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lincolndjarin · 1 year

Text

Best Kept Secret

chapter nineteen : reverence (RE-UPLOAD)

ao3 link ✿ series masterlist ✩ main masterlist ✧

pairing : bodyguard!Din Djarin x afab!princess!reader

rating : 18+ mdni

word count : 7.3k

summary : mando takes you to the library in the city!! very cute and innocent day trip!!

warnings, etc. : language, teasing, smut, oral f!recieving, face sitting, din djarin consent king, body worship, fingering, p in v sex, unprotected sex, cum eating, size kink if you squint, overstimulation, multiple orgasms.

A/N : i had to change accounts so this is a re-upload of my ongoing fic bks!!

You really want to.

You couldn’t possibly want to more than you currently do.

It’s actually a bit mean. That he’s left you here in this state.

You tidy up the plates, setting them on the vanity before struggling out of your dress for a few minutes until you’re finally free of the damned thing, sulking off to the closet, wrapping yourself in the sheets, and tossing and turning restlessly.

“When you really want to.”

What a ridiculous time to decide to tease. You couldn’t have made your want clearer if you tried, of course it wasn’t just going to be because he had done as you asked, obviously you wanted it. Did you have to make it more blunt? If that’s what he wants you can certainly do that.

If he wants direct you can be direct.

Tomorrow.

Tonight, you’ll have to settle for a pillow shoved between your thighs to try and soothe the heat that’s building there, threatening to boil over.

✩

You’re grumpy in the morning. How could you not be? If anything you’re in a worse mood than you were last night because you’re still pent up and now your head is full of all sorts of ideas about how you can prove just how badly you want to. You're rifling through drawers when the girls get there in the morning.

When you finally turn to look at them you’re triumphantly holding up a white satin nighty, the two girls exchange a look of confusion before helping you dress. Lysa manages to find satin panties that go with it. Perfect.

The next step in your plan is your dress. You tell them specifically that you’re going out again today and that you’d like something a little more casual if possible.

Elaine manages to find exactly what you’re looking for. Of course it’s the furthest thing from casual, you’re expected to keep up appearances, but it’s definitely simpler than anything else they’ve dressed you in. It’s light pink, with layers, thin pieces of chiffon make up the skirt. The sleeves are shorter than you’re used to, and it might be the most breathable gown in your closet. It doesn’t even drag across the floor, the skirt ends at the middle of your calves.

But most importantly, it has buttons in the back, not your usual corset style.

Once you put on a pair of flats you’re feeling rather pleased with their work, other than detangling the sleep from your hair they’ve left it alone.

It’s like the girls can sense your excitement as they swiftly begin to take their leave.

“I’ll have Leo bring you a coin purse before you leave, my lady.” Is the only thing Elaine says before shutting the door behind them. Once they’re gone you rush to the closet, knowing Leo you’ll only have a few minutes. Searching through the pillows in your mess of a makeshift bed you finally find the one containing the book, gingerly opening to where you’ve tucked the necklace Din had given you before holding it up.

The knock on your door has you shoving the book back into the pillow case as you hastily clasp the necklace around your neck. The small silver flower charm dangles from the leather cord as you greet Leo, who hands you a far too large bag of credits before hurrying off. You’re left standing in the doorway staring at the Mandalorian, you give him a wide innocent grin.

“Good morning, Mando.” You hold the credits out to him. “Could you hold these for me please?” You bat your eyelashes at him, you know you’re laying it on a little thick but allegedly this is what he wanted.

He stiffens up a bit, clearly sensing that something is off about you, he hesitates for only a moment before taking them from you.

“Good morning, princess, are you ready to go?” His voice has a certain curiosity to it that only makes you smile wider.

“Of course.” You close the door behind you and he tucks the coin purse into his over the shoulder bag.

You walk very close to him. You can’t remember how to find the main entrance of the castle so he takes the lead. Once you’re in a hallway you’re certain is completely empty you briefly allow yourself to take his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze.

“How are you this morning, my kar’ta?” You whisper before dropping his hand, the two of you turning down a hall with a few scattered guards that stand at attention when they see you approaching. He says nothing as you carry on, you smile as you pass them until you begin your descent down a staircase.

“I’m fine… how are you?” You can practically hear him furrowing his brow, you haven’t given him a good enough reason to directly question you yet but you can tell he’s already suspicious of your over the top actions.

“Absolutely wonderful.” You bump your shoulder against his and the modulator buzzes as he starts to say something but you’re already at the front gate and you don’t give him time to as you hold your wrist out to the man you know will attach your tracker, he grumbles as the man insists he wear one as well, warning him not to “lose” it again or we won’t be allowed to take you out anymore.

Before you know it you’re out the gate and making your way down the palace steps towards the landspeeder that is already waiting for the two of you. You stop in front of it before turning to face Din.

“Could you help me up please?” As you say it his helmet tilts ever so slightly to the side but he lifts you by your waist up into the backseat before pulling himself up to sit beside you. A few minutes after you start moving he puts his arm on the back of the seat as he leans down a bit to whisper to you, you know at the speed you're going that the driver can’t hear him.

“I know what you’re up to sarad’ika.” His voice is stern but there’s no actual upset behind it so you turn to smile at him.

He wanted you to want it.

So you’re going to show him just how badly you can want it.

“I have no idea what you mean.” You stare up into the visor through your lashes before you lurch forward slightly.

You’re already there.

“Why didn’t we just walk? It would have taken us less than an hour, it’s right down the street?” You frown as he jumps out, holding his arms out to help you out.

“I didn’t realize you would want to walk.” He says, setting you on the ground.

“Well I would.” You turn to the driver. “Don’t bother coming back, we’ll be walking home.” The woman driving nods before speeding off.

The building is massive. White marble steps lead up to large columns that line the entrance, it must be at least five stories, yet it seems like very few people are going in and out. He watches you take in the size of the building. Aside from the castle, it might be the biggest building on Naboo. Eventually you start making your way up the steps, the Mandalorian following closely behind you, when you reach the top he steps in front of you to hold the door open.

What a gentleman.

You hope for your sake that he’ll be feeling a little less like a gentleman later.

You want to stay focused on your poorly veiled attempts to seduce him but honestly the library is so breathtaking you lose focus of your task for a moment as you take in the shelves. It’s built like a ring, the center of the room is hollow going up, and much to your surprise, down. A railing keeps anyone who gets close from going over and you’re immediately drawn to it, the moment you put your hands on the rail to look down Din puts a protective hand on your waist.

It goes down as far as it goes up, you count six floors below and when you look up you count six above.

His grip tightens when you lean forward to try and see the bottom before pulling you away from the edge.

“I thought you were scared of heights?” He whispers, even though his tone is hushed it stands out in the jarring silence of the building.

“When I don’t expect them, this is fine.” Your eyes are wandering now through the wide expanse of shelves, your library back in the keep is probably the size of just one floor here. Oddly enough you haven’t seen a single person yet, or an employee. “Where is everyone?” His hand moves to the small of your back as he guides you towards the elevator in the back of the circular room.

“Everyone’s working right now, only a few droids are employed here, you’ll see them rolling around at some point.” Once he gets you on the elevator he’s pressing the buttons to take you to the top. You’re waiting for the doors to close as you give him an inquisitive look.

“The top?” He looks at you as you ask it, he’s tapping his foot as he waits for the doors.

“The basement levels are all academic nonsense, we’ll start at the top and work back to the ground floor.” You take a step to the left so your arm is against his. The doors finally shut and the two of you stand in the silence for only a moment before he turns his helmet to glare down at you. You can feel his gaze burning against your face.

If he has something to say he doesn’t voice it. And you’re happy to just rock back and forth on your heels until there’s a ding and the doors open. You step out ahead of him, the roof of the building is glass, sunlight streaming into the shelves. You find yourself quickly engrossed by the multicolored spines that line them. They’re organized by genre, and you currently find yourself surrounded by all the fiction you could ever possibly want.

You’re conflicted because you would love to spend the day trying to get under the Mandalorians skin, (and also just under him in general) but he’s taken you to the one place that might actually be able to distract you.

You can have your cake and eat it too if you play your cards right.

“Could you pick some for me? I loved the one you had me read yesterday, it was so exciting.” You grab his arm as you say it, there aren’t any droids to be seen on this floor and the entire building seems to be lacking cameras.

He begins to scan the shelves as you hold his arm, following next to him.

“So you aren’t up to anything, You’re just in a really good mood today?” His voice is low and secretive as he scans the shelves.

“I’m not you, I’m not always scheming to get the upper hand.” Except that’s exactly what you’re doing.

“You’re hilarious.” He takes something off the shelf tucking it into his bag before carrying on through the stacks.

You do this for a good hour.

You follow him through the maze of shelves, he picks out a book, puts it in his bag, you keep walking.

Eventually you manage to find your favorite. It’s a little funny, the juxtaposition of such an imposing and regal library housing your campy romance novels, but they have such a wide collection you completely forget about the task at hand briefly as you search through them. He wanders off at one point, never completely out of sight but he lets you look in private.

This is a good opportunity to enjoy the library while also making an attempt to work him up.

You look exclusively for books about men wearing helmets. Knights, stormtroopers, clone troopers, a pilot finds his way into the mix. But best of all there’s actually a few Mandalorian ones.

Ravaged by Two Mandalorians, Bound in Beskar, and Unmasking the Alpha (a Mandalorian Erotic Novella)

They all look obscene and if you're being honest, a little ridiculous but you take all three under your arm and go over to him, holding them out.

“Can you put these in your bag please?” You spread them out so he can see all the titles.

“You can’t be serious.” He sounds almost mortified.

“Those ones looked the most interesting to me.” You give him big doe eyes as you say it and he hastily shoves them in his bag before taking your arm and dragging you towards the elevator.

“We’re done on this floor.” Is all he mumbles as he presses the buttons to take you down one.

You had hoped maybe he’d just drag you home but sure, this is fine.

Except the next floor isn’t really all that sexy.

It’s a lot of technical stuff. Machinery, maintenance, all sorts of stuff you know he enjoys so you have no plans to rush him. He goes off on his own so you walk aimlessly until you find something you know he’s fond of.

Classic ships.

You have to flip through four books to find what you’re looking for but eventually you’re staring at the Razor Crest.

It was a military patrol craft, more importantly it’s a gunship. Seems like an odd choice for him, as strong as he is it’s hard to imagine him as a soldier.

He doesn’t seem like the type to follow orders.

“That’s my ship.” He’s looking over your shoulder as you close the book, putting it back in its spot.

“I thought you didn’t have a ship? Wasn’t that the whole reason you took this job?”

“It was my ship. Had a little accident.” He sounds genuinely saddened by the loss.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. I never would have met you if it hadn’t happened.”

That would be so sweet if it didn’t make you want him even more.

You settle on a smile.

“Next floor?” You say as you watch a droid roll past, seemingly vacuuming the nonexistent dirt on the carpet.

“Next floor?” You ask.

You’re back in the elevator.

You're on the next floor.

And you’re surprised to find that half of this floor is cook books. It’s a more than thorough collection, covering every sort of thing you can imagine, from every planet you can imagine.

He’s much less interested in this floor but you know exactly what you want.

It’s easy to find the first thing you’re looking for. A book on Naboo deserts. You quickly hand it to him before looking further, when you find the second book you’re looking for it’s just out of your reach.

Which is more than fine.

You stand on your tiptoes, your fingertips barely reaching the shelf it’s on and exactly as you knew he would, Din puts a hand on your waist and reaches up over you to get it, boxing you between the shelves and his body.

You “stumble” a bit in “surprise” when he does. You keep an innocent look on your face as your hips shamelessly grind back against his. His grip on your waist tightens and he holds you still as he gets the book down, turning you around so your back is to the shelves and you’re facing him.

“Really?” He hands you the book you had wanted and you immediately hand it back to him.

“What? You scared me, and this is for you.”

He stares down at it. It’s a children's cookbook. He scoffs, but much to your delight, puts it in his bag.

He clearly has more to say but as you give him yet another innocent smile he sighs and leads you back towards the elevator once more.

He pretends he doesn’t know exactly what you’re doing.

You pretend you don’t see him adjust himself in his flight suit.

You spend all your time on this floor trying to get him flustered. The only time you’re sure it works is when you drop a book and really take your time picking it up.

You catch him clenching and unclenching his fist afterwards.

On the next floor you manage to find your own Mando’a translation book. He hesitates when you hand it to him but eventually puts it in his bag.

On the last floor you tell him how excited you are to go home and read. He nods and any words he has in response seem to get caught in his throat.

When you’re finally done his bag is overflowing with books and you return to the ground floor, he sets them on some sort of scale near the entrance and a number comes up. He inserts about a quarter of the credits from the purse into the machine and then puts the books back into his bag.

“Why did you have to pay? Aren’t we just borrowing these?” He holds the door open for you to leave as you ask, following you out onto the steps.

“You can borrow them, you can also buy them, they’ll replace them quickly, I thought you might want to own some of these.” He leads you down the steps, the city seems to be getting busier, you must have spent your whole day inside without even realizing it.

It’s a beautiful walk back to the castle, you’re actually a little mad you didn’t get to walk this route earlier.

It’s also the first time you’ve seen the people of Naboo outside of the markets.

It’s immediately clear to you why they don’t like Kodo, or you assume, most of the royal family.

It’s clean, and it’s pretty here but you can tell the people are terribly overworked and more than miserable, you find yourself reaching into Din’s bag for the coin purse.

Before you know it you’re walking into the crowds handing out credits to anyone who will take them. Din stays close the entire time, his arm hovering over your waist without really touching you but you aren’t worried.

No one here is going to hurt you.

People come and go quickly with thanks and gentle squeezes of your hands until the bag is empty, once that happens you promise to come back with more another day.

You talk to the people that will get close enough, once the money’s gone most people shoot nervous looks at Din at scurry off but a few stay to chat, mostly older people who hold your hands tightly, you had planned on rushing home initially and making an attempt at tackling the Mandalorian onto the bed but now you want nothing more than to talk to the people.

Your people.

You wish you had talked to them sooner, that you had stopped that day in the markets because they’re all incredibly kind.

It’s probably because you’ve been cooped up and the only times you’ve been out you’ve always been distracted but this is the first time you truly feel like a princess.

The first time you’ve realized that you have subjects.

Once the crowd completely thins, you’re sitting on a bench with an elderly woman who’s holding your hands in hers as she tells you about her daughters store, she sells groceries and food items from what you can tell and you do your best to listen intently. The Mandalorian has given you a bit of space now that people have left, he’s standing against a brick building on the other side of the street, watching patiently.

“He is your protector?” The woman you’ve learned is named Vivian nods in his direction and you smile as his head adjusts slightly, of course he’s listening in.

“Yes. He’s my keeper.” Street lights are beginning to come on as the sun sets, shops around you are closing for the day.

“I haven’t seen a Mandalorian around here in quite some time.” As she speaks a group of children are approaching Din, none of them can be older than five, running around as their parents deal with their last customers of the day.

“He’s the first one I ever met. I thought they’d be different.” Surprisingly, the children aren’t afraid of him. If anything they’re intrigued, unlike the adults they know nothing of Mandalorians, they have yet to feel the unearned hesitancy towards them.

“How so?” The older woman's hands are wrinkled and soft as she holds yours.

“I didn’t think they’d be so kind.” Din crouches down to be at their height, giving the group a small wave. One brave little girl comes right up and slaps her chubby little hands against his knee, when he doesn’t react the rest of the group deems it safe enough to follow suit, soon he’s covered in little ones, all tugging at the Beskar and giggling until he settles on just sitting on the ground, letting them play.

“How is life in the royal family, my lady? Are you enjoying your time in the castle? The people almost didn’t believe you were real, no one’s seen you, we only heard tales of a young woman set to marry prince Harand.” She makes a face as she says his name. So it’s true, they don’t care for him.

“It’s perfectly well.” Your eyes are still focused on Din who is carefully pulling a toddler off of his back to set him down in front of him. It’s the most patient you’ve seen him be, he doesn’t seem bothered in the slightest by the onslaught of children, several have taken to just sitting in his lap playing with the belts that go across his chest. “If anything it’s just boring. Not a lot for me to do, just a lot of reading.” The woman hums, content on just watching the children with you once she realizes they’ve caught your attention.

He’s managed to settle the majority down, they all sit in front of him now, a few of the younger ones continue to tug at his armor and one little girl sits on his leg, her dark eyes sparkle in the street lights and her hair is done up in several little buns as she stares up at him in awe. It takes you a second to realize he’s playing a game with them, he holds out both his hands in closed fists towards the closest child, a little Rodian boy who excitedly points to his left hand which he opens to reveal a credit in his palm which he hands to the little one.

You catch a glimpse of his other hand.

There were credits in both of them.

He goes around through all the kids until every single one has won. You don’t realize until he’s done that you had run out of money earlier, he was using his own for this little game.

Once every child gets a chance to win he goes back to being a personal playground, he picks up one excited toddler who was drooling on his pauldron, setting him down in his lap, letting him hold one of his fingers.

“You’re right.” You jump a bit, you’d nearly forgotten you were sitting next to Vivian.

“I’m sorry?” You give her an apologetic smile, you’ve been so focused on Din you’d completely zoned out.

“He is kind.” She gives you a warm smile and you can’t help but smile back at her, she stands and you stand with her, letting her take your arm as you help walk her to her daughters storefront and you promise to visit again soon before returning to Din who is now handing little ones who cling to him to their respective parents. The little girl with the buns in her hair is refusing to let go, her chubby fingers wrapped around his cowl until he reaches into his bag, handing her one of the cakes from the markets before peeling her off of him and handing her to her parents, standing once they’re gone.

“You’re good with them.” When you speak he looks at you and then at the practically empty street before offering up his arm.

No one’s around, what’s the harm?

You take his arm and the two of you walk, the sun completely out of the sky now.

“I’ve had a lot of practice.” He says softly. Your eyes are trained on the stars above but he’s staring only at you.

“With your little one?” He pulls you closer as you say it.

“With my little one, yes.”

“I’m going to ask you something, and you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.” You tear your eyes from the stars to stare into the visor. He nods and you continue, looking back to the stars. “Who’s his mother?” He laughs slightly when you say it.

“I don’t know, I don’t know who his father is either. Is that all you wanted to ask?”

No. Now you have more questions than ever but you’ve already promised yourself you’d wait until he told you himself. So you nod.

“That’s it.”

“Okay.” He lets go of your arm as you approach the castle and shortens his steps so he’s behind you.

You go through the same routine as last time, turning in your trackers before being let in, you walk in silence up to your chambers. You both know what’s going to happen when you get there. When you open the door you turn to him, giving him the sweetest smile you can muster.

“Wanna come in so we can go through the books?” He hesitates for only a moment before nodding and stepping in. When you close the door you lock it as loudly as possible.

He carefully sets the books that you had picked for yourself onto your vanity along with four he picked out for you.

You walk to the center of the room, humming quietly to yourself as you slip your flats off. He turns when he’s done to look at you, standing firmly in place.

“I like that dress on you.” He says it so quietly you barely catch it, flashing him a smile.

“Thanks, I was hoping you’d like it.” You bunch up the skirt a bit, swaying it back and forth before making your way over to him, your fingers play with his gauntlet.

“Not tonight, princess…” He mumbles as you do which immediately has you frowning.

“I couldn’t possibly want it more Din.” You give him a reassuring look but he still shakes his head.

“What is this about? Seriously, no secrets, why won’t you touch me? I’m giving you permission.”

He’s silent for a moment and when he speaks his voice is small.

“I just got you back, I can’t ruin this again.”

“You won’t.”

“I don’t want you to think this is just sex for me.”

“I know it isn’t.” You bring your hand up to rest flat against his chestplate, over where his heart would be. “How many times have I asked you to leave me be and you have refused? I am asking you to stay and now you won’t do that either.”

“That was different.” His hand rests atop yours.

“How?”

You can tell he’s struggling to find the words but you know to just give him time, let him figure it out on his own. Just when you think he might give up and leave, he speaks.

“When you asked me to leave you alone I stayed because it was my job. It was my duty to protect you.” His visor is trained on your face as he speaks. “Now I leave because you are much more than that. You are not my job anymore, you’re my faith.” Your breath catches in your throat as he says it. “You have made me a devout man, princess.” Your hand moves to rest on the cheek of his helmet and he takes a small step forward before his fingers come up to play with the flower charm on your necklace.

You’re at a bit of a loss for words.

He tends to have that effect on you.

“I don’t just care for you, sarad’ika, I worship you.” His words are soft and hushed.

“Then show me.”

He doesn’t move so you bring your other hand to his helmet, like you’re cradling his face.

“Do you want me?” Your words are stern as you force him to hold your gaze.

“Always.”

“And you said you wouldn’t touch me again unless I wanted you to?”

“Yes.” The hand playing with your necklace drops, and you take a step back.

“I want it Din.” You reach your hands back to the buttons on your dress and with one sharp tug you hear them all clatter to the ground and you let the fabric fall into a heap on the floor. You’re standing before him in the white satin nighty, when he doesn’t move you go to turn off the lights in the room before you walk to the closet, opening the door. “I’m not going to force you if you aren’t ready, but I promise, I want it.” You leave him standing there in the dark, the door to the closet left open as you stand, shuffling through your sheets before clicking on the lamp, turning to give the door one last glance.

In all honesty you expect to hear your bedroom door open and shut.

Much to your surprise he’s standing in the doorway of the closet, the lamp light flickers off of the silver steel of his armor and he shuts the door behind him before he takes only a couple long strides to stand before you.

No words are spoken as he kneels in front of you, his hands holding your hips as you stare down at him.

“You want me to show you?” He whispers it in the dim glow that surrounds the two of you. You only nod in response. His hands move down your sides, down your bare thighs, your calves and your ankles before tracing right back up. “You’ll let me worship you?”

“Yes.” You whisper back to him and his hand reaches over as he turns off the lamp.

In the darkness you hear him shedding his armor, he stays in front of you, on his knees as he does.

You count the pieces of metal as they hit the floor.

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven.

And finally there’s that hiss of air.

Eight.

His hands pull you down to your knees so you’re face to face with him and he guides your hands to the zippers on his flight suit, letting you pull the fabric off of him, tossing it somewhere behind him in the darkness before hastily pulling his face to yours.

It feels less like a kiss and more like he’s trying to memorize the shape of your lips with his.

He doesn’t tear the fabric from you this time, instead he carefully lifts it over your head before tossing that aside as well, in the pitch black you’re left only in your panties as he lays you back into the pillows and sheets, slotting himself between your legs his hand is lifting one slightly and you gasp as you feel him place a kiss to the inside of your ankle.

He doesn’t speak, which is a bit funny because previously that was all he did when you had sex but this time is different. Without a mask to hide behind he’s not the dominant man you knew.

Now he is your acolyte.

He doesn’t speak because he is to busy showing you his devotion as his mouth moves up your leg, leaving a trail of kisses until he reaches your thighs, he’s moved so he’s on his stomach as he throws your legs over his shoulders, sucking the meat of your thighs into his mouth, feverishly making sure not to miss a spot.

His lips are everywhere but where you want them.

You aren’t sure how long he does this but it feels like hours, he does nothing but gently nip at your thighs, soothing each little bite with a kiss or with his tongue until your hands find his hair, tugging gently.

“Mando please…” You whine as you pull at his curls.

“Say my name cyare, please.” It isn’t a demand, it’s not his usual commanding bedroom tone, it’s a plea. “I love when you say my name.”

Who could deny him that? When he sounds so fucking desperate?

“Din, please.” That’s all it takes for his fingers to tug down your panites, tossing them aside before he gets back into the position he was in. He doesn’t tease, he doesn’t hesitate, the moment he’s able to he’s diving into you, his tongue spreads open our folds before he sinks it into your heat.

Stars, that tongue.

You’ve thought about that tongue for a long time.

He’s used that tongue to tease you, to mock you, and to taunt you. But now he’s chosen to drive you mad with it.

He traces up and down your folds, his stubble scratches at you deliciously as he’s trying to find what you like the most as you fall apart against him, as he fucks your hole with his tongue his nose bumps against you clit making you groan, your fingers gripping the blankets around you.

He mumbles incoherently against your cunt before doing it again, letting you grind your face against him as he continues to mumble until finally you manage to sit up on your elbows through your gasps and moans.

“D-Din.” You stammer out but he doesn’t react in the slightest other than wrapping his arms around your thighs as he pulls you close to him. “Din! Fuck! Din I c-can’t hear you.” He still doesn’t so much as react to you so you finally just reach down, pulling him off of you by his hair, his breath is labored as his grip on your thighs loosens.

