#dar'manda reader

[draculasfavoritewife]

Touch Me Please

Summary: Aftereffects can be painful to work through by yourself, and a little help from your partner can be a godsend.

Pairing: Din Djarin x fem!Reader

Warnings: Unwanted touch from a gross man, initial lack of communication, suggestions of a panic attack. Extended sequence of getting handsy in the shower. Possessive! Din.

I will never tire of writing shower scenes ❤️‍🔥. I love the thought of Mando's partner sometimes going undercover to flush out particularly oily bounties. And I really don't know what came over me for this one's ending...I have to blame my senselessness on the utter chokehold this man has on me hehe.

*Translations of less common words/phrases in Mando'a at the end

"I had it handled."

Din gives no response to your annoyed statement, simply lowers himself on one knee to yank his vibroblade from deep in the throat of the male Twi'lek on the floor, whose body has just barely ceased twitching.

You angrily stalk towards him, wrenching your chain along in one hand, your own knife still humming loudly in the other. "Don't you tune me out, Mando," you warn, using his professional alias as much out of displeasure as necessity. "I. Had it. Handled. But no, you just HAD to have things done your way. And now he's dead and we have to make a run for it."

"Warm or cold, makes no difference," he says gruffly, still not looking at you. He's a little too focused on the prone body of the asset, and you briefly wonder what's bothering him.

He doesn't usually act so impulsively when you're undercover.

With an exasperated snort, you shake your head and turn your attention to your modified slave collar, pressing the hidden release so it falls away, leaving you unchained once more. "This was a waste."

"We got what we came for." He rises and hefts the dead man across his wide shoulders with breathtaking ease, indicating the doorway with a sharp jerk of his head. "Let's get out of here before too many of his lackeys come looking for him."

You sheathe your knife and pull his pulse rifle from its holster on his back. He doesn't object.

He can tell you might need to disintegrate a few lowlifes before it's safe to hold a conversation with you again.

Your escape goes smoothly, more so than the actual mission, ironically, and soon the two of you are standing in the ship's hold, watching the carbonite seal over your latest asset. Din is acutely aware of how close you are to him, all his senses on high alert as his religiously conditioned mind struggles to process how you can just STAND THERE so exposed. Your slave dancer disguise is perfect, as far as it can be called a disguise.

As much as the pair of you shares under cover of darkness, he's never really seen so much of your skin before, bared between little more than straps of leather and the drape of filmy netting. He has to remind himself repeatedly that you consider yourself dar'manda.

He wonders too, if you'd done jobs like this before your partnership. Not once did he see anything in your stride that betrayed your discomfort. Images flash through his head unbidden, of the way you moved before your new "master", of how you remained still and silent even as that crime lord TOUCHED you....

Din Djarin is a controlled man. So his admittedly violent and perhaps unnecessary reaction to seeing that filth's hands straying -- too close to areas of you that belong only to him -- has him slightly shaken, though he'd never say so.

Does he regret having buried his blade in that scum's neck for his sins, for trying to take what's his?

No.

He doesn't.

He finally emerges from his brooding at the sound of your voice beside him. "I'm not angry at you, Din." Everything from this mission has finally caught up with you, drowning the adrenaline in exhaustion. "I just wish you trusted me more. I know I don't look dangerous like this --" you gesture down your mostly unclad form, not seeing the Mandalorian's gaze subtly follow, "-- but I can take care of myself. I had to, for a long time. I was in control, not him."

"I know." His voice comes out cold; he's struggling to keep himself from unloading all his confusion and dismay on you at once. "I do trust you, Cyar'ika. I just...."

You wait, but it's like waiting for a stone wall to open up for you.

Nothing gives.

Normally you would gently cajole that stone wall into eventually breaking down, but you just don't have the capacity to do so at the moment.

"I'll be in the 'fresher if you need me," you sigh, turning away. "I need a shower and a change of clothes."

He says nothing, and you don't invite him along.

For the first time in a while, the silence that falls between you two is taut, barely stretched over spiking emotions that are too rampant to reach the air.

The feeling of hot water pounding into your skin clears your head as it always does, letting your patience recharge and your frustrations bleed away down the drain. Sense slowly begins to reclaim your thoughts, and you let your mind drift as you wash away the scent of smoke and spice, your fingertips trailing absently across your body as new questions rise of their own accord.

You can't understand why you feel disappointed.

The job went well. It doesn't matter in the wider scheme of things whether you were the one to acquire the asset or Din, not really. You both get paid the same.

Were you simply hoping for more of a reaction to your dancer outfit from your laconic partner?

Your hand slips in the water, brushes over your ribcage. It's one of your favorite places to find Din's hands lingering when the two of you are half-awake in bed, your skin sensitive enough there that the calluses on his fingertips still raise shivers from you every time.

But to your disgust, this time it isn't his hand you feel on your body, but the memory of a much different hand, one with overlong nails searching for something that isn't meant for it. A hand that's been dead for over an hour now, but the sensation is still there, and not only there, but trailing down your neck, slithering around your waist, loitering a moment too long atop your thigh, and you can't keep back the sound of horror that forces its way up your throat.

You feel disgusting and helpless with the mere idea of those hands crawling your body.

And all you know is you need it gone now.

Desperately.

So as the sensations continue to heighten unpleasantly, you do the only thing you can think of.

"...Din?"

His footsteps are swift, and he's in the 'fresher before you even need to call for him a second time. You can see his hulking dark form outlined through the frosted door panel.

"What's wrong?" He sounds concerned.

"I...." You pause and take a deep breath. "I need you, Din. Please."

He doesn't protest, doesn't question you. The lights go out and you hear the clack of the beskar as he strips and sets it aside. Scant moments later, he's under the water with you, solid and familiar and radiating heat, and you're suddenly so needy for his touch it's all you can do to keep from throwing yourself at him.

"What do you want from me?" he breathes, water dripping from his hair down to your face.

"You." Most times you're a playful flirt, but this time you have no room left for games. You just want him to remind you who you really belong to. There will be time for other things later. "I want to feel your hands on me, Din. I need to get the feeling of that miserable scum off of me. Touch me, please."

He pulls you into him, a tad more roughly than usual. "Where, Cyar'ika?"

You melt into the welcome haven of his chest, your hands immediately finding their way to some of the more distinctive scars that ridge his skin. "Anywhere you want, my Love."

He's ravenous in his compliance, all but devouring you with his touch, lips joining his hands as he focuses first on your throat and shoulders.

It's as if he's as desperate for the contact as you are, and suddenly his strange actions become clear to you, as his hands flawlessly overrun all of the places where the other man had been.

He took note of every single unwelcome caress, each one still burning in his mind's eye, each movement of foreign hands a wrong against you and him that cries out to be righted.

And so he follows that path diligently, his heated touch obliterating any claim that vermin tried to make on his sacred space, reconquering everything you offer him like the Mandalorians of old.

You're surrounded by him, blind in the dark and the steadily falling water, held flush against his body, your senses reduced to purely touch and hearing as he growls broken phrases in Mando'a into your skin.

"I've never seen you so territorial," you huff out in a laugh.

"I'm sorry," he murmurs against your lips, as his pause in their journey across the landscape of you.

"Why?" you ask the well-loved chamber of his mouth.

"For my actions. I let my jealousy rule me in the moment and I offended you." He lifts you in his arms, your back resting against the 'fresher wall and your arms wrapping around his neck. You settle into the new position with a happy hum, letting your hips kiss his and feeling his hands slide down the backs of your thighs in reply.

"But seeing that son of a Hutt with his hands all over you like that --" his forehead comes to rest against yours. "That did something to me I can't explain."

One of your hands finds its way into his hair as the other gently scratches across his muscular back, making him sigh.

"Thank you, Din."

You can FEEL the curious eyebrow raise.

"For caring so much. For coming to my rescue when I need you -- every time. Next time," you add, mischief creeping back into your tone, "we can reverse the roles, if you'd rather. I can think of a lot of people who'd pay an exorbitant amount for a dancing Mandalorian. Think of that -- you, dressed in that get-up, but with the helmet still on, of course -- that would intrigue any crime lord, all right."

"You sound like you've imagined that more times than you should have," he chides teasingly.

Your only response is a soft laugh, though you do press yourself more insistently against him and give his hair a suggestive tug.

"Hmm. Someone's still not satisfied." He lets you slide from his embrace back to the floor, and you whine with disappointment, though to your relief all echoes of unwanted hands have dissipated.

Now you're just left hungry for more of HIM.

"Hush, Mesh'la, I'm not refusing you." The extra grit in his lowered voice suggests he wants more as well. His thumb brushes across your lips, rough and sensual. "I just think it would be more...pleasant to finish this in my quarters, don't you? Cold water and romance don't always go so well together if the heat runs out."

You nip at his thumb and smirk. "Thinking as always, Djarin."

"About you, at any rate." He falls quiet abruptly as he pulls away, as if abashed that such a flippant admission actually left his lips.

You laugh and duck back under the water. "Go. Get your hair dry and whatever else you need so I don't see your face. I'll get out when I hear you leave."

He starts to open the door, then suddenly thinks twice and is upon you once again, his fingers digging into the softness of your hips and his lips grazing your collarbone.

"You're beautiful," he grates out in a rush. "And I can't stop thinking about you in that costume. I just thought you should know that."

You sigh into his firm hold, a sinful idea taking delightful shape in your mind.

"How about I dance for you then, Din Djarin? Would you like to see that, ner'alor?"

The breath leaves his lungs all at once in a sharp exhale. "Yes, Mesh'la. Dance for me."

When he finally goes, you're left to finish your shower with an overwhelming ache for him and some very tempting plans turning over in your head.

Dar'manda = Not Mandalorian; separated from one's heritage

Ner'alor = My leader/boss

[corazondebeskar-reads]

Kinktober 2023 - Day 13 (Din Djarin, Boba Fett, Cobb Vanth)

mhi me'dinui an

Kinktober 2023 - Day 13: Wrist Restraints/Triple Penetration

Din Djarin x f! reader x Boba Fett x Cobb Vanth

Word Count: 3.7k

Summary: After the events of The Book of Boba Fett, you get railed by Din Djarin, Boba Fett, and Cobb Vanth.

Warnings: Triple penetration, foursome, orgy, anal (f receiving), p in v unprotected sex, oral (m receiving), oral (f receiving), reader is pregnant but it's not an aspect of the sexual content, it's just because I'm incapable of writing pwp apparently, poly dynamics, mando'a, making up rules about bacta, din djarin removes the helmet, boba has a big ass bed, mild bondage, din and reader are dar'manda, din reader and boba speak mando'a, Grogu is with fennec or something ok lol

Prompts from this list by @absurdthirst.

title means "we share all," more mando'a translations at the end

also on ao3

“Fett,” Din beckons. He has you lying in his lap, pillow propped under your head. Vanth is already between your legs at the end of the bed, your knees over his shoulders.

Boba settles himself over you, legs spread wide to fit you and Din between them. It puts his cock right in line with your mouth.

Din reaches out and gives Boba a few firm strokes, turning your head toward himself with one hand.

“You still doing okay? Ready for more?” he says.

You nod and whine until he lets go so you can open your mouth, and releases Boba’s cock so the older man can slide it between your lips.

If this was their idea of easing you into it, you’d perhaps underestimated the proposition.

It started nearly two weeks ago when they had returned after the victory at Mos Espa. It wasn’t the first time Din had shared you with Boba. It wasn’t the second or tenth time, either. But that night had been its own kind of first, too.

You weren’t used to being left behind. Being the one waiting, flinching at every door sliding open, not even daring to hope. Taking on the goddamn Pyke syndicate with less men and less ammunition than ever before. A fool’s battle.

They hadn’t asked it of you, but you knew they wanted to. Whispering between themselves, avoiding your gaze.

You had been in a bath, resting your aching hips. Having broken your fifth month, your belly was just starting to peak out of the water, suds clinging to your damp skin. You had brought up the impending standoff, and Din had tried to leave the room, muttering something about needing to check in with Fennec.

