#Mando s3 spoilers | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

saradika · 1 year

Text

— somewhere only we know

[series masterlist]

din djarin x f!reader

rated e - 4.6k

Tags: spoilers for s3 finale, established relationship, mini fix-it, cottagecore vibes, multiple pov, possessive!din, found family, fluff, angst, cabin smut, references to masturbation and oral, manual restraints, PiV, creampie

A/N - after that finale, I had an urge to write a part iii to the mini neighbor!din series. 💖 Massive thank you to @rescuethewretched for some perfect inspiration with her post, along with being so kind as to beta this!

That seed of want had been planted on Sorgan. Cracking him open and nestling it deep inside.

But he had smothered it, pushing it down. Strapping the armor over the hole it had burrowed in.

Now, with time - it had found life.

After everything - a new life is built on Nevarro.

It takes some time to rebuild. But like before - when the land had just been desert and barren flats, strength had come with it. The sense of community.

Banding together to fit each brick back into place. Repairing what you could, salvaging what had crumbled under the blasts that had reigned down. Spreading that green again - letting it wind into gardens, throughout the streets again.

Karga has another gift for the man who had saved the town. The best bandaid he can offer, materials for a new home - some kilometers away from where the rubble of the old remained.

In that space deeded to the Mandalorians, nestled between the lava flats and Bulloch Canyon.

Days spent mapping the area, before Din picked a spot. Where a small, green-leafed tree already flourished. No longer near the hot springs - but there's a scattering of small ponds with chirping frogs.

Remote - the peek of Nevarro just visible when he turns towards the hills.

It feels safe. It's his.

You are there - helping him get settled in, planning out the garden - for a few weeks before he asks you to stay.

It’s no more than that one word.

Murmured out in the early morning, as you try to slip from his bed. A warm, bare hand wrapping around your wrist - pulling you back under for another few hours.

One night, turning into another.

Until one morning you realize it's been days since you've returned to the small apartment near the trade district, where you had been staying. While the place where you used to live was cleaned up, examined to see what if the structure could be salvaged.

That most of your stuff was already there.

Boxes brought over each time you go into town, things inside eventually finding their way throughout the cabin. Working together to fill the space with things that feel like him.

For the first time, being able to choose. A soft, hidden smile as he explores his preferences - finding an overstuffed chair in one of the shops. A groan as he sinks into it, gloves sliding over the armrests.

It sits in his small living room now. It gets used - in the evenings, in the early mornings.

Memories made, with each moment.

And something else begins to grow, during those hours spent together. Not just the reaching varos saplings, and the neat lines of behot - the seeds brought back by his clan. Gifted and carefully cultivated, with tender fingers.

Sprouting from the flats as time passes, and just as you learn about this new life - you learn more about him.

You find out what those words mean. Picking up the way in which he says them - fondly, whispered in quiet, intimate moments.

Only for you, when you walk through the city together.

Mesh'la. Beautiful. Cyar'ika. Sweetheart.

It sends your own heart tripping and tumbling, each and every time you hear them.

There was one you still didn't know. The one the Mandalorian called Paz had called you, when he found the two of you together.

A low chuckle, when he had visited a few weeks ago - when you quietly asked him what it had meant.

"Ask him yourself, ad'ika." He tells you, a broad hand thumping against your shoulder.

But, he does help you - in the end. Teaching you words that you've been practicing on your own. Still clumsy on your tongue, murmured when you're alone.

Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum.

You'll give them to Din, someday.

When it's perfect.

Because that's what he deserves.

———

It still feels strange, waking up in a space that isn’t moving. That dull ache in his neck and hips slowly fading - no longer sleeping in the pilots chair.

He never thought he’d miss the tiny bunk in the Crest so much, but that was before he had slept all night in a starfighter.

Now, he sleeps in a nest of pillows. Soft sheets and layers of folded blankets. A place that stays put, standing firm and steady.

Slowly filling with things he can call his.

That seed of want had been planted on Sorgan. Cracking him open and nestling it deep inside.

He had been a different man back then. Not ready. But he had still thought a little too long about the offer. Wondering, and wishing.

You and your boy could have a good life.

He could be a child for a while.

Wouldn't that be nice?

It had been.

But he had smothered it, pushing it down. Strapping the armor over the hole it had burrowed in.

Now, with time - it had found life. Much like the grass that has started to push from the flats, growing thick and lush. Slowly spreading, until there’s a blanket to sit on.

To enjoy.

To calm his own. To fill with things with meaning, instead of pure function. Having to pair his belongings down to just the essentials - things that were easy to carry.

He’s found things from his old life, bringing them here. A crate, pulled from storage. A box, there - still sitting unopened.

Finding moments to unpack, in-between time spent under the sun. Making lists of things they still need, things to pick up from the marketplace.

It's in one of those small crates that Grogu finds it. An older memory - something the Child had taken with him on his training. Had kept close to his heart, while they were apart.

Clutched in his tiny fist, held out for his father. A little point with the tip of a claw, through the open door.

Where you bend over the neat rows of flowers, blooming in the sun. Clipping a few to bring in, like you did in the mornings.

Din hadn’t been sure, at first. Had wanted to fill the plots of tilled land with something practical. Grains, maybe. Tall stalks of golden-eared corn.

“We’re the only ones out here.” You had laughed, “We’re not exactly short on space, Din.”

You hadn’t seen the soft curl of a smile as his head had ducked. Yielding.

Later - alone - he had admired the plucked bouquet on the small table they shared. Taking the briefest moment to lift his helmet. Inhaling the layers - fruity and light, filling the space with more colors than he had seen in a long time.

Grogu waves the piece again, tugging him back from the memory.

"You think so?" Din asks, taking it from him.

It fits between his orange-tipped fingers. Thinking he understands his son’s meaning. That maybe, it’s been something he’s been thinking about, too.