“Are you okay? What’s wrong?” You’re breathing just as hard as he is as he says it, his voice fills the darkness.

“I’m fine, I just, I can’t hear you.” You let go of his hair, bringing your hand down to caress his face, the bottom half of which is soaked.

“Kriff, sorry mesh’la.” His grip on your thighs tightens once more and one of his hands moves under you to rest against your spine as he rolls himself over. It’s as impressive as it is surprising, you squeal as it happens, your entire body is shifted from laying down to sitting upright in an instant. You have to lean forward to regain your balance. He’s on his back now with you hovering above his face on your knees. “I was telling you to sit on my face, sarad. It’ll be easier.”

You want to tell him that you’re too heavy, that you’re worried that you’ll hurt him but he pulls you down by your thighs before you can protest. From this angle his tongue pushes deeper into you and you can ride his nose, so any complaints you have die in your throat, especially when he starts moaning against your core.

Your fingers go to his hair, gripping his curls as he forces your weight down onto him, you can feel his hips grinding against nothing behind you as he does. Your orgasm is approaching rapidly and it’s clear that he can tell because his efforts somehow further as he moans again, the vibrations have you squeezing his head with your thighs.

Your vision goes white as he tilts his head up to suck on your clit sharply. The thread snaps and you’re cumming, the small room is filled with your moans as his tongue moves back at your hole and you can hear him obscenely lapping at your juices. You need a second to recover. As you sit up on your knees his face follows, trying desperately to lick you clean and you have to gently push him off.

“T-too sensitive Din. Give me a second.”

He immediately pulls away, sitting up so he can lay you down on the blankets, he goes back to kissing you wherever he can get his mouth as you catch your breath.

He travels across your hips, up your navel, you’re certain he kisses every one of your ribs until his lips settle on your breast, his tongue swirls around your nipple before pulling it into his mouth making your back arch up and into him.

You’ve never had someone pay attention to you like this. Sure, previously he had been the best sex of your life but this is entirely different. Without the helmet on he’s Din. Your Din. And Din seems to be considerably more shy than the Mandalorian you know. Without his helmet he definitely doesn’t talk as much, but his mouth is on you constantly.

You wonder to yourself as his lips move to your other breast if he’s ever gotten to do this with anyone else. Maybe he’s simply eager to put his mouth on something that isn’t a ration pack. Your thoughts are shut up as his hands spread your thighs and he cups your pussy before letting two of his fingers slide through your folds. His mouth moves up again, kissing every inch of your chest before settling on your neck.

He nuzzles his face into your neck before deeply inhaling your scent, groaning as his fingers find your still swollen bud. He doesn’t move though, waiting for your permission as they simply rest atop it, his mouth going to work on your throat.

“Yes Din, it’s okay.” You whisper as he nods, humming against your skin as he starts drawing circles against you, you’re moaning again, terribly loud, as he rubs lazy shapes into you. Your hands find purchase against his shoulders.

Gods, he’s broad. Significantly less broad than he looks with the armor on but he’s still just generally big. You let your hands wander across his body as he rubs your clit, it seems like he’s trying to see just how loud he can make you. He’s big but as you trace his scarred back you discover he’s surprisingly lean. The armor must bulk him up because he feels surprisingly lithe. His fingers sink into you and he begins to grind his palm against your clit as they do, you immediately gasp at the stretch.

“Maker-” His mouth covers yours, interrupting your sentence, when he pulls away he’s panting.

“There is no Maker. There’s only you.” His mouth is back on yours as he slowly moves his fingers in and out of you and you’re already close again as you scratch at his back. Eventually when you're a mess all over again, chanting his name, as you gasp for air he swipes his tongue across your bottom lip before pushing into your mouth. He keeps his hand still at this point, letting you chase your release as you ride his fingers until you’re seeing stars again.

He happily swallows your moans as you finish again.

You’re about to ask for another break but he’s sitting up on his knees, one hand on your waist as he whispers your name like it’s a prayer, and you feel the tip of his cock against your folds, you can feel the heat coming off of him.

“P-please, please gedet’ye. Ni linibar gar, s-sarad let me, please.” And he sounds so fucking needy. Like never before, he never asks, he takes, he makes you beg, yet right now he’s whining as he swipes his thick cockhead through your wetness, inhaling sharply through his teeth as he does.

There isn’t a world in which you could say no to him now.

You still feel like your body is coming down from you high, buzzing with ecstasy, but you sit up to grab him by the back of his neck, pulling him back down on top of you.

“Yes, Din, I’m all yours.” You barely finish the sentence as he pushes himself into your weeping cunt. His moan is animalistic as he leans down and bites down on your shoulder to muffle the pornagraphic sound.

And Maker it hurts. You’ve never felt so good while hurting you’re sure of it. Every nerve in your body is alive as he starts rocking his hips into you, slowly working himself into you. After several lewd moans and whines from the both of you he’s got himself fully inside your cunt, he kisses you softly between your eyes.

“Gods, please, move Din, please.” You manage to mutter out and he happily obliges.

He’s certainly never fucked you like this.

Not in the library, not on his birthday, not even during your first time.

No, this is like he’s trying to get you off as quickly as possible, like the only thing he can focus on is your pleasure. He’s immediately lifting your hips slightly so he can thrust perfectly against that spot inside of you.

You aren’t sure when you started crying, you’ve been overstimulated since your first orgasm so it doesn’t surprise you all that much, but he’s kissing the corners of your eyes, your tears sticking to his lips as he does. Much to your disappointment he slows his pace.

“Are you okay sarad? I can stop, or slow down.”

That’s the last thing you want right now.

“I’m- I’m fine Din, please.” You whine as you scratch at his shoulders.

You can feel him nod, both of your bodies are slick with sweat as he starts pounding into you again, significantly slower than before and you know he’s nervous about your tears.

It’s hard to come up with a plan because even though he’s thrusting you with less power than before your head is still clouded with lust and you can’t really think of ways to convince him that you’re fine.

You aren’t exactly sure what you’re doing but you grab his face in your hands before you whisper words you aren’t entirely sure you know how to pronounce but could never forget.

“Ner kar’taylir darasuum.”

His entire body tenses up, it’s like all the air in the room is gone and you’re about to apologize until you feel his forehead rest against yours.

“Say that again.” He sounds fucking wrecked.

“Ner kar’taylir darasuum.”

You still aren’t exactly sure what you’re saying but it works because his lips are on yours with a newly ignited passion and he’s slamming into you again, your legs wrapping around his waist.

“Fuck, you’re perfect. You know that? Fucking perfect.” He mumbles the words into your mouth as he pistons himself into you, his thrusts quickly growing sloppy. Your stomach feels like it’s cramping up as another climax builds, your fighting to catch your breath.

You finish first. His hand has to cover your mouth. You scream so loudly.

He follows shortly after, pulling out before jerking himself off, you feel him cum hit your stomach.

He collapses next to you and briefly the only sounds in the darkness are both your gasps for air until you bring your fingers down to your stomach to scoop up his seed before sucking them clean, savoring the salty metallic taste.

His knuckles brush against your arm.

“Are you happy now sarad?”

You wish he could see the dopey grin on your face.

“Yes.”

You know you won’t be able to keep your eyes open much longer as he pulls you against him, placing a kiss into your hair. He mumbles a few things in Mando’a that you don’t recognize but you do catch the end of his sentence before you succumb to sleep.

“Jate ca, ner kar’taylir darasuum.”

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#lincolndjarin #the mandalorian #best kept secret #bks #din djarin #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian x you #din dijarin x reader #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin fanfiction #RE UPLOAD #mandalorian smut #din djarin smut

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happy-beeeps · 10 months

Text

Day 3: Gloves

Summary: Din offers the reader his gloves, and their first look at his skin.

Warnings: none, language, briefest mention of past abuse

WC: 1k!

It’s easy to forget how cold space is. In the past few months you’ve been on the Crest, between the baby and the roaring, industrial sized heater, it’s been toasty, almost warm. You’d almost forgotten it could be cold. Until, of course, the ancient industrial sized heater broke.

It wasn’t too bad at first. Mando was quick to find any spare blankets he had on the ship and pass them between you and the baby, hoping to create any semblance of warmth. Then the baby himself helped, as you attempted to rock him to sleep for hours, the green little guy getting fussy from the cold. Now, with the kid settled into his pram and the lack of body heat on your hands, you’ve done it. You’ve remembered how cold space is.

You’re doing ok. You’ve seated yourself on the co-pilot’s chair, knees pulled up to your chest and your hands wrapped underneath your clothes, tucked under your armpits. Your face is half obscured under the neck of your sweater, and you’re attempting to creative some kind of insulation by just continuously blowing your breath against your skin. You haven’t decided if you can die from carbon monoxide poison this way but, fuck it, you’re too cold to care.

Your hands, that’s the issue right now. You hesitate to say agony but—let’s be real, it’s agony. You’ve been frostbitten before, so now your fingers and joints of your hands are aching under the pain of the chill in the ship, and no matter how hard you press your hands to your skin, there’s no relief.

“What are you doing?”

It’s Mando’s—Din’s, as you’ve just recently learned, voice that breaks you from your disassociation, offering the briefest respite from the pain. He’s asking you in a tone that’s equal parts concern, confusion, and jest. Over the past few months you’ve learned it’s his feeble attempt at teasing.

“Trying to warm up, not all of us come with an insulation system,” you poke back, and he settles beside you in his chair, his helmet sending that searing gaze towards you. You shrink into yourself even more beneath it, somehow feeling both intimated and bewitched by it.

Ok, bewitched is just a better word for saying you’ve got a massive-fucking-crush on the guy, but that’s beside the point.

“What’s wrong with your hands?”

“Nothing, what gave you that impression?”

He cocks his head to the side in a way you’ve begub to translate as “really?”

“Just something from when I was younger, it’s nothing.”

He pauses for a moment, then extends his own hand in one of the rare few moments of touch he’s offered. “Let me see.”

You’re in hell. If there is a maker, they’re being cruel. Do you remove your hands from the tiny bit of warmth you have, or reject Din in a rare moment of vulnerability?

The choice is immediate, and you rip your hands from their confine and tentatively place them in his.

They don’t look bad, an angry red at the joints and the cold has made you curl them inwards, but they aren’t blackened or cracked like some of the frostbite you’ve seen. He must notice the difference, and moves to gently trace the joint of one of your fingers. His words are slow, deliberate, “How did this happen to you?”

You melt into his touch, “locked out of my house during a snowstorm a while back, he was an asshole.”

Din tenses at that, just barely noticeable, and pauses his trace. You worry you’ve offended him, and he removes his hands, only to slowly, carefully remove the leather gloves you’ve always seen on his hands. “Here, you take ‘em.”

“Din, please, I can’t, I’ll be fine.”

“I want you to wear them.”

It’s the only encouragement you need, and you pulll them on quickly. You try to conceal how rapidly your heart is beating as you peak at the newly exposed skin of his hands.

He’s tan, tanner than you’d thought, with skin that looks warm and inviting. Calluses dot the underside of his palms, and he brings his fingers together, wringing them slowly. It dawns on you that you’re not sure if anyone has ever even seen his hands.

“How are your hands not always sweating?”

Nice. Real smooth. He’s gonna love that.

“Maybe that’s why I always keep them on.”

“Are we doing humor now?”

“Depends, how am I doing at it?”

You laugh, and so does he, and you decide you’d quite like to hear that sound forever. You stretch your fingers, warming nicely in the suede of Din’s giant gloves.

“Thank you, for these, I needed it.”

“Don’t mention it.” He unwinds his hands, laying them on his knees as he turns his attention back to you.

You’re not sure if you’re high on knowing that you’re wearing Din’s clothes, or the ecstasy of finally having feeling in your fingers, but your hand is quickly going to poke at his, your fingers dotting the smooth contours of his own.

You half expect him to pull back, but he doesn’t, letting you play with his fingers and trace his skin. It seems easy with the barrier of fabric between you. You ignore the fact that your stomach is churning and your brain is going ohshitohshitohshit.

He’s got a scar along the inside of his wrist, you can only see a bit of it, white and gnarled. You reach out to trace it, careful not to go beyond the skin that’s already exposed.

“When I was just learning to use my flamethrower, things got a little…dicey.”

The image of a young Din accidentally torching himself makes you smile, but it’s quickly dimmed by the realization that the man beside is literally wearing clothes that kill people. You flex your hand in his glove and realize, I guess you are too.

“Do you feel better?”

You’re rocketed back to reality by his voice and you nod, “yes, thank you.”

He stands, but not before tapping the bottom of your chin with his thumb and pointer finger, the skin on skin contact rocketing through you. “Keep em’ till we land, they suit you mesh’la.”

He leaves quietly, leaving you sitting in the cold and silent space, thinking of foreign words with pretty sounds and warm suede around your fingers.

#dincember 2023 #star wars #the mandalorian #din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin imagine #din djaren #din x reader #din #the mandalorian x reader

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luckbealincoln · 1 year

Note

omgg u stay feeding us. but 60 and 221 give me such din vibes like… not being able to resist the need to provide. Anyways lovely chapter as always, continue doing ur magic bae🫶

Going Through The Motions

pairing : din djarin x f!mechanic!reader

word count : 1.4k

summary : mando visits you regularly for "ship maintenance." you know what to expect at this point.

warnings, etc : smut, light angst, masturbation, floor sex, fwb!mando, p in v sex, fingering, multiple orgasms, mando has weird dirty talk, the helmet stays on, creampie, unprotected sex, breeding kink if you REALLY squint, definietly an unhealthy relationship, mando is over protective but also refuses to commit lmao, toxic relationship

a/n : i uhhhhh took a lot of liberties with this request lmao, but i loved writing this little blurb (i made this strangely sad?? it sort of happened naturally lmao), it's nice to write a slightly different version of din than what i normally do, enjoy and i hope you like it !! :) this is my first time taking requests or posting anything that isn't bks so I'd love feedback!!

“I shouldn’t allow myself to get so close to you.” He murmurs in your ear as your back slams against the side of the exterior of the Crest. It’s a funny thing for him to say when his erection is pressed against your hip.

“You say that everytime you come around.” Your fingers find the familiar notches in his armor as you begin to hastily tug at them.

“And I mean it everytime.” His hands find purchase on your thighs as he yanks you upwards, you’ve danced this dance dozens of times at this point, everytime he stops in for maintenance on his rust-bucket of a ship you two do this. He mumbles something about it being the last time and you laugh it off, knowing it’s never true.

This time there wasn’t even anything wrong with his ship.

You’d done a full sweep, double checked everything, not a single thing was out of place.

It was probably cold in space. Maybe he just got lonely.

He hauls you into the ship, your legs wrapped around his waist. He’s punching numbers into a keypad and the main door is shutting with a creak.

Where will he decide to take you this time?

Most of the time he just pressed you up against a wall or tossed you into his cot. Sometimes if he was feeling patient you’d get all the way to the cockpit. Once he’d done you on top of a few boxes he was transporting.

This time he doesn’t get more than a few steps before he’s laying you down on the floor.

This is new. Someone's feeling impatient.

He’s hastily tugging down the zipper on his flight suit while your hands find the buttons on your overalls, his visor is trained on your figure as you manage to shimmy out of the denim, tossing it aside. He crawls forward on his knees, already stroking himself, hovering above you, his gloves discarded off to the side.

You prop yourself up on your elbows to get a good look at him. His free hand grabs the hem of your panties, shredding them like paper as he tosses the thin fabric behind you.

“Dickhead! I’m running out of underwear, you have to stop that.” You slap his shoulder but he only chuckles.

“I’ll buy you new ones.”

“You say that every time too.” You're unclasping your bra, setting it down next to you before he gets a chance to destroy that too.

“I will this time, promise.” He gasps softly, letting his thumb slide over the ruddy tip of his cock. His freehand is spreading your thighs open. “Touch yourself, I wanna see.”

“So bossy.” You mutter as you let your hands roam down your body before settling between your legs. Dipping your fingers into your already pooling wetness before circling your clit, slow and steady strokes.

“That’s good… good girl, want my fingers?” His tone is light and teasing as he pushes two fingers into your mouth before you answer. No sense in protesting, you’ll be begging him for this eventually, why wait. Your tongue wraps around them as best as possible, coating them in saliva. Once he’s satisfied he brings them between your legs. “Keep touching that pretty little clit while I do this.”

“Whatever you say, boss.” He sinks his fingers into your cunt as you continue your own ministrations, a familiar wave of pleasure washing over you.

“My sweet thing. Look so pretty like this, on the floor of my ship, wanna keep you right here, make you feel this good all the time.” Your back arches against him, almost to prove his point.

He always talks like this.

In the moment he’s always so possessive, always says such preposterous things, promises and offers of a life together. The first time, when the words had slipped out a sense of hope had bubbled in your chest, a palpable joy that you were finally gonna get off this backwater planet.

You had cried yourself silly when he had left an hour later without a word.

He had left and he had taken his empty promises with him.

Then he came back, and that time you let him say what you assume he needs to say to get off. The sex was good so why change the dynamic. If it ain’t broke don’t fix it.

Speaking of good sex, you’re snapped out of your thoughts by your climax. It’s sudden and he practically forces itself out of you as he curls his fingers, stroking that spot inside of you as you ride out your orgasm. Once he’s satisfied he withdraws his digits, spreading your wetness across his length before notching himself at your entrance.

“Do you want this, sweet thing? Want me to fill you up?” There’s that gravely desperation you’re used to.

You’d love to ask what the deal with that is.

His hopeless need to be wanted.

He was always like this. Like clockwork, at first you thought that it must have just been another thing he needed to get off. Then it became deeper than that.

“You need me, tell me- fuck- tell me you need me, please sweet thing.”

“What?” You had mumbled through your haze as he rocked his hips into you.

“Tell me how badly you need me. I’ll take care of you, you just have to tell me.”

It’s strange. You’ve already gotten off more than enough times and he had never been one to overstimulate you, he was always generous to the point of comfort, never more.

That’s what this relationship was about.

Comfort and getting off. It was never about necessity or obligation.

“I-I need you.” You stammer out, still a little confused.

“Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of you.” He gasps out, pulling out to finish on your stomach.

That was the first time he had held you afterwards. Wrapped you up in his arms and whispered to you. Told you he would keep you safe, make sure you were okay, and most importantly, that as long as he was around that you would be cared for.

He was gone within the hour.

Now this was the routine.

He needed to be needed.

And even though it hurt to give him the first few times, (that gnawing pain you had the first time he had made promises was back.) you got used to this too.

“Lost in thought, sweetie?” He brings you back to reality. Your eyes settle on his helmet.

“Sorry… I need you Mando, please.” He needs to hear it, and you don’t mind saying it, to an extent.

You do need him, you don’t get out enough because you’re always working. He’s one of the only people you get to talk to.

Those words spur him on, he sinks himself into your heat, your moans whiny and breathy.

“Fuck- I know, I know you need this, you need me, my sweetheart, needs me to take care of them.”

“Y-yes, Mando, need you…” His thrusts immediately pick up, he maintains a brutal pace as he continues his ramblings. Demanding your praise.

After a few minutes his thrusts start getting sloppier.

“Want me to finish inside?” He’s panting frantically, his hands grip your waist to slam you into him. “Want me to fill you up?”

Why not, you can buy a pill tomorrow.

“Yes, I need it, please Mando I need you to cum inside me.” You squeak out, that’s all it takes. You finish one more time before he buries himself completely in your cunt, his seed spills out between the two of you.

He collapses in a heap on top of you, the both of you panting in unison.

He goes through the motions, you’re used to the motions.

He holds you against him, rolling over so you’re on top. His fingers play with your hair aimlessly as he mumbles some sort of praise you don’t catch.

And he’s gone within the hour.

You’re standing in the shop in your overalls, watching the Crest until it disappears completely.

★

A few more moons pass. Days come and go. You don’t expect to see him again for a few months, he normally wouldn’t stop by until he had finished several bounties, or if his ship was in desperate need of repair. So it’s a bit shocking when a week passes and the Razor Crest is landing in your shipyard again.

You wipe a bit of grease from your hands with a loose rag, brushing your hair out of your face once the engines shut off. The main door hisses before slowly lowering to the ground. He stands at the top of the entrance, walking towards you, tossing you a package wrapped in a paper bag. You cock an eyebrow at him, he’s standing next to you by the time you tear it open.

12 Pack : Cotton Panties.

This isn’t part of the motions.

#din djarin fanfiction #din djarin x reader #mandalorian fanfic #din djarin/reader #mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian #din djarin #din djarin smut #mandalorian smut

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corazondebeskar-reads · 11 months

Text

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

well it's love, make it hurt series

ten: I'd be a fool to have asked for more

series masterlist | prev chapter | next chapter

dom!Din Djarin x sub!f!reader

for Kinktober 2023 - Day 29: Genital Pumping

This is part of a series of snapshots following dom!Din Djarin and sub!f!reader as they navigate working together as bounty hunters and exploring a d/s relationship.

Word Count: 3.6k

Summary: You and Mando pursue your big-ticket bounty, but it turns out to be much more dangerous than you expected.

Warnings: bdsm, established relationship, dom!din and sub!reader, soft dom din djarin, bounty hunting, canon-typical violence, hurt/comfort, graphic injuries, genital pumping, pussy pump, dacryphilia, aftercare, subspace, more plot than usual.

Prompts from this list by @absurdthirst.

also on ao3

3 ABY - Winter

You put a moratorium on sex. Not because you don’t want Mando, but because you’re becoming a little rabid about the hunt.

Vanda had hopped planets again, just a few steps ahead of you. What’s worse is that you don’t even know if he knows he’s being followed or if you're just failing to catch up.

Mando sulks, just a little. He doesn’t protest, but when you’re settled down for bed, he brushes a knuckle over your breast, teasing around the nipple. “Eighteen more hours until we arrive,” he says with a sigh. His finger trails delicately, dancing along your ribs and back up.

“Yep,” you say, rolling your eyes. “Plenty of time to rest and prepare.”

“Plenty,” he agrees, his hand ghosting up the line of your neck in a poor imitation of what he’d like to do with his lips. He ignores the twang of guilt when he considers that he’d probably have what he wants by now if he could use them. Thinking about it makes him ache harder, twitching where he’s pressed against your lower back.

“Stop it,” you go to scoot away, but he catches your hip with his wandering hand. You can’t help it; you moan and meet him halfway. “We are grown adults. We can go a few days.”

“The time will pass no matter how we fill it,” he says, but he pulls back a little, letting the space between you cushion his desires.

You twist your head to press a soft kiss to his helmet. “I’m s—”

“Don’t,” he says. “Don’t ever apologize for saying no.”

You close your eyes for a moment. Sometimes, he says things that shouldn’t be so baffling, and yet, you’re thrown off step. “Thank you,” you say instead. You nestle back down into his arm and try to chase a pleasant dream.

It doesn’t come.

There’s a reason why the guild encourages hunters not to ask too many questions about their bounties. You haven't thought of much other than catching Vanda, haven't been sleeping well. Not since Mando recounted his conversation with Madame Anissa.

“Olin Vanda?” Anissa looked at him with wide eyes. “Dead or alive?”

“I shouldn’t discuss—”

“Dead. or. Alive?”

“Either.”

She put a hand over her chest, took a deep breath, and fixed such an intense stare on his visor that his pulse quickened. “I remember him. I can do you one better than his habits and connections. I can get you a more recent location. But you have to promise me something.”

Mando was no stranger to striking deals for information. “What do you want?”

“Promise you’ll kill him.”

It set all his nerves on end. “Tell me what you know,” he said softly, leaning forward.

“He trafficks. Young girls, orphans, whoever. He was bringing girls through here to sell.” She closed her eyes for a moment, hurt erupting across her gentle face. “Right under my nose.”

“You couldn’t have known,” he said. But neither of them believed it.

“That’s why we separated you. We do it to everyone now,” she said. Her voice was thick with resentment. “I should have noticed sooner.”

“But you did notice?”

“Yes. It’s why he was relocated from Morlana One. I reported him, and that was the ISB’s solution — cover it up. They never looked for those girls, never issued any other consequences.”

“Dank farrik,” Mando mutters.

“I’ll reach out to my network and see if anyone has had a sighting recently. He pops up at other clubs from time to time, but I flagged his face in our system, so he gets kicked out pretty quickly.”

The coordinates she gave when you left Axis were from another Madame who had seen him just two days prior. The timing couldn’t have been better, which is why you were so frustrated when he kept vanishing.

