she’s close to Grogu, kneeling down to gather all of his things in a bag. “I’m beat. Ready to head home?” He babbles as she picks him up and settles him in his hovering pram.

Together, they stroll through the bustling streets of Nevarro City, watching the various people shop and walk, their children playing in the streets.”We’re gonna stop by the market first, okay?” she says, already thinking about what she could make for dinner that night.

They are rarely in Nevarro, but it’s the one place they keep coming back to in between jobs. Karga wasn’t kidding when he said that he was going to transform it into the Outer Rim’s new hot spot as there seems to be more and more each time they visit. Thankfully, she had the foresight to invest in a small apartment early on, using the money from her winnings (despite Din's objections). It pays off, even if they’ve only used it a dozen or so times in the last year.

The Mandalorian is away at the moment with the High Magistrate to take care of some straggling pirates hiding outside the city. It should be an easy job, but she still worries. Din has a talent in getting himself rather beat up.

When she opens the door to the apartment, she walks in and drops all of her things onto the table with a large groan of exhaustion. Quickly, she looks around and finds that he’s still out on the job, just as she suspected. With a shrug, she reaches into the pram to hold Grogu, pressing a button so it floats away to charge for the night. “Ready for a bath?” she asks him. He holds out his arms and makes a happy whine.

The bathroom isn’t as luxurious as the one in the hotel from a year back, but it’s still nicer than anything she had on Tatooine. It’s much harder for two people to squeeze in, but it’s doable. At least Grogu takes up very little space. As it fills with hot water, heated by the planet’s natural volcanic activity, she sheds off her sweaty, dirt-caked clothes and pushes them into a pile away from her. She shakes out her hair and leans down to take off Grogu’s clothes, folding them and setting them aside.

Into the tub they go, his happy noises echoing against the walls. He sits on her knees as usual and splashes about. “Huh? Where’s my soap… oh.” She frowns, noticing that someone, not her, must have left it on the sink when he washed his face. “Grogu, I’m sorry, do you mind?” He turns his big eyes towards the bar on the sink and extends his little hand towards it. With his powers, he lifts it up and gently floats it over to her hand. “Thank you, my little dear.” She pets his head.

Once they finish their bath, she notices that it’s getting dark and Din hasn’t returned yet. He will soon, she tells herself. He always does. She dresses them both and places Grogu on the floor next to his toys while she brings the ingredients from the market into the kitchen and starts to cook. Occasionally, she’ll stop to peek her head around the corner and make sure the little one is safe before returning to preparing the meal.

Just as she’s about to finish, she hears heavy footsteps outside the door. It slides open and the Mandalorian strolls in, without a word as usual. “You were out for a while,” she says, gathering the bowls while Grogu makes incoherent sounds of joy. Din sighs deeply and takes a seat at the table.

“There were more of them than we expected.”

“That’s annoying. Did you finish the job?”

“Yes.”

She sets down a piping hot bowl of soup in front of him, giving him a welcoming smile. “I hope Karga paid you more.”

“He did.” He looks down to see Grogu groping at his leg and bends down to pick him up. “How about you, you little womp rat? Did you stay out of trouble?” Grogu responds with a tilt of his head and a sputter. He chuckles, sitting him down on the table next to his small bowl of soup. Finally, she sits down too. Din makes a soft groan as he reaches for his bowl, lifting his helmet just an inch to take a sip.

She lifts a brow. “Still sore?”

“I’ll be fine.” Grogu mimics him, taking sips and setting his bowl down when he does. “Nothing you haven’t seen before.”

“If you say so.” She sips some of her soup. “After dinner, I’ll clean up and you put the kid down. Sound fair?”

“Fine by me.”

As she scrubs the dishes in the sink, she looks over her shoulder to watch him carry Grogu to the second bedroom where his crib is. She can’t hear what he says to him over the water flowing from the sink, but she knows it’s something sweet, as it always is. Once she finishes up with the dishes and the counters, she goes to their room to prepare the salves and sprays they use to patch him up. For the longest time, he insisted on doing it himself, as he always did, but lately he’s been willing to let her do it. As she does, she hears that he’s hopped into the shower for a quick rinse — too bad he always keeps the door locked.

Din never takes long, finishing up quickly and using quiet footsteps to come back to the room. His helmet remains, but he sets his armor down on top of a crate, baring his torso and sitting down on the bed.

