#injured din djarin

[sytortuga]

Deafening silence (Chapter 2/3)

General summary: Pre-canon. Din goes to the Wild Space on a mission to capture a Kaleesh bounty. He knew it wasn't going to be easy, but he didn't expect the mission to have permanent consequences on his life.

Warnings: poisoning, general violence, animal attack, animal injury, depictions of sickness, vomiting, hallucinations, permanent nerve damage, permanent consequences on way of life. Some warnings are omitted to avoid spoilers. Proceed with care if any of the above are triggering subjects.

Author's notes: Here's chapter 2 for this fic that was intended as a contribution to @ailesswhumptober. As I already mentioned for chapter 1, this work wouldn't have never happened without @itzagoodthing. Check out the work of this talented writer if you haven't already! 🤩

You may read this chapter in AO3 if you prefer.

Chapter 2/3: The confrontation.

Chapter summary:  Din makes it back to the covert. He confines himself to his alcove to try and ride out the effects of inhaling the Divvik's gas. Some misunderstandings won't make things easier with the process.This will take him on to revive some painful moments of his life.

Since the elders had determined that they should only leave the Tribe one at a time, training the foundlings had become one of Paz Vizsla's favorite tasks. Daily, he would gather a group of younglings for lessons. Some had sworn the Creed and wore their helmets, while others didn't, be it for age or lack of fighting skills. But that didn't make any difference. They were all motivated to learn, to grow and become Mandalorians, and that was all Paz needed to know from them. It didn't matter where they came from. They were all destined to become fierce warriors, loyal members of the Tribe.

That morning he was making the children work on close combat and he was teaching on the use of the shield and vibroblade. 

"When you're deep in the fight, it will occur that you'll need to rely on close range combat skills. In these situations, more than ever, using body, mind and heart, in synchrony and balance, becomes essential. What I mean is that in close combat, physical condition is of essence. But if not used with concentration, dedication, and strict discipline, a fighter cannot be expected to win." 

Paz watched another foundling join the group as he talked. Without giving it more relevance, he continued. "In the same manner, an intelligent and patient warrior will not succeed without strength and speed. Melee weapons should be on you at all times, regardless of your weapon of choice. It will save your life more times than you'll imagine. Now, when dealing with close range combat, one thing you should always… " 

Paz interrupted his speech when the foundling who had entered the training room last, was whispering something to other foundlings. Annoyed, and before he could react, another tribe member came into the room and approached Paz.

"Paz," the other Mandalorian whispered in the infantryman's ear. "It's the beroya. He just came back but he's returned empty handed. No rewards and none of the supplies were required. Everyone is talking about it," he continued. "Walked down the main corridor, swaying and bumped into me. He seemed drunk, if you ask me. He didn't even bother answering when I asked if he needed any help. Without any word, he just disappeared down the tunnels, towards his quarters."

Lost in his thoughts, the heavy infantry Mandalorian fixed his gaze downwards, pondering on his brother's words.

"You know Djarin best, Paz. I thought you should know."

"Stay with the foundlings," Paz said. "I'll go check on him."

With this, the infantryman took his leave, determined to understand what was going on. He navigated the maze of tunnels towards the hunter's alcove, finding other vode whispering among them. That behavior didn't sound like Djarin. He also knew him well enough to know that he would have never come back to the covert empty handed.

Arriving at the hunter's appointed quarters, Paz found the curtain separating the alcove from the corridor was drawn closed, indicating, as it was customary, that someone was inside.

"Beroya, are you in there?"

Paz got no response. Knowing that Din must be inside, he hollored,"Hey, Djarin!" 

Again, no response, and Paz felt himself quickly losing patience. After waiting what he considered enough time for Din to put on his helmet and come out, he pulled open the alcove's curtain. Paz found Din laying on his cot, immobile.

"At least he's spared me the drama of finding him helmetless,'' he murmured to himself as he stepped into the alcove. The fact that Din hadn't even noticed that he had stepped into the small room had Paz suddenly worried. He looked around and didn't see anything out of the ordinary. He didn't see any obvious injuries on the man, no apparent blood or damage to his armor. He then shoved the Mandalorian's feet off the bed. He had clearly caught Din by complete surprise, as the man jumped awake.

"What the hell, runt?” Paz balked. “What's up with you?"

Just slightly raised from the bed, laying on his right side, Din looked at him in silence. 

"Everyone is talking about your entrance back there. Care to explain what is going on?"

Din seemed completely oblivious to what Paz was saying. 

"Least you can do is answer when you're being talked to!" said Paz. "Come on," he continued, gesturing for him to get up. 

The way Din continued to lay there, not making an effort to get to his feet made Paz snap. 

"Get up!" Paz  finally said as he grabbed the smaller Mandalorian by the collar of his flight suit, forcing him to stand up. 

"So, are you going to tell me what happened?" Paz noticed the other man could hardly keep his balance. 

"Speak, di'kut!" said Paz, giving Din's shoulder a shove.

To Paz's surprise, that soft move of aggression had Din swaying. Instinctively, he grabbed Din by his left arm to prevent him from falling. He then noticed how Din's left arm was floppy under his grip, and was solely relying on his right leg to keep himself upright.

"Are you injured, Beroya?" Paz said, now getting worried again that there was indeed something wrong with his brother. The large Mandalorian bent, aiming to find Din's gaze through the visor.

Din jerked away from Paz and had just enough time to turn around. Clumsily falling on his knees against the far end of his alcove, he lifted his helmet enough to empty the contents of his stomach. 

"Is it possible?" Paz asked,  incredulous. "Would you spend credits to get yourself drunk and then have the courage to come back to us empty handed?"

Watching Din continue to retch, Paz no longer expected an answer from the other Mandalorian.

"I understand your mentor's death is still recent, and I know how important he was to you, how much he helped you since your cabur marched away.” Paz continued. “But you need to get back on your feet. Deep inside you must know it wasn't your fault."

Pausing, Paz looked down at his brother. “Look, I get it. I can only imagine the pressure you must be under. Having been appointed Beroya, especially e these trying times, it must be challenging. Honestly I'm not sure I'd be able to do what you do. The pressure to provide, spending all that time alone in space, away from the Tribe. But there used to be a time where we would confide in each other. You needn't be alone.” 

The other Mandalorian gave still no sign of acknowledging him, and Paz said, "You know I can help, just like when you were brought to us."

Still silent, Din panted as he remained on his knees with his back turned to Paz. 

"I don't know you anymore, Djarin. What made you become… this?" Paz continued, but the sight before him just ended up mading Paz burst out in anger.

"DANK FERRICK, DJARIN! JUST SAY SOMETHING!"

Din remained silent and looked like he was  trying to look around while  slowly getting back to his feet. 

"Fine. You want to be alone? Then be alone." Frustrated, Paz kicked him in the side, sending him clattering into the wall of the alcove before falling back to the ground, unconscious. Paz took a moment to look at Din, laying ungracefully next to a pool of his own vomit, passed out from inebriation. 

Disgusted, he stormed out.

— 

Din woke up to someone shoving his feet off his bed. Cracking his eyes open, he looked up to see a blurry blue-clad Mandalorian. He didn’t need to see any more to know it was his old training instructor, Olis, at the Fighting Corps, standing there looking down on him. Din felt confused. Olis had died five years before. His foggy mind couldn’t work out what was going on, but he couldn’t deny that the instructor was standing next to his cot. And he knew what that meant. Training time. Din felt so tired, he didn't think he could get up. But he knew he needed to get on his feet. 

Midnight training sessions were common within the Fighting Corps. They were used to condition warriors to operate with little rest, and taught to stay alert whenever they could afford resting during a mission. He needed to train his body to make small tactical naps whenever possible, despite the conditions. 

It was essential to stay alive in the process while avoiding going beyond that threshold where body and mind would no longer properly function. He already knew by experience that weakness and hallucinations would set in when he didn’t get enough sleep, endangering not only himself but his brothers and sisters on the mission. But today he felt so tired. It wasn't the first time. At 12 years of age, it wasn't the first time he thought to himself that he couldn't possibly get up, and used the momentum of his feet being shoved off the bed to lean on his right side, a significant step forward in reaching verticality. But everything changed when Olis made him stand up by grabbing him by his suit's collar. 

Even though his feet were on the ground, Din felt himself sway. His heart skipped a beat when he realized the effort it took him to not fall. There was something wrong with him. He was exhausted, yes. His muscles ached and he couldn't find the strength to keep his eyes open. All that he was used to, it wasn't anything he hadn't experienced before. But not being capable of properly standing was not normal, and that worried him. 

Din looked back at the blue Mandalorian trying to find some answers. Could this be part of the training? Had he been drugged? But all he could gather was the aggressiveness in his teacher's posture, body language telling him he wasn't happy. But why wasn't he saying anything? 

Unexpectedly, Olis shoved Din's shoulder. The small action made Din’s head turn. Suddenly feeling nauseous, he barely had time to turn around. Falling on his knees, he lifted up his helmet and spilled the contents of his stomach on the floor. With his heart suddenly pounding faster, Din started to get nervous. He couldn't understand what was happening. He had never felt like this during sleep deprivation training. He was exhausted, yes. Nauseous? Occasionally, when he trained or worked past  rest threshold. But never to the point of losing his food. Was he sick? 

He lowered his helmet back in place and tried to make out his surroundings. Alarmed, he realized he wasn't in the apprentices' quarters anymore. He was in his own private quarters. He knew that, but he also knew apprentices didn't have private alcoves. A sensation of panic started to overwhelm him. Confused, he looked up to find Olis gone. Similar blue armor, but this was a much wider man. 

Paz. 

He was towering over him. He wanted so desperately to ask Paz for help. He had always been one to help Din through training, but their relationship had degraded during the last few years. He knew Paz disapproved of some of his merc jobs and the team he had joined, but he knew the heavy infantry Mandalorian would not deny him help should he ask for it. Trying to get in control of his emotions, he took a couple of deep breaths and tried standing. But before he could get very far, he felt himself hit the wall and Din's world went black.

—

Din woke up to his head pounding. Incapable of finding the strength to open his eyes, he tried to listen to his surroundings, trying to figure out where he was. But the strong ringing in his ears made it impossible. The explosions that detonated around him as he ran with his parents across their hometown, still made his ears hurt.  He just laid there, on his side, on the ground. He felt the cold surface taking the little body heat that he seemed to have left. 

For an unknown time that’s all he could do. He could feel the pounding of footsteps, reverberating on the ground. Strong footsteps. The battle droids had killed most of the people he had ever known. Probably also his parents, and now they were coming to finish him as well. He pressed his eyes closed even harder, waiting for the droids to open the hatch to the bunker his parents had hidden him in. He knew a droid eventually found him, but the droid never came.

Eyes still tightly shut, he continued feeling the vibrations of footsteps on the ground. But these were now lighter, and more numerous. He knew where he was. That small vent line in the covert he liked to hide in when emotions became overwhelming. Like now. Losing his cabur had become a traumatic time for him. Anger filled his heart. Anger against whomever or whatever had decided he deserved to lose his parents and his rescuer shortly after. There was no possible way he could forgive this, and even though he knew it was nobody's fault, he felt ok hating everybody for it. 

He felt the footsteps of the other Mandalorians looking for him. But he knew that only his cabur would be able to find him, just like he found him in that bunker. But his cabur wasn't there any more. And he knew he would be safe to process his emotions in privacy. He just wanted to be alone.

More time passed and eventually he managed to open his eyes. He was indeed laying on the ground of what he could tell was his sleeping quarters at the covert. He was alone, that much he could tell. He tried getting up, but he couldn’t make his arms or legs move, making him panic. The strong steps he could feel pounding on the ground must be those of his brothers and sisters. He tried speaking, calling out for help. Being in the covert, surely someone should be able to hear him. But that seemed to be harder than he thought. No sound came out of his mouth, although he couldn't be sure it was just that he didn’t hear it with the strong ringing in his ears.

A feeling of loneliness invaded him. He rarely felt lonely while in the Razor Crest, among the stars, crossing the galaxy over and over hunting for the most profitable bounties to provide for his tribe. But there, laying in his quarters, probably not far from many of the Mandalorians he provided for, he felt lonely. Lonely and scared. Scared that whatever had happened to him would be his end. 

—

Din didn't recall having closed his eyes but the difficulty in breathing woke him up. The paralysis was probably now spreading and making it harder to breathe. No, that wasn't it. Because he looked down on himself to realize he was pinned down by an enormous slab of concrete wall laying on his chest. He felt himself starting to hyperventilate, making the task of breathing more difficult. In desperation to find help, he looked around, but found only destruction: Buildings reduced to ruins, some of them on fire. Smoke invaded the air around him, not making it any easier for him to draw a breath. Bodies, Mandalorian and Imperial alike, were scattered for as far as he could see. 

He closed his eyes, trying hard to control his breathing. His chest felt like it was being crushed under his armor, but he concentrated on decreasing his ventilation rate and getting more meaningful breaths. He knew he would quickly pass out if he didn't. He was startled to see someone running between the ruins, screaming his name. But it was so hard to breathe, his vision started slowly to fade. He put all his strength in getting air in his lungs. A large blue blurr was moving towards him. When they finally became closer, Din realized who it was.

"Din! Thank the Manda I found you," he heard a younger Paz say.

The relief of seeing his brother broke all the progress Din had made at keeping his breathing under control. He felt overwhelmed by the emotions.

"Hey, Din. Hey! Look at me," he heard the big Mandalorian say as he grabbed Din's helmet to make him look at him.

But all Din could think about was how he couldn't breathe. He was trying hard, he was desperate to fill his lungs with air, but it was getting increasingly difficult. Prey to his fears, his breathing was now just a very superficial panting. 

"DJARIN! Slow down, vod. I'm with you. You're not alone," Paz reassured him. "I'm going to get you out of there ok? But you need to calm down. Controlled breaths. In and out."

Din once more closed his eyes and focused on Paz's words: "In … and out…, in… and out…" he heard. "That's it, brother. Good job."

Paz disappeared from his line of view only to quickly return. "I'm going to try and move the slab. You think you can get out of there on your own if I lift it enough?"

Din couldn't be sure, he barely felt anything below the point where the concrete pinned him to the ground. He looked around as if expecting someone else to come and help.

"There's nobody left, vod." Paz explained, reading Din's mind. "The last evac transport left the moon a while ago."

"You stayed…"

"I've known you since you arrived at the covert, Djarin. I know you're hard to kill," the infantryman chuckled. "I was not ready to leave you alone and dying in this karkin' mess."

Tears welled up in Din's eyes, but Paz didn't give him a chance to dwell on the emotion, asking, "So, ready?" 

They both knew that if they wanted to make it out alive, he'd need to get out by himself. The big blue Mandalorian got up, and without any further comment, he took his blaster cannon and prepared to use it as a lever to move the concrete slab.

"Din, are you ready?" 

As Din nodded, Paz put all his strength at lifting the slab. Din grunted in pain as he felt the pressure in his chest slowly decrease. Feeling he was nearly free, he started pushing with his elbows to crawl from under the concrete block. He had barely moved some centimeters when the cannon lost grip, making the weight fall violently back on Din's chest. He didn't have the time to scream with pain before this world went black.

Din woke to the smell of smoke and burnt skin. Paz was using the force of his jetpack to lift up the concrete wall that was pinning him to the ground. Out of sheer stubbornness and blunt force, his brother managed to displace the slab, setting him free. The fire from the jetpack's exhaust filled Din's lungs with smoke, not helping him with the difficult task of breathing. The fire also caught his flightsuit, reaching and burning the skin of his chest. The pure agony made him scream. 

—-

When he next opened his eyes, he was expecting to see Paz, looking triumphantly down on him before he helped him get to safety, out of the Purge's battlefield. At least, he knew that was how it actually happened. But no, he was alone. Very far from Concordia. On Nevarro, laying on the ground of what his covert had determined to be his alcove. He could barely move anymore, the paralysis fully set. He was barely capable of looking down on himself to see his beskar chestplate slightly smoking. The AED system integrated in his armor had activated, and that would only happen should the biomonitors indicate the absence of a sinus rhythm. His heart had stopped. But he had no more energy to fight whatever he had inhaled back at Nirauan. Breathing was already difficult enough. 

Feeling cold and lonely, he gave in and prepared to join the Manda, or whatever, if any, karking thing there was after this life.