You don’t often kill bounties who can be captured. Not only because they’re usually worth more alive but because it keeps you cleaner. Lighter. Fewer souls to drag around after you drop the bodies off. But when Mando tells you of his promise to Anissa, you find yourself hoping to be the one to do it.

It could have been you. Damn near almost was. Cantonica wasn’t kind to children, particularly those with no family to protect them and no debt to work off. You were ten when the hunters came to collect your parents’ debts and took pity on you. They were partners, and while they weren’t the kind of people to go around adopting stray kids, they also weren’t the kind of people to leave one to die.

Instead, they gave you a few credits, a blaster, and the location of an abandoned scrapyard. Not that you’d told Mando any of this, but he didn’t need an explanation for why you might be bloodthirsty over this particular bounty.

Once you land, it doesn’t take long to find them. Vanda and his little band of loyalists are at a pub, cheating their way through the locals in a Sabacc tournament. There are too many potential casualties, so you track down their ships and stake out.

It’s well past dark when they arrive. The two of you are shadows, the push and pull of your motions in tandem as you take out some of the extras. No one will shed a tear over fewer Imps. They don’t even know what’s happened until half of them are bleeding out in the docking bay.

That’s when it all goes to shit. Your vibroblade is at the throat of a burly man when another comes up behind you and grabs you. His momentum lets you still manage to split the delicate tendons of his compatriot, but he has you in a chokehold, and though he screams in rage when your teeth sink into his arm, he does not drop you.

The noise splinters the silence. Everyone is abruptly aware of the fight. It would have been fine, should have been fine, until another one of Vanda’s lackeys raises a blaster at you, and something happens that you thought was impossible.

Mando stops.

He freezes and redirects his attention, shooting and killing both men you were fighting. But in that one, tiny moment of distraction, Vanda buries a large, jagged vibroblade in Mando’s exposed side.

Neither of you realizes it right away. He’s busy killing the men who were trying to hurt you, and you’re busy pursuing Vanda, who has fled toward a ship. But you don’t make it to the ramp on time, because you look over to see Mando pull the blade from his body.

He’s on his knees, trying to put pressure on the wound but investigating it at the same time. He doesn’t see Vanda aim a blaster at you, but you’re already on the move toward him, so luckily, the bolt only catches you in the shoulder.

You don’t feel it. You’re already into your pack, pulling out the small medkit you carry for field emergencies.

Mando looks up when your knees hit the ground next to him. You’re pulling his flightsuit away from the wound, but he catches your hand.

“Fuck, cyare, your shoulder, let me—”

“Are you kriffing kidding me? You’re bleeding out, let go.”

“You’ve been shot, when did you get shot?”

“Which one of us is bleeding out right now?” you yell, yanking your wrist from his grasp and plunging the needle into his side without warning. He’s shaking, the wound is gushing, and it’s too slippery to hold on to the syringe. You have to try again, but a good third of the bacta is wasted.

When you manage to get the medicine in him, you sit back, the shot abandoned at your side. “It’s not enough,” you say through deep gasps for air.

“It’s going to be okay,” he says, eerily calm.

“Which one of us is bleeding out right now?” you repeat, less fury and more frenzy. Your hands are covered in his blood, slick and sticky, and it’s still oozing from his side. You try to wipe your hands on your pants so you can dig out the needle and thread, but they’re wet with it, too.

He hands you the cauterizer. He’d do it himself, but he’s feeling faint enough to know he might black out from the pain.

“You can do it,” he says.

You’ve never used one before. Never had a wound grievous enough to require it.

“Breathe. Look at me,” he says.

You do.

“You can do this, I trust you.”

You have no choice but to believe him, not unless you’re going to leave him on the ground of the docking bay and hope he’s still alive when you get back with more bacta.

So you scrabble for a sloppy hold on the open wound and burn his skin together. It’s awful. You throw up after, stumbling to a corner behind a crate and emptying your stomach. The smell of singed flesh sticks to your clothes.

But it’s enough to get him back to the ship. Enough to get him laying on the crates in the hull while you dig up bacta patches and cover the burn. Enough that you can sit on the table and become abruptly aware of the hole in your shoulder just long enough for him to bandage you up himself.

Once you’re sure he’s not going to faint, or worse, you strip out of your ruined clothes and rinse his blood from you in the fresher. When you come back out, he’s cooking.

“What in the stars do you think you’re doing?”

“We both need to eat.”

“And you can wait five minutes for me to do it!”

“You’ve done so much, cyare, let me take care of you.”

You stomp your foot, balling your hands into fists. “You absolute idiot!” It comes out a bit more screechy than you’d like, but you think you’re entitled. “Sit down. You almost bled out. No, you know what? Go lay in the bunk.”

He turns the burner off and looks at you. Your hair is still dripping down the tunic you’ve borrowed from his shelf, and your mouth is twisted into a snarl. You’re flushed and tense, braced for a fight, but he sees the way your eyes keep flicking to his side, checking to see if the wound reopened, checking to make sure the blood is only burned into your memory and not trickling down his leg.

He regards you carefully and nods once, putting a hand up to stop the protest he knows will be coming. “Fine, but I’m staying here. I’m not leaving this room.” He moves slowly to the crates and sits down on your old bedroll. “Okay, sweetheart?”

“Fine.” You stomp around the kitchen, throwing together what can only vaguely be considered a meal. You hesitate when you hand it to him, wavering on the spot.

He knows you’re thinking the same thing. “Stay,” he says, so you don’t have to ask.

You look at him but don’t move.

He dips his helmet toward the ground and watches you work your jaw, biting your lip, before you give in and sink to your knees at his feet, facing into the belly of the ship. He sets the plate beside him and removes his gloves.

He feeds you while he eats. It’s not something you do often — you’re only barely domesticated when it comes to food security, often preferring to wolf down your meal on your own. But you can tell he needs it—needs to regain control over the situation, needs you to be close.

When he’s done, he replaces the helmet, and you take the plate to the sink.

“C’mere,” he says, reaching for your hand. You let him pull you close but protest when he tries to lift you onto the seat.

He gives in immediately, but when you hop up, he tries to pull you into his lap. “Can I have you, cyar’ika?”

“You’re hurt.”

“So are you. Fuck. I’ll be gentle.”

Your lip wobbles a little. He cups your face in one broad palm, and you lean into it, closing your eyes.

“I almost died,” he tries.

It has the opposite effect than he hoped. Your eyes snap open, and you pull away from him. “Exactly! You need to rest.”

“Can’t. Need you, pretty girl, please?”

You hesitate, so he follows it up with another, more playful “I almost died.”

“Stop it, that’s not funny.”

“It’s kind of funny. Look, if it’ll make you feel better, I have an idea.”

Your eyes narrow. “By the stars, if you say you want to try something right now, I’ll—I’ll—”

“You’ll humor me since I almost died?”

You swallow hard as the retort gets trapped behind the sudden lump in your throat.

He watches the way your lips fall slack and reaches up to curl his hand around your neck. “I’m okay,” he says.

You hold onto his wrist with both hands. “You almost died.”

His thumb brushes up and down. “Not really. You wouldn’t have let me.”

You hold back the sob, but your eyes prick at the corners, anyway. He brushes the tears away and sits up, pressing his helmet to your forehead.

“I ever tell you what this means?” his voice is so hushed, the modulator doesn’t pick it up. You only hear the real thing, the inflections, and rasp clear without the static.

“What what means?”

“This,” he pulls away a little and presses your heads back together. “This is how Mandalorians kiss when they can’t remove their helmets.”

Your chest feels like it’s been cleaved open.

“Is that okay?” he asks.

You pull back a little and carefully, slowly raise your hands up to cup the sides of his helmet before pressing your head back against his, exhaling shakily. He wraps his arms around you, nearly clinging. You shift to straddle his lap, feeling like you could crawl into him just to make sure his heart is still pulsing.

“It’s also useful for headbutting,” he says after a few minutes have passed.

When the laughter bursts from you, it springs free a few tears and a hiccup.

“Don’t cry, cyar’ika. I told you, I wasn’t worried. We’re a good team. I know you have my back.”

It only makes you cry harder.

“Hey, save those tears for later,” he murmurs. “You’ll need them after I’ve worn you out.”

You sniffle. “I knew you liked it.”

He thinks about telling you why. He thinks about telling you how the moments you burst into tears are how he knows you love him, even if you won’t say it. How it feels to know he’s the only one in the galaxy you’ll be vulnerable with, that you trust.

“What can I say? You’re so pretty when you suffer for me, sweetheart,” he says instead. Maybe later. Maybe when you both aren’t so raw, when he thinks you’re less likely to hide and lick your wounds.

He’s a patient man. He can wait for you.

His words make you squirm, and he takes the opening.

“I think you like it too,” he says, curling fingers under your chin. “You want me to make you suffer, cyare? Ready to try something new?”

You nod, looking into his visor with wet but yearning eyes. You knew you were going to give in. He had almost died. You wanted him to stitch up the part of you that had been so afraid.

“That’s a good girl,” he murmurs and pushes a thumb between your lips for you to suck on.

Your eyes flutter shut, the taste of him like iron and petrichor.

“Let’s go to the bed,” he murmurs. “I really do want to try something. It’ll make it easier to be careful.”

“Okay.”

When you’ve persuaded him that whatever you’re doing can be done with you both lying down and resting, he shows you a strange device.

“Is that for like… drugs or something?” you ask, squishing the soft rubber piece that looks like a mask.

“No, this is what’s going to help me ruin your cunt since you won’t let me move around.”

“Oh,” you whisper. You don’t understand, but you’re wet in anticipation anyway.

“Open,” he taps your knee.

You obey. You’re already starting to feel a little fuzzy around the edges. The adrenaline was wearing off fast, and he had slipped his collar around your neck a few moments earlier. And you know he needs this—you certainly do. He fits the little mask over your pussy. You clench your fist, trying to breathe steady. He shows you the bulb he’s attached to the end of a tube, and you realize what it’s for right as he squeezes it, and the mask pulls tight to you.

He pumps it a few more times as you stare at the hand holding the bulb. The sensation isn’t much, not yet, just a gentle hold and a faint tingle.

He watches your face. “How does it feel?”

“More, please, sir,” you say quickly.

It’s not quite an answer to his question, but he’s fairly sure you’re already gone, head empty of the day’s fear and drifting off at his whim. So he obliges. He can tell the moment it crosses into something ravenous.

Your eyes widen, pupils blown, and your mouth falls open. He can see your pussy lips swelling a little already and greedily pumps the bulb until you moan.

“That tight enough for you?” he asks, running a careful finger along the edge of the pump and your flesh. He’s rewarded with a shudder and retracts his hand.

“More, please.”

“Careful what you ask for,” he warns, but he’s already increasing the pressure. It’s sealed tight around your cunt, and he sets the bulb down, eager to watch you squirm.

You don’t disappoint. As the moments stack up, as five minutes creep by, you’re trying very hard to hold still and failing catastrophically. He traces the outline, skimming over throbbing flesh. A wicked grin grows as your whines increase in pitch and desperation.

After a few more minutes, he checks in again, noting the sheen of sweat on your brow. “Does it hurt yet?” he murmurs.

“A-a little,” you say, fidgeting.

“You want me to take it off and touch you?”

“Oh fuck.”

“I don’t know what that means,” he lays on the fake pity. “I’m just trying to help you, cyare, you need to tell me what you want.”

“Please,” you cry. “Please, more.”

“More what? More this?” he squeezes the bulb again, not that there’s much more he can do, but you wail anyway.

“Please, please touch me.”

He grabs the end of the pump and yanks. It pops off, and you keen, grabbing at him with shaking hands.

“Hmm.” He takes a moment to thoroughly enjoy the sight of your swollen, dripping cunt. He reaches down and lazily drags a finger across the seam, laughing when your hips buck up hard, knocking his finger between your lips.

“No, please,” you say as he pulls the finger away.

He spreads you, the tip of his finger honing in on your throbbing clit. His caress is soft, at first, and it doesn’t take you more than a moment to reach the edge. He doesn’t wait for you to beg, just demands your orgasm from your body with a strict command and stricter hands.

It hurts. It hurts so much you scream, but your body betrays how good it feels, despite the agony and humiliation. He’s relentless. It takes so little effort for him to tear you apart that by the time he eases you onto your side so he can slip his cock in, there’s nothing left in your tattered brain.

His thrusts are smooth but deep. You’re more than wet enough to ease the way, and swollen enough that your cunt swallows him whole, holding him tight. He luxuriates in the velvet embrace, groaning and rocking into you in spite of the ache in his side.

He abandons your clit, trading mercy for other tortures as his hands pinch and pull at your nipples. His grip is as tight as clamps, and he uses your tits as leverage to fuck into you. He urges you to cum again, and it pries a raw sob from your chest.

When he can’t take it anymore, he holds on to your breasts, one clenched tight in each hand, and pounds hard. You’re crying, but it’s reduced to little huffed sobs as his cock knocks them loose. He knows you’ll be mad that he’s exerting himself, so he makes it quick.

“Mine,” he snarls as he loses control, pushing deep inside to fill you. “You’re fucking mine, do you understand?”

“Yes, yes, please, yours,” you gasp.

“Don’t you fucking scare me like that again.” He can’t shut up. He can’t stopper the well as it bubbles up. “Almost fucking lost you.”

Later, you’ll remember what he’s saying, and snap at him indignantly, demanding again to know which of you nearly bled out. But it doesn’t matter, doesn’t register to him that your injuries and danger were so much less than his. All he can see is the man with a blaster pointed at your chest.

“Didn’t,” you say. “M’right here.” Your hand reaches up to hold the back of his neck. He’s softening inside you but doesn’t move to pull out.

He checks your bandage, but it looks intact. You try to roll over and check his, but he holds you tight. “It’s fine,” he reassures you. “Please stay.”

And if he’s bleeding just a little, he thinks, it was worth it for the way you’re finally calm enough to rest.

*title from "Everything Must Go" by Taking Back Sunday

#din djarin x reader #mando x reader #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin x f!reader #dom din djarin #the mandalorian fic #mando fic #make it hurt verse #kinktober 2023

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moon-sang · 2 years

Note

Could you add a little more to your 3AM prompt? I feel like it could be a gooooood one shot! :)

36 Days

Din Djarin x GN!Reader

Ok, you guys win, I’ll write my idea :>

Please tell me if there are any gender indications, so. I can change it to gender neutral

SUMMARY: You and Mando have a huge fight. (Happy ending)

WARNINGS: Fighting, angst, nightmares, mature language, pls tell me if I miss anything!

~~~~~~~~~

How did this start again?

Oh that’s right! You had walked outside of the Crest for the first time in exactly 5 weeks, 4 hours, 19 minutes, and 6 seconds.

And Din had the nerve to tell you off about it!

The story was Gideon had managed to get his hands on you when you were a few years old. From there you had been his lab rat up until the age of 20, that’s when Mando rescued you, and brought you along on his ship with his tiny green son.

You were forever grateful that he let you stay with him, but at the same time you were slowly losing your sanity, piece by piece. Exactly 36 days of being trapped in a dull silver cold ship, with a baby…how did Din not see it?! The frustrations!

Whenever you brought it up he would always turn you down by saying

“There are millions of bounty hunters and imperials looking for you, I can’t protect you as well as I protect the kid, keeping you out of sight is just a safety precaution.”

Fair enough…

BUT 36 DAYS

You weren’t even allowed to open any windows for kriffing sake!

~~~~~~~~ “You were reckless.” Scowled Din, fists clenched tightly by his side.

“No! I was tired of being trapped in this ship! 36 days, Din! 36 days since I last felt the sun!” You exclaimed.

“You’re being dramatic.”

“I am NOT! You might as well send me back to Gideon! I was more free even with him!” You yell, voice turning hoarse.

Din seemed to be taken back by your statement, because he is silent for a moment. “You wanna go back to Gideon? Be my guest, I’ll drop you off right now if you want me to, it’ll be easier on me, without you here.” He says in the most intimidating voice you’ve ever heard.

Tears formed at the corners of your eyes and he’s about to say something, perhaps and apology for his harsh words, but he doesn’t get a chance to, because your shoving past him, and making your way out of the cockpit.

Din doesn’t follow, he crossed the line and now he just needed to give you some space.

He had regretted the words the moment they came out, but he couldn’t stop them from toppling off of his tongue, pure anger and venom overriding any of his common sense.

~~~~~~~~

You cried for what seemed like hours in Din’s your cot.

It wasn’t just from the fear of Din’s words being true, but from the fight itself. Everything just got so overwhelming, especially with Din being so tall and just- intimidating!

An ugly, heavy sob wracked your body as you tried to curl up impossibly tighter on yourself.

Eventually you felt the familiar pull of your eyelids, and the haze of your tired mind. It didn’t take long for you to fall asleep, with old tears falling onto the dense pillow.

~~~~~~~~

“You have made the right choice Din Djarin.” Gideon’s voice booms through what you could only assume was a imperial cell.

Gideon had his familiar victory smile etched into his face, whilst Din stood beside him watching you struggle against your cuffs.

“Din? What’s going on?” You croak out.

Gideon let’s out a sinister laugh

“You wanted to come back, right?” Din says, followed by a dry chuckle.

Tears stream down your face, as you strain against your chains. “Din! Please don’t do this, I’m sorry!” You scream in broken sobs.

Din says nothing as he turns away from you, and begins his decent to the Razor Crest in the distance.

“Din!” You scream as loud as you can, hoping the desperation in your voice would magically change his mind.

Gideon smirked once more.

“Din!” You yell again, but to no avail.

Distantly you knew you were having a nightmare, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to wake up.

So you settle for screaming for Din, because right now, it’s the only thing you can do.

~~~~~~~~

Suddenly you felt hands tug at your waist, and your dream shifted, eventually disappearing into thin air, as you were welcomed back to your reality, in the Razor Crest, alone, crying in Din’s bunk, covered in your own sweat.

Usually Din would comfort you right about now. But he wouldn’t do that now, not after fighting. Maker you would be lucky if he ever spoke to you again!

An unexpected sob rips through your body, leaving you quivering against the wall. You could distinctly hear something hushing you gently, but you had to remind yourself that you were alone...and probably just paranoid from the nightmare.

That is until you hear it again.

“Din?” You sob out, hands travelling up his breastplate to confirm it’s really him.

“Shh, I’m here, meshurok.”

Just hearing him speak makes you cry even harder, which seemed impossible for you.

As the tears began to flow more freely your sobs became harder, until you were gasping for air. Din held you through it all, rocking you gently, bodies swaying together. “I-I’m so-sorry” You cough up, gripping his cowl tightly between your sweaty palms, trying to ground yourself. “I’m so-so sor-sorry.” You whimper. Din hushes you quickly, running his hands through your hair. “It’s ok ner’karta, relax.”

You don’t remember much of that night, you can’t remember how many hours Din held you securely against his chest, strong arms keeping you safe, and close to him, but it opened up a new path for the two of you. One where you wouldn’t lose your tempers and actually try to understand each other.

~~~~~~

You followed Din over to the hatch, ready to wave him off for yet another hunt.

You had come to terms with staying on the ship

Din couldn’t lose you.

Which is why.. you couldn’t understand why Din handed you an oversized cloak and said;

“No, Mesh’la, we’re going to go out”

Din had never seen you smile so brightly in his whole life.

#Din Djarin x reader #Mando x reader #Din x reader #Mando angst #Din Djarin angst #The Mandalorian x reader #Din Djarin x you #Din x you #Mando x you

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handsonurknees · 1 year

Text

last kiss

din djarin x gn!reader

a/n: just a little preface, i am not a star wars expert i literally watched mando because of pedro and that’s it (don’t kill me) but sorry if anything is inaccurate! also thank you for all of the love on my first post!

(i did not proofread this so i’m sorry if there’s any mistakes)

warnings: mentions of graphic injuries, angst, hurt/no comfort because i’m evil, main character death (yikes)

wc: 1.8k

“let’s go!” you hear cara yell at you, her voice hoarse from shouting over shots and the fire burning just some feet away. your eyes flickered from her and your friends to the injured mandolorian sat against the flipped booth. when she realized what you were thinking, even more panic creeped into her face. “no, no. you can’t. he’ll be okay. we need to go!” she pleads, but your eyes never leave the beskar-clad man. you hear him grunt through the voice modulator and you flinch. you can’t leave him, he can’t die not knowing how you feel.

“she’s right. go, i’ll be alright.” he offers, unconvincingly. you feel tears well up behind your eyes, fighting them back before turning back to the group.

“go. you all go and both of us will catch up. IG, give me the bacta spray, i can do this. i used to be a trained medic.” cara sighs at your attempt at a deal, but clearly worried about running out of time, she turns to the droid beside her.

“do you think the two of them can make it out alive?” she questions.

“more likely than not.” is all the bot says in response. the droid removes a vile from its arm and tosses it to you. “though i should be the one staying, i’m sure she would stay as well anyways. i can confirm her medical history., he is in good hands.” sweat pours down your back due to the warmth of the fire as cara looks at you and the mandolorian, and she realizes deep down she won’t be able to change your mind. you almost think you see a glisten in her eye and a small smile directed at you, but that’s just before she turns around and crawls through the grate as fast as possible, the child in her arms. she won’t say goodbye because this isn’t goodbye. she’ll see the two of you again in only a matter of minutes. you quickly turn to mando, hovering with worry over him.

“i didn’t know you were a medic.” he drowsily says, the effects of his injuries settling in as you begin to move with more haste.

“yes mando. you forget i had a life before i met you.” you respond, swallowing quickly as you uncap the spray. he laughs, and you smile. it’s been a while since you’ve heard him laugh, and even longer since it’s been you who made him laugh. “stay with me, alright? talk to me.” you say like routine, all of your knowledge flooding back to you from when you first learned how to deal with a patient drifting in-and-out of consciousness.

“why did you stay? i told you to go.” he asks genuinely. “i was fine here, peaceful. i’ve always thought that if i were to die i would want to die a warrior’s death.” he continues, voice wavering occasionally. your heart lurches at the idea of him knowing the really reason why you stayed. once the mist is all set up, you look at him, searching for his eyes under his visor.

“you are not dying tonight, mando. that’s why i stayed” you respond, and while it’s not technically a lie, you still feel guilty. that’s when your breath suddenly stops, realizing what you have to do next.

“w-whats wrong?” he questions your hesitation. when you look down at the bacta spray and don’t meet his eyes again, the air shifts in a way that sends shivers down your spine, even while the sweltering heat just feet away from you tickles your face.

“i have to do it to save you.” you whisper, still looking at the spray. “you won’t live much longer if we don’t do it now.” your voice getting hung up on the last word. you both know this is the last chance. part of you screams internally, baffled by how he’s even considering the possibility of not getting the spray. that part burns with white, hot, boiling rage, wondering if you were just going to give up, why did i stay for you? you don’t even ask me to stay and i did. how can you make me watch you die? but before you are able to voice any of this aloud, a gloved hand meets yours and shakily leading you the side of his helmet. “are you sure?” you ask a final time. even though every bone in your body aches to rip that helmet off the second the metal touches your fingers.

“don’t make me s-second guess myself.” he answers dryly. you just nod and carefully remove the helmet with a gentle hiss. slowly revealing the features you’ve been trying to piece together in your brain for months. in the amber glow of the room, you wish to memorize his eyes and his nose and his lips and his cheeks. but instead of studying every ridge and line in his face like you’ve always dreamed of doing, you imagine his face as one you’ve seen one million times. you don’t even flinch when big brown eyes meet yours. as soon as the helmet is off, your hands work quickly. you quickly lift the spray to his head and administer it. a breath escapes you that you hadn’t even know you were holding in. he’s okay. he’s okay is all you can think, the feeling overwhelming you so much that you don’t hear the heavy footfalls behind you, or mando’s failed attempts to shove you out of the way and shouts of ‘get down!’

‘he’s okay’ is all you can think, even when you’re shot by a stormtrooper who wasn’t killed in the shootout. luckily, by you crouched in front of the mandolorian, you blocked him from the view of the trooper. mando instinctively grabbed his blaster and shot a perfect hit into the the gap of the trooper’s armor between his neck and his head. the trooper falls limply to the ground, but all you can focus on is the pain radiating from the new hole in your back. your ears ring and something in you calls out. something that made you suddenly understand what mando meant about being peaceful with dying a warrior’s death. in a strange moment, the two of you are transported back to only moments before, but this time, with the roles reversed.