He'll find a new cord, something more suitable.

Saving it - until he is ready.

———

It seems to suit him. Having someone to look after. That acceptance of their enduring bond - something that had always been there, that he had just hesitated with putting a name to.

How Grogu seems to be more capable than ever, but how there's still those muscles that bunch in Din's back, as he prepares to reach out, to offer a helping hand.

Openly worrying, like a father.

Maybe it's that acknowledgment that knocks something loose. Allowing him to finally welcome the things he truly wants, instead of rejecting or running from them.

Putting down roots somewhere, after years of calling hyperspace his home.

Maybe even to lean into them. Moments and things that he's never had before. No longer leaving for a bounty all alone.

No - now he has someone waving him off, a kiss pressed against the curve of his helmet. He has a "come back safe" and a "thinking of you" to hold close to his chest while they're gone.

A voice at the other end of the comm, when he calls.

Someone waiting for him to get back, happy and smiling.

He has you.

The recklessness fades. That foolhardy rushing in for a bounty, depending on past experiences and instinct to carry him through to the other side.

He tells himself it's because of the kid, when he slows down. When he is more careful of his choices when Captain Teva comms.

But maybe, he does it for himself, too.

For the first time in his life.

Bringing him back here, every time. Grogu tucked and sleeping against his chest as he arrives home after dark. The stars above shining down on the little cabin.

The starfighter touching down on the landing pad, moved some ways off from the house. Far enough that it doesn't rattle the tidy kitchen when he takes off, far enough that it doesn't wake you with an early departure.

Stepping down onto familiar soil as he climbs from the cockpit. So certain that you'd be in bed, already dreaming.

But there's a light on, he can see it from here. A golden beacon, calling to him to the place he now calls home.

Unconsciously, his steps quicken. Bringing him closer, until he can see your silhouette through the opened window.

On another night, he might scold - unable to the help the worry. Telling you to keep that window closed. To keep yourself safe.

But tonight, all he can focus on is you. Seeing now the clothes you wear, as you read - waiting up for him.

Knowing when it's dark and his nose is burying in your neck, that it will be your sweet scent perfuming the clothes that he can tell you're borrowing.

Mixing, melding together.

Layered, in a way that is impossible to untangle.

———

There’s the soft swish of the front door opening, but you wait patiently. Listening to the long-memorized path, a he moves throughout the small cabin.

Storing his rifle by the front door. The shuffle as he removes his boots, another hiss as the small side room is opened. His son tucked carefully and lovingly into the tiny bed.

The slow cadence of his steps, as he is slowly brought back to you.

Already smiling, when he fills the doorway.

He always seemed to do that. Encompass this small space you share. His armor making him thick and broad, and you can never help the little leap your heart does - rising up to your throat - when he leans over to to grab something.

Caging you in against the counter - whether on accident or purpose, you’re not sure. You think on purpose, judging by the short buzz of breath, when your eyes so unconsciously tip up to find his. Hidden away, behind the visor.

Always leading to something else. There’s lots of places you’ve found out here - places that aren’t so easily stumbled upon.

You’re already pushing up to go to him, your body melding against his. A long-held sigh releasing from his lungs, and his shoulders relax.

As you lead him to the bed - as he lets your hands brace on his chest, until his shoulders are pressing against the mattress.

Until you’re climbing on, after.

This is what you think about, when he’s gone.

The familiarity of your fingers, as they pluck at hidden buckles. The careful way you remove each piece - setting the shining armor in the woven basket at the end of the bed.

It’s second nature now, and the way you move so easily thrills you. Knowing that you know him in a way that no one else has.

Knowing that he can say the same, about you.

Each piece has its own place, as his hands rest on your thighs. Gloves removed the second he was inside, fingers tracing paths on equally bare skin.

Until it’s just his helmet that remains, the softest glint of the stars off the shining visor as his head tilts upward.

“Do you want me to close the blinds?” You murmur.

It’s dark. More than enough for some, but you’ve come know him. Respecting his beliefs, and are already rising to cut the light from above off completely.

His hands tighten on your thighs - voice buzzing low though the vocoder.

“No.”

A pause, as his hands swoop. Finding yours and squeezing. Guiding them to his helmet.

“Not tonight.”

It makes your stomach flip, the words already on the tip of your tongue, “Are you sure? I can-”

You can close your eyes, like before. Could wear a blindfold - anything that makes him comfortable.

But instead, his fingers are mapping yours. A soft hiss as you both lift the helmet - before you’re leaning over him, resting it carefully in its place on the table next to the bed.

Then, he’s pulling you down. A rough groan in his throat as your lips meet his, as you smile. Unable to help the giddy grin, the fingers that brush through soft curls.

Reacquainting your mouth with his, making up for the week that has passed. Soft and chaste - growing deeper when his hand spans the back of your neck.

The other pressing between your shoulder blades, until your body melts against his again.

Still broad-shouldered, without the armor. Still filling a good part of the bed - a fixture in this cabin.

Your fingers make quick work of the flightsuit, even as your mouth slots with his.

More zippers and snaps that you know well. Rough canvas giving way to warm skin, his hands joining yours as he pulls his arms from the sleeves.

Rolling off him, just for a moment. While he shucks the lower half from him - before he’s pulling you back on top.

Nestling himself between your thighs. Hard and thick, the evidence of how much he missed you. Mutual huffs of breath as your hips rock - only the cloth of your underwear separates you.

His hands wander then - fingers brushing from shoulder, to neck. Sweeping and dipping across your front, down between your breasts. Imagining something only he can see.

As he wonders if it’s time.

The thoughts unraveling as his fingers drop instead, to pluck at the ties of the tunic you wear.

Loosening them, so he can lean upward. His turn now, to strip the layers from you. Fingertips pushing the fabric from your shoulder, before it’s tugged over your head.