[thefrogdalorian]

Get well soon Pedro! 🤍

[honeydjarin]

I have such a dumb idea for a college au din fic and I really shouldn’t write it but I am so so so tempted

[dindjarindiaries]

character: Din Djarin (The Mandalorian)

prompts: “You could have died, you know.” “I’m fine. There’s nothing for you to worry about.” and “I’m afraid of losing you, okay?”

main masterlist • prompt masterlist

"Hey! Hey. Stay with me." There was a gentle tap on your cheek that smelled of leather and blaster fire. You groaned and blinked your eyes open, wincing as light caught the silver helmet that leaned over you. "Hey." The modulated voice was even softer that time. "You with me?"

You nodded, grunting as you sat up on your elbows. Din's hands continued to hold the sides of your face, his thumbs stroking your cheeks as his visor gave you a once-over.

"Easy." His command was gentle, rooted in nothing more than concern as his hands eased their way down to your shoulders. "That was a hell of a blow you took there."

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just got the wind knocked out of me." You exhaled and began to stand. "We need to get back to the ship."

Din stood with you, one hand on your back and the other holding tight to your hand. If you weren't still somewhat disoriented, your heart would've been pounding at his touch and his proximity. "Only if you're able."

You huffed and raised an eyebrow at him. "I'm fine." You gestured with your head in the direction of the ship. "Let's get going."

Din nodded, drawing his blaster as the two of you began to run to back to the ship. There was no doubt the two of you had already taken care of your attackers, but it never hurt to be cautious. Din, however, was even more on edge than usual, his free hand staying close to you as his visor checked on you more than it did on the way ahead.

It was perhaps the most nervous you had ever seen him.

Once you were on the ship, Din secured the hatch closed behind you, and he wasted no time heading to the cockpit to get you off the planet. You collapsed into the nearest chair and took a few breaths, running your hand over your forehead as a slight ache began to arise. You had known you wouldn't be able to walk away from a detonator blast without at least a little pain.

You were so distracted by these thoughts that you didn't even hear Din return until he was kneeling in front of you with the medpac. You lifted your head at the sight of it and clicked your tongue as you shook your head. "Din, that's really not necessary."

He didn't stop shuffling through the medpac as he answered. "I'd like to make sure." Din paused and glanced up at you. "Please."

You couldn't help giving in to the pure worry in his tone. Your lips stretched in a small smile as you nodded. He returned the gesture and lifted a handheld scanner, using it on various parts of your head, arms, and more to make sure you were free of any critical injures. It time and time again chimed in the negative.

You watched him as he worked, taking note of the way his gloved hand shook as he held the scanner. His free hand was on your knee, and his touch pulsated every once in a while as if he was grounding himself to you over and over again. You furrowed your brow, and once he had completed his scans, you couldn't help speaking on it.

"Din." You reached out for the sides of his helmet, encouraging him to look at you. You searched his visor before nodding firmly. "It's all right."

Din held a breath in his armored chest, his shoulders tensing as his hand on your knee tightened again. His visor fell to study his grasp on you, as if you would fall away if he let go or looked away. After a long pause, he spoke in a voice so strained that it pulled on each of your heartstrings. "You could have died, you know."

You softened even more at that, your thumbs running over his beskar cheeks as you tried to soothe him. "I’m fine. There’s nothing for you to worry about."

Din shook his helmet, lowering it until it was resting against the knee he wasn't still holding. His shoulders rose and fell with each unsteady breath he took. Your softness was exchanged for fierce worry of your own as you ran a hand over his helmet.

"Din." You utterance of his name was just above a whisper. He still remained where he was, practically curled up into you as he clung to you the best he could. "What is it?"

He didn't move even as he answered your question. "I'm afraid."

Your eyes widened at that. You had been convinced that there wasn't a single thing in the galaxy Din Djarin was actually afraid of. He had sure as hell proven that over your time together. "What are you so afraid of?"

Din sighed, lifting his helmet once again so that his visor could face you. His hand ran from your knee to your thigh as if the motion helped him to gain the strength to say the words he was holding so close to his chest. "I’m afraid of losing you, okay?"

You instantly fell apart at his vulnerability. Your brow relaxed as you held his helmet between your hands again and urged him to get closer. The way you moved to the end of the chair helped to close the distance, and soon, you were able to rest your forehead against his helmet. "You won't lose me, Din." You shook your head to emphasize your point. "Not now, not ever."

Din exhaled a troubled breath. "We don't know that." His gloved fingers drummed against your thigh as he fought for strength to go on. "I... have lost so much. It almost feels inevitable. I've put my head down and kept going, but..."

His breath caught in his throat. Your sympathy for him nearly made your eyes well with tears as you waited patiently for him to finish.

"If it were you..." One of Din's hands rose to hold your wrist in place. "I couldn't bear it. Not even the thought of it."

You tried your best to put on a genuine smile for him as you began to reassure him. "I'll be more careful, Din. Okay?" You kissed the center of his visor. "Thank you for sharing this with me. I know it's not easy."

Din huffed, and a wave of relief flowed through you at the evidence of the darkness starting to leave him. "Neither is jumping near a detonator to protect me."

You chuckled, shrugging as your face began to warm. "Well, you would've done the same for me."

Din tilted his helmet at that. "Yeah. In protective armor."

You closed your eyes and savored your closeness. "I guess you'll have to find me my own suit of armor, then."

Din's hand gave your thigh a gentle squeeze. "I'll be your armor."

You reopened your eyes, smiling at him before you wrapped your arms around his neck to embrace him. Your cheek rested upon the cloth around his neck and shoulders as you nodded to yourself. "Perfect."

din djarin tag list: @yorksgirl @zenrobbins0021 @cyaredindjarin @cw80831 @maddiedrmr

[pedrito-friskito]

hey kay bb!! hope you're doing well 💖

mando has been on the brain lately so i'm requesting fluffy smut with him pls 🥺😫 (the yearning is *extra* today)

niiiiiiiiik my darling my dear hope you are also well 💗

ok…this got away from me. I blinked and suddenly a plot! exposition! SMUT! (multiple scenes at that) all the things. I’m a slut for Din Djarin and it really jumped out on this one.

(smut below the cut, a full plot, the helmet comes off, a bit of inexperienced!din, reader is kind of a bad ass, descriptions of bodies, unprotected p-in-v sex - wrap ur shit even if ur in space ok)

sleepover saturday

uncharted territory

(word count 9.1k - it REALLY got away from me okay)

gif by @aceofwhump

Then you are a Mandalorian no more.

Din Djarin aches in a way he has never felt before, much more powerful than any injury he could ever sustain. His Creed, demolished. His son, gone. His life, upended. As he staggers out of the Covert, trying to think of where to go next, he cannot shake the feeling of lost that settles around his shoulders like a cloak.

Maybe coming to Glavis was a mistake; maybe he should have stayed back on Nevarro, kept taking jobs from Karga until he finally had enough credits to take the old man’s advice, get himself a camtono full of spice and disappear into the Twi’lek healing baths until he forgot the whole thing.

The truth of it? He knew he could never forget. There wasn’t enough spice in the galaxy to help him forget it all. It wasn’t possible. And the larger part was that Din didn’t want to forget.

His leg aches as he walks. The bacta Paz had sprayed him down with had helped some, but the ache runs deep, and the drills the Armourer had forced him to run with the Darksaber had only made matters worse. He should find a place to lie down, to hide for the night before he decides what he plans to do next, where he plans to go.

Where will he go?

You are a Mandalorian no more.

The echo of the words make his head split, and for a moment, he has half a mind to wrench the helmet off, to launch it off the ring, let space swallow the beskar whole. But he stops himself; it feels as though his armour is all he has left.

His armour, and the Darksaber. The right to the throne of Mandalore.

Maker, he can’t think straight. The ache only worsens, his limp more prominent, and it gets to the point where he can take no more. He falls onto the nearest crate, his injured leg stuck straight out in front of him. His body feels twice as heavy, his head even more so, and he tips it back against the wall to lighten the load. He’ll rest just a moment, he’ll just shut his eyes for one—

“Mando?”

Din pulls his blaster from his holster as his eyes shoot open. There’s the sound of shuffled steps, something metallic hitting the floor, a murmured dank farrik! He hits a button on his vambrace, turns off the thermal setting on his visor.

“Sweets?”

You look exactly the same as he remembers. It’s been ages, but he could never forget your face. He knows what’s underneath your clothes, too, and the memory speeds to the surface of his mind faster than a pod-racer.

+

Before he had an in with Peli on Tatooine, the Razor Crest routinely parked and tuned up in Hangar 3-5, he had you. You were well-known within the Guild, had more than a few contracts with different gangs and hunters in the galaxy. If something on a ship broke, you were the one to fix it, and you had enough heavily-armed thugs on your side to make anyone think twice about trying to mess with you.

Some called you the Mechanic, simple and descriptive. Others, those you let a little closer, knew you as Sweets, a moniker earned by your penchant for candies and treats. You’d let your favoured clients off easy if they were short a few credits, but had something sweet from the far reaches of the galaxy to offer in lieu of the missing cash.

Din knew he was one of your favoured clients, perhaps your favourite. Or, had been. You’d crowed endlessly about the Crest, desperate to get your hands on it any time he hauled it in for service, whether it actually needed it or not. Sometimes he genuinely needed something fixed, some times he’d found some candy or sweet in a far off corner of the galaxy that he’d brought back just for you.

Other times, he just wanted to see you.

You were sweet in other ways, too. He knew first-hand. And he knew he was the only client you let into your bed. He’d been drawn to you the first time you’d been introduced — a common contact between you and Din sent him your way when the Crest was in serious need of a tune-up, and you were the closest mechanic he could get to without doing more damage to the ship.

Your knowledge astounded him, to start. You were barely into a diagnostic and you knew exactly what needed to be fixed, what parts you had and didn’t, how many credits it was going to cost him. And you hadn’t even set foot on the ship yet. Your competency drove him wild, only spurred on when he brought you aboard the Crest to give the interior a once-over, eager to see if he’d kept everything original, or if you had any modifications to offer that he might be interested in. Din followed you around the ship silently, answering whatever questions you had, mostly just watching you work. It was intriguing beyond belief.

“That’s not much of a bed,” you’d commented, cocking your head to the side when you hit the button that opened the bunk. “When’s the last time you had a new mattress?”

He just shrugged.

“One thing you should know,” you said over your shoulder, descending the Crest’s ramp, heading back towards the entrance to your shop. “I don’t use droids.”

Din nearly fell over. “That’s not a problem.”

“Good,” you replied, tapping at your data pad, your brow scrunching. “It’ll take longer than your usual hangar; I do everything myself.”

“I’m happy to wait,” he said, dipping his helmet, thankful it was hiding the way he was raking his eyes over you. I don’t use droids. Had someone made you in a lab somewhere, on some backwater planet, just for him? “I know she’s in good hands.”

The grin you’d offered him was sweeter than anything he’d ever seen, and you shooed him out a moment later, muttering something about getting back to work.

When he returned three days later to retrieve his ship, he almost didn’t recognize it. You’d repainted most of the outside panels, replaced all the ones that were missing, and the engines were so shiny Din could see his helmet reflected in them. Inside the Crest was another story; you’d outfitted him with a carbonite cell system, top of the line and primed for use. That meant no more mouthy bounties, no more wasting durasteel cuffs and gags when he could just hit a button and have a quiet ride back to the Guild.

And in the bunk, a new mattress, complete with a pillow, and bolted on the wall, a mount for his helmet.

“You don’t sleep with that thing on, do you?”

“The carbonite system,” he nearly sputtered, rubbing a gloved hand over the back of his neck. “I don’t have the credits, I didn’t—”

You poked the toe of his boot with your own. “Call it a gift, Mando. Let’s just say I shouldn’t have had the thing hanging around to begin with.”

“Is that gonna cause me any problems?”

“Nope,” you replied, popping the p. “Wiped all the identification numbers from the system. No one will know where it came from. Except you.”

He stared at you a long moment. “Except me.”

He was sure to pay you in full, plus the candied flowers he’d found at one of the vendors in the markets. You’d smiled again at that, and while Din committed the sight to memory, he also promised himself that he wouldn’t let it be long before he saw your smile again.

And he kept that promise. The next time he landed the Crest in your hangar, it wasn’t because he needed a tune-up or new parts. He’d struck gold at a black market on Coruscant; his bounty had lead him into the belly of a sweet shop, and after the Gungan had been dealt with, Din did some hunting of his own. He took as many boxes as he could carry, trying to take one of each flavour, a few extra of the ones he’d seen on the shelf in your shop.

“What in Maker’s name are you doing here?” you’d called as soon as he landed, stepping out of the shop and into the hangar, your hands on your hips, cocked to one side. “You ruin my handiwork that fast?”

“Not exactly,” he’d replied, walking down the ramp, his arms laden with goodies. Your eyes had gone huge. “I come bearing gifts.”

“For me?” you cried, gasping as you took the boxes from him, tongue poking between your teeth. “Mandalorian, if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were flirting with me.”

He’d never been so grateful for his helmet at that exact moment. He might have crumbled to dust if you’d seen how red his cheeks were. “I-I owed you,” he stuttered out, “for the carbonite.”

“You didn’t owe me anything,” you quipped, swaying from side to side on your feet, staring down at your treats. “I told you, it was a gift.” You gave him one of those smiles again, and Din felt his stomach twist at the glitter in your eyes. “Why don’t you stay a while? I’ll feed you and everything.”

You disappeared into the shop, and Din paused a moment before following.

He saw you disappear behind a dark curtain that had definitely seen better days, and Din followed your further to discover there was an apartment of sorts attached to the shop. Apartment was perhaps too kind a word; it was one large room, a kitchen to one side, a large futon spread in the middle. Trunks and boxes and crates stacked along the far wall, a few grease-stained jumpsuits littering the floor. You stumbled over your feet trying to pick them up, tossing the offending fabric into a nearby crate, before you turned back to him. “What are you hungry for?”

You served him first. Noodles with dark sauce and some kind of shredded meat you thought was bantha but weren’t quite sure. But, as you stated with a shrug, “it’s good, and it hasn’t killed me yet.” After you slid the bowl across the table to him, you turned back to the stove and stayed that way. After a moment, Din wasn’t sure what to do, but then your head turned slightly, your eyes trained directly to the left, not wandering towards him over your shoulder. “I won’t look. Swear.”

He lifted the helmet just enough to shovel the food into his mouth. You were right, the mystery meat was good, and the sauce you’d made to go with it was even better. He nearly inhaled the food, not wanting to keep you too long, and when the helmet slid back down, the mechanism hissing back into place, your head turned again, still not looking at him.

“You’re safe,” he said, sliding his empty bowl back across the table.

You turned fully, serving yourself, and he expected you to sit across from him, keeping a bit of distance between you, but instead, you rounded the table and plunked yourself down on the stool right beside him. You ate much slower than he had, and Din let his eyes graze over you. The streak of engine grease on your cheek, the scar that split your lower lip, the intricately messy way you wore your hair. A silver chain sat around your throat, strung with a tiny silver ring. It disappeared down the front of your shirt most of the time, but right then it sat awkwardly, the chain caught on your collar, the ring sitting in the hollow of your throat. He resisted the urge to reach out and fix it.

The jumpsuit you wore was nearly identical to the ones you’d hurriedly swiped off the floor. Torn on one knee, zipper unfurling beneath your chest, a symbol he didn’t recognize patched onto your thigh. You’d tied the sleeves around your waist like a belt, a dirty rag tucked in at your hip. The Mechanic, herself. Sweets.

He thought you were beautiful. He had a feeling you’d look beautiful in anything.

Or nothing.

Din was distracted by your thumb at your lips, swiping a drop of sauce from your chin and sucking your finger into your mouth. His flight-suit was tight beneath his beskar to begin with, and you weren’t helping matters. “So,” you said simply, reaching for your food again. “Tell me a story, Mando. A good one. Best bounty you ever caught.”

The conversation filtered between you two easily. You were a good listener, easy to talk to, and Din felt like he couldn’t stop talking to you, telling you about his first kill, his first bounty. His first ship, before the Crest. He couldn’t bring himself to tell you about the before, before the Guild, before he was just the Mandalorian, when he was just Din Djarin. A foundling. Part of him wondered what you think, what your reaction might be to his past, but a larger part forced his mouth shut.

At some point, he turned himself towards you on his stool, one arm braced on the table, the other resting on his thigh. After you finished your food, you leaned heavily on the table, your head pushed into your palm, legs crossed at your ankles, swinging slowly, the toe of your boot tapping his shin every once in a while.

He could see you were tired, the way you started covering your yawns and rubbing at your eyes. “I should go,” he said, starting to get to his feet. “You’re tired, and I don’t want to overstay my welcome.”