“dank farrik!” he curses, searching your eyes, his eyebrows furrowed together tightly. your knees feel weak, giving out in your current squat above the armored man. you fall flush against his chest, eliciting a hoarse cough. your hands press firmly into his chest, pushing yourself up to look him in the eyes. in any other situation, your mind would be completely foggy due to the proximity between you two, but somehow what you want to say is completely clear. he swallows, holding a firm hand over your wound, frantically looking around the room, despite knowing it’s far too late.

“you know, this is not how i expected this to end.” you joke weakly, woozy from the pain. the mandolorian pants, his face drowning in concern at your state. you set a hand on his face, his scruff scratching your palm pleasantly. “it’s alright. this way-“ you wince “you won’t have broken your creed. no living thing will have seen you.” you chuckle, which turns into a cough, followed by the metallic taste of blood in your mouth. he just sits speechless, words failing him. there’s so much he wishes he could say, but shock keeps his mouth shut. you feel the familiar feeling of tears for the umpteenth time that day. your thumb grazes his cheekbone, and he just watches as you fight this losing battle. sadness swells in his heart, a hurt that hasn’t hit him in years. for a person, that is. “i love you.” and you’re unsure if it’s the adrenaline or if it’s your sort of last words, but he snaps back into reality and brings his focus back to you.

“what?” he attempts to confirm, even though he heard you the first time.

“please don’t. i just-“ your tears fall down your face numbly, in steady streams. “i just need you to know that i love you. before i die. i need you to know the real reason i couldn’t leave you behind.” your words stumble out of your mouth quickly, but you know if you don’t say them now, you’ll never have the chance to. his leather covered hands move to hold on to both sides of your face, and he starts to quietly laugh. “what?” you ask, confused.

“i cannot believe that you are telling me this now. this was not supposed to go this way. everything was supposed to be different-“ he continues to dryly laugh “you weren’t supposed to die before i could even-“ he’s cut off by the startling reminder that the room around you that was once just taken up by the warmth of fire feet and feet away from you, is now engulfed in flames. smoke finally begins to fill both of your lungs and the ashes make mando’s eyes water (or at least that’s what he tells himself it is.)

“go. go now. please go find them.” he feels a weight on his shoulders, pulling him into the ground beneath him, holding him in place. he can’t leave you. you stayed for him, he has to stay for you. but his eyes flicker to the grate and how the fire is getting increasingly close to blocking his path. he knows your right, he knows he should go. “it’s okay. it’s okay.” you assure him “just don’t forget me, okay?” and he has to stop himself from guffawing. how in the world could he forget about you? he just breathes shakily, grabbing his helmet.

“i have thought of you every second while we were together, and i will think about you every second we are apart.” he admits with a sort of finality that scorches you. this is the end. in a desperate burst of energy, you slam your lips into his, reveling in every last second. you want to die with his lips being the last thing you feel. not the pain of your wound, not the pain of him leaving, just him. he kisses you back clumsily, making it obvious to you that this is his first kiss. selfishly, you hold on for just a moment longer, then letting him go, letting your hand trace his face one for time before he gets up.

“and for what it’s worth, i love you too.” he says, turning away in a way that shatters your heart. still, even while the live of your life leaves you in the flames, even while your back lets out one final wave of pain, even while taking your last breath, all you can think is;

he’s okay.

#the mandalorian #the mandolorian x reader #mando x reader #din djarin x reader #fanfic #mandolorian fanfic #mando fanfiction #din dijarin fanfiction #the mandolorian x you #din djarin #mando x you #mando #the mandalorion spoilers #the mandolorian season 1 #star wars #star wars x reader #grogu #cara dune

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justagalwhowrites · 1 year

Text

Beskar Doll - Ch. 17: Distance

In which Din and Doll try to figure out how to navigate feelings in their own, emotionally stunted ways. A continuation of Beskar Doll Ch. 1-16 found on Tumblr here.

Pairing: The Mandalorian/Din Djarin x Female Reader

Warnings: None! Whole fic is violent and smutty, minors DNI 18+ only. No use of Y/N

Length: 6.3k

Your body was still pleasantly loose when you woke up, a sweet soreness between your thighs as you more drifted back into consciousness instead of shocking into it as you usually did. You were wrapped in the Mandalorian’s cloak and the sun was fully up. It took you a moment to remember just what had happened the night before as you slowly blinked against the brightness and you found yourself alone in the grass.

“Fuck,” you groaned quietly. You’d made a damn fool of yourself, acting like an out of control teenager as Din touched you. And then you’d passed out before returning the favor. And you think you even cried a little. “Dammit.”

You sat up, feeling almost hungover despite the fact that you could tell that you’d slept well. Your whole body was relaxed and you didn’t feel worn or tired. But the knot that was settling in your stomach was sour. What had you done? What if you’d ruined it all again?

But he’s the one who started it. He’d touched you, controlled your body, gave you commands you’d been happy to bow to as he expertly pulled pleasure from you over and over. Why would he have done that if he hadn’t wanted to? Maybe just to prove that he could? And where the hell was he, anyway?

You ran your fingers through your tangled hair, trying to tame the knots as you tightened the cloak around yourself. You pressed your face into it. It smelled a little like him, though not as much as you’d have hoped. But then, the armor was always there, keeping the most intimate things about him hidden away, even his smell. Meanwhile, it felt like you were always exposed and he knew exactly where to look and how to read you.

You got up slowly, cracking your neck and you looked around, about to call out to try to find him when he came down the ramp to the Razor Crest, the child in hand.

“Well if I could trust you to stay out of trouble,” he was saying, the kid gazing up at him adoringly. He stopped when he saw you standing there, his cloak drawn tightly around you.

“Hey,” you said, trying to stand up straight and not look vulnerable or embarrassed. You weren’t sure if you were pulling it off. You unwound the cloak and held it out to him. “Thanks. For this.”

“Sure,” he said, closing the distance between you and setting the baby in the grass before taking it from you. “I hope you slept well.”

“Yeah,” you said, part of you wishing the ground would just open and swallow you whole because it would be better than feeling this uncomfortably exposed. “You?”

“You’re the one who’s starting training today,” he replied, putting the cloak on and crossing his arms. “How I slept doesn’t really matter. Eat something, we’ll get going.”

“We?” You frowned. He started for the part of the Razor Crest he’d been working on the day before and you followed.

“Yes,” he replied, not looking at you, just pulling a panel off the side of the ship. “You’re still recovering. You can train but I’m supervising. You’ll push yourself too hard and fry the cybernetics if someone doesn’t rein you in.”

“I know how to train, Mando,” you narrowed your eyes at him. “I did it for years.”

“Not starting from scratch you didn’t,” he replied. “And not after recovering from an injury like that. You almost died, Doll, almost lost the use of most of your body. You need help. Accept it.”

“No.”

“That’s unfortunate,” he replied, reaching into the panel. “Because you can either accept me helping you or try to train while watching your back because I’ll be tracking you the whole time to make sure you don’t hurt yourself. Those are your options, pick one.”

“Do you try to be infuriating or does that happen on accident?”

He shrugged.

“Fine,” you snapped. “It can be ‘we.’ But you have to keep your mouth shut about how incapable I am right now.”

“I’m not going to make fun of you, Doll.”

He said it earnestly, an openness to his tone you weren’t really used to.

“Good,” you said, your voice not quite as sharp. “I’ll just… go get ready then.”

You took a few steps and turned back to him.

“Are we just not going to talk about…”

“Yeah,” he cut you off. You nodded once.

“OK.”

You went into the ship and grabbed some of the meat from the night before and a handful of berries. At least this time hadn’t seemed to break everything. It was just going to return to business as usual. Honestly, a slightly nicer version of business as usual. You could live with that. It’d be hard to pretend like the Mandalorian hadn’t just made you cum until your body was basically a pile of plasma and you couldn’t move but you could do that. You were willing to do quite a bit, you realized, to have him tolerate you.

“Well that bodes well,” you muttered to yourself, chugging some water before braiding your hair tightly against your skull and getting changed, happy the clothes you’d bought on Garqi were made for physical work. It wasn’t as good as the few things you had left from Naboo, they didn’t move with you the same way, but they fit and were a lot better than the alternatives.

When you came down the ramp again, carrying water and your knife tucked in your pocket, the Mandalorian had closed the panel on the ship again and strapped the kid to his back with the backpack. The baby squealed happily when he saw you, clapping his little hands together in glee.

“Well hi there,” you smiled, coming up and poking his little nose. He was level with your head from his spot on the Mandalorian’s back and he frowned a little, inspecting your hair. You drew his eyes to yours. He was confused.

“It’s all still there,” you said, turning your head to show him the rest. “It’s just back.”

“What are you two doing back there?” Mando asked, looking over his shoulder.

“He doesn’t understand how hair works,” you replied, still smiling at the kid. You pulled your braid forward and held the end of it out to him. He took it, his fingers exploring the end of it before putting it in his mouth. You tried to not laugh when he frowned and took it out again. “He’s around you too much. I don’t think he understands that it can change shape and size quite a bit, he’s puzzling it out.”

Din snorted and you smiled. The kid’s eyes met yours. Still curious but more satisfied and content now. You gave his little forehead a kiss before going to stand next to the Mandalorian.

“So,” you glanced up at him, arms crossed. “You’re the drill sergeant. Do you want to tell me what to do or am I allowed to decide for myself?”

“What do you usually start with?” He asked, looking down at you.

“When I was at my peak condition?” You asked. He nodded. “I’d run at least five clicks a day to start, sometimes up to 15, do some strength training, some hand-to-hand with someone if I could or at the very least do some staff or knife work. Target shoot a few times a week. Regular obstacle work.”

He nodded once.

“Why don’t we see how you do running one click,” he said. “We can go from there.”

You nodded once, an anxious ball settling in you. You were out of practice and your body was still recovering. This could easily be a shit show. You stretched a bit and jumped in place, warming up your limbs.

“Ready?” He asked. Actually asked. That was disorienting. You nodded. “Let’s go. You set the pace.”

You started off, heading toward the woods, taking it at a pace that felt almost exceedingly slow but you could already feel in your body. Your lungs were working harder than they had in a while. You could feel the blood in your limbs, the rush of it through your veins as your heart picked up. The woods were cool, morning dew still on the air where it had been protected by the shade of the trees. It smelled clean, a bit like home on Naboo or the woods on Alderaan where you’d played as a girl, the feeling of racing through trees and running for the sake of moving your body instead of out of fear or necessity comforting. It had been a long time since you’d moved like this but it was like coming home.

“How are you feeling?” The Mandalorian didn’t even sound winded. Show off.

“Good,” you said over your shoulder, panting a bit.

“OK,” he said, “Let’s go for two.”

You smiled. You hadn’t realized you’d gone one click already. Maybe this wasn’t going to be a total loss then. You picked up the pace a bit, pushing yourself a bit harder, watching for roots along the forest floor. It didn’t feel like you’d been going for very long, your lungs burning, when he spoke again.

“Turn back, Doll,” he said. “Don’t push it.”

You considered fighting with him - you felt like you could go further - but decided against it. He was being uncommonly nice. Why spoil it?

You found a tree that looked like it made sense to loop around and you did, the beskar-clad man following close behind. The baby caught a glimpse of you as you went past and he smiled, his arms up, his eyes meeting yours. Pure joy. You smiled.

You decided to push yourself harder the second half, your heart thudding in your chest, lungs filling almost painfully with every breath. You centered yourself for a moment before digging in and launching yourself forward, going faster, your legs burning.

“Doll,” he cautioned behind you. You ignored him, pumping your legs and arms faster and harder, racing along the ground, the scent of the forest filling you, the sound of your blood in your ears and the life of the planet around you. Trees whipped past you, the forest blurring fiercely, the brightness of the field ahead breaking through the trees.

You burst into the sunlight, squinting against it as you focused and pushed your body to sprint to the Razor Crest, the ground flying away beneath your feet. It felt reckless, a bit out of control, like you knew if you tripped you’d go flying with no hope of slowing yourself down first but you didn’t care. It felt too good to slow down. You almost skidded to a stop at the Crest before flopping on the ground, arms spread wide in the cool, soft grass. Din came to a stop beside you, looking down with his head cocked to the side. He was breathing heavily and you couldn’t help but smile a bit. At least you’d gotten his heart rate up.

“Have fun?” He asked, hands on his hips.

“Yeah,” you panted.

“Good,” he said. “Ready to strength train?”

You nodded and he held a hand out to you and you took it, pulling you to your feet. He turned you around in front of him and you frowned.

“I need to check your implants first,” he said. Your face got hot, remembering the night before. You shook your head once, sharply. You were pretending that hadn’t happened. His hand appeared over your shoulder, bare, holding a glove. You stared at it for a moment, trying to not gape at his naked skin. Golden tan, smooth, you wanted to run your fingers over him, lace them with his, press your lips into his palm.

“Hold that,” he said. You obeyed, taking the glove and using the opportunity to have your fingers brush his. It was like you’d been hit with the damn electrostaff again, a shock running through you where you skin touched. He didn’t seem to notice.

He raised your shirt and ran his fingers up your spine, stopping in the middle and pressing in further.

“Does that hurt?” He asked. His voice was dark, heavy.

“No,” you swallowed. His fingers ran further up your back, between your shoulder blades and back down before he took his hand back.

“Good,” he said, tone more normal. “The implants are a bit warm but nothing alarming. If it starts to hurt, Doll, stop.”

“OK,” you said. You didn’t sound as normal as him. His hand appeared over your shoulder again. You remember how it had felt on your breasts, your mouth, your hair… you swallowed hard and gave him the glove. You turned back to face him, crossing your arms over your chest as though that would make a damn difference. “Anything off limits on the strength training? Or are you just going to snap at me if I cross an imaginary line?”

He pulled the glove back on, shaking his head a bit at you.

“Do what you think will work for you,” he said. His voice was totally normal. How could he just act normal after last night? Why were you the only one stuck hauling feelings around? “I’ll check in periodically but stay out if your way.”

You stretched a bit, trying to pretend six-something-feet of armor wasn’t watching you like you were a quarry he was hunting, and tried to fall into a lighter version of what you used to do. You had to cut almost everything short, not able to do as many push ups or pull ups as you remembered doing before, eventually collapsing on the ground, dripping in sweat. You stayed there for a minute, panting for breath, when the Mandalorian appeared over you, blotting out the sun.

“I feel like you’re enjoying this,” you glared at him. He shrugged. “Is it because you want something to hold against me or because you like saying ‘I told you so.’”

“More the latter.”

“Great.”

“We’ll skip the fighting today,” he said, offering you a hand up. You took it, not bothering to protest the change in plans. You’d lose to Din in seconds in your current state. “But you can still shoot.”

He pulled you up and you nodded.

“That I can.”

***

He had to hand it to you, he was impressed. He’d never had a chance to see you work like this before - though he had an idea that you practiced when he wasn’t around when you’d been aboard the Razor Crest years earlier. You were still stronger than you looked - though you got progressively more frustrated the longer you worked - and you were clearly comfortable pushing your body. He suggested shooting almost as much to slow you down and keep you from getting hurt without upsetting you as it was because he wanted you to learn.

He left you leaning against the ship, drinking water while he put the kid in the pod and slung his rifle on his arm. He managed to make it down the ramp without catching your attention, your eyes closed as you leaned your head back against the ship, breathing deeply. His eyes drifted to your breasts, remembering how the felt in his hands as your back arched into him. He ground his teeth. He needed to stop this.

“Come on,” he said. “We’re going up.”

You followed obediently behind him - still odd, having you actually listen - to the ladder to the top of the Crest.

“You first,” he said, jerking his head up. He waited to need to boost you to grab the first rung of the ladder, but you jumped and caught it, smoothly pulling yourself up and climbing easily to the top of the ship. He followed, trying to not look up to see just how well your pants cupped you on the way up.

On top of the ship, he left the kid in the pod and handed him the silver ball he’d become so obsessed with, his little face lighting up. He watched him play with it for a moment, totally absorbed, before going to the edge of the ship that faced the forest. You were standing there, your face turned to the sun, smiling in it. Looked like you still liked to be up high. You sensed him beside you, opening your eyes and looking at him.

“Know anything about distance shooting?” He asked.

“No,” you shook your head. “250 meters is about my limit.”

He slung the rifle down and held it up.

“With the right tools, it’ll be better,” he said. “This is an Amban sniper rifle.”

You frowned.

“Aren’t disrupters illegal?”

He shrugged.

“It works so I don’t really care,” he said. “We’ll get you a more acceptable one if you handle this one well. One that doesn’t disintegrate.”

“Appreciate that.”

“Since you’re already good with a blaster, you’re a step ahead,” he said. “Your fundamentals have to be solid when you’re shooting 1000 meters away. Small errors that wouldn’t do much at close range will ruin your shot here. You need to be still when shooting, your breathing has to be right and you have to be in the right firing position otherwise your shot will be fucked.”

He nodded to the ship.

“Get on your stomach.”

You obeyed and he got down next to you, rifle in hand.

“When you line up, your back needs to be straight out behind the rifle,” he said. You frowned at him. “What?”

“Am I going to have time to think about all this if I need to be shooting this far out?” Your eyebrows scrunched together. “I’m kind of a ‘shoot the biggest threat and keep going’ kind of person, I’ve never been able to set anything up like that…”

“If you’re giving me long distance cover, it will be part of a plan, Doll,” he said. “You’ll have plenty of time to get set.” You looked skeptical but you were back to listening. “You’re small, having the right position is good. This rifle has some kick, if you’re squared up it will exit your legs equally and your movement will be minimal.”

You adjusted how you were laying and he looked down at you before nodding once.

“This rifle is mine, so it won’t fit you well,” he said, handing it over to you. “But it will work for now. Set it so you can pull the trigger without disturbing the sights.”

You took it, lining it up with your body, testing it out. He liked watching you with his rifle. It was obvious that you knew your way around a weapon, already treating it like an extension of yourself, feeling how it fit into your body.

“I think I have it,” you said, glancing over to him.

“Nearly,” he said, moving in closer to you, his body pressing lightly into yours. He gently nudged your head until your cheek was pressed against the rifle. “You’ll need to be that close to it.”

“OK,” you said, sounding a little breathless.

“Take a few deep breaths,” he said, trying to ignore just how close you were to him and failing. “Find your natural point of aim. Then set your sights. At this distance, there will be some bolt drop, too much for you to eyeball. The scope will help. Aim for that tree, the shorter one, at the tree line straight out.”

You nodded once, cautiously making adjustments to the scope.

“Got it?”

“Yeah.”

He adjusted his helmet, sighting the tree.

“When you’re ready.”

You took a deep breath in and slowly let it out before pulling the trigger. He watched as the bolt glanced off the side of the tree, charring the edge.

“Shit,” you muttered.

“No, you did well,” he said, switching back to regular sights to watch you. “Try it again.”

You nodded once before breathing in and out a few times and pulling the trigger. You hit the tree this time, but far from at its center.

“You’re not at your natural point of aim,” he said. “You’re moving a bit, just before you fire. Close your eyes, breathe deep and relax. Then open them and resight.”

You nodded slightly before obeying. He watched you, your eyes closed, your jaw tight at first, but you gradually relaxed. It spread through your body, your shoulders dropping a bit, your face softening. He resisted the urge to touch you. You opened your eyes and adjusted the sight before taking the shot. It hit, dead center.

“Hell yeah,” you smiled.

“Good,” he said. “Now do it again. Another shot, within an inch.”

You repeated the process and hit in the same spot.

“Again.”

You obeyed, even faster this time.

“Tree to the left.”

You adjusted the rifle and shot, hitting the target just off center.

“Hit it right, Doll.”

You shot him a glare before you adjusted and fired again. Dead center this time.

“Next tree left.”

You adjusted and hit it right in the middle.

“Again.”

You got the shot off in record time this time, clustering it right beside the last one. Din nodded once.

“Tree to the right of the first.”

You threw him another glare but adjusted the rifle quickly, hitting to the side again.

“Dank farrik,” you muttered. Din was about to tell you to try again but you cut him off. “Again, I know.”

You adjusted your shot quickly, hitting dead on this time.

“Next right.”

He put you through your paces. He’d been right. You were an incredibly quick study, the fact that you’d been training almost your entire life obvious.

You were more like him than he really wanted to admit. You’d both dedicated your lives to something as children, studied and worked and fought for things you’d been dropped into believing. He’d been brought up to be a warrior, you’d spent your life expecting to die for someone else. But war was over, his people were decimated and you had survived. What were either of you supposed to do now.

After hitting another tree dead center on the first try, he looked over at you.

“Good work,” he said. You gave him an almost smug half smile. “What?”

“You were impressed,” you said, sitting up and handing him his rifle.

“I didn’t say that,” he replied.

“But you were.”

He sighed. “I was.”

You smirked.

“Knew it.”

He shook his head, getting up and slinging the rifle over his back and heading for the ladder down, looking back to you.

“I’m going to stay up here for a bit,” you shrugged. “I haven’t been able to climb in a while… I’ve missed it.”

Din hesitated for a moment before giving you a nod and descending the ladder, the kid’s pod floating beside him. He was strangely anxious, leaving you where he couldn’t easily see you. Not that there was much trouble to be found on this planet and he knew exactly where you were, but he had a nervous energy all the same.

He was still trying to figure out what the hell to do with you. He decided to clean his weapons, give himself something to do with his hands, to distract him. For a long time, he thought that, if he ever saw you again, it would be easier.

There was a space you occupied in his mind that would get better if you were close, he’d thought. That, as it turned out, wasn’t the case. Yes, he wasn’t wondering where you were or what you were doing anymore, that was true. But instead of focusing on something - anything - besides you, he shifted to trying to read you. Understand you, learn you, untangle your concerns. Truly, really know you. And there was the part of him that seemed to want to do nothing but picture you naked.

The kid tapped the ball on his pod, making Din look up from his work. He squeaked, looking up, pouting a bit.

“We’re giving her space,” he said. He tapped the ball again, looking frustrated. Din sighed. “No.” Tap, tap, tap. “Kid, she’s not going to be with us forever. She can’t be. Don’t get too attached.”

His ears drooped and he flopped back in his pod. Din sighed again. He needed to take his own damn advice. He straightened himself, almost subconsciously, like it would strengthen his resolve. He was not going to touch you again. He was going to find some distance, break out of your orbit. He had to.

To your credit, you picked up on it quickly. He hated watching it happen, seeing you retreat into yourself. He made a point to not be cruel, just cold. It only took the rest of the day for you to pull back, too. You slept inside the ship that night.

The next day, you told him you were going to train, waiting only a second to see if he would stop you or try to come. He shrugged, continuing work on the Razor Crest. But he noted your path to the forest with his helmet, ready to track you if you weren’t back when he expected. You borrowed his rifle in the afternoon to practice shooting. He watched from the ground as you hit almost every target, your speed and accuracy increasing.

After a few days of near silence, you approached him after your run.

“I need combat practice,” you said bluntly. You were still breathing heavily and his eyes kept drifting to your breasts, remembering how you felt. “Spar with me.”

He was silent for a moment.

“No.”

“What?” You demanded. “Why not?”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he replied, going back to working on the ship. You scoffed.

“You should be more worried about me hurting you.”

“Trust me, Doll,” he looked back to you. “That’s the least of my concerns.”

“Well, I know you won’t hurt me,” you crossed your arms and planted your feet. “So let’s go. I’ve never fought a Mandalorian. I’m curious.”

“I’m not going to throw a punch at you,” he replied.

“Trust me, you’d miss,” you rolled your eyes. He glared at you and he could tell you felt it. “Look, I want to be ready for when we leave here, OK? I can either practice with you or end up in a fight when I haven’t done much in years and find out then how little I still know. What sounds better to you.”

He sighed, dropping his tools.

“Fine,” he said. “No weapons. And if I say stop, we stop. Immediately.”

“If you’re that worried I’m going to kick your ass…”

“I’m serious, Doll,” he snapped.

“Fine,” you held your hands up in mock surrender and rolled your eyes.

“Tonight,” he said. “After the kid’s in bed.”

You frowned.

“Why?”

“Because,” he said. “He sees us fighting, he might not understand it’s fake. I don’t want him hurting you.” You raised your eyebrows. “It’s happened before.”

You sighed.

“Fine. Tonight, once the kid is down.”

He went back to work, feeling your eyes on him for another moment before you stalked off again. He hated letting you leave. But he had to get used to it.

The kid fell asleep on you after the sun set, something he’d been doing more often than not it seemed. You seemed happy to keep a hand on his back, your thumb lightly stroking the back of his head until he passed out against you.

“You owe me a brawl, Mando,” you said, looking over to him, your hand still on the baby.