“Never took you for a hut’uun,” you had finally snapped.

He had jerked to a stop as if he had taken a missile to the beskar. He turned, slowly, on his heel, and you immediately felt wretched.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that.”

“Yes, you did.” He said.

You didn’t need the helmet off to hear the hurt in his voice. “No, that was too harsh. I’m sorry.”

He sat down on the side of the stone basin. “We were going to bring it up after dinner.”

“I should have been included in the discussion from the start.”

“I’m sorry, cyare. Fett is—”

“Boba can apologize to me himself,” you said, shaking your head. “But we all know how this conversation is going to end.”

“We would never—”

“I know.” And you did. Your lovers, born of battle themselves, would never ask you to stand down from a fight when your aliit was on the line. “I’m sorry I won’t be by your side.”

He helped you out of the tub. You didn’t want to admit it, because you would have chosen to stay out of harm’s way anyway, but the pregnancy was affecting your body far more than you had expected. You weren’t sure you could fight, anymore. Not fast enough, anyway.

The night they returned, bloodied but alive, was a wild thing. Just as it had started between the three of you. In the aftermath of a fight, still tightly wound and ready to spring. Fucking and biting and grinding until you were drained.

“Look at our girl, Din,” Boba had taunted while they split you in two. “A shame we can’t fill that pretty mouth, too.”

You had cum at the thought alone.

But you were all so high off adrenaline and your orgasms that it had slipped your mind. When Boba sat down for breakfast a week later and said, “I have an idea for how we can repay the good marshal,” you didn’t suspect a thing.

Vanth had come out of the bacta tank the day before. He needed time to recover and had accepted Boba’s offer to stay in one of the many vacant suites in the palace.

“Six camtonos of credits wasn’t enough?” you asked, sipping at your tea.

“Well, it’s for more than just Vanth.”

He and Din exchanged a look across the table through their helmets.

“Fine, don’t tell me,” you said, dropping your fork with a little more force than necessary and pushing away from the table.

“Alor’ika, wait,” Boba said, but you stomped off to sulk in your room.

You knew you were being silly and childish. It didn’t stop you from ignoring Din when he entered your shared bedroom and lay beside you.

He slipped an arm around your waist, anyway, and noticed your fist clenched the pendant against your chest, leather cord spilling from the side.

The Mythosaur. He should have known.

“You are no less of a Mandalorian than I am,” he said for the thousandth time.

“It’s not the same. I can’t put it back on.”

The last few months had been hard on your body. You had been constantly ill, not able to hold down solid food, and vomiting no matter what treatments you tried. The medic had said it wasn’t unheard of, and told you to come back if it didn’t pass.

It had, eventually. You had been feeling more like yourself for a few weeks now, but—no. Not yourself at all.

Like you’d never be yourself again.

Not when half of your identity was locked in the trunk in the corner of the room.

“How can you be okay with an aruetii raising your baby?”

“Hey, it could be Fett’s,” he said. It usually made you laugh, but this time, you just lay quietly.

“What if it is?” you whispered.

From the beginning, they said they didn’t care whose seed had taken hold in your womb, that you would all care for each other. It was normal for Mandalorian children to grow up in a tight-knit community, anyway. This is the Way.

It was that easy.

But since you had removed your helmet, that tether felt frayed.

“We are both dar’manda,” he reminded you quietly. “It doesn’t matter how long it takes, but we will find our redemption.” He laced his fingers through yours, wound together by the necklace.

(Boba found the whole thing ridiculous. When you were first upset after taking it off, he had been angry. “Certainly, that rule might have worked when you could hide away in your home on Mandalore,” he said, pacing. “It’s an impossible standard now.” But you knew he would never understand.)

“We didn’t mean to make you feel left out. I… had a thought, last night, and he took it upon himself to see if it was feasible.”

You rolled over to face him. “What thought?”

“Well, cyare, I thought maybe we had a solution to get you what you wanted. To let you be as full as possible. There aren’t many people in this galaxy that Fett or I would trust with you.”

“Vanth,” you said with a sharp breath.

Sometimes, you were thankful for the hormones. It made it easier to wipe your tears and move forward when you were very easily distracted by sex.

Like now.

“You want us to have our way with you, little one?” Boba asks as he fucks your face. “See if we can finally wear out our needy whore?”

You moan around his cock, barely any sound escaping for how taut your lips were around him. You tried to reach up to grab his thighs and pull him deeper into your mouth. You’d have done it yourself, but Din’s strong arms were holding you down while he toyed with your nipples.

“Ah, no,” Din stops to pull your arms down. “You said you wanted us to use you. You begged, not more than an hour ago, to ‘do whatever we wanted’ with you. Have you changed your mind?”

You pull off Boba’s cock, crying, “No, please.” You don't get to finish, as Boba pulls you back onto him.

“I don’t know if she can control herself,” he says to Din, shaking his head.

“I don’t think so either.”

“If she’s this desperate already, we may need to tie her down.”

Between the way Vanth was working you over with his fingers and tongue and the humiliation of being talked about like you weren’t even there, you come undone. Vanth groans as you squeeze your legs, trapping him at your cunt.

Boba moans his praise as your throat tightens around his cock. When you settle, he pulls out, a thick strand of saliva following his cock and dragging on your tits.

Din gathers it with his fingers and uses it to wet your nipples, tugging them until you cry out. With Vanth still gently licking at you, it's too much, and you squirm to get away.

“That’s your last strike, alor’ika,” Boba warns. “Would you like us to tie you down so you don’t have to try so hard?”

You nod. Though you were enjoying being held down by Din—his sure grasp always made you feel safe—you also knew he wouldn’t be sitting there all night.

Not that you knew what their plans were. You had easily agreed to their proposal, and they knew all your regular limits. Their offer to Vanth had been blunt and simple as well.

“Our girl here likes to get fucked,” Boba had said after Din had started to ask more delicately. “We want to fulfill her wish of being filled, but we don’t have enough cocks between us.”

Later, Vanth had cornered you alone in a passage. “You okay, with the things they said about you back there?”

It had been mortifying to tell him yes, and you were more than okay with the way they said them, too.

He had looked impressed for a moment and finally allowed himself to look you up and down. “I’d be more than happy to join, but I don’t take what isn’t given freely.”

“I don’t give what I can’t stand to lose,” you said. For good measure, you gave him a kiss on the cheek, patted your hand against it, and slipped away into another hall.

(It was strange to think that the only person in the room you hadn’t kissed was Din. Between Boba’s slow, firm lips and Cobb’s scruff, you thought maybe you could imagine it.)

Din pulls you by the underarms to sit in front of him, stealing you away from Cobb’s eager mouth.

“Hey, I wasn’t finished,” he says, sitting back on his heels.

“Yeah, you were,” Din says. “Mine next.” He pulls your arms behind your back and holds tight while Boba secures your wrists together with the rope. He pushes you forward, bent over, so he can slide out from behind you.

He rolls you onto your side and pulls you down closer to the edge of the bed. You feel Boba’s broad, bare chest against your back. They had spent plenty of time working you open with a frankly overwhelming amount of fingers and mouths, so when he lines his cock up at your asshole and pushes, your body welcomes him in.

This part you know well enough. He makes himself at home inside you and then holds infuriatingly still once there is no more to give. Din kneels on the bed, one of your legs around his waist and the other held open by Boba’s knee.

He takes his time tormenting your already sensitive cunt, sinking into you slowly with a hand on Boba’s leg. Meanwhile, Boba lifts your head and shoulders a little, helpless as you are to help arrange yourself, and holds you there while Vanth arranges himself.

“You’re not going to be able to lift yourself off his cock, cyare, so you tap Fett if you need help,” Din says.

True to his words, when Boba gently let you down, you had nowhere to go but onto Vanth’s cock. He wasn’t quite as thick as Din or as long as Boba, but it was still a decent prick. It bumped the back of your throat, and you gag a little.

“Grab her hair, you’ll have to help her,” Boba tells Vanth, who hesitates. “She likes it,” Boba says.

You try to reassure him, nodding fractionally and moaning a very muffled “uh-huh.”

Vanth grabs a handful of your hair and tests it out, which Din takes as an invitation to start fucking you in earnest.

If you thought you’d been thoroughly fucked before, you were wrong.

Vanth uses your throat like a cocksleeve, gentle but relentless, his taste heady on your tongue. Boba fills you near-constantly, preferring smaller thrusts focused deep rather than pulling back. And Din. Din never failed to take you apart; his honed focus and practiced hands zeroing in on the most sensitive parts of you. He made optimal use of his available equipment in any situation, and fucking was no exception.

He and Boba fall into a familiar rhythm, only slightly thrown off by Vanth, but it's dizzying. There isn’t a second when you aren’t being caressed or used or praised.

It's overwhelming in the best and worst ways. All you can taste, smell, and feel is flesh and musk. The air is humid, heavy with sweat, and the sheets cloistering. The press of their bodies holds you tethered to the world, pulling you down when the pleasure threatened to steal all the thoughts away in the current.

Din’s persistent fingers on your clit bring you tumbling into the haze, vision blanking. Vanth moans, holding you in place as you shake. Din’s fingers scrabble for more, working you past the threshold to rip more intense pleasure from you as you clamp down on his cock.

And Boba holds you tight against his chest, murmuring to you, voice like a beacon in a storm. “So good, alor’ika. Shh, that’s it, just take it, we’ve got you.”

Din takes mercy on you after the second orgasm wanes, and removes his fingers from your clit, bringing them up for Boba to taste. You almost hate being trapped on Vanth’s cock for a second, wishing you could watch him suck your juices from Din’s bare hand.

“Sweet as always,” Boba hums, pressing a kiss to Din’s fingers before letting him go.

Vanth is the first to fall. He gives you a warning, looking to Boba for help to move you.

“You can cum in her mouth,” Boba says. “She wants you to.”

“Is that true, darlin’?” Cobb says, tugging you up a little.

You try to cry “please” around his cock but settle for giving him a thumbs-up behind your back. Your arms are crushed against Boba, so he had to pass the message on.

“Well, if that’s what the lady wants,” Vanth says. He picks up the pace a little, and you focus on him,

He doesn't force it down your throat, content to let you swallow around him, trying not to let any of his thick, salty cum escape. It dribbles out around your lips, but he doesn't seem to mind at all. Fortunately, when he softens enough, he is able to adjust your head to lay in his lap instead of trying to extract himself.

Vanth leans against the headboard, wiping sweat from his eyes. He thanks you sweetly, brushing his hand through your hair. You press a kiss to his thigh and content yourself to be taken apart by your lovers.

Din doesn't last long after, but he refuses to let go unless you cum with him, so he picks back up his attentions to your clit. You thrash in Boba’s arms, and he tightens his grip so he won’t slide out.

“Udesii, alor’ika,” he says, pressing his lips to your neck. “Give it to him.”

When you hit your peak, the blood rushes to your head, everything tightening, and their voices lost to the waves. You come to only a few seconds later, with Din still pulsing inside your cunt and his shaky hand on your cheek.

“Stay with us for just a little longer,” Din says. “Gotta give us one more, okay, cyare? Just one more, and we’ll let you rest.”

He pulls out, watching his cum leak out of you for a moment, before pushing it back in with his thick fingers and resuming rubbing a softer but demanding circle around your clit.

“You don’t have long,” he warns Boba, feeling the way your swollen bud throbs angrily under his thumb.

“Don’t need long,” Boba grunts, giving you a few harder thrusts. “Now,” he commands Din.

“Sorry, cyare,” Din lies a little. He does feel bad knowing how tired you are. But it doesn't stop him from pinching your clit between his thumb and forefinger and tugging gently.

You aren’t aware of Boba’s cock twitching inside you, filling you. You aren’t aware of how Vanth’s fingers tighten in your hair for a moment. Can’t feel Din’s fingers release you, can’t hear yourself scream.