Your hand flashed out quick — not quick enough to startle him, though — and wrapped around his wrist. You’d managed to wedge your fingers right into the space where his glove met his vambrace, and he felt you against his pulse, against his bare skin. “You don’t have to leave, Mando.”

Din. He wanted to tell you. My name is Din.

Slowly, his own hand reached out, hovering in the air, shaking more than a vibroblade. He saw your eyes trace its path, watching until it lowered, dropped until the flat of his palm met the curve of your thigh. His gloved fingers wrapped around the meat of your leg, his thumb pressing towards the inside. 

He heard you gasp. 

He moved forward an inch, and his hand moved higher, thumb riding the seam of your jumpsuit. You hummed, fingered squeezing around his wrist, and Din moved closer, until he had one leg between yours. He let his hand wander higher, listening carefully to the changes in your breathing, the hitch in your throat. The heat between your legs was almost stifling, and something feral in the back of his brain screamed for more.

Whatever snapped in him, it seemed to break in you at exactly the same time. You both shot to your feet together, and Din’s hands moved to your waist, to where your sleeves were knotted at your waist. Yours roamed his chest plate, fingers tapping along beskar until you hooked them in his cloak. He halted his own hands, ready to help you remove the fabric, but you handled it just fine on your own, finding the hidden snaps with ease.

His blood turned to flame when he felt your fingers along his throat, seeking his pulse in another spot. “You should stay,” you breathed out, your voice barely above a murmur. “Please, Mando, I want you to stay.”

He forced himself to nod, his mind now preoccupied with ripping his gloves from his hands. He needed to feel you, no barriers in between.

He needed to see you, something in him screamed, no barriers in between.

He silenced that voice before it could spur him further. Busied himself with diving his hand beneath the waist of the jumpsuit, the broken zipper catching on his wrist. You were even hotter beneath, and he sucked down a breath when he found you wet, slick coating his fingers.

Your body leaned into him, chasing his touches, and he hooked his other hand around your thigh, lifting you up and backwards onto the table. He could feel you watching, your eyes moving from his helmet down his front, to where his hand was jammed beneath the jumpsuit. He crooked one finger, testing, pressing it into you, and grinned beneath his helmet when you moaned.

Din hooked his arm under your waist, lifting you just enough that he could maneuver the jumpsuit over your hips, down your legs. His cock jolted between his legs at the sight of you bare, leaned back on the table, your chest heaving. Even though the visor, he could see how slick you were, the evidence shining on the insides of your thighs.

He wanted to taste you.

He pushed the thought away again. Another time, when he wasn’t smearing the inside of his flight-suit with precum, when you weren’t keening into his touch as he dragged his fingers against the sensitive skin between your legs, when he could turn the lights off and shed his armour, bare himself to you the same way.

You moaned again when his fingers found your clit, drawing a sloppy circle that had your muscles tensing against his hand, knees closing against his hips. “F-fuck, Mando,” you ground out, tipping your head back on your shoulders. “You’re good with those hands.” Another stuttered breath as he twisted his wrist, curling two fingers just inside your entrance, thumb stretching up to swipe over your clit. “Really good.”

He was grinning beneath the helmet again, eyes glued to your face as he pressed further, fingers threading deeper into you. He could feel everything, the twitch of your thighs, the clench of your cunt. You reached out with one hand, using the other to balance yourself, and closed it around his elbow, your fingers digging into the thick fabric so hard he was shocked your nails didn’t bite right through.

“How do you like it, Sweets?” he asked, leaning forward until he was nearly hovering over you. Your hand moved from his elbow to chest, fingers hooked in his armour. “Tell me what you need.”

Your hand moved again, this time moving straight down his front, past his waist, right between his legs. His cock throbbed as you palmed him, a cat-like grin on your lips as you tilted your head level with the visor. You leaned up slightly, pressed your lips to the beskar edge that mirrored his jaw. Another squeeze, and the slow pace of his fingers faltered, his head nearly smacking into yours. “I need this.”

Din couldn’t hold back anymore. Something in the way you stared up at him, eyes tracing over the helmet, told him you didn’t want him to.

“I like it rough.”

It all happened in one fluid motion. He pulled you closer, right off the edge of the table, and you spun in his grip, leaning forward over the table, planting your hands flat. The jumpsuit slid further towards your ankles and you arched your back, your ass grinding against his hardness, and Din groaned audibly, tilting his head towards the ceiling. Your legs spread as much as the jumpsuit would allow, and Din worked his own zipper down, freeing himself from the flight-suit. You made the most delicious noise as the tip of his cock smacked against your ass, the tip dripping with precum.

Your head turned as he took himself in hand, tapping your ass with his cock again. “Maker,” you breathed out, your eyes widening. “I knew you’d be big.”

Beneath the helmet, Din turned crimson.

He planted his other hand between your shoulders, tipping you forward. You went willingly, eyes rolling back as he pushed his hips against your ass. He could see how wet you were as you bent, slick still dripping down your thighs.

There was nothing stopping him from dropping to his knees right then and there, lifting the helmet just enough to drag his tongue through your cunt. The thought alone made his cock pulse.

But then your hand reached back, twisting in the fabric covering his hip, and he couldn’t wait any longer. He bent his knees slightly, notching himself at your entrance, and pushed inside.

The noise you let out was nearly enough to make him cum right then and there. He knew he wasn’t gonna last, and judging by the sounds you continued to make and the way you were bearing down on him, hands clenched into fists on the tabletop, he didn’t think you were either. He set a fast pace, the space filling with the slick sound of him driving in and out of you, your moans echoing each move. Din’s gaze dropped, trained on the sight of his cock disappearing to you. Your hand flapped at his hip, scrabbling for purchase, and he wrapped his fingers around your forearm, groaning when you did the same.

He was right; you didn’t last long, and neither did he. Your entire body clenched as you came, one hand slamming against the table, nails digging deep into his wrist. It spurred his own orgasm, that coil at the base of his spine snapping, and he pulled out, cumming hard across the curve of your ass.

Silence settled over the both of you as you caught your breath. Din couldn’t help himself, rubbing his bare fingers over the expanse of your back, tracing over your spine. You arched a bit into his touch, making a satisfied noise before you lifted yourself off the table. You turned to him, leaned up to press a hot kiss to his bare throat. It made him shiver.

“Think we could do that again?” you murmured, lifting a finger and dragging it along the edge of his helmet. “Maybe you take all the metal off.”

Din cleared his throat, trying to ignore the way his cock twitched, already wanting a second round. “Helmet stays on.”

You stared at him a long moment, smile on your lips. “Helmet stays on.”

+

He kept close to you after that night. He rarely took bounties that took him to further reaches of the galaxy, loathe to admit that he was always within a few parsecs of your hangar. He brought you a long-distance commlink so he could tell you when he was coming back, so you could contact him if you ever needed him. He didn’t worry about you, per se; you were more than capable of taking care of yourself, and he knew for a fact you knew how to shoot the blaster you kept holstered on your thigh when he wasn’t around.

But then the comm went quiet. He called, you didn’t answer. A lead weight formed in his stomach, and he pushed the Crest’s engines are fast as they’d go. Carefully, though — he wouldn’t dare ruin any of your handiwork.

When he landed in the hangar, the lights were all off. It didn’t help his worry, and it only grew worse as he sprinted off the Crest, heading straight for the shop door.

It was locked, but the lock was no match for his vibroblade and a bit of brute force. Inside, the space was empty. no trace of you left inside. There was no sign of a struggle, no blood smeared on the floor or the wall, but it didn’t ease his mind any. What if someone had come for you, spirited you away in the dead of night to some backwater planet? Dank farrik, what if someone had put out a bounty on you? His mind reeled, raced, chewed him up and spit him out.

He never meant to get so attached to you.

Din switched the settings on his visor, finally determining that all the footprints he could make out on the floor were your own. Then he saw it, sitting on the edge of one of the shelves in the kitchen. The commlink, perched precariously, just enough out of sight that no one else would think twice, but not Din.

He thumbed through the screen, saw the icon flashing with a recorded message. Your face lit up the screen instantly, and he stifled the way his stomach clenched. You looked…scared. Not hurt, not injured, but scared.

“Someone sold me out,” you said, your voice distorted and warped. “I can’t give you details. I can’t really tell you anything. Just know I’m going somewhere safe, and I’ll miss you, Mandalorian. Take care of yourself.”

Your eye were shiny as you reached out to cut the recording, and Din’s heart sank into his toes.

He put the commlink in his pocket, and returned to his ship.

He’d watched the message so many times the words were engraved into his brain. The change in your voice, the way you’d blinked harder the more you spoke. The way you paused in the middle, glanced over your shoulder with a shock of fear in your eyes.

And now here you are, standing in front of him, a pile of metal spilling out of a crate tucked beneath your arm, that same streak of fear in those big eyes. Eyes that have haunted him all these years. You nearly drop the crate as you crouch, your gaze zeroing in on the wound on his leg. “Maker, Mando, what the hell did you do?”

“Long story,” he groans out, wincing as you adjust his leg slightly, leaning to the side so you can get a better look. “What are you doing here?”

“I live here,” you reply, getting back to your feet, retrieving your crate of parts. “C’mon, let me clean you up. You look like hell.”

Din goes willingly, not sure what else to do, his mind racing from the combination of the Covert and you appearing out of nowhere. He lets you pull him slowly to his feet, tuck yourself under his arm. “Sweets,” he starts to protest, but you drag his arm around your shoulders.

“Shush,” you whisper, glancing around as you start to lead him in the opposite direction he’d been going. “Lean your weight on me.” He does as you say, nearly crumbling with relief. “There you go.”

The ache only worsens as you go, Din resisting the urge to lean his head against yours. When you finally turn him towards the door, he thinks he may topple over completely, but you’re quicker, producing a remote from your pocket. The door slides open, revealing the inside of a hangar, and you all but carry him through, discarding the crate of parts the moment you’re through, hitting the button again once you’re inside. The door slides shut, and Din lifts his head enough to look around. It looks nearly identical to your old hangar.

Then he hears a curious little beep, and looks down to see a tiny droid scurrying towards you. A BD-1 unit; he recognizes it from Peli’s, though yours is a little more rusty around the edges, the cleaner bits of metal painted grey and yellow. “Not now, Shrimp,” you grit, waving at the droid. It beeps loudly back at you, like an arguing child, and Din stifles his laugh.

“I thought you didn’t use droids,” he mumbles.

“He came with the hangar,” you reply, moving him across the hangar. Shrimp follows a few more steps before darting off, disappearing into a pile of crates. “Couldn’t bring myself to scrap him. Besides, not like he’s much help; tiny thing can’t even lift a socket wrench.”

He laughs out loud this time, and when you pull him into the shop, he laughs again, despite himself.

There’s a shelf of sweets above the workbench.

There’s no curtain between the shop and the apartment, instead another sliding door, another remote. Din lets out a low hum when he sees the apartment beyond. More than one room, furnished with actual furniture. It’s…nice. It’s really nice.

You deposit him on the couch, propping his leg up on the table in front of it. “Wait here,” you mumble, pointing a finger at him before disappearing into another room. 

He doesn’t move, but hooks his fingers into the edge of his helmet and yanks it off, depositing it on the couch beside him. He sucks down a breath of unfiltered air.

You gasp as you walk back into the room, nearly dropping the silver case in your hand. “Mando, you—”

“Din,” he says instantly, reaching down, tugging his gloves off, tossing them onto the helmet. “My name is Din Djarin.”

“Din,” you repeat, slowly, like you’re tasting his name on your tongue. The corner of your mouth quirks. “Din…Djarin.”

He just nods. You approach him carefully, like you’re walking towards an injured animal instead of a man, the silver case clutched against your chest.

“Your helmet,” you start, gesturing vaguely. A memory sparks. He told you before — not in so many words — about his Creed, his upbringing. You’d asked, and he’d answered. It wasn’t information he gave willingly. The second time he had you, when you were sprawled out completely naked on that old futon, writhing and moaning beneath him, when he’d shed almost all his beskar, felt the warmth of your body pressed up against all of him. Afterward, when you’d both been sated for the time being, you’d peered up at him from your place on his chest. “Do you ever take it off?” you asked, your voice laced with sleep.

And he’d answered.

“It doesn’t matter,” he says now, eyes darting towards the curve of silver. “I’m not a Mandalorian anymore.”

“What?” you ask, your brow furrowing. He wants to reach out, let his thumb ride the space between your eyebrows, feel it smooth over as he kisses the spot. “What does that mean?”

“It means…” He trails off. Loaded question. What does it mean? Truly? “My name is Din Djarin.”

There’s still confusion etched into your features, but you don’t question him further. Your brow doesn’t loosen, and you perch on the table.

“What’s in the case?” he asks, jutting his chin towards the silver case still in your hands.

You look at him for a long moment, eyes sweeping over his face, over his features. Like you’re committing him to memory. He’s doing the same, almost scrutinizing your face, trying to remember what it looks like without the filter of his visor, what you truly look like, with no barriers in between.

He could taste you easily now.

The thought catches him off guard, the throb between his legs a welcome change to the pulsing of the wound on his thigh. The bacta the Covert had given him has worn off almost completely, and the pain is climbing. 

“B-bacta shot,” you stutter out, shaking your head slightly as you flipped open the case. Your eyes moved to the wound on his leg, peering at the plates of beskar, the flight-suit, the discarded helmet on the couch. “That needs to be cleaned.”

Din just nods.

“Think you can walk to the bedroom?” you ask, shoving the silver case into the chest pocket of your jumpsuit. He recognizes it — the tear in the knee, the patch on your thigh. You fixed the zipper. “It’ll be easier.”

It’s slow-going, getting him back to his feet, shuffling carefully to the bedroom. You ask him if he wants to bring the helmet; he just shakes his head.

What does that mean?

Your bed is unmade, but Din barely notices. The scent of you is amplified in here, and he’s sucking down breaths like he’s been deprived of oxygen. You help him lower to the edge of the bed, and he starts on the armour. You sink to your knees in front of him, setting the bacta shot on the mattress beside him. He removes a pauldron with shaking fingers, and you’re right there to take it from him, your movements sure, setting the metal carefully onto the floor, waiting for the next piece.

“You disappeared,” he says, after more pieces of beskar have been removed, when you’ve moved onto his boots, setting them both carefully at your side.

Your brow had just smoothed out, and it pinches again. “I had to. I left you a message.”

Din pulls the zipper on his flight-suit, reaches into the pocket sewn into the lining, and produces the commlink. “I know.”

Your lips part as you look at the piece of metal, dwarfed by his hand. “You found it.”

“I did.”

Bottom lip caught between your teeth, you look back up at him through your lashes. “It wasn’t safe.”

“You’re safe now,” he says, and you reach for the bacta shot. “Tell me.”

“It doesn’t matter now,” you reply, your voice bordering on stern. “Somebody sold me out.”

“I knew that much,” Din mumbles, and you shoot him a glare.

You sigh. “Let’s just say, there were some parts in the hangar that shouldn’t have been there, someone wasn’t happy with some work I did, and then next thing I knew, there were Imps on my tail. So I disappeared.”

“You could have told me where you were going.”

You shake your head. “They were listening. Tracking every message I sent out. I couldn’t let you get roped into it too.”

“You could have gone to the Guild,” he says. He’s too distracted to notice you pull the syringe out of the case. He doesn’t see the needle until you’re pushing it into his muscle above the wound. He grits his teeth audibly, hands curling hard around the edge of the mattress. “Dank farrik.”

“Sorry.”

“I would have come for you,” he says, breath hitching in his throat as you push the plunger down. It feels like his body has been flooded with ice water, his teeth chattering for a moment before the cold turns to a woozy sort of warmth that spreads through his chest like Corellian fire whiskey. He blinks hard, slow, one eye than the other.

“Can you stand?” He nods. Or thinks he does. “The bacta will help, but I need to put a bandage on that wound, at least.” More nodding. He’s vaguely aware of you draping his arms around your neck, your arms sliding around his waist to haul him up. He plants his feet beneath him, forces his weight over his ankles. His movements are slow, languid, like he’s moving through water. You manoeuvre one arm out of his flight-suit, pushing the fabric down his shoulders, until it settles around his hips. The metallic sound of the zipper seems to echo through his brain, and he knows you’re touching his waist, moving the fabric slowly over his injured thigh. But it doesn’t hurt.

All he can feel is you.

You sit him down again, work on pulling the suit off completely. Your hands are warm, soft, gentle against his bare legs, and he nearly buries his nose in the crown of your head when you bend down. Once the flight-suit has been removed, leaving him in his boxers and undershirt, you disappear again, and Din’s not sure if it’s thirty seconds or thirty minutes.

