dinsmechanic - Tumblr blog

dinsmechanic · 1 year ago

Text

— just can’t say goodbye

bodyguard!din djarin x princess!reader

rated e - 4.8k

tags: sorta medieval vibes, references to antiquated societal expectations, mentions and references to virginity, arranged marriage, technically infidelity because of said arrangement, light angst, sneaking around, first time, fingering, PiV, creampie

this is for the 1500 kisses event for @janaispunk! I got din + wedding! Jana, thank you so much for hosting this awesome event & for the gorgeous moodboard! 💖

“Take me,” You beg. It’s pathetic, no more than a whimper, “Take me, and then take me away from here.”

He’s been in your bed since the second your maidens were dismissed. You won’t sleep until dawn, not if tonight is all you have.

“You cannot mean that.” It’s harsh, almost a growl as it buzzes from his helmet.

"I have never meant anything more.”

(or - a final night is spent in the arms of your bodyguard, before your arranged union the next morning.)

You'd always known your duty.

What was expected from you, of you, drilled deep from an early age. Borne with pride - you were the eldest daughter of the king, after all - until you were wise enough to see that perhaps your obligations and loyalty were as much a chain as they were an honor.

Your life followed a well-worn path. Absorbing the lessons. Hours spent in learning about those before. Women like you - the graceful neck beneath the head of another lord, another king.

Support them, love them, bear them children.

It hadn't bothered you. You hadn't known anything else.

Not until him.

The Mandalorian had been assigned to protect you three years ago. A renowned knight, his allegiance first pledged to your father. And then, you.

Your bodyguard is not from your planet. It’s something you clung to - an endless source of information about things you've never seen or known, when his lips finally loosened.

But you had always seen him for more than just your bodyguard. That it was more than duty that bound you to each other.

Over time, during those hours spent with his back facing your door - a steadfast barrier between yourself and the cruel outside world - you had started to see between the cracks.

To read into his minute movements. Catching the tilt of his head and cock of his hip. The dry comments that slip from beneath his helmet.

Pretending he doesn’t care which of your handmaidens were caught in a dark corner with Ser Shand.

But you know better.

You think that perhaps you were doomed from the start. That it was always going to turn out this way between you.

Because when you had finally reached out to touch temptation - to sink your teeth into that sweet, ripe fruit - he had let you.

And at first - with the way he had allowed your hand to flatten against his armor, fitting into her personal space - you had wondered if it's because he wasn't able to.

People do not often tell you no. You've grown up in a carefully-carved mould - your requests are rarely things to be denied.

The thought had you shrinking back, the flat of your palm pulling back to fingertips.

Until his hand had closed around your wrist, tracing up to map the back of your hand. Bringing it back to smooth against his chest, right above his beating heart.

It had you realizing that perhaps he was just allowing you to take the first desire that has truly been yours. That your hopes and wishes had not been alone.

That all this time, he had simply been waiting for you to come to him.

Hours are spent together since, stolen between dusk and dawn. The near-silent wandering of hands and mouths.

That beskar armor nearly always fixed in place. It’s as much a part of him as flesh and bone. The edge of his helmet only lifting when he gets desperate. Sealing his mouth to yours. Deepening the kiss, until he’s all you can taste.

So much of him is still a mystery, but he’s come to know you as well as the back of his hand. Knows just how to make you bend, and then break.

Working his fingers between your thighs, until you’re shattering his arms. It will be enough to hold him over, until next time.

It has to be.

In the months since that first night, you’ve never tried to push. You’ve long known that you don't need to see his face - to strip him bare - to love him.

Determined not to ask him for more than he can give.

That is - not until tonight.

You've tried to hold on as long as you can. Always had been good at pushing things down. Grinning and bearing - with that polite, learned smile.

The dread you’ve been holding back crashes into you now, a charging lance against a shield. Splintering, and you can feel the ache in your ribs as if truly struck.

You cling to him. Stripped bare, his armor a welcome chill as your fingers slip between the fastenings of his armor.

Tonight, he allows you to loosen them. The room pitch-black, as the moon hangs full against a blanket of stars.

His helmet set carefully on your side table. Too dark to see him, a way around his creed. Trust woven in his actions, and you thank him with the soft press of your lips.

Against his throat. Teeth nipping skin as he groans.

He can’t leave a mark on you. Not a single thumb-print bruise - not with the way you’ll be stripped and scrubbed tomorrow.

So you leave ones on him. Reminders he can keep, until you can manage a moment alone again.

Desire swirls hot in your belly. Your own palm slipping down to tuck against his front, cupping him. Another part of him that he’s denied you fully.

“Take me,” You beg. It’s pathetic, no more than a whimper, “Take me, and then take me away from here.”

The potential wrath of your family pales in comparison to the thought of being bound to another. The reality of your situation sets everything in sharp contrast, the pretty veneer you’ve been living in cracking at the seams.

Din’s breath is harsh in your ear - fingers stuttering where they circle against your clit at your plea, coated in your slick.

He’s been in your bed since the second your maidens were dismissed. You won’t sleep until dawn, not if tonight is all you have.

“You cannot mean that.” It’s harsh, almost a growl as it buzzes from his helmet.

You might have thought he was angry, if you did not know him so well. If you couldn’t hear his own desperation, woven into each syllable.

It has your hips canting into his touch. Each word panted out, as your fingers stroke where he strains.

"I have never meant anything more.”

Your fingers pluck at his belt, but he eases them gently away. Catching your wrist with his spare hand, pinning it to the bed. His thumb sweeping against your skin, soothing as you squirm against him.

The fingers at your clit slip down to press just inside you. As if he’s thinking about it for just a moment, giving you what you’ve long desired.

But instead there’s a finality to his words, as his touch slips back up. Increasing the pressure until you’re moaning into your pillow, the tightly-wound stream about to snap.

His words, murmured into your hair, as you come undone.

"I won't let you throw your life away."

But how can you live, knowing that he won't be yours?

Not in the way you want him to be.

The man you’ve chosen to marry - a high-born Mandalorian from another clan - is kindly enough, but he is not your knight.

No one could be.

Your only solace in this union is that Din is going with you, honor-bound by his own sworn duties.

A blessing in spite of everything. You do not think you could do this without him.

But it does not make the lead-weight of your feet any lighter. The room spins in front of you, stretching long and think as your hearing fades out to white noise.

It's only the grip of your fingers into the King's bracers that keeps you upright. Nails digging into steel, as you take one step at a time.

Your wedding is as beautiful as it should be. As you've always dreamed - your dress in pretty layers of white and gold. Up since daybreak, primped and pampered.

It's enough to almost, almost, have you regret meeting Din. If you had not known a love such as him, you might have been content for a marriage like this.

But of course, it's no more than a fleeting thought. Immediately shut down.

Better to know and grieve, than to not know at all.

You're still as stone, at the end of the aisle. All the movements practiced the night before - the events that had sent you rushing into Din’s arms after.

It hadn't seemed real until then.

Your lips feel carved into that smile. Hewn since the day you were born, your true feelings hidden in the dull sheen of your eyes.

Disconnected, as they drift. Annoyance flickering deep in your mind, when they slide over your groom.

His armor is ill-fitting. The leather straps at the shoulder stretched to their limits, hooked on the last notch. Too much space between the plates of his cuisses, and his poleyn.

You've spent weeks preparing for this, and he couldn't even dress in his finest for the ceremony. It feels like an insult, after everything.

Maybe if you blur your eyes, you can pretend it's him. Just until this is over.

The Cleric chants the words you’ve known since childhood. Repeating the phrases as your palm presses against your groom's. Each phrase bringing you closer to the end.

Only propriety and decades of lessons keep the quaver from your voice. They sound just as you practiced as they slide from you, even when repeated through muted lips.

There's a crackle of energy at the joining words. A golden string, glimmering.

Only now does your hand twitch. Resisting the urge to pull away. If you don't right now - right this very moment - then you will not get the chance again.

Your groom feels it. The slight tremble - his grip tightening around yours. The barest sweep of his thumb against your knuckles.

The movement startles you.

Just long enough for the string to loop around your joined hands, and then tighten.

It's too late now. Bound forever, until death do you part.

“You may now kiss your bride.”

Your eyes go to his helmet, as the ceremony winds to an end. His finger and thumb catching on the hinge, as his head tips towards yours.

You can’t bring yourself to meet him. Not until his lips press to yours. Not until there’s an intimate familiarity to them.

The gasp that slips from you is quiet. A hushed thing, breathed into the chaste kiss. There’s scruff on his jaw where his skin should be smooth shaven.

The height is off, too - something you’re only just now noticing.

It’s like your heart remembers how to beat again. Confusion and hope swirling in you in equal measure.

You squeeze the hand in yours, as the kiss breaks. Eyes shining as you both turn towards the crowd, life finally flickering in them agin.

It’s here, that everything begins to fall apart. Almost fool-proof.

With a bang, a man stumbles through the arched door at the end of an aisle. The pale blonde of his hair is mussed - eyes wide and red-rimmed as he shouts, a finger pointing towards the pulpit.

“Stop them!” It’s a high, hoarse thing, “He’s an imposter-!”

There’s a rippling murmur, gasps and cries as the man’s voice carries.

But your husband’s hand is is tightly grasping yours.

“Trust me?” He mumurs, and you’re nodding.

Following behind him as he darts to the side, making for the hallway. Your skirts bundled up in a fist as your heartbeat pounds behind your ribs.

There’s voices behind you. The stomp of feet, though the guests and the hired protection do not know the castle the way the two of you do.

Ducking down one corridor, and then another. News hasn’t spread fast enough - there’s murmurs from guards that you pass, but they’re not quick enough to stop you.

The sky bleeds red when you burst outside. A ship waits, engines roaring - the same one you watched drop out of the sky years ago, with his first arrival.

“Su cuy'gar!” A voice calls from inside - another Mandalorian hailing as he rushes down the ramp, “You’re late. I’ll stall, but you need to go.”

It's one you recognize as a member of your Father's own guard, hand-chosen. Boba Fett's reputation for ferocity and loyalty preceeding him. Only now do you realize just where that loyalty truly lies.

“Vor entye, ner vod.” Din clasps his arm, a farewell woven into his thanks.

“Ret'urcye mhi, princess,” Boba’s head dips in a nod, “We’ll handle things from here.”

You’re whisked inside, and ship takes off just as guests begin to pour from the door. Boba blends into the crowd as you watch the scene from above, becoming no more than another bystander.

They grow smaller. Doll-sized, and then ants, and then the stars are streaking as the ship makes the jump - shooting you out into hyperspace.

It’s here that your legs finally give out. All that tension building up until it snaps, until you’re collapsing into the co-pilots chair.

Din’s hands are on you in a second. Gloves shucked with his teeth, discarded on the floor. Warm and familiar as they cup your face.

“I am sorry,” His voice is rough. Still distorted beneath your betrothed’s helmet, but you know it’s him, “I couldn’t let you marry him.”

“I know,” You head turns, lips pressing into the palm of his hand, “I was so afraid. I wanted to run, I almost did-”

He feels how you tremble. A ragged breath as his touch turns soft - smoothing over your cheeks, knuckles brushing your neck.

Your name is breathed out, as you relax against him. As your hands start to wander, tugging at the edge of his cuirass.

“I don’t like this on you.” Your voice sounds thick, in your own head. Biting through the emotions that threaten to choke you, “It’s not yours.”

“No.” He hums, and it sounds like a laugh, “Though as my wife, you may remove them now. If you wish.”

Din’s words makes you ache with want. His wife.

You wonder if he’s teasing you, or if all that he said is true. He’s never allowed you to remove more than a piece or two before.

“Is your armor here?”

“Mine is in the bunk. Along with your things, I had them packed while you were getting ready today.”

You smile then. Relief in knowing that this was planned. That he had put the ball in motion, in those few hours you shared before dawn.

Maybe he had daydreamed about it for even longer. Knowing he could not, but still unable to help thinking through things. How he would always choose you, if only you were to ask.

And you finally had, at the very last second.

He lets your hands slip across his chest, mirroring that first night. New, in the way you slip the leather straps free, until pieces are left stacked on the floor.

The flightsuit beneath is his own. Your fingers have traced the stitching night after night, patterns you know by heart. And for the first time, he lets you tug at the zipper under his chin. Guiding it down with you, exposing tanned skin beneath.

It leaves you greedy. Fingers mapping every inch that appeared. Tracing over old battle wounds and scars from a lifetime ago. A pounding in your heart as each second stretches to the next.

Expecting him to take this back. To wrap himself away again, hiding from your eyes.

Soon, only his helmet and small clothes remain. Your fingers drifting to where he’s half hard, another part of him you already know well.

But his hands wander as well. Plucking at the ribbons that weave up the back of your dress, encasing you.

“Are you fond of this?” He’s asking, just as a fingers hooks beneath. The sharp tug that follows the shake of your head has the seams splitting. That ribbon starting to fray, and then snap.

Your gasp is almost as loud, as the fabric rips. The straps drooping down your arms as the dress starts to pool around you, dragged down by the layers of tulle.

“I’ll get you another,” Din rasps - watching, as you wriggle free.

Seeing the layers of lace beneath, meant for another man. Deep down, knowing it was always meant for him.

His bare hands catch at your hips. Sliding over skin, then up.

"I'll marry you again, cyar'ika. Properly,” Din’s words make you shiver, as his touch drifts across your arms, “As many times as you want, as long as you're mine."

“Yours.” You echo.

Reminding you about binding rituals of the ceremony - all the excitement of the escape almost making you forget.

