#Din Djarin x oc

[beskarandblasters]

Stonecatcher

Chapter Three: Let Me Be Your Stonecatcher Please

Din Djarin x OFC Athalia (Second Person POV)

Artwork: The Lovers by René Magritte Gif: @cherubispunk Series Masterlist | Series Playlist | Din Djarin Masterlist

Series summary: An up-and-coming bounty hunter and a promising arms dealer cross paths on Dantooine. What starts as a business relationship quickly becomes more. How long can you bury your emotions and be a stonecatcher for someone else before you finally snap?

Series warnings: pre season one of The Mandalorian, instant smut but slow burn romantically, Athalia is able-bodied but other than that has no physical description, angst

Chapter summary: While on a supply run to Coruscant, you run into Mando.

Word count: 3.4k

Chapter warnings: anxiety, oral sex (M receiving), vaginal sex, creampie

You’re on your way to Coruscant for a supply run, the first one you’ve ever had to do. This opportunity sort of fell into your lap. One of your new customers, Clint, was buying a blaster from you when he told you he knew a guy in Dantoo Town who was going to Coruscant. The contact in question, Sid, was looking for others to join the trip so long as they chip in on fuel. That agreement seemed fair to you so you said yes. 

You’re leaning against the window of a ship, cheek pressed up to the cool glass, and staring out into the vastness of space. You’ve never left Dantooine, much less ventured out of Casia more than a handful of times, and yet you’re handling space travel better than you anticipated. The chatter among the passengers turns into white noise as you close your eyes, imagining what Coruscant is like. It’ll be weird to be around so many people, so many speeders, and so little nature for once. 

Once you get to Coruscant, you’ll head to the lower levels, a place Sulee warned you about. You’re not sure how she knows so much about them considering that you’re almost certain she’s also never left Dantooine. Yet she has mysterious knowledge and wisdom that you definitely took into consideration for your journey. 

Mind your business. 

Don’t make eye contact with strangers. 

Keep your head low. 

Don’t let anyone walk all over you. 

You’re nervous but also excited. You’re excited to see a new place and for this wonderful business opportunity. 

But you can only think about your future endeavors for so long until your mind eventually wanders… 

Mando. 

It’s been another few weeks since you’ve seen him. You wonder what he’s doing. Probably off chasing another bounty. 

You didn’t expect to see him after the first time you crossed paths. And yet you did. That has to mean something. It’s unfortunately all you’ve been able to think about. You told Sheva about the event that led you to miss the party at the cantina. But you’ve neglected to tell Sulee, assuming that in her old-fashioned ways, she’ll tell you that casual sex is a bad idea. Even though you think it’s already growing deeper, that a meaningful connection is already being forged. But all this begs the question;

When will you see him again? 

You’ll get your answer soon enough. 

-

Sid lands the ship in a docking yard while you stare out the window. Neon lights flash in your face and heavy raindrops pelt the windows. He reminds everyone that the ship will be leaving by mid-morning the next day, before disembarking. You’re doing this supply run alone. So you’ll have to meet the supplier, pay them, and carry everything back to the ship on multiple trips. 

“Do you know where you’re going?” Sid asks as you head down to the lower levels. He must be going there, too.

You look over at him, watching as he shivers in the rain and noticing how the wet strands of hair stick to his forehead. He’s a human male, a couple of inches taller than you, with dark skin and warm eyes. His hair sits at his shoulders and goosebumps prick his skin where it’s exposed. You’ve only met him once before coming here but so far he’s proven to be a valuable contact and also a good friend.

“I do.”

“Do you need me to show you where to go? You know the password?”

“You did enough by getting me here. I’ll be fine.”

“I’ll hang around the area if you need me. Chances are I’ll be in a cantina.”

“Sounds good,” you chuckle, bidding him goodbye before you head to the meet-up spot. 

You’ve heard rumors of a sort of flea market for arms in the lower levels. Sid seemed to validate that it does indeed exist. He said it’s on Centurion Street, inside of a clinic. You have to approach the front desk and say the phrase, “I need a central processor for my Protocol Droid.”

You’re not nervous. You’ve got Sulee’s advice repeating in the back of your mind and a blaster attached to your belt. If you want to break into this industry, you need to know how to navigate it and how to interact with the clientele, plus all of the other shifty characters that come with territory. 

You wander the streets before locating the correct street. It’s slightly less busy on Centurion Street but still just as shady. Your hand hovers above your blaster and you pray to the Maker you won’t need it. Soon you find the clinic and it definitely looks fake. You head inside and get a brief refuge from the rain. You’re the only one in the lobby and the overhead fluorescent light is somehow worse than the neon sign. Everything is absurdly clean, a harsh contrast to the neighborhood the clinic is in. You approach the front desk where the receptionist is sitting and tell her the code, half expecting her to laugh in your face. She gives you a knowing look and gets up to let you in. You follow her behind the desk and into an open doorway. And it’s a little underwhelming. For some reason, you were picturing a large secret market place but it’s just a guy in a back room with an absurd amount of weapons. 

“Who sent you?” the man asks.

“Sid Clemon.”

“He didn’t come with you?”

“Nah, he decided to hit up a cantina.”

“Typical. Tell him don’t be a stranger,” he says before turning around to comb through his stock. 

“What are you looking for?” he asks.

“Anything and everything.”

You buy a decent chunk of his stock, mainly different types of blasters and a few thermal detonators. It takes you a couple of trips to get it all back to Sid’s ship. The man who sold them to you (whose name you didn’t get) didn’t offer to help you but you didn’t expect him to either. He did help you load all the product into large gray bags, telling you “Can’t be out there on the street with all of this out in the open. Can’t be showing your cards to just anyone.”

After the last trip, you head back down to the street, deciding to look for Sid in random cantinas and find out what to do next until you leave. Are you expected to sleep on the ship in the docking yard? Or are you supposed to find a random motel to stay at? 

The rain has let up but everything is still rather wet, including your clothes. And now that the rain has gone away the street is even more crowded. You scan your surroundings, looking for a sign for a cantina. But you find something else instead. 

There he is, standing in the busy street. Not Sid– Mando. Although you can’t see his face, you can tell by his body language that he’s overwhelmed. His helmet swivels in all directions, trying to keep an eye on every person around him. But it’s hard when the streets are packed with people shoulder-to-shoulder. 

He still hasn’t noticed you yet. Instead of bursting through the crowd to head towards him, you wait. You wait for him to notice you. And when he does you can’t ignore the butterflies in your stomach. For some reason, it excites you to see him at a place other than Dantooine. 

“What are you doing here?” he asks, placing a hand on the small of your back and guiding you off to the side.

“Supply run.”

“It’s not safe here.”

“I can hold my own, you know,” you say, tapping the blaster attached to your belt.

“Do you… need help?”

‘What do you mean?”

“Carrying stuff back to your ship.”

“Oh! I already finished, but thanks for the offer.”

“What are you doing now?”

“Killing time. We’re not leaving until tomorrow morning.”

“Who are you here with?”

“Just some guys from Dantoo Town.”

“Are they going to miss you for a few hours?”

“No… Why?”

He points to something behind your head so you turn to follow his gaze. Across the street is a neon sign for a motel that looks abysmal at best. Is he suggesting that you get a room together?

“Are you asking me to”

“Yes,” he says abruptly, replacing the hand on the small of your back and walking you towards the motel.

“Are we splitting it?” you ask.

“I’ll take care of it.”

He’s taking you to a motel. He’s paying for it. Stay calm. Stay calm.

It all happens so fast. He books a room and pays for it with a hefty handful of credits, leading you down the hallway. Once you’re in the room, he lets go of you, collapsing onto the bed.

“Are you… alright?” you ask, walking over to the side of the bed as the door closes behind you. 

“I’m fine. I just don’t like this planet,” he says softly.

“Why?”

“Too many people.”

“Do they make you anxious?”

“...No.”

“It’s normal to get anxious, Mando.”

“Not for me.”

Poor guy. From what you’ve seen of him so far he doesn’t seem to be in touch with his emotions, which is why he’s rejecting his own anxiety. 

“Can I help?”

“How?”

“You’ll see,” you say, moving to the foot of the bed. 

The bulge in his flight suit catches your eye. He needs to be taken care of. You sink to the floor and motion for him to inch closer to you. He obliges, boots planted on the floor on either side of you. You palm his cock, hearing him groan while you touch him so delicately. 

“You need to relax,” you tell him softly, increasing the pressure of your hand, “You’re so tense… Have you ever had anyone take care of you before?”

“...Not like this,” he says, poking up his helmet and looking at you.

“Lie back down,” you say gently, placing a hand on his breastplate and coaxing him to lie on his back again.

You remove his cock from his flight suit, watching it spring free from the confines of the fabric. You wrap your hand around the base, watching the pre-cum bead up at the tip of his cock before spilling over and running down his shaft. As you stroke him you watch the stress and exhaustion leave his body. He practically melts into the bed and it makes you feel good that you are the person to take care of him like this. Surely, he’s gotten head before, but probably not by someone who cares about him like this. You’re just assuming but you gather he’s not one for long-term relationships. It makes sense given his line of work but maybe he’s changing his ways. Why else would he cross the galaxy for you? He could’ve purchased that blaster anywhere. Maybe he’s developing feelings for you, too. Maybe he’s just not showing it. 

You enclose your lips around the head of his cock while your hand continues to stroke him. Your other hand cups his balls, eliciting a deep moan from him. 

“Feeling good?” you ask, pulling your mouth away for a moment.

“Mhm,” he moans, voice all strained and dripping with arousal. 

You return your mouth to his cock and suck in your cheeks, watching as his hands grip the sheets at his sides. Your tongue slips in between the head of his cock and his foreskin, swirling around the sensitive tip. Saliva seeps out of your mouth and coats his shaft, making everything that much more effortless. 

He melts into the bed as you bring him closer to the edge. But you’re not done with him just yet. You rise from the floor much to his dismay until he realizes what you’re doing. You peel off your wet clothes, nipples perking up in the cool air of the motel room. Goosebumps prick your skin and a shiver runs down your spine. He’s so attractive lying there on the bed, broad and spread out with his cock dripping in pre-cum. For once you’ll get to be face-to-face (well really face-to-helmet) when you fuck. The arousal drips down your legs as you get onto the bed, straddling him with your entrance grazing the head of his cock. 

He doesn’t protest you straddling him. He embraces it instead, hands gravitating to your waist. You lower yourself onto his cock, slowly taking all of his length. He groans, reveling in the feeling of your warmth encapsulating his cock. 

“Kriff, you feel good,” he says, squeezing your waist. 

You rock your hips back and forth, feeling his cock sink into you deeper. You rest your hands on his breastplate, staring directly into the visor of his helmet. You lean forward, bringing your face closer to the black T shape. 

“You’re so big, Mando,” you moan, voice getting high pitched on the last word as his cock hits a sensitive spot. 

“Mmm, you take it so well, ruusaan,” he says, voice sultry and silky smooth. 

Ruusaan. What does that mean?

You don’t have time to think about it as he jerks his hips up into you. You’re getting closer and closer to coming, and tingling sensations run throughout your body. Your fingers grip the edge of his breastplate, clinging for purchase as you rock your hips back and forth even faster. He’s getting closer, too, strained moans come out from underneath the helmet. 

Your orgasm erupts from your core and your sounds of pleasure fill the small motel room. His orgasm is triggered by the sensation of yours, spilling over the edge thanks to your cunt clenching his cock. He guides the movement of your hips as you both cum, feeling you squirm and writhe while you ride out your high. 

Once you’re done coming you pull yourself off of him, collapsing onto the bed beside him. You catch a glance of your wet clothes on the floor and get up to set them on the heater, wondering what’s next for you two. Normally, he leaves. 

This time he doesn’t. Instead, his chest heaves up and down. You just want to take care of him again. 

“Mando?” you ask, turning to face the bed. He doesn’t sit up. He remains where he is, his chest rising and falling as he tries to control his breath. 

You glance at the chair at the desk across the room and walk over to it, pulling it out for him before reaching for his hand. 

“Come sit.”

Reluctantly, he gets up from the bed and sits on the chair. His hands grip the armrests for dear life as if this is his way of releasing the stress. You stand behind the chair and ghost your hands over his shoulder pauldrons.

“Can I take these off?” you ask. 

“Why?”

“To massage your shoulders?”

“Oh… Go ahead,” he says stiffly. 

You remove each pauldron and place them on the desk, bringing your hands to his sore muscles. He’s as stiff as a board as you touch him and you have to gently remind him to relax. 

“Relax,” you whisper beside his helmet. 

You rub his shoulders like you’re absorbing his stress and anxiety. He slumps into the chair, helmet thrown back. You imagine his eyes are closed underneath. 

Is this what peace looks like?

-

He falls asleep on the chair. You let him. It seems like he really needed the rest. Your clothes dry in the meantime and you get stressed again. It’s the middle of the night and you’re not sure what you’re supposed to do until it’s time to go. Maybe you’ll sleep in the bed? And secretly hope he’ll wake up and join you. 

That’s a reality you’ll only see in your dreams, though.