Something cold presses against his thigh, and he flinches. “Does it hurt?” you ask instantly, and your voice is clear, then muffled, then clear again. “It shouldn’t.”

“Nuh-uh,” he slurs out. He hears you laugh, and the sound is like tinkling bells. He wants to hear it again. “Sweets.”

“Yes, Din?” Clear, muffled. His name is a song on your lips.

“You’re beautiful.”

“So are you.”

“Mesh’la,” he mumbles, and then his eyes fall shut, his body slumps back, and he thinks you laugh again. He’s not quite sure; sleep is too busy yanking him under.

+

Din wakes to the sound of running water.

He’s disoriented, confused, not sure where he is until he pushes up on his elbows, looks around, drinks in the sight of your bedroom. The memory floods back; the Covert, then the hangar, taking the helmet off, the bacta shot that knocked him out.

But more importantly: you.

He rubs the sleep from his eyes. How long was he out? He can’t be sure; there’s a window on the far side of the room, but time on Glavis is different, artificial nighttime and starlight instead of sun. His armour has been moved from the floor, neatly piled on a dresser against the wall, his boots on the floor underneath. His flight-suit is spread out on a worktable in the middle of the room, and he can see from his spot that you’ve tried to mend it, patching the spot the Darksaber had cut open with a square of fabric. It’s looks to be the same kind of material, but the colour is darker. Beneath the sheets, his leg is wrapped in cotton bandages, and there’s no sign of blood seeping to the surface.

His head turns in the direction of the noise of the water, and he pauses, waits for some kind of pain to prick through his body, but it never comes. He feels…good. Well-rested. His eyes follow the sound, and then he sees it.

The door to your bathroom is wide open, and from his spot on your bed, he can see directly into the shower. You’re inside, steam pouring over the top of the glass wall, and Din’s whole body jerks. He never forgot what you looked like naked, and it’s been a long time, but somehow it still feels like the first time. He can feel the blood rushing south, and his hands clench in the bedsheets.

He just stares, watching the water move over you, cascading down your spine, rolling in rivulets over your curves, following the lines of your body. He wants to follow them too, wants to read you like a map only he knows the key to.

Dank farrik, he’s missed you. He hadn’t realized how much.

The water shuts off, and he sees you reach for a towel, wiping your face first. He sinks back down on the bed, wondering if he should feign sleep, feeling like a kid caught doing something he’s not supposed to. But before he can— “You’re awake,” he hears you call, and looks back just as you wrap the towel around your middle. “I thought you’d be out for the night.”

Din coughs, shifting the blankets, trying to hide the tent that’s formed in his boxers. “You don’t close the door?” He doesn’t know what else to say.

You laugh. “I live alone,” you say, stepping out of the bathroom, walking towards the dresser his armour sits upon. “Force of habit.”

He clears his throat. Loudly. Pauses. “…it’s a nice view.”

Your tongue peeks between your lips as you walk over to him, still in just the towel. Your hair is still dripping, water droplets dotting your shoulders. You sink slowly onto the edge of the bed. “How do you feel?”

“G-good,” he spits out, adjusting himself, making more room for you. “Really good.”

The corner of your mouth quirks. “I’m glad. You scared me, Man—” You catch yourself. “Din.”

A drop of water splashes down from your hair, starts a path down your upper arm, and Din reaches out, catching it on his finger. You watch his hand, lips softly parted, and he continues the path, drawing his hand up and down your skin, the backs of his knuckles against your bicep.

“I wondered where you were, all these years,” you whisper. There’s longing in your voice, he notices; the same feeling sits like a weight on his chest. “I never stopped wondering.”

“I’ll tell you sometime,” he whispers back. There’s something forming in the air between you, thick like the steam that still foams from the open bathroom. Din can almost taste it, and the thought he’d had in your living room resurfaces, making him twitch beneath the sheets. He could taste you so easily now. “It’s a long story.”

The corner of your mouth quirks. “I got nothing but time.”

So does he, he realizes. He’s without a ship, without his son, without anything anchoring him to one planet or another, to any sort of path. He’d been wandering already, trying to find the Covert, and now he is unmoored once more, yet somehow managed to find his way back to your hangar.

To your bed.

His hand stops chasing water droplets, and he sees your teeth sink into your lower lip. He lowers his palm until it rests on your bare thigh, and he can feel how your skin is still hot from the shower. “I never kissed you,” he rasps. “Before.”

Your head shakes slowly, and you turn towards him more fully. The towel is loose around your chest, your hand holding it in place, and he reaches for it, slowly uncurling your fingers from the fabric, until your grip falls slack, and the towel goes with it. “You should fix that,” you murmur.

“I’m out of practice.”

Your lips twitch again. “How bad?”

“Few decades,” he says softly. “Since before I swore the Creed.”

“You were a child.”

“It was a childish kiss.” He pauses, moves his hand again, brushes dripping locks of hair from your face. “I don’t want to kiss you like that.”

“Just…” Din leans in slightly, tilts his head to the side. “Do what feels natural.” You mirror his movement, and his eyes are glued to your mouth, to the way your lips stay parted even when you’re done speaking, the way your collar lifts with shuddered breaths. He sees your hands move the towel out of the corner of his eye, pulling the fabric away from your body completely until you’re bared to him, head to toe.

You’re just as beautiful as he remembers. If not more.

The tip of his nose drags along the slope of yours, and his hand slides from your thigh to your hip. “I need you closer, Sweets,” he murmurs, and you nod against him, your foreheads tapping together. There’s a bit of shuffling, the blankets moved back, his tented boxers exposed but barely acknowledged as you climb into his lap. He revels in the way you look above him, your knees pressed either side of his hips. You’re hesitant to lower your weight onto his leg, and he guides you slow, giving you a quiet it’s okay as you settle onto him.

He doesn’t feel any pain; he just feels you.

Once you’re comfortable, your hands clutching at his shoulders, he adjusts his grip on you, palms skimming up your spine, mapping out your ribs and the curve of your ass. You make a quiet noise when he squeezes one cheek, the movement propelling you forward, making your hips roll into his, your core pushed against his hard cock. It makes him hiss with pleasure, and he slides one hand up to your hair, knotting his fingers in it and dragging your mouth down to his.

It’s not artful; he’s sure it doesn’t look pretty from the outside. There’s a lot of teeth and tongue, the fumble of hands as he tries to get you even closer. He’s sure you’ve been kissed better than this, and it makes his cheeks heat, makes him pull away, tucking his chin towards his chest. “I’m sorry, I—”

“Hey,” you say softly, your hands moving to cup his cheeks, tilting his face back up towards you. “It’s okay. Just…follow my lead?” You say it like a question, your thumbs swiping over his face, through the smatter of facial hair along his jaw. “I got you.”

Din nods, lets his lips part as you cock your head to the side, leaning in slow. You kiss his top lip and then his bottom one, giving him just enough teeth that he wants more, wants it harder. He grips your hips as you move, but your kiss stays tender, slow, your tongue a wet heat against his own. He’d dreamed of this, of kissing you, and this one — albeit the second attempt — is everything he ever imagined.

Finally, your mouth grows more insistent. He’s hard as steel between his legs, and he can feel how hot you are, your wetness spreading across his boxers with every roll of your hips. Your mouth is sweet, almost sugary, and he finds himself chuckling against your lips, still trying to get you closer. Your stomach presses to his as you wrap your arms around his neck, kissing him harder, your tongue licking into his mouth.

“Sweets,” he grinds out when you start pulling at his undershirt, insistent to get it over his head. He lets you, and when you lower your head again, your mouth moves to his throat instead, and it makes him moan. “Mesh’la, wait, please, I need—”

You pull back instantly, your eyes bright with worry. “What is it? Are you okay?”

“I want…” His eyes drop, tracing a path down your body, his throat growing dry when they land on the apex of your thighs, the glistening wetness he knows he’s caused. He lets one hand follow the path his eyes made, rubs his thumb over your clit. Your whole body shivers. “I want to taste you.”

Your eyes go big, pupils blown with lust, and Din uses your momentary shock to his advantage. He’s stronger than you, perks of the bounty hunting lifestyle, and he flips you easily with one arm around your waist, his other hand hitching your thigh over his hip. You squeak as your head hits the pillows, clinging to him until you’re laid out beneath him.

It’s his turn to kiss his way down your throat, and he does, laving his tongue against your pulse as he makes his way down your body. He pauses at your chest, moves to the side to close his lips around your nipple. It makes your back arch, a high-pitched noise falling from your mouth, and he grins against you, giving you just the edge of his teeth before he’s wandering across your chest to give the other the same attention.

You’re a writhing mess by the time he’s settled between your thighs. He can’t keep his eyes still, raking over every inch of you, trying to remember every part. He can see the muscles in your legs jump as he traces his fingers over them, the more sensitive parts of your skin making you keen.

With your legs spread, he can see everything, and his mouth waters at the sight of your wet cunt, walls fluttering around nothing as he teases you with his fingers, collecting your wetness on the tips before drawing them to his mouth.

He moans at the taste. Of course, you’re sweet. Deliciously so.

“Din,” you groan out, propping yourself up on your elbows. He can feel you watching, and his gaze flicks up to yours as he drops his jaw, lowers his mouth to you. Your eyes roll back for a moment, one hand moving to knot in his hair, and Din moans into you. His tongue explodes with the taste of you, sending shocks down his spine, making his hips rolls into the mattress, seeking relief.

Just do what feels natural, your words echo in his head. So he does. He licks into you, wide stripes with the flat of his tongue, smaller kitten licks to your clit. He can’t get enough of your taste, hooking his hands around your thighs, pulling himself deeper into you. And you guide him some, your hand in his hair an anchor of sorts, tugging slightly to get him right where you need him, a gasped oh fuck, right there! reaching his ears.

It’s not before long that you’re smacking at his shoulder, muffled moans on your lips with your teeth sunk into your lower one. He detaches from you, gets one more good look and lick in before he’s following your grip, kissing every inch of you he can reach as he makes his way back up your body.

“I need you inside me,” you slur, your hands reaching down, pushing at his boxers. His cock springs up against his stomach and he groans, the sound growing louder when you wrap your fingers around him. “Please, Din, I want to cum on your cock.”

It’s a miracle he doesn’t cum right then and there, hearing your words turn filthy. And filthier still as he hauls himself over you, plants one elbow beside your head, looks between you, reaches down to line himself up and—

Freezes.

He can feel your eyes on his face, features pinched with anticipation. Your hands have found homes along his ribs, fingers tapping out rhythmless patterns. Hips lifting, you must see something in his expression, because you move a hand to his chin, lifting his eyes to yours again. “Din,” you say, and a shiver shoots down his spine again at the way his name sounds on your lips. “It’s okay. We can stop, if you need to.”

“No!” he nearly shouts, and feels himself flush, lowering himself slightly, careful not to drop all his weight on you. “No, that’s not what I…I don’t…”

“Don’t what?” you murmur. Your voice is quiet, understanding. You give a soft laugh. “I know you’re not a virgin, but if you don’t want to, it’s okay, I won’t say any—”

“It’s not that,” he cuts you off, petting his hand over your still-damp hair. “I want to. I want you. It’s just that…” He chews at his lip. “No one’s ever seen my face, while we…when I…”

Realization slides through your features. “Oh.”

“Yes.”

“I don’t have to look,” you say quickly, skimming your knuckles along his cheek. “I can turn over, if you like, if that’s easier than—”

“No,” he says, not a shout this time, but firmer. “I want you to see, Sweets.” He drops his chin, emboldened by your softness, your understanding. He kisses you soundly. “I want to kiss you while you cum.” His words pull a silky noise from your throat.

He breaks the kiss as he takes himself in hand, pushes into your dripping cunt. You’re hot, clenching down on him instantly, arms draped around his neck as he lowers himself further, latches his lips to yours. He hitches one of your legs high on his hip, drives into you deep. He had you close on his tongue already, and he rolls his hips hard, catching something deep inside that makes your entire body seize.

“Yes, Din, please, oh gods, please, please, please,” you’re babbling against his lips, one hand pressed flat between his shoulders, the other knotted in the back of his hair. “Yes!”

Just as he said, he kisses you while you cum. He feels it pulse through your body, your limbs taut and then lax, still holding him close. Your hips chase his, cunt clenching tight as a vice, and Din’s not far behind you, pleasure lighting a fuse down his spine.

You pull your lips from his just as he starts to spill in you. Your hand moves to grip his chin, and you force his gaze to yours. He gasps and your mouth mirrors his, lips parted in a soft o, turning to a grin as he grinds into you, painting your insides as deep as he can go. It feels like an implosion, his bones rattled in his body, but then set on the softest bed of silk as he collapses into your chest. You hold him close, petting one hand through his hair, breathing deep and slow until his own evens out, matches yours, until your heartbeat syncs with his.

“Mesh’la?” he calls after a moment, cheek still pressed to your sternum.

“Yes, Din?” you reply, your voice scratchy as your nails start to drag along his scalp. His eyes are heavy.

“I missed you.”

He can hear the smile in your voice. “I missed you too.”

+

Din wakes alone in your bed again.

He thinks it’s the next morning — the rest of what he assume to be evening was spent in your bed, both of you naked and wrapped in each other. Again and again and again, he pulled pleasure from your body, let you pull it from his, found your bliss together. By the time you were both too tired to move, sprawled on the mattress, your head on his shoulder, you’d whispered, “You’re a good kisser, Din Djarin.” And then you were asleep, Din not too far behind.

He dresses quickly, boxers pulled back on, undershirt in his hand as he pads out of the room. He finds you standing in the kitchen, a steaming cup of caf in your hands. The droid — Shrimp, he dimly recalls — is perched on the table, beeping out a message to you. You’re nodding along, blowing the steam off the top of your caf, and your eyes flick to him as he steps into the kitchen.

“You know Peli Motto?”

Din’s brow crinkles with confusion. “You know Peli?”

You scoff. “That woman taught me everything I know.”

“You’re joking.”

“Swear on my hangar.”

Din just laughs, walking around the table. He slides an arm around your waist once he’s close enough, leans into kiss the side of your head. You lean into him. “Why are we talking about Peli?”

“She sent me a message,” you say, offering him your caf. He takes a sip, only feeling more confused. “Asking if I had any spare ships laying around my hangar. A replacement for her Mandalorian friend.”

Din balks. He hasn’t told you about the Crest. “Sweets…”

You step away from him, pressing a hand to his chest as your eyes go wide with realization. “Din Djarin, what did you do to that ship?”

“I didn’t—”

“Din.”

“It was Imps,” he says, trying to reach for your hip. “It wasn’t—”

“Where is the Razor Crest?”

He sighs heavily, and reaches out to take the cup of caf from you again. “Now it’s nothing but a scorch mark on the planet Tython. It was the Imps. They took my son.” The words are out before he can stop them.

Your eyes go so wide he’s worried they might pop out of your skull. “Your son?”

“It’s a long story.”

You pluck the caf out of his hands, walk around the table, pull out a chair and sink into it. “I got nothing but time.”

[blue-sadie]

Blinded By Feelings

Armitage Hux, Cal Kestis, Poe Dameron, Din Djarin, Anakin Skywalker

They have feelings for you their enemy

Armitage Hux

He hated you even through he's never met you, he loathed your very being and it only increased when he met you, you were another general that to fought to be the best.

And when you two were together in a meeting or just in passing in the corridors you two would bicker like children over plans or random things that was annoying one of you that day.

He would only realize his feelings when a storm trooper would ask him but he would tell them to shut up and threaten them saying he would throw him into space if he ever spoke something so ridiculous again, but it would cloud his mind days after that.

He would feel disgusted by himself and avoid you by all cost but his efforts went to waste when you come back injured from a mission and he would make it his personal mission to take you to the med bay and scold you at the same time.

"You are stupid as the rebellion if you think you would not get scolded for your actions you could've gotten yourself killed next time at least tell me first so I can get you better storm troopers"

Cal Kestis

You joined the crew way before he did and had a stronger bond with greez and cere he was kinda jealous it wasn't much of a hatred thing he just found you kinda annoying to be around and would avoid being with you.

Every time you tried talking to him he would ignore you or when you saved him countless times he would just give you a forced thank you but nothing more.

The thing that made him notice is that you would start showing up in his dreams more or when he meditates, he'd find it annoying at first but he'd start thinking about you more and more.

He'd start listening and paying more attention to you which not only freaked you out but the other crew members to, during one of the missions he'd actually listen to your ideas instead of shutting you up.

