#Mando/reader

[marvelouslytrekking]

Wandering Off

Pairing: Din/reader Summary: You get separated from Din and subsequently get injured.  Din takes the responsibility of making sure you’re patched up Warnings: Swearing, typical violence, injury (not super descriptive) Word Count: 2673 A/N: I have been sitting on this one for awhile but here it finally is! I am so happy that we have Mando back (even if he seems to be the one needing cared for so far this season lol) As always, I suck at titles but here we are lol Also please let me know what you think by leaving a comment to make my day!

You weren’t sure how you had managed it, but you had gotten yourself separated from Din at a local market in a small town while doing a quick supply stop. You’d think a man clad in silver beskar from head to toe would be easy to locate but you had yet to be able to spot him again.

You had made a few loops of the market, hoping to run into him but you were having no luck. You were annoyed but sighed and decided to take the kid back to the ship. You and Din had an agreement that if somehow you got separated that you would make your way back to the Crest. It was better than trying to frantically find each other.

You decided to go through the forest since it would be shorter and you wouldn’t have to worry about other people on the road. It wasn’t that you couldn’t handle yourself but you had chosen to leave without your blaster, which now felt like it wasn’t the best idea but you hoped that it still wouldn’t be needed.

You were making your way through the thick forest as quickly as you could, though you were starting to worry that you weren’t heading in the correct direction. You had decided to take a short break to see if you could manage to orient yourself.

It was once you had stopped that you suddenly got a very unsettled feeling. It felt like you were being watched. As soon as that thought had crossed your mind, you heard a twig snap. Your head whipped in the direction of the sound. You had hoped that maybe it had just been Din and he didn’t want to startle you, but your instincts were correct, you immediately saw the two men behind you, both with their blasters drawn.

You didn’t waste another second, you immediately broke out into a sprint. You hadn’t fully figured out exactly where you needed to go but you decided you were just going to have to deal with that afterwards. You ducked your head as you heard blaster shots hitting the trees above you. It did, however, make you aware that their orders must have been not to kill the kid, since the shots were clearly well above your head. That didn’t give you much relief as you were jumping over logs and trying not to trip on roots, though.

You had made sure you were holding the kid as close to your chest as you ran. You were consistently getting hit by small branches and you were trying to keep him from getting the small scratches that you knew were going to be covering your arms and legs.

You found yourself looking over your shoulder briefly, trying to determine where the hunters were behind you. That decision has been a mistake because you had missed the small downhill slope that had been in front of you. You let a out a yelp as suddenly you were going head over heels down the hill. You luckily were able to  use your own momentum to flip yourself fully over and found yourself back upright and running but unfortunately, you felt a sharp pain in your ankle, it was clear you had managed to twist it when you tripped. There was no time to think about it and there was no point in dwelling on the pain because if you stopped you would only be damning yourself and the kid to much worse.

You realized you needed to come up with some sort of a plan, something other than just running in a zig zag and hoping that you were either faster than them or could out-last them.

Even if you were heading in the direction of the Crest, with how hot on your tail they were, you wouldn’t make it into the ship and get the ship locked back up before they caught up to you. If Din was waiting for you back at the ship, there was hope since you know he would be able to handle these men quickly with a few blaster shots but you had no way of knowing if he was there.

Your only other option was to try and lose them in the forest somehow and to wait them out but that didn’t seem like it was going to happen since so far you hadn’t been able to shake them.

It seemed like your only good option was the ship. Something told you to head slightly left so you decided you had nowhere better to go, so you started to shift your zig zags to lead you to the left.

Luckily it wasn’t much longer until you noticed the trees starting to thin and an opening was before you. You let out a sigh of relief as you saw the shiny hunk of junk sitting in the open field. Even happier yet when you noticed the ramp was down which meant he was in fact waiting for you.

“Mando!” You screamed out as loud as you could hoping he would be able to realize that something was wrong.

Another blaster shot came from behind you but this time it wasn’t as high up. You realized they were not happy knowing you had just warned the Mandalorian of their pursuit. You should have known that Din would immediately be out of the ship upon hearing you. You saw his entire body tense as you shot out of the edge of the trees and was running straight at him.

A few blaster shots came from behind you. You found yourself ducking but it didn’t matter, you suddenly yelled out when a sharp, burning pain shot out from your shoulder. You tucked the child even closer to you as you collapsed onto the ground.

You tried to turn over so you could see what was happening or to be able to get up and offer Din some help but you found yourself only causing more pain. You were left trying to determine what was happening from listening.

You heard a few more shots go off before you felt someone gently rolling you over.

“It’s over, they’re gone.” Din said softly, letting you know it was him as he gently tried to move you. You let out a few pained noises as your weight was shifted on the wound.

“Gone or dead?” You knew the answer already but you asked anyway, mainly to distract from the pain.

“Dead.” He said as he slowly pulled Grogu from your arms. You felt him reach for you and let out a few whines as Din set him on the ground so that he would be able to get a better look at your shoulder.

“Well, how bad is it?” You asked to break the silence.

“Should be fine, can you get up?” If you didn’t know him any better, you would have thought he was being cold, that he didn’t care that you had been shot, but you could hear the tension in his voice and felt the slight shake in his hands as he slowly helped you sit up and then eventually stand.

You winced as you put weight on your right ankle. Din had been paying close attention and quickly snaked his arm around you to shift the weight from your injured ankle. “I tripped at one point, must have sprained it worse than I thought.” You explained even though he didn’t ask.

He helped guide you to the ship, the kid not really struggling to keep up since you were moving quite slow.  As soon as you were in, he commanded you to sit. There was no room for argument in his voice, but even if there had been you were currently too tired and in too much pain to be stubborn. You waited as he quickly made sure the ship was locked up and that you would be safe in case the two men weren’t alone.

When he was sure that the ship was properly locked down, he was back by your side with a med kit.

“I need you to take off your shirt.” He instructed. You began to try to pull it over your head, but quickly stopped when the pain was too unbearable.

“I can’t” You winced as a sharp pain shot across your shoulder when you tried to pull your shirt over your head.

“Here,” He reached out, taking the bottom of the shirt and starting to slowly pull it up.

“I’m sorry,” Din softly apologized as he noticed you tensing when he starting to move your arms. He huffed, realizing that pulling it over your head was only going to cause you more pain. Without warning he grabbed at the collar of your shirt and ripped it in half. You stared at him a little dumbfounded as he then carefully pulled each side down your arms and dropped the destroyed shirt behind you.

“You know, I liked that shirt.” You complained

“Well it was already ruined.”

You could tell that Din was inspecting all the other injuries that littered your arms. His thumb gently brushed along a particularly nasty gash that was on your upper arm. You’re not quite sure when exactly you got that one but you were sure that had to do with the amount of adrenaline that you had while trying to outlast the men.

“Looks like the trees also managed to do a good number on me.” You commented while your eyes trailed over yourself in the same way his did.

“We’ll have to get those cleaned next.” He told you before stepping behind you to get a better look at the blaster wound. He was being as careful as he could but that didn’t stop you from wincing at the sting as he worked. Any time he heard a noise of discomfort, you felt him tense and a soft apology would slip past his lips.

You found yourself focusing on his non-dominant hand that was spread across the top of your back and over your neck, keeping you steady as his other hand worked on cleaning and caring for your shoulder. You couldn’t help but notice the heat that radiated from his gloveless hand, the flinches and tension in his fingers, or the soft way he would brush them back and forth, in a comforting motion when your discomfort would be made known.

Once he was finished with your shoulder, there was a slight moment, where neither of you moved. His hand that had done the work to patch up the injury, was resting further down your arm and his other was sliding up and down your back soothingly, eventually making its way to running along the bandage, as if inspecting his work, or possibly convincing himself that you were okay.

Finally he broke the moment and pulled away, coming to the other side of you. Now his focus was on the smaller cuts. He still didn’t say much as he meticulously cleaned the largest cut on your arm.

“I think this is going to need a few stitches,” He finally broke the silence. You looked down and with the dried blood cleaned away, he was right.

“Okay, I trust you.” You gave him permission to proceed. He gave you a nod before prepping everything to give you the needed stitches.

You had watched him give himself stitches on multiple occasions, had even helped him a handful of times, and yet you had never seen him so hesitant to start. He looked back up at you one more time, you held his gaze, or what you assumed to be his gaze for a few seconds before giving him a nod, hoping to ease whatever discomfort he currently had about closing your wound.

Another beat passed before he turned his attention back to your arm. Like before, you found yourself focusing on his other hand, the arm that had a light but firm hold on your arm to keep you steady. You tried your best to keep any pain to yourself so as to not make Din’s discomfort any worse, but you couldn’t stop a few pained whines from slipping past your lips. Each time, Din paused, looked up at you and apologized, he would wait for you to indicate that he could continue before he would.

Once the stitches were finished, he gently added a bandage. “Now I just need to clean all these smaller cuts and then I would like to take a look at your ankle.”

“I can clean all these, you don’t have to.” You told him softly. You knew your legs were probably just as covered in cuts as well and figured you could clean both your arms and legs on your own.

“I’ve got them” Was all he said before grabbing a disinfect wipe and carefully cleaning each cut. Most of them were of no consequence, but that didn’t seem to matter to the Mandalorian, he made sure they were each thoroughly cleaned and if any of them needed, properly bandaged.

“Thank you,” You said softly as he finally finished the last cut on your arm.

You got a nod in response, before he crouched down close to the floor. He grabbed the calf of your injured leg, pulling it closer to himself.  He looked up at you again, clearly waiting for permission to take a look at your ankle. You gave him another nod before watching as he carefully rolled your pants up. You and him winced at the same time as you noticed the very swollen ankle, which was already bruising. You knew it was from continuing to run after the initial injury but it wasn’t like you had had a choice.

“This may take awhile to heal” Din pointed out.

“I’ll be fine,” You insisted, “Nothing I can’t walk off”

You could feel the annoyed look Din was giving you, even if you couldn’t see his face.

“You will be doing no such thing.”

“You can’t put me on bed rest.” You rolled your eyes at him.

“You bet your ass I can”

You wanted to object but you knew that he was being quite serious and would not take you being stubborn well, especially after you almost got yourself killed.

“Fine, I promise to go easy, just wrap it up and then we can get off this stupid rock.” You sighed.

Din gave a satisfied noise before pulling his focus back to your ankle. He carefully wrapped the ankle, making sure it was tight enough to reduce the swelling and to make sure to stabilize it but not too tight as to be uncomfortable or to cause the blood flow to be stopped.

“Are there any other injuries I’ve missed?” He asked when he finished.

“I don’t think so.”

“Then let’s get you to bed,” Din stood up and offered his arm for you. You carefully stood up, keeping your weight on your good ankle. As soon as you were standing, Din snaked his arm under you and helped gently lead you towards your bunk.

“Do you need anything else?” He asked after you were settled into the blankets.

“No, I think you’ve covered everything,” You gave him an appreciative smile, “Thank you”

“Anytime.” He replied, “Though, if you were better at following my directions, things like this wouldn’t happen.”

“Are you seriously blaming me for getting shot?” You huffed.

“Well I do remember telling you to grab your blaster before leaving, and to not wander off.” He pointed out.

“I just don’t think it's very kind to blame me, the very injured person, right now.” You pouted.

“Fine but once you’re healed, we will be continuing this conversation.”

“Of course we will” You playfully rolled your eyes. While it could be annoying how overbearing Din was, after the way he had just cared for you, it was clear it was because of how much you meant to him, which made it hard to be mad at him.

[omgreally]

Round One

Din Djarin/F!Reader E 18+ MINORS DNI - Smut drabble, 800 words Warnings: bit of fingerplay/handkink if you squint, cockpit smut, helmet stays on, top!mando, unprotected p in v (recommended in my smut only), creampie, microdosing on feels, but mostly just big strong Mandalorian bending you over a console and going to town.

The first time he takes you from behind in the cockpit. 

It’s not as impersonal as you expected it to be. Sex with a near-stranger,one whose face you have never seen - but there’s something about it, about him that you knew meant you were doomed from the start. 

He holds the entire length of your body back against him with one hand as he undresses you with the other. You let him, standing on trembling feet while he peels away your layers as if they’re his.

The only sound is the soft hiss of his breath through the vocabulator, stuttering only briefly when he bares your breasts and takes one in his palm to squeeze. 

The way you arch and gasp is embarrassing but he reacts as if he’s just nailed a bullseye in the center of a quarry’s forehead. Triumphant he hums against your neck, an amber buzz in your ear that lifts goosebumps into your skin.

“Mando,” you mutter, not really sure what you’ll say but not getting the chance to say it when you find two fingers suddenly in your mouth and a hand in your panties. His fingers are bare, you realise as the flat of your tongue contacts the warmth of his whorled skin. He tastes like leather and cordite; you scrape your teeth against a knuckle and he groans, pressing the outline of his hardening cock against your ass. 

He works you open with the clever digits down the front of your underwear. Predictably, you’re already damp, and he swirls the pads of his fingers through your slick before ghosting them up over the hood of your clitoris. You go still, choking back a gasp, and he takes the opportunity to withdraw his fingers from your mouth so he can free his cock from his pants. 

Your underwear is forgotten, a damp scrap of  fabric shoved to the side to make room for him. You feel the warmth, the pressure from the thick head as it meets the glistening entrance to your cunt. He drags it back and forth a few times - never averse to teasing you, albeit usually in more subtle ways - before your impatient little noise has him rearing his hips toward you in response. Or perhaps reward. 

It certainly feels like a reward when the fat tip breaches you, sinking in and in and in, filing you in ways you couldn’t have imagined. You haven’t even seen it, haven’t even seen him, and yet here you are in the verge of collapse while he fucks you over a console - 

And you love it.  

Mando knows it, too. Or maybe you imagine the smugness in the faint whisper of his filtered breath. He pulls back and feeds you his cock again slowly, and it feels like something in the perfect space between torture and absolution. By the time you feel the bite of Beskar on the backs of your thighs again, you’re panting and fighting the urge to squirm.

He stops, a hand on your back as he waits, infuriatingly, for you to still. But then Mando proves himself capable of mercy when he responds to your needy whine with an aching grind that has you feeling him in the back of your throat. 

You wait, fingers curled around the console, and then he draws back and jostles back into you with an impact that jolts your whole body. You groan in what you hope sounds like enough encouragement, and to your relief Mando begins to set a steady, snapping pace in time with renewed pressure from clever fingertips against your clit.

He plays you like the trigger of his blaster and it’s not long before he fires, pinpoint-precise. The pressure of his fingers and his cock sets you off into a leg-shaking, blistering orgasm that makes you tense all at once and then go weak, slumped and pulsed and shaking. Mando holds his hips to yours and you hear a soft, punched-out groan from the vocabulator - a sound like he’s been wounded - and warmth blooms within you as he slumps over your back, so suddenly it shocks you to feel the coolness of his chestplate between your shoulderblades.

“You okay?” he asks after thirty seconds, maybe more filled with just the sound of your breathing, and can you feel the rumble of his voice through your spine. Still shivering, you nod, hoping that’s enough. You feel one of his hands leave your hip to brush sweaty hair from the back of your neck - almost tender - and something smooth and curved presses against the side of your throat.

His helm.

You imagine what the feel of his breath against your skin might feel like as you say, “Next time let’s do this somewhere more comfortable.”

The unexpected sound of Mando chuckling has your toes curling in your boots. 

And the way he growls, “Yeah,” against the back of your neck makes you really hope he'll be up for round two. 

[clareguilty]

Din Djarin/reader | A/B/O, Biting, Possessiveness

This fic was written for Kinktober 2022! Let me know what you think <3

Alpha!Din Djarin/Omega!Reader (Gender neutral) Rating: Explicit | Heat/Rut cycles, Biting, too much star wars lore Word Count: ~3000

The Mandalorian bounty hunter usually pissed you off simply by existing -- but never before had you felt blinding rage every time you caught a glimpse of that fucking beskar.

Your ship. Your beautiful ship. You had called her The Scarab. A YV-560 light freighter with a beautiful bronze durasteel light-armor hull.

And then that fucking Mandalorian had sent a land speeder crashing into it at top speed.

The explosion was all you saw every time you closed your eyes.

You were drowning your sorrows in Novanian grog, fingers covered in soot from where you had spent hours digging through the smoking wreckage.

And he had been watching you. You knew because the gleam of his armor had never left the corner of your eye no matter how many drinks you finished.

The bartender was debating if your credits were worth having to carry your plastered ass out with the trash as you demanded another drink, and the mother fucker sat down in the seat next to you.

You swiveled in your seat to glare at him, trying to ignore the way the whole bar spun.

"I'm sorry about The Scarab," he said simply. You wanted to punch him in the helmet, but it wouldn't be worth the broken fingers.

"I want to kill you," you slurred.

The bartender raised an eyebrow, but you couldn't bring yourself to pay him any mind. When you didn't reach for your blaster he finally stepped away.

The Mando nodded. "That's fair. I would do the same if you damaged the Razor Crest."

"Then why the fuck are you sitting here." Your fingers itched for your knife, but you were so drunk you would probably just wind up hurting yourself.

"I feel responsible for your ship-"

"You ARE responsible for my ship, fuckass!" You were off your barstool before he could even finish, stumbling and bracing your hand on his breastplate so you didn't topple over.

"And I wanted to make you an offer to make up for it," he continued as if you hadn't even spoken.

"You can't afford to replace her," you scoffed. "I know what kind of bounties you've been bringing in lately."

"And I know about yours," he countered. "You could ride along with me until you get a new ship, and we could take better jobs that would pay more split between us than if we both worked alone."

"Anyone ever tell you you're too nice for this job?" You asked, head falling to the side.

"No." He placed a few credits on the bar beside your elbow. "I leave at sunrise. Replace whatever you can in the market and find me before then. Otherwise, I'm leaving you on this planet."

You pocketed the credits and threw a vulgar gesture at his back as he left. 

-

The worst part of it all -- aside from sharing a dumb shitty ship with the bastard that had destroyed your beautiful perfect ship -- was that Mando was right.

You worked really well together.

At first, you watched him constantly, not willing to let your guard down for a minute. That resulted in an uncanny ability to predict his every move after several days of memorizing all of his tells. This only helped you fight alongside one another.

The jobs were quick and the credits came easy. You took on more and more dangerous targets, bigger and bigger bounties. 

You would never be able to afford a new ship. The only way you were getting one was through theft. In the meantime, you were raking in the credits and biding your time for the perfect opportunity -- and the perfect ship. 

Until then you were crammed together under a small outcropping of rock on some bumfuck planet in a system you had never heard of before. The sound of a speeder engine grew near, and both of you stiffened. You had been camped out for hours, tracking the patrol schedule and guard rotations for the veritable fortress built into the stone face on the opposite side of the ravine. 

You waited for the speeder to pass, gliding over your hideout just as every patrol had before it.

The Crest was carefully hidden several clicks away, and you knew it would be one hell of a hike back once you managed to secure the bounty.

Some Imperial senator had decided to live out the rest of his days in a heavily fortified vacation home hundreds of parsecs from civilized space rather than answer for all of the crimes he had happily committed under the Empire, and you and Mando were more than happy to take an obscene amount of Republic credits in exchange for hauling him to Chandrila.

Unfortunately, that required the two of you to infiltrate after an entire cycle of recon, and so far it looked as though this guy had several squadrons of ex-Imperial troopers to guard him.

You scribbled another line of notes to indicate the timing of the patrol speeder and the number of guards visible through your scopes.

“Want something to eat?” Mando offered you a ration bar.

“I’m good, thanks.” You waved him off.

“You haven’t eaten since we landed,” he pointed out, and you scoffed at the concern in his voice.

Your appetite was gone, that was for sure. You had felt off since coming out of hyperspace, and the only way you were keeping your strength was the canteen of broth that you prayed would last you a few more hours.

The fever was getting worse, though. And you wouldn't be able to hide it from Mando much longer.

"I'm fine," you lied. "Just not hungry."

"Your temperature keeps climbing," he said, calling your bluff. "You're going to be delirious with fever by nightfall at this rate."

"Well, there's nothing we can do about it," you snapped. "All we have in the medkit is bacta." It would do nothing to bring down your fever, and you mentally kicked yourself for not stocking up on useful supplies when you had the chance.

You began making a checklist of what you needed, only to realize exactly what was happening.

You gasped, glancing immediately out to the ravine and trying to calculate if you could make it back to the Razor Crest before it was too late.

"What is it?" Mando asked, following your gaze with a hand already on his blaster.

"My suppressants were on The Scarab." You said, still trying to determine if you could climb out of the ravine without being spotted by the patrol speeder.

"Suppressants?" Din asked.

You rolled your eyes. Of course, a Mandalorian wouldn't know about suppressants. He probably didn’t even have a mating cycle for all you knew. You, on the other hand, had always made sure to keep some on hand so you could control your heat. As a bounty hunter, you preferred to wait until you could take some time off and visit your home planet to go through the whole messy ordeal.

Except your suppressants had been on the ship the Mandalorian had blown up, and he didn’t have any with him on the Crest. You had completely forgotten about them in all of the chaos of the last few weeks, and now your heat was here and you were trapped in this damned ravine. With him.

"Does your helmet filter your air?" You asked.

He hesitated half a second before answering, trying to figure out what was going on. "No. It offers a little protection, but small particles still make it through."

"You're so fucked," you couldn't help your wry grin. "Have you ever been exposed to an omega in heat before?"

He made a small sound of realization, the severity of the situation settling in. "I haven't."

You weighed your options. “If I killed you now, I could throw your body into the ravine and make it through this alone. The crest would be all mine, too.”

Mando chuckled. “You wouldn’t win that fight, especially not with how weak you are now.”

The thought didn’t make you feel any better. You glanced out into the ravine, wondering if a jump would finish you off.

He followed your train of thought and reached for your arm. The feeling of his warm glove against your skin was too much, and you hissed and flattened yourself against the stone to put distance between you.

“What should I expect?” he asked. “We can make it through this together. Just tell me what I need to do.”

You rolled your eyes. “My pheromones are going to make it impossible for you to do anything. It’s getting worse, and you’re going to be just as bad as me in a few hours.”

Now that you were aware of what was happening, it was as though everything had amplified tenfold. Your skin was warm and sensitive, and the feeling you had mistaken for nausea was actually burning arousal. This tiny hollow of rock was too cramped, too cold, too exposed. Every minute that passed you could feel your head grow lighter, struggling to stay focused.

“Hey,” he called to you softly. “It’s going to be okay. I’ll watch over you.”

“You’re still too fucking nice,” you panted, a combination of panic and heat warring inside you. “Anyone else would have had their way with me and just left me here for the imps.”

Mando flinched. Didn’t like that. It was silent for a moment and then he reached for his helmet.

You screwed your eyes shut, knowing you weren’t supposed to see. None of this made any sense, but you weren’t about to violate his trust like that.

“You can look,” he said, and the sound of his voice without the modulator was so kind and soft that you had to bite back a whimper. “I need you to trust me.”

Wary, you cracked one eye open. He was staring at you with the most expressive brown eyes you had ever seen, shining and warm. His hair was plastered to his head from the helmet, and he ran his glove through it leaving it fluffy and wild.