But when his fingers catch yours, dragging your hands to the curve of his helmet, it’s impossible to think of anything else.

Intent in his movement. The tip of his head towards you, the muscles in his chest going tight as he holds his breath.

“Are you sure?” The beskar is cool beneath your touch.

You know what he offers you. Something akin to the vows you recited, something spoken in his own language.

“Yes,” He echos, “I’ve never meant anything more.”

There’s a weight, one of which you’ve never known. That this wasn’t just to save you. That he’ll wind up right back here as many times, until you believe him.

The lift of your hands is slow. Revealing the stubble on his neck, then chin. You’ve seen bits with the tip of his head. A knowledge that the hair is dark, but then there’s the soft curve of his lips.

Ones that you know the shape of, tracing yours fingers over them in the darkness. Pressed against every part of you, night after night.

There’s a patch of hair missing against his jaw. His nose, and you resist the urge to press your lips to it. A hint of curls, grey-flecked at his temples.

And then his eyes.

He needs the mask, you realize. You would have fallen immediately, looking into eyes like that. Warm and dark, as brown and pretty as his hair.

Everyone would have known what you meant to him, if that had caught him looking at you like this.

The exhale of your breath is low. Only a heartbeat until your mouth is pressing to his, insistent.

Hungry, unleashed fully for the first time. His hands slide up your hips, as the helmet hangs from your fingertips. Curling around your back, pressing you to him.

He’s dreamed of taking you countless times. Your own desires mirroring his - something flickering in your mind, now. A thought that maybe, you should move.

Down to his bunk, perhaps.

But there’s something about here. The cockpit, the streak of stars behind you. His strong thighs spread and bare in the seat before you, as you stand between them.

It’s easy to crawl into his lap. To straddle him, your clothed core already damp when you fit yourself against him.

You can feel groan in his chest as your palm flattens against him. One of his real ones - not modulated through metal.

“Please,” It’s hushed, whispered against his mouth. A rock of your hips, grinding against him.

He catches your hand, dragging it down again.

“It’s yours,” He husks, “It’s always been yours.”

Pleasure blooms low in your belly. Your fingers cupping against his length, before they slip beneath the fabric to curl around him.

Eagerly easing him out. His hips lift so you can shove his small clothes down. The weight of his cock trapped between your belly and his, as his own fingers trace the damp fabric at your core.

“I need you,” You breathe, arching into his fingertips. How they press and rub at you through the lace. It’s far past want.

Want was those early days, stolen glances from beneath your eyelashes as your solemn guard. Finding excuses to make him laugh, so sure he must be smiling beneath the helmet.

Din wears his expressions so openly without. His own desire shown in the grit of his jaw. Those lips that part on a groan, as your fist gives a slow pump.

The lace at your hips tears as easily as the ribbons that held your dress together. A pivot of his chair until he can lay you back against the metal panels of the dashboard, chilling fevered skin.

You whine at the distance that now stretches between you, but his hands only tighten where they grip at your waist.

“Shh, cyar’ika. I’m not going anywhere.” He soothes you, as the reason he moved you suddenly becomes clear.

It’s easier for his fingers to fit into you this way. The flip of his hand, as it faces palm-up. The tip of one stroking against bare skin. A familiar stretch as he slips to the first knuckle.

And then, as a shallow gasp slides from you, he sinks further than he’s ever been.

Had to hold back, before. Give you just a taste of what you’ve been wanting. This - the feel of him nudged so deep inside you.

“I know,” Your husband soothes, as his thumb nudges at your clit - distracting you.

From the slow plunge of his finger. How that quick twinge of discomfort bleeds into a pulsing throb you know well.

It’s not long before your hips are lifting. Your breath growing shorter, as a second fingers slips in to stretch you out. Getting you ready.

His cock is heavy where it rests on your thigh, the tip sticky against your skin. Flushed and swollen - making you realize that maybe you had been too hasty, thinking you could take him before.

Your own hands drift - and this time, you watch. Catching how dark and blown-wide his eyes get. The peek of his tongue between his lips when your fingers pinch at your nipples.

The way he inhales, when he feels you clench down around him. Back arching off the console, as his fingers curl against a spot that you never knew existed inside you.

“There,” You moan, as nudges against it again, “Din, please-”

His jaw grits, his voice low, “Yeah? Are you close, ner riduur?”

You’re used to the pretty names he calls you - a hidden way to show his affection. But never like this, with the soft purr of his voice. The way the words slide so easily from his tongue.

It must mean something special.

“Yes,” Your fingers pinch harder, teeth sinking into your bottom lip. Biting back the panting gasp of your breath, as his thumb presses against your clit.

“Come for me.” It’s a command, but there’s a razor edge of need in his words, “Always sound so fucking pretty. Let me hear you.”

You’ve always had to hold back. Muffled into pillows, his palm of his hand as it clamps over your mouth.

The cry rips from you today, as you reach your peak. Eyes fluttering shut as the star-lines streak across your bare form - still bright, even as your vision darkens.

Your nails scrape against his skin, as he leans into you. Din’s mouth sealing to yours as you’re hauled into his lap, his thick fingers slipping free.

The kiss is messy, your mind still swirling as you reach down. Desperate for more, now that you’ve had a taste.

He pants into your mouth, “Don’t have to, cyare. This is-”

The words breaking off with a groan, as your fingers squeeze around him. His own need evident with how he throbs against your palm.

“‘s not enough,” You’re breathless, the dregs of pleasure settling low in your belly, “I’ve waited, we’ve waited-”

“Long enough.” He rasps, a flash of teeth in the darkness when you lean back.

Your nod is sharp. Determination in the pull of your shoulders as you lift up, angling his cock between your thighs.

A breath, and then you’re lowering yourself. The pressure you felt before is nothing compared to now - a muffled cry, as your nails bite into his shoulders.

As he stretches you open, even with how slick and ready you are. His own hands tug at you, trying to keep you from dropping down too quickly.

But you take him. You were made for him, after all. You decided that long ago. Even if you had joined with another, you’d never be theirs like you are his.

And you always were a quick learner. That competitive streak in you takes over now - figuring out just how to move in the cramped space.

That sting easing into pleasure, with the roll of your hips. The movement is familiar - you’ve sat astride him before, just never like this.

Never feeling this full, when your thighs are finally flush against his. Din’s hands guiding you like they often did - grasping at your waist, keeping your rhythm steady.

Even as it threatens to stutter, with just how good he feels. The angle you ride him sends him across the place his fingers found. Each drop of your hips sending you higher, eager to follow his murmured encouragement.

“You feel so fucking good,” It’s ragged and low - close to the tone he has when he comes, spilling across your belly, “Been waiting so long so have you like this-”

“Yours,” You sigh, again. Finally able to say it aloud, “I’m yours, we can have each other any time we want.”

Din groans at that, his hips bucking into you.

“Mine.”

It’s possessive. The hairs on the back of your neck standing up, as his fingers slip down again. Needing to know just how it feels to make you come around him, after imagining it for so long.

Your rhythm goes sloppy with his touch. Unable to figure out how to keep moving with your mind so clouded with pleasure. Chasing his touch as you bounce, head tilting back as his lips press against your throat.

Up, and then up, until he’s kissing you again. Your arms twine around his shoulders, curls tucked between pinched fingers as he brings you over the edge again.

Sharing a breath, as you moan into his mouth. His cock filling you as you clench down around him, almost as if trying to keep him inside as your orgasm pulses through you.

Din used to worry about monsters and beasts darkening your doorstep, never knowing he’d create one in you. Hungry like you’ve never known, eager for more even as your energy slips from you.

With his own desperation, he’s not far behind. Not with how you tight you are. Ready to give you everything, now that he finally can.

His jaw grits as he buries himself in you. Doing most of the work now, your legs leaden in your afterglow. Rutting his hips against yours, notching himself deep into where you’re wet and warm.

“Princess-,” Din rasps, like he used to. A low huff of a breath as you correct him.

Your lips at his ear, as you croon, “Riduur.”

“Fuck,” He groans at that, his voice dropping low, “Riddur, where do you want me?”

It makes you moan, the rough tone in his voice. How that name in his native tongue affects him just as much as you.

Your hips begin to move in earnest, skin slapping against skin. Those dark eyes on yours as you answer - finally able to express your hearts desire, after all these years.

“I want to feel you.”

His breath grows harsh, as your hips roll.

“Come in me. Please, Din.”

There’s no need for you to beg. He’s already there - a rough grunt as his hips near lift off the seat. Tugging you down and flush against him as he spills inside you.

You can feel him throb, as his warmth floods your walls. Threatening to spill from you, to leak onto thighs that are already sticky with your release. Sweat-dewed with exertion.

That heady ache of need fades, when you both come back down. It’s just bliss now, warm in your limbs. In his embrace. For the first time in weeks, you feel like you’re able to breathe.

The stars streak across his skin, illuminating pieces of his face. So like the stained glass back home, each feature split and soldered with darkness.

“Do you regret it?” His voice is low, barely audible over the hum of the engine, “Leaving with me?”

Your head tilts back, as you look at him again. A sight that you cherish, one you hope you can indulge in, but never take for granted.

And after all the questions that led to today - this one has been the easiest to answer.

“No,” You catch his hand, pressing it to your heart. Mirroring his words earlier.

“It’s always been yours.”

In every world - you would have gone with him.

Sometime amongst the late hours, you wind your way downstairs.

Fitting together in the narrow bunk, not minding the small space. Drifting off with a hand cradled against his neck. Thumb brushing his cheek, loathe to leave the warmth of his skin.

Soft dreams swirl in the moments you do sleep. In between the times when you wake - reaching for each other. Another hour spent twined together, re-learning every inch.

Not fearing the dawn, this time.

Because for once... your life is yours.

thanks for reading! and jana, thank you so much for hosting this event, I was so excited to celebrate with you! 💖

Su cuy'gar! - a friendly greeting (lit: "still live," i.e. "so you're still alive.")

vor entye - thank you (lit: "I accept a debt")

ner vod - my brother

ner riduur - my spouse / wife

ret'urcye mhi - goodbye

814 notes · View notes

dinsmechanic · 1 year ago

Text

Happy Birthday, Javi!

summary: It’s the early morning of his 42nd birthday, and Javier is in the midst of having a very dirty dream when he’s awoken suddenly and finds out it wasn’t all in his head—his wife really is on top of him, something he loves waking up to.

pairing: Javier Peña/f!reader

rating: E (18+!! This is literally smut and fluff. No y/n, mostly Javier's POV but shifts to reader at the end, Husband Javier Peña, Dad Javier Peña, age gap (about ten years), explicit smut, unprotected p in v (wrap it up), consensual somnophilia, creampie (he’s told not to pull out), lactation kink, cockwarming if you squint, woman on top, Javier fighting for his life not to come immediately, he dreams reader is pregnant, Javier loving your postpartum body a lot, slight body worship, Javier being so in love, domestic fluff (IT’S SO FLUFFY), breastfeeding, Javier being the best dad, Javier and his son wearing matching outfits, Javier loving his wife and child so much, Javier getting the love and happiness he deserves)

word count: 4.4k

a/n: This can be read as a standalone or part of the Learning to Live ‘verse (it’s canon). This idea came to me at 4:30 in the morning, and I couldn’t stop thinking about it. Then I had a really rough week, and writing about Javi being a dad cheered me up (he’s very cute in this), and here we are. It’s close to being half dirty nasty smut and half domestic Javi-being-a-father fluff. I hope you enjoy! A big thanks to the love of my life, @juletheghoul for betaing!!

Thank you for reading! Comments and reblogs feed me. I’d love to know what you thought!

Series Masterlist - Masterlist

Winter has barely sunk its teeth into southern Texas, and already, when the sun retires for the evening, the temperatures have begun dropping below freezing—It’s so cold the home’s heat has kicked on, something that hardly happens for the majority of the year.

With the house warm and the blankets on their bed thicker to combat the season’s chill, Javier is snug and cozy beneath the covers, having fallen asleep with the woman he loves curled up in his arms.

It’s a deep sleep that’s taken him, the kind where you melt into the mattress and sink so far into your dreams the world fades away, and reality becomes whatever your mind conjures—Javier’s mind has transported him back to his fully furnished apartment in Colombia, the one with the leather couch, and the colorful afghan blanket that was already there when he moved in to try and make the place feel homey. He’s naked and sitting back on the sofa with a sheen of sweat all over his body, his skin sticking to the leather, a situation he’d been in so many times he’d lost count, but this one—Jesus Christ—this one is unforgettable.

The love of his life is in his lap, bouncing on his cock; he’s mapped out every inch of her body and memorized all the ways she likes to be touched to the point he can play her like a virtuoso of her pleasure, and he can’t help thinking how fucking beautiful she looks taking what she wants.

She’s his Cielito (little heaven), his amor (love), his wife, and the mother of his one-year-old son—and in this scenario, she’s also pregnant with their second child, which is riling him up when the soft swell of her belly bumps into him—fuck, he misses her being pregnant—he knows that look on her face means she’s about to come, and he’s going to get her there no matter what it takes.

Javier can feel her hot, wet cunt around him as she moves up and down; he can feel it so perfectly, the way she’s starting to squeeze his length and how she’s dripping down his shaft, the arousal in his gut burning like an inferno. Her perfect tits are right there in front of him, pearly dribbles of milk leaking from her nipples, causing his mouth to water at wanting to lick it all up, and he can’t help himself, carefully taking her breasts into his large hands, dipping his head forward—“Javi,” she moans, but it doesn’t come from inside his head, it’s something said into the room and has his consciousness slamming into him hard enough to jolt him awake.