When the world stops flashing vibrant strobes behind the darkness, you become aware first of the cool Tatooine night breeze across your bare arm, tickling across its path. The sheet is draped across you, and there’s no idle stickiness, so they must have cleaned you up. When you force open your sleep-heavy eyes, weariness and a pleasant ache deep in your bones, you see Boba and Vanth in conversation over glasses of deep brown liquor.

The fresher is running. Vanth’s hair is wet and slicked back; they must have insisted he go first.

You sit up, sheet pooling at your waist. Boba, already facing you, looks up at the first sign of movement.

“Did you have a good nap, alor’ika?” he teases. “How do you feel?”

“Fucking fantastic,” you assure, aware of how the worry lingered deep in him.

“Spoiled brat,” he says, shaking his head and taking a drink from his glass.

Vanth comes over to sit on the edge of the bed. “I wasn’t too rough with you, was I?”

“Not at all,” you reach out to hold his hand. “Thank you.”

“Thank me? I should be thanking you. Between the repairs and your company, I’m in debt to you all for the rest of my life.”

“Consider us even,” Din says. He closes the fresher door behind him, dressed in a clean linen tunic and loose pants. His arms and feet are bare, and droplets of water cling to his neck.

“If you say so, partner,” Vanth says. He gives your hand a squeeze and stands up. “I was just waitin’ for you to wake up, honey. Didn’t want to leave without saying goodbye.”

“Thank you, Cobb,” you say with a soft smile.

“D’you mind if I have a kiss for the road?”

You lean up to meet him, his lips pressing firm but chaste against yours. He kisses your forehead before pulling away.

“I’ll walk with you,” Din says.

“Don’t be a stranger, now,” Vanth says to you and Boba, and the pair leave the room.

Your face falls, skin prickling. Boba is up in an instant, sitting beside you and pulling you to him.

“What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know. I just feel… sad.”

“Rough come down, little one?” He rubs a hand in circles on your back. “That was quite intense.”

You climb into his lap, snuggling up against his chest, and he holds you tight while you let the feelings wash over you, breathing through them.

The door slides open to allow Din and his large tray of food back into the room. He brings it over and sets it on the mattress.

“Eat, and we can go to sleep, or have a bath,” Boba says, reaching around you to help himself to the small feast Din had delivered. It looked like overkill, but you knew it would be picked clean. They always had an appetite after fucking, and your stomach was growling, too.

Plus, now that you could eat, you were trying to get as much strength recovered as possible. You’d need it, in the days ahead.

As you pick through fruit, you realize something is missing. “Cyare, you forgot a plate,” you say to Din. “Did you eat in the kitchens?”

Boba looks up, and something prickles up your spine.

Din sits very still on the chair he had pulled up to the end of the bed.

Your chest is tight, every alarm in your body blaring.

When he moves, your brain doesn’t process it right away. Doesn't realize what the motions mean until the helmet is lifting off the top of his head, soft fluffs of hair not quite resettling.

You can’t breathe.

You hadn’t seen him, that night on Gideon’s ship. You had turned away, closed your eyes, even though it meant missing Grogu’s departure.

And apparently, his warm brown eyes and the way they crinkled at the corners. His disheveled hair, the salt and pepper of his mustache and beard, and his lips, turned down at the corners.

You can’t breathe, so you close your eyes.

He moves the tray off the bed and climbs onto it, kneeling in front of you and cupping your face in his hands. “Cyare, please.”

“Wh-why?” It comes out between shaky breaths. You aren’t sure if you are going to hyperventilate or cry. Or both.

“I told you, cyare. We are in this together. And I’m going to put it back on, and I hope someday you can, too. But I want you to know me. What’s the point of having taken it off at all if you don’t know me?”

The answer is cry, apparently. You open your eyes, letting the tears slip free, and look up at him. A shaky sob works its way out, and you reach to pull him close.

“Now you’ll have something handsome to look at,” Boba teases, “and not just an old man or your own reflection.”

“Don’t say that,” you smack a hand against his chest. “You’re very handsome.”

“Yes, very distinguished,” Din teases.

Boba reaches up and flicks him in the nose, breaking into a laugh when Din fails to move away, unused to needing to protect his face.

You laugh, too, and Din turns his pout on you.

“You think that’s funny, cyare?” he says, a playful lilt in his voice.

And in his smile.

It clenches at your chest, and you can’t take it anymore. You sit up and kiss him, the meal and bath long forgotten.

Mando'a (in order of use): hut'uun - coward but incredibly offensive to a Mandalorian cyare - beloved aliit - family alor'ika - princess, essentially aruetii - an outsider, a non-Mandalorian dar'manda - the state of no longer being Mandalorian udesii - quiet

I sat down to write this and SWORE I could just write pwp this time. "You don't need a plot. You don't need feelings. It's an orgy." And here we are.

I couldn't resist the punny title, but also the working title was "from the desert cums a stranger," so this is infinitely better.

[graylinesspam]

Weapon trading ceremony

Din Djarin x ex jedi reader/oc

The Mandalorians were not short on ceremony. Even Din's faction whose traditions could be described as a lot more bare-bones had ceremony. Granted they were a lot more private, which suited your love just fine. He was a very private person after all.

But he was also a rule follower and even his interpretation of the code had rules about courting. You both had blown past a few of those steps in the time that he'd been considered dar'manda, like learning his name outside of the private name trading. But since he'd been redeemed Din has become determined to do things the right way this time.

So even though you've both decided it would be best for you to become a more official member of his clan that, whatever government the Mandalorians try to cobble together, will recognize. And even though you're wedding will consist of vows shared quietly between the two of you in the privacy of his ship, Still Din insists on completing the courting rituals in order.

Which brings you to the weapons trading ceremony. You'd sort of gathered that this was a step in the courting process that had been created to fill space in the time that it would take an armorer to craft or to reforge pieces of armor bearing new clan symbols. This was the last step before trading Beskar. Mandalorians had no gender roles but they did have strong clan loyalty, so whoever had agreed to join the clan of the other would give their partner the piece of armor (usually a pauldron) bearing their former clan symbol and in exchange, they'd replace it with a piece of their own armor bearing the correct clan symbol until the pauldron could be reforged. And after the pauldron was reforged the pieces would be exchanged during the vows ceremony cementing them as a married couple.

The weapons ceremony was essentially the official proposal step in the ceremony. All previous gifts and gestures aside, the gift of a weapon from a suitor was when you needed to decide whether or not you wanted to commit to them. At least that's how Bo had explained it to you. She seemed a little iffy on some of the finer details but Bo had been learning all she could about the more private sect of Mandalorians since she'd taken leadership of them with the endorsement of the Armorer.

You were nervous about what weapon you could possible trade him, you owned so few in comparrison to a mandalorian. Actually all the weapons you owned could probably fit in a shoebox. Meanwhile Din had a whole rack bursting with weaponry. And every weapon you owned you were somewhat reliant on. After a lifetime of an unstable life you learned not to own anything you didn't need to carry on you, and all of those weapons had become a needed item. Besides they were too small to be as useful to Din. Bo said you could purchase something for him, the symbolism was more important than the weapon it's self. But knowing how meticulously picky he was about every aspect of every weapon that felt like a daunting task as well. And you knew by the way he was taking this whole courting process so seriously that he definitely had something specific in mind for you.

You could give him your first knife. But it had been a gift from your brothers during the clone wars and you didn't want to give up that piece of them.

You only really had one other idea, and it definitely seemed out of the box. With the pressure mounting you were deffinitly grateful that these ceremonies were private for his faction and not the clan-wide public displays of the old clans like clan Kryze.

__

You'd agreed on a rough time for the ceremony, After you were in hyperspace on the way back to Navarro. With the kid tucked into his little hammock and the ship's controls on autopilot Din swiveled his chair in your direction. He was a bit more rigid than normal, neither leaning back or forward he was almost sitting rigidly upright except for his downturned shoulders. His hands were clasped awkwardly in front of him. You half expected to hear him clear his throat the the static of the modulator before he spoke. But he was direct as always.

"Are you ready to do this?"

You nodded your head fidgeting in your seat as he reached one hand into the satchel he'd slung over the neck of the headrest on his chair. A cloth-wrapped lump was obscured in his large hands. He carefully unwrapped the bundle laying the corners of the cloth out until a plain silver vambrance was left cradled in his palm.

"Din." you start but emotion chokes you up, "You aren't supposed to give me armor unless we're married," You joke to recover.

"It rides the line between armor and a weapon. It doesn't break any rules." He argues. "It's bare now, just a commlink and a shield. You'll have to train if you want to add anything else to it. But a shield will be plenty. you rely too heavily on evasion in conflict to keep from getting hit. you need to learn how to guard."

It should be irritating the way he picks apart you're technique and critiques you, as if you haven't been fighting in wars since before he took his oath. But his concern is, in this case, endearing. Especially since he's offering you an actual solution and not just telling you to do better.

He holds the vambrace out and you give him your wrist letting him open the metal up and clamp it around your arm. He opens and closes the metal a few times slowly, letting his fingers slide with meaning over the joints and catches to show you how to do it yourself. When he releases your arm you test the weight of it, knowing it will take time to get used to. You haven't worn a vambrace since the war.

Instead of leaning back, Din has taken to looming before you with his elbows on his knees and his shoulders hunched low. You think he may actually be attempting to look smaller and less demanding. He does a poor job of it.

Hesitantly you tug the chain around your neck pulling the well worn necklace out from under your shirt. It's clunky and sort of industrial looking. A sturdy metal ring just smaller than your palm, beveled around the edge and marked with scratches from continuous wear, was poorly corded through with a thick sturdy woven chain.

You'd worn it every day since the Empire rose to power, but now you unscrewed the sturdy clasp and let it fall into your palm. "Let me explain." You rushed out with a shakey breath.

"The Jedi taught us that our lightsabers were our lives. Most of that was to keep up from letting anyone else get ahold of it. An untrained idiot wielding a saber is...well y'know. But there was more to it than that. It was our weapon of last resort. Our identification. And it served as a conduit with the force. When the jedi fell and the last of us had to disappear, we had to lose our lightsabers. We couldn't risk being found with one. And we couldn't risk them falling into the wrong hands either, So we destroyed them. Hid away the kyber crystals and destroyed the hilts. But it's hard to let go of your life, even when most of it has already been destroyed." You plucked the ring up with two fingers and held it up so that Din could see it better.

"This used to be the outer ring of the emitter on my lightsaber. I remember picking it out to match my master. It's the only thing I have left of that part of my life. I know as Riduur we're supposed to be one, to live one life together. Well, this is the oldest piece of my life if I give this to you, then you have all of me. I know it's not a functional weapon, but it's the only thing I own that means the same thing to me that your weapons mean to you spiritually. It's like, part of my soul."

You glance up from under your lashes as his shoulders seize with a halted breath. He straightens in his seat and holds out an open hand. Hesitantly you place the ring down into his much larger palm. He turns the ring examining it with curiosity despite the fact that he must have seen it many times around your neck.

"Is that ok?" you ask hesitantly.

"Yes." he replies hurriedly. "If you're sure you're willing to part with it."

"Yes, I want you to wear it. I-.." You flounder for words. "I want this part, the engagement to feel like it supposed to. I mean-" You huff in frustration. "I want you to know, even though we have some religious differences, that I'm not just going along with your courting process to appease you. I care about what all this is supposed to mean. And I'm trying to find the places where we're similar."

Well that wasn't entirely what you meant to say but you hoped he could understand what you were trying to say, that you didn't just love and respect him, but also the life he wanted to build with you and the moral code that was the foundation of that life.

"Thank you." you weren't sure but he might've sounded choked up through the modulator. He stood before you could pry into it though and used his fist with the ring clenched in it to tilt your chin up so he could press his helmet gently against your forehead.