-

When you wake up you’re greeted by darkness. He must’ve turned the lights off. You feel around for him in the bed but he’s not there. Perhaps he’s still sleeping in the chair? Maybe he didn’t want to encroach on your space in the bed. 

You reach for the lamp on the nightstand which illuminates an empty room. You’re alone. Sadness builds in your gut. He just… left you. 

But not without a word. There’s a note on the nightstand. It reads; 

Thanks for the massage. Catch you back in Casia.  

At least he left a note. 

You do one final look over of the room before leaving, grabbing his note and putting it in your bag. You set out into the early morning and wonder where Mando is now. You’re one of the first people to arrive back at Sid’s ship, waiting around in the stillness of a quiet Coruscant for once, before the planet wakes up. But eventually, you’re joined by the others. 

“Jeez Athalia, did you stay up all night?” Sid asks, laughing at your disheveled state. 

“Something like that,” you sigh.

“You could’ve stayed in the ship,” he points out, lowering the exit ramp. 

“I don’t wanna talk about it,” you say, slumping into the same passenger seat you sat in on the way here. 

The other passengers talk amongst themselves as you lean against the cool window of the ship. Sid takes off and before you can fall asleep you think about what he called you. 

Ruusaan.

You’ll have to ask him what that means next time you see him. 

There is one thing that’s certain- you have a lot you need to tell Sheva about. 

-

Once you’re settled back in Casia with all of your purchases put away, you head to the cantina to tell Sheva about your trip. 

She places her hand over her heart when she sees you, letting out a sigh of relief.

“You look like you just saw a ghost,” you say, chuckling as you sit down at the bar.

“To be honest I wasn’t sure if you’d ever come back.”

“What do you mean?!”

“Come on, the lower levels are sketchy.”

“Well, I survived.”

“Congrats.”

“Anyway… I have something I have to tell you.”

“Spill,” she says, leaning on the countertop.

“I saw Mando again.”

“On Coruscant?!”

“Mhm.”

“Like you just happened to run into him?”

“Yup. On the street.”

“And how did that go?”

“We spent the night at a motel together.”

“Wow, things seem like they’re getting serious.”

You bite your lip and grimace. If only that were true. 

“What’s wrong?” she asks. 

“Well… he left in the middle of the night.”

“He what?!” 

“I mean he left a note!”

“But still… Girl, that’s suspicious.”

“I don’t think so. I think he just has an issue with commitment.”

“Do you have the note?” 

You reach for your bag and pull out the folded-up piece of paper from the motel, handing it to her as she looks at it with a raised eyebrow. 

“ ‘Thanks for the massage. Catch you back in Casia’… Girl, what is this?”

“I found him on the street. He took me to a motel where we had sex and then I rubbed his shoulders after. He seemed stressed,” you shrug. 

“Exactly! He’s using you.”

“What?? No, he’s not.”

“He buys your products, has sex, and then leaves every single time. Except this time your “product” was in the form of a massage.”

“…You don’t think he’s feeling anything for me?” you ask, starting to feel doubtful. 

She sighs and pinches the bridge of her nose.  “I’m not saying he doesn’t… I’m just telling you to be careful.”

“Thanks…” you say, getting up from your stool, “I’ll be careful. I promise” 

“Are you mad at me?”

“No!” you half-lie, “I’m just tired from the trip.”

“I get it… Just think about what I said, okay?”

“I will,” you tell her, smiling at her before turning and leaving. The evening rush is just starting to make its way to the cantina. You’re tired from the trip but you also need to think about what Sheva said. 

You don’t think he’s using you but also… so what if he is? You can take it until he fully realizes his feelings. 

At least that’s what you tell yourself. 

Fic notifs: @beskarandblastersfics

Tag list: @wannab-urs @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @freelancearsonist @djarins-cyare @survivingandenduring @littlegrungegirlaf @pamasaur @chiyo13 @pedrostories @schnarfer @burntheedges

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[livingemkayde]

strange

din djarin x f!reader | 3.1k

↳ warnings: this is rated for 18+ only! minors, please do not interact. smut, unprotected pinv, fingering f!recieving, mentions of oral m!recieving, fluff, no use of y/n. let me know if i forgot anything.

↳ a /n: hey everyone. taking a small break from my joel miller fics and coming back to my roots with this one. just needed a break and this was a super fun one shot to write. gonna post the final chapter to chaser really soon. thanks for all the support!! i love you all smsm.

if you would like to read more of mine: masterlist!

“Say it.”  You started breathing heavy. And you knew, when he tugged you around to look down at you, a hand coming to grasp your shoulder, the part where it meets your neck. You knew what he wanted, and you bit the bullet. “Teach me.”

It's honestly quite strange, if you really think about it—which oftentimes, you try not to. 

You wait for him, and he always comes back. Always. Maybe this was the dreaded exception that will turn his perfect ten times out of ten he always comes back, to nine times out of ten he always comes back. 

You sit there, in the hull, with the kid. Approaching the three week mark since your warrior left. 

You remember seeing him out of the Crest, several feet from where you sit now. 

“Be good,” he whispered to the little one, and placed him in your arms. 

“And be safe,” he said to you, almost in a stern voice, his hands brushing yours when he passed the child to your arms. 

“Be smart,” he emphasized, a little too serious for your liking. 

Be smart, above all else. You knew what it meant. Don’t be a hero, use your better judgment. He always does that. 

Be good… be safe…be smart. 

Then he always pats your waist, feeling the blaster’s outline through the fabric of your dress. And he always gives you a curt nod, and rubs a leather thumb over your hip. A small touch, in passing. Maybe most people wouldn’t even think twice about it. But you do. It’s the only thing getting you through sleepless nights. 

It is strange. You finally decide in your head. 

The small agreement between you two. 

The Crest is mostly quiet.

Besides when the fresher makes that gurgling sound, or the exhaust sends a violent huff of air through the hull, or when the small moans coming from your own mouth split through the silence. 

You guys don’t, under any circumstances, speak about it. 

You wouldn’t even know what to say, honestly. 

You remember the first time, when you had gotten a little too brave with your words and he was getting a little too comfortable around you.

“Teach me how,” you said. The hull was dark but not pitch black and the kid was locked in his pram in the cockpit. 

“You don’t know how to shoot a blaster?”

“No.” you reached over, grabbing his own from the crate between you. You held it up to the dim light and examined the markings. The rough edge of gunpowder. The shiny bits where his fingers lie. 

“Teach me,” you said again, pointing the blaster at an imaginary person to the left of him.

“You’re drunk,” he remarked. His gruff tone made your thighs shift closer together. 

“‘M not drunk,” you bit back. He shuffled in his crate until he was more comfortable. 

“You don’t know how to hold your liquor,” he pointed out. Resting his elbows on his thighs. You looked at him in the dark light. The yellow of the small bulb turned his helmet golden. 

You weren’t drunk. It was the truth. The spotchka only made your tongue loose, not your mind. 

“And I don’t know how to shoot a blaster,” you said, “what if someone broke in, and I needed to—”

“Don’t,” he said. Not mad, only scared of the possibility. You only know that now.

You stayed quiet, and continued to feel the weight of his weapon in your hand. He contemplated for a little, weighing the options in his mind, tossing the idea around inside the helmet. 

“What the hell,” he surrendered, standing and motioning towards the hull’s entrance, “C’mon.” 

You had followed him quickly, finding your place next to him on desert sands. 

“Hold it—” he said, pushing the blaster into your hands and raising your arms to the perfect distance, “—there.”

He stood behind you. You felt the cold bite of beskar brush against your back. Your breath hitched, so did his. 

“Don’t put your index finger on the trigger unless you want to shoot,” he said, moving your finger from the small flexed piece of metal and to the side of the blaster. 

“But I do want to shoot,” you said, tossing him a look over your shoulder. He grovels behind you. 

“Until the very second you want to shoot,” he muttered. “Got it?” 

“Yeah,” you said, looking at the weapon, almost transfixed by the way his hand holds yours. 

He reached down your body, by your waist, and touched you there, ever so gently. Your tense muscles made him hesitate. 

“‘S’okay,” you whispered, worried that if you said anything more it would scare him off forever. 

He didn’t say anything, just adjusted the angle of your hips and shifted the weight of your body. To your backfoot. 

“There,” he said, when he finally got you into the position he deemed fit. 

“Are you sure this thing’s not going to kick back and rip my arm off?” you whispered into the night sky. 

“It will—kick back. It was made for me, you’re too small. But I’ll—” he hesitated again. “I’ll hold you. If that’s okay.”

You couldn’t bring yourself to speak, just nod. So he held you, wrapped his arm around your waist, and you tensed up all the same. And his breath picked up behind you. 

You shot, and missed the scrap by a few feet, the plasma went down into the sandy ground and burned a hole there. 

“Dammit,” you mumbled. He didn’t let go. 

“Try again,” he said, touching you again, touching you more, and wringing your arms back up to firing position. 

“Farming was easier,” you joked, thinking about your previous job. 

“I’m sure it was,” he quips back, “Relax.” 

You tried, you really did. But he could feel that you couldn’t relax. Your tense muscles were taut under the leather of his gloves. 

“Sorry,” you whispered, maybe it was the spotchka talking this time, or maybe you really were sorry but you let it slip into the dark, humid air—

“No one’s ever…” 

No one’s ever touched you. Not like that. You wanted to say. 

He stayed quiet for a bit, not moving your body to the perfect position or teasing you. You remember feeling sick. 

But then he surprised you, and it was like breathing in fresh air for the first time after months of hyperspace. 

“Really?” he asked behind you, into your ear. Your eyebrows staggered and a line of elevens appeared between them. 

“Yeah,” you said, in a breathless kind of way. “Guess I never really got around to learning that one,” you tried to tease but he remained so quiet, so still, you had to push out a forced laugh. 

“Do you want to learn?” he said. Almost like he was not even really offering but just inquiring. 

But that little part of his voice, maybe, under all the modulation, told you otherwise. And you knew this wasn’t the spotchka talking. You were fighting a losing battle because that was all you, and months of pining after a faceless man who smells like pinewood, and gets your favorite snacks from the market, and makes you caf in the mornings—

“Yes,” you breathed out. 

A pregnant, tense, silence enveloped you. He was still behind you, and he still had his arm wrapped around you. Even when the arm holding the blaster dropped, he still had his arm there, holding your waist, and slowly dragging the heaviness of his hand down, down, downward. 

“Say it.” 

You started breathing heavy.

And you knew, when he tugged you around to look down at you, a hand coming to grasp your shoulder, the part where it meets your neck.

You knew what he wanted, and you bit the bullet.

“Teach me.”

So you guys don’t ever talk about it. 

In fact, you don’t really talk at all. Your invitation meant he showed you—taught you—in silent actions. He doesn’t talk when you fuck. The only sounds filling the silence are your desperate moans and the occasional whimper when he’s being particularly withholding. 

He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t really make a sound. You’d be lying if the quiet, if the mask of him paired with his warmth didn’t make you dizzy, didn’t make you unravel in his hands. 

Because it did. 

But sometimes you’d wish he would say something, anything. Break the silence. Break up your wanton moans and just give you anything to work with. But you presume he doesn’t really do this often, and having him like that is better than having nothing at all. 

You shut the closure and push away the bassinet when you hear a clang! from outside the hull. 

You find your blaster under the fabric of your dress. You’ve never had to do this before. And you’re honestly scared. That night you begged him to teach you how to shoot, it was a secret hidden plea, maybe even flirting. You never thought you’d be the only thing separating the kid from possible danger. 

“C’mon, Mando,” you whisper to no one in particular. Maybe the maker. 

And then, suddenly, the ramp to the hull lowers and you raise the blaster, just like he taught you. 

The business end comes face to face with a shiny helmet and you let out a sigh of relief, dropping it to your side. 

His head cocks to the side like he’s saying, really?

You just stand, breathless, and push the kid’s pram up into the cockpit so Mando can get the bounty in safely. 

He’s dragging it behind him, deadweight and you gulp back an anxious breath. 

When he’s done, he turns to you. Looking at the blaster in your hands. 

His head tips again—really…?

“Yes, okay?” you say, throwing your hands up, shoving the blaster into his chest. It lands there with a small thunk!

“Three weeks, Mando. You were gone almost a month. I thought— I —,” you say, running your hands through your hair. 

“He knew how to hide,” is all he says, and that makes you laugh. The possibility of it all, the what if, leaving your body with a tense laughter at his sorry excuse of a joke. 

He grabs you then, suddenly, pulling you towards his chest. You know the routine. You both miss each other after longer hunts, even if you never say anything about it. Never say anything at all in fact. 

Din’s grabbing at your shirt, moving it up. And grabbing at your pants, moving them down. You pull at his chestplate, and his pauldrons, anything you can find. But he’s desperate. Way too desperate. This time, things feel different. 

You moan when his now ungloved fingers find wet cotton. He pulls them down too. 

He holds you, forcing you to look up at him while his calloused fingers find your swollen clit. You jump, yelp, whimper. He stays stoic. Though, this time, you can hear his heavy breathing. 

You both find the bunk, somehow. And instead of flipping you over, so you’re on your stomach, taking it like that and pushing your head down into the mattress, he leaves you on your back. You question him silently with your eyes but he doesn’t say anything—like always.