"You have some really good ideas I should've started listening to you sooner, I'm sorry about that by the way I guess I was just jealous of you"

Poe Dameron

You were the rebellions best mechanic and the person that would work on his x-wing without his consent he'd hate it even though it needed to be done, he hates it more when you'd leave sticky notes telling him about the up grades you've done to his ship.

He would complain to Leia about you but she'd just laugh and tell him off because your just doing your job so then he'd come complain directly to you but you'd just ignore him continuing on his next up grade.

He'd have a few people tell him that he probably has a crush on you because of him talking about you so much but what really makes him realize is when he sees you talking to others guys and the jealousy he feels.

When returning from one of his missions his x-wing battered and needing repairs he'd actually come straight to you to ask you to repair it for him.

"I know I found it annoying but I've come to realize your up grades are kinda.... helpful after saving me a few times so what I'm trying to say is I'd like you to continue working on my ship"

Din Djarin

Your were an assassin, killing off the high end people most bounty hunters were afraid to kill, you've also killed a few of his bountys making him pissed.

He's only ever layed eyes on you a few times in crowed bars or a desolate street he doesn't really care about knowing you because why would he get to know his enemy a thief.

He'd only start looking out for you more when you saved him from an ambush you shot his captures in the head and threw him a gun before disappearing again.

He'd be against the idea of ever actually falling for you because of his past experiences but after some more encounters with you he'd would stop you before you vanish again.

"You can reject this offer but I'm still putting it out there, I want you to join me us, it would be alot easier we work together then you stealing my bountys so what do you say"

Anakin Skywalker

You are master windus padowan and the person he's always compared to why can't you be like yn why can't you take after her, it was something he heard almost everyday which makes him hate you.

He hates how kind you are even through his hateful words he spits your way or when you'd sometimes take the fall for one of his stupid plans he never even thanks you.

He like hux only got the realization when you got hurt, you'd taken a hit that was ment for him, the panic he felt as he watched you fall made him snap and kill whoever did it.

He'd spend day and night by your bedside in the medbay pacing back and forth as he tried thinking about his feelings, they'd only calm down when he sees you awake.

"Don't do that ever again do you hear me, you don't deserve to be here especially because of me I should be in this bed instead of you, do you know what you put me through I thought I lost you"

[chaotic-iguana]

Acting out

(Din x f! reader one-shot)

Summary: You thought it would be fun to tease Din on the comm link while he was hunting for a bounty, expecting it not to take too long. But it takes longer than you thought - and it turns out your distractions were partly why it took so long. Mando’s back now though, and he’s not happy…

(basically just a brat tamer! din x bratty-till-shes-drooling-on-his-cock reader)

Wordcount: 2.7k 

Pairing: Din Djarin/ The Mandolorian x fem! reader (no use of y/n) 

Warnings: dacryphilia, dom/sub dynamics, overstimulation, edging/denial, crying, mean!mando, pussy slapping, spanking, daddy kink (mild), dumbification, crying (during sex bc it feels good), aftercare. MDNI

ao3 // masterlist.

Din stalked back to the ship, dragging the bounty behind him, aggression pouring off him in palpable waves. His seemingly easy bounty had taken triple the time it normally would have, thanks to the fact that every time Din got close enough to catch him, you’d picked up the commlink out of boredom, and moaned, whimpered and whined into it till he was so painfully hard under his beskar that The Mandalorian was forced to jerk off in dimly lit alleys. With the shiny armor on. 

14 times in three weeks. Fourteen times in three weeks you disobeyed his direct command to not touch yourself while he was gone, practically taunting him every time he threatened to punish you on his return. He could hear the smirk in your voice as you bit out each one of your witty little replies. ‘S okay, he was gonna wipe the smirk off your face, along with every other thought in your pretty little head. 

Since it was going slowly anyways, Din had gone a bit off-route and into a shop he’d rarely been to before. The package was now tucked in his holster belt, and had been spotted by the quarry who had been guffawing the whole way here. Must have been his happiest damn quarry yet, the rate at which his boisterous laughter was reverberating in Din’s skull. He whirled, slamming the Twi’lek face-first into the side of the Crest in warning, relishing in the string of blood and spit beading from his mouth as he spat out a tooth and snarled. Din snarled right back and hauled him inside, throwing him into the carbonite chamber and freezing him before he had a chance to do much else. 

Once that was out of the way, Din began hunting for you. He found you in the hull, giggling with the child over something adorable, no doubt, but he was so infuriated by you he didn’t care. He just walked over to the child, gave him a Keldabe kiss, and tucked him away in the crib fondly before fiddling with his vambrace to close the sphere. At the sound of your protests, Din turned to you and cocked his head in your direction, watching you trail off nervously as he offered no explanation. You took a step forward, reaching to put your hand on his chest and ask if he’s injured - but before you could even open your mouth - Din gripped your elbow and whirled you around. His chest connected with your back as he crowded you forward. 

A knot of anticipation and nervousness grew in your stomach. You were a brat, but you had never pushed him this far before. Never during a bounty, either. Despite your anxiety, you trusted him to take care of you; the combination of unpredictability and trust making your head dizzy with molten need before he even touched you. 

“Stand in the corner and face the wall with your arms up.  Don’t lower them unless I give you permission to.” His modulated voice ground the words out in a monotone, but he was close enough for you to be able to hear the whisper of rage in his words, making your hands tremble as you pressed them flat against the cool metal wall. You heard a rustle and telltale clink of metal armor behind you and tensed in expectation before a large, warm hand settled just above your hip, covering the expanse of your back. Another made its way around your torso and both began working in tandem to rip the clothes off your body. 

You gasped as you stood shivering and bare in the hull within seconds, testament to the strength he hid in his gentle touches with you. You opened your mouth to beg him to hurry up before his hand came down on your ass and a smack echoed in the ship. Your lips parted, and a cry of surprise worked its way out as Din began slapping both your cheeks in a random, but equally devastating order. He gave you no time to recover, barely letting the sting fade before he repeated the motion and the pain increased tenfold. 

Tears began pooling in your eyes as Din kept going, and when your legs began shaking from the ache you couldn’t take it anymore. “S-stop. Please. ‘M gonna be g-good” you could barely get the words out between the sharp, jagged breaths bursting out of you. Din chuckled behind you before leaning in to rub your swollen, reddened skin in a soothing motion. 

“Are you now? You forgot to count, though, cyar’ika. Good girls count. Let’s try again from one, no crying.” His tone dripped with condescension as he began again, practically reveling in each gasp and broken sob that spilled from your lips, taking pleasure in each time you stuttered on a number. Your eyes burned but you blinked rapidly to stop any tears from falling. You had submitted completely to your submissive headspace, and Din knew it too.

Finally, as you gasped out “25”, Din stopped to soothe the flaring bruises again. You whimpered and tried to move your hips forward, but realised the wall gave you no space to do so. Turning over your shoulder, you met his visor with pleading, tear-filled eyes. 

“S-sorry daddy. Won’t tease you next time, ‘m sorry for being bad. Please no more, it h-hurts,” sobs wracked from you, and you wrapped your arms around his midsection before burying your face in his chest. Gloveless hands began smoothing over your hair as Din began muttering praises and assurances to you from behind his helmet. 

“That’s okay, baby, I know it hurts. You teased me all the time, hm? Gotta make it right, no?” he paused as you nodded into his chest. “Then you gotta take your punishment, too, honey. You think just 25 strokes is enough to make up three weeks worth of misbehaving?” you shook your head, sniffling and looking up at him with such a sincere apology in your gaze that Din debated abandoning the punishment then and there. 

But the package sat on the floor next to his armor, tempting him, and he gave into the wrecked visions of you his mind was conjuring. Tapping your thighs lightly, he urged you to jump before adjusting your knees on his waist and cradling your head in one hand to reach down and pick up the inconspicuous white bag from the floor. Carrying you to his chair, Din pulled some rope out and began typing your hands to each of the chair’s handles; your feet spread wide in position. He reached his hand into the paper bag and pulled out a bullet-shaped, neon-pink toy as your eyes widened in alarm. 

You whined, tugging against your restraints fruitlessly as you looked at Din, who just tilted his helmet at you before kneeling and running a knuckle down your folds - chuckling when the contact makes you hiss and buck your hips. Din’s fingers leave you for a second before his hand comes down again - this time on your bare and swollen cunt - leaving you jolting away and yelping in surprise as you suppress a shudder. The snap of his rough hand on your clit leaves you breathless as stuttered pleas and whines come tumbling our of your throat. Din just brings his open palm down in another slap in response, the wet sound echoing throughout the room. 

“We’re done when I say we are. Ask me to stop again, and I’ll add another punishment after this one.” You squirmed, tugging against the ropes binding you to the chair. Din reached for the toy, pressing a button on its side and holding it snug against your clit. Your hips bucked of their own volition as you choked on your needless babbling, the warmth in your belly growing to a crescendo just as Din slid two fingers into you without warning. 

Just as you felt the first waves of your orgasms within reach, suddenly everything was gone - his fingers, the toy - pulled away cruelly, leaving you rolling your hips while the restraints chafed your skin. You sobbed out a whine as Din tutted at you in mock sympathy, stepping away from you until your release faded away before returning the toy and thrusting three fingers inside you in a single, swift motion. 

He repeated this cycle endlessly - bringing you to the edge only to pull away again, watching your trembling body rut in midair mindlessly; too far gone to even beg properly. Broken syllables poured out of your mouth, interrupted by wanton moans and sobs as tears stained your flushed cheeks. Eyes rolling back and slick running down your thighs, you furled and unfurled your fingers as the need to touch Din overwhelmed you. A steady chant of need to cum, need to cum, please, please, please, i’m sorry began taking over your mind, rocking your hips forwards and backwards in an attempt to chase any friction at all in the haze that had flooded your mind. 

Din could see you crumbling, your frustrated tears falling harder as time went on. He pulled the vibrator away from you again, turning it off to set it aside this time, untangling the ropes and opening your binds while rubbing at your sore wrists. You sobbed as you reached your shaking hands out for him, and he gathered you in his arms before turning to sit with you in his lap, rubbing your back as he cooed praises into your hairline. 

“You wanna come, honey?” You nod feverishly into his chest. “Okay, baby, okay. Took your punishment so well for me. You deserve a reward, okay? Let me take care of you.” You sniffle and look up at his visor before resting your hands on either sides of his helmet, waiting for your riduur to nod to tug it over his head and smash your lips to his desperately. You needed to feel him so badly, to breathe the air he was breathing, to be one with him again. Hands reaching up to tangle in his hair, your fingers began to claw at him urgently as you deepened the kiss. 

Breaking away from your mouth to grasp your chin, Din’s eyes met yours, an unguarded question in them. You want this? Instead of responding verbally, you stood to your feet to help rip off his boxers and undershirt before returning to straddle his thighs. Din leaned back in his seat before grinning at you. “Go on, take what you need. You’ve earned it. Just wanna hear a thank you when you’re done.” he drawled at you before resting his hands on the rests of the chair. You leaned in closer, rolling your hips to grind your cunt against his length; his moan rumbling against your pressed chests as his tip caught at your clit, making you hiss and jump from the sensitivity. 

You sunk down onto him, nails digging into his biceps as your toes curled and you both groaned from the stretch as you met in a rough, sloppy kiss. Eyes rolling back, you bounced in his lap whining his name over and over like a prayer as a cocky grin made its way onto his face. Wet, smacking sounds and the repetition of your wrecked “Din, Din, D-Din…” echoed throughout the hull. Din planted his feet, gripping your hips hard enough to bruise, thrusting up and nuzzling your neck as his tip battered your cervix with enough force for your vision to black out; back arching as you screamed soundlessly and felt yourself hurtling towards your orgasm. 

You tipped your head back as your eyes fluttered shut, unable to do much more than take the pleasure he was giving you. A hand wrapped around your neck and clamped down as Din spoke into your ear with an edge that had you suppressing a shiver. “You look at me when I make you feel good. Let me see those pretty eyes cry on my cock, mesh’la. Cum.” The words of endearment in Mando’a were the final nail in the coffin, and suddenly your whole body was locking up -  walls clamping down around Din as you finally got to come - eyes filling with tears as Din’s movements didn’t so much as stutter, drawing the high out to the point of pain and over-sensitivity that had you jolting with each thrust. The steady repetition of thank yous began surging from your lips, eager to please him, keening for his praise. 

Scratching your nails along his scalp and curling your fists into his hair, his stubble leaving burn marks down your neck as he began rolling your flesh between his teeth before sucking bruises into it. Gasping, you felt your legs shake slightly as the onslaught continued, barely able to form sentences in your head as the white hot bliss wiped your mind clean. A particularly punishing press of his girth inside you caused a shriek to bubble up from your throat as you pushed weakly at his chest to slow him down, making him laugh at you. 

Tilting your head down to level your eyes, he brought his face close enough to make your noses touch. “My poor-” leaning in, he pressed a kiss to your now slack jaw, pulling back to look at you again, “poor, baby.” Twin brushes of his lips over your eyelids, which threatened to shut at the fatigue coursing through you now. “Fucked so dumb she can’t even tell me to stop.” A kiss to your cheek this time, his tongue flicking out to taste your tears. “‘S that what you want, sweetheart? Want me to stop?” you shook your head frantically, too desperate to feel him in you to remember your pain. 

“W-want you to cum, daddy.” You whispered it as you buried your face in his neck, body twitching with his relentless motions and reveling in the slight hitch in his breath at your words. Before you knew it, a steady slew of please cum and please trickled into your half-gasped, rambled vocabulary, just as Din’s thrusts sped up slightly. Your eyes did close then, arms wrapping around his neck to wrap yourself in his safety as he reached a hand down to thumb at your clit, making you lurch in his secure hold as he began tracing rapid, tight circles on you while rutting up into you with renewed vigor. 

“Give me another, baby. That’s it. That’s it, good girl” his words kept you grounded as you began wailing, trembling like a leaf as he thrusted a few more times before he came with a low, animalistic moan and spilled inside you. 

Heaviness and fatigue began weighing down your body and mind in his arms, your breathing evening out as you tucked your face in his shoulder. His arms wound around your midsection, pressing soft kisses and murmurs into your hair as he used one hand to smooth the hair away from your face. You felt him pick you up and walk you somewhere - turn on some water and the glorious feeling of his hands running down your body to scrub his soap into your skin. 

You had the distinct memory of his lips ghosting over each blotch of blue or purple, taking the time to kiss it softly before moving on to the next, before he wrapped you up, dressed you in his shirt and panties, and lay you onto the bed. Swooping down to kiss your forehead and smiling at the sleepy grumble you let out before reaching your arms out blindly for him, he turned the lights out and crawled into bed to hold you. Watching you burrow into him in your sleep, the irritation of the hunt seemed to melt away now that he was with you again. For the first time in days, Din let sleep take him; feeling completely safe and at home with you pressed to his chest.

hello loves, as always - thank you for reading. comment your thoughts or find me on ao3. stay hydrated and have a great day! taglist: @imherefordeanandbones 🫶

[theidiotwhowritesthings]

In a Perfect World, You Love Me [i]

din djarin x female!reader

warnings: injury, mentions of blood, cursing, derogatory name calling, forced drug exposure, hallucinations, light smut, angst, and some angst, and a little more angst just to top it off (actually this isn’t nearly as heartbreaking as some stuff i’ve written before lol), self doubt, anxiety, also cobb vanth is here. it’s not a warning but i love him so i wanted to mention it.🤷🏻‍♀️

word count: 6,961

Summary: On the way to visit an old friend, you and Mando find trouble. Both of you are subjected to a drug that puts you in your perfect world. But, when you can’t tell what’s real and what isn’t, how do you know what to trust?

a/n: bitches be planning out short drabbles about heart break only for it to turn into a long wordy mess. it’s me. i’m bitches. anybody know the show supernatural? it’s a show about like dramatic ass sad brothers who travel the country fighting monsters? (i know you know i’m being sarcastic). i watched that one episode where the djinn puts dean in like a dream world and it inspired this. i wanted to name it ‘din djarin’s djinn dream’ but that seemed a bit too on the nose.

.

“sometimes it is not love that breaks your heart. it is disappointment.”

-r.m. drake

.

Grogu was safe. That was the first thought that came to mind. You were so incredibly grateful that Mando had decided to leave the small child with Peli at the shop. It had been a last minute call. Weirdly, you were also thankful that you hadn’t stayed behind. You nearly did. Traveling through the Dune Sea was an absolutely miserable experience between the heat and the sand. It would have been so much more comfortable to just sit in the shop, cuddle with Grogu, and watch Peli con her customers.