[limnsaber]

Mandalorian Gen Fic Rec List - Volume I: Din and Clan of Two

Hey all! This has been a long time coming. I'm a pretty voracious reader, especially for fanfic, and it's my great honor to share with you some of my favorites. I confess I have many I'd like to share, and I expect that this will be a series! For shorthand, 🔐 means a restricted work and 💜 means an personal favorite, but they are all honestly must reads. Please let me know if you like&read them, and please give love to the authors who we owe so much to!! -Yours, Lim <3

Din

Five Foundlings that the Mandalorian Didn’t Keep and One That He Did by @thrvrnd (Din Djarin, Gen, 5k)

“Have you found others, or was he the first?” “I’ve found a few.” “But none like him?” “There are none like him.”

The Drums of Mandalore by @coffeequill (Din Djarin, Gen, 5k)

Din looks at him, then over as more dancers begin to step into the center, some stretching out. His eyes are big. He looks into the fire. “Can I learn to dance, too?” he asks, his voice so quiet that it’s almost drowned out. --- From the day he's found, traditional Mandalorian dances become the center of Din's life. Until they're not.

Meaning by kakashikrazy256 (Din Djarin, Gen, 3k)

"You want to paint your armor. Right now." "I'm starting to think you are wearing a hole in my ship floor on purpose. Sit. Down." An interlude between Chapter 14 and 15

Lullabies (Those Same Old Lies) by @NavigatorWrongway (Din Djarin, Gen, 3k)

He was waiting for his Guild contact when the news came through.

The Past Rolls Back by @NavigatorWrongway (Din Djarin, Gen, 3k)

It's already red. Blood won't show at all.

The Apprentice by karples (Din Djarin, The Armorer, Gen, 2.5k)

We change, but are not lost. We simply become something else.

bloodsplatter by deniigiq (Din Djarin, The Armorer, Gen, 4k)

He looked so...weird. Without the armor, he didn’t recognize himself. He turned to the side to see how the long tunic moved around his knees and was agitated to find it stiff and awkward. It wasn’t supposed to be stiff and awkward. It was supposed to drape and flail out with each step. He pursed his lips and turned further, then gave a half-pivot. The tunic moved like a staggering drunk. It would not do. (Din makes himself a set of clothes from his childhood.)

💜 Bullshit by @midgetnazgul (Din Djarin, Migs Mayfeld, Gen, 4k)

Migs receives a visit from a man -- and a face -- he never thought he'd see again.

Unglued, Thanks to You by Angryplan3ttraveller (Paz Vizsla, Din Djarin, Gen, 25k)

Paz Vizsla cannot stand that Din Djarin got to walk away with both the darksaber and his beskar. He is dar'manda: he should not get these things. So Paz is going to duel Djarin, and he is going to win the darksaber off of him. This time, he won't lose. But first, Paz has to find him, and that task is not so easy. Especially not when Djarin has all sorts of friends all over the galaxy, and a chronic inability to stay in one place for longer than five minutes. Paz has his work cut out finding Djarin, but he'll do it. And he just might learn some things along the way.

Clan of Two

💜 🔐 Problem by keeptheearthbelow (Din & Grogu, Gen, 4k, Sign Language)

When it turns out Grogu is too young for training, he heads to Tatooine for a new life and forms a new set of habits.

Dinui by @communistkenobi (Din & Grogu, Gen, 4k)

Din meets a nosy old woman in the market who won't stop trying to help him.

Ways. by @outpastthemoat (Din & Grogu, Gen, 500w, Force-Sensitive Din Djarin)

Din Djarin sleeps deeply after Corvus. He dreams of impossible things.

your hands are holding me (don’t you get shy on me) by @pointvee (Din & Grogu, Gen, 2k, Force-Sensitive Din Djarin)

Beskar sings. If ill treated, if unrightfully taken, it leaves a mark. It's hard to hear for most, but the job of an armorer is to sooth the beskar, make it fit for battle once more. Din has always been able to hear it. (Or Din with psychometry, and an affinity for beskar)

Dream Child by @muchadoloo (Din & Grogu, Gen, 100k, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Platonic/Familial Soulmates, Mandalorian Adoption Culture)

It is an old Mandalorian proverb that a child is born in one's dreams. For over twenty years, Din has dreamed of fire and smoke, bloodshed, and bloodcurdling screams. They say it’s a bad omen. They say he's fated to be childless. They say he has no dream child. What he does have, however, is a persistent green creature who sneaks into his ship, eats all his food, and refuses to leave him alone. (In which, all Mandalorians receive recurring dreams of their intended foundlings and Din just so happens to be the exception to that rule).

🔐 So You Can Imagine the Kind of Stress That I am Under by nik_knows_nothing (Din & Grogu, Gen, 5k)

Taking care of foundlings is part of the Mandalorian code. That doesn't mean it comes naturally. (Or, the Mandalorian struggles with the care and keeping of a baby alien that is older than he is and is also apparently a magical space wizard.)

💜 I have acquired a child. by @din-dadrin (Din & Grogu, Gen, 5k, Epistolary, Social Media)

How can I ensure its welfare without having it become attached to me? Thank you. 🗨 17 comments    ➦ Share    🠷 Save    🛇 Hide    ⚑ Report (The r/Parenting AU some people wondered about but technically did not ask for.)

The Parent by DistantStorm (Din & Grogu, Gen, 21k)

He says he is not the child’s anything. He is a man, righting a wrong. Nothing more. (He is wrong.)

not alone (not anymore) by @dotnscal (Din & Grogu, Gen, 1k, POV Grogu)

The Mandalorian is lonely. Grogu tries to comfort him.

[words-are-fireproof]

Dar'manda - Din Djarin x fem!reader

Summary: Dar'manda: someone who was ignorant of their heritage, and would have no soul and no afterlife. In the Mandalorian culture, it's the worst fate to suffer. But you never cared much for the Mandalorian Creed...until you met him. An apostate teetering on the edge of dar'manda. A bounty hunter with a child. You meet him after the events of Navarro and as your paths continue to twine, you find there are worse things than abandoning your creed.

Rating: M

Content/Warnings: Author chooses not to specify warnings due to spoilers. But, I will say, I'm really BAD at Star Wars stuff so...that's a warning in itself. Also, I am posting these as I write them. As such, the timeline might be wonky and you'll have to piece it together but I have trust in my readers to be able to do that.

A/N: I am taking the plunge and expanding my Din x reader fics into a series. Hope you all enjoy!

Must have an AO3 account to read my fics.

Entries:

1: Haalur

2: Red Ribbons

3: Dust Storms and Gun Ships

Din Headcanons:

How does Din show love? - asked by @typingcorgi

[enbyonmandalore]

Dream

The Mandalorian x Dar'manda OC

Rating: SFW

Word count: there are words, yes

Warnings: mention of weapons, mention of stalking/being hunted down

A/N: Another SFW oneshot, introducing my OC Endeverance Doom! There will also be a reader-insert version of this oneshot soon.

_________________________________________________________

Dream

Endeverance wandered through the streets. The streets seemed familiar, but they swore they had never been to a place like this before.

Neat brick paths lined the roads and led to small brick houses decorated with colorful flowers. People spent a lot of time socializing outside, apparently.

They could feel someone watching them. The feeling was so strong that they risked a look over their shoulder and indeed - someone was following them.

Endever suppressed the urge to grab their baton and quickened their pace.

A crowd! Maybe they could lose them in there...

The people paid them no mind -happily chatting and being generally busy-, as they made their way through the group of locals. A sharp turn to the left and Endever exited the crowd and took cover in a nook in the wall.

A few moments passed.

Taking a deep breath, Endeverance stepped out from behind their cover to make sure their stalker was gone. They then continued walking down the new road.

Only a few steps away from the next turn of the street they suddenly felt the strange presence behind them again. The stalker was back and he knew he had been seen.

Endeverance turned around, made eye contact with the other person for a split second and ran for it - just as the stalker picked up the pace.

Endeverance sprinted down the street, dodging crowds and taking another turn left, into a dimly lit bar of sorts.

Nobody seemed to pay attention to them as they dove behind three Kel'Dor sitting on a bench.

With a shaky breath they grabbed their retractable baton and held it in position in front of their chest. What was going on? They were acting on pure instinct now...

From underneath the bench they heard the door open and saw someone wearing heavy boots enter the building. That person remained still for a second, then slowly started walking towards Endever.

Endever held their breath as the stalker moved the bench with the loudly protesting occupants still on it. He loomed over Endever. His aura was threatening and- He looked like Din Djarin.

Seemingly in slow-motion he reached down and grabbed them by the collar.

.

Endeverance Doom awoke with a gasp. Their body was drenched in sweat and they were breathing heavily.

A quick glance around the dim cargo hold of the ship revealed everything that had happened to be a dream. A terrible one, at that.

They were still on the floor of the ship they were sharing with Din Djarin. Trying to forget the events of their dream they sat up in their makeshift bed and felt around for their weapons.

Vambraces? Check.

Knives beside their bag? Check.

Retractable baton in their boot? Check.

As they moved to get up, they noticed the other Mandalorian sitting on a crate near the cockpit. Was he asleep?

"Bad dream?", Din asked from across the small space. So no, he was not asleep.

"Yeah. But it's only that - a dream.", Endeverance answered.

They grabbed the tin cup and bag of Kaf powder from their supply bag and headed to the refresher. When the Kaf was done heating up, Endever stood in a corner to drink it.

The dream still wouldn't leave their mind... The memory of everything that had happened in their past was threatening overwhelm them. Joining the Children Of The Watch, breaking their vow, becoming a Dar'manda and being hunted down by the remnants of the Empire.

Din Djarin seemed to sense that something was wrong, because he stood up and approached Endever, stopping at a respectful distance. He waited for them to take another sip of Kaf and lower their "borrowed" helmet back down before speaking.

"Would you like to talk about it?" His voice was low and understanding. Endever sighed and turned around to face the man whom they had just dreamed about.

"If there is someone to understand this, it's probably you.", they said and steadied themselves against the wall, "Ever since you got me off of that garbage planet I've been feeling weird. Like something is haunting me."

"Is it your past?", the man asked. Spot on. Endeverance inhaled sharply and continued.

"Mandalore... Being a Mandalorian was everything I ever was. My whole identity. When I broke my vow, I became nothing. And now that I met you-", they had to stop and swallow to stop their voice from cracking. "Now I feel like everything is coming back. I want to be a Mandalorian, but I can't..."

Din stepped closer and put a hand on Endever's shoulder. It felt like he didn't want to overstep any boundaries -especially since they barely even knew each other besides the fact that they both wore beskar armor-, but still wanted to offer some kind of comfort.

He cleared his throat and spoke: "I know it's not my place to say this, but... I think there is redemption for you."

Endever's heart beat twice as fast at his words.

"Redemption?", they carefully asked, as if they hadn't quite heard him the first time.

"Redemption. What you did was everything a Mandalorian is supposed to do. You fought for Grogu. A selfless warrior protecting a foundling, even though nobody asked you to."

"Seems like I did do that.", Endever replied, "Maybe my soul isn't completely lost after all."

"Stay with me and I promise we'll find a way to fully redeem you."

"Am I even awake?", Endever scoffed and lowered their head. They were, once again, thankful for the tinted visor that hid the sadness and embarrassment in their eyes.

For a moment their mind wandered off, but then Din's voice brought them back to reality.

"This is not a dream. And Mandalorians are stronger together."

____________________________________________________________

This fanfiction is property of @enbyonmandalore (Tumblr). Do not repost/crosspost on other accounts or websites, edit, translate or otherwise change this piece of writing. Rebloging is fine, reposting is not.

[thefandomimagines]

Fic Recs~

So my last post of Fic Recs was pretty popular, and I wanted to do another to continue giving shout outs to fics I love and the amazing authors and creators! I may consider making this a continuous thing, maybe biweekly?