You couldn’t not trust him.

Sighing, you scooted across the stone until you were sitting side by side. “This is going to be gross and humiliating.”

He chuckled. “I’ve dealt with my fair share of gross and humiliating.” His chest heaved with a sigh, and you watched his eyes widen and his skin flush. “ Oh. ”

It was your turn to laugh. “It’s worse without the helmet, isn’t it? I can feel myself slipping, and I’m sure I’ll be begging for you to fuck me before it even gets dark.”

“Yeah?” his voice was wheezy. “Uh… what do I do then?”

You shrugged. “Put me out of my misery? Heats pass more quickly if I mate with someone, then we can finish this job and get out of here.”

“Practical,” he noted.

You didn’t even bother responding. His glove had accidentally brushed your thigh and the touch had sent you reeling with want. It was impossible to disguise your reaction now that he knew what was happening.

“What if-” his voice was raspy and he cleared his throat to start over. “What if we started now?”

You stared at him, eyes dark with desire. He was probably waiting for you to respond, but you couldn’t even formulate a sentence with all of the thoughts rushing through your mind.

“Maybe it would be over more quickly? And then we could get the job done?”

“Right,” you nodded, trying to clear your head. “That’s… practical.”

“Exactly,” he murmured, but he hadn’t stopped staring at your lips.

The stillness left all at once.

You had never taken your pants off so quickly in your life, and Mando dragged you by the hips to the thin bedroll you had been using in shifts before hooking your knees over his shoulders. The backs of your legs were warm against the cool beskar of his pauldrons, and you had to bite your own arm to keep from moaning as his scruff tickled your skin. He tortured you by kissing all the way up to your knees before burying his face between your thighs. He grabbed your ass and lifted your hips to pull you in closer, and you thought you were going to die.

“Mando,” you gasped, digging your fingers into the rough canvas of the bedroll.

The fucker had the audacity to stop.

“My name is Din,” he said, looking up at you with slick-covered lips. “Probably should have told you that a long time ago.”

“Din,” you repeated. “Don’t fucking stop.”

He obeyed, licking and sucking experimentally until he found exactly what had you shaking and rocking against him. The pleasure was the answer your body had been searching for, and you let yourself sink into the wonderful feeling. You knew the taste of you was dragging Din into the same lustful spiral.

But you couldn’t find it in you to feel guilty. Not when his fingers were digging into the softness of your thighs and his tongue was circling your clit slowly and deliberately. Despite how desperate you were, he seemed intent to take his time. 

He didn’t have to take very much time at all, because you came quicker than you ever had during your heats alone. He couldn’t get enough of the taste of you coming over his lips, and you had to physically shove him out from between your thighs as the sensation became too much. Your heart was thudding heavy in your chest, every movement sloppy and uncoordinated as you tried to get your bearings.

Din was the least composed of the two of you. He had never been affected by an omega’s heat before, and his expression was far less controlled than when he first removed his helmet. You had barely recovered from your orgasm when he dove forward, pinning you beneath his entire weight with a hand over your mouth.

A patrol speeder was nearby.

You froze, panting against his glove as the sound of the engine grew louder and then steadily fainter. Din passed the moments by nosing at the junction of your neck and collarbone, kissing and licking and dragging his teeth over the sensitive skin. He was only driving himself deeper breathing in your scent like that. You knew that he was just as bad as you when his hips ground down against you, trying to find the right friction. Unfortunately, he was plated head to toe in beskar.

“Ow,” you hissed as his belt dug into your hips.

“Sorry,” he breathed. He pulled away to remove whatever he could, and you immediately missed the closeness. Luckily, he was back on you in moments, this time with his pants unfastened and his cock grinding against your entrance.

You shifted your hips just a bit, and he slipped inside. The stretch was perfect, so full and warm and exactly what your body had been craving for hours. Your reward was a curse and a hiss, followed by Din’s teeth sinking into the exact spot from before as he thrust into you with an uncoordinated jerk of his hips. You had to fight to stay quiet as he found exactly the right motion to make your vision go white. He was a fast learner and pulled your hips up to meet his so he could do it again and again and again.

It was still quiet -- too much noise would certainly catch the attention of the imps -- but you loved every hitch of Din’s breath, every quiet moan and curse as he fuck you. The only way he could keep from being too loud was to sink his teeth into your shoulder, or your collarbone, or busy his lips against your neck. You gently led his lips to yours, feeling his scruff against your palm and the motion of his jaw. Unable to resist, you ran your fingers through his hair, tugging gently. He pinned you in place after that, rutting into you harder and harder every time your fingers scratched gently at his scalp.

You placed a kiss to the skin just below his jaw, the only thing not covered. He shuddered, snatching your wrist and shoving your hand between your bodies with a desperate clumsiness. “I can’t- I’m not going to last,” he panted.

You understood immediately, sliding your hand the rest of the way to where he was inside you and bringing yourself off in a matter of seconds. Only after you finished, back arching and then finally sinking back onto the canvas, did he let himself follow.

His cock twitched, and you felt it. Warmth spread through you, filling you and satisfying that aching need. Din growled against your skin, silencing himself by biting into your shoulder. He pulled your hips onto his cock, sinking as deep as he could go and losing himself in how tight you were around him, how warm.

He caught himself before he collapsed onto you, saving you from being crushed beneath his armor.

It took a fair amount of adjusting, trying to get comfortable when he was still mostly armored, but you managed. The silence was strange after everything that had happened. Luckily, both of you were clear-headed after giving into the blinding impulses of your heat.

“Thank you for trusting me,” Din murmured, idly trailing his hands over your skin. You wanted to tell him to take the gloves off so you could feel the warmth of his fingers, but you weren’t sure how.

“Thanks for being trustworthy,” you murmured back, trying to play it off. You didn’t want to let him know just how much it meant.

“You know,” he spoke up again, surprisingly chatty. “Sometimes I hope you never find another ship.”

It took you off guard. The admission. You and Din had become closer, for sure, but you hadn’t thought he would grow to like you.

You realized the worse thing was that you had grown to like him.

“I don’t have to leave,” you offered. 

“I don’t want you to.” There was frustration in his voice, something he couldn’t figure out how to say.

“Then I’ll stay,” you promised.

[221bshrlocked]

Stripped Down to the Bone

Pairing: The Mandalorian (Din Djarin) x Fem!Reader

Words: 12,267

Warnings: Brief description of violence. Loss of a hand. Some angst. Lots of fluff and descriptive smut. Dirty talk (including some degradation). Choking. Hair pulling. Spanking. Fingering. Squirting. Over-stimulation. Penetrative, unprotected sex (wrap the shlong before you king kong people). Fluffy after-care because Mando may be a kinky bastard but he is a giant teddy bear at heart. Love confessions. [Do let me know if I forgot something.]

Summary: “As you watch Mando drag the unconscious body, along with the severed hand, into the carbon-freezer, you can’t help but dwell on that second thought a little bit longer. Mando doesn’t once look away from you as he finally puts the man into the freezer and slams it shut. He doesn’t bother turning his attention elsewhere as he sheathes the Saber down into the handle and pushes it back into his belt. He doesn’t care for how menacing he looks as he steps towards you and eyes your shaking form.”

A/N: I couldn’t get over this fic I wrote a while back so I wanted to approach it from a different perspective. What if reader doesn’t get hurt and Din can’t keep to himself anymore? It’s been a while since I wrote for our favorite bounty hunter (because the inspiration has been difficult) but as you can see, I’m feeling things and they thankfully manifested in a fic that was originally supposed to be much filthiest but the fluff got in the way so it came out less angsty and dirty than I thought. Let me know how I’m doing in the comments please :)  You can add yourself to the taglist here. (This is not beta’d so I do apologize for any mistakes)

In all your time with the Mandalorian, you never thought he would ever reach the point where he would allow his anger to get the best of him. You couldn’t say anything though, afraid he’d misunderstand and, in his fury, tell you to find someone else to work for. It was irritating to know that even if he were to speak untruthful but hurtful words to you, you would forgive him and make up some excuse so you wouldn’t let it get to you. He never told you much about the string of events that lead to him taking you on, but you recall the brief hints Greef Karga chose to reveal to you months ago and you realize that maybe, just maybe, they were starting to catch up to him. Up until now, Mando was quite pleasant to work with. Not once did he step over the line with you, even when you knew you deserved some harsh words for the dumb mistakes you made. 

But things were different now. The smallest inconvenience leads him to lose his self-control, which, most of the time, came in the shape of a loud curse or an extremely annoyed Mando leaving the ship and strutting into the wilderness of whatever planet you are on. You never brought it up to him after he calmed down and returned to the ship, and you weren’t about to start doing that now. There was some sort of a mutual understanding consisting of Mando nodding his apology and you smiling at him before you worked on whatever it was that needed fixing. It wasn’t ideal, but you weren’t in the position to tell him that he can confide in you. 

He had lost his foundling. He was placed in a position he never asked for. And most importantly, he was your boss. 

Yeah, you were definitely not in the place to say anything. 

Ironically, just as you are repeating the last words over and over again, a loud crashing sound from outside the ship breaks you out of your haze. You’re not sure at first if you should go check it out or not, but then you hear another voice swearing and shooting at Mando, and you realize that it would probably be best if you ran to make sure that he was alright. As soon as you slide down the ladder, you dive behind a large crate to avoid getting shot at. Waiting a few seconds until you are sure you aren’t going to be caught in the crossfire, you peek your head from the side and look down to see what is happening. 

What you find shouldn’t be surprising to you but you’re shocked nonetheless because even when he wasn’t paying complete attention to his surroundings, it was still difficult to get the upper hand on Mando. Just like the past few hunts, Mando was trying his best to bring in the bounty alive and breathing. And just like every time, he ended up losing his control on the situation which led to the bounty fighting for his life by attempting to shoot his way out. 

It’s an unnecessary inconvenience that you know will leave an extremely furious and annoyed bounty hunter in your vicinity for the next few days. 

As much as you want to not get involved, you know that the longer it takes to gain control of the bounty, the worse it will be once he is shackled and frozen. Without thinking twice of how Mando will react to your actions, you take a deep breath and stand from behind the crate, swearing to yourself when you look to the side and see Mando’s helmet tilt your way. 

Pfassk, he was going to be pissed. 

You don’t waste the few seconds of surprise on the bounty’s features, and as he turns the blaster your way to shoot you, you shut your eyes and hope that Mando uses the idiot’s distraction to hit him. Thinking that you’re about to hear a blaster go off, you wince in fear and expect the worst. But you reluctantly open your eyes as soon as you hear a familiar loud, vibrating sound echo through the air. You gulp nervously when you look down the ramp and see Mando approaching the bounty with the Darksaber in his hand. He easily evades the blaster shots, and even blocks a few of them with the dangerous weapon. Before you can tell him that the price on this bounty’s head was higher if he were to be brought in alive, Mando slices the thief’s hand and headbutts him hard enough that he falls to the ground in pain. 

The display of power should scare you. It should send you running to the hills with the goal of never returning again. It should make you wish you weren’t ever caught up with someone like the Guild’s best. 

But none of that crosses through your mind. 

No.

The only thing your sick, and rather twisted, brain can think of is how dominant and attractive Mando looked as he easily disarmed the bounty, how much you wanted to be controlled by him. The following thought isn’t any better.

As you watch Mando drag the unconscious body, along with the severed hand, into the carbon-freezer, you can’t help but dwell on that second thought a little bit longer. Mando doesn’t once look away from you as he finally puts the man into the freezer and slams it shut. He doesn’t bother turning his attention elsewhere as he sheathes the Saber down into the handle and pushes it back into his belt. He doesn’t care for how menacing he looks as he steps towards you and eyes your shaking form.

“Don’t ever do that again.” His voice should instill fear into your soul, but as he makes his way up to the cockpit, you continue to humor the spiraling emotions in your mind’s eye.

Why is that making me so wet?

You don’t get to stand there in silence for too long though because as the ship comes to life, you realize that Mando expected you to shut the ramp before he takes off. You snap out of your haze and run towards the control panel ahead of you, quickly pushing in the correct combination of numbers and sighing in relief when the ramp returns to its shut position. As the ship ascends outside of the planet’s air, you try to think of an explanation to tell Mando about your obviously-reckless actions. Before you can even come up with one good response, Mando puts the ship into hyperspace, making you fall backward and slam into the crate behind you. You silently swear at his intentions before you get up and wobble to your room. 

You rub the back of your head as you shut the door behind you and make your way to the refresher. As soon as you’re in there, you part your hair to make sure that there wasn’t any blood from the fall. You’re relieved when there isn’t any and curse Mando for being so childish. 

“I was only trying to help,” you pout at the reflection staring back at you before turning on the hot water. As you wipe at your face and neck, an image of Mando manhandling the bounty flashes through your mind and makes you flinch in shock. You groan irritatingly when it occurs to you that the rest of the night was probably going to consist of you trying to think of anything but the bounty hunter pushing you down beneath him and having his way with you. You curse quietly as you dry your face and move back to your room. The silence moving across the ship lets you know that Mando probably wasn’t going to leave the cockpit any time soon so you strip out of your clothes and into your nightgown. 

And just as you expected, as you move around the room to get ready for a night of self-care and relaxation, you continue to picture Mando touching every inch of your skin. You’re not sure if he’s the type that likes to leave a mark or two, or if he’s a gentle lover. Taking the events of the day into consideration, you realize that he might be the former.

Although, it would be nice to feel his lips leave a trail of soft kisses down your spine. 

“If only…”

You whisper to yourself as you grab the pitcher of water to bring it to your bedside only to laugh humorlessly when you notice that it’s as dry as a Tatooine day. As positive as you were that Mando wouldn’t leave the pilot’s seat for the next few hours, you really were going to try and avoid walking out of your room until you absolutely had to. It takes you a few minutes to think of the pros and cons of potentially running into him but the need for water outweighs your “fear” of Mando. Mustering up some courage, you put on a long, warm coat before walking out of your room. Standing in the middle of the hall for a few seconds, you listen intently for any sounds that might be coming from the main area. When you don’t hear anything but the consistently quiet sound of space, you sigh in relief and tiptoe towards the kitchen area. 

As you fill up the pitcher with cool water, your mind takes a turn once more and conjures up the filthiest images possible. A shiver runs down your spine when you recall Mando’s dangerously rough voice as he warned you before he went to the cockpit. Maker, would he sound like that when he’s fucking you senseless? Or would he fill the air with delicious moans and grunts as he thrust his cock into your wet mouth? The prospect of having either of those things puts you in a daze and it isn’t until you feel a cold sensation run down your arm that you shake from your reverie and look down at the pitcher. 

“Kriffing hell,” you swear as you shut the water off and put the pitcher aside to clean up the mess you made. When you’ve completely dried the puddle on the floor, you turn around to discard the towel but freeze when you look up and see Mando standing still right in front of you. 

Without his helmet.

 Unlike before, when your heart skipped a beat just from studying him as he easily moved the bounty around, the muscle in your chest threatens to leap out of your ribcage now for a whole different reason. You stand there, speechless and terrified of what may occur within the next few moments. In your time aboard this ship, not once did you think you would ever run into this specific issue. He was terribly careful with where he went and you were always sure to make as much noise as possible when you were moving around so he would hear you coming. 

But here you were, unable to look away from the face you’ve wondered about ever since you met him. Even though you know you should shut your eyes and tell him that this was all an accident, that you had a shit memory and probably wouldn’t remember anything particular about his features, you can’t bring yourself to turn away from him. And just like earlier, when you only had one thought running through your mind, you’re back on that train again, except this time, you’re not thinking of how attractive he is, or how much he’s turning you on. 

No, you’re thinking about something much more important, more unfortunate the longer you dwell on it.

Maker, those eyes will be haunting my dreams every night.

“M-Mando?” He must misunderstand your hesitation for fear because his frown deepens as he removes all the weapons from his person and sets them down on one of the tables. You watch his every move, not because you think he might hurt you, but because he wasn’t wearing his gloves and you wanted to commit every inch of his skin to memory.

When he looks at you again, you gulp nervously and stare at him in silence. 

“I’m not going to hurt you.” Somehow, the whisper is as loud as a terrified bantha and it’s your turn to furrow your eyebrows at him in confusion. You wish you could tell him that you would enjoy it immensely if he did hurt you but you push those twisted wishes down for his sake.

“I never thought you would.” Even though you don’t mean for the response to come out defensive, it is slightly more aggressive than you mean. You watch as his shoulders relax at your truthful response before he approaches you. Mando never once turns his attention elsewhere and you remain immobile to avoid making him think that you were, in fact, afraid of him. Even though you feel a little claustrophobic from how close he is, you don’t dare breathe a word, choosing to give him all the control so he feels comfortable with you. 

“Mesh’la, why would you do something so reckless?” You’re not sure what he’s calling you but you don’t bother asking him, knowing that it was the wrong detail to dwell on in his question. It takes you a few extra seconds to reply to him because you’re busy roaming your eyes across his features. Maker, it was a shame that he wore a helmet. Deep down, you knew that it didn’t matter if he was handsome or not because even with that barrier, you still found him interesting. But it really bothered you to know now that all of that was hiding beneath a mask. Up until now, you had to rely on the slightest tilt of the helmet and his body language to figure out what he was feeling. But now that he wasn’t wearing it, you find it rather difficult to look anywhere else but his face. He was so expressive and if you didn’t know any better, you would have asked him if he was crying. His eyes weren’t completely red, but there were unshed tears covering his pretty brown orbs, tears that you knew would kill you if they rolled down his cheeks. As your attention moves across his skin, you feel bad for wanting to lean up and kiss his aquiline nose, but when you finally reach the edge of his features and notice how soft and rosey his lips look, you can’t help but wish he was claiming your skin with them instead of asking you why you put your life in danger. 

You blink out of your dazed mind when you notice that you never answered his question.

Damn him and that pretty little pout.

“I- I was only trying to help. I’m sorry.” Even though you would rather not apologize for aiding in the hunt, you figure it was probably the best thing to do now to avoid any unnecessary argument.

“You could have gotten hurt.” Mando is a man of few words but you hated how short his replies were in that moment because it made it more difficult to figure out what he was trying to tell you. 

“Why would I have gotten hurt when you were there? I trust you Mando, with my life.” It’s almost as if you declared something unnatural and unexpected to him because as soon as your revelation registers in his mind, Mando’s frown grows and he steps away from you. You don’t have any time to react because as always, Mando’s anger makes itself known in an instant. He’s pacing back and forth in front of you, eyes aimed to the ground and refusing to acknowledge that you were still there. You take a step toward him but he moves away from you, holding out his hand to make you stop and not grow any closer to him. 

“Mando I-”

“I could have lost you, I don’t know what I would have done if anything happened to you. I can’t lose you, not you. I already lost everything I ever cared for, you- you don’t understand what would happen to me if- if you were hurt.” You’re not sure if he’s talking to you or at you, but you can’t find it in yourself to care because his confessions finally explain why he was so harsh with you earlier. Mando doesn’t stop once, his feet ringing across the silent space and making you more nervous than ever. You can tell that he’s trying to reconcile what he’s feeling with the unexpected events with the bounty and when his anger increases, you take a deep breath and try to approach him again. 

Mando shakes his head and turns away from you, stopping his anxious movement just as he looks to the ground in defeat. You can tell that he’s still tense from his clenched fists and the way his shoulders refuse to rest. 

As cautiously as possible, you make your way to him and slowly reach for his arms. He flinches at your touch but doesn’t budge and you sigh in relief when he doesn’t try to move away from you or deny you. The two of you stand in an uncomfortable silence for longer than necessary but unlike Mando, who doesn’t want to open his mouth again out of fear of saying something offensive, you hold your tongue until you come up with something that won’t cause him to react negatively. 

Nothing comes to mind right away. It’s difficult to negotiate with him when he’s like this. 

Then you look down at his gloveless hands and a strange idea briefly crosses your mind. You want to smack yourself for thinking of something like this in such a moment, but when you notice the sheer amount of pent up energy that he’s managing to keep under control across his form, you realize that this line of reasoning, while inappropriate, would probably be the perfect remedy to him. 

“Use me.” You can’t bring yourself to say those words louder and you curse yourself for not being able to grow enough confidence and raise your voice because as expected, Mando doesn’t react. As a matter of fact, he somehow becomes more still than before, and unlike a few seconds ago when you could still hear his violent breathing, you can’t hear a single peep out of him now. Thinking that he probably didn’t hear you, you grasp onto his shoulders even tighter than before and swallow the lump in your throat nervously to prepare for suggesting to him again. 

“What did you just say?” His question nearly makes you jump out of your skin, but you don’t try to explain yourself, and instead tug on his clothes to get his attention. You never worried before from Mando’s elongated silence but now that he wasn’t even acknowledging you, you felt your face heat up with embarrassment. 

“Use me…you’re frustrated, and you have a lot of pent-up energy, and the bounty clearly didn’t help with- well, it just made things worse. So use me, take out all your frustrations on me.” You can tell he’s having a difficult time breathing, perhaps more so than you, but you don’t let him go. In fact, you keep your hold on him as you slowly turn around until you’re standing face to face. You notice the second he shut his eyes so he isn’t looking at you, and you’re not sure if you should feel offended by the minute action or if you should feel bad for him. 

“I can take it.” You whisper one last time as you move your hand up his arms until they’re resting on his shoulders. He still refuses to look at you, and you hope with all of your heart that he doesn’t get offended by what you are about to do. Slowly, you massage his tense muscles as you continue your journey to his neck, and when you finally touch his skin, you find it much hotter than you anticipated. Fuck, did he always run hot or was the prospect of being intimate with each other affecting him as much as it was affecting you? You furrow your eyebrows for a second before you remember to relax your facial expressions so he doesn’t misunderstand if his eyes flutter open again. You study him carefully, and watch in fascination as his body comes to live with shivers the longer you keep your palm on his skin. When the moment stretches longer than your liking, you gulp down the anxiety bubbling up in your throat as you stretch your fingers until your whole hand rests on his cheeks. 

In an instant, Mando’s face tilts to the side and you almost break when you see him trying to nuzzle into both of your palms simultaneously. 

“You don’t know what you’re asking.” His voice breaks as he lets his words swim in the air between the two of you, and even though he is much quieter than before, you find the tone of his voice much more intense, deeper even. More fearful perhaps?

“I do. Mando…believe me, I do.” You take a step into his space and lick your lower lip when you notice his features begin to relax beneath your touch. You thank the stars his eyes are closed because you are sure you would not be able to look at him this closely if his darkened orbs were studying you as well. On queue, his eyes open and you have to push down the gasp threatening to make its way past your lips when you see a few specs of gold peppering across his brown eyes. He’s staring at you in a way that makes you feel as if you were the most admired planet in this galaxy and even though you want to tell him, then and there, that you don’t deserve to be adored this much, you bask in the warmth his attention offers you. 