It takes a second to process his surroundings, and when he realizes what is going on, he groans loudly, “Fuckkkkk,” drawing out the word; his entire body shudders, his dick twitching hard inside his wife—his wife who is currently riding him and has been riding him while he was asleep.

Their bedroom is bathed in darkness save for the glowing red numbers on each of their alarm clocks on their bedside tables and a sliver of light from a night light filtering through the cracked bathroom door. His head is cushioned on a pillow, the blankets are pushed down his body to where they’re bunched up at his feet, and all he can make out is her shape.

She braces herself with her hands on his chest for leverage and picks up pace, rising until just the tip of him remains and dropping her ass down, fucking herself on him over and over again—like in his dream, her pussy has a tight grip on him, all hot and wet, her need soaking him, and dripping down his cock to catch on his balls.

“Happy birthday, Javi,” she pants, now that he’s awake.

He’s hoarse, his voice deeper from sleep. “God, I fucking love you.” He grabs the tops of her thighs bracketing his hips, feeling her muscles flex beneath his palms as she moves.

“I love you, too.”

“Close your eyes,” he tells her and waits a beat. “Are they closed?”

“Yes,” she gasps, keeping the same tempo; this faster rhythm she’s going at is a rhythm that’ll have her coming quickly, which is good because Javier isn’t sure how long he’s going to last—he’s wound up so tight, his toes are curled, and he’s fighting for his life not to blow his load so soon without getting a chance to see her with the light on.

Immediately, he reaches over to the bedside table to turn on the lamp, squinting at the sudden brightness, and it takes a moment for his eyes to adjust, his palms resting on her thighs again.

When he can finally see, all of his attention is on the woman atop him and Christ, she’s even more gorgeous than in his dream; her head is thrown back, putting her kissable neck on display, her skin dewy with sweat, and there’s no baby bump, but it drives him just as crazy to see the reminders that she carried his child—the things she sometimes frowns at when she looks at herself in the mirror, and that he makes a point to show her how much he loves, worshiping the perfect imperfections with his lips and words, kissing her stretch marks, and constantly telling her how beautiful she is, always reassuring her that he thinks her body is perfect. Her incredible body that grew and feeds their son and makes Javier so fucking hard when he sees her naked.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he says.

His hands slide up the soft skin of her belly to her ribs, and his eyes zero in on her tits jiggling as she uses him to make herself feel good; they’re bare, freely bouncing as she bounces on him, and they’re leaking—a flaming hot spike of arousal cuts through him, his eyes squeezing shut as he chants, “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.” He’s hanging on by a single, delicate thread and starts recounting the digits of Pi in his head to calm himself down: 3.14159265…

She’s so wet he can hear the fast, slick strokes of her working herself up and down his throbbing shaft, and it’s not helping that she’s no longer holding back her moans and is letting them slip unbidden from her perfect parted lips. After a few big, steady breaths, he gets to a point where he can look at her again without coming instantly. His jaw goes slack, his heart pounding in his ears—her eyes are glossy with pleasure as she watches him, a furrow between her brows, and her mouth slightly agape for her heavy breaths and intoxicating sounds; it’s a look that tells him she’s close to coming, and when that happens, she’s taking him with her.

“You good?” her question comes out breathy, and she slows to a grind, rubbing her clit against the coarse hair at the base of his dick—her legs must be tired—his attention is on her breasts, and he wants so badly to taste the liquid beading from her nipples, that’s dripping down her stomach.

His response is delayed. He licks his lips and meets her gaze, sweat glistening on his temple. His voice sounds strained, “Tell me you’re close.”

Because he’s balancing on a razor’s edge, and he sure as hell is not finishing before her.

She smiles. “I’m close.”

Thank fuck.

“Can I take over?”

“Please.”

That’s all the answer he needs—he tugs her down to have them chest to chest, and with an arm around her, he rolls them so he’s on top and still inside her. His knees dig into the mattress, and he lifts her legs high up on his ribs for a better angle; his arms framing her head hold up most of his weight, and then his hips are moving, matching the fast, hard rhythm she was going at before she got tired that’ll have her coming in two, maybe three minutes.

“Oh, god,” she moans. “Don’t stop.” Her hands are on his ass, her nails digging into his flesh. “Oh, fuck it’s so good—you’re gonna make me come—make me come.”

His eyes are closed, his teeth clenched as he does his best to stave off his looming orgasm. The wet smack of skin on skin sounds in the room, his wife mewling beneath him, and Javier grunting with each deep kiss of his cock into her inner depths; arousal is drooling from her pussy, slicking up his strokes so he can easily pound into her, and Javier is dangerously close and needs to get her off sooner rather than later.

Some days she’s okay with her tits being played with, and others, she doesn’t want them touched at all; with her purposefully not wearing a bra—a rare occasion since she’s still breastfeeding—it’s her way of telling him he has free reign as long as he’s gentle. He puts all of his weight onto one arm to free up a hand he palms her breast with while the snap of his hips continues. Javier ducks his head down, wrapping his lips around her pebbled nipple, gingerly sucking; her back arches beneath him, and he groans as a spurt of the sweetness hits his tongue, his cock jerking.

She’s so sensitive that all it takes is another suck, and she’s cresting with a cry of his name, her body seizing up, and her pussy clamping down on him hard enough his pace stutters, and his breath catches in his throat—he’s going to come.

His mouth leaves her, his balls tightening, his thrusts turning frantic, and he has a split second where he thinks a rational thought—he can’t come inside her, he has to pull out, she doesn’t want to get pregnant until they experience the terrible twos with their firstborn. The realization has him panting out, “Shit, I’m coming.”

When he goes to get off of her, he finds that her legs are locked around him, stopping him from moving away. He looks at her with wild eyes, and her own are closed, her mouth turned up in a happy little smile.

“Then come,” she tells him.

“Are you sure?” He’s clenching hard to hold the orgasm at bay, his heart feeling like it’s going to beat right out of his chest.

Her eyes open, and she gives him a bigger smile. “Yes—Happy Birthday, Javi.”

Her answer has a choked whine leaving his throat, his dick pulsating; he’s at the point of no return where he couldn't stop himself from coming even if he wanted to—he’s a goner. His head drops against her shoulder, closing his eyes as his hips start moving fast, all of the nerves in his body lit up like the fourth of July. The muscles in his belly are coiling, winding tight, and then it’s game over; Javier pushes into her as far as he can go, his balls drawing up, and he shatters with a ragged moan. His cock jerks as spurts and spurts of his come gush inside her, euphoria exploding out from his center to take over every cell in his body, and it doesn’t seem to end as it continues pulsing through him in aftershocks.

He comes so hard all thoughts leave his brain, and everything goes black, Javier so wrung out that his arms give out.

—★—

He has no idea how much time passes.

What he does know is that his face is pressed into the crook of his wife’s neck, where she smells like the fruity body wash she used in the shower before bed with a salty hint of sweat. His scalp is tingling as her fingertips trail all over it. He’s still coming down and so relaxed that he’s practically boneless. Javier smiles, pressing a kiss to her skin.

“You come back to earth, yet?” she whispers.

He’s still inside her, and she feels so fucking good around him he doesn’t want to pull out, but he knows she’s probably uncomfortable under his weight—he grips her thigh, holding it against his hip to roll them to their sides without dislodging himself. He hugs her in his arms, peppering her neck in kisses, and his words come out muffled. “Pretty sure I’m still on cloud nine.”

She huffs in amusement, her fingers still in his hair. “Good way to wake up?”

His lips are on the underside of her jaw. “The best way to wake up.”

“I’m glad you liked it—Happy Birthday, babe.”

He kisses her chin, then her lips all slow and tender, wanting her to feel his love and devotion, his gratitude and appreciation for the perfect life she’s given him; years ago, at the beginning of their relationship, she asked him what he wanted in life, and he told her, a marriage founded in love, a dog, a house, happiness, and her—he wanted the American dream of a wife, dog, and white picket fence, but back then he didn’t think he was worthy of the two and a half kids, even though deep down he desperately wished he was.

And this incredible woman gave him everything he wished for and the greatest gift of all—fatherhood.

Agustín ‘Gus’ Jesús Peña was born the same year they were married, and even though he arrived a month before it, Javier considers him the best birthday present he’s ever gotten in his entire life—nothing would ever top becoming a father for his forty-first birthday, except maybe them having another baby.

They break apart, and he nudges her nose with his. “Thank you, mi amor.” For everything, he leaves unsaid.

“You’re welcome.” She pecks his lips. “We should probably go and shower since our child inherited your morning-person genes and will be up soon.” She yawns.

He lifts his head to look over at the alarm clock on the bedside table, his eyes squinting as he reads the numbers; it’s a bit past five, and she’s right, their son is an early riser, and he’ll be up within the hour.

He kisses her again. “You don’t have to get up with us morning-people, Cielito,” he says. “You took the day off—“ It’s a Wednesday in December, and she’d gone back to working full time after her maternity leave because she loves her job. “—so, go back to bed after we shower and sleep in a little. Mornings are my thing, anyway. I always get up with him.”

She moves her head to meet his gaze, smiling. “You’re very sweet.” She lightly pats his cheek. “And I’m sorry for intruding on your guy time. I know he’s your little morning buddy, but my boobs are leaking really bad, and I need him to help his mama out.”

“I could help his mama out…”

She laughs, and he frowns. “If we weren’t on a time crunch, I’d say yes; unfortunately, we are on a time crunch, and it’s impossible for you to put your mouth anywhere near my tits without getting unbelievably horny.”

He sighs. She’s not wrong. “Fine.” He smacks her bare ass and quickly kisses her. “I love you—let’s get going.”

—★—

Their toddler woke up after they showered and dressed in lounging clothes—Javier, a pair of grey sweatpants, his wife, an oversized T-shirt, a nursing bra, and her panties—they’d actually get dressed later on when the sun had risen. They heard their child stir while they were finishing changing out the sheets on their bed, and Javier went to get him, even though she protested that it was his birthday and she’d do it.

A diaper change, and a few minutes later, found the Peñas in their bedroom, his wife lying in bed on her side with her shirt shoved up and out of the way for their toddler to nurse, and Javier spooning her from behind, his arm over her, and his palm resting against the little one’s back. He loves his regular morning routine with his son, where they sit in the rocking chair he built, which lives in the child’s room, and he feeds him his bottle of warmed milk. But the mornings where the three of them cuddle together while Gus eats are hands down his favorite—he just hates remembering one day their kid will outgrow this—he’ll get big and won’t need to nurse anymore, and he’ll no longer be Javier’s sweet, little baby who greets him every morning with a big gummy smile, that’s now a big one-toothed smile.

He can hear their son suckling, and Cielito coos, “Is that my nose?” It makes Javier’s lips turn up. Gus has loved to poke people’s noses ever since they started teaching him parts of the body.

He nuzzles his face against the back of his wife’s head and thinks it’ll be okay his nene (baby boy) is growing—it's a new adventure in parenting having a toddler, and he’s their first child, after all. They need all the practice they can get before they have more babies, something Javier can’t wait for.

—★—

When asked what he wanted to do for his birthday, he gave the same answer he did the prior year: he wanted to spend the day with his wife and kid. Last year, they stayed at home with their newborn, and his dad came over to have dinner with them, bringing a tres leches cake his tía (aunt) made. This year? He wants to go out with them, starting with breakfast at the diner, then a walk around downtown to see all of the Christmas decorations and do a little shopping, maybe a stop at the park, or they could go on a drive so Gus can nap, and they’ll end their day having dinner with his father at a restaurant; in other words, Javier wants to show off his perfect family to everyone in town.

It’s later in the morning, and they’re preparing to leave for breakfast—he’s fully dressed in dark-wash jeans and a baby blue short-sleeved button-up his wife picked out for him so he’d match the sweater she’s wearing, and she insisted on getting their kid ready; it was one of those times where he knew he wouldn’t win, so he stood down, and let her do her thing while he put their dirtied sheets into the washer, unloaded the dryer, fed their dog—a two-year-old beagle named Bandido—and Javier is currently, setting down the dog’s full water bowl next to his food, the beagle nowhere in sight.

“Javi?” Cielito calls on her way to the kitchen. He can hear the soft padding of her socked feet on their hardwood floor and the patter of the dog following her.

Gus speaks before him, “Mama, dido!”

“Yes, baby,” his wife replies, the smile evident in her voice. “Bandido is down there.”

She addresses Javier again, “Babe?”

“Yes, Cielito?”

“Don’t look yet—” He straightens and continues facing the wall, smiling and wondering what her surprise is. “—but do you have your camera out there?”

“Yeah,” he answers. It’s sitting on their kitchen island’s marble countertop nearby since he’ll be bringing it with them.

“Okay, good.” Seconds later, she’s in the same room. “Turn around, Javi.”

Javier doesn’t wait another second and spins to face them. He sucks in a breath—his grinning wife has on a cable-knit sweater in a similar color to his shirt and black leggings, and their son, in her arms, is wearing the exact same outfit as Javier; same color shirt, same wash of jeans, he’s even got on a pair of brown Chelsea boots like his, and she put him in a matching black leather jacket to the one Javier planned to wear when they left. If all of that isn’t the cutest fucking shit he’s ever seen, she stuck a fake tiny mustache on the baby.

As Gus has grown and his features have become more pronounced, all it took is one look to know who his father is; their shared eyes, nose, eyebrows, chin, and dimple in their cheeks, he’s a miniature version of his dad, and with him all dressed up like Javier and the mustache, they looked exactly alike much to his delight.