**Also some of these stories are for audiences 18+, so if you are underage, please follow the guidelines set by the authors.**

Star Wars:

Sweaty Hands, Reluctant Hearts by @221bshrlocked : (Mando x reader, Angst & Smut.) The fact that Mando has a breeding kink isn't shocking to anyone, also showing Cobb Vanth who's boss

It Was the Kid's Idea by @the-witty-pen-name : (Mando x Reader, ft. Grogu. 100% fluff. Tooth-rotting sweetness!) I love the idea of Grogu making a bunch of valentines and him being absolutely covered in glitter!

Boba Fett seggzy Alphabet by @pedroepascal : (Boba Fett x reader) I mean Boba Fett + seggzy scenarios, what more could a gal want?

He is Yours by @just-iimagine (Obi Wan Kenobi x Reader) I live for the idea of Obi Wan as a dad.

Dar'manda by @talesfromtheguild (Mando x Reader) A different take on breaking Din's creed.

Marvel:

F*ck, Marry, Kill by @buckysmischief : (Avengers x platonic reader) This was great! We all know we would love to play this with the Avengers.

The Wedding Date by @river-soul : (Bucky Barnes x Reader) We love a good fake boyfriend story.

Love Potion Number Nine by @iliveiloveiwrite (Bucky x reader, peter parker x reader) This was adorable. I love that Peter was scared of Bucky.

True Love by @trillian-anders (Bucky Barnes x Reader) Who doesn't love the idea of stripper Bucky?

DC:

For Later by @mermaidxatxheart (Arthur Curry x Reader) This one is HOT.

Here Right Now by @221bshrlocked (Bruce Wayne x Reader) who doesn't love the idea of a one night stand with Batman himself?

Pushin' Me Away by @thebigbadbatswife (Bruce Wayne x Reader) I feel like Bruce always seems to almost self sabotage.

Kingsman:

The Thunder Rolls by @reevesdriver (Agent Whiskey x Reader) Oof. This one hurt, not gonna lie.

Bridgerton:

I Wonder What Its Like To Be Loved By You by @iliveiloveiwrite (Benedict Bridgerton x reader) TBH Benny is my fave Bridgerton brother.

To Have and To Hold by @regencyslxt (Anthony Bridgerton x Reader) We love a good wedding!

Game of Thrones:

The Bastard and The Prince by @just-iimagine (Oberyn Martell x Reader) I can't wait reading the rest of this series!

The Red Viper and The Honeybee by @sunflowerheartsandstarryskies (Oberyn Martell x Reader Bridgerton AU) This was super cute! Not to mention the Bridgerton AU.

The Devil All The Time:

**Fair warning- most all of the fics I read from this fandom are all dark! or noncon, so read at your own risk.**

Final Warning by @darkficsyouneveraskedfor (Dark!Lee Bodecker x Reader) Obviously Lee would stop at nothing to get what he wants.

Rainy Night in Meade by @slothspaghettiwrites (Lee Bodecker x Reader) This one is a soft!Lee, and it's absolutely sweet!

Summer Break(down) by @darkficsyouneveraskedfor (Dark!Lee Bodecker x reader) We love a good revenge plot!

That's all for now, I will continue to post fic recs as I go, I am thinking of doing them bi-weekly!

[himbodjarin]

God Among Mandalorians | MASTERLIST

18+ EXPLICIT Content: Gore, violence, post season two, third person pov, smut; unprotected sex, vaginal penetration, fingering, general dirty talk, Word Count: 20,354 - in progress Pairing: Possessed!Din Djarin/Mando!Reader

Din Djarin is subjected to malevolent whispers from a blade he doesn't wish to own; they speak to him - encourage him to pursue the deepest and darkest of his desires. It's impossible to control and when it becomes too much, he's forced to finally let go—to become the Mand'alor he's written out to be by an ancient power. Read on AO3

Chapter One: Dralshy'a, Parjii

Chapter Two: Little Soldier

Chapter Three: The Recovery

Chapter Four: Dar'manda

Chapter Five: Training

[amralimeee]

Earnestly Yours

Din plans something special for Y/N.

"I pledge myself to your happiness, my starlight," Din said vehemently and pressed a gentle kiss on your forehead.

Pairing: Din Djarin x plus size F!Reader. You are in an established relationship.

Warnings: mentions of body insecurities

A/N: This is the first fanfiction I've written in over 8 years. What I visualize doesn't write well on paper, sadly. So, this is my first attempt back, and I welcome constructive criticism and good feedback, too.:)

You continue walking on the path Cara had sent you to in the secluded forest. You didn't realize how time flew by until you noticed the sun had gone an increment down though it still peered over the horizon. Your boot stepped on the crunchy foliage that you found oddly soothing. It helped to distract you with the short 10-minute walk. You made it at the end of the path, and you admired the beautiful field of wildflowers surrounding the area, a picturesque view to behold. But Din was nowhere to be seen. You walked further into the field and turned to look at every angle.

"You look beautiful, my starlight."

You heard a familiar modulated voice behind you. A wide smile formed on your face, and you turned around to look at him. He was standing five feet away from you. You and Din made your way to each other until you were only a few inches away from each other, your gazes fixed on each other. He extended his gloved hand to your cheek and caressed it.

"I missed you," you say softly.

"I missed you, cyar'ika."

He extends his arm out for you to grab, and you put your arm around it and get closer to him.

"I think Cara gave me the wrong directions. I don't see a seller around here."

"It's 20 minutes away from here, but I just wanted to meet you here first. I didn't want you walking alone." He admits.

It heartened you to know there was someone who would stand by and make sure you were safe, guarded against anyone who would hurt you. You hold his arm tighter.

You both make your way to the unknown destination, and you admire the scenery and Din's presence.

He asks about your day, and you tell him about the trip to the cantina and the market and how adorable Grogu looked with his floral crown. You also say to him about the nice older man who gave you the bouquet.

"Hmm," Din manages to utter, and you sense a hint of jealousy.

"This man," begins.

"-is old," you say and laugh. "How was your bounty hunt?"

He loosens his arm from you and takes a moment to respond, and you wonder if you were to blame for his new demeanor. You frown at the thought and let your arm fall to your side.

At last, he responds. "We went after a group of thieves who owed a cantina owner in the upper east money."

"Sounds like an easy hunt for the Mandalorian and Cara," you say.

"It was," he responds coldly.

The conversation ceased for a couple of minutes.

"We're almost there," he says.

You can hear what sounds like a stream. You decide to listen to that to distract from the awkwardness of the situation.

"I'm sorry if I intruded too much," you utter, unable to hold it in.

Din halts and looks at you.

"What do you mean?" He looks at you with open curiosity.

"I asked you about your bounty hunt, and you didn't seem to like that much." You were unable to meet his visored gaze.

"Y/N..." he grabs your hands to his chest. "I am a di'kut. You rightfully misunderstood my silence. I--can you trust me for five more minutes?"

You nodded but now were completely confused at the situation.

He let go of your hands and continued walking, but he quickly grabbed your hand and intertwined his gloved fingers with yours. You felt the familiar warmth emanating from his gloves.

The stream was louder, and you glanced at the flickering glitters of the water.

"What a peculiar place for someone to sell spare parts," you said what you were thinking out loud.

Din laughed.

"We're here."

You turned to look at your surroundings. You saw a quilt laid on the ground in front of the river with flowers spread around it. It was magical, but you were still confused.

"But Din, the Razor Crest-"

"Is fine. It doesn't need any maintenance."

You arched your eyebrow at him.

"Hope you don't mind a short getaway," he said, and you can hear a smile form from his tone.

"You planned this?"

He nodded. "Your question back there about the bounty hunt caught me off guard. I hadn't prepared a lie."

He caressed your cheek affectionately. "I hate lying to you or omitting anything from you. You did nothing wrong," he reassured you.

You grabbed his hand that caressed your cheek and kissed it.

"You did all this for us?"

He nodded. "We haven't had time to spend alone... so with the help of Cara and a few villagers this morning, we were able to set this up."

You look at him with an enamored gaze and wrap your arms around him.

"This morning was long and arduous, cyar'ika. Each second was painful in your absence."

His words that escaped from the low timbre of his modulated voice renewed your vigor.

You wrapped your arms around his neck and gave him a gentle kiss on his helmet where his lips would be, more or less.

He sighed in relief and let out a soft laugh, and he pulled you closer to him, his hands pressed gently on your waist. His touch, his words, and his actions made you feel beautiful and desired. Your insecurities and the voice in your head that tried to convince you that you couldn't be loved for not being a smaller size decimated at your feet. It was just you and the man you loved.

"I can hold you in my embrace for eternity," he began, "but I want to show you around."

You let him go and laughed and made your way down to the dome across the river. He opened the door for you, and you entered to see the room filled with hundreds of exotic flowers and plenty of petals on the floor that led to a path that followed to the... bed.

A flush of color bloomed on your cheekbones, and you couldn't meet his visored gaze. The hair on the back of your neck prickled, and your face burned under the weight of his regard that was so intent that he might as well have been touching you. You never shared an intimate moment such as this, and you wondered if today would be your first.

He put his hand to rest on your waist and pulled you closer to his side.

"I hope you like it,"

You let out a small squeal of delight. "Din, I love this. Everything is perfect. I love you."

Din ran the tip of his finger lightly over your bare hand. There was so much affection and regard in that simple gesture, and you will never tire of it.

With a broad smile, you and Din hastily made space on the quilt laid on the floor outside. You both sat next to each other and relished the scenery, just enjoying the sound of the streaming water that happily hit the rocks.

"I want you to see me," he broke the silence. His words were uttered slowly as if he pondered the import of each word.

You glanced at him, completely mystified by his meaning.

He raised his hands to grasp the rim of his helmet, and you immediately stopped him before he could remove it.

"Please, don't," you pleaded with him. "I promise you on all the stars above that I can go my life without seeing you, Din. Don't break your Creed for me."

He immediately turned your palm up, and both his hands gripped yours tightly.

"Would you love me more if you saw me?" His tone dejected. "I'm afraid you'll decide to leave me one day or that you'll tire of being with someone you can't see."

You felt the warmth of his grasp, and you felt slight trembling. He was nervous.

"I'm absolutely all in, Din," you said with a sincerity that was heartily felt. "I love you, and nothing, not even your Creed, will make me love you any less. Hell, you loved me when I thought it impossible. You loved my every perceived insecurity. You loved me when everyone else dismissed me. I love you, and I love you, I love you. I can spend all night here telling you every reason why I love you if that would make you believe me. I don't need to see you." You looked at Din, your gaze filled with adoration, and you smiled so sweetly at him.

He closed your hand into a fist and put them gently on your side. Then he continued to lift his helmet until you saw him. You sat there, your eyelashes fluttering in utter surprise. Your breath rasped, and your heart pounded.

His alluring brown eyes met yours for the first time.

"Y/ N," he said finally. Your name sounded like a caress when he uttered it.

But you sat there still silent as a stone, yet your gaze was still fixed on the handsome man sitting in front of you. You were mesmerized at the man you loved who stared back at you without the barrier of his helmet.

"Mesh'la," you whisper and smile at him. He lets out a shy laugh, and you go on to reach his face, but you feel something slip from your grasp.

You can still feel Din looking at you as you look frantically under your surroundings to see what had slipped. Maybe you were a nervous wreck and losing your mind, but then from the corner of your eye, you see a glint next to the basket—a ring.

You pick it up and look at it, now realizing that Din had put it inside your hand when he gripped them.

"Din..." you don't know what to say.

"You gave me something I never knew I wanted," he observed you. "Our aliit gave me purpose and stability."

With his exposed index finger, he traced your lips. He finally leans forward to you and presses his lips against yours.

After some time, Din breaks away and looks at you. Your face is flushed and hot. Your surroundings suddenly felt impossibly intimate, and you could not draw a full breath.

"What does this mean for you?" You manage to ask. "As Mandalorian, I mean."

"I spoke to the Tribe. They like you, Y/N, and they approve of us. They reassured me that being with you does not make me a dar'manda." His thumb slid across the inside of your wrist in a gentle caress. "The Armorer forged this ring with a part of my beskar for you," he said as if attempting once more to cast any doubts you might have. "I want you to be my riduur, my wife. I want to bind my soul to yours."