“If you know what I want to- what I wish I can do to you, you’d never look at me again. You’d leave me.” He breaks the silence, and bites into his lower lip when he notices the way you’re studying the brief nervous tick. There is something you want to say to him, it’s right there at the tip of your tongue, but you forget what you want to say to him when you see him wet his chapped lips. Gradually shifting your attention across his face, you meditate for a second on his nose before you finally focus on his eyes again. Even though you’ve already established that it’s rather difficult to keep contact with them, you know for a fact that you need him to look at you when you reveal your next words. He had to know, he needed to know that you weren’t lying to him. 

You wanted him to know, for your own sanity. 

“Take what you want Mando, I’m yours.”

It shouldn’t come as a surprise to you that the effect your confession is having on him doesn’t come in the form of a dramatic response. You are taken aback, however, by the way his body jolts ahead into your space before it ceases to move once more. It was almost as if he wanted to crush you in his arms but remembered that he can’t do so quite yet. At least he thought he couldn’t. 

“I don’t want to lose you.” The exclamation tugs at your heart and you realize then that Mando was even more difficult to convince when he was vulnerable. 

“You won’t.” You smile at him, and hope that he recognizes the truth behind your words. He says nothing in return and you begin to lose hope that he would ever understand how much you adore him, how much you’re willing to give up to make him happy. 

“Tell me, tell me what you want.” You rub just below his eyes with your thumbs when you notice a few tears escape his beautiful eyes. The action doesn’t go unnoticed by Mando, and you sigh in relief when his shoulders relax and he slips his arms around your back to pull you closer to him. 

“You. I only want you mesh’la. I want all of you.” You lean up as he breathes those final words against your forehead and before you let that crippling sense of doubt run through your mind again, you shut your eyes and surrender to him. Just as you’re about to taste his lips, those lips that you never thought you’d ever touch, let alone see, Mando stops and pulls away from you. Thinking that you did something wrong, you open your eyes and pout at him, ready to apologize for stepping over any boundary he wasn’t ready to allow you to cross just yet. 

“I- I can’t let you kiss me,” he says to you and you have to force yourself to not openly cry at the seriousness behind his words. You try to pull away from him but his arms tighten around you, making you look at him with nothing but confusion. You’re about to ask him what you’re allowed to do when he bumps your nose with his own and smiles at you.

“Not without hearing you say my name.” For some reason, his declaration feels more intimate than everything the two of you said so far. As much as you want him to tell you his name, you shake your head and ignore the way he frowns at you. 

“You…you don’t have to tell me.” You want him to know that you don’t mind it if he still keeps this last bit of him untouched. He already revealed his face to you, and the last thing you wanted him to think is that you were greedy for more. As much as you want to scream his name as he fucked you and used your body for his own pleasure, you knew that this may be too difficult for him. He couldn’t take it back, just as you wouldn’t be able to forget his face.  

“I want to, I want to hear you say my name sweet girl…I want to hear you moan it as I kiss every inch of you, as I explore your body with my hands and my lips, as I- as I feel you welcome me in your cunt…as I fuck you the way I’ve wanted to for so long. I want to hear you scream my name mesh’la, because I don’t think I’ll be able to live another day if you don’t know me, all of me.” You can feel his hands shaking around your waist, and you’re not sure if it’s because he’s nervous or because he’s still trying to have some semblance of control. You find that the thought of both excites you, to know that you were making him this anxious and needy for you was almost as addicting as the warmth of his lips as they left a trail of molten lava across your cheeks. 

“T-then tell me your name, let me make you feel good. I just want to make you feel good, want to give you everything you want.” You twist your hands into the fabric of his shirt in an attempt to ground yourself until he takes you to his bed, but the hard muscles of his shoulders send a shiver down your spine, a reminder that he was capable of inflicting so much damage on your body but that he would only take this as far as you were willing. 

“My name, sweet girl, is Din Djarin. And I want to hear you say it as I mark every inch of your body.” 

The hoarse command forces a gasp out of you, and before you can sound out his name, Din is claiming your mouth in a heated kiss, one that you were sure you wouldn’t forget any time soon. He twists his fingers into your hair, tugging on the loose strands until you stop fighting for control over the kiss. Your knees buckle in weakness at the display of dominance and Din takes advantage of your momentary distraction by pushing you back until you slam against the walls of the ship. You grunt in pleasure when you feel him let go of your neck and trail his hands down your body, all the while slipping his tongue into your mouth and tasting every inch of you. You’re already dizzy from the sheer strength and neediness Din is entrusting you with, and before you know it, he’s leaning down in an attempt to carry you against the wall. 

Your nightgown quickly becomes a hindrance to Din’s plan and he breaks the kiss with a growl, not caring for how aggressive he must look to you as he kneels in front of you, takes hold of the bottom of the camisole, and rips it down the middle until it exposes your thighs to him. Your eyes widen in shock at his actions, but relax when Din looks up to gauge your reaction. You don’t want him to misunderstand your surprise for fear and so you turn to the side to avoid his hungry gaze, hoping he can see through your embarrassed response and recognize just how turned you are from the way he was touching you. 

Din doesn’t waste another moment as he slips his hands beneath the camisole and slides them up your thighs to your ass. You reluctantly turn to him again and bite into your lip when he stands up abruptly and takes you with him. The sudden jerk of your body forces you to throw your arms around his neck for support, and Din smirks to himself as he urges you to wrap your legs around his waist as well. 

“Fuck mesh’la, you have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this.” Din whispers as he drags one hand across the exposed flesh of your thigh, looking down for a moment to see the faint angry marks his nails left on your skin. You’re practically shaking in his arms, partially because you’re afraid he’ll drop you but mostly because of how unhinged he seems to be now that you were letting him do whatever he wanted with you. 

“D-Din,” your voice barely comes out louder than a whisper but it’s all Din needs to hear to push you harder against the wall. You nuzzle into his neck when you feel his hard cock push against your wet core through his pants, and before you can beg him to just take you, he pulls away far enough to look at you, smiling wickedly at you as he rolls his hips once more and forces a moan from your lips. You throw your head back as he continues to thrust in between your thighs, and Din lunges forward to sink his teeth into your neck as he continues his movements and marks you. 

“Oh maker Din- I…Din, you’re-” The words die in your throat when you feel Din’s other hand palm the fabric of your panties and slip underneath them. Your breath gets caught harshly in your throat when you focus on just how hot his hand feels as it squeezes your ass, and you wonder if his cock would feel just as excruciatingly warm as it filled your cunt.

“Kriffing hell, I thought my name would sound beautiful on your lips baby. But, ah fuck, didn’t think it would sound this filthy as well. Go on sweetheart, keep calling for me…beg me to pleasure you…beg.” His voice is strained and you can’t help but reach for his hair and tug on it as he licks down your throat until he reaches the top of your breasts. You want to give him what he wants, you want nothing more than to beg for him to drag you to his room and fuck you senslsess, but the more he leaves his mark on your skin, the less sense your mind can make of what’s happening, and you find it difficult to do what he wants, let alone think over the command in your hazy mind. 

“I said, beg.” Din growls the command into your ear, and you arch your back into him when he wraps the top of your panties around his fingers and pulls on it until it rips. Your cunt clenches around nothing as the sound of the fabric ripping fills the quiet air, and your throat constricts further when Din crumples the flimsy material of your undergarment before shoving it against his nose and taking a long whiff of your scent. 

“Fuck…the smell of you is addicting. I could drown in your scent, sweet girl…could fuck your pretty little cunt and have you gushing on my mouth all night long and I’d want more.” Your legs try to close as his words register in your mind, and Din senses your body’s reaction to him before you do, his eyes shifting from your panties to your legs and back up to your face in a matter of seconds, almost as if he was daring you to push him away. Your lips part to form a response, anything that can make him put you out of your misery, but then Din shoves your panties into the pocket of his pants and slowly drags his hand across your thigh until he has a firm grasp of your ass once more. Both of his palms spread across the expanse of your backside, and you watch as the smile on his handsome features widens further right before he places your feet down on the floor again. 

You're not sure what he’s thinking, and don’t remove your hands from his shoulders even when he looks like he’s about to let you go. You watch his every move, hoping that he won’t leave you wanting for too long, and when his eyes roam down your heaving chest to where he’s exposed you to his hungry eyes, you tilt your heart to the side at the way he licks his lips like a predator. Following his line of sight, you silently curse and remove your hands to try and cover yourself when you notice how wet you are. But Din wouldn’t be the best hunter in the Guild if he didn’t have impeccable reflexes, and you whine his name when he reaches for both of your wrists and keeps them planted at your sides.

“Don’t even fucking think about hiding yourself from me. You said you’re mine.” His tone is somehow menacing and soft, and you think it might be because he wants to make sure that you were telling the truth. 

“I am.” His shoulders visibly relax are your whispered confession, and the grip he has on your wrists tightens even further before he brings both of your hands to your back and silently orders you to keep them there. 

“Then don’t hide from me what’s mine, cyar’ika.” He orders as he grabs your waist and massages it lightly, almost as if he wanted to calm you down before he attacked you again. Your breathing becomes erratic when you notice the way he’s eyeing your body, and as you’re about to ask him if he needs anything, Din brings his gaze back to you once more just as he rips the rest of your nightgown down the middle, further exposing you to his needy eyes. 

You want to cover your naked breasts but remember what he said moments ago and decide against it, choosing to avoid eye contact instead in hopes of mustering up some courage for when he asks you to. 

“I- I thought you were beautiful when you visited my dreams every night, but you’re so much more gorgeous than I thought…than I saw every time I touched myself and pretended it was your soft hands making me come.” You shouldn’t be surprised that Din is so vocal during such an intimate moment, but you struggle to wrap your head around the fact that the often quiet, reserved hunter had the filthiest desires spilling from his heart so shamelessly. 

“Din-”

“Be a good girl and beg me to touch you. I want to hear you sweetheart, want to hear you tell me how much you want me.” You want to laugh at the pleading words Din whines at you as he tries to have you beg for him, but as his hands roam up and down your legs, you suddenly feel weak and reach for his shoulders again to prevent yourself from falling against him. Din huffs in humor when he sees the effect he’s having on you, and wraps his arms around your back to keep you steady. 

“P-please Din, you’ve no idea how often I thought of this. I think of nothing else but you, all the kriffing time. I even- I touch myself every night to the thought of you, pretending it’s your lips making me feel so hot, your- your hands bruising me as you fucked me like you can’t get enough of me, as you- oh kriff, as you filled all my holes with your cum…but it’s never enough, never hard enough, never thick enough, never- ahhh, never good enough. I need you to make a mess of me Din, till I can’t remember anything but your touch…Please Din? Please take me. Fuck me till I can’t think of anything but you…you and nothing else, no one else. I- I’ll do anything you want I swear. I’ll be your good girl, I’ll take you in my mouth, my pussy…my ass if you want. Just don’t stop touching me because-”

You can pinpoint the moment Din lost whatever control he had left in his body because in the blink of an eye, he’s standing to his full height and reaching for your throat, not caring for how rough he’s being as he wraps his hand around your neck and pulls you into his chest. You fist your hands into his loose shirt as soon as you feel his mouth on your own, and the deeper he shoves his tongue past your lips, the tighter his hold on you grows until you can barely breathe. Between the breathtaking kiss and the way his fingers perfectly close around your throat, you grow lightheaded and decide to surrender yourself completely to him. It’s in this moment that Din finally has some mercy on you and breaks the kiss, never once removing his gaze from your pretty eyes as he waits for you to look into his dilated pupils. There’s something dangerous swimming in his barely brown orbs, and you shiver at the prospect of being at the mercy of such a fiery spirit 

“What will you say if you want me to stop?” He hisses at you, and it takes you a few seconds to realize what he’s asking. You furrow your eyebrows at the odd question, and Din slips his other hand around your back and lands a particularly rough slap to your ass to get your attention. You jump at the sudden impact but melt into his embrace further when he soothes it back and forth. 

“Say the word you’ll tell me if you want me to stop.” He commands again, and you tilt your head to the side in confusion before you respond to him. 

“But I- I won’t ever want you to stop!” 

“I don’t fucking care if that’s what you think…this- when I take you to my bed, I’ll pull you apart piece by piece, and I want to know what word you’ll say if you want me to put you back together again. You said you’d be a good girl for me, so go on. Be a good girl and listen to me.” You can feel slick rolling down your thighs at his words, and you feel ashamed at how wet such violent words are making you feel. 

But this is Din, and you knew you couldn’t be safer anywhere except in his arms. 

“Trask, I- I’ll say Trask if I want you to stop.” 

There’s recognition in his eyes, that you’re certain of, and the little smirk he graces you with is all you need to know that he may have had an inclination as to why you picked that specific word. 

“Now was that so hard?”

“Din, please.” You gasp when he smacks your ass again, this time a little harder than before, while his other hand tilts your neck far back until he can take a better look at you. 

“I think it’s time I give you a reward for being such a good girl for me…especially when I’ve barely touched you and you’re so…needy.” The anticipation of what he’s promised to do to you is driving you mad, and you shut your eyes when Din pushes you flush against the wall again and keeps his fingers wrapped around your throat. 

“Tell me sweet girl, which do you want first? My fingers…or my mouth?” He whispers as he kisses your cheek and leaves a trail of wet kisses down your throat to your shoulder. You’re dying to feel him where you’ve been aching for so long, but you get the sense that he may prolong this if you tell him you just want his cock now. 

“B-both…please Din, I want to feel both.” You hold onto him like your life depends on it, eyes fluttering open when you hear him chuckle above you as he nips at your clavicle. 

“What a filthy girl you are, baby, begging so sweetly when all I’ve done is kiss you.” Din teases you some more, loving the way your skin erupts in goosebumps the longer he stretches out what the two of you have been dying to feel for so many rotations. 

“Since you’ve been nothing but obedient so far, I’ll give you what you want. I’ll give you everything you want mesh’la…my fingers, my mouth, my cock. Everything your heart desires…all I want in return is to hear you pray my name.” Not bothering to waste another second, Din slips his other hand down your front, pinching your nipple in his journey and biting his lower lip when he sees the way you arch deliciously into his touches. He teases and caresses your breasts some more, loving the weight of them and how perfectly they fit in the palm of his hand. He can’t take his eyes off of how quickly they pebble as he tugs and flicks at them, and just when you’ve had enough of the aggressive touches, he leans down and flicks his tongue harshly across one, humming in approval when you moan his name the harder he sucked. 

You’re a moaning mess in a matter of seconds, unable to fathom how good it feels to have Din bite and pinch your sensitive peaks. It’s almost painful, probably is already, but you can’t find it in yourself to care, when he was worshiping you like you were the last jorgan fruit in the fucking universe.

“Hmm fuck cyare, you’re so pretty…and you’re all mine. Fucking mine.” He growls against your heated skin as his kisses turn into little bites, and you’re so busy focusing on his teeth expertly closing around your hardened nipples that you don’t take notice of the hand roaming down your body until it’s settled against your slit. 

“Din…your mouth feels so hot, like- like a fire burning me from inside.”

Your words urge him on, and as soon as you open your eyes to look down at him, Din lets go of your breast with a pop and swallows your moans. You can barely stand up and you realize the only thing keeping you still on your feet is Din’s hold on your throat and your cunt. 

Oh.

Oh his other hand felt good. 

So good.

Din can barely hold himself back from shoving his cock in your pussy when he feels how wet and warm you are the more he slides his fingers across your slit. He’d think he’s been touching you for hours if he didn’t know that the two of you were intertwined for less than one. When he feels how engorged and hard your clit is as he flicks it a few times, he reluctantly lets go of your lips just to look into your eyes as he fills you with his fingers. 

“You’re such a dirty girl, aren’t you baby? So fucking wet and hot for me, and I haven’t properly gotten you ready for my cock.” 

“Oh Din, I- I need you.” Din knows that he will never get tired of hearing you plead for his touch, and he smiles down at you as he takes his fingers away and ignores the little whimper you throw at him at the loss of his touch. He doesn’t give you the chance to say anything else, spitting down on his hand as loudly as possible before he returns his fingers to your cunt once more. Except this time, he doesn’t bother being gentle and teasing. 

This time, his patience has finally run out, and he desperately wanted to feel you come on his fingers. 

“You know what to say if you want me to stop,” it’s the only warning you get before Din rubs at your wet lips a few times enough to spread your juices across his fingers. When he thinks you’re ready, he slowly slips in his middle and ring fingers until you can feel the palm of his hand flush against your skin. 

“Din-” Whatever you want to say dies in your throat as soon as Din begins to curl his fingers inside you. His fingers are much thicker and longer than your own, reaching parts of you that you only dreamed of ever touching. He starts out careful and soft, rubbing the spongy walls of your cunt with unrivaled expertise. When he begins to rub his palm against your clit, your knees buckle and you lose your balance completely. Din leans down and bites into the top of your breast, increasing the pressure around your throat as he begins to pick up the pace and thrusts his fingers deeper inside you. 

“Wrap your arms around me sweetheart,” he orders between kisses and you somehow do as he says in an instant, as if your body only obeyed Din and not your own mind. 

Had you not been praying every night to the maker to finally be at Din’s mercy, you would have felt an overload of sensations from the last few minutes alone. His lips were creating flames across your already heated skin, and his words were making you melt in his arms without a single care for anything else. Then there were his hands, the one around your throat reminding you of the sheer strength he possesses, of how quickly he can bend you to his will if he so wished, while the other claimed the deepest, most intimate parts of you without difficulty, as if it was made to pleasure your cunt and was finally undoing you the way it was always meant to. 

“I- I’m…Din-”

“I can feel your cunt clenching around me sweet girl. You’re so close, aren’t you? I know you are, I know you want to come. I want you to come too, baby. I want to see you come undone on my fingers, want to taste your wet pussy as you drench me. Go on love, let go for me. Let go and I’ll push you over the edge again. Let go and I’ll fuck you like the mesh’la cockwhore I know you are.” At those last words, you part your lips in a silent cry and brace yourself for what’s to come. Digging your nails into his skin, you barely manage to open your eyes and look at Din just as he begins to plunge his fingers in and out of you at an impossible pace. He’s hitting that special, wonderful spot inside you consistently, as if he’s known your body for eons, as if he’s already memorized what pleases you and wanted nothing more than to do it time and again.

“Come for me, now.” He breathes the command as he closes his lips around your nipple, the hand around your throat loosening just a bit to make it easier for you to breathe. In the end, it doesn’t make a difference how hard he’s grabbing at your throat because you forget how to breathe as soon as that knot unravels in the pit of your stomach and you crash into him. You can feel your cunt burning with desire for more and you don’t realize what’s making Din become so feral with his bites until you look down and vaguely see a pool of liquid forming beneath where the two of you are standing. 

“Hmmm fuck, you- you’re so fucking gorgeous…that’s it baby, keep coming for me. Keep drenching me, fucking mark me for yourself cyar’ika, make a mess of us. Make a mess of us some more, let me- let me look at you so I can remember how hard I’ve made you come.” He puts some space between the two of you, and you throw your head back in ecstasy as his hand doesn’t slow down and continues to move rapidly in and out of your pussy. Your legs are shaking and your screams are louder than you ever thought possible, but Din continues to ask you for more. 

And the more he calls you his sweet girl, the more you come on his fingers and wet his hands. It would have been embarrassing if it was anyone else, but seeing Din’s reaction to the mess you were making of his ship, even hearing the frantic growls he was breathing against your throat, makes you wish you could do more for him. 

“Fuck sweetheart, you weren’t lying when you said you wanted me this bad.” Din manages to say right before he kisses you again, and you try to remind yourself to ask him later why he enjoyed asking you questions and silencing you with a bruising kiss right after without receiving a response. For now though, you relished in the different touches that proved to you he wanted you just as much. From the bruising kiss to the growingly aggressive sensation his fingers were sending throughout your muscles, you knew it would be impossible to ever come again without feeling him against you. 

Din tilts his head to the side to deepen the kiss, making you reach for his hair and pull on it in an attempt to make him see stars as well. He chuckles against your lips, but pushes you harder against the wall the more you tug on his brown locks, and before you know it, his fingers are thrusting in and out of you harshly and without mercy. You fall apart again, unsure of whether this was your second orgasm or if it was just a continuation of the first. 

It doesn’t matter in the end because like before, Din nips and sucks on your tongue with desperation, silently letting you know that he really enjoyed how hard he was making you fall apart at his touch. Your thighs strain as Din pushes them apart with one of his legs to get better access to your cunt, and when he’s sure you can’t take it anymore, he leans down and angles his hand a bit lower, the action pushing his fingertips higher against your tightened walls and forcing another orgasm out of you. You break the kiss in an attempt to breathe but all that comes out is a string of curses along with Din’s name, and you don’t realize what you’re saying until Din begins to slow down but keeps his fingers warm inside your pussy. 

“You- you really want me to stop?” He’s out of breath when he asks, and you furrow your eyebrows at both the tone of his voice and the question, as if he was the one having a hard time breathing from coming so hard. You barely manage to look at him, whimpering his name like a silent prayer when you see the feral look in his eyes as he studies your features. 

“No- Din, please…don’t stop. T-take what you want….’m yours.” You’re not making much sense to your own ears but Din hears enough to know that you were still willing to give him every bit of you. When he’s sure you’ve had enough respite and filled your lungs with air, he lunges for your throat and bites into the jugular of your neck while wrapping his arm around your back to keep you upright. Just as you’re about to beg him to keep touching you, you feel him inch a third finger inside your cunt, splitting you open on his thick and long fingers like no other has before him. You don’t get the chance to say anything else as you feel him move his digits in and out of you at a slowly increasing pace. 

“I wanted to get you nice and ready for my cock cyar’ika, but you’re so kriffing tight on my fingers…so fucking tight and I’ve made you come twice already. Why don’t you give me another baby? Give me another so I can give you my cock. Come on my fingers like the good girl I know you are.” His words are all you need to fall apart another time, and you hold tightly onto his shirt as he lets you nuzzle into his neck while he pushes his fingers so deep inside you that you can’t feel anything but him. 

“Din…Din…oh maker Din I- I’m…”

“Claim me little cyar’ika, claim me like I claimed you.” You gush around him harder than before, squirting all over his thighs and arm until the two of you are standing in nothing but your essence. You’re embarrassed by how much of a mess you made of his ship, but you realize that Din might not care about that at the moment. As a matter of fact, it seemed that he enjoyed the mess you were making of him and the ship, and you file that information for later when you can tease him about it. 

For now, you give yourself to the sensation that is Din. 

His breath, his gaze, his touch. 

And hopefully his love. 

When it’s evident you can’t support yourself anymore, Din slows down to a stop but doesn't remove his fingers from you just yet. He studies you closely, eyes roaming the expanse of your glistening, shaking form in an attempt to commit every inch of you to memory. He can feel your muscles begging for respite and leans in to kiss your cheek just as he slips his wet fingers from your cunt. You shudder at the emptiness suddenly taking over you, and look into his eyes as he slides his hand up your body. He smiles at you as he takes his fingers into his mouth and hums lewdly at the taste of you. 

“I knew it, knew you’d taste so fucking good.” His voice echoes in your mind as you use him to support your overexerted body. 