However, when Mando mentioned he was going to Mos Pelgo you jumped at the chance to visit Cobb Vanth. It had been ages since you last saw the man, and you were eager to catch up with the marshal. So you climbed onto Mando’s rented land speeder, wrapped your arms around his beskar armor, and the two of you set off. What was supposed to be a simple day trip to greet an old friend and ask for a favor turned into a Maker forsaken nightmare.

Your face was throbbing in pain, you tasted blood in your mouth, and you were fairly certain your right wrist was broken based on the swelling and discoloration. Despite all of that, despite the pain and fear, the thought occurred to you once more. You were so thankful you were here. 

“How pathetic.” The smuggler cackled amongst his small crew. “You’re going to protect the Mandalorian from us? You dumb bitch.”

Five dangerous men stood at the rim of the pit you were trapped in while Mando laid motionless behind you. There was a bit of blood pooling from out of the bottom of his helmet, onto the sand, and the only comfort you had that Mando was still with you was the slow rise and fall of his chest. 

The smugglers had set a trap that Mando and you had fallen right into. As your land speeder tripped a wire it caused a blast that had both of you falling into a pit. The damned thing was deep enough to leave both of you injured and you prayed that your injuries were worse than Mando’s and he was just out cold for a moment. Your attackers began to argue amongst one another and you stayed on high alert. Mando and you were fish in a barrel. They could rain blaster fire down on you and there would be nothing you could do about it. The only reason you hadn’t grabbed Mando’s blaster to fire up is because you didn’t want to trigger a massacre.

“Shoot her dead then climb down and collect the beskar. Easy.” One smuggler scoffed and pulled out his blaster. You flinched but the loudest of the men, the leader, shoved the blaster’s aim away from you. “What?”

“The moment we try and get off world we’re gonna get stopped by those damned pirates again.” He snapped. “We keep the girl alive and hand her over as the tax we pay to pass free. We keep all the Mandalorian’s armor to ourselves.”

“Who’d want a bitch over beskar?”

“Oh, trust me.” The lead smuggler chuckled and the sound made you cringe. You set your hand in Mando’s gloved one and wished more than anything his grip would tighten around you rather than stay limp. “I know the man running the show right now, and he’s got a weakness for pretty little things.”

You tried to hide the tremble that shook your frame and you whispered for Mando to wake up⏤ for him to hear you. The lead smuggler opened his bag and you grasped Mando’s blaster. As threateningly as you could manage, you barked out. “You come down here and I’ll kill you. You hear me?!”

“Aw, she’s got some bite. Maybe we should keep her instead.”

“Shut the hell up.” The lead snapped and continued to root through his bag. “Where the kriff is that damned spice bomb?” Your eyebrows furrowed. Spice was bad news. It wasn’t something you ever wanted to touch. You had seen what the addiction could do to people, and you had a very bad feeling about what a spice bomb would be. “There it is.”

Panic hit you, and you lifted the blaster to start firing but the leader tossed a glowing red ball down into the pit and the smugglers dove away from the hole. The ball exploded mid way down into a cloud of red dust that rained down on you and Mando. You tried to cover your mouth and nose with the bottom of your shirt, but it was to no avail. Your entire body grew heavy, collapsing on top of Mando’s chest, and a sharp, tingling sensation washed over you before your eyes fell shut.

Din woke with a start⏤ panting and desperate for air. His mind was filled with a heavy fog that he tried to swim through to gather his bearings. There had been a wire. Din noticed it much too late and he remembered the ground swallowing you and him whole. You. Your scream was the last thing he could recall. 

His hands drifted to his face and Din hated that it was only then that he noticed he wasn’t wearing a helmet. He blamed the fog. Din scrambled about the soft bed he realized he was tucked into as he searched the space around him for his armor. Din was in a bedroom he didn’t recognize wearing only a pair of sleep pants. Dank farrik. Din leapt out of bed but stumbled rather than landed with any amount of grace. Where was he? Where were you?? 

He forced himself to take a steadying breath and centered himself. 

The bedroom was small. Only a large bed, a clothing dresser, and two nightstands on either side of the bed. The walls were painted a soft blue, two doors leading out, and one wall had a window that spanned nearly the entire length of the room. Din blinked in confusion. Outside was a bustling city with towering pillar-like buildings and early morning light spilling down through holes in the upper shelf casting light on a city that was very much alive. Din knew where he was. He just didn’t know how he got here or how this was even possible.

“Sundari?” He breathed in shock. Din had only seen images of the cities of Mandalore. Sundari, the domed capital city, being the most infamous of all. This must have been a dream. Exactly how hard had he hit his head in the fall?

Din, in all his distraction, hadn’t even noticed the sound of running water until it stopped. He spun on his heel and stared at the door in the corner which must have led into a fresher. Din wasn’t alone. His hand snapped to his hip for his blaster but met air. Maker, he’d be happy when this concussion finally passed. He scanned the room for any kind of weapon he could use and as he grasped the nightstand drawer he froze. Sitting on top of the small table was a holo image being projected up from a disk as decor.

It was a photo of you and Grogu. Din narrowed his eyes at it in confusion. The two of you were at a park of some kind, but he couldn’t recall where or when this had occurred. The door opened, making Din jump in surprise. Fine, concussion or not, he’d fight his way out by hand. However, as if he couldn’t possibly be caught more off guard, you stepped out of the bathroom wearing only a towel.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Did I wake you up?” You stepped toward him and Din stayed frozen in place. Your hands came up to run across his bare chest before settling on his waist where you continued to trace your fingertips up and down in a repetitive pattern. There was so much happening at once that Din didn’t even know what to think. It didn’t help that the moment your skin touched his, his mind seemed to short circuit. “I was trying to let you sleep in for at least a little.”

Ever since you had confessed to him weeks ago that you wanted more than just a friendship Din had been plagued with dreams of you. Visions of you moaning under him as he buried himself into your warmth, of you riding his cock while his hands explored your body, of him simply holding you in his arms and memorizing your features unimpeded by his helmet. But never had it ever felt this real. 

“Din?” You tilted your head. Hearing his name from your lips, he shuddered. How was this happening? You staring up at his bare face and whispering his name in concern. 

Din tried to open his mouth and speak, but his voice had left him. When you confessed to him, it had taken every fiber of his being to not react. As much as he cared about you, as badly as he wanted you, he knew it was a bad idea. Din knew he had to draw a line to keep you safe. He was dangerous and Din knew it was selfish of him to keep you and Grogu around despite that. He always figured the two of you would go your separate ways when the jedi were found and Grogu was delivered, but Din would never be able to say good-bye to you if he crossed that line. So he lied. Told you he didn’t feel the same and walked away leaving you teary eyed and broken hearted. 

You frowned. Your eyebrows furrowed and he had the overwhelming urge to smooth out your brow with his fingers. Trace every inch of your face with his hands. “You look sad, love.” You lifted your hands to cup his face. “Did you have that nightmare again?”

“Wh⏤What?” Din’s voice was quiet and ragged.

“We’re safe now. You don’t have to worry.” You caressed his cheek. “Me, you, and Grogu. We’re all safe. We have a home. Our days of running are over.”

Din shook his head. “No, no. We were in the Dune Sea. I⏤I missed the trip wire and we fell. You were hurt. We⏤”

“Din, that was so long ago. Out of all the bantha shit we’ve dealt with I’m surprised that memory is the one plaguing you.” You said.

Din pulled out of your arms. “It wasn’t. It just happened. You’re lost⏤ You’re hurt. I have to⏤”

“I’m not lost. I’m not hurt. I’m safe, right here with you, in our home. Grogu is still sleeping down the hall. There’s no place safer for our son and I.” You set your hands on his chest once more. “Grogu with his buir, and I with my riduur.”

Din was so shocked by the Mando’a that left your lips that he didn’t even register the soft kiss you pressed in the middle of his chest. Right where his iron heart would be if he had his armor on. You stepped away from him, walking to the dresser off to the side, and Din watched you go until you let the towel fall from your body. He forced his gaze up to the ceiling to keep from staring. Something felt wrong. Was this a dream? Was he dead?

Din didn’t trust the world around him.

You startled awake. A cloud of panic and fear drowning you.

“Mando!?” The nickname left your lips before you even registered a thought. You scrambled to sit up, arms reaching out to try and find purchase, but it was too dark to see anything.  Even without your sight, something felt familiar about the material under your body and the comforting smell surrounding you, but the last memory of the smugglers dropping the spice bomb had too much adrenaline rushing through your body for you to think properly. 

The wall in front of you shot up with a metallic click and a light blinded you. Hands grabbed your calves and you screamed again trying to kick them off. “Mesh’la! You’re safe!” Mando’s modulated voice filled the air. “You’re on the Razor Crest. You’re in my bunk.”

Your eyes adjusted to the light and you recognized your setting. That’s why it was familiar. Mando’s scent surrounded you as you were nestled in the blankets and pillow he used to sleep. Standing at the bunk’s entrance was the Mandalorian himself. He looked unharmed, but he always looked unharmed when he was covered from head to toe in his beskar.

“Mando!” You cried in alarm and launched yourself at him. He didn’t complain when you wrapped your arms around him tightly. Mando simply held onto you and kept you from knocking him over. This should be awkward considering how he had bluntly said he felt nothing for you only weeks ago. But, you were so relieved that he was safe and alive that you didn’t care. His hands rubbed your back soothingly as he mumbled soft reassurances. “I thought you⏤ I thought we⏤”

“We’re safe, mesh’la.” Mando replied.

You leaned back and he kept his arms around you. “What happened? The last thing I remember…” It hurt to try and pull the memory out of your own head. Spice bomb. Red dust had rained over you and Mando. You passed out on top of him. “The⏤The bomb.”

“It knocked you out.” Mando said. “My helmet filtered it out, I think. I woke up with you on top of me and the smugglers were climbing down. We fought. I won. Then I carried you back to Peli’s.”

“All of that happened?”

“We’re in hyperspace now.”

“How,” You shook your head, “How long was I out?”

“Two days. The spice hit your systems hard. I was⏤” Mando cleared his throat, the sound scratchy through the modulator. “I was worried about you, mesh’la.”

It was only then you realized you still had your hands resting on his shoulders and he had his own wrapped around your waist as you sat on your knees⏤ the bunk making the two of you eye level. You swallowed nervously. “I, uh, it was you I was worried about. Your head. I thought I saw blood when you were out cold.”

“Small injury. Only took one round of bacta to clear up.”

“Good.”

“You, on the other hand,” Mando mumbled. He brushed his gloved fingers across your face. The touch lingered on your cheekbone. The same one that had hit the ground hard enough to make your face throb. Mando pulled his other hand away to wrap around your non-bruised and non-swollen wrist. How much bacta had he used to get all your injuries healed in two days? “Mesh’la, I am so sorry.”

You shook your head. “None of that was your fault.”

Mando kept quiet, as if he didn’t agree but didn’t know what else to say. The sound of a soft coo made you lean forward and peer around the edge of the bunk where Grogu was standing by the ladder leading up to the cockpit. He lifted his arms and waddled closer. Mando released you to pick the small child up. Grogu whined until Mando set him in your lap and you didn’t hesitate to cuddle the boy to your chest.

Thank the Maker, he hadn’t been with the two of you. You let out another sigh of relief. It seemed like you and Mando had gotten out of the pit by luck alone and you don’t know what you would’ve done if Grogu had been harmed during the whole thing.

“Here. Let’s get you some food.” Mando set a hand on your elbow to help you slide out of the bunk. What caught you off guard was when he let his hand travel from your arm to your lower back as he led you toward the ladder. You couldn’t help but let your eyes wander over his entire frame. Mando was a good man. It wasn’t the shiny, silver metal of a Mandalorian you were attracted to or the reputation of a dangerous and strong bounty hunter. You had fallen for the kind and protective man who hid under both of those roles. Mando’s head turned to stare back at you and a thrill went down your spine. He whispered your name.

You took a step away and cleared your throat. Mando let his arm fall away. Your obsession with him, your stupid idiotic crush on him, had you misreading signals left and right. The only reason you had confessed was because you convinced yourself that he was shooting you lingering looks and that every brush of his hand against you was purposeful and not a mistake made in passing. 

“I’m sorry.” You mumbled. Mando had made his position clear, and you were done crossing the lines and boundaries he had set.

“Can you get up to the flight deck alright?” Mando asked and you nodded. “I’ll bring you something to eat.”

Mando tilted his head toward the ladder and he waited until you began to climb⏤ as if he was worried you’d fall off mid-way up. When you got upstairs, you settled into the co-pilot’s chair with Grogu in your lap and stared out at the blurring lines of hyperspace. A small smile settled on your features.

The world around you was right again.

Din felt more like himself once he had his armor on. It still felt like the world around him was spinning and nothing made sense, but his beskar was like a heavy, impenetrable comfort blanket. He sat in a kitchen, helmet on, as he stared out at Sundari through a window that sat near a dining table. It seemed the home around him was part of a tower inside the domed city, and Din still couldn’t wrap his brain around that. The sound of footsteps startled him and he turned in time to see you padding down the hall with Grogu in your arms. He pushed to stand⏤ seeing the small child putting him at ease.

“Why do you have your helmet on?” You asked after handing Grogu to him. The child bounced in his arms chanting a recognizable sound asking for food. “Are you leaving already? Don’t you want breakfast?”

Din stayed quiet. You moved around the kitchen with the ease of someone who did this regularly, and he watched you make a meal. It didn’t make sense, he didn’t understand, but he couldn’t deny the attraction he felt toward you being so domestic. Especially after you had just claimed that he was your partner, your husband, your riduur.

“Come here, cutie.” You cooed to Grogu and he let you take the boy from him. You set him in a little high chair and set a bowl of food in front of him. As per usual, Grogu didn��t hesitate to begin scarfing down what was in front of him. You lovingly pressed a kiss to his head then walked over to lean at the corner of the kitchen island next to him. “Din, please talk to me.” He clenched and unclenched his fists. “You’re starting to scare me.”

“I’m sorry, Mesh’la.” He sighed. 

You had shifted even closer to the bar stool he sat on. Din tensed when your hands settled on his thighs and you stepped between them. Slowly, you took his hand in yours and began to peel his gloves off. Din sucked in a breath, but couldn’t find a complaint to speak. You did the same thing with his other hand. Finally, your hands rested on his helmet, but you didn’t move. Not until Din gave a small nod. You pulled his helmet off carefully, respectfully resting it on the counter, and Din felt his features soften as he stared at you. Maker, you were beautiful.

“Din, listen to me, I love you.” You said. A pretty smile spread across your features and you took his face between your hands. “But if you don’t tell me what’s going on, I am going to kick your ass.” He chuckled and leaned into your touch. Was Din losing his mind? If this was insanity, it felt so good that Din really didn't think he minded. “Are you… Are you having one of your mornings?”

“One of my… mornings?” Din furrowed his brow.

“You know, when the nightmare doesn’t end.” You whispered.

Din shook his head. “This isn’t a nightmare. It’s a dream. A dream I don’t deserve.” He let his hands rest on top of yours with the plan to pull them away, but he was too weak to actually go through with it. Din sighed, “I lied to you.” A flash of confusion crossed your features. “I said I didn’t care about you in the same way you felt about me, but it was a lie. From the moment you stepped onto the Razor Crest I haven’t been able to get you out of my mind. Mesh’la, you are my world.”

“Din, are you…” You paused then a small laugh left you, “Maker, are you talking about when we were trying to get to Mos Pelgo, still? I confessed to you and then we got caught weeks later and…” You shook your head. “Don’t scare me like that. When you said you were sorry and you lied, I was worried something had happened. It’s just a bad morning. They always pass.”

“What are you talking about?” Din asked.

“Fine. I’ll jump start your memory.” You pushed up on your tiptoes and then sat on his thigh. Naturally, his hands went around your waist to keep you from falling and your hands wrapped around his neck. “You confessed to me. It happened months later. You’re an incredible bounty hunter, but you move slow as hell, Din.” He narrowed his eyes. “It was right after we decided to keep Grogu with us. Become a real family. For the record, it also took you way too long to propose to me too.”

Din could picture it all and it made everything so much more confusing. Had that happened? No. Not yet. Yet? Had he meant to think of that word? Yet? Din wasn’t planning any of that, but it sounded right. No part of him thought he deserved you or Grogu, but Maker this was what he always wanted. It was the life he craved, but was too broken to admit aloud. 

“But,” Din tried to find a tether to hold him in reality, “Sundari. We live in Sundari? Mandalore is dead.”