The moon and stars spilling streaks against skin, as you peel off the last piece. Until you’re bared fully, feeling the weight of his gaze dragging over you.

Fingers still twisted in the fabric, before it’s dropped off the edge of the bed. Tracing over your curves after, feeling where the goosebumps rise. The taut peaks of your breasts, under his thumbs.

You sigh, breathed out into the night. Missing him, wanting him, aching for him.

This slowness is another thing you’ve discovered. A countdown of time no longer lingering about his head. A ever-growing list of things he had to do on those short visits, trying to fit as much time with you in-between as he could.

Pounding into you, the breath pushed from your lungs. Leaving you gasping as his helmet presses against your forehead. Gone - the next morning.

No, now - he takes his time. Slow and steady and winding you up. Until the frenzied movement comes from pure need, chasing the release. So wrapped up you forget everything else except the pleasure.

You rise up on your knees to take him. Can feel the thudding between your thighs, the dampness that glistens on sensitive skin.

His hands tighten instead. Rocking you forward instead, until your slick cunt slides against his cock. A rumble you can feel, as your hands splay flat across his chest.

“Din.” You protest, trying to move again.

Those hands, still gripping on.

“What did you do while I was gone?”

If the helmet was on, you’d never hear the soft tremor. The rasp of his words, that edge that is so soften masked.

It has you blinking, pulling you out of the haze.

“I, uh-,” You lick your lips, distracted by his question. The way you can feel the twitch of his cock, when you grind yourself against him, “I worked.”

A tiny smile as you add, “And I missed you, of course.”

He hums at that, as your hips make another pass. As you make another attempt to rise, your hands pressing against his chest.

Din still holds you steady.

“Did you miss me at night?” He asks, a knowing tone to his words, “In our bed?”

You can feel your cheeks burn - as a sweet embarrassment, and then a heat, floods through you. Fingers curling into fists, pressing against his sternum.

Our bed.

If the question had been yours, you would have said his bed. But instead, he shares this space with his words, making it just as much yours.

“Yes.” You breathe, and he groans. Pushing up against you, grinding his cock against your slick center.

“Show me.”

There’s an expectancy to his request that has you squirming. The slightest hesitance, before your fingers slide down, across his chest, then stomach. Letting him feel their path, waiting until the last possible moment to lift them.

Brushing the tips against the head of his straining cock, as you find your neglected clit. Lightly dragging a fingers across the sensitive nub, finally getting a bit of that friction you’ve been aching for.

Your moan is a soft, drawn out “oh”. Laced with relief, as your fingers press and circle. The other hand still braced on him, as you shift into your own touch.

His own fingers flutter. Petting over your breasts and down your hips. A thumb brushing across your mound, the breadth of his hands framing where yours works.

The starlight shines more on you. He can see glimpses of your fingers, the part of your lips as you pant. His own fingers joining yours, following the tight patterns.

“What did you think about?” He rasps, as your eyes close.

Your chin tipping down, your breath now ragged. He always knows just how to touch you.

Knows your body as well as you know the straps of his beskar armor, and can take you apart just as easily.

“You.” You whimper, your free hand gripping at his hip, anchoring yourself, “How much I wanted you. How it’s never-“

A gasp, as the pleasure flickers through you like lightning. Starting in your core and radiating outwards.

“N-never as good. When you’re not here.”

His exhale is sharp, the grip on your waist loosening. As he guides your hips against his. Still sliding against him, smearing your arousal on his cock.

Not sure how much longer he can draw this out, not with you saying such pretty things.

Swallowing as your own question comes, almost surprising yourself with your boldness.

“Did you think of me? While you were gone?”

In the darkness you miss the quick, sharp pull of teeth and lips. The growling groan that catches in his throat, as his fingers still circle.

“Yes,” He rasps, “Always.”

The answer has you clenching around nothing. Needy and desperate to hear more.

Barely managing to ask, “What did you think about?”

His fingers leave you, and you mourn them. Gathering at your waist again - lifting you this time. Angling his cock so it kisses against your lips, nudges against your entrance.

“This,” He growls, as he tugs you down.

Your moan is loud as he fills you. That familiar and sweet stretch as you take him in a long, fluid thrust. A stiffness to your shoulders as you sit, your ass flush to his hips.

His cock shoved as deep as he can, stealing your breath and words. Breathing the air back in as you slowly begin to ride him. Shallow bounces as your knees dig into the bedspread.

It’s hazy, in the dark. Near featureless - but as you move, there’s the hint of something. The curve of his nose. The scruff of his jaw, dark and just starting to pepper grey.

Features you’ve tracing with your fingertips, in those evenings before. Pressing a kiss to against the curve of his cheek, instead of the sharp curve of beskar.

You don’t know that he does this, during the day. Far enough out that there’s rarely uninvited guests.

Rising early, as the rest of the cabin sleeps. Feeling the dew-sprinkled grass beneath bare toes, as the morning breeze rustles his hair.

A stolen moment, before the day begins.

Dreaming of sharing one with you, one day.

Until then, he settles for this. Your soft touches and patience and the silky darkness of the night curling around you both.

Enveloping you, with the roll of your hips - your hands braced on his chest. Pushing down with your hands now as you rise up, the soft heat that he sinks into when you drop back down.

Taking him to the hilt, again and again.

Slowly picking up speed, finding your rhythm as his fingers find the soft space between your thighs again.

Dragging you towards something that licks red-hot in your belly. Fueled by the teasing - the knowledge that your swiftly budding feelings might not be all so different that his.

It feels like too much. The flutter of your heart, you eyes close so you can hear the soft grit of his words.

“Feels so fucking good.”

“Stars, cyar’ika. Keep going, just like that.”

It has your warning sticking in your throat, as those two, broad fingers tease at you.