The two of you stand in silence for a few minutes, sighing in relief at finally crossing the line you’ve been dancing around for months now. Din kisses everywhere he can reach, occasionally digging his teeth into your skin if only to hear you moan his name as you grab for him. When he notices that you’re able to stand better on your feet, he lets go of you and slips the ruined nightgown from your body. You shiver as the cold air hits your sweaty skin, but the warmth of Din overtakes you completely as he reaches down and carries you in his arms. You wrap your arms around his shoulders and nuzzle into his neck as he begins to move through the quiet hallways of his ship. You feel his hands digging harder into the meat of your thighs and back when you lick at his clavicle, and you can’t help but smile at the obvious effect you are having on him. 

He makes his way towards his room and a rush of nerves engulfs you when you realize that you never once came in here in all your time at his service. You knew better than to cross those boundaries he’s silently set for you all those months ago, and although you hoped for him to open up with you, you never thought he’d be so willing to get this far. 

Certainly not to the point of bringing you into his private quarters. 

“I can hear your thoughts sweet girl.” He teases as he enters his room and walks you to his bed, softly placing your nude form in between his sheets before standing up to rid himself of his own clothes. 

“Din, you- you’re too far.” You sigh at him as you grab for his sheets, and Din bites his lower lip to prevent himself from embarrassing you further. He wants to call you out on being such a needy girl for him, for being so obedient when he’s only just begun to show you how much he wants. 

And he desperately wants to tease you about the effect he had on you earlier today, when he ignited his Saber and ended the hunt within the blink of an eye. He noticed your body’s reactions to his violent movement, recognized the signs in the way your thighs clenched tightly when he strutted your way and ordered you never to act so recklessly again. He spent hours in the cockpit convincing himself that he shouldn’t take advantage of you, but the longer he spent on those little hitched breaths and the way you eyed him whenever he walked by to fix something, it occurred to him that he may not be taking advantage after all. 

Maybe you wanted him just as much as he wanted you. 

And maybe, just maybe, you wanted more than his touches. Maybe you wanted his heart. 

Maker, he wouldn’t know what to do with himself if you said those words to him. 

So he grows quiet and shoves his own dreams aside, knowing that he would rather have you this way than not having you at all. 

As he lowers his pants, he smirks down at you and winks when you turn away embarrassed at being caught shamelessly licking your lips at his physique. He wasn’t muscular necessarily, but you could tell his body was used to exertion and exercised the right muscles to help him accomplish his job. 

“The way you look at me mesh’la…fuck, makes me so fucking hard, makes me wish I can keep you in my bed all the time and fuck you whenever I please.” His hopes spill without a second thought, and he wants to apologize for presuming that you’d ever agree to such a thing, but then he notices the way you reach for his thighs and beg him to touch you with those wanton eyes of yours and he can’t help but tease you a bit more. 

“Hmm, you’d like that baby? You’d like it if I kept you in my arms every night, sunk my cock in that tight, wet cunt of yours till I filled you with my seed. Tell me sweet thing, you want me to make space for you here, so you don’t ever want to leave me?” He prays his desperation doesn’t come off too strongly for you, but the prayer is cut short when you nod frantically at him and whimper his name like he had the key to everything you’ve ever wanted. 

“Please Din, don’t keep me away from you anymore. I want you, all the kriffing time…want to kiss you and touch you and make you feel good. I want- no, I need you Din. Please? Don’t shut me out, I’ll do anything you want, just don’t- don’t…” Din’s smile falters briefly when he sees how unhinged you’ve become in your requests and he throws out whatever caution he still reserved for you, lunging forward and covering your body with his own in the blink of an eye. 

“Sweet girl, you want me this much?” The genuine curiosity in his voice catches you off guard because up until this point, you thought he could see through each and every desire your heart displayed for him.

“Yes Din, I- I always want you. It- having you touch me and kiss me won’t ever be enough…it won’t. I want to be with you every waking moment and- and every night. If you’ll have me…only if hmphh-” He cuts your revelations short with his lips, wrapping his arms around your tired form and making space for himself in between your thighs as he takes your breath away with his tongue. You bring him as flush to you as possible, not caring for how difficult you’re beginning to find it to breathe. All you knew was that you desperately wanted to have him, in every way possible. 

And as you feel his hips thrust against your heated core, you quickly cross your legs behind his back and move your own lower body against him for some more friction. His cock nestles perfectly against your slit and you cry out beneath him when you feel just how hot and heavy and thick he feels. 

Din breaks the kiss reluctantly, and he pulls away far enough to take a look at you as he finally gives the two of you what you’ve been craving for so long. 

“Mesh’la, I- I must have you. I’ve thought of this moment so often and I believed I would have more patience. But I can’t wait any longer, I need to have you…need to feel your walls stretch around my cock.” He lets go of you and slips his hand between your sweaty bodies, looking down at where the two of you are almost connected and touching your forehead with his in a silent request. 

“Din, I want you to fuck me hard…don’t hold back, I want to feel you with every breath I take.” You lean up and kiss his aquiline nose, breathing heavily against him when he drags the tip of his cock in between your wet lips. As he nudges your aching clit time and again, you feel your lungs almost collapse on themselves at the promise of what’s to come. 

Just when you’re about to plead for him again, Din slowly inches his cock into your pussy, shoulders shaking intensely as he feels your hot, tight walls swallowing him whole. He huffs against your cheeks several times in an attempt to hold himself back so he doesn’t hurt you, but you dig your nails into his back and urge him on, chest rising and falling rapidly as you feel him stretch your cunt around his dick. 

“Oh fuck, f-ffuck…you’re so kriffing tight ‘round me.” He barely manages to whisper as he pushes deeper into you, his heart threatening to leap out of his chest the harder your walls spasm around him. He can hear how wet you are, and he swears beneath his breath when he realizes that he may have not prepared you enough for him. But then you cross your ankles tightly and force him to bring his body even closer to you, allowing him to push those remaining inches in your pussy suddenly until there isn’t space between your forms. 

When you’re finally able to breathe again, you look at Din and gasp at seeing how focused he seems to be. All it takes is one look into his eyes to know what he’s been holding from you all this time and you lean over and nip at his chin as he moves off of you before slamming his cock inside you again. You throw your head back at the force of his movement, unable to fathom how it was still possible for him to hit every little bit of you that you didn’t know could bring you even closer to the edge again. 

“Din-”

“Sweet girl, you’re perfect. Fucking perfect,” Din nuzzles into your neck, and although he knows that he’s sweating hard and should probably give you some space so you can breathe, he can’t bring himself to remove his skin from your own, wanting to feel every bit of your body sliding against his own as he claimed your soul. 

“You have no idea how- pfassk, how long I’ve dreamt of this…I wanted you for so long baby, and now that you’re here, with my cock carving your tight cunt so sweetly so you can take me, I- I don’t think I’ll ever want to let you go. I won’t, never…never going to let you go.” His words light a different fire in your chest, and you open your eyes just a little to look at him as he confessed to you everything you wanted to hear from him. 

“I’m yours Din,” you cry for him as he slams down hard and deep into you, filling you with his cock perfectly until you can feel every ridge and ever protruding vein pass against your sensitive walls. You can feel that familiar burning sensation taking home in your stomach again, and although you want to beg him to make you come, you hold back from those words, not wanting to be selfish in your pleasure that you don’t let him chase his own. With each harsh and punishing thrust, you find yourself wishing you can feel him everywhere all at once. 

“Mine, fucking mine…won’t let you leave me. You’re mine baby, you hear that? You’re fucking mine.” He growls those words against your breasts, and you don’t realize you’re crying until he drags his fingers across your face to wipe the tears away before trailing his hand down your cheeks to your neck and closing his fingers around you. The force of his actions is all you need to push you over the edge, and you forget that you weren’t supposed to tell him those three words until he willingly said to you first. 

“I- I love you, oh maker…I love you Din. Please, come for me…come inside me, fill me with your seed. Make me yours!” You’re screaming your deepest and darkest secrets to him, not realizing that Din was filing those wonderful words in his heart to fill the gaping hole that was begging for attention ever since he hired you. 

“You mean that cyar’ika?” He asks in the heat of the moment, never once slowing down because if he was going to come, then he was going to wait until he was sure you felt the same way. 

A part of you doesn’t want to answer him, pretend that you never heard his question and that you didn’t just tell him what you promised you’d never say. But then you look down and see hope and something more fearful swimming in his eyes, and you can’t hold back anymore. 

“Yes, I- I do Din. I love you…so much.” 

Your words ring in his ears for a few moments, and he sighs in relief as he sinks down against you and pushes his cock one last time inside your aching cunt before he breathes those words back to you. 

“You’ve had my heart ever since I saw you cyare,” he may not have said those exact same words to you, but you knew in your heart that he meant them. When he kisses you again, it’s less frantic but just as desperate as the many other times he filled your mouth with his tongue. As he fills you with his cock, you feel a sense of relief wash over you at finally being with Din in all the ways you dreamt. 

He’s slow and steady now, and you think it might be because he now knew that you aren’t going anywhere, that every bit of your heart and soul never wanted to part from him again. It’s almost too intense for you, the delicious drag of his dick against your tight walls, but then he stills for a brief moment and you swear you can feel his cock twitching inside you, begging for a release. 

“Please Din, come for me. I want to feel you fill me with your cum mark every inch of me.” 

It’s all he needs to hear to pull out one last time and thrust back into you with as much force as he can muster up. You push your fingers into his hair and pull him towards your neck as you pray his name over and over again, the rush of heat filling your cunt making you burn with a warmth unlike anything you’ve ever felt before. He growls his release against your neck, biting down harshly as he empties himself inside you. The two of you are messy with each others’ fluids but neither of you care as Din sinks his weight on top of you and feels your pussy clench tightly around him, milking him dry until his cum leaks down your thighs. Your mixed release brings a smile to his face, and he licks the bruises he’s left behind so they don’t look too jarring the following day. 

Neither of you dare to move an inch for a while, and it’s not until Din feels your chest barely rising and falling that he finally gets off and looks down at you. He finds a hazy smile widening on your features, and he can’t help but lean down and kiss you until the same smile appears on his own handsome face. 

The two of you continue to look into each other’s eyes until Din feels your cunt spasm around him all of a sudden. He hisses when your thighs attempt to close around his hips again, and before he can grow hard again, he slips out of you and falls to the side, bringing you into his chest without caring for the mess the two of you have made of his sheets. 

He looks down at you and raises a curious eyebrow when he notices the way you’re eyeing him already. 

“What is it?”

“Nothing, I just…I never thought you’d look this pretty underneath that helmet of yours.” You would have been too shy to say something so frank to him a few hours ago, but after everything he’s done, you think he might genuinely appreciate your honesty during such an intimate moment. 

“Pretty? Didn’t think you can call men pretty, mesh’la.” He wraps his arm around you to bring you even closer to him, and you laugh as you reach over and kiss his jaw, the scruff of his beard tickling you in the most enticing way. 

“Well, I just did. If you have any problems with that, take it up with my boss.” You nudge him with your nose, and giggle when he slips his hand down and lightly smacks your ass. 

“Oh yeah, I might just do that.” It’s Din’s turn to lean down and kiss your forehead, and you shut your eyes to relish in the softness he had no trouble displaying to you now that you were finally on the same page. 

“But be careful, he’s a little rough around the edges.” You hide in his chest when he narrows his eyes at you, but the gasps turn into giggles when he pushes you beneath him again and attacks you with more kisses and nips. 

“You- ahh, stop it, you didn’t let me finish.” You try to get out of his grasp but Din is much stronger than you, and he continues to assault you with more love bites until he sees you truly struggling to breathe in between laughs. 

“Tell me then.” His voice is hoarse, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d think he wanted to go again with you. 

“He’s a little rough around the edges,” you repeat again, slipping your hand from his grip so you can intertwine your fingers in between his and hold his attention. He furrows his eyebrows when he sees you bring his hand to your face and loosen the hold you have around it. You muster up the courage to look into his eyes once more as you turn his hand around and bring his palm to your mouth, laying the softest of kisses at the center of his skin before moving your lips down to his wrist and kissing it as well. Din’s breath hitches in his throat at the soft gesture and he bites into his lower lip when he sees just how genuine you are with him. 

“But he is the sweetest man I’ll ever know. And I’m beyond lucky that he loves me as much as I love him.” 

Din waits until you finish marking his skin with your heated kisses before he flips your smaller hand into his own and brings your knuckles to his lips. He shuts his eyes and caresses your fingers with his mouth, leaving a chaste kiss on the tip of each of your fingers before holding your knuckles to his bruised lips. 

“Believe me, cyare, he loves you more than you love him…more than you’ll ever know.” 

Din Djarin: @a--1--1--3 @tanzthompson @mrs-ghuleh @caitlynmarty @smileygirl0815-blog @silverclawz @evyiione @kaumalade @quicksilvermad @capsheadquaters @penguinobambino @zanzann

Pedro Pascal (and any of his characters): @pastel-0-princess​ @feelmyroarrrr​ @libbymouse​ @its--fandom--darling​ @spideysimpossiblegirl​ @princess76179​ @cheekygeek05​ @miraclesoflove​  @purple-mango​ @metalarmsandmanbuns​ @acthenerd​ @greeneyedblondie44 @cannedsoupsucks​ @wordsnwhiskey​ @talesfromtheguild @f0rever15elf​ @vibin-hippie​ @onesmokinbabe​ @leaiorganas​ @words-way-of-life​ @kideyz​  @lovesickmadsadpoet​ @niall7inches​ @rosiefridayrogersunday​ @sleep-tight1​ @itsfreeekinbats @cybergroupie​  @marsplsstop​ @ezrasbirdie​ @diogodxlot​ @janebby​ @juletheghoul​ @bii-aan-ckaa​ @nohartandsole-blog​ @djjarins​ @giselatropicana​ @maziken @blackmarketmummy​ @laviipopii​ @ew-erin​ @fan-of-encouragement​ @melody13522 @clydesducktape​ @planetariumx​ @thirddeadlysin​ @leannawithacapitala​ @fangirl-316​ @thou-creature-of-the-deep @what-iwish-you-knew​ @nabootycall​ @pascalsky​ @pedrostories​ @anaaaispunk @monocromaticstaircase​ @severinsnape @elegantduckturtle​ @gothicxbarbie​ @revengeisaconfesionofpain​ @hypnoash​ @pedritopascalito​ @eri16​ @andiesturgss​  @snarwor​ @christina-loves​ @tintinn16​ @persephones-garden​ @reaperofmen​  @heykathchuu​ @hotchlover​ @kaumalade​ @mswarriorbabe80​ @nakhudanyx​ @ezras-channel-rat​ @solemnlyswearss​ @thegirlnextdoorssister​ @alpaca-swimsuit​ @elinedjarin​ @yuukiblissthemusicwitch @dihra-vesa @pscalwhiskey @midwesternwitchery @daddymando21​ @letskeepthislo-ki @xwalltoast @alexxavicry @ewoksrus @dear-fifi @nagassia @kirsteng42 @s-u-t @yourdragonsfire @girlofchaos @thisshipwillsail316 @squidwell @the-helmet-stays-on @buckybarneshairpullingkink @hungrhay @hugmedin @balck-rose-29 @yourdragonsfire 

[prolix-yuy]

Soft Fires

Pairing: Din Djarin x F!Reader

Summary: You’ve learned much about the Mandalorian, but his tiny green companion is still a mystery.

Word Count: 5.3k

Warnings: Explicit, 18+ MINORS DNI, descriptions of male and female bodies, fingering (f receiving), fingers in mouths, semi-unprotected PiV sex (don’t be a fool, wrap your tool, even if you have space birth control), the Creed gets in the way, Mando hops on the struggle bus for a second, FEELINGS.

Notes: FINALLY. Finally. That’s all I’m going to say about this. I was planning to post this as a two shot but screw it, I’ve been sitting on it long enough. It’s time. 

I cannot take credit for the idea of teaching Grogu Tusken Sign Language. The inspiration came from this post and I just love it so much it’s becoming canon in this universe.

Takes place over about three weeks, after the events of Both Sides of the Door.

Cross-posted on AO3

I Think of You Series Masterlist

So the kid is great - cute, energetic, curious, kind (when he’s not too cranky), sassy (which brings much joy to your day, especially when it’s directed at Mando), and all-around better company than most children you’ve met.

He’s got some quirks too, many of which you learn on the fly. First of all being his age.

“He’s fifty?” you say when Mando brings it up, the child sitting on the floor of the Crest and looking up at you with unconcerned eyes. Mando chuckles at the incredulity in your voice as you crouch down to look your favorite gremlin in the face. “I guess I can kinda see it, what with the white hair and all. You do look like a little old man.” The child coos curiously as you stick your tongue out at him. That always gets a giggle.

“His kind ages differently. At least I assume they do,” Mando says.

“Well now there’s no question as to who had seniority on the ship,” you say in a sing-song voice, sitting down on the floor with a thump. Mando’s head whips around as you wink at him.

“How do you know I’m not older than fifty?” he says back, an edge of teasing eked out through the vocoder.

(he’s surprisingly funny when he gets the chance)

“Oh Maker, you’re right, better compare birthdays,” you huff out, this playful ribbing growing since you’d found a place in each other’s lives. It makes the child brighten, watching you enjoy each other’s company.

Then there’s the wizard magic that scared the shit out of you one day. You were prepping some fish stew in the ration-storage-now-kitchen, stirring the pot on the nanowave stove mindlessly. A clang echoed in your ears, followed by a baby wail that made you abandon the soup and rush to the hold.

Upon inspection, you found the child looking into an open electrical panel on the wall, ears drooping in a forlorn manner. You peered over his head, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary.

“What’s wrong Bean?” you asked, putting a hand on his back. He chirped a couple times and pointed into the space crammed with wires, his face contorting. “Sorry buddy, I’m not sure what’s going on here. Care to suddenly learn Basic? Or Huttese? I know a couple of hand signals in Tusken.” You paused mid-thought at this. Teaching the child Tusken sign language to communicate could be useful. You don’t know a ton, but maybe Mando could get you a book or holovid next time you land.

(then you could learn his name, his past, what he wants and thinks)

(you could talk to him and know he understands)

Wrapped up in your train of thought, you didn’t notice the kid’s face scrunch up, eyes closing as he practically vibrated. When you did see it, worry cracked through your chest.

“Hey Bean, what’s going on?” You tried to snap him out of it but whatever was happening had his full focus. Suddenly something flew out of the panel’s guts and thwapped into his hands, knocking him over and onto your feet.

“Dank farrik!” you swore, grabbing the child and inspecting him all over for damage. On the periphery of earshot the thunks of footsteps approached.

(no no no no no what did the kid do?)

“What happened?” Mando's voice boomed in the space, whipping you around. Hands dropping to the child, he inspected him just as you did.

“I have no idea, he was making a face and shaking and then something…” Your words fell off as you both find a dirty metal nut in his hands, him turning it over with delight, if not a little sleepily. You looked at the child, then at Mando trying to piece together what just happened.

“Kid, that’s…that’s not a toy,” Mando sighed, but didn't attempt to pull it away. He patted the child a couple times before the visor landed on your confused face. “There’s…something you should know about him.”

Almost an hour later with several backtracks, questions and exasperated moments on either side, Mando finished recounting the tale of his history with the child, and the mission that brought him to Tatooine, to the Lively Bantha, and to you. You absorbed everything as best as you can, not familiar with the Jedi beyond how their influence shaped the world around you. Seeing the Force used by a child still felt like magic, and when you asked if he had any control over it Mando shrugged.

“I’m supposed to find a teacher for him, another Jedi to help him train.”

You hummed at this, looking at the oblivious child that was more the center of your world than you imagined. A holy mission fraught with dead ends and, from the hint of resentment you catch, one Din might like to fail.

(he’s taken well to being a father)

(and when you stop lying to yourself, you do kind of enjoy being his other caretaker)

Big surprises aside, you’ve adapted to having a child ever-present during your days. It’s not a life you thought you'd be living, but neither is being on a bounty hunter’s ship hurtling through the galaxy. You’re getting better at taking things in stride. And the child’s decently predictable now that you have him on a schedule. Mando had tilted his helmet at you when you asked about meal times and sleep.

“He eats when he eats and sleeps when he sleeps,” was his answer, to which you rolled your eyes.

“Maker, no wonder why he’s wired half the night. You gotta keep him on a schedule, he’s not a bounty hunter.”

“Could be if I taught him how to use a blaster.”

The silence stretched before you burst into laughter, bent in half at the idea of the kid holding an IB-94 as big as him, Mando leaning against the wall as his shoulders shook and static crackled out. The child looked nonplussed at the exchange, maybe happy as his eyes passed between the two of you.

The only thing that annoys you, that makes you want to whack your forehead against the wall and scream out the airlock, is that you have little to no privacy with the little bogwing. He sleeps with you or Mando, is up with him when he wakes early. He’s present for all meals, awake until late in the evening, and when Mando has to leave it's just the two of you constantly. It’s not that you dislike the little guy’s company.

The real problem stems from how badly you want to bang his dad.

(like SO KARKING BADLY)

You still feel the heft of his cock pressing between your thighs, how close you came to having him inside you again. Mando’s become more tactile with you since Nevarro, and you fear that you’re going to melt through your clothing with how aroused you are all the time. A hand against your lower back when you’re cooking and he needs something. Fingers rubbing grease or dirt or nothing at all from your skin. His new act of placing a hand on your knee as he passes you in the jump seat, hot thick fingers pushing gently into the flesh.

(and a few times when he put his hands on you just to see you react, a smug hum following.)

The child is your last (small) obstacle, one you maybe use as an excuse more than you should. You still have some light trepidation about that final step, mostly overwhelmed by the need growing between you. If you could just get the child to rest for an hour or so in the afternoon you could climb into the cockpit, straddle Mando with his hands on your hips, and ride him until you’re both spent and sated. You could finally take that step to land you back where you started all those years ago. But whenever you think of the child’s big black orbs catching you in the act it makes you want to gag.

(please don’t make me scar the kid for life)

So you wait for some of your gentle (sexually frustrated) coaching to sink in so that the (kriffing cock-blocking) child can start building up the habit. Until then your moments alone are filled with frantic fingers in the ‘fresher shower or grids against the heel of your hand so you can think straight for the next few hours.

(it will all be worth it to take your time with Mando)

You hold your breath, trying to remain calm and bored as you watch the child’s eyes blink heavily.

(holy shit this might actually be it)

You’d worked and suffered through tantrums and fussing and stubbornness over three days while Mando brought back his latest bounty. Practically crying twice when he called over the comms to check in, his voice soothed you when you felt your last nerve tear.

(I will never tease him for his patience ever again)

But the hard work is paying off. No more late night wakeups that demanded stimulation, no more unpredictable meals, you think you might have cracked it. Sometimes it's a fake-out, which dangles you over the edge of sanity, but this would be the second instance of the child napping without argument and staying down. The last time it was for a blissful hour, which you spent monitoring him as you made a resupply list resplendent with his favorite things. He could have an army of amphibians to torture if it meant you succeeded at your task.

The telltale signs are there: the drooping eyes, the ears relaxing, the settling into the curve of the hammock. You wait a long few minutes for his breathing to even out before closing the cot door.