He just cups you again, feeling the growing wetness there, almost pushing a finger in, inching to the first knuckle but then he backs away and you whine. 

But he reaches down, pulls himself out of his pants and spreads your slick all over the velvety softness of his own length. It makes you gasp. 

You spread your legs for him, subconsciously. The red tip of his head looks at you menacingly. He’s big. He’s always been big, but you’re not afforded to look at his length often unless you go down on him, which is rare. 

Din climbs over you, a warm hand comes to grasp your tit and you swallow breathless moans in the back of your throat. His helmet shines golden, like all those nights before. The first night. Where he taught you that a man surrounded by beskar can be so soft, maybe even loving. 

When you start squirming, he notches his tip at your entrance, you freeze waiting for him to sink in, but he holds you there. You just whine in response. 

You grab at him, desperate. Pulling him in. To your surprise, he obliges. He sinks in, almost all the way, until you clench around him so tight he freezes. Your gasp at air. It feels like your brain is foggy and all you can see behind your blinking vision is his black visor. 

He sinks in more, you clench around him more. Three weeks is the longest you’ve gone without having him since the first night all those months ago. 

He stays there, while you try to relax around him. Just breathing under the modulation. You can hear him more clearly now, face to face. 

You have never fucked Din like this. 

Not face to face. Not with him waiting for you, not with such a tight fit. Aside from that fateful first time. 

You clench around him again. You moan again, into his space, into the small, tight, crampedness of the bunk. 

“Shit.”

You freeze. You don’t look into his visor, not right away. You lay there, frozen, with his hard cock notched halfway inside you. 

His hands tighten on your waist and you both wait there, with shallow panting breath. 

When you look up at him, he’s motionless. You might be worried that he’s turned to stone. But you plead him with your eyes—whatever you want to do, talk more, fuck me harder, stop right now and never speak of it, just — do it. 

And for a split second, it does cross your mind that he might pull out or maybe even kick you out. But that little part deep down inside you likes to think it might be different this time. That he really might utter another forbidden word or fuck you harder. 

The thought makes you clench around him again. 

To your surprise he moans a little. Something small, barely there. Almost like a — ngh from deep under modulation. But you hear it. And the sick part of you clenches around him again just to draw out something more. 

“Relax,” he huffs. It almost sounds loud, despite his whispering. But you know that’s just because he’s never done this. Never spoken when so close to you. Never spoken while he’s inside you.

You don’t even register the content of his words, just the sound of him making you tense up again. 

“Fuck,” he breathes, his helmet comes down to rest beside your head. He stays there, folded over your body. You’re still so tense it almost hurts. 

“Sorry,” you whisper out. Your voice is hoarse from lack of use the past couple of weeks combined with your panting breath. You don’t really know what else to say. 

He moves suddenly, bringing his hand down between your bodies and touches your inner thigh, inching up towards where his coarse hair almost meets your swollen clit. 

“I said relax,” he mumbles, his thumb touching your clit ever so slightly. Your hips buck and he pushes them down again. 

“Sorry,” you repeat. He just hums.

You don’t really know what to do. This is different. This is new. You wait for him to set the pace. Establish the rules. 

He starts circling your clit, he rubs through your lips to find wetness there. You try to relax into the mattress and as you do, he inches further into you. Breaking you open, splitting you in two. 

“C’mon,” he groans when you let him sink further, “Open up for me, baby,”

It eggs you on. He’s never done this, let alone call you anything besides your name. It sends a shooting pleasure to the point he keeps rubbing under his thumb and he can feel it. How you get impossibly wet and open around him until he finally sinks in to the hilt. 

“Fuck, Din,” you moan out, when he starts thursting. 

He’s groaning. You can hear it, under his breath. You feel lightheaded almost, though, it’s good to know being apart affects him in the same way. Makes him as desperate as you feel. 

You’re close then, his sounds inching you towards that white light dancing across your vision. You clench around him and he moans again. 

“You close?” he says, almost experimentally. You can barely get out your strangled yes. 

“I —” you want to say, but he’s picking up the pace, chasing after his own release. 

I missed you. You think to yourself. But maybe that’s too much, too soon. 

“What? Pretty girl — what…” he cuts himself off with a groan. Like he doesn’t know how to control his speech, his breathing. Himself. Not like this. Not when everything is new and so fucking good. 

“I mi—” you can’t say it with your staggered breathing. He’s brushing up against that spot that drives you crazy. You both know it. 

You come, without saying it. Your vision goes white and dark at the same time. A sheen of sweat covers your body. You don’t know what to do with your arms, becoming slightly limp. It sounds like he can’t hold on much longer when you get tighter around him, it spurs him on and you know he’s not far behind. 

He’s mumbling something in your ear. You really can’t hear it under the helmet. You turn your head, 

“Hm?” you mumble, he groans again. 

“Missed — ngh — missed you. Sweet girl,” he says, then he comes, hot and thick, notching himself into you, anchoring himself to you forever. 

You moan through it, so does he. 

He collapses down next to you, you can feel the remnants of him leaking out between your sticky thighs. 

You try to unscramble your thoughts. Din hasn’t come back new. Just unlocking a part of him that you’ve never seen. Or, that he’s never let himself show. 

He does something else new, something you’ve never seen him do, let alone do with anyone else. It makes your heart beat so fast you’re worried he might feel it through the armor. 

You gasp, when you hear the quiet hiss of his helmet unlock but he cuts you off when he pushes the lip of the mask up just enough so he can kiss you. 

_

[drewharrisonwriter]

Din Djarin and Grogu at a rock concert

I just saw this on Facebook today and I can't stop laughing!!! Someone please write a comedy fic about this 🤣

[dindjarindiaries]

DIN DJARIN ONE-SHOTS

Each story below focuses on Din Djarin, with pairings for each story indicated along with summaries.

Stories marked with an asterisk (*) contain sexual, though not explicit/graphic, content.

My ratings are as follows: G (all ages), T (13+), M (18+)

Last updated: March 17, 2024

main masterlist • series • drabbles • prompts

the “heat” of the moment • reader The heat goes out on the Razor Crest and you’re the only one with an electric blanket to keep yourself warm.

my cyar’ika • fem!reader You and Din find yourselves in a marketplace lush with life, and you lose yourself in the fun while Din tries to keep you safe throughout it.

just fine • reader Din comforts you after you suffer through a tumultuous nightmare.

everything i wanted • reader You’re trapped inside a Din x Omera love triangle, struggling to get to your lover who’s entranced with your new host.

riduurok • reader This is the story of how you fall in love with the Mandalorian bounty hunter, Din Djarin.

home • reader After the child is reunited with his people, Din takes you to a place that’s unfamiliar to you but all too familiar to him: his home.

when stars align• reader You spend an affectionate morning awakening beside your Mandalorian, who you have just recently married.

more than words* • reader On the evening of your marriage, you and Din show your deep love for each other in a manner that goes beyond words.

the challenge • reader After winning a drinking challenge, Din returns to the Crest much later than expected in a state of mind much different than usual, leaving you to deal with him and whatever words spill from his mouth.

don’t blame me• reader In the weeks following your marriage, you and Din are desperate to make up for all the physical affection you’ve missed out on—leading you to do whatever you can wherever you can.

said and done • reader With Din being injured from a past fight, you’re the one in charge of the hunts for now—and Din realizes he likes having you in control.

behave* • reader After a grueling hunt, you and Din celebrate your success at a local cantina, both ending up with a little too much that leads you to do things that are a little too risky.

nothing so perfect • fem!reader You and Din think that you’re adding on to your family, only to learn there’s been a mistake—and now you’re both left to cope with the loss you never expected.

next to you • reader It’s been long enough since Din’s promised return for you to assume that he didn’t make it, and now you yearn for the life that could’ve been.

forever and always • reader When you and Din finally find the child’s home, it’s time to say goodbye—but then Din realizes he can’t.

reverence • fem!reader Following the birth of your daughter, Din spends a night marveling at the little life and the way you provide for her.

transmissions • reader When Din’s away on a long job, he gives you a holotransceiver and sends you transmissions to keep you both at ease.

purpose • fem!reader As the daughter of an Imperial senator, the Mandalorian’s hired as your bodyguard—but with the twisted ideals of your father putting you at risk, he becomes so much more than that.

irrevocable • reader After a hunt goes wrong and Din gets captured, you go after him and save him, but you find that they’ve removed his helmet and have done him personal damage that will last for much longer.

mine* • fem!reader With tensions rising not only in the galaxy but also in your relationship, Din proves to you in a new way that he’ll take care of you.

never alone • fem!reader In the aftermath of a bad nightmare, Din receives comfort from an unexpected source: his daughter.

tresses • reader When Din’s hair becomes the object of your and the baby’s affections, he decides it’s time for a trim—although he’s hesitant for a reason you must discover.

enervation • reader Din returns home from his new job as exhausted as ever, begging you to join him in sleep—and trying to make it happen at all costs.

take care • reader After Din sustains an injury on a job, you have to help him take care of himself—something he grows more and more fond of.

affliction • fem!reader When you and Din get recognized at an Imperial gala, you’re both taken into custody, where they begin to use Din to get you to talk—and lead you to do something completely unexpected.

take it off* • reader Your new ally extends his hospitality a little too far—and now Din’s determined to remind you of what he alone can provide you with.

cozy in the cockpit • reader After the Crest suffers through an intense chase and crash, you and Din must figure out how to survive on a freezing planet—your low odds causing your mutual feelings to come to the surface.

beneath the surface • reader You and Din get double-crossed when trying to find other Mandalorians, putting all three of you in deep waters.

touch it softly • reader When you invite Din to play with your hair, you both get a little more than lost in the moment.

alleviation • reader You continue helping Din recover from the traumatizing removal of his helmet, trying to make him understand that it’s okay to not be okay. (part two of Irrevocable)

the right thing • reader Din returns to you on Nevarro after the mission on Moff Gideon’s cruiser—without the child.

ni ceta par gar (i kneel for you)* • reader When Mando needs emotional release, you seek to fulfill your pining by offering something neither one of you can resist—something that could change everything.

in my head • reader The thought of Din plagues your mind—and it won’t be long until it’s forced onto your lips.

hold me in hyperspace • reader After a long hunt, you think Mando just wants some rest—but really, he just wants you.

ner yaim (my home) • reader After a day of work, you get to come home to Din, who’s fitting into his new role well.

mureyca (kiss) • reader The story of the different ways in which you share a kiss with the Mandalorian.

torrent • reader When one of Din’s worst fears is revealed, you’re left to do whatever you can to put him at ease.

bloom • reader With your relationship now in full blossom, a flustered Din takes you on your first date, where he does everything he can to tell you how you make him feel.

before i go • reader Imperial occupation of your covert as well as your mind lead to a devastating confrontation between you and your past Mandalorian lover.

favorite crime • reader When your ex-partner-in-crime and past lover enters your life again, you find yourself looking back on fond memories with a tremendous desire to chase them again.

solace • reader Din reassures you when your perfectionist tendencies catch up to you.

intemperate • reader Mando’s indulgence in liquid courage leads him to say things you never thought you’d hear—and will never forget.

scars • reader When Din shows unprecedented hatred for his battle-worn body, it’s up to you to reassure him of everything you love about it.

seeking serenity • reader Mando, overcome with anxiety in the aftermath of a risky event, needs you to bring him back to reality—and asks for much more along the way.

liberation • reader You lead a mission to free Din from an Imperial hideout, only to discover that he’s in need of you much more than you originally thought.

contrition • reader Din comforts you after you do something drastic to save his life.

bring me home • reader You reunite with your Mandalorian lover after a long separation and realize much has changed since you last him.

safety net • deaf!reader When you and Din are reunited after a hunt that goes longer than expected, your mutual feelings for each other finally bubble to the surface—regardless of the fears you’ve both buried deep within.

selfish • reader Din, who’s helplessly in love with you, is forced to watch you and your partner until he’s forced to come to terms with his feelings.

united we fall • reader Din’s unable to control the Darksaber and accidentally hurts you with it, leaving behind a deep scar on your body and his mind.

of bounties and bartenders • fem!reader The mysterious Din “Brown Eyes” Djarin returns to visit you after a job, but trouble is the last thing he’s left behind.

astronomy • reader Crossing paths with a seriously injured Din forces the two of you to come to terms with your relationship.

stardust • reader You finally reunite with your Mandalorian lover, just to learn a devastating truth.

fine line • reader Din tries his best to comfort you in the aftermath of your torturous capture.

scarlet promise • reader Vengeance consumes you when Din’s put at risk, causing him to have to pull you back to reality.

what sits in the silence • reader Your bounty-hunting rival turns to you in his time of need and brings along more baggage than you planned on handling.

when a house becomes a home • reader A new home brings new responsibilities, and there’s only one person who can teach Din how to cook a proper meal: you.

takes one to know one • reader Bounty hunters aren’t supposed to fall in love and you were okay with that. So was the Mandalorian.

love me louder • reader Your secret romance with the Mandalorian is put at risk when you find yourself in the wrong place at the wrong time.

shattered • reader When an anxious day gets the best of you, Din seeks to comfort you.

the broken who blossom • reader At long last, Din’s returned home to the covert, but he’s brought a lot more home with him than anticipated.