“Din-”

You like saying it, but not nearly as much as he loves hearing it.

“Din, I’m so close.”

“I know.” He husks, as his hips rock up to meet you. Feeling how you clench down around him, how your rhythm has slowed to a sloppy grind.

That press of his fingers winding you up and up and up. An invisible string tugging you toward him, until his mouth is pressing open-mouthed against your neck.

Whatever your response was disappears as you fall, and then shatter. The sound coming out as a sharp gasp instead, one that he can feel as his lips suck a mark against your skin.

Just a senseless rutting of your hips now, as you chase the sweet pulse between your thighs. The way he feels as you clench around him, as his fingers never seem to slow.

Robbing you of your strength, the pleasure that scatters throughout your limbs replaced with a warm, liquid lead. Weighing you down as your body sinks against his, your face curling against his neck.

Remembering how to breathe again, coaxed by a calloused hand that smooths down your back. The shift of his hips that remind you of where you are - your focus on what you want so much more clear, now.

You want to feel him. Want to make him feel just as good as you did right now.

He lets you ride him. Until your arms are trembling with the effort - still coming down from your high.

Pushing himself up until he’s sitting, his back pressed against the metal headboard. His hands moving to grip the underside of your thighs - tugging you up just the slightest bit, until he’s doing the work for you.

Thrusting up, dragging his cock against your walls. Pounding into you as his skin claps against your, each pushing a breath from his chest.

Your arms wrap around his shoulders, fingers twisting in his hair. Fingers biting into your skin, enough to pinch. The cadence of his breathing growing rougher, shorter - until those hands are moving your your waist.

Pulling you down, holding you there, as he pushes deep one last time. His groan seeming loud in this small room, wordless as it echoes in your ears.

As his hips rut against yours - try to work himself even deeper as he spills into you. Palms press into your back, keeping you flush against him, as a nose nudges against your neck.

The warm exhale of his breath eventually slowing, a kiss placed against the spot where your heart thuds in your throat.

After, you curl up in his arms. A smile pressed into bare skin as the evening wind cools your sweat-dewed skin. Listening to the croak of frogs and the rustle of leaves as you wait for the thudding of your hearts to slow.

Your mind is already drifting to tomorrow. To all the things you want to do together, all the questions to want to ask about the latest bounty, even as your eyes grow heavy.

While his is placed more in the present.

Knowing that right now…

There’s no place he’d rather be.

———

The sun breaks on a gorgeous summer day.

It mirrors your mood, as your steps take you out of the small cabin. Through the garden you’ve built together.

It feels like such a luxury, to call this place your own. To have something that feels like it belongs to you, that you’re not just staying there - mingling with the ghosts and memories of before.

It fills a space inside you that’s been empty for some time. Pieces finally clicking into place, as you bask in that sense of belonging.

A small oasis in the rolling planes of desert and earth. Far enough away from town that sometimes, it truly feels like it’s just the three of you.

You had asked Din, one time. If he had minded the quiet, living in such solitude.

“Don’t you miss it?” You had asked, “How things were, before?”

He had been sitting next to you, then. In that little spot just outside the door, a leg kicked up against the a thick piece of railing.

Leaning back against the wall, arms shifting over his chest as he had answered without hesitating.

“No.” Din has rasped, “Not at all.”

The memory makes you smile.

The slightest ache to your knees when you bend down to pluck a ruby-red tomato from its vine.

The remnants of your thorough second welcoming home, while in the sonic that morning. The slightest wobble in your step, from when he had returned the favor, back in the bed.

A hand shielding your eyes when you hear the sets of footsteps behind you. The basket tucked under your arm as you crouch to greet Grogu as he coos, something small and brown clutched in his fist.

Held out, dropped into your cupped hands.

It wasn’t unusual that they brought something back. A small trinket when there was time. More seeds, for the garden.

But there was something about it that makes you slow down, as you reach inside. A fluttering in your stomach, an anticipation.

Something about Din’s posture at he waits, some steps away. Strung-tight - missing the cock of his hips, the bend of his knee.

It glints in the light, as you tip it into your palm. Polished to a pretty shine, though there are areas that are still darkened with age and time.

A necklace, the silver charm dangling at the end of a leather cord. A long skeleton face with curving horns, that looks familiar.

The low voice comes, breaking through your thoughts.

“We wanted you to have this.”

Din hovers near you, hands braced on his hips. Grogu peeks up with flickering ears and bright eyes.

“It’s beautiful.” You tell him truthfully, a thumb sweeping over the metal. A weight to it, a solidness filled with memories and meanings.

“It’s the symbol of the Mandalorians. A Mythosaur.” He explains - tone flat and patient from behind his helmet.

Masking the tones that would color them, if his helmet had been removed. Hiding the full meaning of his gift.

“If anyone comes by while we’re away, they won’t harm you. You’ll be protected.”

It warms you.

That he still worries, even after danger has passed.

Your head ducks as you slip the cord around your neck. Adjusting it carefully with slow fingers.

“Thank you.” You tell them both.

Brimming with something too tender to name, as the pendant rests against your chest.

It feels right, resting there. Against your skin. So close to the place that pounds so steadily for him.

It feels like a promise.

Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum - I love you ("I will know you forever.") / mesh’la - beautiful / cyare & cyar’ika - sweetheart / ad’ika - little one

behot - a citrusy herb that is native to Mandalore

varos - a fruit native to Mandalore, known for its velvety aroma when ripe

Thank you so much for reading! So happy to write something sweet and hopeful for Din. 💖

#din djarin x you #din djarin x f!reader #din djarin x reader #din djarin x female reader #din djarin smut #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin imagine #mandalorian spoilers #mando s3 spoilers

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saradika · 1 year

Text

— if you send for me, you know I'll come

[series masterlist]

din djarin x f!reader

rated E - 4.5k

Tags: protective!neighbor!din, canon-typical violence, Nevarro is attacked, pirate invasion, death of pirates, angst, brief hostage situation, established relationship, outercourse, multiple orgasms, PiV

A/N: mini-sequel to only if for a night (but also can be read as a one-shot!) Spoilers for 03.05 - absolutely cheering over “I decided to take you up on your offer for a tract of land” and wanted to explore that

The blasts rain down. Turning parts of your beloved city into crumbling stone and smoking ash. A cry of distress sent to the New Republic. A whisper throughout the crowd saying that help isn't coming. That this time, Nevarro is on it's own.

But you're sure of one thing. Hang onto that hope like a lifeline, as you send out a small message of you own.

Knowing that Din Djarin will come for you.

That he will find a way.

The Corsair hangs heavy, overhead.

Appearing suddenly, a dark splash against the sunny, blue skies. A weight in your limbs, an uneasiness creeping up your spine as the hail comes in.

Stuck frozen in place, as you watch the face of the Pirate King - Gorian Shard - appear on the holo. Filling the room with his dripping visage.

Ushered quickly off to the side, as the two engineers make a hasty exit - though you don't remember moving. Listening to the sharp back-and-forth.

“Believe your ears then, and don't mistake my hospitality for weakness."

“The Spinward patrol passes through here regularly."

Karga holds his ground against the threats that fire down. Shard coming back for his revenge, for the pirates killed in the streets of Nevarro all those weeks before.

A day you remember well. The day he had come back into your life.

And for a second you feel safe - until you see that confident veneer chip. That hesitance in Karga's voice, in his words, as Shard calls his bluff.

The blasts that start to rain down, after.

That uneasiness morphing into pure dread. A matching fear that flashes in both your eyes, as the call ends, and the droid enters the room.

"High Magistrate, the escape pod is ready." It chirps. Voice friendly, in spite of the dire situation, "I will lead you to the launch site."

"I won't abandon my city," Karga shakes his head, turning your way, "You take it. Get to safety."

And in spite of your complaints before - those told in confidence to Din, about how your boss was too much, too extravagant, too Karga - you can't bear it. Not when you see how he puts the people first, instead of running.

You shake your own head. Words coming shakily, but you mean every one, "I'm with you. What can I do?"

"We have to get the people to safety. Send out a directive immediately." He barks out, and you're nodding. The command giving you something to do - unsticking your feet.

Raising the alarm.

Following him into the streets.

———

Your fingers key in the codes for the message - the cry for help. The recording Karga quickly made in his office after the evacuation had begin - his one shot before the building began to shake with the force of the blasts.

A message for Captain Teva, of the New Republic.

You had wanted to protest. Had tried to - arguing that there were others that could help.

"He's one man. He might not even come." Karga had snapped back. His patience thin - each second that passed meant another part of the city crumbled, "We'll have a better shot at surviving this if we reach out to someone with numbers."

You flinched at his tone, at the insinuation. The words from the message replaying in your head.

"The situation is dire."

"I'm afraid that our planet will fall."

His voice softened when he saw your expression, "We don't have time for another message. Send it."

Part of you had wanted to argue.

That Din would come, for you. If he knew you were in danger.

He'd save all of you.

He'd find a way.

Instead, you bit the words back. Focusing on the comm code that Karga had rattled off. The crushing bands still wrapped tightly around your chest as the message is sent, firing off with a sharp click.

Sending your own after, with a small wish - breathed out into the stars. These numbers long-since memorized, fingers flying over the keys. The briefest of messages, but you hope he'll understand.

Din. It’s the Pirates. If you get this, we could really use your help.

Please.

There's the boom of another blast, the floor rattling beneath your feet.

And then, you're running.

Retreating to the lava flats, with the rest of the city.

———

Dirt clings to your tunic. Clay dusting your side, your shoulder - from when you shielded a neighbor from a blast, tugging them down the alley.

No time to do anything more than get out. Following the waves out people out of the city limits. Watching as months and years of growth and progress and green crumble. Sending you into the wastes, once more.

Feet aching by the time you stop - shivering now, in the evening chill. The dark sky above illuminated with the golden and red flickering of a fire, tearing through the western edge of town. Sending up billowing smoke, blocking out the stars.

A grief that surrounds you, in the dark. A selfish ache in the way that you mourn for you home. The happiness you had built. Promising to look after his, after that night you spent together.

Having to face that you weren't able to. That there might be nothing left.

The thought follows you, seeping into your bones. Weighing you down, as you huddle in small groups. Fires dotting the lava flats, flickering in the wind. Shifting against the ground as you try to get comfortable - finding it near impossible.

Drifting off, when your eyes get too heavy to stay open. Even with the ridges of rock digging into your side, an arm tucked under your head.

You call to him in your sleep. Drifting off to the memories, on repeat for comfort. Replaying the messages you've exchanged, since he left.

Hoping you'll get the chance to see him. Even if it's just one last time.

Even if it's just in your dreams.

———

The Corsair lingers. Pirates deployed in waves, pillaging and looting. Those who stayed inside, those who refused to leave, were at their mercy. Turned into captives or pushed around. Forced to smile and serve food and drink as a blaster points at their guts.

Not daring to refuse.

There's not enough weapons left among you to fight back. Not thinking to arm yourself - all thought focused on getting out. Leaving you vulnerable - stranded on the dark field of igneous rock.

There's whispers of surrender. Looks thrown Karga's way, as he stands firm.

Still a beacon, in spite of the hardship.

But you stay firm, as well. You know hope will come.

You believe in him.

The hours pass and the pit in your stomach grows. A man breaks away, a hurried plan to sneak into the town. To try to gather those inside, to see if he can grab weapons.

He doesn't come back.