Heart hammering, you stand up and wipe your sweaty palms on your pants. Kriff, you hadn’t thought ahead to what you would do next. Mando’s been back from his last hunt for a full day, rested and clean. This is the best chance you’re going to get to be alone with him.

(fuck, are you wet already?)

You ascend the ladder into the cockpit, nerves making your hands shake as Mando’s frame glimmers the cockpit.

(Maker, he’s still so beautiful)

Your cunt throbs at the possibilities as you move to stand beside him.

“Everything okay?” he asks. You hum, the energy in your body threatening to make your voice shake. Mando turns his head to you, tipping it slightly.

“The kid?” he asks, and you let out a louder breath than you intend.

“Sleeping.”

Mando’s visor traces your face, and you meet the darkness of it.

“You got him to sleep? During the day?”

A lopsided smile tugs at the corners of your mouth.

“Finally.”

Mando turns in the chair, knees knocking against yours as he frames you with them. He reaches for your hands, thumbs firm in your palms.

“How long will he sleep?” Mando’s voice drops lower, a thrum of build-up coming to a high point.

“Last time it was an hour.”

His hands are on your waist, pushing you back as he crowds you up against the console. You dig your teeth into your bottom lip to keep from crying out at his touch.

(Maker, I might shatter if he breathes on me)

Mando lifts you to sit on the edge of the console, pulling himself up flush between your legs. His hands go to your face, cradling you with a tenderness that contrasts the neediness he just displayed.

“I want to fuck you at least twice if we have the time,” he says, and your eyes roll back into your head.

“Stars Mando, I could cum just hearing you talk about it,” you moan, keeping your voice low. You were not going to ruin this moment for anything.

“Me too, Mesh’la,” he murmurs in your ear, hands at your waist and unbuttoning your pants. You run your fingers over every part of him you can touch, favoring the spaces between the beskar where blood pumps and muscles flex.

He shucks your pants and underwear down your legs, tugging off your shoes and socks all in one messy bundle. The helmet locks on the vision of you he has on his knees, hands stroking your thighs in slow patterns.

“You’re even more beautiful than I remember,” Mando says, the words falling from his mouth like he couldn’t bear to keep them in. You whine, fingers digging into the fabric of his cowl, pleading for his touch. “I’ve got you Mesh’la,” he says, standing up to his full height. He strips his gloves, glorious tan thick-fingered hands taking hold of your body. One goes to your mouth, dipping two fingers in and stroking them gently against your tongue. You close your lips around him, pressing hot and wet as he lets out a broken moan. Withdrawing them, he strokes your clit in slick circles before sliding down achingly slow and burying two fingers inside you. The process is so smooth, aided by your heavy arousal, that he’s halfway inside before you can moan around him.

“That’s it, perfect girl. Fuck, you feel so good. I’m sorry Mesh’la, I’m going to have to fuck you hard and fast and cum once before I can give you what you deserve.” His diatribe is tearing whimpers and gasps from your throat as he opens you up, thumb swiping across your clit to keep your arousal high. It shudders to a stop when Mando pulls his fingers out of you, both hands curling around your waist.

“Fuck, can’t wait Mesh’la, can I fuck you now? Please,” he begs, and you wrap your legs around him to urge him on. He’s tearing his pants open, his cock painfully hard and deeply flushed. You sigh at the sight, still as thick and heavy and gorgeous as you remember. Maybe even more so, now that you can have it. He slicks his cock with your arousal, lining himself up with a shaking hand.

(Maker, the number of times I made myself cum thinking of that cock)

“Yes, Mando, please, please,” you whisper as he pushes into your tight heat. The moan he holds as he enters you starts low and quiet and builds to a desperate groan as he seats himself fully. He’s a heady stretch, forcing you to widen your thighs around him, but you’re already settling into his thickness as you tilt to pull him deeper.

“Kriff, Maker, I’m not going to…” Mando stutters as he pulls out just enough to swiftly push back into you. He hits the perfect spot at this angle, deep inside you, and the friction of the curls at the base of his cock teases your sensitive clit. You’re already trembling on the edge of your orgasm as Mando slides halfway out just to slam home again, gasping behind the helmet.

It only takes two more precise and powerful strokes for you to cum around his cock, the build up of so many weeks making you bury your face in Mando’s shoulder, shouting as your cunt grips him impossibly tight. He grunts in surprise as he falls over the edge with you, ripping his cock out and splattering his cum on the floor as you hold each other and gasp.

“Fuck, Mesh’la, I’m sorry, I should have put a seal on, I’m…” Mando is panting heavily so you cup the back of his neck, barely back from your own trip to the end of the galaxy.

“Implant,” is all you can manage, but it eases the tension in his shoulders. He strokes your hair, his softening cock slick with you against the inside of your leg. You huff out a little laugh.

“Guess we both were a little pent up.”

Mando hums with a chuckle at the end, bare hands wandering up the back of your shirt and across the outside of your thighs. You move to unwrap yourself but Mando stops you with two firm hands under your knees.

“That wasn’t good enough for you. I’m going to fuck you one more time,” he says, and there is no room for doubt in his voice. You nod, tongue swiping over your lower lip. “Don’t have the same stamina as I used to, but I can definitely get it up twice.” You’re sure he’s smirking behind the helmet. His fingers return to your cunt and drag slowly through the remains of your slick, exploring your folds with soft even touches. You run your fingers down his arms, resting on the cool metal vambraces wrapped around his forearms.

(hard and cold and practical)

“Could you take these off?” you ask, and his hand stills, helmet turning to look down at the gauntlets. “Want to feel you,” you add playfully, a finger teasing along the edge where the metal meets the fabric and flesh of the man underneath. When he doesn’t respond you look up to find Mando frozen like you asked him to remove his arm.

“I can’t,” he says, and there’s a pain in his voice that knocks the wind out of you. Alarm bells blare in your mind.

(mistake mistake mistake)

“I thought it was only the helmet…”

“I can’t,” Mando says again, and there’s more grit this time, teeth clenched as the words drag through. He’s starting to step away and your hands shoot out to grab his shoulders.

“Hey, hey, shhhh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you,” you coo, his muscles tense and ready to flee beneath your hands. “I’m sorry, I didn't realize…I don’t know much about this,” you nod at him, all that he is and encompasses, “your Creed. We can stop, I’m sorry, we can stop.”

Mando stands his ground, your hands fisting his cowl and eyes imploring the black T that hides so much from you.

(please don’t shut me out again)

He takes a deep breath and plants his bare hands on either side of your thighs, head coming down to rest on your shoulder. Stroking your palms down his back, you treat flesh and metal as the same beneath your fingers.

(You care for everything that makes him your Mandalorian)

You both sit there in silence, your hands slowing as you let Mando take his time. He finally lifts his head and steps back into the V of your legs, hand coming up to wrap around the back of your neck. You cover his with your own, his fingers twitching below yours, as you put every ounce of empathy into your eyes, the curve of your mouth, the bend of your brows.

“When I took my vow as a Mandalorian, I swore to never remove my helmet in front of another, or to let it be removed.” He speaks like praying, his voice reverent and low. You let it wash over you, trying to convert your desires to his rules.

“A Mandalorian is supposed to be faceless, nameless. A symbol more than a man. Our Creed proves our devotion.” You nod up at the shining helmet.

(How can anyone see it and not think of glory?)

“I have allowed myself some concessions - my hands, my cock - to keep me sharp so I can provide. I’ve never removed the armor for another person.” This is almost whispered, a confession to your altar. You stroke your thumb across his knuckles and the way he responds to that small touch makes you confident.

(This is all you need)

“We don’t have to do anything Mando, nothing beyond what you're comfortable doing. I don’t want your body.” You interject when he tilts his head, a saucy smile tugging at your lips, “Well, not only your body. I want you, Mando, however I can have you. And if that means the armor stays on, then the armor stays on. I just want you.”

Mando’s forehead drops to yours, and he presses it to your skin. You smile at the secret kiss, hoping it’s enough for him to feel at ease again.

“But that’s the problem, Mesh’la,” Mando says, and now it’s sin in his voice, a dirty secret he needs to atone for, a true confession. “I want to take it off.”

Your mouth dries out.

(wants you wants you wants to break rules with you)

“I want to know what it feels like,” he says, and he wraps his arms around your back. “Even though I shouldn’t.” You hear a series of clicks, then a metallic thud. More clicks, followed by another. Then silence.

You hold your breath, waiting for Mando’s next step. You don’t want to rush him, don’t want him to regret making this choice in this moment, moments after being buried in each other’s bodies on the cockpit console. It’s not the most romantic setting, but to be vulnerable under the dome of stars feels more like an offering to the galaxy.

(let his trust in you be rewarded)

Mando’s bare hands come to lay on the tops of your thighs as he takes a half step back. You hold your eyes on his visor, feeling the calluses of his fingers scrape along your skin.

“What would you like me to do?” you ask. Mando’s helmet wanders over your body before it settles on your lap. Looking down you find large golden hands splayed wide, the sharp cut of his sleeves at the wrist, then darkness creeping up thick forearms to the dip at his elbow. His arms aren’t as bulky without the vambraces, but the bulge of muscle is still clear beneath the fabric. Strong hands, capable hands.

(he’s placing himself in your hands)

“Touch me,” he whispers, “please.”

You circle his wrist with your hand, feeling the heat and smoothness of the more delicate skin there. Mando’s breathing picks up as you let him acclimate to the sensation, the visor glued to the path you’re taking.

Carefully, you hook both thumbs under his sleeve, letting your fingers lay lightly on his forearms. Looking up at him, the visor snapping to your face, you ask silent permission. He nods, and you begin inching the edge of his sleeve up his arms.

Mouthwatering skin and a smattering of dark hair is revealed as you slowly push the fabric up to his elbow. The vista is textured with the indentations of the vambraces, few scars but an abundance of sensitivity. You begin dragging your palms back down his arm, the thick cords of muscle jumping at your touch. He's so much softer here than his hands, and you want to put your mouth on him, kiss him in a place where no one has before.

(no one has kissed his mouth either)

Mando’s breath is stuttery as you lift his hand to press against your cheek, fingers stroking along the inside of his arm.

“Thank you for trusting me,” you say, and you place a light kiss on the inside of his wrist. A rough noise comes from behind the vocoder and Mando grips the side of your head. He brings his forehead against yours and you smile, stroking the newly-revealed skin as his fingers burrow into your hair, around your neck, holding you.

“I trust you,” he breathes out, and brings his other hand to your mouth to press his thumb against your lips (every way he can show he cares).

He takes his hands off you and rolls the other sleeve up quickly, folding and scrunching the fabric so it sits comfortably at his elbows. He’s still so thick and filled out even without the armor gracing his arms, the swath of skin contrasting sharply against the darkness and shine. Your hands go to the hem of your shirt and with a moment of debate you pull it over your head, naked but for your breast band. Mando’s attention returns to you and you see his half-hard cock thicken at the sight.

“Mesh’la,” he says, and words bubble unbidden from your lips.

(It’s a time for revelations, what’s one more?)

“What does it mean?” you ask, hands gripping the edge of the console as the cool air pebbles your skin and raises your nipples. Mando settles back between your legs, and you watch how the muscles in his arm move under his skin, the twist of the finer bones in his wrist as he jerks his cock to full hardness. Lining himself up to enter you again, he slides warm palms around your back and embraces you.

This is more skin than you’ve ever had of Mando’s against your own. The glide of his arms as he feels you underneath him is strong and euphoric. It’s the softest caress you’ve ever experienced, wrapped in half of a myth and all of a man.

“Beautiful,” Mando murmurs, the helmet pressed against your temple. You can almost feel the warmth of his breath, impossible as it may be, as you put meaning to a word you held in your heart for so long. “You are beautiful…” Mando says more forcefully as he slides you onto his cock, your fingers scrabbling along his back at the sensual entrance. You can’t move, have to just take the achingly slow pace Mando is setting as his skin presses yours. “...in every sense of the word, even more.” He bottoms out, one arm pressed up your spine with a hand on the back of your head, the other wrapped around your lower back. Your legs hook behind his thighs, trying to get leverage to roll against him as he sighs into your shoulder.

"Mesh'la,” Mando moans with a strong roll of his hips. You bury your cry in his neck, bringing your hips down to meet his thrust. “You didn’t know I was saying it? All this time?” You shake your head in the cowl (too afraid to feel that desire and that pain) as he begins to snap his hips into you at a slow and powerful pace.

“I thought you knew, must have known,” Mando grunts, every plow of his cock into you long and smooth and strong. It’s more intimate, more passionate than you can bear.

“Mando…” you whine, and you feel your throat clench and your eyes water. It’s so much in such a small space, accepting his body and his words and the weight of it all. Mando pulls his head back to press against your forehead again, his hand spanning the back of your skull.

“Mesh’la, beautiful,” he says, the words punctuated with heavy breaths as he angles his hips up and into you. His pubic bone hits your clit with every thrust, the head of his cock dragging over a spot inside you that makes your body shake. Every moment is laced with pleasure, unable to pause to recover.

“Kotyc, strong,” he says, and your bleary mind grasps another Mando’a word and translation.

“Mirdala, clever.”

“Cyar'ika-”

“Mando, please, don’t…” you moan, but he won’t stop giving you everything he can.

“Fuck, Mesh’la,” Mando punches out of his lungs as he pulls you down against him, “Take it, take it all, you can do it.” He drags a hand up to your breast and thumbs your nipple, hard circles sending the final sparks to ignite. You cum suddenly at his words, limbs locking around Mando as he chants, “Yes, Mesh’la, fuck, yes, keep cumming, keep cumming, fuck, fuck.” Your head tips back and when you open your eyes they are full of stars as Mando drags himself out of you, fisting his cock to spill on the floor a second time. You clutch at one another, breath catching on the height of your gasps.

“Fuck, I need…hold…” Mando mumbles and you feel him sway in your arms. You hold him closer, slipping an arm around his side to put a grounding hand against his back. He hums into your shoulder, the curve of the helmet warming as he presses it into your skin. His hands and forearms are smoothing over you again, savoring the feeling of skin on skin.

(what a sin)

You wait until your breathing has slowed and Mando seems to be steadier on his feet, though he’s still savoring you with his fingertips.

“Thank you,” you choke out, and Mando reluctantly peels himself off your front. He brings a hand to your face and you press your lips into it over and over. His other hand drifts to yours and laces your fingers together, tightening when you sigh into his palm.

“I meant it,” Mando finally says, cupping your chin and tilting your face to him. You meet the visor’s darkness and for a moment imagine eyes staring back at you, hardened by time but still soft around the edges. “I still do. I call you Mesh’la because you are beautiful in more ways than Basic can convey.”

You smile and take a watery breath, fanning it against his pulse.

“Careful, Mando, or I might fall in love with you.”

(fuck)

You’re so blissed out and loose with your orgasm that you let those words tumble from your lips. You hold your breath, skin hot with embarrassment.

(no no no you just got everything you wanted and you’re going to fuck it up with your dumbass mouth)

Mando’s fingers stroke against your jaw, the helmet tilting at the hard switch in your demeanor. He reaches over and grabs your shirt, bunching it in his fists so he can guide it over your head. You break eye contact with him, slipping your arms through the loops before you hear his voice, so quiet through the helmet as if he hopes the whisper will hide his desires from his Creed.

“Would that be…a bad thing?”

Like home on a cold day, or a smile from the child, a full-body warmth travels from the top of your head to the tips of your toes. You take the helmet in both hands, Mando flinching instinctively for a moment before relaxing.

“No, it would not.”

There may have been more words to say, but at that moment you hear a thump and a cry from the hold and you and Mando switch back to the roles you have on the Crest. Mando helps you hop off the console, careful of the mess he’s made on the floor (he’s on cleanup later) and handing you the rest of your clothes. You both redress, him reattaching the vambraces. You wonder if he’ll remove them more now, but you also know that his Creed is a comfort and a habit that doesn’t change in the course of an hour (no matter how good of an hour it was).

With a press of his forehead against yours again, he descends the ladder to tend to the child. You follow to tend to some tasks and plan your evening. You’ll teach the kid a new game, maybe see if he’ll show off his weird powers again. Then when you tuck him in to sleep (on a good schedule now thank the Maker), you’ll join Mando in the cockpit.

Maybe he will tell you more of his Creed, the importance it has in his life and how it’s shaped him.

Or maybe you’ll speak about the mission to find a Jedi for the child. It seems to pull at Mando, and you suspect there is something waiting at its completion that will test his faith. You hope you’ll be there for that, whenever it may be.

But even if you both sit in silence, letting the emotion and events of the day settle into your bones, you know it will be enough.

END

“in the afterglow of an evening rain

I lay down in the grass and think of you

my body aches like an after-kiss

breaking in soft fires and wildflowers

my dear, I will always be this tender for you.”

- Sanober Khan

Episode 9 of the I Think of You Series

The story continues in Episode 10: If the Moon Walks Out

[amywritesthings]

CHAPTER 13: THE FREIGHTER

The POINT A TO POINT B series.

gif credit: @ scarlet-sky

Pairing: Din Djarin x Female Reader ( Din x You )

Summary: You agree to help Bo-Katan seize Mandalorian weapons from an Imperial freighter. What if things go spectacularly wrong?

Warnings: Graphic depictions of violence and injury, peril, mentions of torture, Soft/Worried!Din, Flashbacks, Minor character death Word Count: 5.2K

A/N: Buckle up, buckaroos, shit just got real. We return after a month hiatus to finally tackle the freighter mission, and things continue to spiral from here.

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PREVIEW: 

You were so close to everything going according to plan.

Stirring against the floor, the rubble scrapes like jagged fingernails along your bare chin. Across the remnants of a fiery hallway, a Stormtrooper and an Imperial officer are engulfed by flashing lights, immobile. 

Your wheezing breath causes dust to stir.

Exposed.

Your face is exposed.

“Mand—” 

Your lungs seize in a dry cough at the influx of debris before you can finish.

Then it hits you, slowly, as you fight the urge to sleep:

The person who set off the bombs was Mando.

CHAPTER 13: THE FREIGHTER

You were so close.

You were so close to everything going according to plan.

The comms link in your ear is rendered useless by the shrill sirens lining the Imperial freighter walls. A once sterile environment of grays, silvers, and whites disappears from sight, bleeding vivid reds — the perilous aftermath from a bomb somewhere on the upper deck, causing a ripple effect of chaos below.

Stirring against the floor, the rubble scrapes like jagged fingernails along your bare chin. Across the remnants of a fiery hallway, a Stormtrooper and an Imperial officer are engulfed by flashing lights, immobile. 

The pain in your left leg is agonizing, yet your attention locks onto the sight of a soot-ridden helmet in the distance, visor cracked clear up the middle.

Your wheezing breath causes dust to stir.

Exposed.

Your face is exposed.

“Mand—” 

Your lungs seize in a dry cough at the influx of debris before you can finish.

The comms link is overrun with shouts and blasters, but you can’t distinguish who is shouting and who is shooting. Yet you are certain of one thing: his voice, the one voice you could never forget, isn’t there.

Then it hits you, slowly, as you fight the urge to sleep:

The person who set off the bombs was Mando.

. . . . . . . .                  ONE HOUR PRIOR

 By now, you hope Mando has made it back to the Razor Crest to sit the Child somewhere safe and secure until you can return. All that remains is you versus them — the test of trust begins long before the mission, setting an expectation between your traveling party and Bo-Katan.

In true Mando fashion, however, he does not leave you empty-handed: the homing beacon on your belt blinks bright red in activation. 

A reminder — a pointed warning — that he can track your movements without being here, should Bo-Katan betray the pact.

He leaves nothing to chance.

Keeping to themselves, Axe and Koska angle away in secrecy, elbows pressed into the metal table. Bo-Katan, on the other hand, takes the golden opportunity to maneuver herself to your end of the table, taking Mando’s place.

At first she says nothing, allowing the heavy air to swirl between you. Refusing to break the silence first, you bow your head, attentively focused on the blinking beacon at your hip.

(You don’t enjoy his absence.)

“I appreciate your willingness to see this exchange be met,” Bo-Katan begins after minutes pass, carefully cutting the tension with a sharpened blade. “I’m… sure it wasn’t easy, convincing him, but you did a great job.”

“We need the information,” you respond, adopting Mando’s monotone approach. “I won’t be the one you have to deal with if you break this pact.”

“And you will receive the information you seek as soon as what we want is in our hands,” the Nightowl leader promises with a smile in her voice, allowing a pause to pass. “...how long have you been partners?”

“We don’t work as partners,” you correct, fidgeting with the strap of the belt. “More like employee-employer.”

“Ah.” Unconvinced. Bo-Katan leans deeper into her shoulder, keeping her tone low. “I only ask because he appears to have a fondness for you.”

Fondness.

The implication sends your nerve endings ablaze. You look at her before you can stop yourself, eyes meeting eyes, and the smile creeps onto her lips. The reaction is precisely what she wants, so she pushes further.

“Have you ever seen his face?”

You blink twice as your brow knit. “Seen his—”

Face.

Is she really asking?

Although unwise to provoke her, you mirror her movements and lean in, speaking plainly.

“This entire mess started because you insisted on seeing his face. You were so quick to call his clan a cult, you claim to know his clan’s beliefs, but you’re asking me if I’ve seen his face?”

Bo-Katan doesn’t react.

(Unbelievable.)

You roll the tip of your tongue across the front of your teeth and shake your head, temper at a simmer. 

“Do you know anything about the people you insulted? He told you, they cannot remove—”

“—their helmets unless they’ve sworn a different kind of oath,” she interjects, slowed and punctual. “I know of their teachings, my friend. I am not ignorant to the Watch in more ways than one, so my question still stands.”

You open your mouth to respond, but the context hits you belatedly in the face: she knows what it takes to see him. 

(A different kind of oath.)

With a sputter, you abruptly shake your head. “No — no, we’re not. That isn’t — he hasn’t sworn anything like that. I told you, it’s a working partnership. It isn’t romantic.”

(Your fist clenches against the thigh of your trousers at the memory of what it looks like to be underneath him.)

Brows furrowed with an unspoken doubt, Bo-Katan studies the response before nodding. “My apologies, then. I could have sworn I’d maybe missed something.”

A light ding breaks the interrogation as the sight of shining beskar slips through the front entrance of the inn.

Mando.

It’s impossible to hide the sheer relief alleviating all-too tense shoulders. Bo-Katan swivels her attention to him as well, mouth thin-lipped and prepared. Yet before you rise from the table, you allow a hand to drop lightly on her shoulder guard.

“Bo-Katan?” She responds wordlessly by following your hand to your face with her stare. “I think you would have better luck earning his respect — and mine — if you stopped looking for things that aren’t there.”

Before the Mandalorian clan leader can retaliate with her own advice, you step away from the chair to greet the returning bounty hunter in the middle of the room. Disinterested in the other three, he stalks towards you, helmet tilted with a non-verbal question. 

(Are you alright?) 

You mirror him, tilting your chin with raised brows as your answer.

(Let’s get this over with.)

Mando nods once, accepting the answer. He reaches between you to deactivate the beacon at your hip. The red light dulls back to black. 