“You’re sure,” he said, hoping that stalling would have given you time to change your mind. You just nodded. He sighed. “Fine, let me put him inside. I meant what I said…”

“I know,” you cut him off. “If you say stop, we stop.”

He carefully lifted the kid off of you and put him in his pod before bringing him aboard the ship. You were stretching when he came back out, still hoping you’d have given up on the idea. But you were stuck on it. He sighed and started removing his beskar.

“What are you doing?” You were frowning, frozen mid stretch.

“If you hit the armor, you’re going to hurt yourself,” he replied.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” you dropped your arm and put your hands on your hips. “Put the damn armor back on, Din.”

“No,” he said, removing it piece by piece. “I can take a punch, Doll. You’re not breaking your fingers on my beskar.”

You ground your teeth.

“You can always back out,” he shrugged, setting a pauldron on the ground.

“Stop trying to talk me out of it,” you snapped. “I need to get better and I’m asking for your help. I’d ask someone else but my options here are limited. So please, Mando, let me practice fighting you so I don’t get my ass kicked by some bail jumper, OK?”

He set the last piece of beskar on the ground, leaving him in just the flight suit and helmet. Your eyes ran over him, up and down, slowly. It somehow made him feel more exposed than taking off the armor had, your gaze more dangerous than anything hitting him could be.

Din stepped away from the fire and the ship, into more open space and you followed, watching him cautiously. He set himself into a fighting stance, his fists raised.

“If I hurt you,” he said. “Say something. Don’t try to tough it out.”

“I can take a hit, Mando,” you rolled your eyes, stopping a few feet away from him and raising your hands, too.

“You’re the one who wants to spar, Doll,” he said. “So you have to start this.”

You narrowed your eyes and your stance changed ever so slightly, analyzing him for a moment before you came for him. You were smart, feigning going for his head. When he moved to block you, you side stepped it, going low and ducking below his arm, bringing your body into his and slamming your knee into his stomach. He grabbed your torso but you’d wrapped your arm around his side already, ramming into him with your elbow before bringing the leg you’d hit his stomach with down and around his ankle, yanking it out from below him and using your weight to knock him off balance, sending him down onto his back, forcing him into the ground with a grunt.

“You have to actually try, Mando,” you griped, pushing off the ground and getting to your feet.

“I don’t think you need to worry about bail jumpers, Doll,” he said.

“I will need to worry about people who will actually try to hit me,” you said, positioning yourself again. “So do it.”

He looked you up and down, trying to look at you like he would an opponent. It felt unnatural, looking for where you were weakest. Your size would be the first thing he should leverage. You were smaller and weaker, overpowering you should be simple. You didn’t have the muscle he did to protect your kidneys or liver, hits there would do solid damage.

He considered asking if you were ready but decided against it, just coming for you. He swung for you and you sidestepped him, grabbing his fist and trying to twist his arm. It was a move he imagined had worked for you in the past, but you didn’t have the strength or the weight to pull it off now. Instead, it exposed your torso and he swung, landing a pulled punch at your side with his other hand, just below your ribs. You grunted at the hit, some of the air getting knocked out of you. But instead of stopping or slowing, you used the hold you had on his arm to swing yourself down and back, going behind him. He spun to follow you but not before you landed a hit to his kidney at his back. He caught your next punch, twisting your arm back and you head butted him in the stomach, just below his rib cage. Din caught your head with his other arm, holding your face to his chest and knocking your feet out from under you, bringing you down to the ground on your stomach, leaving you panting for breath.

Watching you fight was oddly beautiful. He wanted to just admire it, admire you. The confidence and knowledge in the way you moved, the way your mind and body worked in perfect harmony to do what was necessary. It was art, especially to a Mandalorian. If he wasn’t perpetually worried about your safety, he’d want to watch you work, see what you would do with an enemy as your canvas.

“You OK?” He asked, his hands still on you.

“Fine,” you said. He released you and you rolled onto your back before he helped you up. “Let’s go again.”

“No,” he shook his head, walking back toward the ship.

“You said you would,” you protested, following close behind him, still breathing heavily. “I’ve had way worse than that, come on Mando, let’s go again.

“I know you have,” he snapped, turning to face you. “And I don’t want to hit you, so we’re done.”

“I need to know that I can protect your kid, Din,” you said, voice calm. “He’s vulnerable. Imps are after him. Even if I were just watching him on the ship, I need to know I can keep him safe. He’s too important.”

He searched your face, the cool detachment you usually wore missing. You were afraid. Of not being able to keep up, to save someone who needed saving.

“Please,” you said again, voice so soft he could barely hear it over the crackle of the fire.

“Fine,” he said, stalking back to the open space. You followed.

“Don’t pull your punches this time,” you said, raising your fists. “Push as fast and hard as you would if I were a quarry. It’s OK if it hurts.”

“Doll…”

“I fucking mean it, Mando,” you snapped. “Hit me.”

He ground his teeth before going for you.

You’d started to learn his movements, could read what was coming next. You dodged him, his blows glancing off you instead of fully catching, your counter punches finding their targets at first before he learned your movements, too. Things devolved, just blocking each other’s shots, adjusting, trying moves that were dirtier to see what would land.

Eventually, he caught you just enough off guard to knock you down. Before he had the chance to ask if you were OK, you swept his legs out from underneath him, sending him down, his helmet smacking into the ground.

“You’re good,” you were panting for breath, your head turned to face him. “If you were armored, I wouldn’t stand a chance.”

“You did well, Doll,” he said, letting himself relax into the ground for a moment. “The kid will be in good hands with you.”

“Good,” you smiled a little, the movement changing the light on your face just enough that the firelight caught the glistening scrape on your cheek. Din rolled onto his side, yanking his glove off and reaching for your face, touching your cheek delicately.

“I hurt you,” he said softly, his thumb stroking your cheek.

“It’s just a scratch,” you rolled your eyes. “Nothing to worry about.”

It took him a moment to realize what he’d done. He’d hurt you and there was proof of it. And he was touching you. His skin was against yours, you were warm and soft beneath him, so close he could pull you against him in a second. His armor was gone, he’d be able to feel you more this way…

You picked up his hand from your face, setting it back against him.

“I can’t do this with you Din,” you said softly.

“Doll,” he breathed, but you cut him off.

“I can’t,” you said. “I don’t think you understand what the last five years - hell, the last few months - has been for me. I survived a war I never thought I’d live through but I lost everything. I’m trying to navigate a life I never planned to have. I lost my home, my brothers, my friends, my identity, my purpose - all to the Empire. I tried to start over and I lost that, too. I lost my parents. I tried to start over again and the only person I knew there, the person who was supposed to help me survive it tried to kill me and now he’s dead, too.

“There is one person in this entire fucking galaxy who knows who I am, that I’m alive at all, and he can’t seem to decide if he wants to fuck me or keep me as far away as he possibly can. I can’t do it, I can’t handle you touching me and holding me and making me feel something one minute and ignoring me the next. I’d rather you hate me, Din, because that’s something. I can’t handle the indifference from you. I can’t be invisible, not to you. Please don’t make me.”

It was like there was something screaming inside him, something fighting to burst out of him, to tell you everything, to pull you against him and hold you there, touch you, feel you.

He didn’t do any of those things.

“Thanks for the practice,” you smiled tightly, sadly. “I’m going to bed.”

You got up and went to the ship and Din rolled onto his back as the firelight dimmed, trying to convince himself that he was doing the right thing.

#fanfic #mandalorian fanfic #enemies to friends to lovers #din djarin #slow burn #the mandalorian #the mandalorian x female reader #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x f!reader

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garbinge · 1 year

Text

The Long Game

Din Djarin x f!Reader

Day 29 these April Prompts: “Deep Breaths”

Summary: You contemplated (overthink) the news you have to tell Din as he walks you home.

A/N: This is the start of a larger multi-chap (a theme I have LOL) not sure when I’ll get to posting more parts. I also haven’t watched s3 yet (I know I know, I’m waiting for my partner to catch up on Boba Fett so we can watch together!!!) but this is a little AU from the canon plot anyways. Also in this fic, the Mandalorian code has some stuff about marriage and love in it. Just to add some dramatic effect. First time writing for Din, I hope to get more comfortable as I write more!

Word Count: 1.4k

Warnings: All my fics are 18+ regardless of content. Mentions of pregnancy, anxiety/panic attack, overthinking, stress.

Mando Taglist: @drabbles-mc @justreblogginfics

Your nerves were starting to manifest into bile in your throat. You stared at the back of the helmet of the man you had been sleeping with for, well, years at this point, and yet you were nervous.

“Din.” You said at a mumble, part of you hoping maybe he didn’t hear you and you could call this an attempt and try again tomorrow.

“Yea?” He turned to look at you. Now his visor was staring directly at you, and even though his eyes weren’t visible you felt them burning into your own.

It was a scene that was familiar to you, you'd pretty much seen it everyday, and when he was away on a bounty hunt, it was something you truthfully missed. The dark sky with bright stars, the low lighting of the town since everything had closed and the cantina was usually one of the last things to shut down every night here in Nevarro. But the vision of him standing there to walk you home was comforting, or at least, it had been before you had news to share with him.

“Walkin’ me home?” You took a deep breath, the first of many, and stepped towards him, not letting your eyes move from where you assumed his were.

“Of course.” His helmet rasped. You weren’t sure if the helmet altered his voice to sound like that or if that was just how he spoke since he’d never taken it off in front of you. Honoring his code despite the situation you two had. That’s when you started to spiral in your head. You never even saw this man’s face. You were lucky to have his bare hands touch you, in intimate situations as well as not. You knew his full name, but that was after months of him visiting you on Tatooine. Suddenly, the bile that had settled for a moment was rising, the thought that you might not really have known this man was eating at you and you were getting overwhelmed. Breathing was becoming hard, your chest felt like there was a bantha sitting on you. But something cut through the noise.

“Take a deep breath, what’s going on?”

Din was now standing in front of you, and his gloved hands were lightly touching your shoulders, in an attempt to ground you without being too forceful. It was something you never told him calmed you but just something he picked up on from knowing you. Right, knowing you. Din knew you. You knew Din. You might not have known his face but you knew him. His intentions. His life. His personality.

You inhaled and let your shoulders rise, his hands not removing themselves as you did.

“I’m good.” You kept your reply simple as you nodded your head forward to show you wanted to start walking.

He didn’t question any more, his hands dropped and he walked alongside of you on the path that began your journey home. Another amazing thing about Din, he didn’t push.

“Do you remember when we first met?” You looked up at the sky almost like you could envision that moment entirely right there.

A chuckle left Din’s helmet. “Do I?” His boots crunched on the pavement as he walked. “I have a permanent scar to remember it forever.”

“Sorry.” You smiled and looked over at him. “You're my best friend, you know?” You said after a long pause.

“We’ve known each other for a long time.” Din agreed in his own way.

It was funny, because he was right. You did know each other for a really long time. But yet, you never established any definition of the relationship you had. He visited you frequently on Tatooine when he was there for work. He brought you with him to Nevarro when your house burned down on Tatooine, he walked you home every night, you two started fooling around somewhere in the midst of all that and you never established any ground rules or titles, except you hid the intimacy from everyone. You understood the Mandalorian code, and you knew how much Din honored that. You didn’t argue it because well, it's part of what made him, him.

In the years you’ve known Din and been sleeping with him, he’d gone away on hunts and he never questioned what you did when he was gone or vice versa. You picked up business as usual when he came back. You never did anything, although you did flirt with people at the bar, even when he was back, it was how you made a decent living and you thought he knew that but as the news you had to share with him right now mulled in your head you started to wonder if he truly did.

Maybe he did keep warm bodies around when he was away. Maybe even more than that, and this was just what it was, friends with benefits. But could you even call it that? Friends? Benefits? Especially now? Then you remembered you just called him your best friend. Probably for the first time, or was it? Why was it such a big deal you hide whatever this was from everyone? They knew you two hung out? Oh, right, Mandalorian code, that calmed you down for a minute, but then the next thought funneled in. Well, there had to be a work around with that? He couldn’t have been the first Mandalorian to fall in love? Fall in love? Who were you kidding, you didn’t even know if calling him your best friend was appropriate and now you’re assuming he’s in love? Maybe you thought that because YOU felt that. Holy shit, were you in love with a Mandalorian? Your next thought shook you to your core. Not just a Mandalorian but YOUR Mando. Your Mando? Again the man who you couldn’t even call your best friend without going into an overthinking spiral? Your stomach turned. There it was that bile again. Making its way up your throat.

“I have to tell you something.” You blurted out, getting overwhelmed by your own thoughts.

Din said nothing and stared at you waiting for you to say something.

You stared at him, and for some reason, pushed all your thoughts aside. It was what you did every time you spent time with him, it was what you did to put you in this situation so it would have to work to let it out. You took one last deep breath before speaking.

“I’m pregnant.”

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anonymousewrites · 1 year

Text

Clan of Three (Book 1) Chapter Nine

Father Figure! Mandalorian/Din Djarin x Teen! Reader

Chapter Nine: The Team

Summary: (Y/N) and Mando have to team up with other people and aren't enjoying themselves.

“So, what’s this job?” asked (Y/N) as Mando flew towards a spaceport.

“I’ll get the details once we arrive,” said Mando.

“You have no idea?” asked (Y/N), raising an eyebrow.

“I’ve worked with Ran before,” said Mando. “And we need the credits.”

“What do you want me to do?” said (Y/N), leaning forward.

“Put the Child in the compartment at the back of the Razorcrest,” said Mando. “And stick close.”

“Right,” said (Y/N), standing up and picking up the Child. He babbled questioningly at them as they carried him to the back compartment. “Sorry, buddy, you need to stay here for a little. Just take a nap. You like those.” (Y/N) closed the door and found Mando opening the hull doors.

(Y/N) stayed by his side as they walked down into the spaceport. People were going about their business around them, but it was clear this place wasn’t exactly on the right side of the law.

“Mando,” greeted an older man with a beard. “Is that you under that bucket?” He extended a hand, and Mando shook it.

“Ran,” he greeted.

“And who’s your friend?” said Ran, smiling and leaning towards (Y/N).

They looked at Mando, and he nodded. “(Y/N),” they said, refusing to extend their hand.

Ran was unperturbed and addressed Mando again. “I didn’t really know if I’d ever see you in these parts again. Good to see you. You know, to be honest, I was a little surprised when you reached out to me. You know, ‘cause I…I hear things. Like maybe things between you and the Guild aren’t workin’ out.”

“I’ll be fine,” said Mando.

“Okay. Well, you know the policy. No questions,” said Ran. “And you, you’re welcome back here anytime.”

This explains why Mando wanted a job from him. He won’t ask what trouble Mando is in, thought (Y/N).

“So, what’s the job?” asked Mando.

“Yeah, one of our associates ran afoul of some competitors and got himself caught,” said Ran. “So I’m puttin’ together a crew to spring him.”

(Y/N) furrowed their brow. Something itched at their mind, and a feeling of distrust settled in them. They shook it off, attributing it to their general distrust of people now and the fact that Ran wasn’t in legal business, but it took a while to fade away.

“It’s a five person job. I got four. Don’t worry, kid, we’re always happy to have more hands on deck,” said Ran. He gestured to the Razorcrest. “All I need is the right, and you brought it, Mando.”

“The ship wasn’t part of the deal,” said Mando.

“Well, the Crest is the only reason I let you back in here,” said Ran. Mando turned towards him, his head tilted dangerously. “What’s with the look? Is that gratitude?” questioned Ran, becoming serious.

Now the itch had grown in (Y/N)’s mind. Ran could not be trusted, and they had very little doubt that he wouldn’t betray Mando in some way.

Ran chuckled suddenly, breaking the tension. “Uh-huh. I think it is.” He walked off, leaving Mando and (Y/N) beside the Razorcrest.

“We can’t trust him,” murmured (Y/N) quietly. Mando looked down at them. “I know it.”

“We’ll be careful,” said Mando, nodding.

He almost reached out, but he remembered the look on their face when Ran had tried to shake their hand. Clearly, they didn’t like physical touch and only put up with in when absolutely necessary, like in fights or when Mando asked for it during the job on Tatooine. He winced inwardly. He hadn’t meant to make them uncomfortable, and he’d refrain from further physical touch if (Y/N) showed similar signs of discomfort around him. He hadn’t done anything outside of what was necessary, yet, so he wasn’t sure how they’d react, but he’d stop himself until they seemed comfortable.

“Mando! (Y/N),” called Ran. “Come meet the team!” They caught back up to him as he walked over to a corner of the docking room. “Hey, Mayfeld,” said Ran.

A bald man with a gun strapped to his back turned from packing some weapons up. “Yeah?”

“This is Mando, the guy I was tellin’ you about,” said Ran. “We used to do jobs way back when.”

“This is the guy?” Mayfeld made a show of not seeming impressed.

“Yeah, we were all young, tryin’ to make a name for ourselves,” said Ran. He chuckled. “Yeah, but runnin’ with a Mandalorian, that was…That brought us some reputation.”

“Oh, yeah? What did he get out of it?” questioned Mayfeld.

“I asked him that one time. You remember what you said, Mando?” laughed Ran. Mando didn’t respond, but Ran spoke anyways. “ ‘Target practice.’ We did some crazy stuff, didn’t we?”

“That was a long time ago,” said Mando. (Y/N) suspected he didn’t look back at it quite as fondly as Ran did.

“Who’s the kid?” asked Mayfeld, jerking his head at (Y/N).

“(Y/N),” they said shortly, crossing their arms.

“Kriff, you’re young to be doing this,” he remarked sneeringly.

“Try to keep up, old man,” retorted (Y/N).

Mayfeld scoffed. “You sure you can handle this?”

“They’re my Foundling,” said Mando firmly. (Y/N) glanced at him, wondering what it meant.

“The hell does that mean?” scoffed Mayfeld.

Ran waved a hand. “Some Mandalorian thing. No point arguing over it.” He turned to Mando. “Mayfeld, he’s gonna run point on this job. If he says it, it’s like it’s comin’ from me. You good with that?”

“You tell me,” said Mando.

Ran laughed, ignoring the tension. “You haven’t changed one bit.”

“Yeah, well, things have changed around here,” said Mayfeld.

“Mayfeld, he’s one of the best triggermen I’ve ever seen,” said Ran. “Former Imperial Sharpshooter.”

(Y/N)’s blood ran cold, and they tried to push away the sinking feeling in their stomach. Mayfeld was still untrustworthy, but he was former imperial. Not anymore.

“That’s not saying much,” said Mando.

“I wasn’t a stormtrooper, wiseass,” snapped Mayfeld.

“Don’t take long, does it?” chuckled Ran. He gestured, and the group walked back over to the Razorcrest and several people walked out to the meet them—the rest of the team.

“Razorcrest? I can’t believe that thing can fly,” scoffed Mayfeld. “Looks like a Canto Bight slot machine.” He was trying to make a dig at Mando, but he didn’t fall for the bait. “The good-lookin’ fellow there with the horns, that’s Burg,” introduced Mayfeld, gesturing to a massive man with red skin and thick red horns. “This may surprise you, but he’s our muscle.”

Burg stood in front of Mando and huffed, circling him. “So, this is a Mandalorian. I thought they’d be bigger.”

He turned to (Y/N) and towered above them. They stared back, not flinching. “What is this thing?”

“Some kind of Mandalorian spawn,” sneered Mayfeld.

“Tiny,” grunted Burg. He stepped away, bored.

Mando took a step nearer to (Y/N) as Mayfeld brought them to the next team member. “Droid’s name is Zero.” The droid was black with an insect-like configuration.

“I thought you said you had four,” said Mando.

“He does,” said a feminine voice sneeringly behind them.

The group turned around to see a twi’lek with pale purple-blue skin and lekku facing them. “Hello, Mando,” she said, prowling around them. Once again, (Y/N) felt distrust flash through them.

“Xi’an,” said Mando evenly.

Xi’an flipped a knife around in her hand. “Tell me why I shouldn’t cut you down where you stand?” She hissed and raised her dagger to his throat.

(Y/N) drew their dagger, and Mando blocked their arm before a fight could begin. “Nice to see you, too,” he said.

Xi’an laughed manically before taking a step back and sighing. “I missed you.” She traced his beskar armor. “This is shiny. You wear it well.” She pivoted and grinned at (Y/N) and their dagger. “Aww, want a fight?”

“Only if you’re looking for one,” said (Y/N), narrowing their eyes.

Xi’an glared at their insolence and took a step forward, but Mando was in front of (Y/N) before she could attack. “Xi’an,” he said warningly. “(Y/N) is with me.”

“They a pet? Keep them on a leash,” hissed Xi’an.

“Xi’an,” repeated Mando.

“Alright, break it up till you get on the ship,” said Ran. “Right now we don’t have much time.”

Xi’an winked at Mando and stepped back. Mayfeld rolled his eyes. “Let’s get to work,” he said.

While Zero entered the Razorcrest, the rest of the team to go over the job. (Y/N) stood next to Mando, and he made sure he was ready to get between them and anyone who tried something.

“So, the package is being moved on a fortified transport ship,” explained Mayfeld. “Now, we got a limited window to board, find our friend, and get him out of there before they make their jump.” He brought up the hologram schematic.

“That’s a New Republic prison ship,” said Mando sharply. “Your man wasn’t taken by a rival syndicate. He was arrested.”

Mayfeld leaned over the table threateningly. “So what?”

“A job is a job,” said Ran.

“That’s a max security transport, and I’m not looking for that kinda heat,” said Mando.

“Well, neither are we. So just don’t mess up,” said Ran.

“The good news for you is the ship is manned by droids,” said Xi’an. “Still hate the machines, Mando?” He didn’t respond.

Zero walked out of the Razorcrest. “Despite recent modifications, the ship is still quite a mess. The power lines are leaking, the navigation is intermittent, and the hyperdrive is only operating at 67.3% efficiency. We have much better ships. Why are we using this one?”

“’Cause the Razorcrest is off the Imperial and the New Republic grid,” explained Ran. “It’s a ghost.”

“Yeah, and we need a ship that can get close enough to jam New Republic code,” added Mayfeld. “So, when we drop out of hyperspace here—” he brought up a star map “—if we immediately bank into this kinda attitude, we should be right in their blind spot, which will give us enough time for your ship to scramble our signal.”

“It’s not possible. Even for the Crest,” said Mando.

Ran nodded to Zero. “That’s why he’s flying.”

Mando’s not gonna like that, thought (Y/N). Sure enough, Mando was staring at Ran hard enough that it was clear he was displeased, even with the helmet.

“Mando, I know you’re a pretty good pilot, but we need you on the trigger. Not on the wheel,” said Ran.

“Don’t worry, Mandalorian. My response time is quicker than organics’. And I’m smarter, too,” said Zero.

Ran patted him and pushed him away. “Alright, I—yeah, that’s good. Forgive the programming. He’s a little rough around the edges. But he is the best.”

“How can you trust it?” questioned Mando.

“You know me, Mando. I don’t trust anybody,” said Ran, chuckling.

Mando turned away. “Come on, (Y/N).” They hurried after him as he walked up the gangplank.

“Just like the good old days, huh, Mando?” called Ran.

Mando shut the hull door firmly behind him. A moment later, Zero lifted the Razorcrest into the air and flew them out of the spaceport. In another moment, they were in hyperspace.

Mando quickly took a place standing in the cockpit and watched Zero distrustfully. (Y/N) sat in the hold, making sure no one got near the compartment where the Child was sleeping. They knew it was best if none of these people found him. Xi’an was balancing her knife of her finger, Mayfeld sat calmly in one seat, and Burg was pacing back and forth.

“Will you sit down?” snapped Xi’an. Burg slammed his hand into the ceiling in response, and she snarled at him. Burg just laughed.

(Y/N) was relieved when Mando walked back out since at least they weren’t stuck in the room with those maniacs by themself. Burg was frustrated when Mando closed the doors of his weapons closet and went to open another door. (Y/N) tensed since it was the compartment where the Child was, but Mando blocked Burg’s arm. Burg growled.

“Hey, hey, hey. Okay. Okay. Okay, I get it,” said Mayfeld, trying to keep a fight from breaking out. “I’m a little particular about my personal space, too. So let’s just do this job. We get in, we get out, and you don’t have to see our faces anymore.”

“Someone tell me why we even need a Mandalorian,” huffed Burg.

“Well, apparently they’re the greatest warriors in the galaxy,” said Mayfeld. “So they say.”

“Then why are they all dead?” scoffed Burg, and (Y/N) bristled while the rest of the group snickered.