Instead of gunfire there's shouting now. Harsh laughter that filters through the whipping wind. Trails of smoke still rising up to the sky, where the ship still hangs - waiting.

Waiting for Karga's hail of surrender.

Waiting for the city to fall.

———

A cry breaks through the stilted silence. Everyone muted with worry - no longer speculating.

The pointing of fingers, as something streaks against the sky.

A glint of silver, shining like Beskar.

You know that ship. Have seen it, in the space between your house and his.

A leaping in your heart and a wetness on your cheeks that you don't even realize - as your shouts are among the first to rise.

Cheering, for the help that has come.

Watching as a larger ship joins his - as it opens, spilling figures with jetpacks into the air.

Karga smiles, as he meets your eyes. Relief in them, as he raises his comm.

"Thanks for your help, Mando." There's fondness in his tone.

You can't stop grinning, as the voice you know so well crackles back, "Heard you might need a hand."

"Be careful, my friend." He smiles, before growing serious, "They've got you outnumbered ten to one."

There's an edge to Din's voice then, the words low and smooth, “I like those odds."

Karga chuckles, reminiscing, "I bet you do."

There's a beat of silence, and then a final request.

“Karga. Keep her safe, for me."

His eyes find yours. Knowing who Din means - your heart flipping at the words.

A knowing smile, as he answers.

"You know I will."

The comm clicks off, but the heat that rises in your chest and face lingers. Hiding the smile as your face turns towards the sun.

Watching with the others as the two ships dart around in the sky. The sounds of blasters layering over each other from within the city.

The bright flash of red and gold as a hit is landed on the Corsair, the handful of snubfighters in the sky quickly dwindling.

Whispers of hope race through the groups of people around you. Steps as they start to head towards the city, as the pirates are picked off.

A groan, as the turrets above shift. A spray landing a kilometer away, but each round moving closer. Spending up dirt and rock and the dread is flooding though you again as it quickly approaches.

“They’re targeting us!” A cry goes up, as that bit of hope wavers.

The groups scattering, splitting apart as they back up.

Your eyes stay on the sky. Watching as the two smaller ships team up - and fire.

The blaze of fire and smoke as the Corsair tilts, and then plummets. An achingly slow descent, as the front tips down, colliding loudly with the rocky ground. Crumpling into broken metal, and the explosion that fills the sky is so bright that it hurts your eyes.

The Pirate King, defeated.

The cries around you change. Fear turning swiftly into joy. Voices blending and mixing until it’s just a drawn out, repeated chant.

“It's gonna be okay!”

———

You’re among the first to breach the far border of the city. The remaining pirates gathered in surrender, weapons thrown upon the ground.

The Mandalorians chasing them from the bowels of the city, intent on seeing things through.

But not everyone among the remaining decide to go so easily. Something moves at the corner of your vision, as you pass by the crumbling house.

Something tall and broad - turning just in time to see the mottled yellow skin of the Quarren as he lunges your way.

Fingers twist around you, hard and cold. Your breath in your throat as the barrel presses against your chin - using you like a human shield.

Another pair, their skin in matching shades of crimson, grab the older woman and the young man next to you. Mimicking their leader, guns clicking in their hands.

A forced negotiation.

Ice creeps into your veins - fearing that this is the end, when you were so close to salvation. Eyes wide as you look towards Din.

How he turns at the gasp that skitters through the crowd. The briefest second - when he sees you.

The twitch of his hand, as he stalks forward. A blaster raised so quickly you can barely blink before something hot and bright is shooting past your cheek.

Downing the pirate that’s holding you captive with a single shot.

Whistling birds from the Mandalorian at his side taking out the other two in an instant.

You’re in his arms a moment later. The beskar cool against your cheek as he pulls you to him. Crushing you against his chest, before he’s pulling back.

The swivel of his helmet as he looks - paying an abandoned storefront just off to the side. Hauling you with him as the Mandalorians round up the rest of the Pirates, as they finally surrender.

You can feel the few eyes that follow you - the weight of their gaze. But in this moment, you can’t bring yourself to care.

He’s ripping the gloves off - bare hands coming to cup your face the moment you’re inside. As if unable to help touching you himself, not wanting any layers as he tilts your face up to his so he can see you.

A slow drift of his helmet as he checks you over.

“Are you hurt?” Din rasps, “Are you alright, cyar’ika?”

The meaning of that word is still unknown, but there’s such an affection in the way he says it. Carefully, earnestly, and it has you nodding.

“I’m fine.” You croak, your hand coming to rest on his. Pressing it against your cheek, leaning into it.

Some of the stiffness in his posture wanes. Your back pressing against the wall as he crowds you, as relief crashes through him.

Staring up at him - feeling the rush of emotion. Making your words soft, no more than a whisper.

“You came.”

His own voice rough, “Of course I did. I always will.”

You smile then, at that.

Sweet and soft, just for him.

“I knew you would. I just knew.”

At your words - the adoring look you give him - his hand is raising. Traveling to his helmet. Lifting the edge, where you can just see the briefest glimpse of tan skin, the scruff of his beard.

Before your eyes are snapping shut, and his lips are pressing to yours.

And oh, how you remember them.

Your fingers curling in his cowl as you cling to him. The moan sliding from your throat as he leans into you, his other hand gripping almost painfully at your waist.

Desperate.

That’s how you feel. Like you can’t get enough, as you curve yourself against his chest. Lips parting when his tongue brushes against the seam, letting him deepen it.

Leaving you panting and breathless when he finally pulls back. Fingers searching for more, tangling in the belt around his waist as his hips rock against yours.

“You’re safe now.”

You hum in distracted agreement, something much more welcome than panic thrumming in your veins.

He’s there with you, hand roaming - fingers dipping under the hem of your tunic. Bunching it up until he can brush the bare skin at your waist. A thigh nudging between yours, your own face reflected back in the shining visor.