It’s always so odd to think that even though they’ve been — what was the word Peli used? — involved for a year, but it’s only recently that she’s seen more of him underneath his armor. The first thing she noticed were the many bruises that marred his skin. The armor protects him from most things that would scar him, but every now and then, a blade or a blast can crawl through the unprotected pockets and mark him.

She sits next to him, salve in hand and ready to nurse his wounds. When she begins, he hisses and groans. Unfortunately, she’s used to it. “What did you do today?” he asks.

He could use the distraction. She presses gently, letting the salve do its magic. “Not much. Did a little more arithmetic with Grogu.” She chuckles. “He likes your lessons better, let’s just say that.” He shakes his head with a little laugh. “They asked me to help out at the shop. Couldn’t get a ship off the ground.”

“But you did?”

“But of course.” She takes the spray and gives his skin a spritz. “Then came home and made dinner.”

Din is quiet for a moment. “Do you… like it?”

“Like what?” She tilts her head.

“Days like this. Working. Giving lessons. A normal kind of day.”

“Hmm. It’s nice to have these moments of rest,” she tells him, holding his wrist. “Makes you thankful for them. But, you know? I miss the chaos too much.” She rubs the salve over a small burn. “Remember Chalacta?”

Din shakes his head in amusement. “Please don’t remind me.”

“Okay, fine. What about Seelos? When we drew out that bounty together. You waited, I played. Made almost exactly what you got for the reward.”

“I remember.” His muscles let go of their tension under her touch.

She finishes up, giving his shoulder a kiss before she stands up to put the supplies away. “Should I get the lights?”

“Please.” He scoots towards his side of the bed and waits for the lights to turn off, leaving the room in complete darkness. She knows her way back to the bed, of course, and crawls to her side while he pulls the helmet off and sets it on the night table. Settling under the covers, he turns on his side, pulling her closer. “I want to ask you something.”

Ahh, there it is. His voice, unfiltered and unaltered. She places her hand on his cheek, her thumb following the lines of his face. “Shoot.”

“Is… is this enough for you?” he asks.

He knows what she’s asking. “It is,” she said plainly, knowing that being direct would be the fastest way to reassure him. “Is it enough for you?”

“I think so.”

“You think so? That doesn’t so sure.” She gets comfortable on her side. “What’s on your mind?”

Din sighs, taking the time to find his words. His hand rests on her waist, fingers drumming on her night shirt. “I… I’m happy. Happier than I thought I could be, maybe more than I should be. But, I want to make sure you’re really happy. And I think, if there’s anything more that you wanted, then I would want to do it.”

“Anything more? Like… what?”

“You tell me.”

She huffs. “Well… I guess there is one thing I want right now.” She leans forward, their foreheads touching as her voice drops to a whisper. “Can you guess what it is?”

Din sighs, but he hopes that she can hear the amusement in his voice. “That doesn’t count. We already do that.”

“Mmm, yeah, I know…” She pushes her fingers through his curls. “But it’s so weird. Doesn’t matter how many times it’s been, I always want more.”

He leans in, closing the gap between them. His lips press against hers in a soft kiss as he hovers over her, pulling her into his arms. How strange, he thinks. He feels the same way.

In the outside world, they cannot kiss. They cannot feel each other’s skin or even let their eyes meet without some sort of barrier in between. He thought that by now, she would have grown tired and frustrated about it, but he underestimated her. Here she is, still kissing him with smiling lips and running her fingers through his hair, cherishing the moments where they can feel each other. He never lets a single second slip by.

Din takes his time, kissing her neck and down to her collar bone as his hands pull up the hem of her shirt. His lips and stubble make her shiver, her breathing still quiet for now. Gently, he takes her breasts in his hand, earning a low hum of approval. He kisses down to her peak and finds it already hard against his tongue. As he envelopes his lips around it and sucks, he tastes her clean scent and hears the hitch in her breath. Her back arches slightly and she pushes down on his head, inviting him to do it harder. A playful nibble is all it takes for her to whimper and press the back of her hand against her lips. He leaves her nipple glistening and red before he lowers his head to give the other the same treatment, all the while his hand venturing down to her shorts.

He pulls down on them, bringing her underwear with him. She lifts up her hips to help him take them off, her leg brushing by the bulge forming beneath his clothes. Din sits up, kneeling before her and sliding his hands down her legs. He wraps them around his waist, warming her thighs and letting her grow impatient for his touch. His palm presses below her navel, fingers tracing circles around her skin so he can feel her jolt. Patience, his hands say. Patience.