in sickness & in health • reader Din does his best to comfort you when you become anxious about your health.

doomsday • reader You and Din are interrogated by Moff Gideon, who has quickly realized you’re the best weapon he has to use against the Mandalorian.

i still see you • reader In the aftermath of the Morak mission, Din’s faced with a crisis you only hope you can help to resolve somehow.

fight for me • reader When Din starts to get harassed at a cantina, you can’t help jumping in to defend him at all costs.

dead to me• fem!oc On the verge of death, Twila takes off Din’s helmet, later having to face his wrath and leave his ship—even though she’s pregnant with their unborn child.

the marshal • fem!oc Din covers his face. So does she. Shrouded in mystery and unable to admit their shared intimidation, the two must work together to save Mos Pelgo—for both their sakes.

aftermath • omera After his quest has been fulfilled, Din returns to Sorgan, needing the comfort and support of someone he could never forget.

stay • omera Din wrestles with his feelings for Omera and tries to tell her how she feels—but has to let her in first.

a warrior’s purpose • daughter Din returns to the planet where he’d left his riduur many years ago to find her again—but instead, he finds someone else.

enterprise • cassian andor, k2so When Mando’s quarry offers him a better deal, he finds himself getting involved in more than he originally bargained for.

malevolence • grogu Din experiences the ghastly side effects of wielding the famed Darksaber.

foster • obi-wan kenobi Obi-Wan comes across an orphan named Din that he can’t help taking under his wing.

as it was • din djarin’s parents The living waters beneath Mandalore bring Din back to a place—and a people—he never thought he’d see again.

people watching • grogu Observation was a skill Din Djarin had mastered for his own safety, but now it sets the scene for his very own destruction.

main masterlist • series • drabbles • prompts

[kenobiwanx]

din djarin x oc commission ✨️

[kidhellion]

POV: you forgot to turn your flash off as din takes the first bath he’s had in years

[starstruckunknown-princess]

Magnolia - Din Djarin x Reader

Magnolia (Magnolia) - Meaning: Dignity, perseverance

Summary: Din is blackmailed by Peli into going to the doctor for the first time since he took his Creed. The doctor is not what he expected.

Pairing: Din x Reader (3rd person POV)

Word Count: 2386

Warnings: 3rd person POV, Peli being a bit of a bully, no Grogu, probably inaccurate Star Wars medical practices, Din being mysterious, tattooed!Din, needles/hyposprays, brief helmetless!Din but not in front of reader, awkward!Din warming up to someone, slight touch-starved!Din if you squint

Day 16 is the longest so far! This was supposed to be the first chapter of a series featuring Din and a doctor love interest, but I think it works here too. Also, today is my anniversary with my partner, so I'm dedicating this to him! 13 years together, 9 married. Holy shit, where does time go?

In Bloom Masterlist

Likes, Comments, Reblogs are ALWAYS appreciated! ❤️

“I don’t wanna hear it, Mando!” the older woman exclaimed, “Doc, you here? Sit down, would ya? You’re makin’ me nervous. Doc?” 

A modulated voice said something she couldn’t make out as she made her way out of the exam room to the waiting area. Peli was facing her, hands of her hips, but her attention immediately went to she silver-clad form of a man sitting on a chair in her waiting room. His head was covered with a shiny helmet, his gloved hands resting on his thighs, and even though she couldn’t read his expression on his face she could see the tension in his form. 

“Good, you’re here,” Peli said to her, “My friend Mando here,” she jerked her thumb over her shoulder to the man, “has just informed me that he hasn’t been to a doctor since he was a child, and in his line of work that seems really stupid so I dragged him here, you got time for an exam?” 

“Of course,” she said, “but I feel it needs to be said that I don’t usually perform exams on unwilling patients…over the age of 8, that is.” She smirked. And the Mandalorian’s helmet tilted as if in disbelief. He rose to his feet, his full height and breadth unfolding to take up much more space than she’d initially thought. 

“Fine,” the modulated voice said, ”Let’s get this over with.” 

Peli’s smirk read of something deeper than concern for her beskar-clad friend, but she didn’t have time to parse it for meaning as the Mandalorian made his way toward where she stood in the doorway between the exam room and the waiting room. She stepped aside and held out an arm to usher him into the small room. 

“Thanks, Doc,” Peli said, “Send him back my way when you’re done, I’ve got his ship.” 

“Will do,” she replied, now understanding more about how Peli was able to manhandle such a large, broad person into her clinic.

The bell above the front door jingled as Peli left, leaving her alone with the Mandalorian. She would’ve been more uncomfortable if it weren’t for the numerous sharp instruments within her reach, as well as the hidden blaster strapped under the exam table. 

One couldn’t be too careful on Tatooine. 

The Mandalorian was looking around the small room, possibly assessing for threats until she cleared her throat, getting to work mode. 

“So I think we can just run a few tests and do a quick workup, nothing invasive. That should placate Peli, at least.” 

“Okay,” he said through the modulator, standing stiffly in the middle of the room as she busied herself with grabbing a holopad and passing it over to him.

“Fill this out,” she said quickly, busying herself with grabbing supplies for a blood draw and a retinal scan. 

“Um,” the voice said from behind her and she paused, turning toward her patient, “I, uh, I don’t know my birth date.” 

“That’s okay, just an approximate age is fine.” She went about her business, prepping a few vaccines and a bacta hypospray just in case while his gloved fingers tap-tapped on the holopad. When she was finished, she turned and leaned back against the counter and watched him as he finished. 

It didn’t take a doctor to note the obvious power of the Mandalorian’s body, half-bent over the holopad on the exam table. She scanned his posture, the way he held himself as he tapped with his right hand and noted a few things she wanted to mention. With how well-muscled he had to be under the heavy beskar, she figured he had a physically demanding job, and it was then she remembered Peli mentioning a bounty hunter friend of hers. 

He was silent as he finished and passed her the holopad. Under the ‘Name’ field he’d put simply, ‘Mando’ and she couldn’t help the smile that rose on her face. As a race, Mandalorians were notoriously secretive. 

Scanning the rest of the info sheet, she saw he mentioned back pain and bad knees as places of concern. Other than that, she didn’t see anything glaringly off. 

“Okay, this all looks about right for your estimated age, but I still want to take some blood and update your vaccinations,” she glanced at him from under her lashes and he grunted in what she assumed was assent. “Can you take your, um,” she gestured to the armor adorning his thick arms, not knowing what they were called, “arm pieces off? I’ll need to get in your veins there.” 

The Mandalorian hesitated, going eerily still. If she wasn’t mistaken, she thought she heard a sharp intake of breath through the modulator. Tension rose within the room, but she was well-trained so she turned her back to him to offer a little privacy and used the moment to sanitize her hands and pull on a pair of exam gloves, pleasantly satisfied when she heard the clanking of armor being shed and the heavy pieces being carefully placed on the table.

She turned back around and watched him rolling up the sleeves of his flight suit, exposing his  muscular arms up to his biceps and she had to remind herself that she was a professional — salivating over a patient was unethical. With a deep breath she went back into Doctor mode, assessing his arms for easy-to-access veins. 

A hiss sounded from him when she palpated his inner elbow and she looked up at his blank t-shaped visor. 

“Did that hurt?” she asked. 

The helmet shook, “Cold hands.” 

She smiled, “Sorry, should’ve warned you. Kind of ironic isn’t it?” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Considering it’s hotter than a Mustafarian volcano outside,” she explained, pressing further and finding a juicy vein. “Little pinch,” she said, using the prepped needle to pierce his golden-brown skin. If she wasn’t mistaken, she glimpsed the bottom edge of a tattoo hiding under his rolled-up sleeve. 

When the vial was full, she pulled the needle out and took some of the prepared bacta gel across the small hole in Mando’s skin, then put a small bandage over it. “That can come off in half an hour. Let me get this sample going so I can get your results before you leave, then we can do the retinal scan.” 

She moved toward the far side of the room toward her lab equipment, but a large hand on her wrist stopped her. 

“Retinal scan?” Mando asked, helmet tilted in concern. 

“Yeah, it’s really quick. Just to make sure your brain function is normal, no big deal,” she explained with a shrug. With how still he once again was, she guessed it was not, in fact, not a big deal to him. 

From what little she knew of Mandalorian culture, their armor and weapons were sacred to them but he’d already taken off his arm pieces. Maybe something about the helmet was different? 

“I…my Creed, uh, I can’t remove my helmet,” he said haltingly, removing his hand from her wrist. 

It was her turn to tilt her head in confusion, “What, like ever? How do you shower?” 

“I can take it off, but not in front of other living beings. If I did, I couldn’t put it back on.” 

“Oh,” she breathed. She nibbled on her lower lip as she tried to think of a solution. She didn’t want to let him leave without the scan but at the same time she couldn’t ask him to break his Creed for a fifteen-second scan. 

“Ah! Okay,” she exclaimed as an idea came to her. She grabbed the scanner off of its charger and put it on the exam table in front of him. “I’ll step out, you remove your helmet and run the scan yourself. It’s easy,” she said, sensing his hesitation, “Push this button here and hold the scanner in front of your eyes until it double beeps, about fifteen seconds, then you put your helmet back on and I’ll come back. Think that’ll work?” she asked, looking up at his visor hopefully. 

After a few seconds, he replied “Yeah. That’ll work.” 

Her smile widened and she nodded, “Let me get your blood tests going and then I’ll step out.” 

Din’s POV 

This was the exact reason he hadn’t been to a doctor since taking the Creed. Every Mandalorian covert had their own stash of medical supplies and were trained in first aid, so it never seemed important. He’d been cursing himself for mentioning his back pain to Peli until stepping into the Doctor’s office. 

The fact that she was holding his ship pretty much hostage until he went to the Doctor was only part of what got him here. 

To her credit, the Doctor had been respectful and considerate so far — her solution to his issue with the brain scan was simple, but spoke volumes to her character. Having only known her for a few minutes he could tell she was trustworthy, even though something in her eyes spoke of some hidden truths. 

Not wanting to keep her waiting in the other room for long, he double checked his surroundings before removing his helmet, pushing the button on the scanner that she’d shown him, and waiting for the ‘beep-beep’ to signal it had finished. 

He replaced his helmet and called her back into the room. She swept back in and smiled at him. 

“That didn’t hurt too much, did it?” she asked in a joking tone that made him smirk. She was cheeky, this doctor. 

“Virtually painless,” he said. 

“Good, wouldn’t want to completely scare you off,” she joked again but his breath caught in his throat. She placed the scanner on its charging port and looked at the screen in front of her, assessing the results with a furrow in her brow. 

Din took a moment to finally look at her. He’d already noticed how pretty she was, hair drawn back and up off her neck to combat the heat of the Tatooine suns. Her eyes were sharp and intelligent, and every time she’d looked his way he felt like she could see through the beskar he wore. Unknowingly, she’d already locked eyes with him a few times despite his helmet. While she looked over his results, she absentmindedly played with a necklace — some sort of pendant on a long silver chain — he didn’t see any more jewelry. 

“Well, your brain looks normal. No irregularities or past concussions showing up, but I guess that’s what the helmet is for,” she said, glancing his way. He nodded.”You mentioned some back pain, which is normal for your age, but I can take a look and maybe get you some pain supplements.” 

He nodded again and swept his cape aside, gathering it over one shoulder and exposing his jetpack. 

“Well,” she said with a chuckle, “that’ll do it.” She grabbed a different scanner while he took off his jetpack. His entire spine straightened as he felt her fingers ghost along his lower back. 

“May I?” she asked, and he swallowed hard, mouth suddenly dry. 

“Yes.”

She gently lifted the back of his flight shirt, the coldness of her fingers raising goosebumps along his arms. The scanner she held chirped, and she dropped his shirt back into place. 

“Just what I thought,” she said as he pulled the jetpack back on. “Looks like it’s muscular, not spinal, so I’ll throw some anti-inflammatory salve, and if you’d like, some pain supplement. A mild one,” she added.

“Thank you,” he said. 

She crossed to a cabinet, bending down to open it and Din averted his gaze. From inside she extracted a small tin and a glass jar, cursing when she found it empty. 

“Kriffing hell,” she muttered, “Sorry, looks like I’m out of the pain supplement. Outer Rim supply lines suck.” 

“That’s okay,” he offered, but she was insistent. 

“I feel bad now, getting your hopes up like that. I have something stronger but I figured with being a bounty hunter you’d want to keep your wits about you.” 

“I appreciate that. The salve will do fine for now.” 

“I mean, if you ever find yourself in a trading outpost or on Arvala-7, you could get some for yourself. I’ll write down the name.” She busied herself with that for a moment before another mechanical buzzing caught her attention. 

“Ah, your blood results!” Fluttering past, she slipped the piece of flimsi into his gloved hand. He caught a whiff of her scent — night-blooming flowers and citrus, with a tinge of sweat.

She pursed her lips, and Din wanted to reach over and pull the bottom one loose with his thumb. All her touches had awakened something in him that he usually kept locked away. “Hmm…looks like you’re a little low on Potassium and a few different vitamins, but no major illnesses or viruses, which is good. No malignant bacteria hiding in your bloodstream either, no parasites…damn, that beskar keeps everything out, doesn’t it?” 