“Well, you flew with him, Xi’an,” said Mayfeld. “Is he as good as they say?”

“Ask him about the job on Alzoc III,” said Xi’an.

“I did what I had to,” responded Mando.

Xi’an chuckled darkly. “Oh, but you liked it.” Mando didn’t take the bait and remained silent.

Burg pointed at (Y/N) as he lumbered across the room. “What about this thing? Is it Mandalorian?”

“No,” said Mayfeld. “Ushti. You can tell by the markings.” He gestured to their eyes.

“They’re real?” questioned Burg, disbelieving.

He reached out suddenly and grabbed at (Y/N)’s face to see if their eye markings were real. (Y/N) reacted instinctively, every memory of imperial scientists poking and prodding them welling up in their mind. They thrashed and kicked Burg, but he didn’t react since he was much tougher.

“Let me go!” hissed (Y/N), and Burg just laughed.

He wasn’t laughing when Mando grabbed him roughly. Caught off guard, Burg stumbled back as Mando shoved him away from (Y/N) and stood in front of them protectively as they trembled. (Y/N) glared furiously, holding their dagger tightly in case Burg tried something again.

“Don’t touch them,” said Mando, a clear warning to everyone in the room.

Burg, angry, advanced again, and Mando matched his attack, knocking him away. Burg stumbled back and accidentally hid the button to open the back container. It slid open to reveal the Child inside. Mayfeld and Xi’an leaned forward in interest.

“Whoa, what is that?” asked Mayfeld. He approached the Child. “You get lonely up here, buddy, huh?”

The Child cooed nervously, and (Y/N) ran forward to scoop him up before Mayfeld or anyone else could touch him.

“What is it, like a pet or something?” questioned Mayfeld. He reached out to touch the Child, and (Y/N)’s grip on their knife tightened warningly. Mayfeld held up his hands, making a show of not coming closer.

“Maybe that code of yours has made you soft,” simpered Xi’an.

Luckily, before the tension could develop into an argument, the Razorcrest abruptly exited hyperspace, and the sudden jolt knocked everyone off their feet.

“Commencing final approach,” announced Zero. “Cloaking signal, now.”

The Razorcrest spun in midair, and everyone was thrown around the cabin. (Y/N) yelped, holding the Child tight, and Mando quickly grabbed them both, keeping them close and secure so they wouldn’t get hurt.

“Engaging coupling now,” said Zero. The Razorcrest thunked as it connected to the prison ship. “Coupling confirmed. We are down. Commence extraction now.”

(Y/N) stood and placed the Child back in his compartment. “You were good. Now just stay here until we get back.” The Child smiled and patted their hand as if he understood. ((Y/N) suspected he did but pretended not to so he could do whatever he wanted and then act innocent).

“Useless droid didn’t even give us a proper countdown,” spat Xi’an.

“Z, are you sure they can’t see us?” asked Mayfeld over the intercom.

“The Razorcrest is scrambling our signature, and I am inside the prison system. It’s impressive that this gunship had survived the Empire without being impounded,” said Zero.

“Alright, we got a job to do,” said Mayfeld. “Mando, you’re up.”

Mando opened the floor hatch of the Razorcrest and unscrewed the entry hatch to the New Republic ship. (Y/N) felt a strange foreboding gather in their gut, and they glanced around, only seeing the others on the team watching them and Mando.

“Alright. Let’s go,” said Mayfeld.

And one-by-one, they dropped into the prison ship.

Taglist:

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@alexpangender

@painstakingly-juno

@treehouse-mouse

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@dmitrytherat

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chalterdh22 · 11 months

Text

Day 21: Din Djarin and Care Dune in New Discovery

Lee: Din Djarin/Mando

Ler: Cara Dune

Summary: Cara Dune returns to Nevarro and hangs out with an old friend. She starts pestering him so she would fight her and deem her the ultimate winner. She’s not above fighting dirty either, teaching him something he never knew about himself.

Warnings: This is a tickle fic, so if that’s not your thing, don’t read. Lot’s of friendly fluff too!

This all started when Cara Dune went back to Nevarro to see her old friend, Greef Karga. She wanted a brief period to relax a bit from all her traveling and work, and she knew she had trusted allies there. Boy she was surprised to find out that her old friend Mando and Grogu were now occupying a small cabin outside of the city as well. Perfect, she thought. She would love to be in the presence on her ally.

Mando was sitting on the porch with his feet up while Cara leaned against one of the posts, as Grogu was playing in a nearby puddle. She was looking around thinking how peaceful this place seemed and how relaxed he actually was, which reminded her of the conversation she had had with him on Soren about settling down.

“We didn’t settle down Cara. I’m still training Grogu as my apprentice.”

“Slash son,” Cara pointed out. “And you do you know how adorable that makes you? Gag!” she was chuckling. Din looked up and tilted his head in amusement. “You know I’m just kidding with you, Din!” she kicked his outstretched leg, not hard.

“Yes, I know.”

“Yet, you still aren’t amused.” She was smirking. She didn’t realize how much she missed bantering with him, even though it was almost completely one sided. She had grown a found appreciation, or a strong liking to Din throughout the few years they had known each other. She really had never had feelings like that for anyone except him. Maybe it’s because he physically could rival her, and they fact he was completely mysterious.

She still remembers when he removed his helmet when saying good bye to the kid before he went off with that Jedi. He seemed so emotional, and so real. Not like he wasn’t before, but she thought several times he was a droid.

Cara was standing next to him, as he looked up at her, waiting for something to happen. “Is there something you need Dune?”

“Wow. He’s gotten a little cockier since he became a dad. Interesting.” He made a humph sound, and shook his head slowly, looking back out to Grogu who was still occupied in the pond.

“So, what else has changed Din? Do you actually get to play with the kid? Do you go running in a field together, laughing? Picnics out back?” she said condescendingly. Still no answer. “What, too dad now to let out a giggle or a laugh?”

At this point she was really rubbing it in his face, um, helmet. He still wasn’t into playing these games with her, which slightly disappointed her. “Are you done?” He asked pointedly.

“With teasing you, not even close. I am glad you still can take what I dish out, Din!” She took a step back and leaned back on the post. “Especially since you have never been able to beat me at anything!” Her smile was huge by now. This had to get him going.

He slowly turned his head back at her, took his legs off the rail and slowly stood up, looking lightly down at her, getting about a foot away from her face. A challenge, finally, she was thinking. “I recall beating you in arm wrestling, Dune.”

“That’s because the kid started magic choking me!”

“I would have won anyway. It was a matter of time.”

“Ok, well, prove it! And no more arm wrestling, real fighting! And don’t worry, you can keep your shiny armor on, and I’ll wear what I’m wearing now!” She was pretty much shouting at this point. He shook his head back and forth and started walking into the cabin. “Where are you going?”

“To take off my armor. You’re right, it wouldn’t be fair for you.”

“Really, seriously Din, you don’t have to. I was half joking.”

“No, you weren’t.” He said from inside the cabin. Her heart was racing now. She was watching him remove his armor and this was the first time she had seen this. He took off his cape and his jetpack as well. He was completely down to just his flight suit, boots, and helmet of course.

“Wow, you look like you lost about 100 pounds Din. Kinda scrawny looking if you ask me!”

“I didn’t ask you. So, how do you want to do this?”

“Let’s just pin for 3, shoulders on the ground.”

“Sounds good.” He started walking past her to the few stairs on the porch.

“Don’t be nervous now.” She followed and poked his side as he walked by, getting an interesting reaction from him. Hmm, she thought. That’s something she never thought of before. She could use this to her advantage. “I just thought, one more rule, since I haven’t done this since I was a child, and it could be fun.”

“What’s that?” he asked, stopping in an opening right off the porch.

“Let’s add a tap out word or phrase?”

“A what?” that’s right, she thought. He never really got to be a kid. She’d have to explain this without giving too much away.

“It’s when each person gets a word or phrase to say when they physically or mentally can’t go any longer………….. like they are too tired. We did it as kids. I think it could be fun though.”

“I won’t get too tired, but ok. What should it be.”

“Something weird that you normally wouldn’t say accidentally. Like, mine used to be red rose.”

“Red rose?” he asked, tilting his head at her. “So, what should mine be?” She thought about it.

“Let’s make your’s tin can.” He tilted his helmet and let out a small laugh.

“Ok, so if I can’t beat you or I’m tapping out, I just say tin can, and we’ll stop?” she nodded, smirking. This would be too easy. He’ll never see this coming.

“That’s weird, but ok.” They both took a stance.

“And remember, anything goes Mando!”

“Yes, I know Dune!”

“Hold on, just one second.” She turned and started walking towards Grogu.. “I don’t want to be beating you and have a choke hold on me from your protective son.” She was partially telling the truth. But she partially wanted to recruit the kid. Yeah, it might be cheating, but she wasn’t planning on actually wrestling him either, so why not?

She leaned down to the kid’s level and whispered, “Kid, I need a favor. Your dad and I are going to be wrestling, just for fun. And I need your help, little buddy. I want to get your dad laughing really hard.” Grogu’s ears perked up when he heard that. He hasn’t witnessed his dad laugh aloud before. So, of course he wanted to be a part of it. She gave him a few ideas and started walking back.

“Sorry, I really had to convince him not to kill me for destroying you.” She laughed as he just stared. “Ok, enough chit chat. Ready?”

“Yes.” Again, they took their stances. “And go.”

She immediately crouched down and swiped her leg onto his, knocking him backwards. She heard a great huff noise come from him as she quickly rolled over him. She straddled him a little sideways, putting one of her legs on his arm above his head and holding his other arm down with one of her hands, leaving the other free.

He started whipping his legs, trying to buck her off him. With her free hand, she put it on his chest, that no longer had any protection. She had a strong core and even stronger legs. “When I was a kid and we were playing like this, I immediately started doing this!” She immediately grabbed his hip, making him gasp and almost jerk her off him. “Did I hurt you?” she asked sweetly.

“No, no, it just, it felt weird.” Just then she did it again but didn’t stop. He started to gasp and curl on his side to block her hand, which left his other side wide open. She took her other hand from his arm and both hands went directly into his ribs, jolting his whole body up a few inches before slamming down. “Whaaattt are yo yo youuu dooooiiinggg?” Definite laughs were escaping his lips in his tinny voice.

“Doing what Din? Tickling you? I didn’t know you were so ticklish!!!” She was laughing along with him. she kept massaging his ribs.

“Whaaaat is th thaaaattt?”

“What? Are you serious right now? Tickling Din. It’s what is happening to you right now! Have you never been tickled before?” She was beyond disbelief. She lightened up for him to actually talk again, but holding fast, not giving him room to flip her.

He was breathing hard still. She still had his one arm pinned. “I I don’ttt understaaand. What is that?” He was regaining some of his control.

“It’s this!” She took both hands and whipped them into his arm pits. He sat up almost straight, but then going into a ball as if he had no idea what to do. His laugh was deep, throaty and contagious. She couldn’t help but laugh right along with him. At this point, Grogu waddled up to his dad, cooing over the magical sound that was his laugh.

“Stopppp! Stopppp puuuuh-leeeease!” He was trying to grab her wrists, which he did, but it did no good. She was too strong at this point, and he was too weak because of all the energy spent getting rid of these tickles.

“Isn’t he cute, kid?”

“Bah!” he said, pointing at him with his little finger.

“My thoughts exactly! Do you want to try? Or should I move onto a new spot since this obviously a brand-new experience for him!” Grogu tilted his head. Din was still curled up, trying to move her wrists away from him, but not able to budge her. “You could just give in now Din, before it gets worse!” He was making a coughing like laugh, that could be heard from miles away it seemed.

He shook his head no, and no actual words escaped, like he was pressing them together so they wouldn’t talk on their own, begging her to stop. “And the best part is buddy, is that your dad here has no idea what other places he could be tickled!”

And with that her hands whipped down onto his belly, massaging it, but pressing him down as he tried to curl up to cover his abs. “See? You wanna try with your powers kid? I bet you could do some real damage!”

“Nooooooooo kiiidididd! Shuuuut uuupppp Duuununnne!!!”

“What was that? That wasn’t very nice. Kid, get right above his knee caps. He’ll like that I bet!” And right as she finished saying that he had his hand raised out and Cara felt a muscular shift in his thighs, like they were being squeezed. He hit a whole new type of laugh. For Din, since he really didn’t know where these spots were, he couldn’t physically or mentally prepare himself like a normal person could.

It was all he could do to not just lay down and let this happen, but he finally got to a point where he tried to say his words to tap out, but it came out all a mess.

“Are you trying to say something? I’m not stopping just so you can regain control, so if you need to tap out, it needs to come out clearly!” She was all but yelling over his laughing mixed with hard breathing and gasping for air. She knew she was being relentless, but she got this far, so she couldn’t give him the ground.

“Tiiiinnninnnn ccccaaaannnnn!!!!!” And she stopped and so did the kid. Cara rose off of him. He looked totally broken and breathing like he sprinted a few miles.

“You ok there, Din?” He slowly shook his head yes. “Wow, I have to say, you lasted longer than I would have thought. I thought you were going to keel over on me way earlier.”

He finally was able to sit up straight and look up at her, his chest still moving in and out fast, but not like it was.

“That was new to me, Cara. That was……. something.”

She reached down and helped him up on his two feet. She slapped in on the back and said, “I can see that, and I didn’t even get to the good spots yet. I’ll save those for another time buddy!” She smiled and walked away as he was staring her down.

What other spots, he thought?

To be continued…………?

#augtickletober2023 #tickle content #tickletober #tickle fluff #tword content #tword community #pedro pascal #star wars #the mandalorian #cara dune

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azertyrobaz · 11 months

Text

Satellites (7/7)

The last chapter! And it's extra long, but also extra angsty before the promised happy end (I can't write sad endings). Hope you enjoy! I've wanted to write a reverse "Reckoner" (my first Mando fanfic) for a while, and I feel like I've finally managed that. See you soon for more adventures! :)

************

What if Grogu hadn’t returned to Din in The Book of Boba Fett? What if he hadn’t been given a choice? – Modern AU setting: Grogu is now twelve, and he has to rely on his memories as a young child to track down the person who changed his life. The only person he knows who will be able to protect him from the bad man. The bad man who precipitated his separation from the only family he’s ever known. He embarks on a road trip to piece together his past, and reconnect with the people who might help him find his family again.

Read below or on ao3.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

************

They slowly settled into a routine. It was now the middle of summer and it grew hot some days in the cabin, but the nights were always cool. Some nights though, the stars and satellites he stared at before retiring to bed didn’t quite manage to keep the shadows at bay. The ones that would come to his mind, unbidden, around 3AM. The ones that had teeth.

“Up already?” asked his father, returning from his morning run, drenched in sweat.

Grogu shrugged, his mouth full of cereals. He didn’t want to admit that he’d been awake since before dawn, unable to find sleep again, and had finally given up when he’d heard him leave. But something in his dad’s eyes told him that he knew – a tensed sadness, and Grogu couldn’t look any longer. Instead, he stared at the tattoo at the center of his chest: one of the newer ones, a constellation almost perfectly in the shape of a diamond, right above his heart. Not for the first time, he realized that the wound it covered could have been fatal, given its location.

“Shower, then coffee,” his dad said, and Grogu nodded. Maybe one day he’d figure out how to ask him about it. The operation that had gone very very wrong. But anytime he tried broaching the subject, his father would smoothly brush him off. And Grogu knew better than to push – they’d finally found some kind of balance, and he didn’t want to ruin it. What they had worked right now, and his father hadn’t once mentioned that he needed to leave or go back to the institute – he wanted to keep things that way. Forever, if possible.

“I think I’ll be done with Winta’s computer today,” he announced over coffee later.

Part of his dad’s current work required helping setting up new identities for people under witness protection, which he did through air-gapped computers – brand new laptops that had never been connected to the Internet, for security reasons. But this meant they could only be used once. Usually, he’d then wipe their content and either sell them again if it was safe to do so, or keep some of the parts, but he’d agreed one could prove useful to Winta, who’d been saving up to buy a new one with the money she’d given Grogu.

He had listened, fascinated, as his dad explained what he did, and learned a lot about online security, IP addresses, fake identities and VPNs. For the past couple of days, he’d made sure the laptop was okay for Winta to use, and installed some software he thought would be useful to her for college.

“Sounds good, then we can ship it tomorrow or something,” his dad replied, and Grogu nodded. He’d told him that as long as they were careful to use an untraceable PO box as a shipping address, it was safe to use the post. He’d also confirmed it was fine to send her emails from here, which he had done after digging up her address on her high-school website. His friend had been thrilled to get news from him, and he’d mentioned he was sending her a gift, but he hadn’t said what it was yet. He’d have to email her the password to log into her – almost – brand new laptop, so that might tip her off sadly. This was one of the last things he needed to setup, and he was having way more fun with this than he expected.

“Want to go to the mall before lunch? Then grab burgers?” his father asked as he was clearing the table – they’d been eating mostly in silence, but that was their usual way. Grogu forced himself to smile but didn’t look up. He was still out of sorts after his short night, and he apparently hadn’t been able to hide it. His dad often suggested trips to the mall when he thought he was too bored or too quiet. And it was true that he always felt slightly better afterwards. They kept going to different malls, but it usually entailed getting a couple of new books for him or a Lego, and a greasy but enjoyable meal somewhere.

“I think I’d rather go for a ride this morning,” he eventually said. His dad had gifted him a bike – a sturdy, second-hand mountain bike with thick tires – which had proven to be a wonderful way to clear his mind, and to discover the many tracks surrounding the cabin. He’d gotten lost a few times, but it had been worth it. He hadn’t made fun of him either when he told him he wasn’t very good on a bike – that was just not something they did at the institute, and he’d never really learned how to ride – and simply gave him pointers and advice to find his balance and slowly get better at it. Grogu was now a lot more confident in his ability and even loved going for long rides on his own.

He risked glancing up. His father stared at him with his usual composure, brown eyes unblinking, but he’d mechanically picked up one of his small notebooks from the counter. It made a tap, tap, tap sound against the wood. He was nervous, and craving a cigarette.

“Alright,” he sighed, with a forced smile of his own. “Carson might call later so I’d better stick around anyway, but we can make burgers for lunch on the barbecue. It’s a scorcher today, so remember to take some water with you.”

“I will,” Grogu promised, exiting the kitchen to get dressed.

************

Grogu biked aimlessly for a while, but his father had been right – it was only a little after nine but the day was proving very hot already. He thus made his way to a large pond he knew, and rested under the shade of a willow tree. He’d filled up his water bottle and put his current book – The Odyssey – in his new backpack, but he didn’t feel like reading. He didn’t feel like anything, really.

“He’s only going to blame himself if I say anything,” he told a nearby frog, who was also enjoying the cooler temperature in the shade. He’d discovered the frog colony the first time he came upon the place, but they had never answered back. Still, it was nice to pretend their sluggish croaks were them agreeing with him.

“He doesn’t want to know about my nightmares, and it’s not like talking about them helped a lot in the past, not really.”

Grogu had talked to a counselor a few times at the institute, but his nightmares had faded away with time. He thought it was exceptionally unfair that his bad dreams would choose to return now, when he was finally reunited with his father, the one thing he’d wished for for years. But then the very fact that he was here – and that he had been allowed to stay – was linked to Gideon’s return, so he guessed it made sense.

“I know he still feels terrible about handing me over to Doctor Pershing that first time, but he didn’t know Gideon was behind it and yeah, I also know he wasn’t such a great person back then but he did come back. And he came to my rescue as well when I was kidnapped that second time. It wasn’t his fault.”

He wondered who he was trying to convince. Certainly not the frog, whose unblinking dark eyes were slowly starting to set his teeth on edge.

“I’m sure the nightmares will go away once Gideon is caught, and Bo-Katan and Ahsoka are probably getting close, dad said they were following several ‘promising leads’ the other day. I’m glad he’s letting them handling it. And then once that’s done we can have an actual talk and I’ll tell him I want to stay and he’ll understand. I think he’ll be open to it. I think it’ll work.”

Grogu exhaled and picked up a flat rock. Maybe skipping stones would help. Maybe it would calm his nerves. Maybe if Gideon caught him the tests wouldn’t hurt this time. Maybe he didn’t need his blood anymore. Maybe he’d plug him to a machine and ask him to move objects with his mind instead, like in that Netflix show he’d watched with other kids at the institute. Or maybe he’d open him up to look at the inside of his brain. Maybe that way he’d finally understand his so-called ‘powers’ – what a load of bull, he was smart not magic. But surely that wouldn’t hurt because then he would be dead.

Grogu launched the rock with all his strength and the loud noise it made when it dropped in the water scared the frog away.

“Sorry,” he said to no one in particular.

He tried reading for a while but couldn’t concentrate on the words. He felt lonely and sad and decided to bike back to the cabin. He’d be able to read there, he knew. Even if they didn’t say anything – and they usually didn’t – knowing his dad was nearby was the only thing he needed. And since he’d mentioned that Carson might call, it meant he could be away for the night. He’d only done that a couple of times but he’d always been there the next morning, so it was okay. And he knew the work he was doing was important and paid for his food and his things.

Grogu convinced himself he would be fine on his own as he pedaled back home. His father would be bound to check with him before agreeing to anything – Are you sure you’ll be okay here alone? – like he’d done the previous times, and Grogu had known just looking into his eyes that if he’d even seemed unsure, or worse, if he’d lied, his dad would stay with him and refuse the job.

The area was secured, and he’d been shown on the computer how to access and check the alarms and cameras that were hidden all over. He knew how to shoot, and his father had even entrusted him with a gun of his own, which he kept in a special pocket of his backpack. He’d been given the combinations of all the safes should be need more firepower. He’d learned how to use the satellite phone and the CB radio. Grogu felt safe here. He didn’t fear he would be attacked. Even if his father was away. The only thing he feared was what was in his mind.

************

Carson Teva was a US Marshall. As such, he oversaw the protection of key judicial assets, managed rescue operations of fugitives, and supervised the smooth running of the witness protection program in the state. Through Greef at first, he’d started employing his dad as a contractor on several tasks. It had actually been funny to hear him talk so uncertainly and almost bashfully about it, as if Grogu was going to admonish him or make fun of him for working – for lack of a better word – for cops. People his father had been careful to avoid back when Grogu was younger, if not openly bad-mouth.

But this had been then and this was now, and there was no mistaking the fact that his dad was and had always been very good at what he did – finding people. And thus, unsurprisingly, helping them stay hidden as well. Not only that, it seemed clear to Grogu that he liked what he was doing. And what he liked even better (obviously) was for an entity that had done its best in the past to try – and fail – to catch him red-handed in some unsavory scheme to now pay him actual money for his services.

He hadn’t met Carson yet, but he now recognized his voice, which welcomed him back when he returned to the cabin. Grogu couldn’t hear their actual conversation – his father had taken the conference call in his room – but he enjoyed the background noise it created as he settled on the small living room sofa to work on Winta’s computer. This was a safe sound.

Over lunch, his father predictably announced that he would need to be away for the night, but for the first time, when Grogu asked him if he would be back the next morning as usual, he hesitated before replying.

“I’m not sure,” he admitted. “This one might take a little longer, but you can of course call me on the sat phone if there’s anything. Is that okay?” Piercing eyes staring into his and making sure he wouldn’t lie.

“It’ll be fine,” Grogu replied calmly, scratching his wrist – the watch his father had let him keep felt heavy and uncomfortable all of a sudden. “I have food for days,” he joked – they’d cooked way too much meat on the barbecue.

“Sure?”

“Certain. As long as you promise to take Winta’s laptop with you, it’s ready to be shipped,” he added.

“Deal,” his father easily agreed, and finally stopped looking at him. Grogu had the vague impression that he also didn’t want him to stare at him too closely, but the feeling passed and they had coffee followed by an easy afternoon until his departure.

Grogu spent the night on the roof – it was still hot in the cabin, too hot to find sleep comfortably, and he wanted to be that much closer in case his dad returned early the next morning.

He didn’t.

With leftover burgers for lunch, Grogu decided it was still too soon to start to worry, but he kept the surveillance laptop open, so that he could see all the camera feeds from outside. Just in case. He tried to read, work on a Lego, figure out what to tell Winta in his next email…but nothing managed to hold his attention for long. He kept looking at the door of his father’s room, as if he would suddenly come out.

By evening, he decided to have a look inside. He usually didn’t venture there, even during the other times his dad had been away, feeling like an intruder, but today was different, and he was starting to feel a little scared. He hoped he’d be able to feel his presence there and ease his anxious mind.