“No, it wasn’t. The poison the Empire caused faded away. We rebuilt.” The sound of a door chime made you glance over your shoulder. “Kriff. She’s here early.” You slid off his lap. “Grogu, we’re gonna be late! Let’s get you cleaned up so Soran can walk you to school.”

Din watched you scoop Grogu up, the boy gave him a wave he returned numbly, and the two of you disappeared down the hall. Were his fears the reason he was confused? What if what you said was right? He was just trapped in a nightmare and it was keeping him from living his life. Din had finally taken the leap, taken the chance, and found his perfect home. Now, his fear was crawling back and trying to ruin it again. Din always did this. He always fought himself. It was why he had denied your initial confession and wasted so much time in the first place.

Moments passed, he could hear you moving around the home with Grogu. Until finally the door chime rang again. Din stood up and faced the hall. Seconds later, you stepped back into view. You gave him a bright smile. 

“Alright, where were we?”

Fully accepting this for what it was, Din marched toward you. Your feet came to a stuttering stop and an excitement filled your eyes. You knew what he was doing before even he knew entirely. Din basically tackled you, pressing your body as tight as he could to his chest, and crushed his lips to yours. You responded immediately. Your hands wrapping around his neck as his tongue found it’s way past your lips. Din let his hands trail down your back, over your ass, under your thighs, and with ease began to pick you up. Just like with the kiss, you were on the same page as he was. You jumped just enough for him to lift you off the ground and your legs wrapped around his waist⏤ locking your ankles at his back. 

Din had planned to carry you down the hall, back to the bedroom, but he felt you grind against him and that plan went right out the window. He slammed you against the wall, lips leaving yours to trail down your neck. Maker, he wanted you. Keeping you pinned to the wall with his hips, relying on your grip around his waist and neck, Din pulled his hands away so he could grab the collar of your shirt. He ripped it down to the middle of your torso so his mouth could reach your breasts.

“I liked that shirt, you know.” You gasped, but the way you kept trying to find friction against his hard on told him you didn’t like it all that much.

“I’ll buy you a new one.” Din replied before leaving open mouth kisses down your chest. One hand went back to cup around your thigh and the other yanked your breast band down so his mouth could wrap around your nipple. The unholy moan that left your lips nearly made him come undone right then and there.

“You’re going to be late to work. They need you today.”

“Mesh’la, I don’t kriffing care.” Din said after pulling his lips away from your breast. His mouth found its way back to yours and after leaving a messy kiss there he pulled away only far enough to speak. “As far as I’m concerned the only place I’m needed is right between your thighs.” 

Din licked into your mouth, and he was startled when your hands untangled from around his neck. Then, with great proficiency, you began to unlatch his armor. His vambrace and left pauldron fell to the ground with a heavy thunk. “How did you do that so fast? How’d you know where the latches were?”

“I’m your wife, dummy.” You unlatched his right one, it joined the other on the floor, then you ripped the cloak out from under the top of his chest piece and pulled down on the collar of his shirt so you could leave too soft, teasing kisses against the hollow of his throat. “Now, either keep carrying me down the hall to our bed or drop me on the floor⏤ I don’t care, I just need you to fuck me.”

Din was not going to make it to the bedroom.

You rose from your seat with Grogu nestled in your arms sleeping. It hadn’t taken long for the boy to fall asleep between the warmth of your arms and the silence of hyperspace. As you drifted toward the door, Mando spoke up.

“Where are you going?”

“I’m gonna put him in his hammock is all.” You whispered.

Mando glanced over his shoulder at you then nodded. “Good. Come back up when you’re done.”

Your eyebrows raised in surprise but you gave him a quiet confirmation before leaving the cockpit. You made your way down the ladder slowly and carefully so you didn’t wake or drop the little green gremlin snoring against your chest. You chuckled and rubbed his back while crossing the cargo hold. When you set him in the hammock, he stirred briefly and you took the time to lightly rock the hammock while humming him a lullaby. Only when you were convinced he had fallen back into a restful sleep did you find your way back to the cockpit.

“He’s down for the count.” You joked and dropped back into your chair.

Mando flipped a few switches on the panel before spinning the pilot’s seat so he was facing you. Your eyes widened and you shifted awkwardly in place. The weight of his heavy stare on you was intense. It burned into you and for a brief second you were sure he could see straight into your soul.

“What’s going on?” You asked. “You okay?”

“I could’ve lost you.” Mando whispered. “I don’t know what I would have done.”

“It’s over, Mando. We don’t have to think about it anymore.”

“It’s not over, mesh’la. There will always be another fight, another opportunity for someone to take you from me.” He argued. 

Mando wasn’t wrong. Your lives were a constant battle to maintain the upper hand over all the people trying to take Grogu and harm both of you. It was the exact reason why you had found the courage to confess to him in the first place. You stupidly convinced yourself that you didn’t want to lose anymore time⏤ waste another second. The silence in the cockpit was agonizing. You wanted so badly to break it, but you had no idea what to say to do so.

Luckily, Mando did not have that same problem.

“Come here, mesh’la.” He motioned you toward him with the curling motion of his fingers. You swallowed the lump that had suddenly formed in the middle of your throat like a rock. “Please.” The word was spoken softly, but there was a firm undertone that made it feel less like a request and more like a command. You stood up and took the single shaky step that was required to put you in his reach. Mando’s hands found your hips and he startled you by pulling you into his lap. With a yelp of surprise, you were forced to rest your knees on the outside of his thighs. The moment you were situated Mando spread his own thighs further so each of your legs were pinned between him and the chair and you were even more open to him. “Oh, sweet girl…”

“Mando. What⏤ What are you doing?” You whispered. Your entire face felt hot⏤ kriff, every inch of you felt hot.

He shook his head, his hands roaming up and down your sides, “I never should have said no to you. What happened, it made me realize how much,” Mando raised a gloved hand to your face, “how much I care about you.”

“Wait, really?” You breathed. It was the stupidest kind of response to give and you hated that you just blurted it out. Mando chuckled in response, and you shook your head. “Mando, maybe you’re just… feeling this way because what happened was so fresh. We should give it a little time⏤”

“I spent two days waiting for you to open those pretty eyes for me, sweet girl.” Mando cut in. “I’m not losing another second with you.”

The hand fell from your face to rest on your shoulder and, with the other still on your hip, Mando pressed you down on top of him. He shifted his own hips so he could drag the hard bulge in his pants against your core. A sharp gasp of surprise left your lips. Mando kept you pressed against him and when he dragged his hip against yours again the sensation caused you to groan this time.

“Dank farrik.” Mando grunted as he bucked up against you⏤ this time you moved your own hips to add to the friction and he moaned. The sound of him losing control shot straight to your core and you let your hands rest on his chest so you could grind into him more. Maker, you wanted to hear that sound again.

Mando sat up straight and the only thing keep you from tumbling off his lap was the hand he wrapped around your waist. He reached past you, hands hitting switches and buttons, and suddenly the entire panel of flickering lights went dead. “Mando?” You questioned. He hit one more switch and you glanced over your shoulder to watch as the windows darkened until the lights of hyperspace couldn’t be seen. Nothing could be seen. A hiss of pressure release, then a hand took hold of your jaw to turn you back so you faced forward.

“Mesh’la.” Mando whispered. Before you had only heard his unmodulated voice from a distance, as he was eating out of sight or lying in his bunk with the door closed. But, now it was closer than you could ever imagine. He mumbled your name and you could feel the movement of his lips just barely brushing against yours⏤ his hot breath on your face. “Say you want me, mesh’la.”

You took in a deep breath and nodded. “I want you, Mando. I’ve always wanted you.”

Rather than pressing his lips to yours as you wanted, Mando lifted you with ease and pressed you against the control panel. Something sharp was jabbing you in the back, but you didn’t care. Mando’s leather gloves roughly yanked your pants down, underwear and all. You had lifted your hips just enough to help him, but when you lowered yourself back into a seated position you hissed at the cold metal against your bare skin. 

You lifted your hands to find his shoulders, you wanted to feel his face, but Mando’s hands grabbed you by the wrists and pinned them to the panel by your head. He leaned over you and slowly dragged his hard cock, hidden behind his flight suit, against your already dripping wet lips⏤ but it wasn’t the only lips you wanted touched.

“Kiss me, please.” You begged and tried to lift your head to find his, but he leaned back just enough to avoid you. “Mando, I want to feel you⏤ all of you⏤ please.”

“Not yet, mesh’la. Be patient.” His entire weight was pressing down on you. “Good girls are patient, and only good girls get rewarded. Is that what you want, mesh’la? To be my good girl?” You nodded, breathless from the agonizingly slow way he was grinding into you. “Words, mesh’la.”

“Yes.” You gasped. “Please, Mando, please⏤”

“How lucky am I?” Mando hummed. “To have such a pretty girl begging under me. I’ve wanted to make you fall apart since the moment you stepped onto my ship.” You tensed as an alarm began to faintly ring at the back of your mind. Something inside you was trying to warn you. Mando kept whispering loving words on top of you. “You’re mine, mesh’la. You’ve always been mine and you always will be.”

“No.” You tried to squirm out from under him, but Mando was much too large and much too heavy for you to even move an inch. “No, no, no.”

Taking the hint, Mando released your hands and jumped away from you. Breathless, you tried to sit up and gather your bearings. “What is it, mesh’la? What’s wrong?”

“This is wrong.” You shook your head.

“No, it’s right. This is what you want, this is what I want.”

“No, it’s not.” A sob left you. “You don’t want me. You said so yourself. You don’t want me. This isn’t right.” Your head was beginning to pound in pain and Mando’s voice sounded like it was suddenly far away. The cold metal under you was beginning to turn hot and the firm smoothness of the control panel was taking on a new texture⏤ something grainy that shifted under you. The darkness turned to a blinding light and you gasped as pain began to settle into you.

Your face was throbbing, you tasted blood in your mouth, and your right wrist was aching. Now you had a pounding headache as well.  You blinked your eyes, trying to clear the blurriness out of your vision, and you saw a man climbing down a ladder into the pit you laid in. The smugglers. The spice bomb. Your hand tightened around the blaster you had taken from Mando and you lifted your heavy arm to fire at the man. It hit him in the back and he fell from the ladder and landed motionless only a few feet away.

You blindly fired shots up to the ridge of the pit. Over and over⏤ not knowing what else to do. You fired so much that you never noticed the sound of someone else’s blaster mingling with yours. A familiar voice was calling out to you, but it wasn’t Mando. Your heavy arm sunk back into the sand, blaster falling loose, and your eyes began to droop in exhaustion.

You wished it was Mando calling for you.

You woke up slowly. Your entire body was sore and it took straight willpower to get your eyes to stay open. There was a thin cot underneath you and a flickering fire ahead of you. A groan fell from your lips as you tried to sit up.

“Whoa, whoa,” A familiar voice said, “Slow down there, little lady.”

“Vanth?” You tried to turn to find your friend, but a warm hand kept you from moving too much. Suddenly, Cobb Vanth was kneeling beside you with a charming grin. Your entire body sagged in relief. “You have no idea how happy I am to see you right now.”

Vanth rubbed his jawline and gave you a wink, “I am much better looking than those damned smugglers, huh? How’d you and Mando get caught up in all that mess?”

“Mando!” You sat up quickly, immediately wincing when a sharp pain shot through you.

“Maker, darling.” Vanth scolded. “Your tin man is doing just fine. He’ll feel just as shitty as you when he finally wakes up.”

You glanced around and just as Vanth said your companion was lying on a small rolled out cot of his own. The firelight dancing as it reflected off his beskar. “He’s really okay? I think he had a head injury.”

“He’s fine. I promise you.” You nodded and Vanth offered you a canteen of water. As he asked, you began to tell him the story of what happened. It didn’t take long until you reached the point of the story that made your cheeks warm. Vanth noticed your hesitance and bumped his shoulder into yours. “Say your piece.”

“They threw a spice bomb and… and some weird shit happened.”

“Yeah, a spice bomb will do that to you.”

“What is it?”

“Depends. What’d you see?”

You paused before shrugging. “I was on the Razor Crest. Traveling with Mando and Grogu. Like always. It was… it felt so real.”

“Probably glitterstim then.” Vanth made you drink more water. “I have no idea how you broke out of it.”

“What do you mean?”

“The drug should’ve put you under. Place you in a happy haze of the thing you want most and trap you there for as long as the drug runs its course. Too much and you can end up dying in that perfect little world.” Vanth explained. “Usually, you can’t get out unless someone hits you with an antidote. Something to cancel the effects of the glitterstim. Unless…”

“Unless?”

“Unless you shock yourself out of it.” Vanth shrugged. “It all happens quick. In the first few minutes you either fall into the spice’s trap or you snap through it. The fact that I saw you wake up and shoot that smuggler is quite the feat, darling. How’d you do it?”

You wrapped your arms around your legs and rested your chin on your knees. The drug in your system deemed your perfect world to be Mando confessing how badly he wanted you. How pathetic was that? You didn’t stay under because even in a drugged out haze your mind knew that it was fake. Mando didn’t want you. Not the way you wanted him. Tears filled your eyes. Vanth didn’t press for you to answer and instead set his arm around your shoulder as a comfort. You leaned into him and fell asleep.

Every single part of Din’s body hurt. It reminded him of when the mudhorn had tossed him around like a ragdoll. Every atom in his body though, despite the pain, screamed danger. Din forced himself to sit up, blaster drawn. He was in the desert, by a fire in the dead of night. Across from him, he saw Cobb Vanth sitting there casually. Din’s blaster was pointed at him, but Vanth just gave him a slight wave.

“Hey there, brother.” He greeted. “You can put the blaster away.”

“What⏤” Din began to ask, but then his eyes landed on you. Your head rested against Vanth’s thigh and he had one hand resting on your shoulder. Part of your face looked bruised and even from this distance he could see your busted lip.

“Smugglers got the jump on y’all. Hit you with a spice bomb.” Din holstered his blaster and cursed. Dank farrik. Whispers of his dream world lingered in his mind and Din had to shake his head to try and rid himself of the way your lips felt against his skin. “You’re lucky.”

“This is lucky?” Din asked dryly. Maker, his body ached. 

“Little lady here broke free of the spice dream.” Vanth said. Din’s eyes widened in surprise. He didn’t know what he wanted to know more⏤ what your perfect world had looked like or how you had broken out of it. Vanth’s hand was tracing shapes on your shoulder as you slept and Din frowned at the touch. Coming from an imaginary world where he was fucking you, his wife, to reality where you were sleeping against another man was jarring. “You got stuck in it. Tell me, Mando, what was your perfect world?”

You were. You were his perfect world.

But, Din couldn’t bring himself to admit that in his current reality. 

[djarins-cyare]

WIP Weekend

It’s been a while since I’ve made progress on any of my fics, but I’m trying my best to write something for Kate’s Roll-A-Trope Challenge, so I finally have something I can share a snippet of 🥳

Over the last 14 weeks, I’ve been tagged in 19 WIP Wednesday posts / Last Line games / WIP polls (yes, I keep track!), so thank you to the following lovely people for continuing to think of me even though I’ve been suspiciously quiet 💚:

@burntheedges @nerdieforpedro @604to647 @the-mandawhor1an

@kyberblade @almostfoxglove @for-a-longlongtime @djarins-wife

May I offer you some (totally unedited and marginally redacted) pre-spice Din and f!Reader in the trope genre of secret relationship below the cut…

Swallowing, you blink innocently and ask, “Is there anything else you need before I turn in?” You’re not particularly tired, but you should let him get some rest. Slowly, the angle of Mando’s helmet drops a few centimetres, and he releases a vibrant hum. The few seconds of silence that follow feel charged somehow, full of expectation, and just as you realise where he’s relocated his gaze to, he rumbles a reply in the lowest, sexiest register you’ve heard from him this evening. “So far, you’ve known exactly what I’ve needed without me having to ask.” He leaves another pregnant pause as he slowly tilts his helmet. “So go on, tell me. What do I need now?” Your eyes inadvertently dart to his crotch again and… shit. You’re pretty sure something’s happening down there. It looks… harder… larger (if that’s even possible). “You, uh….” Your attempt at an answer doesn’t go anywhere, mainly because you don’t know what to say. You want this, sure, but you shouldn’t. He’s injured, and you promised your uncle you’d keep your distance, not jump into an intimate act with the guy the first chance you get. After a few deep and shuddering breaths, you manage, “You need a good night’s sleep.” “I do,” he agrees. “But your question was whether I need anything else before you go to bed. Sleep comes after you go. What comes before?” Fuck. His words vibrate through you and seem to disintegrate your misgivings. There’s no logical decision to answer the way you do; it just happens. “You… if you want.” A pleased hum resonates through the vocoder. “I do,” he agrees again. “The bacta took away the pain, but I could use some pleasure too. If you’re willing.” “Y-yes,” you blurt, halfway between eager and anxious. “But… my uncle will kill me if he finds out.” Mando chuckles. “He’d shoot me first. Our secret, then?” Your pussy dampens at the idea, eyes flashing as you nod your acceptance of his clandestine terms. Suddenly, a secret liaison with the apparently dangerous man you’re supposed to be avoiding for your own good sounds like the most desirable thing in the galaxy.