The tiny leather jacket creaked as the one-year-old held out his arms toward his father, “Papá!”

“Oh, papito!” Javier says, smiling big. He briskly walks toward them, scooping up his son, making him giggle as he kisses all over his face. He holds him in one arm to look at him, smoothing his other hand over the soft, baby hair. “Mira lo guapo que eres! (Look how handsome you are)!” He rubs the child’s cheek with his thumb. “Mi nene lindo (My cute baby boy). ¿Tu mamá te vistió como yo (Did your mom dress you like me)? ¿Eres mi gemelo hoy (Are you my twin today)?”

Gus grins at him, his one tooth peeking up from behind his bottom lip. His chubby little hand reaches towards Javier’s face, pointing at it, and the man closes the distance so the baby pokes the tip of his nose.

“¿Es esa mi nariz? (Is that my nose)? ¿Dónde está tu nariz (Where’s your nose)?”

The child gestured to his own. “Correcto, papito (That’s right, papito),” he says. Javier hugs the baby to him and kisses the top of his head. He lifts his face, focusing on his wife, who’d grabbed the camera, his eyes softening.

“I love this,” he tells her.

She smiles. “I know, and I know that yes, you want to spend the day out and about with us, but you also want to flaunt us around town because you love when people comment on how cute our family is—I figured we’d up the cuteness.” She shrugs. “They’re gonna go nuts at you two twinning and all of us color coordinating. I even told your dad to wear baby blue when we go to dinner tonight. Happy Birthday, Javi. I love you.”

“Come here,” he says, holding out his free hand, and she takes it, Javier pulling her close enough to wrap his arm around her, gazing into her eyes. “I love you, too.” He kisses her, and Gus starts happily squealing—as they’ve done many times before, their mouths separate, and they turn their attention to the toddler, each choosing a cheek that they press many loud, smacking kisses to, their son laughing, a sound Javier loves so much.

This is the fucking dream, and he’s living it. He’s never been happier.

Without a doubt, marrying Javier Peña is the best and easiest decision you’ve ever made in your entire life. He hates that he settled down so late, but for you, his age is a perk—he’s mature, experienced, and he took your relationship seriously; he didn’t want to play around. He was more than ready for commitment and marriage.

What it came down to is that you hit the husband jackpot. Javier is a man who loves you more than anything and gives you all of his devotion. He’s caring, sweet, amazing in bed, and absolutely the best father in the world to your child.

There’s nothing better than watching him be a doting dad. Right this second, you’re walking down a sidewalk downtown after having breakfast; Javi’s holding his tiny twin, who removed his fake mustache on the car ride to the restaurant, wearing their leather jackets to keep warm, while you push the stroller. The father keeps stopping at store windows for Gus to see the pretty, colorful holiday lights and decorations.

Practically everyone at the diner stopped by your table to comment on the matching father-son duo’s adorableness, and on your walk, many people have said how cute they are, which has Javi over the moon with happiness. Just moments ago, an elderly couple approached you and were delighted when your son waved and greeted them with, “Hi!” They told Javi he had a beautiful family, and he’s still beaming from the compliments.

The happy man is strolling along beside you. He leans your way and whispers, “I want another.”

“Another what?” you ask, keeping your focus forward. There aren’t too many shoppers out.

“Another baby.”

An exasperated breath leaves you, and you glance at him. “You always want another baby.”

He’s smirking under his perfect mustache. “Yeah, I do—we should go for it.”

“I love you, Javi, and I know it’s your birthday, but my answer is no. Not yet—we’re waiting.”

He pouts. “If your answer is no, then why didn’t you let me pull out this morning?”

Pulling out isn’t the best birth control method. Still, you didn’t want to get back on the pill or do anything that fucked with your already fucked postpartum hormones, and the two of you would rather risk pregnancy than use condoms—you’re married, financially stable, want more kids, have extra space in your home—if any of this weren’t the case, he’d be wrapping up, as it was, an accidental pregnancy wouldn’t be the end of the world; It’s simply your preference to hold off on another kid until you see what your firstborn is like as a two-year-old.

You also keep track of your cycle, and the chances of him knocking you up are currently slim to none.

“Because birthdays are a day to indulge in things you don’t normally get to, so cream pies are back on the menu today.” You wag your eyebrows, and his eyes widen, seeing his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows.

“All day…?” he asks.

You smile. “Yes.”

He suddenly stops, and you do, too, facing him.

“Turn around, we’re going home,” he says, his chocolate-colored eyes darker.

“Javier,” you giggle. “You have a whole day planned!”

“Sure, but that was before I knew all of my options—we’re going home, Gus is taking a nap, and we’re gonna fold a hell of a lot of laundry.” Folding laundry is your codeword for sex that you use in front of your toddler and around other people so you don’t scandalize anyone.

“Javi?”

His tongue peeks out, swiping along his bottom lip. “Yes, Cielito?”

Your hand leaves the stroller to press your palm to his leather jacket-covered bicep, looking at him through your lashes. “It was going to be a surprise, but your dad is taking Gus for the night after dinner.”

The smile he gives you is blinding.

“Christ, I love you so fucking much.” And the way he ends his sentence is to wrap his arm around your waist and tug you toward him so he can crush his lips to yours in a searing kiss, Gus cooing on his other side.

Your words are muffled against his mouth between kisses, “Happy Birthday, Javi.”

He sounds just as distorted, “I love you.”

Series Masterlist - Masterlist

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dinsmechanic · 1 year ago

Text

Beskar and Pearls

Summary: Wearing the luxurious gift the Mandalorian gave you while accompanying him on a business trip turns out to be a pleasurable torture.

Pairing: Din Djarin x f!reader

Word count: 3.9k

Warnings: no plot - just smut, 18+ MDNI, teasing in public, Dom!Din, sub!reader, possessive!Din, lots of dirty talk, Din being a sexy arrogant asshole, glove kink, masculinity kink, humiliation kink, hair pulling, unprotected rough sex, mentions of exhibitionism kink, multiple orgasms, multiple creampies (wtf is a refractory period), a hint of overstimulation

A/N: the most coherent thoughts I have while ovulating. I have no excuse. This is FILTHYYYY I hope you enjoy it! Reblogs and comments are always appreciated!! Also a big thank you to @thefrogdalorian for making sure it's written in decent English and to @saradika-graphics for the perfect divider 💕

Masterlist - Read on Ao3

The Mandalorian has just landed his ship on Nevarro after spending an entire month catching quarries in the outer rim. He has been away most of the time, but he made sure he'd make up for it every time he came back, too proud and stubborn to admit with words that he missed you, but demonstrating it by spoiling you with luxurious gifts and his body.

You look at him in reverential adoration as he dresses in his armour – a blend of his Mandalorian heritage and the many trophies he acquired from his victims, dark red in colour and dented after many close encounters with death.

He's just finished strapping weapons everywhere on his marvellous body when he addresses you.

“Hey. Got this for you. Wear it. We’re going to the market, I have some business to attend to,” Mando says as he hands you a small drawstring pouch he was hiding in his utility belt.

You immediately open it and its content leaves you speechless. It’s the sexiest piece of underwear you’ve ever seen – an expensive-looking black lace thong with just a string of pearls meant to go between your pussy lips.

If he wants you to wear it while in Nevarro, a lawless planet full of dangerous bounty hunters, you will wear it under the shortest skirt you have. The mere thought of his eyes glued to your ass, hoping to get a glimpse of it while being vigilant of other men at the same time, makes your head spin. You let out an aroused sigh and look at him, impassive as always behind the dark visor.

“That should keep you busy,” Mando chuckles and tilts his helmet.

You immediately wear it along with that short, flowy dress that also happens to be his favourite one on you.

“Let me see it,” he says as his hands grab you by the waist. He brings you closer to him and immediately lifts your skirt. He kneels before you and lets out a satisfied hum when he sees the tempting way the pearls disappear into your slit. The Mandalorian lingers there, dark visor trained on that heavenly view as his gloved hands caress your thighs. The sharp contrast between the coarse leather and your delicate, soft skin gives you a thrill of pleasure. You guess – you hope – the trip won’t take long.

His chestplate rises and falls as he struggles to catch his breath and maintain his composure at the sight of your perfect cunt dressed in pearls. It’s incredible to see how something so dainty could turn out to be so perverse and sinful.

“Come on. Let’s go now,” he says as he stands up. Now at his full height, his imposing figure resumes towering over yours. You admire him in awe, taking in the broadness of his body and the way his armour magnificently highlights it.

He offers you his hand to descend the ramp and as soon as you start walking, you understand why he said that it would keep you busy. With every step that you take, the pearls pleasurably rub against your clit. You can feel yourself getting wet already. There's an aroused expression on your face that Mando does not miss.

"Are you enjoying it?" he asks teasingly.

"Yes," you answer and bite your lip.

"Good,” you can hear how pleased he is seeing you like that after you’ve barely taken a few steps out of the ship. You know the thought of you being so aroused in public while having to control yourself is making him hard. You decide to play his game, see where this leads.

Mando is walking right behind you, strutting proudly as he stalks you like a hunter follows its prey. You feel his gaze trained on your butt, so you accentuate the swaying of your hips to get more friction from the pearls and to seduce him even further, hoping to get a reaction from him.

"Shake your ass as much as you want, you're not getting anything until I'm done here. You're only getting this scum to see how pretty you are. I like it," he slaps your ass and chuckles. You bite your lip to muffle a whimper.

"See the way they're looking at you? If they dare even think of touching you, their dead body will touch the ground before they lay one finger on you," he whispers in your ear as he grabs your hand and positions it over his blaster.

"You are mine," he growls in your ear as he wraps his other hand around your waist. He pulls you close, until the flustered, naked skin of your back touches his cold beskar chest plate. A thrill of excitement traverses your whole body and goes straight between your legs.

No one would be so stupid to touch you, not when a Mandalorian is claiming you as his, not when you can feel his erection against your ass. The whole thing is making you light-headed with arousal, so much that you start to shamelessly rub your ass against his cock. His hand tightens its grasp around your waist as your head rolls back to rest on his shoulder. You sigh in his neck and his hand trails up and wraps around your throat.

"Behave now," the Mandalorian growls as you feel his fingers tightening their grasp, trying to restrain himself from giving into lust already.

“I want you,” you whisper in his neck.

“I know,” he replies confidently before releasing you. What an arrogant motherfucker. You want to make him so hard he’ll want to bring you back to the ship and fuck your brains out, putting his desire for you before his stupid pride and his business. You want him to surrender to his carnal instinct.

The more steps you take, the more desperate you become for relief from this agonising, yet pleasurable torture. The pearls are stimulating your clit mercilessly, without ever getting you close to an orgasm. Your cunt spasms and clenches and what's worse is that he knows. Mando has spent so long quietly studying his bounties that he can tell by the irregular way you're breathing that you're struggling with the sensation. You bet he's enjoying every second of it, smirking under the helmet.

Just before entering the market area, he pulls you closer to him one more time, making you gasp.

"Now be quiet. You wouldn't want to fuck up my business. Be a good girl," he whispers softly in your ear as you feel his hand on your lower belly—close, so close to where you want him the most. Maker, he’s rock hard. You can feel it. You can’t think of anything else when his erection is pressing against your ass and his arm is tightly wrapped around your waist. He lets you go and you enter the market area together.

You try to divert your attention on whatever item they’re selling in the stands but it’s mostly weapons and things for bounty hunters that you couldn’t care less about. You can feel your arousal starting to drip down your legs, making your inner thighs slippery. Your swollen clit is pulsing and begging for attention, but Mando has been clear - you’ll get nothing until I'm done here, and you know nothing could make him change your mind, unless you play your cards right.

He grabs a seat in a beat-up wooden booth, his legs spread wide due to the massive erection trapped in his pants. There is an undeniable air of confidence and arrogance to him when he sits like this, looking so imposing and authoritative. You wish you could just drop to your knees and please him in any way he wants.

"Be my good pretty whore and sit here," Mando invites you to sit on his thigh and you immediately comply. You're so damn wet, you can't keep your legs closed.

"Hmm? Sitting here like this with your legs spread open? Do you want everyone to see your pretty cunt? Better let them know to whom this belongs, don't you think?" he coos in your ear with his husky voice. He knows you're both perfectly concealed and no one could see what's going on under that table. He's doing that just to prove a point—that you belong to him.

You nod mindlessly as his hand cups your cunt and stays there, still, without moving.

"Mando. Mando I need–" you whisper in his neck in a trembling voice.

"Oh. I know," he says, pleased when he sees how flustered you're getting. "Not yet," he growls as one of his gloved fingers trails your slit. He stops right before your clit, making you whimper and grip his arm tight in response. You dig your nails in his flightsuit as he feels how unbelievably wet you are.

"Hey. Behave now," he whispers as a Rodian approaches the booth and takes a seat, greeting him with a nod of his head. He immediately hands Mando a puck.

You have no idea what they’re talking about – you can't focus on anything else apart from the way Mando’s gloved hand holds the puck. You look at his fingers with pure lust, thinking of them touching your clit, pumping inside your cunt, the coarse leather caressing your skin.

You let your hand trail on his inner thigh and he stays surprisingly calm, not flinching one bit as your fingertips slowly slide higher, until they finally meet his cock. He is so unbelievably hard, you feel him throbbing underneath your fingers as you trail them all over his length. The Mandalorian won't betray any emotion, which turns you on even more. He's perfectly calm and collected on the outside, but you bet he'd love to throw you on that table and bury himself in you.

As soon as the Rodian hands Mando a handful of credits as an advance, he leaves.