Eyes half-lidden, with kiss-swollen lips.

“Din.” You whine, and he groans.

Hips rolling slowly against yours, just as the sound of his name echos.

Lower, this time. Modulated, like his.

The fingers slide from your shirt, but he stays close - twisting so he’s half-blocking you from sight.

From the sight of the Mandalorian that fills the doorway - tall and broad in his painted, blue armor. A cock of his head, as his arms cross over a thick chest.

“You did not tell us you took a riduur during your stay,” Amusement tinging his words, even through the helmet, “No wonder you were in such a rush to return.”

Another word to figure out - as Din’s posture stiffens, shifting closer to you. His hands on the wall, keeping you tucked carefully between them.

“What do you want?” He asks, not bothering to hide his own annoyance.

“Your friend, the Grand Magistrate, is requesting our presence.” There’s the low rumble of a laugh, “Or should I tell him you’re too busy?”

“We’ll be right there, Vizsla.”

It’s a dismissal, and the other Mandalorian takes it. Leaving the two of alone for a moment to make some swift adjustments.

The heat lingering in your cheeks, at getting caught. Grateful that the visitor wasn’t a few minutes later - certain that sight would have been a lot more than he bargained for.

A gloved hand is wrapped in yours, as you head back into the light.

Where Karga is waiting, ready to thank them. A generous gift offered - the land from the western lava flats to Bulloch Canyon, ceded to the Mandalorians.

His smile bright, as he tells them, “You may no longer have a home planet, but you do now have a home.”

———

That edge is tempered, now that Din knows you’re alright. But there’s a part that still lingers as he’s surrounded by his kin, his words clipped and short.

Stuck helping with negotiations - getting the ships moved to the landing pads, instead of hastily exited.

Unhappily separated, as you’re pulled into your own work. The city littered with debris and broken buildings. Bodies and smoldering fires.

Better to stay outside for one more night - to begin together, at dawn.

The best warriors sent in just to grab supplies. Coming back with materials to set up small camps, tents.

You work on your own, cozy enough for two. Not needing much more space, after hearing that Grogu would be staying safe with the other foundlings. Finding a spot to the edge of the camp of the Mandalorians, hoping Din will be able to find you.

Exhaustion tugging at you as you curl in the bedding, determined to wait up for him. That dull thrumming persisting between your thighs, even now.

Anticipating his return.

But the soft glow that the fire casts on the canvas starts to tug you under. Hazy with sleep when his voice finally comes, the sky an inky indigo above.

The soft call of your name.

A body lowering next to yours. Curling behind you, and you’re so relieved and content that you don’t mind the cold bite of the beskar against the thin fabric of your top.

A stiffness lingers in the way he holds you. As you’re unable to help arching back, his breath crackling harshly through the vocoder as your ass presses against him.

An arm, wrapping around you - his hand splaying across your stomach when you do it again. The thrust of his hips as he meets you this time, grinding himself against you.

“I need you.”

His words - low and rough - make you clench.

Rocking against him with more intent, as his bare hands begin to roam, like before. Rucking up your shirt so he can touch bare skin.

“I thought I would be too late.”

He can say it now, when it’s dark.

When it’s just the two of you.

Those worries finally breaking through the armor, spilling out from the cracks. Extracted, by the feeling of your body against his.

Letting himself breath for the first time in hours. An urge to feel every inch of you, to make sure you are truly okay. Wanting to make you forget, with the only way he knows how.

“You have me.” You tell him, catching his hand - dragging it up to your mouth. Pressing a kiss against the calloused knuckles, fingers warm in yours, “I believed in you.”

It feels silly now, that you ever doubted. Even for the brief second.

His groan is low, the edge of the helmet biting into your shoulder. Hand pulling free so he can grasp at the edge of your leggings - your hips rising so he can push them down.

Leaving them twisted around your thighs as his hand follows, dipping between them. Cupping you, where you’re molten. Aching, from that moment when he kissed you - replaying it over and over in the tent while you waited.

The tips of his fingers finding where you’re slick - rubbing tight circles, like he did in the springs. Each pass sends a little jolt down your spine, a flicker of pleasure in your brain.

Your breath short and sharp as you flex into his touch - a low whine when he pulls away to free himself. Feeling the heavy, velvety curve as it nudges against your ass. Damp fingers smearing your slick across a thigh as he lifts it.

Fitting his length between them, pressing it snug against your wet pussy. Petting at your clit again, as he thrusts.

Fingers focused - no teasing tonight. Gliding over the senstive bud as he grinds against you, fucking your thighs with his swollen cock. The ridge pressing against your folds as his hips roll, adding to your mounting pleasure.

Each pass brings you higher.

Each slide of his hips coming easier, as your arousal slicks up his cock. Dragging against you - making you want to just tilt your hips, so during the next pass, he’ll nudge inside.

Instead, your fingers drift beneath your shirt. Teasing your breast as the other hand makes a fist around the tip of his cock, a gentle pressure when his hips press flush against yours.

His groan joins yours, his pace stuttering.

That low voice coming out ragged, as your thighs tighten around him, “Come on my fingers, and you can have it.”

It has you clenching around nothing, a jerk of your hips into his touch.

“Please,” you moan, the familiar heat pooling in your belly. Winding with each swipe, as he presses just a little bit harder.

“Know you can,” He breathes, “Know you’re close.”

And you are - muscles tight as your focus narrows down to just his fingers. The heavy drag of his cock, so wet as it drags across sensitive skin.

The arm he has tucked under his head shoves beneath you, pressing between your breasts as he holds you tightly against him.

His breath ragged, loud through his helmet - only adding to the sensations that flood you. You own breath trapped in your chest, as everything strings tight.

Each gasping “oh” sending you higher. So close that your eyes screw shut - and when his cock catches against your entrance again, your fingers move.