“We’re ready to mobilize.”

“Good.”

Bo-Katan is the first to stand from her perch at the table. As if in sync, Axe and Koska follow a breath behind. Mando wastes not a second longer to turn on his heel, exiting without another word. Axe and Koska follow his lead, passing you to file out of the inn and into the midnight air. Bo-Katan gestures you leave next, with her lastly in tow.

By the time you meet the chill of a sunless sky, Mando has himself positioned against the wall across from the inn’s entrance. From his body language alone — standing arms crossed, guarded from others, with his hip pressed into a nearby abandoned crate — he’s not thrilled. His armor gleams in the moonlight. Bo-Katan, Axe, and Koska stand together in a triangle formation.

To avoid questioning, you stand in the middle — not too close to Mando, but no further than arm’s length.

(Do not go far from me — you promised.)

“I surveyed the area,” he tells Bo-Katan. “We should be clear to infiltrate the ship.”

“Were you able to see how many troopers were on the ground?”

“No more than two outside. Maybe a dozen inside.”

Bo-Katan brings her helmet into her hands. Just as they had in the inn, Koska and Axe follow her motions a beat later. Together, they push their helmets over their heads. Bo-Katan turns her owlish face towards you. “Stay on my six and don’t fall behind.”

As if you had any other choice, being the only one without armor.

The three lead the charge out of the alleyway and onto the docks, mindful of their bearings as they near the freighter at the very end of the pier. You can feel the heat from Mando’s body radiating off your back from how close he walks behind you, guarding with his own broad-shouldered beskar advantage.

The other three are too busy executing the plan at full-steam ahead to notice.

“Is the Child safe?” you murmur, keeping the conversation between close quarters.

Mando’s breastplate presses softly into your back. “He is. You should have followed.”

“We need that information. I’ll be fine.”

“You shouldn’t have had to volunteer on my behalf,” he mumbles, but the anger isn’t directed towards you. “This isn’t your mission.”

There it is again.

You pause in your tracks, turning to press chest-to-chest with his armor. He automatically pauses, body tense as he stares over the crown of your head.

“It is.”

“It is what?” he asks, softer this time.

“My mission.” His helmet cants to the right, chin dropping to look squarely at you. “You keep saying this isn’t something I have to do. I know that. I’m choosing to do this.”

“But you’re—”

“This is bigger than a bounty on my head, Mando. I know I’m just… precious cargo and a means to an end for you, but the kid?” Your next words are curt. Final. “I’m not letting Moff Gideon get near him. We help Bo-Katan, we get the location of the Jedi, you take me to Coruscant, and that’ll be it.”

(He appears to have a fondness for you.)

If you take her outside perspective — that hope — then you’ll run too fast with it.

Mando says nothing, but you pretend to ignore the slight jut of his chin back into his neck. A noise fractures along the modulator, but it’s the sharpness of Koska’s whistle that saves either of you from pursuing the conversation further.

From a distance, you see boots of a Stormtrooper slide along the damp docks, disappearing behind a large crate. Mando takes the lead, hovering a glove along your forearm to maintain proximity as you stick to the shadows and reunite with Bo-Katan.

The knocked-out Trooper lays helmetless on the dock floor, stripped down to their flight suit. The three Mandalorians work to assemble the pieces of the disguise as Axe holds out the ivory chest and back plates for Mando to take. 

“It’ll be a little big, but it should fit her.”

Again, Mando says nothing. With both large hands, he maneuvers you in front of him and raises the strapped pieces above your head. The weight of white armor settles heavily on your shoulders in more ways than one.

The bounty hunter removes the gadgets, bombs, and Hail Mary weaponry on your belt and places them back to his own for safe keeping. The other three depart from the unconscious soldier to help with the assembly, securing various limbs of armor together for a faster build.

You don’t move against the pressure of their push and pull — all you can do is watch your elongated reflection in the breastplate of beskar, wondering if you really can pull this off. He must notice, because you’re awakened back to the present by a gentle touch of fabric along the outer shell of your ear. 

“Take this,” Mando says, urging you to slot the communicator into your ear.

“A comms link?” you ask, pushing it into your ear canal.

“One I kept on the Crest, just in case. Was given to me by an old friend who didn’t know when to stop talking, so I never used it.” 

“Did you bring extras?”

“You’re my only concern.” The statement makes your stomach flutter. Mando’s head turns as Bo-Katan cautiously nears. Between her gloves is the final piece of the puzzle: an ivory helmet fit with a familiar, menacing black visor. “Allow me to.”

“Go for it,” Bo-Katan hums, and your once-flighty stomach turns sour from the sing-song nature of her tone. Like she’s solved the mystery of knowing what the two of you are all about. 

She doesn’t know anything.

“Hey.”

The gentle whisper of Mando’s voice against the modulator brings your eyes to the chrome visor. The Stormtrooper helmet remains between orange-tipped fingers.

“There will be interference from the comms link inside this helmet, but I will be with you every step of the way.”

“I know.”

Mando raises his arms, hovering the helmet just over your head. “And if it gets too dangerous, you turn on the homing beacon on your belt and run. I will find you.”

“I know.”

“And if this link somehow breaks—”

“You sound nervous.” Your brows cinch, searching his visor for eyes you know you cannot see. He stalls, causing you to ask. “Are you?”

The bounty hunter shifts where he stands. “What you’re doing, Princess, it’s…”

“Reckless?”

“Brave.” 

There is gravity to his correction. Your expression softens. 

“Thank you.”

With that, your world goes red. 

Engulfed by the claustrophobic smush of the Trooper’s helmet as it clings to your cheeks, you’re met with floating metrics and comms frequencies from the previous soldier that occupied this suit. At first the sight is overwhelming — so much is happening at once yet you cannot follow nor understand what any of it means.

“I turned off her comms link,” Koska says, but it’s filtered. Everything sounds underwater.

(Is this how Mando hears you?)

Axe speaks up. “Hopefully they won’t notice a decommissioned Trooper so long as we’re quick about it.”

“Perfect,” you hear Bo-Katan say. “Bounty hunter: get her into position and meet us up there.”

“On it.” Mando’s voice cuts straight through the oceanic vastness and directly into your ear.

Igniting their jet packs, the three of them disappear into the clouded night sky. Mando stands with you, offering the fallen Trooper’s Imperial-grade pistol.

“I’ll be okay,” you reassure him, wincing at the way your voice sounds trapped in the helmet. You reach with your glove to take the pistol into both hands.

“Abandon the freighter if something feels off,” he reminds you, and you nod.

“Go. I’ll find my way to the post and wait for your signal,” you promise, clunking two steps backwards in the Trooper boots. Mando waits a beat, giving you a once-over, before igniting his own jet pack.

And just like that, you’re alone.

Brave.

You could be brave.

With squared shoulders, you take a slow pace to the open landing of the Imperial freighter. No one’s outside — the privacy allows you precious time to get into position the way you assume the original Trooper had been. Every second on this mission counts.

The ship is large, intimidating in its own right. In your uncovered ear, you hear faint voices assessing systems checks on the Imperial comms. Someone mentions how miserable Trask is. Another scowls and promises the ship is scheduled to depart in a few hours.

In a sea of eavesdropped conversation, all you want to hear is Mando’s voice.

“Hey, you, did you hear something?” 

That isn't him. The higher-pitched voice behind you causes you to whip around. Another Trooper walks from the belly of the ship with an assault rifle, visor canted down at you.

“I thought I heard voices out here.”

In a brief panic, you shake your head and raise a single shoulder into a shrug.

The other Trooper groans, waving you off with disinterest.

“Keep me in the loop if you hear about anything. This moon’s a dump.”

You fumble with the pistol to free one hand, offering a thumbs up. The other Trooper snorts, disappearing back into the ship and out of view.

And for a while, it’s just like that. Announcements to call signs and signals you don’t understand. Names you do not know. Inside jokes between officers battling about the glory days of the Empire. How they're excited to eventually go back home.

All it takes is a blast from the comms link inside your ear for all of that to go to shit.

From a distance, you can hear several blasters firing off in one ear while the shouts of fallen Troopers simultaneously fill the other.

On your helmet’s visor, a high alert warning is triggered on the upper left corner, flashing in pixelated yellow.

Someone frantically speaks over the Empire’s comm feed:

    ( Pirates! We’ve got pirates on board! Guard that hall. Seal the hatch and check the exterior door. )

Over and over, the calls for aid on the upper decks of the freighter fill your head. The Trooper that questioned you takes off into a sprint up and into the ship, and a sea of white and black armor rush to stationed turbolifts. Uncertain of where to go — Do you leave? Do you listen to what Mando said to do? — you move into the ship to continue the charade, helmet down.

    ( What’s going on? How many of them are there? )

The frantic questions only seem to grow louder with every blast.

    ( Sir, there are only four life forms — wait. They’re Mandalorian! They’re headed to the cargo bay. Close the doors! )

“Mando, they know where you are,” you murmur into the helmet, hoping that Koska effectively muted your Stormtrooper helmet link as you keep close to a nearby wall, hiding in plain sight.

“Bo-Katan, they’re coming,” Mando says, relaying your information. 

Over and over, an officer yells to his immediate surroundings — Close the doors! Close all of them! — as rhythmic as the sirens sounding above you.

    ( Come in. Do you copy? Do you— )

“I copy.”

A voice unlike any of the Imperial guard appears. It’s a voice no longer contained by a helmet. 

(It’s a voice dripping with a smug confidence you’ve grown to know all too well.)

“Thanks for packing up all this gear so nicely. Imagine what a division of us can do when we get our hands on what’s inside these shiny little boxes.”

Relief fills your lungs.

Bo-Katan found the weapons. 

The mission’s almost over.

    ( If you think you’re going to escape with those weapons, you are sadly mistaken. Even if you’ve managed to jettison a few of those crates, we will comb the entire area until you are hunted down and killed. )

“Oh, we’re not jettisoning anything. We’re taking the entire ship,” Bo-Katan corrects. “Put some tea on. We’ll be up in a minute.”

“What?” you whisper under your breath, turning your chin to the empty hallway. Against your ear, you hear the breathy anger of the Mandalorian bounty hunter.

“This is more than I signed up for,” he growls.

You can faintly make out what Bo-Katan says through Mando’s helmet. “There is something I need, if I am to rule Mandalore. Something that was once mine. They know where it is and soon, so will I. Regardless, we are taking the ship for the battles ahead.”

“I got you your weapons,” Mando protests. “I have to return to my ship with the foundling.”

Bo-Katan sighs. “If you want my help finding the Jedi, you will help me take this ship.”

“You’re changing the terms of the deal.”

You’ll never forget the way Bo-Katan answers.

It is malicious. Cruel.

“This is the Way.”

Pushing yourself away from the wall of safety, you trudge down the hallway towards the entrance with your hands tightly clutching your weapon. “Mando, disengage.”

He doesn’t answer. Has the comms link frayed?

“She’s going to keep changing the kriffing deal,” you add louder, pressing a palm into the side of your helmet. “Let her get her own damn weapons.”

“Attention! Why are you not with the rest of your squad, Trooper?”

A voice, booming and furious, freezes every muscle in your body.

Shouts and orders continue to rupture against the sounds of frantic blasts in your one ear.

(He told you to run. You’re too terrified to breathe.)

“Are you ignoring your superior officer?” the voice demands in a slithering snap.

“No, sir,” you answer, disgusted to hear the words leave your mouth.

As you turn in the Trooper armor, your blood runs cold. An officer in Imperial grays stands before you with an accompanying Stormtrooper aiming at your head. Immediately you focus on the officer’s eyes, unable to look away. 

It isn’t the cold way he glares at you, however, that has you spooked. 

His dark brown eyes almost bleed black. A scar sits under his left pupil, dragging just under his waterline and into his skin.

“What is your TK number, Trooper?” he asks, taking another step forward.

You can’t run, not when he’s holding you hostage with an armed guard behind him.

When you open your mouth to answer, you hear the sudden frantic voice of Bo-Katan as the sound of a door begins to creak under solid weight — Shit, they’re trying to send another wave. Shut it down, Reeves! Keep them out! — from Mando’s comm.

“I can hold them off.” That’s Mando’s voice. “Cover me.”

You abruptly look at the ceiling, fear gripping your heart as you forget yourself and speak to the air. “Mando, what are you doing?”

“Answer me, Trooper!” the officer barks, but the order sounds distant when zeroed in on the way Bo-Katan fights Mando’s insistence to fight the incoming wave of Troopers.

“Are you insane?" she shouts, voice echoing. "You could get yourself killed!”

“We have no other choice, ” he speaks plainly as his boots clip across the floor. The trio of Mandalorian voices soften from the growing distance. “Just do what you need to do.”

Suddenly a hand is on your arm, jerking you forward. You collide with the Imperial office shouting in your face. “Trooper! I asked you for—”

White noise pierces every part of your senses.

Your ears go numb from the ringing. Your eyes see a brilliance of red light. Shrapnel explodes from the ceiling, caving the hallway to the ground.

You feel the dirt. You taste blood. You are airborne and flying until you are not.

And for a while, there is silence.

. . . . . . . . .

After what feels like hours, you come back to the present. The high-pitched ringing is replaced by the ear-splitting sirens calling for aid and attack on the Imperial freighter. The world around you remains red, drenched in a panicked crimson. Pieces of the ceiling continue to drop in sickening thuds.

Stirring against the floor, the rubble scrapes the underside of your chin. The pain in your left leg is agonizing yet dulled, thrumming with your quickening pulse.

When the red lights flicker, you realize the ivory remnants of a Stormtrooper helmet is in the distance, cracked straight up the middle. The drab lifelessness of the Empire on this ship is a stark contrast from the red emergency lights. And when you wheeze for air, dust flutters around your bare face.

Exposed.

Your face is exposed.

“Mand—”

The debris invades your lungs, causing your croak to dissolve into a whooping cough. 

The sound jerks the Imperial officer to life from the rubble, his complexion a mixture of pale white and scarlet. The Trooper once holding you hostage lingers lifeless on the floor — his once-drawn weapon now lying in the middle of the hallway, open for anyone to take.

The officer bleeds profusely from the crown of his head down the side of his face. His hat is nowhere to be found.

And he’s staring right at you.

At first he blinks slowly, as if to gain his bearings, but when his sight locks on you the transition is quick — confusion that melts into something far worse than anger or fear:

Recognition.

“You.”

A murmur of awe slips through his lips.

“You’re alive?”

The vivid scent of smoke invades your nostrils as your nerve endings sink with dread. Your fingers drag along dirt-like rubble, looking for something tangible to grab onto as you slip in and out of consciousness.

When you last saw this Imperial officer, you were looking up at him — not across.

A group of people run frantically to the last line of X-Wings as a squadron of pilots fire up their engines. The hope of escaping is diminished with as Stormtroopers encroach onto the base, attacking the legion of blasters on the front lines. One by one, the last line of defense is broken, allowing the Empire to breach buildings for what few survivors are left.

Someone in the distance shouts to you, vocals frayed from screaming. Her silhouette pleads at the cockpit of a ship, hand outstretched.

(Run! Get up and run!)

You try. You try with all your might, but you can’t feel your legs.

The dirt reeks. It burns. 

Above you stands an Imperial officer, wicked with glee at his discovery. Behind him the Rebel alliance flag illuminates from the surrounding fire, tattered from wayside gunfire. Each leaf acts as a toppling dominos, igniting the trees and setting the forest brilliantly ablaze. 

Your palms push at the ground to scramble backwards, but the officer crouches and places his gloved hand on the back of your neck as if you were a newborn loth cat; squeezing, brutally so, to get your attention. 

(So this is where you’ve been hiding all this time.)

You note how the scar in his bleeding black eyes drags down his left cheek. How it warps when he grins, nodding to himself. 

(The Moff will be most pleased to finally re-meet your acquaintance.)

When you blindly search for your blaster to strike back, he extends the toe of his boot to crush your fingers, earning a whimper of discomfort. The officer bends further, hissing the venom straight into your cheek.

(You’re special, little one.)

The same man stares back at you now, the streak of blood dipping under his chin. 

“I know you.”

You barely recognize your own voice, wasted by debris. 

“I’ve seen your face before,” you continue as you press your palms into the ground, ignoring the way chunks of metal dig into your skin. 

At first he says nothing, eyes wide as he surveys with distinct interest. “I was always curious if the traitor of Yavin 4 ever survived.”

Traitor.

What does he mean traitor?

“You gave me over to Moff Gideon,” you murmur, nauseated by the way the room swirls as you reach the collapsing wall. He hasn’t noticed the blaster on the floor between you yet. You’re delirious with the hope of taking it before he can.

“They said you… didn’t make it off the bloody ship,” he says in a wheeze. When you blink to regard him, you notice his hand is pressed into his now blackened uniform jacket.

Shrapnel, impaled into his stomach.

He’s dying.

“Which ship?” you ask, swallowing what little spit is in your mouth to coat your dry throat. “Please, I need to know.”

“The only ship he’d keep you on,” he scoffs with a gurgled laugh. “Do you so easily forget?”

With a squeak you manage to stand at full height. Although the pain shoots clear through your leg and into your head, you begin to limp your way through the rubble towards the blaster. 

“I have no memory.” The same words you once told the Moff in a dream, far away from here. “Nothing. Shapes and faces, moments in time that don’t connect, but your face — in the fire and dirt, I saw you. You told me I was hiding.”

His stare hardens at your confession. “You truly don’t remember, do you?”

“No, but I need to.” 

It’s a plea you wish you could hold back, especially when the realization dawns on his face of what you’ve been stalking towards. You fumble as you lean down to grab the blaster, only to fumble back to the ground. He shifts against the wall to try and beat you to it, but winces as the shrapnel disappears deeper.

The more he moves, the faster his death will be.

The blaster is yours. You hug it to your chest.

“Why do you call me a traitor?” you press on, though your next question causes bile to rise in your throat. “Why am I special to him?”

He smiles, though there is no joy in it. “Because you… took things that didn’t belong to you. You… bested the Moff right under his nose. Never anticipated a… princess to best him.”

The wave his words cause crashes over you like an impending hurricane, flooding your system with unspeakable dread.

So it’s true.

It isn’t an off-handed nickname given to you by a bounty hunter.

(Safely transport a princess of value from this moon to the planet of Coruscant.)

“And now he wants nothing more than to… hurt you,” he adds, gasping for air.

Your chin falls to the curve of the Stormtrooper armor, searching.

(As if somehow his words would conjure the very tangible item you allegedly stole.)

The pieces are fitting, albeit jaggedly so. You stole something from the Empire, something dear to Moff Gideon, but it isn’t here.

(Is it back on the Crest?)

The officer’s pained voice cuts through your panic.

“Kept you on that ship for weeks, he did. Couldn’t get you to answer… where you’d hidden the bloody thing. Tortured for hours. I almost pitied you.”

“Hidden what?” you whisper in fear, but he continues his recount.

“He thought… that pathetic rescue mission ended with your Rebel scum ship being blown to smithereens. Dead. Never to be seen again. But then they caught… word it may not have been so. A cover-up.”

You lean forward despite the dizziness in the back of your head. “I need to know what I stole. I am begging you: tell me.”

His breath shortens, chest convulsing for air, but he finds it in his final sighs.

“Things we… wished to accomplish. The remnant plans of the Empire. A winning blow against scum.”

The gnarled, crimson teeth of the officer gleam as he cackles.

“A princess… volunteering to hide in plain sight. A death wish. Your days… have always been numbered, but he’ll find you soon enough. He always does.“

A chill shoots down the back of your spine.

Closing your eyes to catch your bearings, you breathe through a wave of nausea and dizziness once more. Sweat drips from your brow and onto the thigh of your armor. The sirens still sound. The lights still flicker.

You haven’t heard Mando’s voice once.

Shaken fingertips reach down to your belt, sifting through unfamiliar pockets until they find the homing beacon.

(Run. You need to run.)

When you finally open your eyes, the officer is gone: his eyes stare to the ripped-apart ceiling, lifeless, with his bloodied palm pressed to his decorated breast pocket.

“Mando?" You speak to the open air, hoping the comms link is somehow still functioning. "I need you."

Everything is spinning. Your thumb tabs at the button on the tracker, but it won't illuminate.

“Shit. Mando, answer me. I'm — below you. I don't think I can make it out of here, not on my own."

He does not answer.

Focus. Stay focused.

(Stay alive and focus.)

"We need to — get off of Trask."

The pain in your leg shoots straight through your body when you attempt to move. You cry out and hunch over the curve of the dented breastplate, before your voice falters to a whisper.

"Please, get us off Trask... I can't... It's my fault—”

Your elbow buckles, causing your palm to slip against the floor.

The last thing you remember is hearing the smack of your skull against the hard surface of the freighter floor.

[djarins-cyare]

Voilà, chapter 14 - contains mature themes and language (nothing explicit yet, but not suitable for minors), under-18s pls DNI, thank you.

Enjoy besties ❤️

[dumbgothbunny]

I just had a Mandalorian series/fic idea but I dont know enough about starwars to write for it lol but anyway here it is

It’s kinda like a “law of surprise” from The Witcher type of deal. He’s charged with you now. You’re his responsibility. But you’re a sheltered princess and a brat and the complete opposite of everything he is. You’re a pretty young thing, a fact he barley dares to let himself admit. You take care of the child as if he’s your own. You ignore stares from people who see you- beautiful dresses and all- right next to him. Even though he’s much older than you there’s a huge attraction, despite your rocky relationship due to moral differences. But he slowly warms to you and you love listening to his stories, sometimes falling asleep with the child in your arms. He used to hate telling you anything but you’d whined until he relented. It’s easier to shut you up than to hear you bitch. Anyway, you also kinda warm to him and he teaches you how to hunt and shoot a blaster- and dare he say he had to fight the urge to pull you into his chest when you killed your first bad guy - pushed by the urge to protect him from the guy who had him cornered (or so you’d thought) Mando even gets you some Armor made with a bit of the special shade of your favorite color you like so much. and it’s basically some romantic smutty shit. Also let me clear the reader is of legal concerning age- just young. There’s an age gap.

But yeah that was my idea.

[the-djarin-clan]

[omgreally]

Reckless Din Djarin/F!Reader E, 1.1k Warnings: angry!Din, arguments, and smut. unprotected sex (unrecommended) and an unhealthy dose of feels! Summary: Din Djarin needs you. He tells you so. This is the result.

“You were reckless.”

Din Djarin whirls on you, forefinger outstretched, his expression unreadable beneath that damned helmet. All you get is the digital rasp of his voice, lowered in what you read as tightly-controlled rage.

There isn’t enough space between you in this storage closet, but it was the first place to offer enough privacy for him to corner you. You knew it was coming, but it doesn’t stop it from being kriffing annoying sometimes. 

“And you weren’t?” The ebb-and-flow of an argument is familiar enough to the two of you now; it’s a dance you’ve performed many times. You know the tense set to Din’s shoulders as fear, not anger. 

He is always so afraid to lose you that sometimes, you think he focuses more on that possibility than the reality of you - right here in front of him.