"Please. Please, I need you," you whisper in his neck.

"I'm not done here. Be patient."

The throbbing need between your legs causes you to ache so badly that you don’t notice another man has approached and taken a seat until he begins speaking with the Mandalorian.

They're speaking in a foreign language, and Mando’s interlocutor does not seem happy. Judging by their tones of voice and gestures, they appear to be negotiating the fee for Mando collecting a certain bounty that the man needs capturing and he is displeased that Mando commands a high price. You’ve learnt over the time you’ve spent with the Mandalorian that there's not much room for negotiation with him. He has leverage since he's regarded as being the best bounty hunter in the outer rim. The way he speaks is so confident, it makes you even wetter how he does not lose composure while the other man is basically yelling at him.

He starts running his thumb on the string of pearls digging in your slit, feeling how wet you are for him as he keeps talking to his client while you're sitting in his lap, doing nothing but looking pretty. You're his slut and he wants everyone to know it, but you have to act cool even as he teases you under the table. You have to control the way you breathe, you can't let even the smallest whimper out. Why is this so hot? Why is he so hot?

In the end, the man hands him a hefty amount of credits and rises from the table with a huff, muttering and cursing as he goes.

"Please, take me back to the ship and fuck me. I won't ask for anything else, please," you whisper sensually in the crook of his neck.

"I'm not done here," he tries to appear impassive, but as soon as you resume your touching between his legs, he jerks slightly. You smirk, satisfied.

"Mando…" you trace the outline of his cock with your fingers, feeling how hard his erection is while purring in his neck. His pants are thick, but as you stop right at the tip, drawing circles on it with your fingertips, you can feel the fabric getting slightly damp.

“You’re so hard…” you sigh sensually as you keep rubbing his cock. You hear a choked grunt from him, now that he can’t focus on his job anymore, now that he’s at the mercy of your teasing. You’re so tempting, acting so shameless in public, the thrill of someone noticing the two of you drives him insane and you know it. You’re finally getting your revenge. You can bet he's close to losing control. Mando is twitching in his pants, his breathing getting heavier and heavier...

"Fuck it." He grabs you by the arm and you rush out of the market and back to the ship.

The Mandalorian doesn't even wait for the ramp to close behind him to bend you over the first crate he finds, kicking your legs open with his feet and freeing his throbbing erection. His gloved hands run up your skirt and position themselves around your hips, keeping you steady for him as he slams into you all at once. He meets no resistance from your drenched cunt whatsoever, leaving you breathless as you exhale in a loud moan. You're crushed between the crate and his beskar body, pleasurably forced to take his thick cock. You're only able to let out ragged groans and clamp tightly around him as he finally gives it to you just like you wanted.

"You. Fucking whore. Couldn't wait for me to finish my business. Wanted this dick so much, hm? Are you happy now?!" his thrusts are furious and relentless, his hips crushing your body against the crate with a devastating force. The angle at which he's hitting you is deep, so deep that you can't even prop yourself up on your shaky elbows. You're just getting brutally fucked without dignity.

"You get so disobedient when you want this cock. Maybe I should just tie you up and gag you?"

You can't even mumble words, too absorbed by the feeling of his cock thrusting inside of you, so aroused at the idea of him using your body for his pleasure.

"You're so wet. Damn. It must have been such a torture, right? To be so wet and turned on? Hearing you beg like that made me so fucking hard. Feel it. Feel what you do to me," he rasps as he rails you deep and hard.

The way the pearls are rubbing against your clit and the perfect rhythm of his thrusts are driving you close to the edge already.

"Mando, Mando, I'm–" you can barely mumble as you helplessly drag your hands against the crate.

"Yeah. Come. Seems like it's the only thing that will make you obedient. You wanted it so much, you can have as many as you want today."

'Thank you, thank you, tha–" your blissful chant is abruptly cut as the orgasm takes control over your body. Your cunt clenches hard around his thick cock and your legs jerk uncontrollably, barely touching the ground as he keeps you still and never stops drilling into you as you ride your high. The pleasure is so intense, it leaves you breathless as your cunt keeps involuntarily spasming around him in aftershock. You're panting against the metal crate beneath you, overwhelmed and reduced to a trembling, feeble mess, the coldness of it is a relief against the hot, flustered skin of your body that won't stop begging for him.

"Is this what you wanted, hm? For me to stop everything I was doing to come here and take care of you? Needy girl. You desperately wanted attention, hm?"

You can only mumble in assent, feeling the way he takes out his rage on you.

"Bet you would've let me fuck you in a dirty fucking alley if I wanted to."

"Y-yes–" you reply in a breathy groan, drenching yourself at the mere thought.

"What a slut. What if someone heard you screaming like that? What if someone heard how wet this pussy is when I fuck it? Fuck, you're dripping!"

For a man who barely speaks in normal circumstances, he sure does like to run his mouth when he's buried deep inside of you.

"Yeah. I bet you'd like it if someone saw me fucking you like the slut that you are," he pants and you start whimpering and clamping around him at the idea.

"I knew it. You're such a whore. But you are mine, and I won't let anyone hear these pretty moans and see this perfect cunt. They belong to me. To me," he growls.

"Yes – yes. I fuck–ing b-belong to you," you repeat mindlessly.

"Does it get this much to get you this wet? Just a string of pretty pearls? Looking so fucking good. So fucking good. Are you enjoying it?"

"Yes, Mando!"

"Shit, you're so tight. You're making me come," he says in a broken voice. His thrusts get erratic, as does his breathing "This cunt is so perfect, so fucking perfect," he emphasises the very last word before bursting, spilling hot and wet inside of you in a ragged groan, whining at how good it feels. His muscles tense and he gets rigid behind you, his head rolling back in pleasure.

"Oh, fuck! You're so hot. Spill all of your cum inside of me. Like this, yes!" you cry and start touching your clit, so turned on at the sight and feeling of his orgasm.

The sounds he makes as he comes are the hottest ones you have ever heard. The infamous Mandalorian – stoic, imposing and menacing – is getting lost in the overwhelming pleasure you’re offering him. Your drenched, tight pussy is making that dangerous warrior crumble. You’re so aroused, you need more.

"Please, please don't stop fucking me!" you dare asking him.

"I won't," he grunts as he keeps burying his dick deep, so deep inside of you.

"Don't stop. Don't stop. Oh, fuck, I need you to fuck me harder, please!" you plead as you feel his cum starting to drip down your hole. "Maker, please!" you say as you start frantically slapping and rubbing your clit as you hear the obscene, sloppy sounds of his cock thrusting in and out of you, of his hips slamming against your ass.

"I won't stop. Fuck, I want more. I can't stop. You drive me fucking insane!" he growls, resembling a wild beast, completely overwhelmed by lust. You feel his cock still pulsing inside of you as you get even wetter.

"Look at this perfect cunt. You're so full of my cum, damn, you can't ever get enough of it, can you? Fucking cum slut. Look what you make me do. Just came inside of you but I can't stop fucking this perfect cunt. You want to drain me. Are you proud of yourself, hm? Making me so fucking hard in public and teasing me like the whore that you are."

"Fuck, yes, I'm your whore. Your slave. I'm so close, please–" you mutter deliriously while your fingers and the pearls are rubbing against your clit in a wet, nasty mess of your fluids and his cum. You come hard around him once again, strangling his spent, sensitive cock in your tight grasp and hear him grunting, his grip on your hips tightens and his whole body jerks, but he really can’t have enough.

"Yeah. Yeah. Come on my fucking cock, whore. Let me feel it." he encourages you, gritting those words between his teeth, fighting his own oversensitivity, so addicted to the way you feel around him.

He doesn't stop fucking you, not even after your orgasm. He keeps railing you relentlessly. You bring your hand to your mouth and suck your fingers, tasting the bitterness of his cum blended with the slightly salty taste of your fluids on your tongue. Its taste is addicting, the scent heady and intoxicating in the best way possible.

"You taste so good, Mando. We taste so good together," you drawl, overwhelmed by pleasure.

"Yeah, I bet we do," he grabs a handful of your hair and pulls it to lift your head up, giving it to you even harder, making your eyes roll back in your head. You are screaming, completely entranced by the way his cock is still pumping hard inside of you.

"So damn loud. You like being fucked like this, hm?"

He hits even harder from this angle, keeping you nice and still for him to use as he pleases. You're so busy screaming that you can't even reply to him.

"Yeah. Scream as loud as you want. Let me hear how much you want it. I like it."

You can feel his cum dripping down your legs with every thrust, hearing the sloppy, squelching sounds your bodies make. Mando can't even restrain himself anymore, he’s moaning and sighing at how much he's enjoying it. Your cunt is spasming around him, turned on at the way he sounds.

"You like it, hm? To reduce me like this?" he says in between thrusts.

The truth is that yes, you do. You love making the Mandalorian falter with your teasing, making him so desperate and boiling with lust, he has to leave business to fuck you hard, so hard that any coherent thought leaves your mind. You love it when you can feel the man under all that beskar, when he makes you feel like the most important and beautiful thing in the galaxy.

"Yeah, you do," he answers himself as he slows his rhythm, slipping out of you completely only to slowly bury himself inside of you to the hilt, enjoying the view and feeling of his cock entering into your cunt dripping with his cum.

You bite your lip to muffle your screams just to hear him moaning and sighing as he feels the welcoming warmth of your cunt.

��Mando. Mando, please,” you beg as you feel your legs impatiently shaking as his shaft rubs that perfect spot inside of you with each thrust.

“What?”

“Harder. Please?” you beg, subjugated by that perfect teasing.

He slams into you so deeply that you feel it pulsing against your cervix.

“What? Like this? Hm?” he says as he starts to jackhammer you.

“Yes, yes, yes, yes,” you chant as you resume touching your clit.

“Greedy whore. Ready for another one? I'm not stopping.”

“Mmmm,” you can only reply as you feel another wave of overwhelming pleasure approaching.

You hear him panting as he gives you a few more violent, deep thrusts, driving you over the edge one more time.

“Yeah. Take it – fucking t-take–” he grunts when he feels your walls clenching around his cock, your orgasm pushing him over the edge, too.

A loud, violent snarl rips through his lips as he comes, filling you with his white, thick load once again. The grip of his hands around your hips turns to steel, your eyes roll up so high all you can see is pitch black as he keeps pumping his cock into you as you both ride your high. The feeling completely obliterates you, turning your body and mind into a helpless, exhausted mess.

A huge, satisfied grin forms on your face as you feel him slowly slip out of you and his cum starts dripping down your cunt and legs.

“Good work," he pants "now be a good girl and wait for me while I go back there. Don’t move one muscle and maybe we will pick up where we left off,” he says as he tucks his spent cock in his cum stained pants, not giving a shit about it, looking at the mess he made of you, disrupted and leaking with his seed. Wrecked, used, marked. His.

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dinsmechanic · 1 year ago

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its all about self, not the physical object.

its so interesting knowing u are never manifesting a material object, but the version of u with that object. u are always manifesting urself, thats why we always want the feeling & why the material world (3d) is always neutral. since everything is u -> u are always manifesting you!

stop trying to "get" the material object and BEcome the person who already has it. there is a difference between the two. there are infinite STATES, infinite versions of YOU, not versions of that car or that acceptance letter (<-reread this until it clicks!) BE it, dont chase it.

the object does not define the person. edward art said that two ppl can have the same clothes. lets say two ppl have a juicy contour tracksuit; one knows they are poor and ugly & the other knows they are rich and beautiful.

the object doesnt mean shit for their identities!

objects cant change who you are - YOU change who you are! even if you think otherwise like the object brings you confidence aka a new identity, at the end of the day it is YOU deciding to change based on the object. its all you. stop putting objects on the pedestal! the change in identity and what you know to be true about yourself comes from YOU. THATS what u have to CHANGE, NOT the object itself. crave BEING that version of you, NOT the object.

you're always only manifesting yourself, never the object. this is a fact so idc if u think im wrong. we are always being (manifesting) a version of ourselves. and this version might have a material object but the root of it all is that we are always manifesting a version of US! NOT THE OBJECT. this also makes sense bc everything is only you (consciousness) so ofc you will always be manifesting yourself. thats why we say the only success story is when you change self/states/your identity or fulfill yourself! its all about YOU YOU YOU, not the OBJECT!

this connects to "you dont want the object, u want the feeling (knowing/fulfillment)." listen: OFC U WANT THE OBJECT. but yall gotta realize that the object gives u some kind of validation or satisfaction so thats WHY u want it.

you want a car -> you want the feeling/freedom of driving wherever, whenever; having control you want a glow up -> you want to know/feel comfrtoable in your own skin or have people love the way you look; self validation or validation from others you want to be with this sp bc you love them -> you want to be loved & give love; want to feel worthy of love, etc

everything comes down to SELF, what you KNOW about you. its the feeling that comes first and THEN the object. its not you want the object THEN the feeling. that makes no sense.

theres nothing wrong w acknowledging u want the feeling first. some of yall love arguing about how this is wrong but it actually helps so many ppl who get so hyperfixed on the object itself, getting unhealthy obsessions & anxieties over objects when getting objects isnt the goal.

i know for a fact that the ppl who say its wrong are the same ppl who havent felt fully fulfilled w something they want. bc when you become truly fulfilled, you literally KNOW you have it even when you dont physically have it. the feeling feels SO powerful.

you can even get fulfilled / know "negative shit" in the 3d. thats proof that the FEELING CONTROLS ALL. regardless of the physical, regardless of the objects. this is especially true since everything in the 3d is NEUTRAL. so feelings are all you can receive from it!