He stared at the constellation map for a long time, tracing familiar patterns. He felt like he was missing something – something crucial. But he couldn’t focus on anything except his mounting worry. Sitting on his dad’s impeccably made bed, he took in deep, calming breaths. His eyes settled on the collection of small notebooks above his desk – the kind he always carried around, pocket-sized, with a plain black rigid cover. He knew he’d find his drawings in there, and he wasn’t disappointed. Doodles of creatures – real or invented ones – covered most pages. Neatly written notes of what he expected to be surveillance jobs. Sketches of places. Drawn maps. Random numbers and calculations.

There were no dates or addresses or important information that could be used in case someone came upon those notebooks, but Grogu still managed to find older ones, from several years back. The drawings clued him in – he could see how he’d decided which tattoos to get to cover injuries he’d sustained during the two years they spent together. There were even sketches of him – sleeping in the car, playing on the beach, eating a waffle… He’d forgotten those moments, but seeing them now on the page, he remembered.

In the next few notebooks, the doodles and sketches had disappeared. He saw a lot of gaps, strikethrough text, half erased words and incomplete sentences. The few drawings were messy and abandoned halfway through. Grogu didn’t have to figure out long when those entries had been made, as he came upon the start of a couple of letters, which had clearly been thought about and amended several times, but never sent:

Kid Dear Grogu,

Skywalker said I could write to you How are you? You must be learning tons and I hope you’re getting plenty of food and becoming smarter and bigger every day. If you want to I was wondering whether you wanted

Grogu,

Hopefully you’re not too angry I thought now was a good time to reach out, because I wanted to ask you if

Grogu swallowed hard and closed the notebook. He felt like he had just read something he definitely shouldn’t have. Something so private he wanted to burst into flames and disappear through the cracks in the floorboard. But he’d seen his name and –

Why hadn’t he sent those letters? Why hadn’t he reached out? Why hadn’t he said anything now that he was back? And where the hell was he? Why hadn’t he come back yet? Had something happened? Something bad? Was it all too late to say anything now? Was he injured? Dead?

Shaking with fear, hot tears blinding him as he stepped out of the room, he checked the surveillance laptop again. All the cameras. All the angles. Made sure all the alarms were working. He inhaled deeply and reached for the satellite phone. Its twin was with his dad. There was no answer after he let it ring for a full minute. He waited for 5 minutes then called again. Then again. Nothing. He couldn’t text or leave a message, but then he had no idea what he would say. Should he give him one more night or should he really start to freak out?

Grogu reached for the CB radio and used the code his father had taught him to call Greef. He hadn’t seen his dad, and he hadn’t heard from Carson either, but he was supposed to meet with him the next morning. He offered to come to the cabin, but Grogu refused – he could take care of himself.

He forced himself to eat dinner, then grabbed the binoculars and the surveillance laptop, and climbed on the roof. Grogu didn’t sleep and his father didn’t return.

At dawn, he put food, water, the sat phone, a change of clothes and extra ammo for his gun in his backpack, then waited until there was just enough light and climbed on his bike. He’d be in Nevarro in just under two hours.

************

“ – think that’s where he might be?”

A man was talking to Greef at the door of his office – his assistant had been kind enough to let him through, but then he’d probably looked quite the sight with his wind-swept hair, and she took pity on him. Grogu thought he recognized his voice.

“Are you Carson Teva?” he asked, unconcerned about the conversation he was interrupting.

“Who’s asking?” the balding man with the grey beard answered.

“I’m Grogu. Din Djarin’s…son.”

“I didn’t know he had a son, but I guess it makes sense.”

Grogu didn’t have time to ask him what he meant by that. He still hadn’t even told him if he was Carson Teva, but his voice was really familiar.

“If you’re Carson Teva, then can you tell me where you sent him? He’s not picking up his phone and he should be home by now.”

“I didn’t send him anywhere.”

Grogu started breathing a little faster – a feat, since he still hadn’t gotten his breath back from his bike ride. “The other day, your call, I heard you. And then he left. He said he had to work. Where is he?”

But Grogu already knew what his answer would be, because he’d just realized something – something that threatened to turn his worry into full-blown terror. His father had never explicitly said he was off to work on a job for Carson. Grogu had just assumed. As his dad knew he would. ‘This one might take a little longer.’

“I don’t know where he is, kid. I’m sorry. I’m also looking for him. I thought Karga would know, that’s why I’m here.”

“And I don’t either,” said Greef, looking pained, and this time Grogu decided he needed to sit down. Which he did. On the floor. Then ran his hands over his face and blocked his ears so that he wouldn’t have to listen to Carson and Greef’s panicked exclamations as they rushed to his side. He needed to think. And breathe. Not burst into tears.

He could do this. He could figure out where his father had gone. He was counting on him.

“I’m fine,” he eventually mumbled, standing up shakily, ignoring the two men pressing questions. They shouldn’t focus on him, they should focus on finding where his dad was. They were running out of time – he’d been gone for over 24 hours.

“What were you talking about that last time on the phone?” he asked Carson, staring at the floor through burning eyes.

“The next job I needed his help on. He was supposed to do some surveillance for me today.”

“So nothing about…” And there Grogu hesitated and looked towards Greef, who knew the most about his situation, but apparently he needn’t have worried.

“Nothing about Moff Gideon,” Carson confirmed.

“He didn’t say anything to me either, kid,” Greef added. “Only that Bo-Katan was still working on some leads in the Midwest.”

“I know Ahsoka Tano is on a job not far from here – ”

But Grogu had stopped listening again. This wasn’t helping. He didn’t have time to stop and wonder why Carson, Bo and Ahsoka all seemed to know each other either. Was his father investigating alone? Was he working on something completely unrelated? Had he simply broken down somewhere? Been in an accident? Was he injured? Dying in some random hospital?

“ – she asked me about abandoned or disused labs in the region.”

“Labs?” Grogu interrupted Carson again, the word one he disliked profoundly. That stopped his mind from going somewhere even darker – he’d been there before. He’d been certain his father was dead once already. He couldn’t go through it again.

“Tano seemed to think it was relevant,” the man replied patiently, keenly aware of his distress. “That Gideon might be trying to recruit a new team of scientists and rebuild. But there were so many possibilities. The state is full of places that would fit the bill.”

Grogu started walking again and let the two men talk, his legs stiff and uncooperative. He couldn’t stay still.

“I’ll call her,” Carson said, phone in hand, presumably talking about Ahsoka still.

He breathed out deeply and forced himself to stand still and listen to their conversation, hands deep in his pockets to stop them from shaking. He could feel tears threatening to spill from his eyes again – he couldn’t cry in front of them. If he showed weakness they’d start wondering what the hell a twelve-year old kid was doing here asking all those questions. Carson was a cop. He had the authority to send him back to the institute, or worse. His dad hadn’t told him about his existence or about him staying at the cabin, which had been the smart move. Even if it made him a little sad.

The conversation proved short, and Grogu knew what her answer had been even before Carson hung up, but at least she’d picked up. Greef was also on the phone, and equally unsuccessful.

“Tano doesn’t know where he could be either, he hasn’t mentioned he was investigating Gideon to her,” Carson related.

“Bo-Katan and her team haven’t heard from him,” Greef added.

“What do you think, kid? Would he be investigating this alone? Did he tell you anything?”

Grogu stared at Carson. Equally proud and terrified to be asked such a question.

“I don’t know,” he replied honestly after a beat. “But I do think he was hiding something from me.”

The half-truths. The stares. The worry.

Grogu’s right fist tightened around the crumpled bills in his pocket. He’d mechanically grabbed the cash he still had from Winta before leaving the cabin – just in case. How far could he go with $400 before he was caught? But that suddenly gave him an idea.

Winta.

“Let me use your phone!” he asked Greef, running towards him. The man didn’t question his request, seeing the wild look in his eyes, and handed him his phone, unlocked.

There was one program he hadn’t removed from Winta’s laptop, thinking she might find it useful, and it should still work with the credentials he’d used – unless she’d received the computer already, but Grogu doubted this very much. Or at least, he wished it wasn’t the case. And that his dad hadn’t had the time to ship it yet. With shaking fingers, he entered the account data he remembered well, and pressed the button ‘Find’.

Please don’t be at a post office. Please don’t be at a post office. Please –

“Here,” he showed Carson urgently. “Was there an old lab there?”

Carson looked at the map with a frown. The red dot wasn’t very far from here, in a wooded area. But there was no indication of any building, abandoned or otherwise. The US Marshall checked his own phone, looking for information there. This was taking forever, they had to go, now! The laptop was right there! So surely his father –

“Yes!” the man said eventually.

************

They saw smoke before they found his dad’s car and Grogu’s heart clenched. He was gripping the grab handle above his window so hard he was certain it would come off. Greef had already called for reinforcements and Ahsoka was supposed to meet them at the scene. But Grogu couldn’t wait – as soon as the car had slowed down enough, he opened his door and ran, caring very little about any remaining danger.

“Hey!” yelled Carson.

Grogu saw that the smoke was coming from an old building in the distance, but the fire seemed mostly contained by now. He guessed an explosion had caused it, since he spotted rubble and debris here and there, blackened or burned. He tried yelling for his dad but he couldn’t make his voice work, either because of the smoke or because of the panic tightening around his throat and making him deaf to the yells behind him as Greef and Carson made their way closer.

His car was here, intact. Winta’s laptop in its shipping box on the backseat. But no sign of his father anywhere.

Grogu kept running towards the destroyed building, his vision tunneling, stumbling on loose rocks and branches. The area was densely wooded and extra hard to navigate in his state, but he couldn’t wait. He saw a figure to his left but didn’t check whether it was alive or dead after ascertaining it wasn’t his father. He didn’t care.

A soft sound to his right – a mumbled word – and only then did he wonder if he should grab the gun from his backpack. A shape was half-hidden next to a tree trunk, partly covered in foliage used for protection or warmth. A pale hand was poking out, with a distinctive blue arrow tattooed on it.

“Dad!” Grogu breathed, coming closer.

Another whispered word, but he couldn’t hear what he was saying over his own loud breaths. He almost fell over him in his haste, moving the leaves covering him to see him better. His eyes were open and staring right at him. Breathing just as fast. Alive, but just. He was worryingly cold, his lips almost as blue as the tattoos on his hands.

“Over here!” he screamed over the lump in his throat, his voice hoarse and barely recognizable. “He’s over here! He needs help! Quick!”

“Grogu…”

“Shhh, it’s alright!”

But it wasn’t. He could now see that the arm he was cradling against him was at a weird angle, and that he’d taken off his shirt to cover a wound on his side. It was drenched in blood.

“How…did…”

“Don’t talk!”

“How…” his father repeated, his stuttered breaths worrying Grogu even more than the blood or the paleness of his skin.

“Winta’s laptop,” he said in a rush, in the hope that it would be enough of an explanation and that he would stop talking and straining himself. How long had he been lying there injured? A few hours? A whole day?

“Smart kid,” his dad smiled, and his eyes started to close.

“No, stay awake!” Grogu urged, terrified he wouldn’t wake up again. This couldn’t be their last conversation. It just couldn’t. There was too much he needed to say. His dad’s eyes snapped open and he groaned. Carson had reached them, checking his wound.

“I think you pierced a lung,” he provided unhelpfully, pressing his own jacket against the bleed.

“No…shit,” his father managed laboriously.

“Greef’s calling an ambulance.”

A nod, but that seemed to cause him more pain, and Grogu didn’t know what else to do but hold his free hand.

“He’s too cold!” he told Carson.

“He’s gonna be fine, kid, that’s just shock,” the man replied, but he didn’t sound convinced.

Grogu reached inside his backpack for his sweater, draping it over his father’s exposed skin. But not before he finally realized what he’d overlooked all this time. He felt a stab of cold terror pierce his brain, almost like an electric charge. The tattoo over his heart. The constellation in the shape of a diamond. Ursa Minor.

“I’ll be okay, little bear,” his father whispered, his eyes resolutely closing. And no matter how loud Grogu yelled at him, tears running freely on his cheeks by now, he couldn’t make him open them again.

************

Grogu only remembered glimpses of the ride in the ambulance. Greef’s insistence to take him to Nevarro’s hospital. The news that Ahsoka had found Gideon’s body in the ruins. His small hand clasping his dad’s much bigger one as the paramedics worked. Surely he should have been warming up by now. But he was still so cold.

He was forced to let go so that he could be rushed to the operating room – pneumothorax, broken collarbone, shattered humerus – and someone directed him towards a plastic seat in a waiting room. A hot chocolate was placed in front of him. A sandwich. Grogu was paralyzed. His backpack still on and his bloodied sweater clutched to his chest. His dad’s blood on Winta’s sweater. There was a burning sensation behind his eyes. Born of numbness and exhaustion. He’d cried all the tears he could cry for now. The Ursa Minor tattoo over his heart. The Little Bear. He’d been right there and he hadn’t known. All this time.

Hours passed. Greef showed up. Carson. Ahsoka. No, he was fine where he was. No, he wasn’t hungry. The surgeon came. His father’s heart had stopped during surgery, she said. He’d lost a lot of blood. But he’d pulled through. And he could go sit with him for a little while in the ICU, would he like that? And yes, yes he would.

He almost didn’t recognize him under all those tubes and white bandages. His hand was still cold. He was still pale. But all the machines were beeping just right, the doctor said. He was strong. And yes, Grogu knew that too. He’d be moved to another room later but for now he had to leave him. Greef convinced him to go eat something in the cafeteria. The sky was dark outside. It was nighttime. He looked at his watch and realized he’d left the cabin over 17 hours ago.

He didn’t feel like saying anything so he let Greef do the talking, but the man wasn’t his usual chatty self either. He was worried too, and it made Grogu feel better instead of worse. He wasn’t alone. Thanks to him, he was allowed to rest for a few hours on a cot in the staff room. This was a small hospital, and Greef had a lot of pull in Nevarro. No one bothered Grogu or asked what a twelve-year old was doing here unaccompanied.

Come morning, he showered and changed into the clean clothes he’d brought in his backpack. Bought a coffee from the vending machine. It tasted awful. He got a second one just as Carson showed up again. Grogu was ready to bolt if he so much as suggested he couldn’t stay here any longer. He knew very well he wasn’t supposed to be here alone. He was a minor. He’d ran away from his state appointed home weeks ago. He was at the mercy of Child Protective Services.

“I thought you should have this,” Carson Teva said instead, handing him the shipping box containing Winta’s laptop. “We had to impound your dad’s car for the investigation, so it will be safer with you.”

“Thanks,” Grogu replied blandly.

They sat in the uncomfortable plastic seats of the waiting room in silence.

“So Moff Gideon is dead?” Grogu asked eventually – this he wanted confirmed. Yesterday’s terror and numbness were slowly being replaced by a stark feeling of awareness. Maybe it was all finally over.

“We’re still combing the area and IDing bodies but yes, Gideon’s dead, as well as several disgraced scientists and con men we’d been keeping an eye on.”

“They died in the explosion?”

“Some also had gunshot wounds.”

Grogu hummed in reply and Carson thankfully didn’t add anything else on the subject. They both knew what his father was capable of.

“Think he might go to prison?”

Carson shrugged. “We found a lot of destroyed equipment in the lab. Dangerous volatile substances. Explosion could have been an accident.”

“And the gunshot wounds?”

“Maybe they had a disagreement before the explosion.”

Grogu bit back a humorless laugh.

“No one will mourn those people, and Moff Gideon was a dangerous, awful person.”

“I know,” said Grogu with feeling. That didn’t make it right exactly, but he could live with it.

His father was moved to his own room in the afternoon, and the armchair next to his bed proved a lot more comfortable than the ones in the waiting room. So there Grogu remained, and saw color slowly returning to his dad’s skin. By evening, his eyes started to open.

“Dad?” Grogu said, clasping his hand.

“Mmh?” he replied, gripping his hand back with more force than he’d expected for someone whose heart stopped beating on the operating table.

“I don’t want to go back to the institute. I want to stay here and live with you,” he told him quickly, having rehearsed the words. He couldn’t wait any longer.

“Okay,” his father said simply.

“Gideon’s dead,” Grogu reminded him.

“Good.”

“How are you feeling?”

“Sleepy.”

And he closed his eyes again. Grogu hoped he’d remember their conversation when he woke up. Exhausted, he fell asleep as well, his head resting over his crossed arms on his father’s bed.

************

“You don’t mind the cabin? It’s very small.”

Grogu slowly emerged from deep sleep and sat up against the armchair, the sun shining brightly through the window. He was achy all over. He’d woken up a few times during the night when nurses came to check on his dad, but this had still been the best sleep he’d had in a while.

“What?” he mumbled, thinking those words had been part of the strange dream he’d been having – he couldn’t remember it now. Something about wearing a robot costume. Probably his muscles complaining via his subconscious for the previous nights.

“The cabin. Do you want to move?”

His father sounded a lot better, almost like his regular self. If not for the many tubes still coursing through him, he could have pretended they were having a normal conversation.

“I like the cabin,” Grogu replied, happy that he hadn’t forgotten what he’d told him the first time he woke up.

“I’ve made a lot of enemies throughout the years, so we’ll have to stay hidden.”

“I know.”

“But we don’t have to disappear completely either, we can move around a little freely now that Gideon’s gone.”

Grogu wondered how long his dad had been awake, rehearsing his own words. Now that he was a little more cognizant, he could see a certain tenseness around his eyes and mouth. His free hand was clenching and unclenching around the bedsheet.

“You’re in pain,” Grogu realized. “Let me call a nurse – ”

“No, there’s a few things I wanna say,” his dad stopped him. “The drugs make me sleepy.”

“But – ”

“It’s important, you have to hear this,” he pressed, his eyes intent, and Grogu sat back down.

“The cabin, your room, your bed – it was always meant to be for you,” he started in a breath. “I didn’t know then if you’d want to see me again or stay for long, but it was for you.”

Grogu was stunned. Even if he’d guessed some of it through what he’d read in his notebooks. Or his general caginess when he’d asked about the brand new bed in his room. Or his grades on the fridge.

“That last mission with Bo-Katan and her team… It went badly. Really badly. I didn’t think I’d make it. And you were my one regret. I had to make things right. And then you showed up before I figured out how to get my head out of my ass and ask you. Skywalker was supposed to talk to you about it. I guess it was difficult for him too, I don’t blame him.”

“You asked Luke?” Grogu pressed, incapable to put a name on the emotions he was feeling at the moment.

“Of course,” his father frowned, sweat beading at his brow. He needed painkillers, but he was too stubborn. And Grogu knew they needed to have this talk. “He said he wasn’t sure you liked being at the institute anymore, but he would let you choose. And then the Gideon thing happened and…” A deep exhale.

It wasn’t betrayal, not really. Even if they’d both acted behind his back. There was even some relief there. Somehow, the two of them had known without him saying anything.

“Why did you lie?” he eventually asked in a small voice, because it was the only thing that still really hurt. “You never said you were investigating Gideon on your own, and I thought you’d just be gone for the night, on a job for Carson. Nothing dangerous.”

“I’m so sorry,” his father spoke through clenched teeth, his pain not only of a physical kind now. “I couldn’t bare seeing you like that. You were so scared because he was still out there. So worried. And you wouldn’t say anything. Wouldn’t talk about it. Your nightmares – ” he was out of breath. He exhaled slowly and started again. “It was too much. And when I found out it was actually him you’d seen at the mall – ”

“It was?” Grogu interrupted him, incredulous. His father nodded slowly, his eyes shining bright with unshed tears. This was ridiculous.

“Dad, let me call – ”

“No,” he said forcefully. “Let me finish. I was wrong to lie to you, I’m sorry. I won’t do it again. But I had to get Gideon. I knew he was close since he’d managed to track us once. And I was right.”

Grogu knew this was the best he could hope for in terms of apologies. “I was really worried.”

“I know.”

“You could have died.”

“I didn’t.”

“Well, you can’t do that anymore, I need you to stay alive,” he tried to explain, badly, his tone rising, legs bouncing up and down against the seat.

His father sighed deeply, his eyes so full of pain it hurt to look at him directly. “I know.”

Grogu wanted to believe him. Desperately. Tears forming in his own eyes. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Maybe this was how happiness started, he thought. With trust.

“Okay.”

And this time he didn’t stop him when he pressed the button for the nurse.

************

“Why did it have to be an explosion?”

It was mid-afternoon. His dad had been sleeping for most of the day, but Grogu didn’t mind. He’d unpacked Winta’s laptop from its box – he’d have to get it ready again, that was okay – and had made good use of the Wi-Fi provided in the hospital to do some research.

“I like a good explosion,” his father slurred. The drugs did make him sound a little drunk, but he’d known exactly what Grogu had been talking about. He’d been given a morphine pump and a remote to control his intake of painkillers and had been using it less sparingly since his surgeon had shown up earlier to tell him they’d be able to remove his chest tube the next day, and that yes, it was going to hurt. A lot.

“I just didn’t time it right,” he admitted.

“You messed up your calculations.”

“I did.”

“I wouldn’t have,” Grogu pointed out.

“I know,” he sighed, and pressed the remote once. Grogu gave him a few minutes before talking again.

“I just enrolled in Nevarro’s high school, I’m starting in September. Greef put in a good word with the principal.”

“I thought you already passed your SATs. Skywalker said – ”

“Yeah, and I’ve got an amazing GPA, I don’t care, I want to go to high school, do something normal. I can go to college later, I still want to be an astronaut, I just want to do it at the normal speed, you know?”

“And you’re not going to be bored?”

Grogu shrugged. “Maybe a little. So I enrolled in a couple of university courses as well, just in case.”

“You’ve been busy,” his father noted. But Grogu wasn’t done.

“I also checked the State’s requirements: you need a GED to get a private detective’s license, so I signed you up for next January, that should give you enough time.”

“What?”

“I don’t see why you can’t have one like Ahsoka, that way you’ll be able to find work more easily.”

And be taken more seriously. And stop thinking he was dumb just because he dropped out of high school.

“Grogu, I don’t know, I’m not smart like you, I can’t – ”

“Being smart is overrated, trust me. And I’ll help you. I know you can make it, dad.”

He was silent for a while and Grogu thought he’d fallen back to sleep. But looking up from the laptop’s screen, he noticed that his eyes were still open. He was staring in the distance, lost in thought.

“I know the morphine is making me a bit loopy, but it’s funny how easy it’s been to get used to that word. That name.”

It took a few seconds for Grogu to figure out what he meant but when he did, he smiled brightly. And decided he should perhaps press his luck.

“Once you’re better we should go to Sorgan. Winta deserves to be given her computer face to face. She saved you, after all. And I need to give her back her cash, too. But you bled all over her sweater so I think she’ll let me keep it.”

“Alright,” he agreed with yet another sigh.

“You’ll have to decide on your next tattoo as well. To cover the spot where they put your chest tube,” Grogu added, thinking the prospect would cheer him up a little.

“That’s okay, I’ve decided.”

“Already?” Grogu marveled.

“Well, it’s obvious. It will have to be Ursa Major.”

The Great Bear and the Little Bear. And Grogu nodded, because it did make perfect sense.

#the mandalorian #grogu #din djarin #carson teva #greef karga #fanfic #star wars #mandalorian #modern au #angst with a happy ending #found family #my fics

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prolix-yuy · 2 years

Text

Chapter 1: I'm Not The Man I Used To Be Lately

Pairing: Din Djarin x F!Reader

Summary: A first step. A deep sleep. A realization. A worry.

Word Count: 1.5k

Warnings: T, nothing much here just some old fashioned yearning. While this story is not explicit, my blog and the content shared on it is 18+ MINORS DNI.

Notes: We’ve finally gotten onto the Crest but Mando has some feelings to work through.

Takes place directly after Good Company.

Cross-posted on AO3

Me or the Thought of Me Masterlist || I Think of You Series Masterlist

Okay, so maybe you had some expectations when you agreed to go on the Razor Crest with Mando and the child, or bean as you’d started calling him. He pretty much reacted the same way no matter what name you called him, so you at least wanted a fun one to say.

(he does look a bit like a wrinkly dried bean, color and all)

You thought it could be dangerous. Mando was a bounty hunter after all, and it wasn’t like your presence here was going to change that. He had to get credits somehow. But a bounty loose on the ship, or being seen by one, dips your body in cold sweat just thinking about it.

You thought it could be exhausting, with a child cooped up inside as you travel between worlds. Your experience with child care was limited, but most kids you knew needed space and time to run, scream, terrorize everything around them. The Razor Crest has very few resources for that, meaning you could be the new source of entertainment, possibly to your detriment.