She glanced his way, but kept on talking, “I’m still going to recommend a few vaccines, and a bit of a diet change. Let me guess, you mostly survive on ration packs?” 

He nodded, “I do.” 

“I’m going to suggest eating some more fruits in general, that’ll help with the vitamin deficiencies and the potassium. Ration packs are pretty nutritious, but with your lifestyle you burn through certain things quicker than others, so it’s best to supplement the packs. Just a few more hypos and you’ll be all set to go back to Peli with a clean bill of health. Any other questions or concerns?” 

Part of him wanted to ask if she was busy later that night, especially when they locked eyes under his helmet. His mouth went dry, and all he could manage was a shake of his head. 

He cleared his throat, “No, no. Thank you, Doctor.” 

“You are very welcome, Mando,” she said, handing him a small bag with papers and the salve inside. 

“Din,” he offered before he could think about it.

“Hmm?”

He cleared his throat again, “My name is Din.”

Her smile was radiant and Din felt a flutter in his chest. “Nice to meet you, Din. Whenever you need me, I’m here.” 

He reached out and shook her proffered hand. “I’ll be sure to take you up on that, Doc.”

[atinylittlepain]

Your Creed, My Quest

Din Djarin x jedi!reader/jedi!oc

She's been tasked by her master to watch over the child, but things become complicated when she picks up a rogue Mandalorian along the way.

series warnings | 18+ canon-typical violence, angst, eventual smut, like a moderately-paced burn lol

a/n | this story will in some places twine closely with the canon story and in others fully depart. i am not a star wars scholar by any means, but i have done my best to move through this beloved world with care and a great deal of thought.

.......................

prologue

chapter 1

chapter 2

chapter 3 - coming soon

[beskarandblasters]

Stonecatcher - Series Masterlist

Din Djarin x OFC!Athalia (Second Person POV)

Artwork: The Lovers by René Magritte Gif: @cherubispunk Main Masterlist | Din Djarin Masterlist | Series Playlist

Series summary: An up-and-coming bounty hunter and a promising arms dealer cross paths on Dantooine. What starts as a business relationship quickly becomes more. How long can you bury your emotions and be a stonecatcher for someone else before you finally snap?

Series warnings: pre season one of The Mandalorian, instant smut but slow burn romantically, Athalia is able-bodied but other than that has no physical description, angst

Fic notifs: @beskarandblastersfics • AO3 Link

Chapter One: Working for the Knife

Chapter Two: It’s Strange What Desire Will Make Foolish People Do

Chapter Three: Let Me Be Your Stonecatcher Please

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

[chiriwritesstuff]

The Impossible Man ✨ Masterlist ✨

Modern Day Detective! Din Djarin x Witch! Reader (Soulmates! AU)

Rating: E, MDNI 18+, Minors (please) Do Not Interact

Series Warnings: Magical realism, allusions to grief, reader's character is cursed, (some) men are trash, eventual smut, the reader goes THROUGH IT (anxiety, depression, grief), soft boi Din Djarin, mentions of death, mentions of being cursed, suicidal ideation, allusions to domestic violence, implied magical usage against people (who deserve it).

Summary: For someone being born into a magical family, a curse placed on the women of your bloodline means you have mostly avoided witchcraft and its calling for the majority of your life. After a life-altering tragedy, you turn your back on your family and your gift and seek out a more normal, boring existence, devoid of magic, and mostly, of love. What happens when the ghosts of your past threaten your peaceful existence and you are forced to reconcile all that you have lost? Will you let the people you have abandoned in your past life back into your heart? Will the appearance of an impossible man you have unknowingly cursed yourself break the chains of love? Will you let him?

A/N: A ✨ Practical Magic ✨ Retelling, with our favorite space boy Din Djarin.

Banner/Graphic: @chiriwritesstuff ✨ Dividers: @saradika

Chapters:

The Deathwatch Beetle 3.2K

A Case of You 8.7K

The Storybook Lady 3.7K

Coming Soon!

[redahlia-writes]

unwind. | din djarin x f!reader

Summary: mando comes back from a bounty gone astray and needs to wind down.

Words: 3K

Warnings: MINORS DNI, this is straight up smut, mando being a little mean but just for like 5 seconds, there’s a blindfold involved, dry humping/thigh riding, creampie, an excessive use of pet names, unedited (as always)

also on AO3  - masterlist

“Get out,” Mando’s voice was sharp, making you jump out of your seat and almost drop the screwdriver you were holding in your hand, teeth grinding down onto the flashlight pointed at the open panel.

“What?” you turned your head, quickly shutting off the flashlight to look up at the Mandalorian standing in the doorway of the cockpit, his armor dusted. There was a rigidity to his posture, something you’d grown to recognise as annoyance throughout all the time you’d been with him.

You knew he could be dangerous - you’d seen it, hunt after hunt, when he brought the fugitives back to the ship, put them in carbonite or knocked them out if they tried to talk their way out of it. You’d seen it in the fights he kept you away from, or tried to.

But you’d seen the gentleness, too. The appreciative nods as he was offered food he had to decline; the tilt of his head when someone spoke to him, making it clear he was listening; the soft hands clad in leather gloves as he handled gifts received in thanks when the prize didn’t seem enough to the people he’d helped.

Most of all, with you. He had been the first person to show you kindness after so many years, a quiet compassion that had convinced you to stay on the ship when he’d asked. Never did anything that would make you feel uncomfortable, never even raised his voice around you.

At times, when he lost his temper after a bounty went astray, he’d lock himself away so that you wouldn’t have to see that side of him. And it was eating him alive.

“Out,” Mando repeated, a sharp inhale filtered through his modulator. “Did something happen?” his hands twitched at his sides, head turned to the side as his shoulder shook lightly with tension. “Mando -”

“Just get out,” he snapped, and for just a moment you were taken aback, the outburst so unfamiliar directed towards you - then, you tipped your chin up. “No,” you said simply, voice controlled but low.

“What?” his head snapped towards you, resolve faltering for a moment, and you could almost hear the grind of his teeth.

“You always do this - when things don’t go the way you want them to you lock yourself away,” you spoke calmly, taking a tentative step forward. In return, he took one back. “I’m not leaving you to deal with it on your own - it’s crushing you.”

“I’m fine, you can go,” he bit out, attempting to keep his voice down. “I’m not going anywhere,” another step forward. This time, he didn’t bulk, chest heaving as he tilted his helmet to look at you. “Let me help you, Mando.”

“It’s a stupid bounty, just -” his breath was labored, voice hoarse. “Forget about it.”

“How can I help you?” voice gentle, you reached out for him, hand wrapping around his wrist - you pushed your thumb into his pulse point, his heart jumping under your touch.

“Please,” he’d lowered his voice, helmet bowed suggesting he wasn’t looking at you directly. “I just need to wind down, just -” he took a shuddering breath in, the modulator sharpening it further.

“Okay,” you hummed, stepping closer yet, fingers brushing down the back of his hand, the leather warm underneath your skin. “How? Tell me,” he scoffed, tipping his head back.

“Ah, mesh’la,” you frowned lightly at the unfamiliar word. You wished you could see his face as he inhaled deeply, turning his hand around to wrap it around yours. Was he smiling? Was there conflict? “Close your eyes,” voice lowered, he reached his free hand to your pocket, taking the handkerchief you had tucked in it.

“What?” you almost stammered, the sudden shift in his voice making you tilt your head.

There was something… alluring in his tone. Something you hadn’t heard before, that made your heart jump to your throat. Something welcomed.

“Close your eyes,” he repeated, letting go of your hand, “and keep them closed.”

You looked at him for a moment, his helmet so close you could see your reflection in the T of his visor before you let your eyes flutter shut, obliging. You heard the rustle of his gloves, leather creaking softly as he tugged them off.

“Mando?” you called with a little frown, then jolted back when you felt the fabric of the handkerchief brush your face. His hand came up behind your head, keeping you in place, warm fingers wrapped around the nape of your neck.

“You can stop me anytime,” he spoke slowly and softly, thumb rubbing small circles over the skin of your neck. “Just say the word and I’ll stop,” there was a slight tremble in his voice, quick puffs that fanned underneath the helmet.

“You won’t hurt me, Mando,” you whispered, and the breath hitched in his throat, hand shaking behind your head as you tilted your chin up. “Go ahead.”

The blindfold was soft over your eyes, cold, and Mando’s touch was oddly delicate tying it. When he stepped back there was a low hiss of released pressure, a shuffle, the noise of metal against metal. Without your sight available, you found yourself tilting your head towards the sounds, brows knitted in curiosity.

Then his hands were back on the side of your face, holding you as he leaned in - in the split second before his mouth came down against yours, you felt his sharp inhale, the heat from his skin before he crashed on you.

It was hungry, desperate, the tension of his body pouring directly into the kiss. You yelped into his mouth as he pushed you back, back, hands grasping blindly at his bent arms to balance yourself until your back hit the wall of the cockpit, as cold and firm as the beskar around Mando.

He let go of your face, hands roaming down your body, his touch scorching - he grabbed your hips, holding you against him as he bit your already bruised lip. You felt yourself rising onto your tiptoes, arms lifted to wrap around his shoulders and bring him closer, one hand reaching behind his head - underneath your palm, his hair was curled and soft, and you buried your hand in it.

Mando pulled back enough to let a quiet groan abandon his lips before he latched onto your neck, nudging your chin up to expose your throat furthermore to him. You licked your lips, and when he bit down onto your skin, a keen flew out of your mouth, hand raking through his curls.

“Wait,” you breathed out, and he all but tore himself away from you, his hands remaining on your sides only to hold you steady as you staggered a little. “Sorry, I’m sorry,” his voice was hoarse, out of breath. “Did I hurt you? Was it too much?” you quickly moved both your hands at the side of his head.

“Mando,” you called softly, thumbs stroking his cheeks. “It’s not that, breathe.” “What’s wrong, then? Are you okay?” you felt him try to slip back, and tightened your hold.

“I’m fine, it’s just -” you cleared your throat. “The armor.” “What about it?” little by little, his breath slowed down.

“It’s pushing on me,” you admitted softly, and dropped one of your hands to your shoulder, lowering the shirt a little to reveal the mark left by the beskar on your skin. “It’s cold,” you added with a whisper and a quick smile.

“Oh,” he mumbled - then you felt him lean in, his hair tingling your jaw as his hot breath fanned across your skin. After a moment, his lips pressed onto the mark, warm and soft. “Better?” he asked, the rumble of his voice raising goosebumps across your spine. “Better,” you nodded breathlessly, the word turning into a gasp as he kissed your skin again, hands leaving you long enough for you to hear the beskar hit the ground.

His leg pushed between your knees, nudging them apart as he left a trail of kisses and bites across your chest, up to your throat, jaw, fingers digging in your hips again and moving you until your core was pressed against the beskar on his thigh. Your arms flew around his shoulders for stability, a surprised moan muffled by his lips as he jostled your hips, rocking you back and forth slowly, making you grind down on him.

Had your eyes been open, they would’ve rolled to the back of your head, the sudden feeling so overwhelming it made the space spin - if not for Mando’s hands on you, yours on him, you couldn’t have been sure about the firm floor of the ship underneath you.

Each of your whimpers got a new reaction out of him - a quicker pace of your rocking hips; his leg riding up a little more, forcing you onto your tiptoes and to hang on his shoulders; a moan when your own leg brushed his crotch, muffled by his mouth hungrily busying itself on the skin of your neck - would there be marks, you wondered?

When you started trembling slightly under his touch, Mando slowed down, moving his head back from you - you could feel his gaze on your face, could imagine him grinning as your head fell back, lips parted and breath quickened. That had been all it had taken for you to melt for him, mouth dry and skin flushed as you felt it build up in the pit of your stomach.

“Mesh’la,” he tutted, moving one hand so that it reached underneath your shirt, palm splayed over the skin of your abdomen. You cried out softly, attempting to move against him once more, the pressure at the apex of your core almost unbearable. Mando forced you back, firm against the wall behind you. “Nuh-uh, you wait.” “Mando,” you protested as he leaned in, shushing you while his hands both moved to the tie of your trousers, fingers skimming the bare skin of your stomach.

“I want to feel you come undone around me, cyar’ika,” he whispered, his lips brushing the shell of your ear before he nibbled on your lobe almost tenderly, such a strong contrast with the heavy sough leaving your parted lips. He undid the tie of your trousers, dipping his fingers just slightly underneath the hem of it. “Can stop me anytime,” he repeated the same words from before.

You buried your hand through his hair, tugging on the locks a little, lips curling. “Don’t stop,” you uttered, arching from the wall and towards him. “Please, Mando,” you reached down with your other hand, blindly running your fingertips across his chest, lingering at the creases on his shirt until you skimmed over the waistband of his trousers, turning your wrist to palm him, making him hiss. “Please.”

He pushed your trousers down as he connected your lips again, desperately, cutting your breath off as one of his hands reached for the inside of your thighs as you kicked the clothing off hastily, working on his buttons.

Mando groaned, stilling for a moment when you stroked him without even pushing his clothes all the way off, hand wrapping around his hard length, hips rolling in an instinctive thrust. All but ripping the underwear from you, he took one hand off your body to push his own clothes down.