★ you are always manifesting yourself, not the object

☆ you want the feeling first, then the object regardless if you believe it

★ having a object doesnt change your state/identity -> you do

☆ stop focusing on the object & just be

kisses, cutie jani ☆

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dinsmechanic · 1 year ago

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“I daydreamed chiefly about beauty. I dreamed of myself becoming so beautiful that people would turn to look at me when I passed. And I dreamed of colors - scarlet, gold, green, white. I dreamed of myself walking proudly in beautiful clothes and being admired by everyone and overhearing words of praise. I made up the praises and repeated them aloud as if someone else were saying them.”

— Marilyn Monroe.

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dinsmechanic · 1 year ago

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Ps, I just imagine Joel shoving himself so deep that his (fucking massive, overflowing) balls are pressed tight to your labia, his pubes getting wet with how much slick there is, and trying to get as deep as possible so he has the best bet at breeding his sweet lil darlin

- 🐏

oh my. . . *fucking dies*

balls-deep, arse to crotch, cumtastic, sweatyyy sex. creampie, cum-plugging, breeding, bloating, cockwarming. MDNI 18+ yous know the drill

“fuck, almost there,” he grunts against your ear, pressing deeper and deeper inside of you — inch by inch. “easy does it.” he’s on his knees, pulling you flush onto his thighs so he can ease you further down on his fat cock. the stretch is wide as your pussy spreads for him — gaping around him like a mouth. swallowing him like one, too. he groans, hot breath fanning over your flushed neck.

and once he’s seated you atop his throbbing prick — so meaty and hard — you moan when your swollen lips flare around his heavy and round balls, the bush of his sack wet and rough against your puffy clit. “that’s it, darlin.” he husks, raspy. he holds you still for a moment, and you can feel the warmth of his massive balls pulsate against your slick.

then you’re forced forward, face slamming into the pillows and your hips wrenched upward with him still inside of you. it’s a little nauseating how his cockhead has jammed against your cervix, the pressure of him rearranging you whilst he’s plugged you to the brim; causing it to bully into the gummy roof of it. you mewl, choking on tears as he fucks into you with shallow thrusts, barely withdrawing from your cunny so his balls can enjoy the wet velvet of your labia.

you’re already soaked from hours of foreplay and teasing — raw from his thick fingers and skilled tongue flexing and crooking within you. the juices gather in his short, wiry hairs where his pre-cum’s already collected; the combined friction of his cum-filled balls and the damp foliage that conceals them rubbing at the button of your clit, and his purplish tip massaging the sensitive hood of your cunt, stirs a tight heat in your core — churning a knot.

you clamp down on his girth, your puckered hole sealing around his base where a bulbous vein pumps against the yawning rim of your cunt. the milky webs of pre-cum that his slit spins lather your walls, painting them white. and your stomach caves in as you tense with the intensity of your need to release all over his cock.

he’s panting like a dog in heat behind you, retracting himself almost completely for the first time since he entered you, before shoving himself back in to the hilt — balls sandwiching against the cushioning of your folds with a lewd squelch. you’re a mess; slobbering and garbling, cum-thirsty. your pussy invites him deeper, sucking him in. it’s still a tight fit, but you’re loosening for him with every thrust.

when he spills into your womb, he collapses onto your arched back, his ballsack emptying every drop of their potent semen into it. there’s just so much, spewing his backlog of clogged and pent-up spunk into the bloating balloon of your uterus. it starts to pour back out through the narrow gap of your cervix, gushing around his dick to drool all over his balls whilst they still drain into you.

and he won’t pull out until he’s certain you’ve taken to his seed; bred throughly :3

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dinsmechanic · 1 year ago

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Hold You in My Arms

Din Djarin x GN!Reader

Summary: Even with its outdated interior and the limitations that entails, The Razor Crest is your home. You find there is a certain charm about the old ship even if the bunk is a little uncomfortable. Though, it's even better when there is a Mandalorian to cuddle, armour and all. Word Count: 2k ✯ Rating: General ✯ Content Warnings: None! ✯ Author's Note: This is set pre-series! A little tooth-rottingly sweet fluffy oneshot for this fine Friday. I wanted to make Din a human weighted-blanket and I yearn to run my fingers through his curls. This was the result. Hope you enjoyed! (The title comes from the song Starlight by Muse).

✯ My Masterlist ✯ Read on AO3 ✯

The sensation of cool metal against your cheek rudely interrupts the warm embrace of sleep, within which you were blissfully enveloped until only moments ago. You recoil at the sudden frigidity, your sleep-addled brain struggling to comprehend the cause for your discomfort. The presence has mercilessly encroached into the peaceful state of slumber you had drifted off into. Which is a miraculous feat, given the cramped surroundings you retire to each night.

Somehow, nestled between the thin sheets that lay atop the firm bunk – which causes your back to ache if you fall asleep in ever so slightly the wrong position – you have been in such a deep, restful state of sleep that being so rudely awakened from it almost makes you want to sob at the injustice. After all, it is a marvel that you ever found yourself so comfortable in the first place. The cramped bunk is tucked away like an afterthought in a corner of the dark hull that forms the main living area of the ship you soar through the stars in.

Yet, the ship has not been racing through the stars for the past few days. Instead, you have found yourself confined to the groaning metallic structure as you await the return of the man who made your new life possible. Din Djarin rescued you from a monotonous, destitute life and whisked you away in the stars, a debt that you are certain you will never adequately repay. It doesn’t stop you from trying your best every day that you are privileged enough to spend at his side though. A feat you at least attempt, by pouring every ounce of yourself into loving him. You know that Din never expects anything in return. Everything he has is yours and he adores providing for you, finally having a purpose for the payments he receives from bounty hunting. Even so, you can’t help but feel as though you owe him. So, you do your best to love him unconditionally.

Before you met Din, he was a solitary figure, cutting a lonely path through the galaxy. You changed everything. Din often compares you to a sunrise after a dark night, one that he did not realise quite how grim and gloomy it had been. You are a vibrant presence that brought light into his life. He never tires of telling you how much you mean to him, how deeply he loves you. With all of that in mind, how could you not put everything into loving a man as incredible as Din Djarin?

At present, though, you almost want to throttle him.

As when your eyelids fly open at the frigid contact, it is the distinctive gleam of beskar that you find next to you. Din’s helmet sparkles even in the dim light of the ship. Until you noticed Din’s dazzling headgear, you were fully prepared to admonish the perpetrator for being so cruel as to wake you up. Yet, when you discover that it is the man whose presence you have been pining for, your anger begins to subside.

It seems that Din has decided to join you on the impossibly small bunk. A fact that would not be such a problem, had Din not clambered onto the bunk without removing a single piece of his armour. Still, at the sight of him next to you, your anger dissipates as quickly as it had begun. The bubbling raging cauldron of fire and fury in the pit of your stomach soon evaporates with a whimper. Your momentary enragement at the intrusion into the serenity you had found in the bunk, despite the uncomfortable odds stacked against you miraculously faded the instant you laid eyes upon the culprit.

While you were sleeping, Din apparently returned from collecting his latest bounty. Clearly, the job has taken its toll, as he has sought rest instantly, still clad in his beskar'gam. Din nestles into your shoulder and you can feel the full heft of his armour, cool and hard against your skin, even through the thin sheet. Even though Din is exhausted and desperately needs sleep, he was so eager to be close to you that he decided to enter the cramped space to lie with you.

Even though you are certain that Din can't possibly be comfortable given the position he has taken up, you still have no desire for him to leave. Somewhat selfishly, you are enjoying the sensation of him and the warmth his presence causes in you, despite the coldness of his beskar.

“Din,” you finally sigh, “There isn’t enough room for both of us.”

“Am I hurting you?” Din asks sleepily.

“No, but—”

“Then, there’s room.”

Din’s tone of voice does not leave room for debate. You can’t help but smirk at his determination to remain cuddled up with you. Collecting his latest bounty has rendered him so exhausted that he cannot even muster the strength to remove his armour. With its inflexibility and heft, it cannot possibly be pleasant to lie in, but Din is apparently so desperate to be in your arms that it seems he has sacrificed his own comfort to be close to you.

“You can’t be comfortable, Din,” you observe, shaking your head at his determination to lie in your arms. “Let me get up and give you the bunk to rest properly, I’ll nap in the cockpit chair.”

Your offer to sleep there is an attempt to repay the debt you feel you owe Din. While he frequently allows you to sleep in the bunk, Din is happy to sit in the chair. It is a position he seems content in, with his arms folded and head slumped to the side. For much of his life, sleeping in a bunk was a luxury seldom afforded to a man who lived such a nomadic life as Din. Even though he is unaccustomed to sleeping in a bunk and probably still prefers the chair, you want to give him the marginally more comfortable option.

Din, however, has other ideas…

“No,” Din murmurs in response to your offer, shaking his head furiously at the suggestion. “Want to be close to you.”

“Okay,” you sigh. You shake your head at the stubbornness of your favourite Mandalorian, but you are content to let him be.

“Can I at least remove your helmet? It feels pretty cold against my cheek, you know…” you ask playfully.

You feel that coldness in motion against your cheek as Din nods slowly, too tired to vocalise his answer. You move instantly, propping yourself up with one elbow while you carefully remove the pesky barrier between you and the brown eyes you adore. Removing Din's helmet is something that you are well accustomed to now, but you still feel your pulse race with excitement each time. There is still a small part of you that can't quite believe you get to see Din in this way, his beauty unencumbered by the armour which usually shields his handsome features from you.

After removing Din's helmet and setting it down on the corner of the bunk, you are finally free to gaze upon the face of the man you have missed so dearly. Instead of joy, however, you feel your heart constricting at the sight of him. Din looks utterly exhausted. Your eyes roam across his features and you notice the tiredness which clouds his brown eyes, dulling their usual spark and vibrancy. There are dark bags lingering under his eyes, too. It seems that Din has scarcely slept since he ventured out from the Razor Crest several days ago.

He looks up at you tiredly, a small bashful smile on his lips. You are captivated by his beauty, even in the low light. Even when he looks so drained. His is the most handsome face you have ever laid eyes upon, you are certain. With his strong nose and jawline, his features are distinctively masculine. Yet there is a certain softness there, too. Either way, you are sure that you will never tire of looking at him.

In response to the feelings his appearance provokes in you, you run your fingers through his surprisingly soft, dark curls. You gently rake your fingernails across his scalp in a soothing motion. Din hums in response, an appreciative sound that goes some way towards calming the anxiety you felt upon first laying eyes upon his exhausted face.

Now that he's lying in your arms, you hope that your careful ministrations go some way to soothing his exhausted soul. Even though he is too drained to vocalise it, you know that there is nothing in the galaxy that could relax him more than your embrace and presence.

Eventually, Din’s shallow, even breaths indicate that he has finally drifted off. You still feel slightly groggy after being awakened so abruptly, but with Din asleep on you, you know there is no chance that you will be able to get back to sleep. For one, there is the considerable heft of a fully-armoured Mandalorian resting on you, who you are keenly aware is somehow managing to sleep while maintaining the position so he is not placing all of his weight on you and inadvertently crushing you. Additionally, you are enjoying the comfort you draw from Din's presence. Knowing he is close to you and not off hunting bounties, putting himself in dangerous situations soothes your soul.

You are unsure how long you lie there for, with Din lying half on top of you, before his eyelids flutter open and those familiar brown eyes meet yours once more. To your relief, they have regained their spark.

Unfortunately, while his eyes have regained their vibrancy, other parts of Din's body have suffered.

“Can't feel my arms or legs,” Din whines, his body numb after contorting himself into such an uncomfortable position.

“I did warn you,” you tease. There is not a single trace of anger or frustration evident in your tone. You merely enjoy the opportunity to playfully admonish the man you adore.

“I know,” Din nods.

You lean down to kiss his forehead softly. As you place your head back on the pillow, Din gazes up at you with a look of pure adoration in his eyes. Then, he winces slightly, clearly deciding that enough is enough. Din grunts in discomfort as he pushes himself up, and you regretfully watch him go. You are disappointed to have lost an initially disconcerting presence which ultimately became a comfortable one in spite of your initial reservations. Din lingers at the edge of the bunk, looking back at the space with a quizzical look across his features, as though he is appraising something about the space.

“After we’ve dropped off the bounties on Nevarro, we’re paying a visit to Peli on Tatooine. I’m getting a more spacious bunk installed,” Din says decisively.

You look at him questioningly, and Din does not hesitate to elaborate:

“I want to make it so that I can cuddle you properly, every night until we’re grey.”

You shake your head and smile to yourself, touched at the sentiment. For a man with such a reputation of violence that precedes his every move, there is a surprisingly soft centre beneath the tough exterior. You are thrilled with Din’s proposition and you know that the kooky Tatooinian mechanic will have you sorted out with a new bunk in no time—even if the price you pay will be well above the going market rate.

Despite Din’s stoic appearance and ruthless efficiency, you wonder if the galaxy would view him in a different light if they knew his weakness. You quietly question whether the Bounty Hunters’ Guild would hold a lesser opinion of him if they only knew the truth.

Namely, that the spoils of one of the many bounties that the man they know as Mando so masterfully collects will go towards upgrading the Razor Crest’s modest bunk. All in order to ensure the formidable bounty hunter can have his scalp rubbed every night until his eyelids grow heavy, and so Din can be cocooned in the tight embrace of the one he loves each time he returns from his latest hunt.

Ultimately, Din Djarin is a man of multitudes. A formidable warrior and a gentle, caring man; who never feels safer or more at peace than when you hold him in your arms.