You are overwhelmed by your emotions, and tears begin to collect.

"I want to build a marriage like the one my parents once had... and I will always protect you and Grogu with my life."

You let your tears that had been collecting stream down your cheeks.

"If someday you decide that you want a bigger aliit, then..." he didn't finish, and you had the impression that he was blushing, but you understood what he meant.

"Yes," you say. "I'm yours."

The simple statement stole the breath from his lungs, and he looked at you with an enamored gaze. He put the ring on your finger, and then he pulled you in closer to his embrace.

Your heart leapt when you titled back your head and offered your tempting lips to him. His mouth was soft. Din brushed his lips against yours as though he would memorize their outline. His thumb moving across your chin in a caress that threatened to melt your very bones. His other free hand stroked your back, the same masculine hands that had protected you so many times during bounty hunts, the same hands that were so loving with his every touch. Your enthusiasm fed his own passion as nothing else could.

You had certainly never loved a man with such vigor that your heart ached so at the very sight of him.

When at last his mouth lifted, setting you free, you let your forehead drop to his shoulder, and you listened to the undisciplined force of his breathing.

"I pledge myself to your happiness, my starlight," Din said vehemently and pressed a gentle kiss on your forehead. 

You held his hand and smiled benevolently. You vowed to encourage him, love him, welcome him home always. Your riduur, whom you swore to buoy when his spirit faltered, was earnestly yours.

[himbodjarin]

God Among Mandalorians; CH4

18+ Content: post season two, third person pov (din focused), din being a grouch tbh, language Word Count: 5652 Pairing: Haunted!Din Djarin/Mando!Reader

Din Djarin is subjected to malevolent whispers from a blade he doesn't wish to own; they speak to him - encourage him to pursue the deepest and darkest of his desires. It's impossible to control and when it comes too much, he's forced to finally let go—to become the Mand'alor he's written out to be by an ancient power. Read on AO3 / Series Masterlist

CHAPTER FOUR: DAR'MANDA

Din is a blank canvas touched by an infant.

He’s brand-new; spotless, pristine until within reach of gummy hands and black hole eyes. They’re on a manhunt for someone capable of absorbing their brutish blows - someone with equal darkness as their words, their hands. The Ancients are the infants in the equation, naturally; disorganised and temperamental equivalent to hazardous chemical handled by a half-witted Gungan.

Quoting them as younglings is perhaps too offensive to those he’s met in life. While similar qualities are shared between the two, he could never compare such inhumaneness to those outsized eyes and pointed floppy ears. It’s beyond disrespectful to his image.

Purity is what that youngling was crafted of. The living embodiment of a plight definitely, but overflowing with an innocence that casts the sinless into a shadow. Proficient in wielding the Force yet never choosing to manipulate it for bad—Din isn’t confident the ancient’s would decide the same pathway if they possessed those same abilities; if he had them.

They’re significantly overemotional to the brink of manic.

They alternate between perspectives as if searching through a catalogue of the finest blasters; agreeing on one before the black of their eyes are drawn to another and the cycle repeats, never satisfied. They’ve desired to expose their so-called partner’s face this entire time - to chip away at the wall of her security until it breaches and unveils what lays on the other side. Now they look at her in contempt - with daggers made of serrated edges that tear apart flesh and bones, igniting a flame to boil blood until it jellifies.

They’re traditionalists—living by the code they designed to suit their people.

There are rules in place. Regulations that were overshadowed with carnality and she had been the root of it all. She’s got a pull...a force. Different to that of the Darksaber; thin and stretchy compared to the thick heaviness he’s becoming accustomed to. It’s unique, as though indifferent to his presence - dragging him inwards but never assertive.

It allows for him to decide whether or not he wishes to advance and, evidently, Din continues to find himself blindly complying with its request.

Din plays a mediator with distractions he knows best: piloting and remaining pre-occupied, but that proves challenging once the Gladiator reaches hyperspace. Unknowingly, he’s formulated his own routine - flicking through the navigational controls in search of a destination that supplies half-decent sustenance, inspecting the basic maintenance of her craft, and finally back to communing with violent echoes. It’s something he’s been doing a lot as of late. Rather than distancing himself and eavesdropping, he now debates them - negotiates and questions.

They possess traits he sees in himself. Brutality. A means to an end.

In his lap sits his partner’s spirit; the very Creed she devoted her entire way of living - not merely just protection and beliefs, but her identity, too. His fingertips throb with each press against the beskar. Its distinct blackness is bizarrely symbolic; empty, vacant, lifeless. The tint no longer burns into him—it’s nothing more than a closed-off window with a wall behind it; entirely pointless.

Din recalls the grouped Mandalorian helmets in the Ewok village. Thinks of how hers would be thrown amongst them. He peeks down the corridor where her quarters lie—where he laid her unconscious body atop her bunk all those hours ago.

She should have awoken by now.

He should remain seated—protect her from the birthing blizzard in his chest—yet there’s prodding at the nape of his neck urging him down the pathway. Din rubs a hand against the thick of his cowl in denial that it's not simply his conscience but that resilient pull again - directing him to her like a homing beacon.

The swoosh of her retracting door is uncomfortably loud in contrast to the silence inside. The room is lit with brief glimmers of starlight that spring against his polished armour; he stands out like a sore thumb amongst the shadows but he disregards it and shifts his eyes to the far corner. She’s melted into the blend of black lumps, forcing him to maneuver through unfamiliar territory to analyse her state.

But he’s not even halfway inside before a solid arm is wrapped around his throat from behind. Unimpressed with the impolite greeting, Din attempts to turn his helmet but she ensures he doesn’t get the opportunity - pressing the point of a vibro-knife against the exposed portion of his side.

She doesn’t dare say anything but Din understands completely.

“It wasn’t me.”

He goes into vivid detail about what occurred while she was unconscious - the massacre of Endor’s Mandalorian covert - all the death his actions resulted in - her determined fate of becoming the finest Mando-stew - the torture he inflicted on those remaining Ewoks.

It doesn’t seem to land on her; perhaps she merely doesn’t believe his words - his ability to slay an entire tribe - or maybe she just wants to take out her frustration on him. Din places a hand atop her vambrace as she constricts, silently threatening him—he realises she won’t speak without her modulator and it’s currently the only excuse why he hasn’t thrown her overhead from her audacity; a charitable act the Ancient’s aren’t fond of, but they comply.

Still, the circumstance is less than pleasant.

She’s strong beneath all of her armour and he wordlessly admits he wasn’t expecting such resistance. It shouldn’t surprise him after years of living as a Mandalorian and hauling all that load, and yet.

“This isn’t the gratitude I was expecting,” Din grunts. “I could have left you to become a meal for those parasites.”

She jabs him with her blade - a prick - barely a drops worth of blood, but she’s toed the line too long.

“Enough.” Din tears her forearm from his neck as he would to an intrusive necklace, effortlessly, and spins their bodies, the force of the momentum rendering her on her knees with her back towards him.

She’s cast in light from the corridor, tendril streams of yellow-white washing over the crest of her head, highlighting the shine of her hair, and hugging the folds of her flight suit. Shoulders hunched with fight. Head dipped to preserve her shrivelled honour. It irritates the ancients - irks them that she continues to act as if she contains a shred of it. They pull his hand to her shoulder and he tries to stop them - tries to resist the need for his fingers to pinch and drag her into the light but the motion is too fluid, too determined for a glimpse.

As luck would have it, she’s already suspicious of his attempts and wards off his hand before he’s knocked on his ass with a blow to his abdominals. Din grunts as he hits the floor but it’s not long before she’s the cause of his groans—a lean knee rooted into the weak of his hip.

Din’s helmet cranes to his Darksaber loose on his waistband positioned awkwardly beneath her weight, absentminded fingers creeping to its edge.

“Eyes on me.”

The sound of her voice is so distinct—a flavour, almost. It’s as rich as the desserts of Naboo, stretched thick with melted creams and custards. Ethereal in a way that’s unimaginable, like a Starbird; fabled and impossibly otherworldly. Best of all, it’s comforting - familiar. Compounded with recollections of returning to his covert with his mentor after a harsh mission in his earlier years; similar to the voice that’d greet him with a blunt slap on the back and a ready for round two, red?

They’re identical in many ways, especially their attitude; fearless and certain of themselves.

It’s like a piece of home has returned to him at long last.

Din’s helmet tinks against the alloy flooring as he settles into his position, granting her request. Colourless pools stare through him - eyes that one could easily find themselves lost in; not in dismay but as that of a hazy forest, easily misled until surrounded by nothing but shadows and gloom and terror. Nonetheless, it goes without saying, she’s breathtaking. What might appear as flaws to selective men, are details that simply punctuate her features to Din; the craters of exhaustion draws his attention to her eyes, the slice on her cheek to her velvety skin, chapped lips sparking his to subconsciously part. Perhaps it’s simply because she’s seated on his lap in a, well, suggestive position or the ancients have been overfed with her exposure, but the hammering in his chest inadvertently fosters a sigh to escape his lips—though one could argue it sounded more of a moan than anything.

She sneers, “This is what you wanted, isn’t it - to have me revealed before your very eyes? Well, take a good fucking look at the eyes that’ll be the cause of your demise.”

“Your anger is misdirected. I understand losing—”

“You don’t fucking understand though, do you? You’re the most honourable of all - The Mand’alor.” Din cringes at the way she hisses his title and he senses himself retreating from her fury, at least the smallest part of him, but then he’s yanked front and centre like he’s a youngling preparing for his initiation; hands of strong conviction with a grip firmer than a Wampa—he would know, he’s encountered plenty—pressuring him into a situation he’s unprepared for.

You cannot admit defeat.

His demeanour shifts quick, blink-and-you-miss-it kind of quick. They don’t even provide her with an opportunity to recognise he’s got a hand around her wrist before he slips from beneath her and exchanges positions, compressing her into the alloy unforgivingly.

She sits in self-pity, ashamed he gained the upper hand so effortlessly and tears her head to the side.

“Look at me,” Din requests. When she refuses, he does what he knows will encourage her to resort to words: push and push, “Do you feel the loss of your pride - humiliation beneath the eyes of your leader? Is that why you won’t look at me?”

“You still bear your helmet and soul. It’s a privilege that I was robbed of. You look at me with shame and - and dissatisfaction. When I look at you all I can see is myself. A shiny reflection of someone I don’t recognise. So, forgive me if I’m not appeasing your thirst for power by not looking at you - not quivering in your fucking shadow.”

The ferocity settles. The blizzard shifting to delicate snowfall.

It allows him to stop and think: to study her appearance.

On closer inspection he discovers her eyes aren’t colourless in the slightest, but so deficient of personality as though it evacuated on a spacecraft too harsh on her irises; scarring a crater in its place. It makes his lungs teeter and she hasn't even looked at him. Beneath his protection, beneath the polished ridges of reinforced alloy—his blanket of honour and virtue and identity—Din chokes on his words.

“I must admit, I hadn’t expected you to look so—”

Din doesn’t choke. Chokes others, sure, but himself—over a girl, no less? It’s laughable - and they do laugh; a roaring choir of howls that shudders his confidence and causes him to withdraw but she’s looking right at him now. No, not him, but herself. Soft blinks at his visor as she gradually attempts to come to terms with her new normal.

“Mesh’la.”

She flinches as if he’s burned her. “What?”

“Look at yourself, will you?” The helmet dips once more, right up close and personal so she can genuinely come to appreciate her beauty in his tint. “It’s a shame such splendour has been hidden away all this time.”

It’s not outright obvious how she perceives his comments, not without her words, but years living under a guise has compromised her ability to conceal her emotions through expressions; and Din has learnt to take the soft blush of a woman’s cheeks as indication enough. He consumes the flush, drinks in the colour and heat like required nourishment.