“If at any moment you don’t -” his words were cut off by a moan, hips stuttering in response to your jerk, the twist of your wrist as you arched to meet him. “Stop stalling, Mando,” you rasped, leaning in and managing to kiss the corner of his mouth. “Just take what you need.”

He picked you up urgently, both hands digging in your thighs as he guided your legs around him, pushing you flush against the wall and dropping one hand to reach for himself. You held onto his shoulders, leaving a trail of messy kisses across his face, his jaw, head tilted to fall in the crook of his neck as he pumped himself once, twice.

“It’s Din,” he murmured, thumb rubbing small circles on your inner thigh. “I want to hear you say my name,” he dragged the tip of his cock across your folds, drawing a loud gasp as he coated his length in your slick before aligning himself, pushing in just a little.

You threw your head back, mouth hanging open to draw in long breaths, the stretch both painful and blissful. He eased himself inside of you, slowly, inch by burning inch.

“Say it,” he repeated through erratic breaths, one hand on your hip to push you down on him, the other reaching up, thumb stroking your throat, ghosting your parted lips. “My name - say my name.” “Din,” breathlessly, you gripped his shoulders, rolling your hips slowly as you cried his name, familiar and unfamiliar on your tongue at the same time. “Oh, fuck - Din, please.”

“Please, what?” his mouth came down on your throat, a nip to your skin that made you keen while you tried to shift on him again, only his hand held you firmly - for someone who’d said he needed to wind down, he was showing an extreme amount of self-control, simply relishing in feeling and seeing you squirm.

The only indication that his name on your lips had any effect on him was the twitch of his length deep inside of you, the roughness of his voice as it caressed your skin, followed by his tongue, lingering on your pulse point.

And you didn’t have it in you to wait, the pressure in the pit of your stomach so deliciously warm it rose across your chest.

“Please, move,” a faint begging, digging your fingers into his shoulders - were you leaving markings of your own on him? You hoped so. You wanted to, sear yourself on him just like it felt he was doing with you.

“Like that, mesh’la?” his breath was hard, ragged, a slight tremble in his body as he pushed flush against you again, head turned to kiss your jaw instead. “Yes,” his hand not holding you was still roaming across your side, your chest, down the thin gap between your bodies as you breathed in and out. He shifted his hips, sliding half-way out of you before thrusting back in, groaning through the movement. “Don’t stop, don’t stop.”

It became a chant, as he picked up a relentless pace, each push seemingly stronger, harsher - don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop as the pain turned into a kind of pleasure so blinding you started to believe there was no need for a blindfold anymore.

He captured your moans with his own lips - messy, open mouthed, breathy kisses, pants cutting through as either of you moved away to catch a breath. His hand on your hip still helping you against him, each movement easier than the one before, each noise so lewd it made you burn from within.

When he started rubbing small, quick circles with his thumb over your clit, you felt yourself tip over the edge, a long whine muffled against his neck as you locked your shaky legs tightly around him, stomach fluttering through your climax.

“That’s it, ad’ika,” Din didn’t stop thrusting into you, though the movements became slower, stuttering as you clenched around him. “Think you can handle a little longer, mesh’la? Just a little longer?”

You hummed, nodding slowly as you buried one hand in his hair, guiding him back to your mouth. This kiss was slower, in tandem with his shallow pushes, less desperate, less famished. He reached up to cup your cheek, a tender touch that felt ironic with the tingling of his thrust still against your hipbone, inside you.

He stilled, a choked back cry as he came, hips jerking one last time involuntarily as he twitched inside you, leaving one last kiss - almost chaste - on your lips. 

He leaned against you, hands resting on your sides and kneading the exposed flesh of your stomach, small circles as if to soothe your already aching muscles as he rested his head in the crook of your neck. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders tiredly, leaning your head back and gently scratching his scalp.

“I promise I’ll bring you to bed next time,” he murmured, heavy breaths falling from his parted lips and dancing across your skin. He left a quick peck against your collarbone as you chuckled wearily, arms and legs heavy around him. “Next time?” you tilted your head, cheek resting against his temple. “Maker, Mando - won’t you buy a lady dinner first?” you teased, a lazy smile blossoming on your face.

He laughed, the rumble of it moving up your body and making you bite down on your lip.

“I will,” he nodded, setting his hands under your legs to support you. “Promise I will,” he shifted out of you, a slow, controlled movement that had you suffocate a cry. “As long as you keep calling me Din.” “I will, Din,” you responded, voice a mere whisper as you attempted to squeeze your thighs, the warmth of both your releases sticking to your skin. “I will.”

You felt him shift back, leaving you a little room while still keeping you up.

“I’m gonna take this off now,” he reached behind your head, gently starting to undo the knot of the blindfold. “Can you keep your eyes closed?” “Of course,” you gave a delicate smile, nodding briefly. “Just don’t drop me, I don’t think I can stand right now.”

He chuckled, pulling the blindfold fully off. He shifted forward, prying your thighs open again, running the cloth across your skin gently to clean you, stopping before reaching your still sensitive center.

“If you hold onto me I’ll bring you to get cleaned up,” all the tension in his voice had vanished, replaced by only gentleness - it felt strange, hearing it without the croaking of the modulator. “You don’t have to, I was joking,” you scoffed, easing the hold of your legs around him.

In return, he moved closer again, helping you up against him.

“I know, cyar’ika,” he hummed, lips brushing your jaw so sweetly it had you melt right into his arms. “But you took care of me - now let me help you.”

[moralesispunk]

Claraste (Din Djarin x Female Witch! Reader)

Previous chapter / Fic Masterlist

Summary: Din stays at the farm for longer than ever before, giving the both of them time to think about what life could be like if he stayed

Warnings: smut, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex, talk of contraceptive tea, feelings, this is third person but there are no descriptions of the witch other than using she/her pronouns so I have labelled as reader insert in the hope it can come across that way (although please tell me kindly if not and I will update to x oc), canon typical violence

Word Count: 4.3k

Din had stayed for longer than ever before. Two whole weeks where the walls they had thrown up between them began to crack and splinter until they could finally dream of a life he could - would - build here. 

The morning after the first night had been the only sense of reality they gave into, a contraceptive tea slipping past her lips as she leaned against the uneven wooden rail around the cottage porch while watching on as Din got to work weeding around the edge of her flower patch. One day was all that was said as the tea steeped in the delicate mug and Din nodded, his hand sweeping from her hip only covered in a thin slip dress to her low belly as he kissed her cheek.

Kissed.

Her fingers ghosted over her lips that still felt bruised in the bright light of day from how they had kissed the night before, like it was the first and last time they would ever get the chance to give in to the temptation. Until now, Din’s helmet had been the last barrier they had kept up between them and now that it was gone…

The sun caught his dark head of hair as he stood up from kneeling by the flower patch and wiped his forehead with the back of his hand as he turned to look back at her, his face still mostly covered by the frown she had heard in his voice for years but his eyes holding a softness she had yearned for.

Din had never said out loud that he had also let himself dream of a quieter, steadier life and for as long as she had known him - from the second time he had visited her here - she knew that he was keeping it locked up inside his chest for protection. At first it was a fools dream - a Mandalorian thinking he could ever be the kind of man who would live the life of a dutiful husband and father on a quiet stretch of land on some forgotten planet and a witch thinking that there was anything other than a lonesome life where she was but a page in the novels of others, healing them or feeding them before they went onto their adventures, written in the stars - but now… Now ten years had gone by where he would return at least twice a rotation of Terra and he would slip into her life like he had never left, telling her stories of the planets he had seen and the people he had met, but they were growing tired and she felt it in her bones.

She loved Din more than she had loved anyone, but with that love came the yearning for a full life. The yearning for a husband to wake up to every day who would kiss her bare shoulder as she woke up like Din had done this morning. Who would help her on the farm. Who would listen to the made up adventures she had in her mind and would make promises of showing her even an inch more of the galaxy than she had ever seen. Who would hold her, cherish her, let her love him, perhaps one day raise children who knew what love was like, just as she had as a child when she watched her own parents.

She knew they would have to give themselves more than they ever had before - whether by finally giving in to how their hearts and souls had twined round one another over the years or to let go, let each other move on.

What was between them was a love like that created between Astra and Terra. Terra had watched the bright star - Claraste - every night like the rest of the stars until one night it came hurtling towards her and chipped Terra right out of her arms. 

She had watched Din like any other traveller on his first visit, cautiously and with interest, and then every time after that until… until they were more. 

Even if it made it harder in the end, she told herself that she would enjoy what she could for now. That she would ask him before he left, and not a second sooner, and it was easy enough when he dropped whatever tools were in his hand and she left the mug abandoned by her side as he stalked across the farm towards her, his knees bending and his arm wrapping around the backs of her thighs as his mouth crashed to hers and he carried her inside.

*****

Two weeks, longer than ever before, and the pain in her chest ached harder than usual as he finished tying up his bag and turned to her.

His helmet was still off, perched on the middle of the table and waiting to be slipped on the second he was ready to go, and she found her eyes racing across his face to commit every last bit to memory. The dark brown of his eyes and the tiny glimmer of gold around the edge. The bump in the ridge of his nose and the scar that ran across it. The pout of his bottom lip. The lines of a hard life that edged his eyes.

“I’m going to visit the child,” he said, his hand flexing and releasing by his side.

“Tell him I said hello,” she replied, her voice hollower than he had ever heard it before and he found his legs carrying him across the room before his mind had even caught up, his hands holding the sides of her face.

“Something is wrong.” There was no question in his words and it only made her chest ache more from how well he knew her. 

Her hands raised to cover his and slipped them from her face to where she instead held them between their bodies.

“Yes and no.” His brows pinched together and she sighed. “I’ve always accepted this life for what it is, Din. I was never angry that my parents had been murdered, never sought revenge for their lives that were stolen away and mine that was displaced. I’m glad I didn’t, I don’t think I have it in me to be vengeful, but… I can’t sit by and let my life go by without doing something.

“I love you, Din,” she said, and the way he reacted to hearing those words for the first time - his mouth falling open and his shoulders softening - lodged under her ribs and right by her heart as she continued to talk. “No matter what we decide, I will always love you, but I need…” She trailed off with a sigh. 

“More,” Din finished for her and she nodded.

“I know I can’t ask you to promise me anything here and now but… when you come back I need you to have an answer for me, Din. It’s the only thing I’ve ever asked you.”

His thumb brushed across her knuckles, dark eyes flicking back and forth between hers as he swallowed heavily and nodded. “I swear it.”

It wasn't a yes - or a no - but the unease was forgotten when his mouth crashed against hers, her wrists tangling behind his neck and his hands squeezing and roaming her body. His palms weighed heavy on the bottom of her back and back of her neck as he walked them towards the kitchen table and his tongue pressed into her mouth.

When her back met the edge of the table he pulled away long enough to lift her dress up and over her head, his mouth kissing down her neck and shoulder as he lifted her onto the steady oak surface and with a palm in the centre of her chest he laid her down against it and remained towering over her. 

It took everything in him not to rip his clothes from his body and fill her now, instead taking his layers off slowly as he kissed and touched every inch of her beautiful body beneath him, marvelling in how her eyes tracked each movement with her bottom lip pulled between her teeth until her entire body was covered in goosebumps and she wrapped her hand around his cock, tugging it once in a way that wasn’t painful but made him hiss - and her smirk - nonetheless. 

His palm wrapped around hers, holding her still as he raised an eyebrow down at her and he had to stop his knees from buckling as he watched the shiver wreck through her body - her chest heaving in need and anticipation as he gathered her wrists in his hand and held them against the table above her head. 

“I have the chance to taste you once more before I leave,” he said as he bent to kneel before her spread legs, his forefinger and thumb spreading her open and his warm breath fanning her when he spoke again. “I won't be leaving till I take that chance.”

His shoulders kept her thighs open for him, the scruff around his jaw tickling her soft skin as he licked slowly up until his lips wrapped around her clit and he sucked. He did this again and again, her thighs tensing and releasing over his shoulders. 

When her head rolled to the side and her back arched from the table, she caught sight of Din’s reflection in the mirror peeking out from behind a chair, his strong profile kneeling between her legs and his hand-

She let out a low moan, her hips urging him closer against her as she rocked in time with his hand that stroked his cock. The sight of him on his knees before her, pleasuring himself while bringing her pleasure, was enough to thrust her over the edge and she came with a choked gasp as her thighs pressed to the side of his head and he guided her through each wave until the heel of her palm tapped his forehead. 

He stood with a low growl, like it took everything in him to pull away from her, and when his body draped over hers to meet her mouth in a kiss she caught sight of his chin and bottom lip that was shining with her before she could taste it on her tongue. 

With his hand planted by her head and the other palming her hip, she reached between their bodies and lined him up as he rocked his hips once and slid inside her fully. They groaned together, their kiss not ending until she took his face in her hands and pulled back enough to look into his eyes before looking down to where their bodies met as he continued to thrust into her. 

“More, Din. I need more-”

In an instant he had slipped from her, lifting her body off of the table and settling her on the floor where she stood on her toes and bent over the table as he slipped inside her once more. 