A hitch of your hips as you guide the tip inside - Din’s moan filthy in your ear.

You come, as he’s pressing into you. Each shallow snap of his hips sinks him deeper, giving you something to clench around as you cry out his name.

A low groan that sounds close to a snarl, as he feels you. Hears your voice break on his name, pride flooding through him.

Not caring that someone else might hear.

Not this time.

Not when you’re pulsing around him, hot and wet and warm. Stiff in his arms as the spark flickers down your limbs, as you senselessly grind back against him.

Riding out the waves - until the fire that floods through you cools down to an ember, warm and low in your belly.

He pulls back, then - your moan pitiful as he leaves you empty. Urging you onto your stomach, as his weight presses against your back.

A sloppy thrust of his hips sends his cock against the curve of your ass, your thighs, before he finds you again.

Entering you with a long, slow thrust - punching the air from your lungs. His chest pressed against your back, braced on his forearms as his shoulder curl around yours.

Helmet biting into your shoulder as he pulls half-out, only to bury himself again.

“Fuck, mesh’la,” He groans, the words drawn out. You can only moan in response, as he splits you open, “So fucking perfect. My sweet girl.”

It’s needy, desperate. Clothes pushed to the side as needed, your legs pressed between his knees. His armor solid when it presses against you, the tent filling with the creak of the leather straps, the smack of skin on skin as he fills you.

Laid out, underneath him, fingers curling into the blankets as he pulls each soft sound from you.

Your thighs still bound by your leggings, making him feel even bigger, deeper, than last time. A little wiggle of your hips as you try to meet his thrusts, moaning against the bedding.

Half-finding your voice, panting the words out, “Feels so good. Gods, I missed you-“

His response a rough hum of agreement - nearly past words with his need. Managing a gritted out, “missed you, too” as his hips snap against yours.

Grinding himself deep, his cock dragging against your walls. Bumping that spongey spot that makes you see stars, over and over.

Until you can’t resist - until you’re shoving an arm between your stomach and the bedding. Reaching desperately between your thighs.

Fingers touching down on soaked skin, splitting around where he’s buried in you. Feeling the slide of his shaft, as his weight presses into just a little more.

It’s bliss, as your fingertips circle your clit. The heavy weight of him - the deep, pounding thrusts.

Din’s voice, so low in your ear. An edge that drives you wild, “I’m, fuck-”

He shifts, just barely slowing, “Want you to come with me. Can you do that?”

If he keeps it up, you know you can. Sending his cock against that spot, paired with the stroke of your fingers.

“Yes,” You manage, “So close-”

His reply is groaned out, a tremor in the way he holds himself. Losing that steady rhythm as your hips tilt, as he sinks just a tiny bit deeper. Listening to the way your breath changes - faster, higher.

Until his arm is shifting, the twist of his wrist as he reaches for your free one. Fingers entwining in yours, as your own vision starts to go hazy.

“Cyare, I can’t-” The words sound frustrated, but he can stop the rutting of his hips - so close to his own release. Trying to draw it out for you. Unable to hold back, as he feels you spread out beneath him.

“Wanna feel you,” You beg him, “Please, Din-”

Fingers circling quickly, feeling yourself tighten up again. His thrusts rough now, breath loud as he falls to the sound of your begging.

A pretty, drawn-out groan as he presses himself deep. Your name, mixed in with his breath as his cock throbs. Shallow thrusts with each pulse that ripples through him, as he empties himself.

It sends you over. Full of him as you come, milking him dry as your thighs clench. Shattering with white-hot pleasure, as he holds you - everything else seeming to fade, to grow soft and hazy.

Taking you a second to realize the strangled moans are yours, mixing with his soft, soothing praises.

Staying pressed together until your breathing returns to normal. Until he’s carefully sliding from you, and you’re doing your best to clean up, dripping and sticky with him.

Finding each other again after, in the darkness of the tent. Not wanting to be apart - not after today.

It feels like a weight been carved out of you. Leaving you hollow, in the darkness. Pressed up against him, though for the first time in days - you can breathe.

A comfort in the tents that surround you. The warmth of the fires, the city now silent.

“I don’t know what waits for us inside.” Your words are whispered out into the night. Guilt still gnaws at you, as you remember your promise, “I am so sorry that I couldn’t protect our home.”

“You did the right thing. That man’s cruelty is not your fault.” A palm strokes down your arm, your cheek pressed against his bare chest. Feeling the rumble of his words as they comfort you.

“If anything, it is mine.”

It has your head tilting up, chin pressing into this skin. Frowning, as you repeat his words back to him, “His cruelty is not your fault either. I heard what Karga said. They shot first. They chose to return.”

He makes a sound of uncertainty, as silence settles. A long moment passing, before you’re unable to help asking. Clarifying.

"Are you really going to stay, this time?"

The hand moves to your back then, pulling you closer. Tucking you further against him, until your nose is brushing the warm skin of his neck. Filling your senses with him - his voice, the warm, familiar scent of leather and metal and him.

"Yes, cyare." He soothes, "We'll stay. And if anything has happened to our home… we'll rebuild."

And you can hear the smile in his voice then, the word home. Because it was before, and it still is, now.

A finality in the way he says it. His own comfort in knowing that you're safe. In knowing that his culture will flourish here - that the children of the covert will feel what it is to play in the sunlight, once again.

“Together."

But if you send for me, you know I'll come

And if you call for me, you know I'll run

I'll run to you, I'll run to you

I'll run, run, run

(Mando’a: mesh’la - beautiful / cyare & cyar’ika - sweetheart / riduur - spouse)

#gif by the lovely salome-c!#din djarin x reader #din djarin x female reader #din djarin x you #din djarin x f!reader #din djarin smut #the mandalorian x reader #mando s3 spoilers

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