Din leans over, holding her chin between his thumb and forefinger as he parts his lips against hers. He kisses her deeply, tongue lazily brushing against hers. She moans against him, both in enjoyment of the kiss and frustration that he hasn’t touched her more. All in due time. When he parts from her, his thumb slides between her lips and she tastes the salt of his skin, closing around it. She playfully sucks on him, hoping it to be a precursor for things to come. He replaces his thumb with two fingers, the heat of her mouth sending yearning down his chest and deep into his core. His fingers pop out of her lips and he finally dips his hand between her thighs, exactly where she wants.

When he finds her slit, she breathes in fast, her body awakening. Her voice is still barely above a whisper, but a single curse from her is all he needs to shiver with need. Din audibly breathes out, stroking her up and down, feeling her legs curl around his. She bites down on her lip, trying not to make a sound even as he sends throbs of sweet delight throughout her body. But he knows her too well, knows which strokes and swirls make her thighs clench, her fingers and toes curl. She throws her cheek against the pillow, whining against the back of her hand.

Not yet. She sits up and catches his wrist. “Din,” she breathes. “Ngh…” Despite that, he continues. “Mgh! Wait, wait. Wait…” He stops. “L-Lie down. Please?”

He kisses her head. “Alright.” Then he pulls away, lying down beside her and already pulling his pants down for her. Once she finishes for him, she crawls onto him and slides her palms down his hip bones, following them to his thighs. She listens for his quiet moans that come from his throat, fingers finding his hard cock and stroking it up and down. Lowering her head, she parts her lips and licks the tip, teasing him before she takes him into her mouth. Din’s hand falls on her head, pushing her hair away and grasping it when it gets too good. Even after all this time, he represses his voice well but his body still betrays him.

She lifts her head, adjusting her position so she’s reversed and he has easy access. Din holds her thighs, surprising her with how fast he yanks her down onto his tongue. She claps a hand over her mouth to quiet her sound, melting to his touch fast. Now she has to catch up. She thrusts her lips around his length, bobbing her head up and down and muffling her own moans. His muscles tense underneath her, fingers digging into her skin as she brings him closer and closer towards the edge. Her head grows hot and the sensation spikes underneath her skin. He tongues her harder, mercilessly bringing her to her peak. She claws the bed sheet and represses her vulnerable moans, seeing stars behind her eyelids and feeling enraptured by waves of pleasure. While she rides the high of her climax, she strokes and sucks faster to take him with her. He hides his deep groans behind his lips and teeth, nails raking her thighs as she catches his milky strings on her tongue.

Finally, when both are spent, she collapses and rests her cheek on his thigh. They fill the room with their labored breaths, taking a few minutes to breathe and for the adrenaline to leave their system. Then, she slides off of him and turns, snuggling into his arms and resting on his shoulder. He leans over, landing a kiss on her forehead.

Knowing her, she’s going to want a round two, but he’ll need some time. Not that minds, of course. To him, there’s no better feeling in the world their chests pressing together, their bodies one. The only thing that would make it better is if he could see her face during that time, but he’s on thin ice with the Creed as is. One of these days, he knows he’s going to give in — he’ll sleep in and choose to let her see him in the morning light as opposed to waking up and leaving before giving her the chance. But, every morning, he wakes up before her and allows himself to take in her sweet, sleeping face before he pulls away.

Who knows if that day will ever come.

For now, he can enjoy giving her fluttering touches that, with her heightened sensitivity, make her squirm and whine. He can bury teasing laughs against her neck, kiss it like so and tickle her skin. And he can squeeze her flesh between his fingers, leaving marks that remind her where he’s touched.

Din slides over her, kissing her lazily and slowly. One hand slides under her shoulder while the other slides down to her waist and then her thigh, separating them. His hips grind against hers, the friction humming his body back to life. She rests her hands on his shoulder blades, fingertips outlining the dips his muscles make while her feet slide apart on the sheets, inviting him in closer.

She knows that she’ll never get to surprise him with a kiss or see his handsome face, but she is thankful for their intimacy. She knows Din bares himself completely like this, letting her touch and hear him more than anyone else ever had. It just makes it all the more special.