With his hands gripping her hips and her body bent over the table, she felt him spearing his cock inside her so deeply that she couldn't barely gasp a breath. Her nails raked down the wood and she pushed her hips back to meet him thrust for thrust, her mind completely empty of any worries about her past or their future until all she could feel was Din, Din, Din…

She hasn't even realised she had been chanting his name like some prayer to lost Gods until his chest was pressed to her back and his lips brushed the shell of her ear. 

“I’m here, I’m right here.” 

His thrusts slowed and instead he moved slow and deep, his fingers slipping over where they met and deftly circling her clit as his mouth slanted over hers the second she turned her head to meet him in a kiss. 

She never wanted it to end, and from the way Din had built them up before letting them fall back until they were both slick with sweat she knew he was thinking the same. He did it again and again until the coil was wound so tight that she was certain there was no stopping her from falling over the edge and so she did, her moans high pitched and swallowed by Din’s ferocious kiss as he fell over the edge with her. 

She was so consumed by wave after wave, crash after crash of pleasure that she could barely feel the table that was digging into her hips until bruises would no doubt be forming. 

They kissed until he softened inside her and slipped out, his mess slipping down the inside of her thighs as their kissing slowed until only his forehead was resting against hers and his breath was fanning her chin. 

Her eyes fluttered closed as he kissed down her back, reaching for a cloth and cleaning her gently and taking the moment of peace to let his eyes roam her face once more. It was the same face he had seen for the first time those ten years ago, a few more lines by the side of her eyes and a few grey hairs - ones he had counted under the moonlight the night before when she had thrown her hand up and proclaimed she had at least a dozen, much to his amusement. 

They said few words as they passed each other the clothes that had been stripped before and his cheeks were still flushed pink as he lifted the helmet from the table, her chest still slick with sweat that made him want to lick across the skin visible from where her dress was still untied. 

“Din, I-” She stopped as soon as his eyes met his, her bottom lip pulling between her teeth and she jerked her chin in a nod - holding something back like she had already said too much to say even more. “Tell the kid I said hello.”

He nodded, his helmet slipping over his head with practised ease before he lifted his hand and held her cheek, his thumb stroking across the round fullness. “I will. And I will return, I swear it.”

Still no yes or no, no answer for their future that lay in the balance, but it was enough for now as he picked up his bag and began the walk back across the farm. He didn't look back until he reached the edge, finding her still at the top of the steps with her arms wrapped around her waist and her chin lifting in a wordless goodbye as he did the same for now. 

****

It had been three months since Din left, not long by any stretch when compared to some of the breaks between his visit before, but ever since his shadow had disappeared through the thick trees surrounding her land she had found herself searching for him on the horizon every morning and night. 

This morning was no different, yet as she opened her door and looked out to the tree line she felt an unease she had never felt on the sanctuary of her farm before. Her palms grew sweaty and the back of her neck prickled in awareness but at what she couldn't tell. She found herself spending the day collecting essentials from around her home - a few trinkets that caught her eye and pulled at her heart too - and had even packed them into a bag no matter how stupid she felt. 

It’s nothing, she told herself again and again and yet still she climbed onto her hands and knees and found a bag that had been tucked beneath her bed, packing it to the brim until the sun began to set. 

If for nothing else, the long walk she took to the stream after the bag had been tied up and tucked by her door was more of a distraction than a necessity since the well by her house had been filled by rain the week before. She had gone slower than usual too, finding plants and mushrooms she had pocketed with the intention to dry out when she got home, but when she made it to the edge of her farm and stopped the tune she had been humming she heard the heavy sets of footsteps rushing behind her.

Not taking a second to think, she dropped the bucket full of water to the ground and ran. 

Her feet hit the freshly farmed land harder and faster than ever before, faster than when she was a child and ran through the bare, damp land of her home planet alongside the only friend she can remember - Beron, a freckled faced boy with bright red hair who would make her laugh as he chased her through the thin lifeless forest pretending to be whatever monster their parents had told them stories of the night before. 

But she didn't feel like laughing now. It was only fear that raged through her veins as she bounded up the steps of her cottage and fled inside before slamming the door behind her. She could barely hear the men’s laughter over the blood pounding in her ears and she let her body slide down the door, crawling to the edge of her bed where Din had made her hide a blaster years ago. 

He had practised with her a few times over the years, finding old trees to use as aim, but he had refused to leave her without her having some sort of protection against any raiders who could stumble across her farm. She had argued against it at the time but had never been more glad for the cool metal that her hand curved around as she pulled it from between the mattress and wall and crawled back to the window. 

“Come out little witch,” a rough voice called out to her and a few of the other men laughed, horrible laughter that made her eyes prick with tears. 

She held the cool metal against her chest, squeezing her eyes shut as her whole body shook and she silently called out into the galaxy for Din, the name of the only person she wanted - needed - and his name roared in her mind like she could call to him wherever he was. 

****

Every time Din approached Terra, the same wave of calmness washed over him. His shoulders inched down from his ears, his brow unfurrowed, his mind stopped racing. It's like the kid knew where they were going too despite only being here twice betore; his small hands pressed against the glass and his breath fogging it up as Din began the descent over the trees. 

The kid cooed and Din huffed a laugh. 

“Yeah. She missed you, too.”

He landed his ship - one a lot smaller than the Crest that had cleared a wide circle of land for his arrival every time - flicking off every button as the engines went from roaring to silent and he patted the small pocket of his belt to check the ring of beskar one final time. 

It was never an important part of Mandalorian tradition to give jewellery as part of a promise, but he had seen the ring she wore in a necklace around her neck and she had told him how it belonged to her mother given by her father. He knew that coming back with an answer he had to prove it more than just words - he had to show her that despite needing more time before they could settle in any one place, he would be the man to give her that life. 

But the second Din landed on Terra, he knew something was wrong. With the soles of his boot on the mossy ground and his hand raised to stop Grogu from climbing down any further, he scanned around him until he could find what was wrong.

There was almost so much wrong that Din had to grip the edge of the ladder to stop himself from keeling over with nausea. The moonlight felt dull, the wind howled when it was usually quiet, the grass was a lifeless kind of green… Everything had the hairs on the back of his neck standing on edge and his hand reaching for his blaster as the other tucked Grogu safely into the bag already hanging from his shoulder.

The walk to the farm was one he has done more times than he could count but he had never felt like this while doing it, never gripped his blaster and took each step with such care like he did as he rounded the last line of trees. 

His heart was in his throat as he took in the scene before him. 

Raiders - twelve of them dressed in black - circling the cottage like prey waiting to pounce. Some of them held ageing blasters, others simple sticks that had been whittled down to a sharp point, three of them held burning stakes that were flickering towards the thatched roof.

“Come out little witch,” one of them  - the leader - snarled. He took one step towards the door, then another, and before Din could move he caught the glimmer of silver in the moonlight.

A blaster - his blaster that he had tucked between her mattress and wall and begged her - with her hands in his - to use if anyone caused trouble, was tucked in the corner of the window and aimed directly at the man.

“Don’t take another step,” she called back, her words steady to the ears of a stranger but laced with fear he had never heard before as someone who recalled the cadence of her voice every night before he slept.

The man took no heed, his boots crunching one more step before a red blast shot from the window and the man collapsed to a heap on the ground. Din turned as quickly as he could, setting the child behind a tree and pointing a shaking finger in his direction,

“Stay here. Don’t come out until I call for you.” 

He only waited long enough for Grogu to cower back against the tree before Din took off running towards the blasts and fire that had erupted. He watched as she defended her home to no end, fighting off brutes twice - three times - her size as they tried to take hold with one now dragging her out of the cottage. Her eyes met his across the farm in shock, widening for a second long enough to be distracted as one of the men took an off-centre shot that grazed along her hand and forearm and she hissed at the burn.

The rage that flowed through Din was like none he felt before - not when he was a helpless child and his parents were murdered, not when he was a young man with more emotion than he knew what to do with, not when Grogu was taken and he felt more panic than rage. No, these men were fighting a losing battle as Din slashed through them and up the steps - these men who were trying to hurt the person who was more his than anyone in the universe. He tucked her behind him as he fought against the ten men left after he took down the one still on her porch to defend both her and the cottage.

She took down two with steady aims he had made her practice and Din easily took down the other eight with shots from the blaster and slices of the saber, but it was too late for the cottage. He gripped her wrist and tried to pull her down the steps, away from the flames engulfing her home as she beat at his arm and shoulder with a fist until she managed to slip free and race inside.

He bellowed her name, his foot barely over the threshold before she came running back out with a back tucked under her arm and her hand over her mouth as she coughed against the smoke. His hand wrapped around hers and he dragged her to the middle of the field, no matter how hard she tried to dig her heels in and turn back again. 

By the time they reached the middle of the field - far enough away for him to deem them safe as he called out to the kid - he took her face in his hands and looked into the eyes where all life was seeming to drain from. 

“Are you hurt? Are you okay? Are-”

She waved him off, letting her bag fall to the ground and soon following it as she sat and stared on at the fire. 

She sat in the middle of the field with Din and the child watching on behind her as the home she had built burned to ash. She had nothing but the small bag beside her, one she had the unnamed urgency to pack today.  

It had some clothes, some medicine, some things that she held dear to her heart that perhaps were not the most practical weight to be adding to an already heavy bag. Everything else… She watched it burn until the sun began to rise and the smoke went with it. She watched it until the silent sobs gave way to steady to tears to the emptiness in the hollow of her chest that made her so tired there was nothing to do but collapse to the ground, letting sleep take over as Din called her name, shaking her shoulder to try and rouse her using a name he had only called her once before.

“Rion’nag.”

[ledgersmountain]

i will never forget how the mandalorian fandom treated omera in 2019 & 2020, saying that she tried to take mando's helmet off by force when he gave her consent to touch it 😭

i hope to see her this season or the next season to come, she only appeared in one episode and was never mentioned again, not even sorgan 💔

for sure there is more to explore between their relationship and i hope we get more content about them 🛐

the gifs are not mine, credit to the creators! (i love how mando makes his body a shield ❤️‍🩹)

[kenobiwanx]

IT'S VALENTINES MONTH! 🩷

There's 5 SLOTS available for commission for the next weeks!! Link in bio

(If you want a commission to be done by Valentine's Day, hurry up up to my dms because I can only make 2 until the day.)

[wrathkitty]

Short Debts Make Long Friends - Chapter 17

“I hear lightsabers,” you randomly announce.

Lightsabers? The only possible source of such a noise is switched off and presently hanging from his belt.

“Lightsabers,” you repeat. “Like Kylo Ren’s having a tantrum? And also the smoke alarm?”

“Who’s Kylo Ren?” Din asks, even more confused. 

A silly smile breaks across your bloodstained face and you lean in, whispering confidingly, “He’s the chosen one…”

He ducks down to take a closer look at you, truly baffled now. You are clammy and pale, but even more alarming are your eyes. The pupils are mismatched, one shrunk to the size of a pinpoint, the other fully dilated. 

You peer back at him solemnly, gaze vacant and fever bright. “I think I have to go.”

Oh, it’s long past time to go to the med center, but at least it seems like he won’t have to convince you. 

“I know,” he says in a rush. He slides an arm under your knees and instructs, “Hold onto my neck – ” 

“No…” You shove clumsily at him, but you are not trying to push him away; you want him to pay closer attention. “I mean I think I have to go back.”

Din freezes, halfway in the process of draping your arm across his shoulders. 

I think I have to go back.

Earth.

You mean Earth.

Din crushes you against his chest without a thought to the bruises that are sure to be left on you afterwards. He knows bruises, understands them and how to fix them, but this, whatever cosmic error it was that swept you into his world and threatens to wrench you away from him now – he had promised to get you home, but how can he try to fix something when he wants it to stay broken?

Chapter 17 - This wouldn't have happened if you'd just gotten me a flamethrower

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

Desperate PSA: Please consider throwing all your friendly neighborhood creators a bone and reblog. Likes don’t signal boost, and we’re doing all this shit for free.

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[corazondebeskar-reads]

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

well it's love, make it hurt series

fifteen: would have been nice to say I knew you

series masterlist | prev chapter | next chapter

dom!Din Djarin x sub!f!reader

Words: 2.9k

Summary: You and Mando meet again.

Warnings: discussions of genocide, the purge of mandalore, descriptions of grief, survivor's guilt, communication?, talking about feelings??, a tiny bit of groguito

also on ao3

dividers by @saradika-graphics

9 ABY - Fall

You can’t breathe. Sure, it could be a different ST-70. Maybe all Mandalorians flew them.

But—

You turn your wrist over and stare at your chrono.

You have to try.

You feel like the ghost, now, your limbs cold and prickling. Your feet carry you down the tree to the forest's edge.

It never worked at long distances. But—

If it’s his. If he hasn’t changed the programming.

It pulls right up when you turn the dial.

You press the first button to disable the ground security protocols. It gives no indication of success or failure, but it never had.

Your finger hovers over the button that, if he’s left your chrono coded into the system, will open the ramp.

Your hands shake so badly that you miss the button on the first try and end up jamming your thumb on the screen before getting it right. You’re so busy being mad at your chrono and your stupid nerves that the hiss of the ramp lowering startles you.

The thought of walking up it nearly makes you puke.