But he thirsts for more, he’ll always want more. “I must know your name. Please?”

Resorting to a please is a new low for the ancients and yet they’re silent. Just as eager to put a name to a face as Din.

She snaps back to reality and presses a palm to his visor to push him away. “This is all just about the power for you, isn’t it? You’ve gotten my face and now you want my name. What’s next? My life?”

“That’s not -”

“You’re my leader no longer, Sir,” she mocks.

That’s exactly not what to say to the ancients’ faces; but she’s none the wiser to the situation at hand, of course. They’re deep in the celestials where no craft can journey, while she’s rooted to the firm ground as the most blest flora. She’s got not even an inkling of the potential of destruction simmering above her and, yet, Din suspects her behaviour would only double if she was to know the truth. There’s a mute dictatorial request in his ears—one imploring him to demonstrate his power, his abilities, a warning to watch her tone—but it goes neglected, his polar opposite temperament kicking in to shield her. Instead, he cedes his position above her but he senses it was the wrong thing to do.

He’s once again cushioning her boot with his abdominals, a lithe dagger aimed at his amourless collarbones.

Must she always turn to violence?

She is Mandalorian.

Was.

“You don’t want to do this,” he warns with a hand on his belt.

It’s mere intimidation. A deterrent.

She reconsiders, her eyes bouncing to-and-fro from his visor to his Darksaber, and her shoulders slack when she comes to the realisation she can’t defeat what she’s witnessed firsthand.

“I’m taking you back.”

“Back?”

“Where I found you. Nevarro. You’re in touch with people; you’ll get your hands on another spacecraft out of there. I can’t - won’t take you further than that.”

Din’s fingers are encasing her wrist before he realises it, tugging her away from the sleeping quarter’s hatch, hell-bent on changing her mind though he doesn’t understand why. The ancients are to blame, he decides, they mustn’t be finished with her yet.

“I told you I would assist you in your mission.”

“Consider the alliance terminated then,” she says, snatching herself out of his leathers.

“Come now, that’s a bit—”

The air is almost hot with her anger; he swears he can hear the snap of her patience splintering in his ears.

“You don’t fucking get it, do you? I just lost everything I had—my life, my honour, my purpose—and it’s quite a coincidence this just so happened to occur the moment I met you. I’ve managed to go decades without ever being in such a close call. So, tell me how I let myself so open to attack; how preoccupied I was with your objective.”

Din bites his lip—actually bites his lip because if he doesn't, the ancient’s will voice words that will only cause her to lose her temper. Words like because you’re unskilled, clumsy, incompetent. Words that work against them in every sense.

It thrums against his thigh in pulses. Deep but disconnected—not quite reaching that unsettling murmur he’s witnessed before.

“Are you putting the blame on my shoulders?”

“Kind of implying it, yeah. Do I need to lay it on thick for you to understand?” She sighs and steps out into the hallway where the light hits her clearly though she doesn’t turn to him. “The minute we land, you’re out and I won’t stab you. Sounds like a good deal.”

It’s not up for debate, not in her eyes, and she leaves to go and realign the Gladiator’s navigation to Nevarro as promised. Din assesses her unit; it’s small in size with a bunk, window, and not much else. Even the cells on the New Republic transfer ships looked homier than this, though he presumes she doesn’t mind. It’s a sanctuary—all Mandalorians had one. A place where they can remove the helmet, breathe in some newly filtered air.

Something she no longer required.

Din turns to leave but as he does, his boot kicks against something solid and made of an alloy that scrapes across the ground. He retrieves the object and investigates; a beskad, and a sharpened one, at that. The blade glitters in the starlight, the hilt made of heavy wood in his palm - weathered. Signs of past being well-used. An insignia is carved into the base, a kell dragon. One with dozens of spiked teeth and jutting horns atop its head. It clicks something within him—a faint, distant memory of similar-looking symbols. There are little recollections tied to it, so it can’t have been too important, but he can’t think of any reasons as to why she would have this. It’s not prevalent in Mandalorian culture; something unknown to many. It’s aged, many years so. Perhaps the possession of a relative.

Everything in him tells him not to interrogate her on the matter, not yet. She won’t answer him anyhow—and Din agrees; steps down from his position of higher humility than ghostly whispers and bad influences until they’re level.

And he doesn’t question why he’s so blindly accepting the embrace of lethargic arms.

***

There’s been a lack of interaction between them since she woke. Since that whole debacle of bitter words and corrosive touches. She had metaphorically stained his beskar; the print of her fingers and boot rusting into his platings and spilling through onto his skin. His insides had long turned disease-ridden the moment he claimed ownership of the Darksaber and now his outsides were succumbing to another influence.

There’s no telling what could happen if he was to remove his gloves—touch her skin; the perfectly sculpted neck begging for the warmth of his palm, cottony cheeks waiting for the drunken touches of a fixated man, or the dunes of her lips the ideal size to hug his thumb.

Din is full of wonder.

Meeting a dar’manda is rare. Witnessing the downfall of one, even more so. Everything physical about her has been protected, preserved by virtue of leather and beskar. Uninfluenced by all the filth they endure day by day. With lips of newly bloomed petals and hands silkier than luxury garments for the highly, Din imagines them pressed against his body. Gifting their sweet touch to something so sour.

He shouldn’t have these thoughts. Not when her welfare should be prioritised, but he can’t stop them. They’re indecent and crude and he detests that they make his stomach roll and his chest rumble. Before long his head is participating in the fray for serenity. It’s a strain on his self-control and the ancient’s aren’t the happiest, to put it simply. In their own twisted ways, they’re livid they weren’t the ones to uncover her eyes—were not the first to lay their irises on a captivating spectacle. The thrill has slipped through their fingers and sliced itself a nasty gash on their blade. The chase to have something so pure and delicate in their hold is no more.

Therefore, rationally, they should be disinterested in her—disembark the Gladiator to Nevarro and allow her to go off on her own—but they have never been one for rationality. Din’s beginning to learn how to register their honest thoughts and they’re not as opposed to the idea of her as they claim—but he doesn’t mistake their curiosity for compassion; that’s an entire component they don’t possess in their system.

Volcanic rivers border the area they’ve landed, a little further out than his preference, and he loiters around the spacecraft in wait for her departure. As he considers returning inside, she finally makes her appearance standing in the middle of the hatch. Embraced with soft oranges, the nearby lava lends its beauty to her. Without the hindrance of alloy walls and poor lighting, Din’s able to assess her appearance better and he simply can’t turn his eyes away.

Even as the arch of her eyebrow flattens to a sharp line at the sight of him, he’s entranced.

Her eyes are like bare feet on oil, sliding down his chest with contemplation, before bouncing back to his visor and he secretly mimics her. It’s not until he’s actually peeling away from her face to the rest of her physique that he realises she no longer sports her armour. It’s a foreign concept to Din: removing oneself from their own skin, and he can’t help but question why.

“Your armour,” he pauses. “...You no longer wear it.”

“Observant. It’s forbidden, remember? I’m not Ma—” She can’t finish her sentence and at risk of looking pitiful, she shifts the matter, “I told you to leave. Don’t make me get my blade out.”

“Restrain yourself. I’m not on your craft, hence you’re capable of departing. So, why haven’t you?” She steps out of her ship and thumbs a button on her vambrace, the sole piece of herself she hasn’t removed merely for convenience. The hatch retracts behind her. “You’re prepared to go into town?”

“I don’t know what species you are under all of that but, surprise, humans need to eat and I’m all out,” she bites.

Din side steps ahead of her with a craned neck, brashly tilting his head. “I could return with nourishment. Save you the hassle of...well...”

“Who said I needed your charity? I’m more than capable of purchasing my own food.”

“What about your face?”

It’s pointless attempting to convince her to stay - to hide away like a cowering fool. It’s in her eyes; a luminescence greater than all the moons combined, a light, an ambition—an unsung wish to preserve her value. Like a tropical plant seeded in the outskirts of a desert, she’s out of her depth. Despite all that, she remains sure-footed. Prepped and primed. In the eyes of the code, she may no longer contain her honour but she certainly has courage. It’s no easy feat to allow oneself such vulnerability after years of habitual behaviour and privacy.

Unfortunately for his discipline, he finds the trait desirable and they know it; leveraging themselves on the fact to dip their fingers in his skin.

We can prove to be beneficial for you—help you gain precisely what you want. We’ve done it once before, haven’t we? She wouldn’t be speaking to you if there wasn’t a chance - a possibility.

Din wants to wrap his hands around their throats and squeeze, drain them of their authority and seek out a means to an end. Some silence he’s been deprived of. Though, laying hands on something that’s on the verge of non-existent is an unachievable goal, so he crosses his arms against his chest in hopes the interlocking will block off the attempts to reach out and touch her.

She must’ve responded to him in the middle of his battle of morale as she pushes him out of her path and proceeds onwards into town. The cloak she wears reminds him of Ahsoka and the Jedi he met on Gideon’s ship. It’s flowy around her waist when she walks and loose across her shoulders. How she manages to wear fewer layers than before yet blanket so much more is dumbfounding. There’s no shape, no build. Just one bundle of fabrics.

Selfishly, it’s unsatisfying to Din’s eyes.

If this is all he’s granted, he’d much prefer the armour; then he’s gifted the pleasure of curves and the excitement of anticipation. Though, he can’t deny those eyes - those lips. The bones of his fingers roll together with the force he wrings his fist, an attempt to draw out his restraint, and he tardily drags behind her some ways out. Allowing her a moderate amount of space, but not enough to where he’s blending in with the environment.

She knows he’s following her—knows he won’t let up—and all she does to combat his behaviour is withdraw into her cloak, a hood kissing the crown of her head until she’s truly built of a blur.

Din’s got tunnel vision throughout the town; his eyes like tar on her back. Multiple times she’s pulled him aside to order him to stop his unnerving staring—It’s bad enough you’re always looking at me and now you’re drawing in attention. Stop staring at me, otherwise, you’ll be losing your honour next—though he’s not one to obey. Each movement is monitored, analysed almost, everything down to the stiffened shoulders and bowed head when the crowd increases.

It’s a delicate situation she’s in; allowing herself such vulnerability. No one on this forsaken planet is in the slightest bit informed of her torn Mandalorian pride yet when a head turns her way, her muscles tense and her feet flounder.

“You’ve collected your provisions,” Din says as they turn down an alley. “What else brings you here?”

“Keep following me and you’ll find out, won’t you?”

“Somehow I knew you would reply spitefully. Do you not believe I deserve some level of respect?”

“No.” She takes a sharp turn and dodges his hand just before it clasps over her shoulder.

“Nexu—”

“Don’t call me that,” she grumbles and as Din goes to return her attitude, the route springs to his mind—the twists and turns of streets he’s stalked numerous times. On occasions when he doesn’t want to be spotted with a pricey compensation.

“I thought you said you weren’t a bounty hunter,” Din inquires.

“I’m not.”

He follows behind when she shoots herself through the reconstructed cantina. Only a few minutes ago she had been so timid walking through the town and now there’s not a forethought. She’s maddened and on a mission for blood, or answers as it appears, slamming her hands down on Greef Karga’s table and interrupting his conversation with a poor hunter.

“You owe me a favour.”

Karga motions a hand to a group of nearby hunters, instructing them to standby, and Din places his own hand on his belt in preparation.

He gives her a once-over. “Have we met before?”

“Perhaps this will remind you,” Din’s pulled up beside her like a display animal, her fingers deep in the material of his sleeve and it’s nice; pleasant to be touched by her even if it’s not as sweetly as he imagines.

“Mando! I was wondering what happened to you, it’s been weeks without contact. I might’ve thought you and Nexu clashed again.”

‘Nexu’ stands with a hand on her hip, peeved she’s been forgotten about so quickly. “She is quite hard-headed,” he teases, leaning his visor down a tad to observe her frustration grow.

Karga finally picks up on the context clues. “Wait. Nexu? That’s you?! What happened to your—”

“It was your idea to work with him. You owe me.”