Din presses his forehead against hers, halting his hips and reaching in between them. His tip rubs against her entrance and she braces herself. With a soft groan, he slides in, stretching her walls to fit his thick girth. She represses a high moan behind her lips, her legs wrapping around his waist. Din rocks his hips, starting slow. Even so, the sensation is intense enough to make her whimper and quake. Her heel presses against his buttocks, asking him to go faster.

He grabs her hands and sets them above her head, intertwining their fingers and keeping her still. Their chests share heat, a thin layer of sweat forming on the surface. She bites down on her lip to keep quiet when she so desperately wants to be loud, to relish in the sweet torture he gives her. Din’s muscles tense, pleasure squeezing and slacking with each thrust, enticing him to chase it.

“Din…” Her eyes roll back and she flutters her eyes closed. “Mmm… I’m… I’m gonna…”

“Not yet.” He slows down and she groans in frustration. “Not yet…”

“P-Please?”

He kisses her once more. “Keep saying my name.” He bucks hard, almost making her gasp loudly. Even so, she complies. She moans his name right in his ear, sounding so amorous. He keeps her pinned down as he thrusts faster, breathing harder against her neck. Everything within him tightens further and further, the pleasure escalating fast. Din’s climax makes him growl from his throat and his body shudder as her tight walls clench around his dick. Ecstasy seizes him at once, bursting heat through his veins. His breaths stagger as he finally relaxes, chest rising and falling against hers, his fingers letting go.

They stay like this in the afterglow, his weight pressing down against her as he rests. She kisses his shoulder, tracing shapes along his back and keeping her legs wrapped around him. “Mm…” Her voice is hoarse and raspy. “I love you,” she whispers.

They’ve only been recently saying it. “I love you too.”

---

The beeping of the alarm makes her groan, her hand flying over it to shut it off. I have so much to do today… I have to go wake Grogu up. Get him some breakfast. And then what? Oh, yeah, probably do more of his homeschooling. I’ll go see what Din has in store today too—

As her eyes open, she feels something heavy around her waist. That’s odd. She looks down to see an arm around her. No way. Is that—

“Good morning.”

Her body awakens as her eyes widen, staring at the wall of the room. “D-Din?” The room is bright enough from the morning light seeping in through the windows. She doesn’t make any sudden movements, in case it’s a mistake. Then again, if it was, he would have already done something about it. Does… does that mean it’s okay?

She takes her time, her heart racing as she turns her head. Her eyes trail from his hand, up his arm, all the way to his shoulder.

When she turns completely, her breath is stolen away.

[thefrogdalorian]

So I was really proud of my autistic flop of a self this weekend for successfully completing my first long distance drive AND surviving being in the biggest crowd of my entire life. Both things were very daunting but I managed to overcome them!

But monkey's paw and all that.... I think Covid is back for Round 3 :(

I feel absolutely horrendous. Sore throat, teeth-chattering chills, head fuller than Pedro Pascal's filming schedule.

Really wish I had a caring sweetie in beskar to bring me some soup and cuddle me warm rn😭

I HATE being sick (doesn't everyone) and my head is pounding too much to really look at a screen for too long, but if anyone has any Din x reader sick!fic recommendations I would love some comfort right now!

I'll hopefully feel better over the weekend but I hate feeling this awful so much :(

[garbinge]

The Long Game

Din Djarin x f!Reader

Day 29 these April Prompts: “Deep Breaths”

Summary: You contemplated (overthink) the news you have to tell Din as he walks you home. 

A/N: This is the start of a larger multi-chap (a theme I have LOL) not sure when I’ll get to posting more parts. I also haven’t watched s3 yet (I know I know, I’m waiting for my partner to catch up on Boba Fett so we can watch together!!!) but this is a little AU from the canon plot anyways. Also in this fic, the Mandalorian code has some stuff about marriage and love in it. Just to add some dramatic effect. First time writing for Din, I hope to get more comfortable as I write more!

Word Count: 1.4k

Warnings: All my fics are 18+ regardless of content. Mentions of pregnancy, anxiety/panic attack, overthinking, stress. 

Mando Taglist: @drabbles-mc @justreblogginfics​

Your nerves were starting to manifest into bile in your throat. You stared at the back of the helmet of the man you had been sleeping with for, well, years at this point, and yet you were nervous. 

“Din.” You said at a mumble, part of you hoping maybe he didn’t hear you and you could call this an attempt and try again tomorrow. 