It’s funny, you think. You haven’t delved into any of the games you used to play with Mando in five years, but one look at the Crest makes a masochist out of you. That must be it, because otherwise, why would you be stepping into the hull while your chest is screaming?

Time has stood still in the Crest. It’s neat and clean. Your old bed-turned-sofa sits against the wall. You can’t bear to open the bunk or climb up to the cockpit. You can’t move at all, actually, leaden feet stuck in the purgatory of the entrance. Neither in nor out.

But it doesn’t smell right. It doesn’t smell like Mando. Sure, gunpowder and oil permeate the air, but the deep spice of his cooking is completely absent. The scent was so strong before that it clung stubbornly to every soft surface and couldn’t be shaken out.

“You went to all the trouble of that elaborate stunt in the cantina just to come right to the ship?”

The crackle of the modulator startles you enough to whirl around, blaster pointed.

“It worked, you know,” he says quietly, hands up but slowly climbing the ramp.

You back up, blaster unwavering.

“I lost your trail. Smart trick.”

“Then how’d you find me?”

“Got an alert that you disengaged the ground security.” He sighs, and his shoulders slump. “Can we talk?”

“Where’s your baby?” you counter.

“Sleeping in your apartment.”

“What?” You stare, mouth agape, top lip arched in a facsimile of a sneer.

“Well, it’s the safest place in the city, other than this ship. And I wasn’t sure how this was going to go.”

“You left your baby in my apartment. My apartment full of weapons.”

“He’s in the pod, he’ll be fine.”

“You left your baby locked in a pram in an apartment full of weapons.”

“He’s not my baby.”

Mando gives a little shrug with one shoulder.

You stare at him, eyes wide and wild. “That’s... that's worse.”

“I have a monitor.” He presses a button on his vambrace and a speaker crackles. If you listen closely, you can hear soft breathing.

You think something in your brain has snapped. Or exploded. Something critical, maybe. The nausea has been replaced with rage colder than hyperspace. It gives you the nerve to stomp past him down the ramp.

He doesn’t try to stop you. He does, however, follow you.

“Kriff off, Mandalorian.”

“I would, but I have to go with you.”

You whirl around, blaster still in your hand. “Do not follow me.”

“I need to pick up the baby. He’s at your place, remember?”

You scream. You honest-to-stars fucking scream, throwing your blaster in favor of shoving him hard with both hands.

He stumbles back a little. He must have had his guard down; he didn’t really think you’d come at him.

But you do it again, and it’s all the worse to realize he’s just letting you, and nothing is satisfying the burn, the way your teeth ache for a fight. What are you supposed to do? Punch him in his beskar head?

“Fucking coward,” you snarl, gearing up to push him again for lack of a better outlet.

He catches you by both wrists this time. His grip is firm but not painful.

You struggle even though you know it’s over.

He holds still and silent as you spit vitriol and kick at him. He even anticipates when you lunge to sink your teeth into his gloved fingers, yanking your wrists away, and you stumble.

Of course, he pulls you steady, unwavering.

Your chest is heaving; you’re still burning. “Fight back,” you huff. “Fucking fight me back.”

“You don’t want to fight,” he says, infuriatingly calm. “You want to hurt.”

“Don’t you start that shit.”

“I’m not going to, cyar’ika. But I know you.”

“Stop,” you yell. “You don’t get to say that or anything to me. You’re dead.” Your voice breaks humiliatingly on the last sentence.

“I’m sorry.”

You wrench out of his grasp as he repeats it.

You let yourself fall on the ground on your ass., leaning back on your hands in the damp field to stare straight out at the trees.

He sits down next to you, wise enough to keep a safe distance. You hate that it’s easier when you don’t have to look at him. That you can feel him, and you know, you just know it’s really him.

You close your eyes and shake your head. “S’not real. I had a bad ronto, and I’m going to wake up in the fresher.”

“That happen a lot?”

“Nah, just the once.”

“That's good. I gave one to the kid.”

You tip your head back and stare up at the stars. "How are you here?” It’s just a breath louder than the breeze.

“My tribe did not live on Mandalore, but on one of its moons,” he begins but pauses to think. “There was a... complicated political history, one I was too young to understand, that split the Mandalorians. My people built a home on Concordia.”

“You always said—”

“I know. I’m sorry. At the time, it was simpler. Easier than explaining something I didn’t know enough about.”

“You don’t need to apologize,” you mumble. “You didn’t owe me anything. Still don’t.”

He’s quiet for a minute. “Do you truly believe that?”

“Why now?” It comes out softer than you meant it to. Defeated.

He sighs. “At first, I couldn’t. I tried to reach you. But from the sound of it, I made it to Nevarro about three months after you left.”

The nausea comes back with a vengeance. “Oh.”

“I understand, now. Why you left,” he says.

It doesn’t matter. You’re fractured, like the next words out of his mouth will shatter you.

You hadn’t waited.

You had run away.

The horror must show on your face because he does a double take and sits up on his knees, turning to you. “No, sweetheart—”

“You shouldn’t have come here.”

“Maybe not. It was selfish. But I’ve been looking for you in every crowd for the last five years, and when I finally got a lead, I couldn’t help it. Told myself I’d just see if you were alright. But then I got here. And you were. You were safe, almost happy. I had about worked up the nerve to walk away.”

“And then I tackled you and held a knife to your throat?”

“No. Then I saw you wearing my tunic.”

"What, were you watching me sleep through my window?"

He's quiet for a beat too long.

"Wow. You were."

"And you were using it on purpose."

“It’s just a shirt.”

“Is it? If it is, I can go.”

You both fall silent.

You wrap your arms around your knees and stare at the ground. “I grieved for you,” you whisper. “It’s so stupid. I know it's nothing compared to what you've been through.” You wipe your eyes on your sleeve. "And it’s not like we were together. ” You fail to keep the bitterness from your voice.

“It would have been so much easier if we just… never saw each other again. I would have missed you, but I always knew how it would go. But the idea of you—” Your throat tightens, and you stop, struggling to take a deep breath.

You thought you were over this part. Instead, it's like cutting open a freshly-cauturized vibroblade gash. “I wish you hadn’t come. It was cruel of you.”

The night is quiet, save for the gorgs. What feels like hours pass as you sit side by side in silence.

“You never said it back," he says, not without a trace of sorrow.

You look up, the sudden noise catching you off guard. “What?”

“You said we weren’t together, but that was your boundary. Your choice from the beginning. ‘Hunting and fucking, nothing complicated.’ I thought, for a while, that things had changed. That you just needed time. But you never said it back, and then you left.”

“Never said what back?” Something is itching in your brain, something horrible and sickly. Oh, no. No, no, no.

He tilts his head, and you realize you’ve said the last bit aloud.

“No, that was a dream. We were on a beach, which never happened, so it was a dream.”

“That night? After… after we left Axis?”

You bury your face in your hands. This cannot be happening. You don’t know if you’ll survive this.

“You might have been falling asleep, cyar’ika, but I said it.”

You shake your head. “No. It wasn’t real.”

“It was. I said I loved you.”

“Stop. Stop it. You’ve done enough; fine, I hurt you. I didn’t mean to, but you can’t do this to me.” You dig your nails into the flesh of your forearm and focus on breathing, but the world has narrowed to a roaring wind in your ears and black tendrils taking over your vision.

It's been three years since you've blacked out like that, but it must have happened, because he’s holding you up when you can feel again.

“There you go, sweetheart, just breathe,” he’s murmuring. His bare hands are on you; you can feel the heat on the back of your head and middle of your spine. Your face is burning, and throat flayed.

“What doesn’t matter?” he asks.

“What?”

“You said it doesn’t matter.”

You shake your head to clear the storm and pull away from him, thankful that he lets go without a fuss. “Oh. It doesn’t matter, Mando. It doesn’t matter what was or wasn’t said. Not now.”

“Why? Why doesn’t it? It feels like it matters a lot.”

"We've lived completely different lives; we're not the same people we were then."

"We're not so changed that we can't understand one another."

You’re tired. You’re too tired to move or think carefully enough for this conversation. The panic always drains you, and it’s as if your body is finally catching up to the last three hours. Instead of answering, you just bury your face back in your hands and groan.

“Hey,” he says, reaching over to pluck a leaf from your hair. “I don’t want to leave things this way. Will you stay? Just for tonight, so we can talk in the morning.”

“I don't think that’s a good idea.”

“You fainted. I don’t think you should try to walk home. Unless you want me to give you a ride?”

“Don’t think you can land the Crest at my apartment.”

“No, with the phoenix. The jetpack.”

That wakes you up a little. “No. Absolutely not. No, thank you. I’ll sleep here with the gorgs.”

“You’ll get eaten by a puffer pig.”

“Will not.”

“They can be vicious when they want to.”

“They love me,” you say and wish you hadn’t.

“I bet they do,” and it’s sickeningly soft, not a hint of teasing. “Please, cyar’ika? I’ll sleep in the cockpit; you can have the bunk to yourself.”

You sigh. You don’t think you have it in you to scale the fucking spires and Oga’s roof again. You could go around, but that’ll add another hour. By then, the fucking suns will be up.

“It doesn’t mean anything,” you say.

“Okay,” he lies. “C’mon, let’s get you inside.”

You let him help you up but pull away when he tries to support you. You don’t need the help; you could stumble around the Crest and find the bunk even if you were fully asleep. All these years haven’t changed that.

When you lay down, that’s the end of it for you. All your energy slips out, and you barely notice when he tucks the blanket in.

You meet the kid first thing in the morning. Like, first thing. Two hours later, with the three Batuuan stars beaming down from the cabin to the hull.

You meet him immediately because he climbs onto the bunk, and you startle awake, reaching to draw your blaster. Lucky for the kid, you left it in the fucking field overnight.

You sit up, and he climbs into your lap and looks up at you with huge brown eyes that should frankly be weaponized. He tilts his head and coos.

“Are you the baby?” What a stupid question, you think through the haze of too little sleep and too much everything else.

He grabs your hand with three little fingers. It’s painfully cute. And painfully painful. He has some sharp little nails.

You look around the bunk. It’s the same as it ever was, except for a fabric draped across the ceiling. The sharpness starts to grow again behind your sternum, but it’s cut off when the kid makes another sound. He reaches up, and you inexplicably lean down. His little hand touches your cheek.

“Yeah, okay, you’re very cute. Did you need something?”

He looks up at you, unblinking, and you find yourself in the galaxy’s strangest staring contest for a minute. Then he yawns and reaches his arms up, and it clicks.

“Oh! That’s your bed, isn’t it?” You lift him and help him climb in. He nestles into the hammock and falls right to sleep.

You think about doing the same. Just going back to bed, or at least pretending to, so you don’t have to face Mando.

Who, of course, pops up in the doorway. He was always so fucking quiet; it only got worse after he stopped wearing his armor around the ship.

Now, though, he's fully clad. He has a hand on his helmet, shaking his head. “I’m sorry, I tried to keep him away.”

“It’s fine,” you shrug. “I kind of stole his bedroom.”

“No, it’s okay; he sleeps in the pod all the time.”

Another awkward silence falls. Your head is pounding.

“C’mon, I got breakfast.”

“You got breakfast, or you made breakfast? Because I haven’t had to eat rations in five years.” You accept his peace offering and slide out of the bunk.

He closes it behind you.

“You trap him in there, too?”

“No, he can get out. This is just in case you yell at me again.”

So much for the fucking peace. You scowl and rub your left arm.

He sighs. “I’m sorry. I don’t know how to do this, either.” He waits a moment. “It’s a platter and caf from the docking bay.”

He’s got you there, and he knows it. He brings you the caf as soon as you sit down.

You brace yourself when the modulator picks up an inhale, but when he speaks, it’s not what you were afraid of.

“He’s a foundling. I’ve been quested to return him to his kind.”

“Oh.”

“He was a bounty, first. It’s a long story, but one I would very much like to tell you someday.”

And there it is. You close your eyes, lips pursing.

“I know you said it doesn’t matter. And if it’s what you really want, I’ll leave you alone,” he says.

You chew on your lip but don’t speak, which he takes as an invitation.

“Or, you could come with me.” He raises a hand when you open your mouth. “Just for a few days. I have to leave today to follow a lead before it’s too late. I can come back. Or you could come with us.”

“I have a whole life here,” you warn.

“Is that a yes?”

You groan. It shouldn’t be. You should go to your apartment, pack up your things, and take the next ride out of here so he can’t find you again. That would be the smart choice, to protect yourself.

But what you say is, “Fine.”

“Okay.” He tries to weigh his options, how best to proceed without spooking you. He wants to tear his gloves off and grab your hands, to pull you into his lap.

He doesn’t. He knows you’re not wrong. The things you both have lived through while apart are not insignificant. The pain has forced you to grow in different directions.

But it aches to have you sitting there, to have you home, and to not really have you at all.

So he does the only thing he can think of in that moment. Something desperate but not reckless. He’s thought about little else since the encounter with Gideon.

“Cyar’ika,” he begins cautiously, fingers tapping against the table. “I need to tell you something.”

You look up, lips pursed but eyes soft. Open, willing to chance what he’s about to say, but not without a hint of fear.

“My name is Din.”

*title from "Carpathia" by Taking Back Sunday