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dinsmechanic · 1 year ago

Text

His Living Fleshlight

Din Djarin x F!Reader

Main Masterlist | Din Djarin Masterlist

Author’s note: This little drabble is inspired by this post and these photos! Thank you to @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin for beta reading!

Summary: You catch Din masturbating in the cockpit of the Razor Crest and end up becoming his personal fuck toy.

Word count: 760

Warnings: reader is able-bodied, long live the Razor Crest, no Grogu, established relationship, masturbation, vaginal sex, creampie, Din can pick reader up, crying during sex, pet names (cyar’ika, good girl), no use of y/n

Fic notifs: @beskarandblastersfics Fic recs: @kelbellsficrecs

You walk up the exit ramp of the Razor Crest, exhausted from a long day of running errands. It’s late at night and there’s a stillness hanging in the air. You’re excited to crawl into the bunk with Din, pressed against each other with his strong arm wrapped around you.

But when you peer inside the bunk, he’s not there. He must be up in the cockpit. That’s odd considering how late it is. You open your mouth to call out to him but you stop yourself when you hear a… familiar sound.

Modulated moans fill the small space of the Crest. He must be jerking off.

You slowly climb up the ladder, wanting to watch him in the act. Arousal pools in between your legs at the thought of watching him tug on his cock. But as soon as you’re near him, he turns the seat around to face you. You were right. His gloveless hand is wrapped around his cock, pre-cum beaded up at the tip.

“Cyar’ika,” he moans.

“Getting busy here, aren’t we?” you tease.

“Need you. Now,” he says, most likely through gritted teeth.

“Here? You don’t want to go back to the bunk?”

“Now,” he practically growls.

You’re not going to argue with that. You take off your clothes, starting with your shoes and pants, moving ever so slowly to tease him. He strokes his cock as he watches you strip, stopping himself when he gets too close.

Finally, you pull off your shirt, playfully tossing it at him. He catches it and throws it to the side, groaning, “Please. Stop messing with me.”

“I suppose you’ve waited long enough. How do you want me?”

“Get on my lap.”

You do as you’re told, straddling him in the pilot’s seat and sinking down onto his cock. He groans again, cursing under his breath in Mando’a. It’s a little hard to move yourself on him with the armrests but he takes care of that. He tugs off his other glove and grabs your waist, bouncing you up and down on his cock for you. He’s so desperate, so needy for you. His desire is animalistic, expressing itself in the way he’s absolutely using you, like you’re his toy; his toy that he gets to reduce down to a wet, shivering mess.

His cock hits the perfect angles inside you as the cockpit of the Crest is filled with the obscene, wet sounds of his cock sliding in and out of you.

“Such a good girl for letting me use her like this,” he says, visor fixed on your face and the tears building up on your lash line. You’re too far into bliss to respond with a coherent thought. Instead, you respond in a string of whimpers and moans.

“Do you like it when I use you, cyar’ika?”

“Mmm, yes, Din,” you moan just as a single tear rolls down your cheek.

He stops bouncing you on his cock for a moment to reach up and swipes it away, cocking his helmet to the side and saying, “Shh, cyar’ika, don’t cry. It’ll be over soon. You just need to cum for me, okay?”

You meet his visor and nod. Another tear spills over, running down your face. He swipes that one away too, taking the time to caress your cheek.

“That’s my girl,” he says, grabbing your waist and lifting you up and down again.

You place your hands on his shoulder pauldrons, looking for a source of purchase as he rails you. Your fingers grip the edges as you cum. Your walls clench his cock and your head is thrown back in pleasure, mangled moans and sobs forcing their way out. Even when he’s using you like a toy he does his best to hold off on his orgasm until you achieve yours. The sensation of your high triggers his and he holds you still and pressed firmly against his groin while he cums, filling you up with his spend.

Once you’re both done coming he pulls you into his chest, softly rubbing your back as you catch your breath.

“We should do this in here more often,” he muses.

“Oh yeah?” you whisper, your face beside his helmet. The cool beskar chills your skin after the vigorous amount of energy you just exerted.

“Mhm. I like using you like that,” he says. His cock is still inside you and you feel it get hard again.

“Round two?” you ask, pulling back and looking at him with a smirk.

“Round two,” he affirms.

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dinsmechanic · 1 year ago

Text

Dad and The Dog

Summary: This.

Content: Fluff. Puppy antics.

Note: Re posting my most popular fic since I’ve decided to emerge from hibernation lol

“If it pisses on my floor once, it's gone.”

A tiny gasp escaped the mouth of your son, his already enormous eyes stretching with concern. You round on Din, bringing a protective hand over the mouth of Grogu’s pod.

“Din,” you chastise, not at all gentle. “Don’t say that! She’s a puppy, accidents are bound to happen!”

From behind your hand, a fuzzy white head popped out, panting so hard it looked like a smile, and barked in Din’s direction. Grogu gave a little cry and tugged his new pet back into the safety of the pod.

Your family was heading back to your ship after an eventful and productive trip to the market, all of you - except for one - ecstatic with the results.

“It’s going to get big you know,” Din pointed out, not even turning around as he stalked forward.

“The man said she’s an Anooba cross. She’ll be smaller than normal,” you countered, reaching back to rub a pair of perky white ears. Grogu grabbed handfuls of her fur protectively as he eyed Din, face somewhere between an adorable attempt at intimidation and a downright pout.

You could hear Din grumbling under his breath, pressing a control on his vambrace as you approached the ship. “Sure, crossed with a Massiff for all we know…”

You ignored him to help Grogu and his new puppy climb out of the pod. Two sets of miniature feet took off up the ramp. She immediately set about exploring her new home, nose to the floor as she ran in a zigzag, tiny owner right on her heels.

“Hey, keep that thing contained,” Din snapped as he followed them, pressing a button to close the hatch.

You sighed and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Hey,” you tried softly, hoping to diffuse the frustration clearly boiling under that armor. “Why are you being like that? I thought you liked dogs?”

“I do,” he argued. “Just not in a small space full of important things that can be chewed or peed on.”

“I’m sure your five crates of sonic charges can handle a little puppy teeth,” you said with an eye roll.

Din tilted his head, and years of reading a blank visor told you of his exasperation. You smiled and reached up to pull his helmet off, revealing the long suffering frown you expected. Setting it aside, you placed soft hands on his cheeks, running your thumbs back and forth.

“Come on. He needs this. Didn’t you just say a while back it would be nice for him to have someone his own size to play with?” As you spoke, a chorus of barks and delighted coos rang in the background.

Din’s shoulders drooped and his brows furrowed. “Yes! But I meant…” he gestured between the two of you, “I meant a sibling.”

“Well, think of this as like…a stepping stone to that. First he gets a puppy. Then a sibling.”

“Why the hell does there need-“

A loud crash cut him off, and he spun around to see Grogu and his pup sprawled on the floor, the contents of Din’s tool box scattered around them. The puppy clambered to her feet and pounced on Grogu, lavishing his face with wet kisses which he accepted in pure delight. Din frowned deeply and turned back to you.

“Why does there need to be a stepping stone? I don’t see how a puppy will prepare him for a sibling.”

With a gentle sigh and shake of your head, you leaned up to press a kiss to his cheek. “It makes him happy. Isn’t that enough?”

You didn’t wait for a response, instead tapping his face gently with your palm before leaving to help Grogu pick up his mess. Din watched you, confusion and frustration etched into his scowl. The puppy bounced around your feet as you bent to gather the tools, giving each one an experimental gnaw.

With the smallest sneer and the slightest huff, Din retreated to the cockpit for what he expected to be his last ounce of peace for a very, very long time.

Code Red. Code. Kriffing. Red.

Or, technically, code yellow.

Grogu was hysterical. Sucking in enormous breaths faster than his little lungs could handle, cries piercing through the hull as he pointed at the puddle that managed to be directly next to the absorbing pads. You were on your knees in front of him, desperately trying to reach through the panic.

“Hey, hey, calm down baby it's alright.” You held his face and wiped the little tears away. He continued to sniffle. “Look at me.” You held him more firmly, eyes on his. “Daddy didn’t mean what he said, ok? He’s not going to take your puppy. I promise.”

That managed to break through, barely. With another deep breath, his cries lessened.

“And even if he did - which he didn’t - all we’d have to do is this…” You reached for the absorbing pad and placed it over the mess, promptly wiping away every ounce of evidence. “See? He’d never even know.” You smiled and winked playfully.

Grogu stared blankly at the pad, then looked at you, mouth turning up in an adorable grin. You laughed and looked around for the offender, who had ducked into hiding the moment her owner started to cry.

“Verd’ika?” You called. The choice of a Mandoa name was not coincidental. Though you suspected the attempt of endearing her to Din had accomplished very little.

She appeared hesitantly from behind a cargo box, puffy tail between her legs, back spines laid flat. You gave her a sympathetic, yet stern look.

“Verd’ika, you know what you did, don’t you?”

She scurried over to Grogu, burying her face in his cloak and refusing to look at you. Grogu hugged her, not contributing at all to your attempt at discipline. With a defeated sigh, you gathered up the soiled pads and tossed them in the incinerator.

“I suppose you’re beating yourself up enough already.” You bent down and stroked her head. Then looked at Grogu. “Go get the cleaner sweetheart. Let’s make sure the floor is nice and clean before daddy gets home.”

He nodded urgently and waddled off, his ever-present white shadow following.

Clan Djarin’s newest edition managed to have multiple accidents throughout the day. No matter how many treats you placed on the pads, no matter how highly you praised and encouraged every time she sniffed them, something about cold metal apparently made it the ideal location for relief. The floor was scrubbed spotless by the time Din returned.

He removed his helmet with narrowed eyes, carbonite chamber still humming with the acquisition of his newest bounty. You appeared from the bunk, all smiles.

“Welcome back dear, how’d it go?”

“Fine...” he answered slowly, eyeing the floor.

You swept yourself into his arms and kissed him, hoping to redirect that concerning gaze. He kissed you back, absently, and you could tell his eyes were open, still fixed on the floor. You put your hands around his neck and kissed him a little harder.

Unfortunately, it only served to make him more suspicious. He pulled away from you with a frown.

“It peed on the floor didn’t it?”

“It’s a she,” you corrected.

“She peed on the floor.”

“I have no idea what you-“

You were spared the completion of your lie by Grogu’s entrance. He waddled to his dad with outstretched arms, smiling. Din bent down to accept him, throwing an uncertain glare at his snow colored companion.

“Hey buddy,” Din said softly as he lifted his kid. Verd’ika pawed at his boot. “Anything exciting happen today?”

Grogu drew his lips in and shook his head. Din glanced between both of you, brows raised in an expression of innocence and wonder. “Really? Nothing at all?”

Two heads shook in confirmation. Din looked down at his feet. “How about you?” He said to Verd’ika, “Anything to confess?”

Verd’ika barked once, front paws sliding forward as her rump lifted in the air, tail whirring. “Is that so?” Din looked to you in mock surprise. “She says she peed on the floor today.”

You gasped and snatched the puppy up, holding her out in front of you with an accusatory glare. “Verd’ika, how could you? Lying to your father that way!” You turned her around in your arms to face Din. “Tell him the truth Verd’ika, tell him what a good girl you’ve been.”

She barked once more, squirming as she craned her neck back to nip at your chin.

“That’s better. See Din?”

Disbelief dripped from his features. Thankfully, instead of pushing the argument, he just rolled his eyes and brushed past you on his way to the cockpit, Grogu still in his arms.

Before he could take another step, Grogu let out a cry of protest, reaching behind him for Verd’ika. Din sighed and turned around, bringing him close enough to scoop the puppy from your arms.

You watched with an unabashed grin as your riduur clambered up the ladder, arms full of squirming dog and child.

Nights on the ship were peaceful.

Rather, the artificially timed darkness designed to preserve some semblance of a circadian rhythm while deep in hyperspace, was peaceful.

Din was a light sleeper, and still not used to extended lengths of inactivity, even with the balance you brought to his life. It wasn’t unusual to find him missing from your bed throughout the night, fiddling with whatever mundane task he picked up in an attempt to quiet his mind.

After waking up for a second time to find him gone, you decided to go looking for him. When the usual tinkering couldn’t do the trick, more often than not your voice could, a few sweet words of encouragement lulling him back into bed.

The cockpit was the first place you checked. He found something soothing in the gentle, repetitive nature of flying the ship, even when it wasn’t necessary. Sometimes it was all he needed to relax enough to allow him to sleep. Other times, he needed you.

You found him there, unsurprisingly. As you crested the ladder you caught sight of his head above the pilots seat, brown locks messy with unsuccessful sleep, shoulders moving with what little effort flying through clear space required.

What did surprise you, was the white ball of fur at his feet, staring up at him.

Din was speaking. Quietly. You stayed on the ladder, tilting your head to hear him better.

“I’m not giving you any,” he grumbled, and with a glance to the side you realized he was talking about the package of jerky pieces he was snacking on. “Quit asking.”

Verd’ika let out a small whine, reaching forward to paw his socked foot. Din looked down at her. “What? I said no.”

She didn’t let up. Her head creeped forward, eyes on Din’s face. Her lips quivered with a barely muted bark.

“Ssh!” He snapped, finger to his lips. “They’re sleeping.”

You covered your mouth to contain the laugh bubbling in your chest. For someone who claimed to not be interested in this dog, he sure was having quite the conversation with her.

“Alright, look, here,” He retrieved a piece of jerky and tossed it in her direction. Verd’ika snatched it right out of the air, swallowing it whole.