“If I may,” Din interrupts. “I’m not some defective product that you can return.”

“I don’t care what the fuck you are. I want you gone.”

“Okay, okay.” Karga gestures to the restless hunter sitting across from him and requests for them to take his place, “Sit down. It’s unlike your kind to make such a scene.”

She needs some encouragement to comply, but with a nudge of his arm, she reluctantly settles into the booth with Din on the end. To his surprise, she doesn’t object to him sitting so close—their outer thighs barely make contact and his elbow occasionally brushing against hers—and he discreetly tests the limits until their hips are practically like velcro. Perhaps it’s an unmanly approach, seeking to get closer without going the full mile, but it’s somehow better; inching nearer and nearer, putting out feelers for her to respond.

Though, she doesn’t take notice of his attempts. “I’m not one of his kind.”

“About that,” Karga looks at her over the rim of his liquor, a dark amber colour that swirls in its glass as he flicks a hand up and down towards her character. “What exactly happened?”

“Your little disciple here walked us right into a trap. Conveniently he came out unscathed.”

“What does this mean for your religion? Have you been banished?”

Din’s eyebrows fall flat. “Karga.”

“Well—it’s just you’re not very talkative, Mando! I don’t have contact with many of you and, you have to admit, your kind are very intriguing people.”

“I want a chain code,” she neglects his interrogation and pulls out a tracking fob from her pockets, sliding it across the table. It looks familiar but then again all fobs are structured the same, though there’s something alerting him otherwise.

It clicks. “Is that from the covert? Is that what you stole back then?”

“Not like anybody was there to use it.” She shrugs, outwardly impartial. “Would you prefer I swiped yours instead?”

“Who’s code do you need exactly?” Karga fiddles with the device.

“Shand.”

“Fennec?”

“That’s the one.”

Karga and Din share a knowing look—one that suggests he’s been notified of Shand’s assistance back on Gideon’s ship. A look that silently asks why haven’t you told her? She’s no nitwit and their prolonged silence is only attracting more attention than repelling it.

“You heard her,” Din sighs. “She wants a chain code.”

“Right… Give me a moment.”

Greef allows the duo a moment alone to retrieve her code and she sighs before muttering, “Let me guess… You’re waiting for my thanks.”

“I’ve learnt not to expect much from you, certainly not gratitude.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You know,” He shifts in his seat, perching an arm across the headrest. “You tend to hold others to blame for your own faults. I didn’t put a target on you for that needle—and you speak rather impolitely to a man who wasn’t even there at the time.”

“You’ve got him wrapped around your finger. He spoke highly of you merely to get me to agree to take you with me—he’s got just as much of a role in this as you. Speaking of you, how am I supposed to know what you say is true?”

Din laughs, genuinely amused at her courage. “You believe I removed your helmet.”

“It’s been something you’ve spoken of doing. Something that’ll get your blood pumping, heart racing. That’s all it is—all I am, isn’t it? An unimaginable mission never been done before - to destroy the will of another. Who’s to say you didn’t take a little peak when I was unconscious - blame it on the Ewoks and flee from the planet before I woke so you wouldn’t have to explain yourself.”

“Oh, little one,” He supports the weight of her chin between his thumb and forefinger and lifts until she meets with his visor. “Trust me when I say that’s not how I would have done it. It’s cowardice what those creatures did to you. Someone such as yourself deserves…”

A golden glow envelopes her eyes and he blames it on the lighting; accuses the crappy cantina lamps for making her look so scenic.

“...Better.”

Karga returns, slipping into the booth across from them and indirectly right in between the moment they were sharing. Hand feeling looted without her resting in it, Din grudgingly lays it to rest on his thigh and sends a wave of energy towards the Guild leader; he can’t see the flaming reds in Din’s eyes or the twitch in his fingers beneath the tabletop, but that damn visor does plenty. Djarin has mastered the art of outstare; the harassment without ever requiring to lay a finger on somebody. Some would say it’s simply the armour—that without it, he would fail to intimidate even a Neimoidian, but that’s not entirely true.

Not with the Darksaber in his possession, awaiting the instance he breaks free from his cage and allows them to truly take control; to rule and conquer and own.

So, yeah, Din is intimidating and Karga has witnessed his potential before. With his newly discovered solitude and lack of a mission, who knows how close he might be to tipping off the edge. Karga doesn’t wish to find out. He gets the message the visor is trying to portray and glides the tracking fob back, “It’s not much, I’m afraid.”

“This is all you can give me? She was a bounty, shouldn’t you have the code?”

“There were reports of her death so it’s been expired and we’ve gone through a lot of targets since.”

“What am I supposed to do with this, exactly?”

Karga chuckles and takes a swig of his liquor. “Does this bring you back, Mando?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Din shakes his head and muffles a sigh, irritated his Guild leader oftens overshares information that’s not his own. However, it could work in his favour—maybe. “I’ve dealt with a client’s lack of information before. You would benefit from my assistance.”

“No, thank you.” She’s not having any of it and springs to her feet, scrambling across Din without consideration for his poor thighs she so brutally steps on. “I’ll take my insignificant digits and take my leave. You stay here.”

And he does. With pupils as large as the moons, he watches her leave the cantina in a hurry.

Greef mutters something into his liquor and swallows the remainder down. “I have to say, she is quite gorgeous, no? How often do you meet another Mandalorian? The two of you could be happy together, Mando. She knows of your lifestyle. Surprised you’re not chasing after her, you know.”

A smile plays at his lips. “She won’t go anywhere.”

“How can you be so certain, I mean, she left in quite the rush and she’s awfully bold for someone who-”

That leering tint returns and chills his bones and pricks his blood—the unfamiliarity in the slit eerie enough for him to decide against continuing his sentence.

“Watch your tongue, Karga,” Din growls. “That’s my people you’re talking about.”

******

dar'manda - the state of not being mandalorian

A/N: I'm going to be a little more transparent than normal about my thoughts on this series if anybody wants to take a read: This chapter took me so fucking long because I hate it. Despise it. I rewrote it three or four times and I can't keep doing that so I'm just throwing it out there and hopefully I can focus better on the next one. I think a huge part of the issue of this is from the last chapter. I was too concerned about losing an audience by having a Din/Mando pairing since there's not many of them out there compared to the standard Fem!Reader and I let it consume me to the point where I became so insecure of my writing. I threw in the helmet removal way too soon. Preferably, it should be about chapter 5/6 for character development and other things I wanted to add so I sorta fucked myself there. I need to learn to not worry myself with all of that too much but what's done is done. I just wanted to share that because I know this chapter doesn't read very well and I'm sorry about that. I think I'm beginning to fall out of love with the show from the lack of content and it's bleeding into my writing. I'm going to try to do better next chapter so hopefully you guys decide to stick around and give me another shot :) ty for your patience and support <3

taglist: @ohhersheybars, @greatcircle79, @northernpunk, @tanzthompson, @omgreally, @djarrex, @spideysimpossiblegirl, @riddikulus-obsessions

[enbyonmandalore]

Dream (Reader Insert Version)

Din Djarin x gender neutral reader (no use of y/n)

Rating: SFW

Word count: idk

Warnings: mention of weapons, mention of being stalked/hunted down

Summary: You are a Dar'manda (someone who is no longer a Mandalorian) and have a nightmare about it. Your new accomplice Din Djarin tries to comfort you.

_________________________________________________________

Dream

You wandered through the streets. The streets seemed familiar, but you swore you had never been to a place like this before.

Neat brick paths lined the roads and led to small brick houses decorated with colorful flowers. People spent a lot of time socializing outside, apparently.

You could feel someone watching from behind. The feeling was so strong that you risked a look over your shoulder and indeed - someone was following you.

You suppressed the urge to grab your baton and quickened your pace.

A crowd! Maybe you could lose them in there...

The people paid you no mind -happily chatting and being generally busy-, as you made your way through the group of locals. A sharp turn to the left and you exited the crowd and took cover in a nook in the wall.

A few moments passed.

Taking a deep breath, you stepped out from behind your cover to make sure your stalker was gone. You then continued walking down the new road.

Only a few steps away from the next turn of the street you suddenly felt the strange presence behind you again. The stalker was back and he knew he had been seen.

You turned around, made eye contact with the other person for a split second and ran for it - just as the stalker picked up the pace.

You sprinted down the street, dodging crowds and taking another turn left, into a dimly lit bar of sorts.

Nobody seemed to pay attention to you as you dove behind three Kel'Dor sitting on a bench.

With a shaky breath you grabbed your retractable baton and held it in position in front of your chest. What was going on? You were acting on pure instinct now...

From underneath the bench you heard the door open and saw someone wearing heavy boots enter the building. That person remained still for a second, then slowly started walking towards you.

You held your breath as the stalker moved the bench with the loudly protesting occupants still on it. He loomed over you. His aura was threatening and- He looked like Din Djarin.

Seemingly in slow-motion he reached down and grabbed you by the collar.

.

You awoke with a gasp. Your body was drenched in sweat and you were breathing heavily.

A quick glance around the dim cargo hold of the ship revealed everything that had happened to be a dream. A terrible one, at that.

You were still on the floor of the ship you were sharing with Din Djarin. Trying to forget the events of your dream you sat up in your makeshift bed and felt around for your weapons.

Vambraces? Check.

Knives beside your bag? Check.

Retractable baton in your boot? Check.

As you moved to get up, you noticed the other Mandalorian sitting on a crate near the cockpit. Was he asleep?

"Bad dream?", Din asked from across the small space. So no, he was not asleep.

"Yeah. But it's only that - a dream.", you answered.

You grabbed the tin cup and bag of Kaf powder from your supply bag and headed to the refresher. When the Kaf was done heating up, you stood in a corner to drink it.

The dream still wouldn't leave your mind... The memory of everything that had happened in your past was threatening overwhelm you. Joining the Children Of The Watch, breaking your vow, becoming a Dar'manda and being hunted down by the remnants of the Empire.

Din Djarin seemed to sense that something was wrong, because he stood up and approached you, stopping at a respectful distance. He waited for you to take another sip of Kaf and lower your "borrowed" helmet back down before speaking.

"Would you like to talk about it?" His voice was low and understanding. You sighed and turned around to face the man whom you had just dreamed about.

"If there is someone to understand this, it's probably you.", you said and steadied yourself against the wall, "Ever since you got me off of that garbage planet I've been feeling weird. Like something is haunting me."

"Is it your past?", the man asked. Spot on. You inhaled sharply and continued.

"Mandalore... Being a Mandalorian was everything I ever was. My whole identity. When I broke my vow, I became nothing. And now that I met you-", you had to stop and swallow to stop your voice from cracking. "Now I feel like everything is coming back. I want to be a Mandalorian, but I can't..."

Din stepped closer and put a hand on your shoulder. It felt like he didn't want to overstep any boundaries -especially since you barely even knew each other besides the fact that you both wore beskar armor-, but still wanted to offer some kind of comfort.

He cleared his throat and spoke: "I know it's not my place to say this, but... I think there is redemption for you."

Your heart beat twice as fast at his words.

"Redemption?", you carefully asked, as if you hadn't quite heard him the first time.

"Redemption. What you did was everything a Mandalorian is supposed to do. You fought for Grogu. A selfless warrior protecting a foundling, even though nobody asked you to."

"Seems like I did do that.", you replied, "Maybe my soul isn't completely lost after all."

"Stay with me and I promise we'll find a way to fully redeem you."

"Am I even awake?", you scoffed and lowered your head. You were, once again, thankful for the tinted visor that hid the sadness and embarrassment in your eyes.

For a moment your mind wandered off, but then Din's voice brought you back to reality.

"This is not a dream. And Mandalorians are stronger together."

_____________________________________________________________

This fanfiction is property of @enbyonmandalore (Tumblr). Do not repost/crosspost on other accounts or websites, edit, translate or otherwise change this piece of writing. Rebloging is fine, reposting is not.