“You’re always reckless, Din, you literally take blaster shots to the chest on a regular basis,” you remind him, jabbing a finger into the center of his breastplate to illustrate. You’re close enough that you’d be able to feel his breath on your face if it wasn’t for the helmet. “I should be yelling at you.”

“I’m not yelling.” His words are no less sharp for it. You roll your eyes and move to shoulder past him but he traps you with a hand at your waist. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?” you drawl, bored; “Don’t ignore your stupid insecurities, yet again, and go on like we always do, yet again, until this same argument repeats itself a few days, weeks from now - yet again?”

His grip doesn’t slacken on you. “Don’t go. I need you.”

The admission has your jaw hanging. It’s been something, this thing between you, but neither of you have had time to really put a name to it. In your opinion, it doesn’t need one, but Mandalorians have some kind of fucked-up sense of honor that’s been getting in your way lately.

You never expected this out of him, though.

He takes your stunned silence as an opportunity to muscle you backwards until your shoulders hit a shelf, sending bottles wobbling with the impact. “Don’t go,” he says again, and it’s more of a plea than a demand. You’re not sure but it feels like he’s holding his breath until he hears you say, “Yes.” 

Din wastes no time. He works the front of your tunic open swiftly, pulling leather aside to expose flesh. His trigger-worn gloves are rough on your skin and you press your lips together and exhale, swallowing a sound. 

“Need you,” the Mandalorian repeats, and this time the words have an entirely different meaning. He’s hard against your thigh and it’s not Beskar.

“Did you lock the door?” You unholster your blaster hurriedly, setting it aside on the shelf. You can imagine the outline of Din’s feral grin as he grabs you by the hip and spins you to face the wall. 

“Of course.” He loosens your belt and your holster falls the same time as his does. He works his dick out of his pants with one hand and yanksyours down with the other and then he’s pressing in, his length heavy and hot against your inner thigh.

“Good,” you murmur as he holds poised behind you, “‘Cause I need you, too.”

You feel and hear the tension leave him - a little sigh digitized by the vocoder - and his fingers settle on your hip as he guides the glistening head of his cock to nestle against your opening.

You’re already embarrassingly wet - have been ever since he first pushed you into this damn closet, hoping it would end this way - and it doesn’t take much, a twitch perhaps, before the tip of his dick squeezes just inside. You press a groan into your forearm and shut your eyes as the grasp of your pussy welcomes the intrusion.

You grab onto the shelf next to you and it rattles at the sudden impact when Din shoves his hips flush to your ass, driving his cock all the way inside you at once. The breath leaves your lungs in a gasp, the weight and stretch of him fitting a place that makes your knees go weak.

Din holds you up with his grip on your hips. You’re going to have bruises and you’ll be walking funny for half a day, but right now, you don’t kriffing care. You arch your back, push back against him, and groan his name.

It sets something off in Din; something feral. He growls an unfamiliar swearword through the vocabulator and hauls his cock through you with a suddenness that smacks the backs of your thighs with his legguards. Then he does it again, and again.

It’s so good it hurts, makes your mouth water and your eyelids flutter closed. 

The slide, the squeeze, the impact see-saws your nerves until they’re on fire, you’re pulsing inside and ready to erupt like an explosive charge. Din’s hand creeps under your waistband and the rough pad of his gloved middle finger against the swollen bud of your clit is like the press of a trigger. You yelp and squirm and come just like that, pinned in place by his hips and his cock.

“Need - to - please, mesh’la - where -” His voice is stuttered through static, his rhythm irregular. He’s so close you can feel it through the aftershocks. You moan inarticulately for a moment, a punched-out little oh before you manage to answer.

“Inside - “

You barely get out the second syllable before he’s locking into place, hauling his pelvis up against you so hard your feet leave the floor and he reaches something so deep it makes you want to implode and erupt all at once. He throbs inside you, and you feel it in the rippling clench of your still-trembling pussy as he fills you with his come in fits and starts in time with his breath.

Eventually it’s over, and the Mandalorian lets your feet touch the floor again. He’s still breathing hard through his helmet’s filters, and your heart is beating like you’re running a marathon. 

Amazing how he can do this to you, consistently, flawlessly every time, anywhere. You’d still be furious at him if you had the energy.

Then Din folds his arms around your waist and pulls you back against him. He stays lodged in you and leaking, and you tremble in his arms and sigh.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you tell him. The smooth surface of his helmet is soothing against the heat of your cheek. 

“I know,” he says quietly. “Neither am I.”

You’re glad.

[clareguilty]

Writing for Din again got me thinking that he can probably make as many silly facial expressions as he wants beneath his helmet bc no one will notice but then when he's finally comfortable enough to have his helmet off around others he has the worst poker face and is always so easy to read

[prolix-yuy]

Bloom

Pairing: Din Djarin x F!Reader

Summary: Mando offers a lesson in restraint. And blasters.

Word Count: 4k

Warnings: Explicit, 18+ MINORS DNI, grinding, descriptions of male and female bodies, allusions to sexual acts, female masturbation, descriptions of PiV sex, we’re fantasizing about one (1) sexy space dad in this house. 

Notes: Don’t we all just love some weapons training? Someone explain to me why it is so attractive when Mando does it, because I have never found it sexy in real life. I’m also dedicating this installment to my Star Wars sister @amywritesthings because we just keep yelling at each other about how much this trope worms into our brains and I feel like she’s owed this as a treat.

Takes place directly after A Sweet Response to Tragedy. Like literally the next day. 

Cross-posted on AO3

I Think of You Series Masterlist

The blaster in your hand is warm, sweaty along the grip and sticking to your palm. Your wrists are tired, your trigger finger stiff, but you raise the barrel to aim again before firing a bolt.

Zzzst!

“Miss,” Mando says, and you sigh comically, dropping the blaster from its durasteel target and tilting your head up to the sky.

“I don’t think this is a ‘practice makes perfect’ situation, Mando,” you huff, looking over at him. He’s sitting on a fallen tree, one elbow on his knee as the child stomps around in the dirt.

Earlier you’d been distracted by a, “Hey, kid, no-'' and caught Mando pulling a fat earthworm out of the child’s hands. The scowl of displeasure on the child’s face preceded one of the funniest things you’d ever seen the pair do. The child lifted his hand and squinted, met with a shake of the helmet, but much to your surprise he managed to get the worm back from Mando, plunging it right into his mouth. You’re not sure how, seeing him smacking his lips with pride, and it obviously baffled Mando too. He slapped his thighs and made a noise that sounded like a confused massiff, which made you double over laughing long enough that he threatened to leave you behind.

Now his posture is more languid, twirling a piece of grass between his fingers and watching the child searching for more snacks.

“Am I performing this feat for no one?” you ask, waving the blaster wildly. That gets Mando’s attention.

“Kriff…don’t do that,” he straightens up, looking like he’s going to give you another talking-to about blaster safety.

(not like you’re already so cautious you almost threw up the first time you touched it)

True to his word after that one evening on the Crest, Mando opened up the artillery cabinet and brought out a small blaster pistol, approaching you like a skittish loth-cat. The weight of yesterday’s market trip was still on your mind, but you’d coached yourself to breathe through the twinges of rejection you felt.

(not right now, but not forever)

The Crest was still parked on the dense forest planet, Mando waiting on a part to upgrade the cabin climate system. He’d stood in front of you, the blaster looking tiny nestled into the folds of his gloves, as you stared at it with the same pit in your stomach as before.

“Would you like to try again?” he asked. His posture was open, not pushing, offering a part of himself up to you.

(you knew you had to take it)

“Okay,” you sighed, gathering up the child from the cot and settling him in the crook of your arm. “Be warned, it’s not going to go much better than last time.”

Mando sidled up to you, his helmet tilting as he pressed a button to lower the ramp.

“I don’t have any complaints about last time,” he murmured, and you were hit with a blast of heat to your face as you remembered what exactly “last time” entailed.

(you straddling his lap, his hand on your face, rolling to pin you beneath him, hands clasped above your head)

(dampened by echoes of his words - I don’t know how to give you this)

“Cheeky,” you threw back, trying to calm yourself as the ramp lowered. “Are we at least far away from anything I could possibly hit?”

“We will be,” Mando replied, coming to stand beside you as the ramp lowered. Sunlight cut through the seal of the ship, painting you golden as it drifted down your body. You felt Mando’s hand skim past your elbow, turning your head to look at him. The light gilded his beskar, the shine almost too bright for you so you squinted against it. The child cooed and you tossed your head at Mando.

“Check out you dad, Bean, he’s so shiny he could be used as a spaceport beacon,” you joked. The child turned his head and smiled at Mando, who then watched you both for a long moment even though the ramp had long since touched earth. His hand came up to cup the child’s cheek as he squinted against the glove. The visor lingered on the child, then turned to you. It was often impassive, but the ghost of his touch told you what emotions were running through him.

(fondness)

(conflict)

“Let’s go,” he said, stepping back from you both a little quick, as if he’d caught himself in a thought he shouldn’t be having. You followed him down the ramp, bouncing the child a little to watch his big ears flap.

“Alright Bean, I’m sure you’ll find this entertaining.”

It hadn’t gone nearly as bad as the first time. Mando was quieter with you, slower and more cautious. The blaster was loaded this time, but a much smaller and less powerful model than the one he keeps on his hip. It fit easier in your hand and you were getting the hang of aiming, the noise of the bolts still a little too loud for your nerves.

You’ll admit you let the frustration that permeated the first blaster training taint the beginning of this one. After struggling to aim the pistol yet again, a few exasperated huffs from Mando egging you on, you finally spun around to face him.

“How old were you the first time someone held a weapon at you?”

He took a half step back, stunned at the outburst. You were gritting your teeth, angry at the world for making you have to learn this and taking it out on the only person who was trying to help. It curled shame in your stomach, that you said those words to him, and it only soured you more when he answered.

“A child.”

You both stood and stared at each other, letting the outburst blur the edges of your vision. You nodded, taking a deep breath.

“Me too.”

Mando nodded back, and you scrubbed a hand over your mouth, rolling your shoulders.

“I’m sorry. I’m just…upset that I’m upset. I know I shouldn’t be, and I’m angry that I haven’t unlearned it yet.” It was a mouthful of words but the truth, and somehow saying it out loud makes the monster so much smaller. Mando didn’t say anything, but he came closer to you and put his hand on your shoulder. You leaned into his touch as you watched the toes of his boots come to rest by yours. The understanding that you both were children of violence (probably very different kinds of violence) made the lesson less like a teacher to a student and more like allies.

The shooting space Mando chose was a small clearing within a tightly wooded forest, the canopy of trees letting the light dapple in. The dirt and dead leaves on the ground crunch and shuffle pleasantly underfoot, and the air holds the pleasant smell of forest rot that ushers in rebirth. You think after this practice it would be nice to lie down and watch the branches shift in the breeze, the kid climbing over you, Mando sitting quietly nearby.

(If only you could hit the kriffing target.)

You’d been at it for over an hour, changing your stance, which eye you used to aim, holding the blaster at a variety of angles while Mando called out encouragement from several feet away. Your frustration is back to boiling over, and Mando can surely feel it coming off you in waves. He leaves the kid hunting under rocks to come by your side, looking out at the makeshift target field he put together with a few pieces of durasteel scrap.

“Don’t you dare say anything snarky,” you warn him, overly nervous at this perfect marksman, deadly hunter surveying the scene. You’ve left some scorch marks on the landscape, but nothing of significance on the actual targets. Letting the blaster hang at your side, you pointedly don’t look at Mando.

(told you this was a lost cause)

“Okay, show me,” he says, and you go through the motions of getting into position, lifting the blaster, lining up the shot, until he steps so close behind you it almost makes you misfire.

“Hold,” he says, his voice close to your ear. You keep the blaster aimed as he leans over your shoulder. His chest is pressed lightly against your back, and in an exciting development he extends his arm along the length of yours, fingers coming to rest on your hand. He doesn’t have to lengthen his arm, could have taken a half step back and reached just fine, but the way he’s curling himself around you, molding his practiced form around your inexperienced one, is easing some of the tension from you.

(and growing another kind of tension)

“Fire,” he says, and you tug gently on the trigger. The bolt flies wide even though you swear you have the target in your sights. Mando hums and wraps his hand around yours.

“You’re losing form right when you pull the trigger. Try to keep the position for a second longer.” He stiffens his arm, the other hand coming to your hip to offer a grounding weight. “Again.”

You squeeze off another round and it’s closer now. Your mouth drops open.

“Kriff, that’s an actual improvement.” The surprise in your voice reverberates a chuckle from Mando’s chest into your spine, and you have to fight not to push back against him.

“Still a little loose at the end,” he says, (you have no idea Mando) shuffling closer to you to press the length of his body up yours.

(Kriffing Maker, you’re not going to be able to concentrate like this)

You swallow hard and line up the target, beskar surrounding you as if you were the true Mandalorian, and you fire a shot.

Ping!

You’re stunned for a moment before the wonder bubbles up.

“I hit it.” A nervous laugh barks out of your chest. “Maker, I actually hit something.” You leaned back into Mando’s chest and the hand on your hip snakes across your stomach. Your elation ramps up a dizzying amount as he pulls you into him, his hand pushing the blaster down to your side as he lets you lean back. The helmet brushes against your hair as you hear his own soft chuckle.

“That you did. How are you feeling?”

You ponder the sensation running through you. Excitement at completing a task. A low-level of dread at the idea of having a person in your sights.

“Conflicted,” is the best you can come up with.

“That’s appropriate,” Mando says, and you think you’d be able to concentrate better if you couldn't feel how warm and solid he is behind you.

(Maker-damned sexy mountain)

As if he heard your thoughts, the hand around your waist slides back, the gloves tracing along the fabric of your waistband. The middle finger takes an extra moment to circle the button of your pants before resting back on your hip, and with a step back you’re left without his reassuring pressure against you.

“Again, no cheating this time.” You throw a dirty look over your shoulder.

“Not cheating, learning,” you throw back, but the strength of those words is weakened by seeing him stand with his hip cocked, hand on his belt with his helmet tipped far to one side.

(he knows he looks good like that)

“Then show me what you’ve learned,” he drawls out and you roll your eyes, turning back to the makeshift targets.

(hold a second longer than you think)

You will your muscles to commit this to memory, the same as everything else done in defense of your life, as you lift and fire the blaster again.

Ping!

You shouldn’t be enjoying this but you’re feeling accomplished, and a little more confident. You’re not hitting bullseyes, nor are you wildly accurate, but you’re hitting a target the size of a man and that’s good enough for you.

(you should never need to learn more)

You shift to another target, taking the breath, firming your stance before firing.

Ping!

(is Mando closer to you?)

You swivel on your heels, trying to add speed to your arsenal.

Zzzst!

You tut to yourself, not used to firing while moving, but you re-center and try again.

Ping!

It’s close to the edge but still a hit. You lower the pistol and start turning towards Mando but he’s on you with the silent stalk of his profession.

You stifle a gasp as Mando pulls you tight against his hips, feeling the thick length of his cock press against your ass. Both hands fly to your waistband, deftly unbuttoning them. You have a moment to recognize his right hand is bare before he’s sliding it into your pants, cupping you over your underwear.

“Kneel,” he growls behind you and you drop, his body following you fluidly. He’s got you caged in between his legs, wrapping his arm around you to pull you back against him. His fingers stroke against your clothed cunt, pressing lightly to tease at your clit.

“Fuck, Mando,” you gasp, hearing his wrecked breaths behind you. “Did that…turn you on?”

“Can’t you tell, Mesh’la?” he teases, his voice deep and raked over gravel. His hips roll against your ass, the helmet resting against your shoulder. “Makes me want to fuck you here in the dirt, take your pretty little cunt, looking so beautiful, kotyc, Mesh'la…” Mando loses his train of thought as he searches for your breast under your shirt, dragging his thumb over your nipple to harden under his touch. You haven’t had Mando’s hands on you in ten years. Not like this, not hot and possessive. It’s just as intoxicating as the first time.

“M-mando, the kid…” you gasp, wrenching your head back over your shoulder.

“Kid’s too busy looking for bugs,” he groans, “Need to feel you.”

(well that’s a pair of underwear wrecked)

He pushes against your back and you can’t help but fall forward on your hands and knees, fingers digging into the leaves and silt of the forest floor. Mando folds over you, hand coming down into the dirt beside yours and draping his body over you. The cape flutters over your silhouettes, and if anyone stumbled upon this glen it would look like the Mandalorian was searching for his dropped reading glasses.

He’s not, of course, he’s backing his hand up to slide his fingers into your underwear, maneuvering you back into his folded hips so you can feel his achingly hard length. He’s palming you, not sunken into your core yet but dangerously close. Your arousal must be slicking his palm, those thick talented fingers so close to where you need him. You close your eyes, the bliss of being enveloped by him fighting against how dangerous this could be.

(anyone could find you here)

But he’s so close and breathing so quickly next to you, it makes your head spin. You look down at your hands, planted in the dirt side by side, and you slide your fingers over his gloved ones. There’s debris and bits of grit between you, but to touch him even if it wasn’t ideal was the constant in your life.

“Kriff, do you think you can take me if I put it in right now?” He says, voice dark and chocolatey smearing across your shoulders. You gasp at the image; Mando ripping down your pants and filling you, just the wetness of your arousal guiding him in. You whine, knowing how he’ll stretch you, the burn of his cock with no foreplay, and you grind back against him.

(Want it want it want it)

(Maker you can't and you hate that you know it)

“Mando, fuck, we can’t, not right here with…”

Mando lifts up on his knees, tearing his hand from your pants (no wait come back) and wrapping both around your hips, gasping in a few deep lungfuls of breath.

“Dank farrik, you’re…Kriff, I’m sorry, I know,” he stumbles over his words, hands rubbing frantic circles on your hips. You huff out a laugh and look over your shoulder at him. The sunlight flecks him in gold, his chest rising and falling as he tips the helmet down from the canopy back to your face.

“Mesh’la, you don’t know what you do to me.”

You stifle a moan at his hazy confession, but your eyes search for the child.

(where is…where is the child?)

“Mando, I don’t see him,” you stutter.

“What?” he slurs out, voice sounding drunk on the heady feeling of arousal.

“Where’s the kid?” you say more forcefully, and the edge of fear in your voice seems to snap Mando to attention. He pulls you up to standing with him, the casual strength of it making you dizzy.

“Kid?” he calls out, tearing himself from you and leaving you standing with a rucked-up shirt and open pants in the forest. You could care less though, because you’re also calling out for the little green gremlin.

“Bean? Where’d you go?” you shout, buttoning yourself up and trying not to sound too scared.

It takes three heart-pounding minutes before Mando thinks to look into the hollow at the end of the log he was sitting on. The child raises his hands and chirps in the universal sign of “found me!” You slump down in the dirt as Mando fishes the kid out.

“I just taught him hide and seek,” you groan, a hand against your forehead as you will your heart to stop pounding. Stealing a glance at Mando you see him shaking his head, but in the exasperated way that makes you think he’s smiling under the beskar.

“Lesson’s over, time to head back,” he says, and your heart drops but also thumps heavily.

(what just happened there?)

You don’t say anything as you walk back to the Crest, watching Mando out of the corner of your eye. He’s stiffer now (maybe still a little stiff from your activities) and you can feel awkwardness wafting off him like heat from a turbine.

(hope he doesn’t regret it)

Back on the Crest, Mando puts the blaster back in the armory, locking it up. You open some ration packs for dinner, eyes lingering on the fresher foods you’d obtained, but you’re feeling too sapped of energy to try cooking.

(another day)

Eating in silence, Mando is still antsier than you expected. It’s not like you hadn’t had his fingers (amongst other things) between your legs before. And the words whispered in the cockpit not a day earlier made you think he wanted you.

(at least as a lover if not something more)

Maybe this was a step too far for him, a desire he wasn’t prepared to indulge. Maybe he was embarrassed that a Mandalorian should feel a need this heavy.

You hoped not.

After the soreness of the day, your new bed is a welcome respite. The child is still riled up from the earlier excitement, but after several minutes of chattering and playing with the silver ball he still adores above all else, you see him start to fade. You know you should put him in his hammock but you’re warm and settled into your bed, and the child has plenty of room. You decide to let him crash with you for the night, but just as your eyelids pull with sleep Mando’s knuckles rap quietly on the wall.

“He’s almost out,” you whisper, and Mando pulls back your curtain partition. The helmet tilts down at the child curled on his side, his ear pillowed under his head and hands holding the ball tightly in sleep. For a little rabble rouser who always keeps you on your toes, he can sure tug at your heartstrings.

“I’ll put him up,” Mando whispers, gathering the sleeping body so carefully. It always touches you to see such a large, imposing man handle the small being with such care. He tucks him into the crook of his elbow with a long look at his face.

“He’s pretty cute when he’s not giving us heart attacks,” you say, and you almost choke on the us that comes so quickly to your lips.

(are we an us?)

Mando turns his head back to you, and the visor draws slashes of heat across your bare shoulders.

“I’m sorry…for today. I got carried away. I didn’t mean to…take it so far.” The confession furrows your brow.

“How far did you mean to take it?” you ask, and you’re surprised at the sultry tone you hear. Mando seems to be too, as his hand grips the partition cloth tighter.

“I…I’m not…I wasn’t…” he says, and you raise an eyebrow at him with a sleepy smirk.

“I thought we’d gotten to the point where we understood each other, Mando,” you ask with a teasing lilt, watching his thrumming silhouette.

(Maker, I want to fuck you)

(Kriff, Mando, wanted to for weeks)

“I know what I said, I just…” Mando murmurs, trying not to disturb the child. The hand gripping the cloth eases, his fingers rubbing against the weave in a way that broadcasts nervousness.

(always at war, even when there isn’t anything to fight)

“I don’t want you to feel like…you have to take what I give you. You can ask for things, and you can tell me off if I’m…being too forward.” The admission makes you chew on your lip, thinking for a moment as he stands in your gaze. It’s gentlemanly in a way, him wanting you to know you have agency and that you can deny him if what he offers is not enough. It’s also deferral, though, another way for him to deny what he wants. Another attempt to place distance between you that doesn’t need to be there.

“Mando, I would very much like to continue with this,” you purr out, turning onto your back so the visor can roam the swell of your breasts under your top, the drag of your hand to lie on your stomach. “Just not when the kid’s present.” You wink at the last statement.

(seducing Mando? Who are you?)

“I want you, Mando. I want this,” you say, with just a little less teasing, “Whatever it might turn out to be.” You hear an audible swallow and receive a short nod, which makes you close your eyes and stretch, arching your back. You fall back on the bed, blinking slowly as the hot stare of the black T rips up and down your body.

“Goodnight, Mando,” you say, the words releasing him as he steps back from your bed.

“Goodnight Mesh’la,” he returns, letting the blanket fall back to obscure your sleeping space. You hear him put the child to bed, shutter the door, then silence.

In the dark of your bed you let your hands drag into your underwear much in the same way Mando’s did. Closing your eyes and drifting back to that forest clearing, you construct the ending you wanted from that moment. Mando’s body heavy over yours, his cock buried inside you as he fucked you into the dirt, fingers teasing you to completion as he chases his release and yours. The image of him taking you like this, powerful and encompassing but with the soft reverence that got you addicted to him in the first place, makes you cum hard and fast.