“Hey…” Din said, tone just on the edge of impressed. “Good job.”

She licked her lips and tossed her head up. He shook his head. “Now you’re just pushing it.”

She insisted, once again batting at his feet with a string of quiet whines. Din growled and grabbed the package. “Fine, but you’re gonna have to work for it. I don’t suppose they’ve actually been training you, have they?” He held a piece of jerky up above her head. “Sit.”

She cocked her head at him, ears pricked, and slapped her tongue across her jowls. Din sighed.

“Didn’t think so.” He scooted forward in the pilots chair, setting the package aside but still holding a piece in front of her. He reached forward to place his other hand on her back, at the base of her tail. “Look Verd’ika, sit.”

He pushed her rump down to the floor as he said the word, her eyes still glued to the jerky. “Good girl!” He gave her the meat and she scarfed it greedily, immediately standing back up.

“No, you’re not supposed to-“ he started, reaching for another piece. “Alright come here, lets try again…”

With a grin, you turned and headed back down the ladder before he saw you.

You woke up to the sound of Din loudly calling your name.

“Come here! Bring Grogu!”

Your knee-jerk, sleep soaked reaction was panic. Only when he called you again and you heard the laughter in his voice were you able to calm down, slipping out of bed with a groan. You found Grogu in a similar state, groggy eyed as he rolled out of bed at the sound of his father’s voice. You picked him up and headed for the cockpit just as Din called you for a third time.

“We’re coming!” You answered, trying to keep the irritation from your voice.

Your steps were heavy up the ladder as sounds of barking and a few low chuckles reached your ears. In the cockpit, you found Din standing with Verd’ika in front of him, a handful of jerky in his palm as she watched him with rapt attention. He smiled at you as you entered.

“Watch this,” he said excitedly, holding up a treat. Verd’ika stood at attention.

“Sit!”

Immediately, her behind sunk to the floor. Din glanced at you, looked pleased at your impressed smile, then turned back to the puppy.

“Lay.”

Her paws slid the rest of the way down until her belly touched the floor.

“Good girl!” He tossed her the treat, which she inhaled.

“Did you see that buddy?” Din asked his wide-eyed boy. Grogu smiled with a happy sounding gurgle. Din walked over and took him from your arms, Verd’ika barely a step behind. “She’s pretty clever huh?”

You nodded your agreement, watching as Din placed a treat into Grogu’s palm. “You wanna try? Give it to her when-“

The second the meat touched his hand, Grogu tossed it to Verd’ika. Din stuttered half a movement at grabbing it, stopping short as it disappeared into a set of sharp white fangs, gone. He dropped his head before turning to Grogu.

“No buddy, after she listens, ok?”

Two dark eyes stared blankly at him, blinking once. Din held up another treat. “You hold it. I’ll tell her what to do. When she listens, give it to her. Ok?” He hesitantly placed the meat into Grogu’s waiting palm.

This time, he held it. Din nodded and looked to Verd’ika. “Sit.”

She sat. Grogu dropped the meat and it promptly disappeared.

“There you go! Good job buddy!” He bent down to pat the puppy’s head, “Good girl Verd’ika!”

You laughed delightedly and squeezed his shoulder. “Glad you two are finally getting along.”

Din shrugged nonchalantly, not quite meeting your eye. “Well...she’s finally listening.”

“Suuuure,” you droned, reaching down to pick her up. “And I’m sure her being completely adorable has nothing to do with it, right?” You held her out in presentation, and Verd’ika cocked her head as she looked at Din, as though attempting to contribute to your point.

He rolled his eyes and fought a smile, then tugged you forward to place a kiss on your forehead. “Well,” he leaned down to kiss Grogu as well, “I suppose it’s no secret I have a weakness for adorable things.”

The grocery bag was heavier than the last time you slung it over your shoulder.

Your eyes narrowed as you adjusted the strap, immediately knowing who the culprit was. Or rather, culprits.

You turned around in the middle of the dusty market street, eyeing your riduur and son, who stopped short behind you. Any time they came along on shopping trips, they had a habit of ganging up on you, flooding your limited carrying space with useless treats. That’s why you were the only one who got to carry the grocery bag anymore.

At the sight of your glare, Din tilted his helmet in question.

“What did you two sneak in here?” You asked, jostling the strap over your shoulder. Grogu’s mouth dropped and he looked to his father.

“Nothing,” Din said easily.

“Its heavier than it was a few minutes ago.”

“Aww, then I’ll carry it for you cyare,” he reached for the bag but you took a step back.

“No no, I’m simply giving you a chance to come clean before I open it up and find out.”

Din exchanged a look with Grogu, then shrugged at you. You gave them a final warning glare before peering down into the bulging sack at your side. In it, a top your own selections of spices and balanced ration meals, sat two sleeves of cookies and three packages of jerky. You looked back up to see Din peering over, as if he too was curious of the contents.

“Huh.”

“Huh indeed,” you droned, pure sarcasm. “Wonder where those came from.” Din’s helmet rumbled with a low chuckle and you smiled. “That’s a lot of jerky. I don’t think Verd’ika can eat it all.”

“It’s for me,” Din said immediately.

You dropped your head incredulously. “Really? Three packages just for you?”

“Yep.”

“And you’re not gonna give any to her?”

He shrugged. “Well, maybe if she’s good. But it's not for her.”

You made sure he could see every ounce of disbelief on your face before turning and leading the way back home.

He never did admit it. Just as you never admitted to waking up that night and hearing him in the cockpit, voice scarcely above a whisper through the faint sounds of a crinkling bag,

“Verd’ika. Look what I got you.”

Week five of life with a puppy came, and there was hair on your bed. Short, white, unmistakably canine, and only on Din’s side. You stared at it, smirk growing at the same time your eyes narrowed. You called for Din and he poked his head into your quarters.

“What’s this?” You asked sweetly, gesturing to the fur scattered on the sheets.

He peered at it suspiciously. “What’s what?”

“This dog hair. Did you have Verd’ika on our bed?”

“No,” he said quickly. A little too quickly.

You placed your hands on your hips. You didn’t mind if she slept in the bed with you, not at all. But the fact that he was being sneaky about it and clearly trying to hide it, made teasing him simply irresistible. “Really? Then how did it get here? Only on your side?”

He shrugged. “She must have snuck up there at some point.”

“Ah. Well then,” you took a step toward the door, “I suppose I should get on to her.”

“No!” He stopped you with a firm hand on your shoulder. You gave him a look of utter bafflement and he retracted, cheeks flushing pink. “I mean...it’s too late now. You have to catch them in the act. She won’t understand.”

“Ah...I see...” you nodded as though the thought was very wise. “In that case I’ll just keep a better eye on her then.”

He returned your nod, just as serious but no more convincing. “Good. Me too.”

You didn’t.

The hair returned most mornings. No matter how many times you settled Verd’ika next to Grogu in his bed, there was almost always a fresh batch of fur waiting for you. It was always less than that first time, and you recognized the signs of an unsuccessful attempt at brushing it away. The stubborn stragglers were his downfall.

Rather than confront him again, you decided to let it slide. He wasn’t going to come clean any time soon.

After several months of living with a Verd’ika and a Din who insisted his tolerance of her was minimal, he dropped a shocking statement over dinner one night.

“I was thinking I might start some extra training with Verd’ika.”

You froze. Eyebrows raised, fork halfway in your mouth. You lowered it slowly to answer him. “What kind of training?”

Grogu had also perked up at the mention of his pet’s name, long ears pointed in Din’s direction. Below the table, a shuffle of paws told you Verd’ika had heard it too.

Din swallowed a mouthful of soup, then spoke nonchalant as ever, “Thought she may have the potential to be a good guard dog. For when I’m gone. It’d be nice to know there’s someone looking after you two.”

Your grin was determined, but you smothered it down, cheeks aching and pulling. It had taken barely any time for Din to go from “one accident and she’s gone” to, “I would like to leave those I love most in the care of this creature.” The thought was nearly too much for your heart to bear.

“It’s a good idea love, but do you think she’ll be big enough?”

He nodded. “Anooba’s get big. And I don’t buy what that vendor said for a second. He probably just heard me complain that we wouldn’t have room.” As he spoke, he tore off a piece of his bread and slowly lowered it beneath the table. You heard the smacking of lips below, followed by the reappearance of his empty hand.

Grogu, ever the imitator, did the same. A set of four eager paws skittered over your feet on their way to the little green hand holding out bread under the table.

“Keep that up and she’s going to be too fat to guard anything,” you laughed, even as you tore off a piece of your own bread for her.

Din scowled in offense. “Of course not. She’ll just build muscle.” He tilted his head to look under the table. “Isn’t that right Verd’ika?”

A muffled, bread-filled bark answered him in confirmation.

When you were little, you had been certain that a litter of loth cats someone had dropped off outside your home were the most adorable thing you had ever, and would ever, see. Six little bundles of multicolored fur, mewling and crying until you had warmed and fed each one. They held the top spot on your cute rank for years.

Then you met Din. Six foot with his helmet on, covered in armor, who hunted down criminals for a living. He immediately over took the loth kittens in terms of adorable. Next you met your son, and the two had been neck and neck ever since.

But this. This took the cake. Nothing in the universe would ever be cuter. You’d stake your life on it.

Din was on his knees, in the middle of a field on some grass planet you couldn’t remember the name of. His arm was wrapped up in one of his shirts, encouraging a confused Verd’ika to bite him while Grogu stood to the side, treats at the ready. Late afternoon breeze whipped through the fur of all three, white, brown, and sparse.

“Come on sweetheart, just like last time,” Din cooed. “Edeemir!” Bite.

Verd’ika dropped down on her front paws and tossed her butt in the air, tail whipping. Din sighed and shook his head with a smile.

“Your name is little warrior. Act like it.”

He started at her, arm jerking forward in a mock attack. Verd’ika barked in delight and lunged, chomping down on his padded forearm with all the force her little jaws held.

“Good girl!” Din praised loudly. On cue, Grogu stepped forward with a treat. “That’s a clever girl, good job sweetheart!” He petted her back and scratched behind her ears as Grogu babbled his own sounds of praise, stumbling forward to pet his puppy.

You shook your head with a laugh. At this rate, your only worry was that Verd’ika would begin biting people randomly in anticipation of her treat and praise parade.

“Are you sure that’s the best method dear?” You asked.

Din looked up at you with a bright smile, still petting Verd’ika. “Of course.”

“I’m just worried she’s going to start biting and thinking she’ll be rewarded for it.”

He shook his head. “No no, she’s learning to bite on command. She’ll only be rewarded if she does it when told.”

You grimaced uncertainly. “Alright, if you say so…”

They practiced and played until the sun fell low in the sky. With the short attention span of both younglings, it didn’t take long for anything resembling training to fade into games of fetch and chase.

Eventually you found yourself darting through thick grass, Verd’ika at your side. Behind you, Grogu held onto Din’s back as they gave chase, strong arms reaching out as they ran. You laughed and screamed as his fingertips brushed you, pushing harder with a dodge to the left. Verd’ika contributed by running as close to your feet as possible, jumping up to snap your clothes at every opportunity.

Inevitably, he caught you. Your run came to an abrupt halt in his vice like grip, a strong chest at your back as you screamed in the happiest way. Din pulled all three of you onto the grass in a heap of limbs and laughter. Grogu crawled up to Din’s chest, holding his arms out for Verd’ika as she launched into the fray. Din huffed and groaned dramatically as her heavy paws pounded onto his chest.

As your laughter faded into uneven breaths, one of your hands reached up to pet Verd’ika, the other sneaking into Din’s hair. He rolled his head to the side and looked at you, face framed by deep green blades, smile the brightest you’d ever seen it, dimpled cheeks flushed with exertion. Above you, your son clung to his puppy, smiling at his parents.

The sunset warming your body was ice compared to the warmth sprouting from your heart.

You stayed awake a little longer that night, hoping to finally catch visual proof of what you already knew was happening once you drifted off to sleep. After kissing Din goodnight, you turned with your back to him, waiting a few minutes before intentionally letting your breaths deepen and slow.

You expected him to get up, and return with her. Instead you were surprised when, after several long minutes of anticipation, you heard a faint scratch at the door, followed by it sliding open. There were foot taps on metal, then a dip in the mattress. Din murmured a greeting and you covered your mouth with your hand to contain a laugh.

She was trained alright. Like clockwork.

Slowly, hoping to catch him unawares, you turned. In the darkness you could make out Din’s back, a pair of snow white ears perking behind his shoulder.

You reached over carefully until your hand brushed his spine. Din inhaled sharply and stiffened. Caught. With a smile, you closed the distance between you, bringing your chest against him as your hand slipped around his ribcage to pet Verd’ika’s soft head.

“Softie,” you whispered in his ear. You kissed his cheek and felt him smile.

“Me?” He mumbled in a sleep-tainted voice, “Never.”

You grinned and kissed him again just as the door slid open for a second time. You looked up to see Grogu in the threshold, no doubt in search of his missing puppy. With a wave, you beckoned him over.

Din leaned across Verd’ika to lift Grogu on the bed, then rolled to face you, bringing both babies with him. Sheets shuffled as you scooted back to give them room, Grogu settling next to Din as he held onto Verd’ika, her soft back curling against your stomach. Four sets of slow breath filled the air, quiet and content.

Din’s eyes met yours across the pillows, warmth and love etched across the face you adored, his hand traveling back and forth between his son and his dog before finally settling on his riduur.

You both reached across the narrow space that separated you, holding onto each other, your universe safe and sleeping in the warmth of your embrace.

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