“Yea?” He turned to look at you. Now his visor was staring directly at you, and even though his eyes weren’t visible you felt them burning into your own. 

It was a scene that was familiar to you, you'd pretty much seen it everyday, and when he was away on a bounty hunt, it was something you truthfully missed. The dark sky with bright stars, the low lighting of the town since everything had closed and the cantina was usually one of the last things to shut down every night here in Nevarro. But the vision of him standing there to walk you home was comforting, or at least, it had been before you had news to share with him. 

“Walkin’ me home?” You took a deep breath, the first of many, and stepped towards him, not letting your eyes move from where you assumed his were. 

“Of course.” His helmet rasped. You weren’t sure if the helmet altered his voice to sound like that or if that was just how he spoke since he’d never taken it off in front of you. Honoring his code despite the situation you two had. That’s when you started to spiral in your head. You never even saw this man’s face. You were lucky to have his bare hands touch you, in intimate situations as well as not. You knew his full name, but that was after months of him visiting you on Tatooine. Suddenly, the bile that had settled for a moment was rising, the thought that you might not really have known this man was eating at you and you were getting overwhelmed. Breathing was becoming hard, your chest felt like there was a bantha sitting on you. But something cut through the noise. 

“Take a deep breath, what’s going on?” 

Din was now standing in front of you, and his gloved hands were lightly touching your shoulders, in an attempt to ground you without being too forceful. It was something you never told him calmed you but just something he picked up on from knowing you. Right, knowing you. Din knew you. You knew Din. You might not have known his face but you knew him. His intentions. His life. His personality. 

You inhaled and let your shoulders rise, his hands not removing themselves as you did. 

“I’m good.” You kept your reply simple as you nodded your head forward to show you wanted to start walking.

He didn’t question any more, his hands dropped and he walked alongside of you on the path that began your journey home. Another amazing thing about Din, he didn’t push.

“Do you remember when we first met?” You looked up at the sky almost like you could envision that moment entirely right there. 

A chuckle left Din’s helmet. “Do I?” His boots crunched on the pavement as he walked. “I have a permanent scar to remember it forever.” 

“Sorry.” You smiled and looked over at him. “You're my best friend, you know?” You said after a long pause. 

“We’ve known each other for a long time.” Din agreed in his own way. 

It was funny, because he was right. You did know each other for a really long time. But yet, you never established any definition of the relationship you had. He visited you frequently on Tatooine when he was there for work. He brought you with him to Nevarro when your house burned down on Tatooine, he walked you home every night, you two started fooling around somewhere in the midst of all that and you never established any ground rules or titles, except you hid the intimacy from everyone. You understood the Mandalorian code, and you knew how much Din honored that. You didn’t argue it because well, it's part of what made him, him. 

In the years you’ve known Din and been sleeping with him, he’d gone away on hunts and he never questioned what you did when he was gone or vice versa. You picked up business as usual when he came back. You never did anything, although you did flirt with people at the bar, even when he was back, it was how you made a decent living and you thought he knew that but as the news you had to share with him right now mulled in your head you started to wonder if he truly did. 

Maybe he did keep warm bodies around when he was away. Maybe even more than that, and this was just what it was, friends with benefits. But could you even call it that? Friends? Benefits? Especially now? Then you remembered you just called him your best friend. Probably for the first time, or was it? Why was it such a big deal you hide whatever this was from everyone? They knew you two hung out? Oh, right, Mandalorian code, that calmed you down for a minute, but then the next thought funneled in. Well, there had to be a work around with that? He couldn’t have been the first Mandalorian to fall in love? Fall in love? Who were you kidding, you didn’t even know if calling him your best friend was appropriate and now you’re assuming he’s in love? Maybe you thought that because YOU felt that. Holy shit, were you in love with a Mandalorian? Your next thought shook you to your core. Not just a Mandalorian but YOUR Mando. Your Mando? Again the man who you couldn’t even call your best friend without going into an overthinking spiral? Your stomach turned. There it was that bile again. Making its way up your throat.

“I have to tell you something.” You blurted out, getting overwhelmed by your own thoughts. 

Din said nothing and stared at you waiting for you to say something. 

You stared at him, and for some reason, pushed all your thoughts aside. It was what you did every time you spent time with him, it was what you did to put you in this situation so it would have to work to let it out. You took one last deep breath before speaking. 

“I’m pregnant.”