Then, as you drift back down and into slumber, you contemplate how to court (your) the Mandalorian. The conflict he suffers is still half shrouded from you, but you hope that your words can offer him some clarity, or at least help him make a few decisions. For all of his stature and presence, you may need to be the grounding force in this cautious partnership. Maybe it’s just a matter of letting Mando ease into the idea that you want all of him, even if he can only imagine himself in your bed for now.

And in the morning, as the caf percolates and Mando passes you in the hallway, maybe the heaviness of his visor and the time he spends letting it wander makes you believe that not forever could be sooner than you hoped.

END

“this life Has been A landscape Of pain

And still, Flowers Bloom in it.”

― Sanober Khan

The story continues in Episode 7: Ache

[cass-hues]

It’s a hot day on Nevarro…. 🥵

[onichangiri]

Pedro Pascal at the Metgala 2023 with his slutty little knee 🫠

[djarins-cyare]

Chapter 21 ‘The Homestretch’ is now available

Into the Death Star wreckage we go…

🧩 And a little taste of some of the dark feelings such a dark place gives rise to…

Thank you for reading, liking, kudosing and reblogging 💚💚💚

[archieimagines]

touching din | din djarin

Summary: The three times that Din bends his own rules and engages in physical touch. 

his primary love languages are acts of service and physical touch. i will die on this hill. i started this one just to indulge in the thoughts of touching his lovely face. it’s been in the works for a while and although i know it’s far from perfect, i’m glad that it finally gets to see the light of day! warnings: bad language, potential incoherence? idk i’m very tired but i hope you like it tags: plenty of fluff, plenty of indulgent, sfw touching, and then a good handful of angst. rollercoaster central. this takes place over a period of time, so part of it comes after finding out grogu’s name, which is why he’s referred to as many things! word count: 4650 written by: archie support me on ko-fi!

The travelling between planets would’ve been excruciating if not for your life partner and your adoptive child. The three of you made rather an unorthodox family. A runaway from Corellia, a Mandalorian and a… a sweet ball of green. An unorthodox family, indeed, but loving.

The Child chirped and bubbled away on your lap, apparently having a conversation with you while you sat in the pilot seat. You listened attentively, made agreeing noises at all the right moments, the lights of hyperspace travel filling the cabin with slow flashes. He really was so cute. You’d tell him it often, and you’d tell him that Din thought so too, even if he’d never say it. That much was obvious.

It was in the way he carried him, the way he protected him. The occasional pat to his head, or the quiet rub to his long ears as he slept. He wasn’t the type to openly say it, but it was clear, and that was what counted.

The Child reached out to the knob atop the gearstick, fingers wiggling.

“Baby, no. We have to always ask Din about the ship, hm?” You bounced him gently on your knee in an effort to ease the sad coos- but there was no need. A gloved hand reached around you, exposed fingertips closing on the ball. It was unscrewed and placed into the waiting green hands, content whirs and chatters soon filling the air.

The warmth in your chest grew into a smile as you dropped your head back, peering up at the helmeted man that stood just out of sight. “That’s a yes, then?”

A nod. “That’s a yes.”

“I didn’t hear you come up.”

He nudged his head to the Child, voice soft, “You were having an important conversation.”

And then he did what you loved.

He reached a slow hand out and stroked it over the top of your head, coming to a gentle hold at the nape of your neck, and leaned in. Your eyes fell closed as the cool beskar met between your brows, and you didn’t need to see him to know his eyes were closed too.

A beskar kiss.

You heard a soft sigh through his voice modulator. This was the way his people would show love. He made no move to break away, even from the awkward angle at which he leant. He savoured the moment, breathed with you, his thumb running back and forth over your skin. You weren’t sure if he could feel the goosebumps that his touch rose every time, his fingertips slipping into the lower roots of your hair.

He loved to touch you, you could tell. It wasn’t easy, and these moments were few and far between with his action-packed lifestyle, but the tenderness of these touches clearly meant so much to him. To you.

Without disturbing the occupied bundle on your lap, you reached for Din’s other hand. It hung by his side until you took it in your own, slowly raising it to place your kiss on the knuckles of his fingers. You kept it there a while, backs of his fingers to your lips, his helmet pressed to your forehead. The warmth of those digits filled a void left by the cold beskar. The warmth of human touch.

Long moments slipped by as you absorbed it until you became self-conscious. He hadn’t pulled away, but you weren’t even sure how he’d felt about it with his covered expression, so you let out a resigned sigh and lowered his hand.

But he surprised you.

His fingers opened up instead, laying delicately on the side of your jaw, his similar hold on the back of your neck still in place.

His thumb reached out to meet the corner of your lips, before tentatively, almost shyly, brushing over the centre of them.

He wanted more.

You were only too happy to oblige, lips raising into a delicate peak, placing a tender kiss to the pad of his thumb. Soon, he shifted, placing his index finger there instead. Then his middle. Each of his fingers tapped to your lips, and you made sure to place your affection on the tip of each one, giving in to the urge to smile.

He loved this.

You heard the tinned sound of a sigh before his fingers slipped away once again, soon followed by his reluctant leaning away.

He stood tall above where you sat, visor staying fixed on you. He was just looking. Just peaceful. You shone an easy smile, somehow both cosy and breathless from the moment.

His helmet turned towards the green being on your lap.

He blinked up at Din, and soon, a confused coo filled the cabin.

Din shrugged one shoulder. “You’ll get it when you’re older.” And with that, he settled back into the passenger seat, arms crossing over his chest. “Rest up,” he called, presumably to the pair of you. “We’ll touch down for fuel in six hours.”

Din’s bunk was the epitome of comfort. Cramped, yes. Warm, yes. Especially with two bodies. It’d easily become stuffy in there with the panel sealed while the pair of you shared his thin mattress, and you’d always wondered how he managed to keep his helmet on even in that environment. Or perhaps… He couldn’t feel the stuffiness because of the beskar. Or maybe… He was just always stuffy in there, used to closed air.

Your eyes raised from where you’d had them closed, cheek pressed to the chest of his flight suit to mimic sleep. Early mornings after a long, well-deserved sleep often came like this, and there was something so soul-healing about laying there to absorb his calm, peaceful presence before getting up for what would likely be another day of action.

Watching his visor for long moments, working out if he was still sleeping or looking back at you- it had become somewhat of a hobby. Sometimes, you had convinced yourself, if you looked hard enough, you could see the slightest shape beneath the vision slot of his helmet.

You weren’t sure if they were really there. But, in the dim light of the bunk, you could swear the bridge of his nose casted a shadow that caused a darker shadow inside the mask. His lashes were dark and long, and they fluttered slowly as his eyes closed in steady blinks, looking back at you with such leisure.

But then… Had you made that up?

You squinted, straining your eyes until you were sure— yes, you’d made it up. He was still sleeping.

But it didn’t hurt to imagine he had long lashes and a strong nose, perhaps even a strong brow to match. It didn’t hurt to imagine you could see the faintest outlines of the man you love.

Sated, you turned your cheek back to his chest, eyes falling closed to mimic his slumber. Or at least—

“Morning.”

— What you thought was slumber. 

His voice was groggy in the modulator; that intimate morning voice. Deeper, softer than usual.

It brought a smile to your lips. “Morning, my love. You were awake?”

“I have been for a while.” His arm tightened snug around your body in his hold, half atop his. “I like to watch you wake up.”

A soft laugh. “Not creepy, hm?”

“Not even a little bit.”

Silence lapsed with his low tone. All was quiet. Not the whirring of the ship, not the sounds of the forest he’d landed the Crest in the clearing of. Only the delicate air of his breathing inside his mask, catching in the voice modulator so quietly that ordinarily, you wouldn’t be able to hear it.

The thought stirred a deep intimacy in your chest. No one else would get to hear this. No one else would get to lay with him like this, press against his armour-free body like this. You splayed a hand over the cloth of his chest, toes wiggling from an uncontainable contentment with how your leg rested over his. Not an ounce of beskar between the two of you.

But yet… 

Gentle fingertips trailed upwards, over his upper chest, swirling delicate patterns in the creases of his fabric. Your eyes remained closed, focusing everything on him, the warmth that met your touch when you worked past the collar of the flight suit, meeting the skin of his neck.

It wasn’t the first time you’d touched him so. Of course, after this long together, you’d been intimate many a time-- You were both human, after all... But the helmet had always stayed on.

Your fingertips splayed over his throat, and it vibrated with his low hum.

It was no secret by now. He loved to be touched.

You could just imagine him there beneath the visor, eyes closed, brow relaxed. His face caught in a long moment of calm where it was often riddled with worry, or effort from the fighting. Bringing him such serenity like this was the least you could do for him, showing him that he’s loved. So, so loved.

Slowly, your touch crept just a little further up, seeking his jaw. But as your knuckles knocked the edge of his helmet, a gentle hand closed around your wrist in warning. He didn’t need to speak.

Your voice was the softest murmur. “I won’t take it off. Can I just- Feel you?”

He didn’t move, not for a while. You raised your eyes, peering up at him from where you were nestled in his chest, as if you could possibly read his facial expressions.

His hold eased, thumb lazily rubbing over your veins before letting go, and you found a buzz of warmth in your chest. He trusted you with his most precious boundary. Silently, you vowed to always protect that trust.

Delicate fingers worked upwards, feeling for hair from his chin. But, a soft gasp- There was no beard. The gentle prickle of cropped hairs caught your fingerprints as they swiped along his jaw, and you marvelled at it.

“You shave?” The words came out with a soft, amused breath of disbelief, eyes rounded in surprise. For some reason, it’d always made sense that he’d be bearded, long-haired. He had no reason to shave, knowing that no one would ever see, but now that you knew, it clicked.

Of course he’d shave. Din was a particularly thorough person, he was always driving himself forward to do a perfect job of his work: of course he’d take care of himself too.

“If it grows too long, it’s uncomfortable. Catches in the modulator.”

“Ah,” you hummed, brushing along the ridge of his jaw in the confined space. There was something about feeling his jaw move as he spoke, verifying that he really was human, really did have goings-on behind the mask that shielded him from the world. There wasn’t much room in there to move freely, only your fingers able to reach his face, but it was comfortable. You could feel the soft sway of his breath on your touch. “What colour is it?”

“Black. Brown, black.”

You hummed, eyes fixed on his visor lazily, though you weren’t really looking at him. You were visualising as you studied the contours of his lower face, mapping him out as best as you could in your mind, nails brushing through the stubble on his cheek. They trailed towards the corner of his lips, where you noticed the strands got longer. A moustache?

The smile that lifted your face was automatic, beaming at the realisation. You followed the direction of it, above his upper lip, soon finding a little sparse patch on his philtrum. Your eyes drifted closed, imagining the way it might feel to kiss him now that you knew this; how his facial hair would scratch your upper lip, your chin. Perhaps it would be almost sore on your skin if you kissed him long enough, hot enough--

His lips raised to press a real kiss to the centre of your fingers. Slow, shy, even a little clumsy.

A rich gasp pulled from your throat. It was electric to feel his lips on your skin, pressing the affection directly onto you, after these long years of going without.

You let your fingertips lower, finally feeling the shape of his lips, that subtle cupid’s bow as it raised into yet another peck, slow and tender against your touch. Your brows drew together, fighting the emotion that welled up in you, trying to make you cry. You weren’t all too sure why-- this was just- so much. It was so much, to feel him like this, to receive his first kisses like this. Something you’d never even imagined you could have.

“Don’t cry,” he murmured against your fingertips, tone almost a caress. His own fingers raised to brush at the corner of your eye. One must’ve slipped out.

You didn’t even know he was looking at you. Your lashes fluttered open, gaze meeting where you imagined his eyes would be. “I can’t help it,” you whispered. “You’re perfect.”

He’d lied to you. He’d massively, irrevocably, intentionally lied to you.

Your jaw ached from your grit teeth as you fought back angry fires in your heart, determined not to cry until you’d pulled your family safely off this forsaken, evil planet.

Din had been tasked with a mission of political undertones involving the spice market. He was masking as a bounty hunter to get information, so this time, the importance was in keeping the right people alive.

Of course, it didn’t work, and those people were now trying to kill you.

Your fingers trembled as you fought against the clock and the jolts of blasters firing at the ship to strap Grogu into his passenger seat. Your eyes were bleary, but you had to focus, secure him in safely. You wouldn’t take anyone’s safety for granted after this stupid stunt.

“Get her in the sky!” Din shouted up through the hatch, pushing his voice so loudly against the fighting and blasters below that it almost outgrew the modulator, his real voice peeking through. 

Grogu’s sweet eyes peered up at you, giving a questioning gurgle. The poor thing had no idea what was going on, was probably terrified by it all, and even your demeanour on top of it, but you didn’t have time to explain.

“We need to go!”

You buckled the baby in tightly and fought your emotions to ruffle a quick hand atop his head, hoping to soothe him even a small degree before falling into the pilot’s seat, specifically buckling yourself in, and jamming the engine on with jerky movements. 

The Crest resisted you, far too old and rickety by now to be good for quick getaways with a cold engine, but with some slow drags, turbulence from knocking through trees and extra laser blasts from below, she was finally in the air.

You heard the distinctive sound of fighting downstairs, someone being kicked off the ramp at an easy 400 feet altitude, and then the mechanical sound of the ship being closed off again. 

The ladder creaked with Din’s climbing, and you didn’t look back to him as he collapsed into the other passenger seat, not ready to talk to him yet. You were still seething, and wouldn’t engage with him until you’d pulled up safely out of the planet’s atmosphere.

Long moments of quiet dragged by. He knew you by now. He didn’t need to see more than the square set of your shoulders to know that he shouldn’t speak yet unless he wanted to upset you more. That, and you still didn’t look at him even as the minutes neared a full hour, focused on getting to the nearest hyperspace route.

He glanced to Grogu, who sat there blinking, clueless as he could be. He must’ve known something was going on, even if he didn’t know what exactly Din had done.

Din reached a gloved hand out, petting lightly on the green boy’s head. He still didn’t speak.

Eventually, your frustrated fires ebbed into a more containable state, you shifted the Crest into light speed, and unbuckled your belt with a heaved sigh. “Downstairs, Din.”

You stood, instructed Grogu not to touch a thing, headed down the hatch, and pointedly avoided looking at Din the whole time.

The body of the ship was chaos. Lazed burns in everything the three of you owned, strewn across the floor and torn from the struggle. Clearly, he’d really had to put up a fight. 

It was his own fault.

Boot on metal as he stepped onto the floor beside you. You finally looked at him.

You didn’t need to see his face to know he was exhausted. It was in the way he held himself, the way his arms just hung there by his sides, strong shoulders visibly slouched to the trained eye.

You reeled on him. “Why didn’t you let me in on it?”

Silence.

“Less of that, Din. Speak to me, I need to understand.”

There was a pause before his voice came. Firm, but gentle, as if pointedly trying to keep the peace. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Then make me understand.” You pulled an upturned crate closer and planted yourself on it, trying to keep the buzz in your veins under control, but your tone was clipped nonetheless as you gestured to a crate nearby. “Go ahead, let’s hear it.”

He sighed and tugged the crate over, perched on the corner of it opposite you. His knees were parted and elbows on his thighs, hands clasped together as he thought through his facts. The best way to make you see that he’d done the right thing.

“I couldn’t tell you my true location because if you knew, your presence would have soiled the plan.”

“So you’re telling me I’m a hindrance.”

“No.”

“That’s certainly what it sounds like-”

“It needed full discretion to work. I’d told them-”

“I can keep fucking secrets, Din.”

“I know you can.”

“So you lied? Told me you were on the other side of town? How was I supposed to get to you if something went wrong?”

He sighed, his head dropping forwards in exasperation. “I told you to stay on the ship.”

“That’s not always possible. You know it’s not! Hunters still have fobs fixed onto Grogu, Din, there’s no escaping that!”

“I couldn’t have you interrupting or we’d all be dead. I’d told them I was alone- no, look at me.”

Your jaw was aching from how you grit your teeth as you forced yourself to look up at that visor, the weight of frustrated tears brimming at your waterline. You gave a small nod.

“Listen,” he started. “I’d told them I came alone. If you’d known my location, you would have interrupted.”

“To save your skin? Yeah, I would.”

“Exactly. We’d both be dead, and the hunters would take the kid.”

“You think I can take care of him without you? We don’t stand a chance without you around, Din.”

He paused. Quiet lapsed, and you had no idea what he was thinking. Sometimes, he really gave nothing away, and it was infuriating. He didn’t let you in. He would rarely open up to you about what was going on inside that beskar that hid everything from you. Everything.

Sometimes, you were sure you didn’t even know the man you were committed to. He held so much of the power in this setup. He knew everything about you, everything was done by his thinking, and yet he didn’t need to disclose much at all. He’d keep you in the dark about everything.

What he was feeling, what he was thinking… Hell, even when he smiled at you he kept it to himself. You’d grown to handle those, but this, actively lying to you. As if you couldn’t follow instructions. As if you couldn’t be trusted.

You sighed as the drops in your eyes welled up enough to fall over your cheeks. You pulled yourself off the crate and approached the ladder to the cabin, calling over your shoulder. “Go clean up or something,” you sniffled, “I need a minute away from you.”

The clang of footsteps behind you, a gentle hand on your shoulder.

“Hey. Look at me.”

“I can’t, Din.”

“Why not?”

Such a simple question, such an impossible answer. You closed your eyes, struggling to pick out words that might illustrate what’s going on inside. The ache that sank your chest, that made your throat feel heavy with uncried frustrations. None of this was okay. Perhaps after you’d cooled down, you’d be able to see that mask as anything other than a barrier between you, that keeps him safe from your eyes. But for now, you couldn’t bare it. You scrambled to express it, but all you could let out was a strained “It hurts.”

Another moment of silence. Then, carefully, “What hurts?”

Clearly, he didn’t mean for his words to bring on the tidal wave of emotions and thoughts that you’d been keeping at bay.

“This, Din. All of this! Living in a ship, wondering if I’m gonna make it back in every time I step out of it, and not even being in on missions that risk your life! It’s like you’re cut off from me. Like we just live in the same space and I’m just there to entertain you. But it’s- it’s-!” You heaved a sigh, head buzzing with the force of the thoughts that were spilling out. They were so honest and raw from brewing for far too long. They must’ve been sharp as they came out, they must’ve hit him like a ton of bricks.

But of course, that damned beskar hid everything.

“It’s hard to be with a man who doesn’t trust me.”

For once, his voice rose. “I trust you more than anyone in the gal-!”

“You almost died because you didn’t trust me enough to let me in! You’d rather die than trust me!”

“That’s not how I-”

“That’s what your actions are telling me, Din. They always do. You never tell me what you’re thinking. I have to guess, but I can’t even read your fucking face. I live my life in question marks because you don’t even give me the option to-”

“You know I can’t show you my face.”

A deep breath left you, shaky and tired. So much pressure had alleviated in your head, like you’d finally emptied the contents of your mind onto a platter before him. And now that you could see it too, heard what you’d said, you felt almost ashamed for it.

Criticising the beskar was too far. That was his way of life, and had nothing to do with how he felt towards you. For sure, it was frustrating sometimes for you didn’t even know what your life partner looked like, but his culture was part of him. And you loved him.

“I know. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have-- What are you doing?”

He reached by you to snatch some fabric from a nook, and he folded it into a long strip without so much as a word.

“I’m- I’m trying to apologise-”

“You don’t have to. How can you trust a man you can’t see, right? We’ve been together so long, and you still don’t know who I am.”

You were stunned beneath the guilt that crashed over you. He took your words in so deeply, and fed them back to you plainly. You could see how you must’ve hurt him, with sentiments like this.

Your eyes welled with tears again. Whatever had come over you had clearly wanted to hurt him, but that wasn’t you. Your thoughts were too chaotic to pinpoint, swarmed with hurt and pain that was only now built on by the fact that you’d treated him so terribly. You’d sworn to him long ago that you accepted his Mandalorian binds, loved them even, but you’d let them get in the way with one incident.

“Don’t cry,” he spoke, modulated voice gentle. “I’m- I’m understanding you.” A calloused thumb brushed along your outer lashes to pause any tears that wanted to fall. “Let me help.”

And there was darkness.

He tied his makeshift blindfold behind your head in a loose knot, keeping your eyes in darkness. “Din? What is this?”

He kept quiet, and you heard shifting, something being placed aside.

“Why do you never-”

You cut yourself off when his hands took your wrists and lifted them gently, until your palms splayed on his stubbled cheeks. He gave a long sigh, and you imagined he’d closed his eyes.

Your heart jolted. He was here before you, bare, no helmet. When he spoke, his voice rang out clear and pure, the true timbre of his voice without modulation.

“I said, I trust you more than anyone in the galaxy.” His face moved with his words beneath your touch. “I’d move planets for you.”

He left you breathless. You dove at the chance, fingers tracing over his cheekbones, the bridge of his nose. It stood high and strong, just like you’d always imagined.

“This… This isn’t risky? I didn’t mean to offen-”

“You didn’t offend me. I know it’s hard, I feel it too.” He guided your hands to his lips, and he placed gentle kisses to your fingers.

The lump in your throat welled up again, your nose stinging from the tears that you tried to hold back. The thought of him struggling with his culture simply because he wanted to be close to you. “You do?”

“You know how many times I wanted to take it off? This seems… This is the best way. I’m not breaking any rules.”

You gave a watery, sniffly laugh. “This is the way?”

A hum of humour. “This is the way.”

You let your touch wander over his face, mapping it as well as you could. The curve of his eyelids, the strength of his browbone. He breathed softly, and you could feel the air on your palms as it pushed through.

You wove your fingertips into his hairline, pushing his locks back and bunching them up in your grasp behind his head. It was surprisingly long with unruly waves, and so, so soft.

He leaned in with a sigh until his forehead met yours, hands falling to their home on your waist.

And before you knew it, his lips were on yours. His warm, sweet lips fit perfectly against yours, and your head spun. It was so much, feeling him so close after nearly losing him, arguing with him, and your first kiss in the long years of being his. The first actual kiss.

He was unsure and clumsy in his affection, a little hesitant.

Clearly, this was his first one ever.

You let a hand trail to his jaw, guiding with a gentle touch. He soon settled in, became more confident in his kiss, even if it was still clumsy.

And it was perfect. The determined nibbles to your lips, the soft scratch of his moustache on your upper lip, the way he tugged you closer even as you were pressed against the ladder.

When it finally slowed to a stop, he murmured softly, so much closer than he’d ever been. The sound reached deep inside your mind to soothe your soul and make you crave more of his kiss. “I won’t ever treat you like that again. I’ll give you full disclosure of my missions, every single one. Alright?”

“Alright,” you agreed, breathless and flustered, “On one condition.”

“Hm?” He was clearly lost in this touch, so starved for so long, and it showed in his voice. He was utterly entranced with this new feeling, someone else’s fingers on his skin, words the last thing on his mind.

“We do this more often.”

A low laugh rumbled in his chest, nose nudging on the tip of yours. “Deal.”