You even thought it might be…sexy, if yours and Mando’s history was anything to go on. Sure, he hadn’t come back for you (that still aches a little, like a well-healed wound) but now that you are here, in close quarters, with privacy and downtime…

(...also with a curious child)

There were other smaller expectations, but within two days of being on the Crest with a Mandalorian and a green bogwing baby, most of those were quickly pushed to the back.

Because what you hadn’t expected was for it to be so quiet.

And lonely.

That first night you stumbled up the Crest’s ramp, your body exhausted from spikes of adrenaline. Mando wrapped a large hand around your arm and carefully guided you into the ship. Feet thudding dully on the durasteel, you crested the top and entered the hull.

The interior was sparse; some crates on the ground, hanging strapping, a ladder leading up to the cockpit, presumably, and some panels and cabinets placed along the walls. A narrow corridor at the end of the hold led deeper into the ship. You paused and tried to figure out why it looked so much smaller than the exterior, and where you’d fit.

(better at least have a shower)

Mando passed you and walked inside, the child’s empty pod hovering behind.

“It’s not much,” he said, and you waited for some second half of the sentence before realizing that was it.

“Thank you,” you murmured. Mando turned and looked at you, the child’s ears flopping with the momentum. You tried to broadcast trust and confidence in him, but in all honesty you just wanted to lie down and get some sleep.

“You’re welcome,” Mando replied, then hit a button on the far wall of the cargo hold. A door slid up and revealed a small bunk with an adorably tiny hammock hung from the ceiling. Mando lifted the child into it, giving his hand a little rub before tucking him in (that might be the sweetest thing you’ve ever seen). The child didn’t look interested in sleep, but acquiesced. Once settled, he turned back to you.

“I’m going to get us off world.” His shoulders lowered a little, a hand braced on the wall. “I don’t think it’s safe to stop at your home. Might draw too much attention.” You nodded, the understanding clear but the logistics nerve-wracking.

(you don’t even have a change of underwear)

Mando moved towards the ladder, pausing before he ascended.

“You can sleep with the kid. I’ll be in the cockpit.” And with that he was gone, climbing away from you like he didn’t just uproot your entire life in a few hours.

(again)

You shuffled over to the bunk - more of a cubby than anything for comfort - and crawled in. The child peeked down at you with curious eyes as you curled up on your side. The cot was hard and unforgiving, but at this point anything was better than being on your feet. Tucking your arm under your head, you willed your sleepiness to beat out the adrenaline coursing through your veins. The child watched you for a few minutes longer then also snuggled in his little hammock for some needed shut-eye.

When you woke, the child had somehow crawled down from the hammock above and was playing with a small silver ball, nestled in the curve of your knees and your stomach.

(another surprise)

You propped yourself up on your elbow and watched the strange little creature drop the ball into his robe and pick it back up. Noticing you watching, he extended his arm to you, ball held in an outstretched hand. You reached for it and he pulled back, looking forlorn at the notion that you would take it. The range of emotion was so vast it made you giggle.

“Okay, I’m going to see what your dad’s up to. Wanna come?” you ask. Baby talk always made you feel a little silly, and the child seemed to react just fine to your normal speech.

(I doubt Mando brings out the goo-goo-gah-gah voice with the kid either)

You slowly sat up and scooted your way to the edge of the cot, opening the sliding door with the interior button. The cargo hold was quiet and glowed with the half-light of electronics and some dim ceiling lighting. Legs hanging off the lip, you watched the kid stumble and crawl his way beside you. It feels like he’s been manufactured for cuteness (possibly to combat how small and vulnerable he is).

“C’mon,” you murmured, lifting the child into your arms. It was a precarious event at first, completely unused to his physiology and trying to hold him firmly but not crush him. He wiggled around until you found his most comfortable position, an arm underneath his bum with your hand slotted in his armpit. He seemed to sit well there, unphased by the maneuvering.

(He looks a lot smaller when Mando holds him)

You slid out of the bunk and headed towards the ladder, no sounds to indicate Mando was anywhere else. After a difficult one-handed climb (the kid offered little help), you managed to perfect running your free hand up the ladder bar with enough security to not fall back on your ass.

Pulling yourself up into the cockpit, you were confused to find Mando missing. Lights blinked and glittered across the console without someone to man it. You took a couple cautious steps forward, looking to see if there was another corridor or hidey hole where he might be tucked away.

The silence of space was foreign to you, being so used to the noise of a busy city. It made your ears feel like they were stuffed with cotton, the lack of noise a sound all its own. Stepping behind the pilot’s seat, worn in the places where hands frequently touch, you tipped your head to look out the transparisteel.

You’d heard time was funny in space. Lightspeed and warps and jump drives stretch and compress the seconds in ways on-worlders can’t experience. Looking up at the streaks of stars bleeding through the truly black canvas of night, you thought you might be trapped in a single suffocating second. Your whole body lightened, your head tilting further and further back as your brain tricked your body into feeling the speed. Despite the pounding anxiety at being faced with the expanse of the galaxy, a smile broke out on your face, and you steadied yourself with a hand on the pilot’s seat.

“Is this what you and your dad get to see every day?” you whispered. It felt like sacrilege to speak so loud in a place where you were bestowed such a celestial sight. The child cooed in your arms, the stars reflected in his eyes.

“You’re awake.” Mando’s voice filled the silence behind you. You almost jumped out of your skin, turning to find him like a wall of chrome behind you. The child chirped at Mando, tilting his head and reaching out. As your heart slowed, you drank in the Mandalorian.

(Maker, this was where he looks the most at home.)

The cold light of the stars streaked across his helmet, glimmering across the curve of his pauldrons. The blackness of the T rivaled the dark of space between the stars. He filled the cockpit so fully that you were struck with a mouth-drying thought.

(This is his home, and he needs nothing else.)

Mando reached his hands out and took the child from your arms. Giving you a brief nod, he passed you on his way to the pilot’s seat. You moved to touch his arm but he was too swift, moving through space with the speed and efficiency of well-practiced movements. Returning your hand to your chest, you bring your eyes back from the stars to the textured metal of the floors.

(oh no)

(you don’t belong here)

#the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian #din djarin #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #din djarin x f!reader #din djarin x female reader #din djarin x you #din djarin x reader #mandalorian fanfic #mandalorian fic #the mandalorian fic #mando #prolix fics #i think of you series

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just-here-for-the-moment · 3 years

Note

CONGRATULATIONS ON 300 LOVE💚💚💚 You deserve it and more because you are TALENTED and SO SWEET and everything you do is just 👨‍🍳🤌

I took the chance to spin your wheel… and first spin I got was Mando with a lactation kink… I KNOW this man loves kids and wants a big family so I can’t wait to see what you come up with!!!! All the love!

Woooo!!! This broke me. I was really going for XTRA FILTHY SMUT but that did not happen. This one surprised me when I wrote it by sneaking up all soft and sweet, and then ending that way too. That's okay, though, I like a good soft smut.

Hope you enjoy!!! :D

Word Count: 2030+

Rating: Explicit/mature, 18+ only

Outline: Din Djarin x “You”/Din’s wife (cis/het female reader; “blank canvas”/no physical description/no name/no use of “Y/N”)

Warnings: starts soft, ends soft; Din has a filthy mouth; praise kink (use of “good girl”); lactation kink; unprotected P/V sex in the context of marriage; sprinkling of breeding kink

Evenings and nights were always your favorite with your husband. It was the best time of the day, everyone settled down and quiet, the ship docked for the night wherever you were visiting or set to autopilot to the next destination. You knew your husband’s moods, the slight slump of his shoulders telling you that he was getting drowsy, ready to head below decks and rest, curled up in your arms.

You nursed your son, putting him down before heading up to the cockpit to knit for a bit and watch the stars race by. After an hour of that, you saw the telltale signs and knew that Din was done for the day, even if he didn’t know it himself. He pushed himself too hard, always believing that there was more of him to go around than there was.

Now that the baby was here, growing healthy and strong, Din had resumed his habit of staying up too late, tweaking just one more thing in the cockpit or looking over the available jobs just one more time. He had spent too many nights slumped sleeping in that pilot’s chair, and you had finally started being gently pushy, in the hopes of getting the man to just stop and rest.

You waited until you saw the helmet keel an inch too far to the right, knowing how heavy it felt on his head, his old habit of wearing full armor at all times in the cockpit in case things went sideways and he had to spring into action. You didn’t push him to relax or remove it, you knew how much he needed that feeling of being in control. But you could be sweet and soft, remind him how much you needed him at the end of the day, how good it would feel to finally remove the Beskar and curl up against you, skin to skin for the night.

“Din,” you made your voice soft. “It’s bedtime.”

His helmet tilted back to center and you heard him clear his throat. “Just one more thing, mesh’la.”

You smiled to yourself and finished off your row of stitches, giving him a few more minutes, tweaking knobs and fiddling with buttons. You got up and stretched, then came around to his side, placing one hand on the back of his neck with a gentle squeeze.

“Let’s go. You need your rest, or you’ll be no good to anyone tomorrow.”

Din lifted one hand to grip your waist affectionately. You could visualize the fight happening on his face, the urge to take care of just one more item battling against the pull of your soft curves in the dark. You leaned in, letting his helmet come to rest against your side.

“Let me take you to bed, you big, strong man.” Your voice was soft, your nails softer as you slipped them just under the cowl and dragged them across the back of his neck.

Din sighed and then set the ship to autopilot before he removed his helmet. His eyes were rimmed with hints of red, the circles underneath deeper than they had been yesterday. Your heart squeezed, and you immediately took the helmet to set it gently on the floor. You kneeled in front of his chair and didn’t say a word as you started to help him remove his gloves, then all of the parts of his armor that you could reach. For his part, Din let you worry your fingers over him. Then he stood up and took off his back plates and cape, piling everything neatly on the ground.

“Sit.” You left no room for argument, and Din complied. You muttered gently to yourself as you reached down to help him remove his boots, “Kriffing crazy man, pushing yourself so hard…”

Din let you undress him, let you massage your fingers up his calves and across his quads, and that told you more than anything how tired he really was. Normally he would at least protest, say that he didn’t need the help, but this quiet acquiescence was worrisome. Still, though, you knew how to relax him, get him to stop. You weren’t above using your feminine wiles to bend him to your will, all in the service of getting him to rest.

When he was finally down to his flight suit, you opened the front of it and peeled it down and off his shoulders, and then straddled his lap in the pilot’s chair. You started by skating your nails over his shoulders. Din closed his eyes as a shiver ran through his body. He nearly moaned, a soft “Ohhh…” floating out into the quiet of the cockpit.

You gently pushed his forehead so that he could lean his head back on the headrest, and increased the pressure of your fingers as you rubbed circles into the knots of his biceps and trapezius muscles. Din let his hands rest on your thighs as you worked him over, and by the end of it, he was putty in your hands. You finished by laying a soft kiss to his velvet lips, and you were surprised when he kissed back and wrapped his arms around your waist, holding you tight.

“Sweet man, I thought you were tired?” You smiled as he brought his eyes to rest on your face.

“No, mesh’la. I think I just got a second wind.” Din raised an eyebrow at you, and you giggled as you felt him twitch hard underneath your crotch.

“No, you need to rest, my husband. You’re awfully tired.”

Din groaned as he buried his face against your sternum, grinding up against your through your clothing. You threaded your fingers through his curls and scraped your nails from his ears down to his neck, pulling a moan from deep in his throat.

“But I need to have you, just like this.” Din brought his hands up to untie the laces of your wrap dress, sliding his thick fingers under the fabric as it fell open. “Please? Can I taste your milk? You know I love to taste you, mesh’la.” He placed hot, open-mouthed kisses to the swell of your breasts. You felt a thrill run through your body, finding it harder and harder to be stern with him.

“No, Din, you really need-” You gasped as he cupped your breast with one big hand and brought his mouth to the nipple. “You need…” But for the life of you, you couldn’t remember the next part of your orders. You let your dress slide down your arms and off your shoulders, pooling on the floor of the cockpit. Your panties were damp, and Din’s strong arm wrapped around you, holding you firmly in place.

“I know what I need, my sweet wife. I need you.” Din dove back to your breast with his hungry mouth, swirling the nipple with his tongue as his erection grew and pressed harder against your clothed cunt. You felt your milk prickling behind your areolas, knowing that if Din applied any suction, you would start leaking from both breasts, and then you would entirely lose control of this mission to get him to bed.

“No, Din, bed-” but he cut you off with a growl, something primal and low that rumbled from deep in his chest and took your breath away as he gripped you closer, teeth scraping against your budded nipple.

Din began to suckle, and you threw your head back with a gasp, clinging tightly to his shoulders as the muscles flexed under your touch. He was quiet but greedy, sucking at one side before moving to the other. The feel of your milk letting down made you moan, and giving in was just too easy, too sweet to resist. You let your husband take what he wanted, what he needed from you. There would be plenty for the baby still.

“You taste like the stars, sweet girl.” Din’s voice was a hoarse whisper in between his lapping, and his praises made you wetter. “You taste like honey and sunshine like this.”

“Diiinn…” Your head was fuzzy, wiped clean of everything except desire. “Din, please…”

You weren’t even sure what you were asking for, but Din took charge, lifting you half out of his lap so that he could free his cock, before hooking one thick finger and pulling your panties to the side. He swept the head of his penis back and forth against your slick folds and then thrust up inside, settling you back on his lap with his arm wrapped tight around your lower back.

“My wife, my girl,” he growled into your mouth as he worked you against him. You braced your feet as best you could, but Din was determined to do things his way. You let him pull and release you with that iron grip, canting your hips back and forth as he rocked you on his length. He ducked his head back down and lapped at you again and again.

All you could manage was a breathy, “Ohhh,” as he kept thrusting up into you at a steady pace. You grasped at his shoulders, his hair, anywhere you could find a purchase to steady yourself.

“My wife has the sweetest tits in the whole galaxy. Such a good girl, letting me fuck her like this.” Din’s eyes sparkled as he looked up at you. “Want me to fuck another warrior into you, mesh’la? Another baby?”

“Yes, oh!” You felt your climax start to unfurl, every nerve tingling as his cock rubbed against your clit from this angle.

Din suckled you again and again, pausing only to growl praises and promises up into your mouth.

“You’d like that? You want me to fill you up again? I’ll keep you pregnant all the time, full of milk for me and our babies.” His arm wrapped tighter around your waist as he fucked up inside of you harder. “Keep your tits full? Keep you dripping sweet milk, all for me?”

You nodded and kissed him. “Yes, please- yes, yes. Fill me up, Din. I want you to.”

“Come for me first, sweet girl.” Din cupped his free hand under your knee and lifted your leg high and open. “Touch yourself. I want my wife to come around my cock.”

Your hand flew down inside your panties to touch your clit, rubbing and pressing it in circles, trying desperately to follow his wishes. Finally you felt the finish coming. You gasped out to him as you came and Din kept his eyes pinned on your face as you cried out. Your cunt squeezed and milked his cock as he began to spurt his own release deep inside. Din let go of your leg, and both arms wrapped your waist in a vise grip as he ground himself into you and climaxed.

When you were both spent, Din brought both hands to cup your breasts, licking the last of your milk from the swollen nipples.

Din’s “Hmmmm…” reverberated through his lips, the deepest and most satisfied sound you could imagine. You felt him hot inside of you, and you were reluctant to lift yourself off his lap. He softened inside of you bit by bit as he licked your nipples, squeezing both breasts until he was satisfied that he had gotten every last drop.

You draped your arms around the back of Din’s neck and let his cheek rest against your breast, curling your fingers gently in the back of his hair and feeling him finally soften fully.

“Will you sleep well, my husband?” You gently teased him, a soft smile on your lips as you looked down at him and stroked his face.

Din looked up at you from under his lashes, and your heart ached at how peaceful his big brown eyes were, how comforted he looked there in your arms. You wanted him to look like that forever. You wished you could somehow wipe all worry and strain from his life. But maybe this was the best you could do for your husband, just comfort him and give him solace when he needed it most.

Din closed his eyes and breathed deeply, and you let him rest there a while longer.

---

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omgreally · 3 years

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I’ve been reading mandos intergalactic taxi service and UGH✨💕 the pining and fluff with the intimacy smut is just chefs kiss your writing style is amazing🤌🏽✨ I’ve been in such a Din mood lately, could your write like a confession drabble where the reader and din are pining for each other and din is dropping hints but the reader is like really not a hint taker lol pretty please with a cherry on top 😭💕 smut or fluff your choice I know you’d write it so well!!

BLESS YOUR HEART @liltangerineart and thank you! Next chapter of Taxi Service should be up tomorrow I hope!

In the meantime I hope you like this? Not a confession as such and more, uh, top!Mando than I intended, but he is bad at dropping hints. I like to think he would be very...straightforward 😎

Din Djarin/F!Reader - E - 1624 words - Oblivious!Reader, Infatuated!Din, frustrated yearning, angst and, of course, smut.

It's getting ridiculous.

He is a Mandalorian, one of the most fabled, the most feared warriors in the galaxy. Rumour and danger follow him as he charts a path through the galaxy that blazes bright, leaving behind myth and legend - people whispering things like 'I heard he killed a whole troop with his hands tied' and 'I heard he was eight feet tall, made of steel'.

He is a Mandalorian, who has never had to rely on anybody but himself - and yet here he is, sweating beneath his cowl whenever you brush too close, trying too hard to inhale the scent of you through his helmet's filters, memorizing the sound of your laugh.

It's like he's a foundling again - uncertain, insecure, nervous. And they’re not butterflies in the pit of his stomach - they’re bullets from an ancient slugthrower weapon, and he can taste metal at the back of his tongue whenever he tries to talk to you.

“Do you have someone, back home?” A clumsy overture, as obvious as it is stupid; Din winces beneath the helm but you don’t seem to notice - you just shake your head and shrug.

“No. Just me. I wouldn’t have left otherwise.” Loyal, he thinks, and the bullets in his stomach sting just that little bit harder.

He tries asking you more about yourself. How you became a bounty hunter. How many weapons you’ve handled. The different kinds of ships you’ve flown. Places you’ve been. But you never give up anything truly personal about yourself - you’re a cypher.

Maybe that’s why the Mandalorian finds himself strangely drawn to you.

He doesn’t know how to navigate this - not really. He has no experience with this kind of thing. It’s always been about the next quarry, the next job, and then it was about the kid, and now…

And now he’s stuck.

He wants to hit something, break something, feel the impact of his fists against flesh and bone. He settles for balling them up whenever you’re around, biting his tongue, and waiting til later to jerk himself off in pathetic, clench-jawed silence in the refresher.

“You slept late,” you point out the next morning as he emerges, stiff in more than one way, from his bunk.

“Couldn’t sleep last night,” he says, and he’s so tired, so frustrated that he adds, gruffly: “Bed was too empty.”

“Probably need more pillows,” you muse as you wander off to the kitchenette. “Cup of caf?”

“Extra strong,” he grunts as he leans a shoulder to the wall, and you’re oblivious to his glower.

“Coming right up.” A minute later, you press a mug into his hand. “I’ll leave you to it. No need to go hide, I’ll go find a bulkhead to look at while you take your helmet off.”

You grin at him, and he stares at you. You’re just about to turn away when he reaches up, and you go still, your smile slackening in shock as he thumbs the release latch under his chin.

The helm’s pneumatic seal hisses as it lifts, just enough so he can get the rim of his mug up and to his lips. He takes a long, slow pull, and while his vision is eclipsed by the rim of the helmet at the moment, he knows you haven’t left.

As he expects, you’re still there - staring at him as he lowers his helm back into place. Your mouth is even slightly open - lips parted - and he watches the dart of your tongue as you wet them before swallowing hard.

“I’m just...I’m just gonna,” you say, abortingly, and start to back away. You jump as your shoulder hits the hatchway. Din watches as you turn, hesitate, then hurry away, your shoulders squared defensively as if you can feel the force of his gaze on your back.

Alone, the taste of caf hot and bitter on his tongue, Din Djarin grins.

After that, he starts to notice. He starts to notice how tense you are when he’s close.

At first he’s not sure - but then, once, he deliberately brushes your waist as he moves past you in the cockpit to take the pilot’s seat, and you’re still standing there, frozen, when he glances back at you. You brush it off, but it happens again when you bump into him coming out of the fresher. When he reaches over your head in the kitchenette to fetch a ration bar from a compartment. When you lean over his shoulder to point out the coordinates to a refueling station. When he catches you yawning, falling asleep in the passenger’s seat.

“I’m going to hit my bunk,” you say, rising to your feet, your arms stretched above your head. Din turns slowly, and he catches the glimpse of a sliver of flesh as your shirt rides up. The words escape him before he’s even conscious of their existence.

“Want some company?”

Dank farrik, he’s been dropping hints and touches for ages - and he knows you’re affected by his presence, he’s sure of it now. They might be closer to butterflies for you, but his bullets are bouncing around in his gut right now.

“What?” you ask, half-laughing - as if it’s all some grand joke. “You gotta stop with the innuendo, Mando. I might get the wrong idea.”

“And if it’s not innuendo?” He’s flicked the ship to auto-pilot - on his feet - looming towards you. You’re caught in the hatchway, unable to step backwards to fall down the ladder, unwilling to turn your back. "If you've got the right idea?"

“What?” you repeat - licking your lips again. Your eyes are flicking back and forth from his visor to his hands. It’s almost like you're expecting a fight.

“I want to fuck you.”

The words are matter-of-fact but delivered in a low baritone, a gravelly rasp that lifts the hairs on the back of your neck. You stop breathing for a second - he can see it - and your leg twitches, just half a step backward - but then you swing it forward again, swaying towards him. Like he has you in his gravitational pull.

It’s all Din needs. He closes the distance between you, his gloved hands closing around your biceps, the leather worn and warm through your shirt.

He says your name, once, in a digital growl that curls your toes in your boots. And then it’s like an explosion - it all happens so quickly; there are hands and clothes everywhere and then on the deck, and in the aftermath you are in the Mandalorian’s arms, naked, your legs around his waist as he presses you up against the bulkhead.

His chestplate hits the deck - his flak jacket lifted above his head when you let him stop touching you long enough. You barely have time to appreciate the feel of his naked hands on your skin, cupping your breasts in his broad, smooth palms, thumbing your nipples all-too-briefly before he’s sliding down the zipper of his flight suit and baring a V of muscled flesh all the way to his groin.

“Mando,” you gasp as he frees his cock, as he maneuvers the throbbing, purpled head to drag through your slit. He finds you open and wet, lips parted for him, and he groans as he nudges against your fluttering hole. He doesn't hesitate.

He pushes in slow, for he’s a lot to take, thick and hard and the stretch is almost too much. You whine, your voice high and tight in your throat, and he soothes you with soft little noises and praise that makes you feel light-headed.

“Shhh, that’s it,” “You’re so fucking tight-” “Made to take my cock, mesh’la" and other words you don’t recognize. Eventually, he’s all the way inside you, his pelvis flush to yours, the scratch of hair at his pubic bone pressing into your mound.

You pant in his arms, eyes squeezed shut, a thin resin of sweat risen on your brow. “Move,” you order through clenched teeth, and finally you open your eyes to meet his visor and demand, “Fuck me, Mando.”

And he does - withdrawing his hips from the welcoming cradle of yours, his cock dragging back through you, and you can feel every ridge and vein before he’s spearing back in, jarring your back against the bulkhead. It’s a shock right through your system, and you can feel adrenaline flooding your veins, your blood pumping faster like you’re fighting for your life. You might as well be, for he does it again, and again, and soon he’s setting a punishing pace that hits against something soft and devastating deep inside you.

Your orgasm hits you like a blow you fail to dodge - winding you, knocking the air from your lungs - and for a moment all that matters is the blinding flash of pleasure through your nerves, the rolling wave that makes your cunt flutter in rippling spasms around the pulsing rod of his cock. He pins your hips with another vicious rut of his hips and then he’s coming, too, releasing into the impossible grip of your body, groaning with every spurt of spend he fills you with.

“Fuck,” Din summarizes, once you both can catch your breath - once your legs start to loosen, jelly-weak as he pulls out gently, lowering your feet back to the ground. He’s suddenly nervous - worried he’s fucked this up, done the wrong thing, lost patience and paid for it with your scorn.

But your smile is brilliant as you beam up at him - your face radiant - flushed and sweaty. You are beautiful.

“Next time, don't waste time dropping hints,” you tell him, and then you reassure him with a laugh, and the wonderful feeling of your arms around his neck.

For a while, he just holds you close. And for a while, the bullets in his stomach are gone.

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