Yeah, you know me… I can’t just write a single scene; I have to write the whole damn relationship!

So, obviously, this is how their secret relationship gets off the ground. You may have gathered that Reader is a certain High Magistrate’s niece and has been given strict instructions to avoid the new resident of the cabin out on the lava flats. You can look forward to plenty of sneaking around, flimsy excuses, near misses, and suspicious confrontations. Oh, and smut 😏

I can’t believe I only have a month left to write all this. What have I signed up for? I’m so fucked…

*Hates self for not being able to write short stories* /jk

I’m clearly over-excited about finally having something for a WIP post, so I’m going wild and tagging a load of writer mutuals and favourites. Feel free to do any form of WIP post you choose, or ignore me entirely if you’re not up for posting snippets right now (either way, you’re all awesome) 💚

@5oh5 @abbonation @always-andromeda @captainredspade @court-jobi

@davnittbraes @din-cognito @dindjarindiaries @djarinmuse @drewharrisonwriter

@dumfanting @eatommo @evolnoomym @fhatbhabiee @fromthedeskoftheraven

@fuckyeahdindjarin @galaxyedging @grogusmum @happy-beeeps @iamsherlocked-1998

@insomniamamma @ishabull @itsjuststardust @joelalorian @jolapeno

@lady-bess @lahooozaherr @larkoneironaut @littlemisspascal @magpiepills

@morallyinept @mothandpidgeon @newpathwrites @oonajaeadira @penvisions

@prolix-yuy @quicksilvermad @saradika @secretelephanttattoo @sixhours

@sp00kymulderr @studioghibelli @syd-djarin @the-blind-assassin-12 @theetherealbloom

@wannab-urs @whocaresstillthelouvre @whxtedreams @wrathkitty @yopossum

[wild-lavender-rose]

Stay Still

Pairing: Din Djarin x reader

Category: Hurt/Comfort 

Summary: Din cares for you after you're injured protecting Grogu.

Warnings: cannon typical violence, injury

Note: Apparently this is a draft clean out day :) Please let me know if you all want a part 2, this was something I started a couple years ago and couldn't figure out how to finish until now.

     “Mando!” You looked for him frantically, pressing Grogu tight against your chest as blaster fire rained over you. You had found a pile of rocks and rusty metal parts to crouch behind for cover. Din had told you to take Grogu and run for the ship. You hadn’t made it before the blaster assault came from every direction, forcing you to stop.

Now you were trapped, breathing hard, firing occasional shots and searching for Din. If Grogu got injured because you couldn’t run fast enough, you'd never forgive yourself. But you would die before that happened, a thought you knew was in danger of becoming reality.

The ground next to your foot erupted in dust and smoke as whoever shooting got closer to his target.

     “Mando!” You cried, cradling Grogu as he whimpered and clung to you. “Mando, where are you?!” 

     He didn’t respond. You couldn’t see him hiding in the rocky, barren terrain. But that was good. Perhaps whoever was shooting couldn’t see him either. 

     You set your jaw and readied your blaster, looking down at Grogu who looked up at you with wide eyes. “Hold on, little one. We’re going to get to the ship.” 

     Grogu seemed to understand, his little hands gripping you even tighter. The blaster fire grew heavy and close. It was going to pierce your hideout any moment now. Your insides were trembling and you felt tears stinging your eyes. You tucked Grogu against you and took a breath. Then you scrambled out from behind the rocks and ran for your life to the ship. 

     You didn’t make it. 

The ramp was lowered and in sight. There was barely two strides left between the end of the clay ground and cool metal. A sharp pain stabbed your right leg from behind and you cried out, landing just short of the ramp. Grogu squirmed out of your grip, crying and looking around frantically. You gasped against the raging pain. You pushed Grogu forward, praying that his powers would keep him safe. “Get to the ship!” 

     And that’s when you heard it. Blaster fire coming from the ship’s entrance. You looked up to see Din running down the ramp and firing back at the shooters. Grogu ran to him as fast as his little legs could go. Mando scooped him up and deposited him safely inside the ship. 

     You struggled to stand once more, the blood slick on the back of your leg. Din’s arm wrapped around you, helping you to walk. With a few struggling steps the two of you were finally inside the ship. Din smacked the controls and raised the ramp, his shoulders relaxing as it closed with a thud, blocking out the storm of phaser blasts.

     “We have to go,” You told him, squirming against the pain as Din set you down on the floor. “Din, we have to go!” 

     “You’re going into shock.” Din pulled off his helmet and sat it next to Grogu who was watching with big, frightened eyes. He pulled off his gloves next.

     “Is Grogu okay?”

“He’s fine. Now stay still.”

You jumped as the blaster fire continued. “It’s not safe here, we have to move the ship.” You started to get up. “I’ll start the pre-launch,”

“Stay still!” Din put a hand to your shoulder, pushing you back to the ground hard.

"Din!" You started to argue, but that's when the pain hit. Hot and intense, it ripped through you as if you had been shot all over again. You screamed and grabbed at your leg, only vaguely aware of Din keeping you in place as he fixed a tourniquet to your leg.

He talked to you, his voice steady. But you couldn't tell what he was saying as the pain and darkness took control. Something like "I love you" wafted through the haze. But perhaps it was the delirium from the pain. Regardless you reached for him, grasping his sleeve, hoping that you would remember to ask him when you woke up.

Provided you did ever wake up...

Part 2 available on Patreon

[flightlessangelwings]

Stripping Away Our Armor

Din Djarin x fem!reader (no use of y/n)

Word count- 5.6k

Prompt/Summary- “Who did this to you?” / You are an informant for the Mandalorian, and secret, unspoken feelings start to blossom between you. But how does he react when he comes by one night and you’re hurt?

Warnings- smut (18+ only!), sex worker reader (we respect sex workers in this house), oral (m receiving), soft romantic sex, praise kink, mutual pining, kind of forbidden romance, hurt/comfort, protective!Din, Din likes cheesy jokes, allusion to violence (nothing excessive), injured reader (nothing super descriptive), minor character death, slight grumpy/sunshine vibes

Notes- Surprise @misspearly1 I’m your Pedro gift exchange writer!!! 💖 I’ve had fun being a sneaky anon and writing this for you!!! I’m sorry this is a little late but I hope you enjoy this!! And thank you @pedrostories for organizing this event!!!

Reblogs/asks/follows are highly appreciated! 💖

@flightlessangelwings-updates is my update blog so feel free to follow that too and turn on post notifications to stay up to date on when I post!

Graphic made by me (I love the Star Wars vibe of this so much!!)

~

Colorful lights flickered to the beat of the dance music in the club as the Mandalorian walked through the crowd. All types of characters surrounded him: from the young and eager to see the spectacular around them to those who tried to blend in while on the run. Men crowded around the small tables and threw credits and sleazy looks at the dancers. Women with barely anything on their bodies sauntered by carrying trays of drinks. Some gave him a flirty glance, but most recognized him and left him alone. 

There was only ever one person who he saw at the club.

“She’s not here right now, Mando,” one of the other girls, Sonya, set her tray down at the bar and addressed him as he approached. She gave him a subtle flirty glance before she flagged the bartender and gave him a drink order for her table. 

“What happened?” he replied, his voice masking the concern that laid below.

Sonya shrugged, “I think she’s on a personal visit to a vip client. You’re welcome to wait for her,” she gathered fresh glasses and filled them as she spoke, “I’ll let her know you’re here when she gets back. But it might be late,” she eyed the Mandalorian up and down and her done dropped as she smirked, “I can always keep you company in the meantime,” she traced her finger along the beskar on his arm. She knew that the Mandalorian only ever asked for you, yet she couldn’t help but grasp the opportunity while she had it.

Mando gently moved his arm away from her reach, “I’ll wait for her,” he stated plainly yet without malice.

Her expression dropped as she let out a heavy exhale, “Suit yourself.” Sonya knew it was a long shot, yet she wasn’t immune to the beskar-clad man’s effortless charm. But she took his rejection with dignity as she turned and walked away. 

The Mandalorian turned to face the crowd and leaned against the bar. Keeping on high alert at all times, he scanned the crowd and studied the faces he saw. There were some he knew he recognized from bounty pucks, but they weren’t his concern at the moment. He had a higher paying target he was after, and he needed your help to find him.

This arrangement started many months ago when Mando first came into the club to look for a target. Most everyone else who was there at the time was too scared or too intimidated by him. Except for you. You took him into the back and gave him all the information he needed… and then you gave him a taste of your services.

From then, he was drawn back to you time and time again. Mando refused to admit he was addicted to you. But there were times that he looked more forward to the time he spent with you than the information you provided. And once you were behind closed doors, the facade of the toughness you kept up melted away to reveal a kind, good person. And that only made Mando more mesmerized by you. 

It was something he understood fully: keep your emotions out of your line of work. He did the same. Yet, when the two of you were alone together, the Mandalorian felt like you were the only person in the galaxy that really saw the true him. And the way your tough exterior faded away as your face relaxed and your smile lit up the room told him that you trusted him too. You were even the one person to actually make him laugh too, and it felt so good to Mando to let his guard down. 

As he stood at the bar and waited for you, Mando couldn’t help but drift back to the day the two of you met… 

*

“I’m looking for someone,” the Mandalorian asked the bartender as he set the bounty puck down, “He been by here?”

The bartender just huffed and turned to serve others at the far end of the bar without even glancing at the holo image.

Mando let out a heavy sigh as he turned around and faced the crowd. Most danced to the pulsing music and didn’t even give him a second glance. Some scurried out of his way, but he paid them no mind. 

The target had to be here somewhere…

“Need something, Mandalorian?” a sultry voice called his attention, “Perhaps I can… be of service…” your tone dropped as you bat your eyes flirtatiously and shimmied your shoulder subtly. 

Mando looked you up and down and his posture stiffened; you were captivating. Even as a hardened bounty hunter, Mando couldn’t help but notice the way your tiny outfit sparkled right at your breasts to draw men’s eyes. His fists tightened as he fought to keep his composure, “This man… Supposed to be a regular here…”

Just as Mando was about to activate the holo image, you covered it, “Not out here,” your eyes narrowed as you leaned in, “Follow me…” 

The Mandalorian wasn’t sure why but he felt a pull as you slid your hand in his gloved one and took him back to one of the private rooms. And that’s when it happened: the hardened exterior faded away the moment the door was closed and the sultry expression morphed into a genuinely bright smile. 

“Man it smells like upbabe in here…” you sighed in exasperation once you and the Mandalorian were alone.

He stood silent, the slight tilt of his helmet was the only movement as you felt his gaze heavy on you.

You rolled your eyes playfully, “You’re supposed to say ‘what’s upbabe’ and then I say ‘not much what’s up with you!’”

The Mandalorian was caught off guard by your joke once our tough exterior melted away. He stared at you for several moments before he couldn’t help but let out a soft laugh- the first time he did that in a very long time…

* 

“Mando…?” 

Your voice broke him out of his thoughts, and he was brought back to the present where you stood before him. You looked as radiant as ever, and Mando couldn’t help the wave of relief that washed over him at seeing you were alright.

“Hey,” he replied.

“Here for the usual?” you asked coyly. When he nodded in response, you slid your hand in his gloved one and your tone dropped seductively, “Follow me.”

He welcomed that familiar touch… that familiar routine. 

Once the two of you were alone in one of the private rooms, you placed a hand on Mando’s chest and gently guided him backwards. His visor never left you as he allowed you to lead him: something he didn’t let anyone else do. He couldn’t explain it, but there was something different about you. The Mandalorian didn’t trust easily, but he trusted you. 

All the breath left his body as Mando landed on the chair behind him. But he wasn’t sure if it was the landing that knocked the breath out of his chest or if it was the way you looked at him with a fire behind your eyes. Mando’s knees instantly parted to allow you to settle in between his legs, and neither of you broke eye contact as you slowly dropped to your knees on the floor before him.

Mando breathed your name as he reached out and cupped your chin. Your hands landed on his inner thighs just above the plates of beskar on his legs and you gave his flesh a firm squeeze. But just as Mando tried to reach for you and touch you more, eager to make you feel as good as you always made him feel, you stopped him. 

“Let me, Mando,” you whispered as you ran your hands along his thighs and fiddled with the seam at the center of his pants, “I want to take care of you today.”

He couldn’t help but groan as his cock hardened at the thought of what you had planned. Mando watched as you freed his cock from the confines of his pants, and his hands balled into fists when you licked your lips involuntarily. You glanced up at him for a moment before you settled yourself and wrapped your hand around his length.

You worked slowly at first, raising and lowering your hand along Mando’s cock. You watched with eagerness as he hardened more and more with his pump of your fist until he was fully erect before you. A soft whimper escaped your lips as you shifted your position to rub your thighs together for some friction that you suddenly desperately needed. 

Before Mando could address your action, though, you leaned forward and wrapped your lips around the tip of his cock, your tongue lapping at the sensitive head as you did so. He growled as his hands landed on your shoulders as you lowered your head down his shaft, taking as much of him into your mouth as you could.

“Fuck,” Mando hissed as the warmth of your mouth engulfed him, “So good mesh’la…” the praise dripped from his lips in a low tone before he could help it.

You hummed around his cock as you hollowed out your cheeks and sucked him off as hard as you could, knowing exactly what he liked. Raising your head back up, you popped off his cock to instead lick at the salty sweet skin there. You nibbled gently at the head before you ran your tongue flat down the shaft.

Mando groaned your name as you made your way back up his length, your tongue hitting every vein and sensitive spot along the way. Before you took him into your mouth again, you paused and looked up at him and Mando swore the universe froze for a moment. You looked so tantalizing as you looked at him with a desperate fire in your eyes, a trail of spit still connected the two of you.

“You look so fucking beautiful like this,” he sighed heavily.

Without replying, you took Mando’s cock into your mouth again and swallowed as much of it as you could. This time, you had a specific intention in mind, and you weren’t going to stop until you got what you wanted. Mando growled as your warmth became his whole world once more as you bobbed up and down on his cock.

“Fuck… Cyar’ika… I’m…” was all he managed to get out between a string of curses in Mando’a before he exploded in your mouth.

You never let up, even as Mando’s cum filled your throat. You kept going, working and sucking his cock as he came hard into your mouth. And you greedily lapped up and swallowed every last drop, not wanting even one bit to go to waste. You kept going until Mando grabbed onto your scalp and pulled you off of him when he was completely spent.

The two of you stayed in a heavy silence for several moments. Both of you just panted as you both caught your breath, and even though you didn’t see his face, you felt the intensity of his gaze behind the helmet. It sent a fresh wave of need through you and you couldn’t help but moan as you suddenly became aware of how tightly he held you.

In a rush, Mando pounced off the chair and crashed your bodies to the floor. Normally, he preferred to fuck you in a bed, or at least a table, but there was something about you today that filled him with need. He couldn’t wait. He had to feel you, hold you… taste you…

“I need you, sweetheart,” Mando growled as he covered your body with his own and his hands roamed all over you. 

All the air was suddenly forced out of your chest as you hit the floor hard. Too wrapped up in the euphoria of having the Mandalorian on top of you, his hands roaming all over your figure, you almost forgot about why you didn’t allow him to touch you for a moment. But you were painfully reminded when his large hand grabbed your waist and pulled you close against him.

You cried out in pain and all the ecstasy of Mando’s touch completely vanished.

Right away, Mando pulled off of you and sat up on his knees, “What is it?” he asked in concern as his hand hovered over you, “What’s wrong?”

You were not going to shed tears in front of him. You were determined not to show any sign of pain or vulnerability. But the pain in your side screamed at you until you could barely hear anything else. It wasn’t until Mando said your name again that you opened your eyes and looked at him. And even though you didn’t see an inch of skin on him, you could tell he was concerned just from the way he held himself in front of you, his chest puffed up and his shoulders tense. 

“It’s…” you let out a deep breath as you steadied yourself, “It’s nothing,” you tried your best to hide your pain as you scooted away from him slightly, “I’m alright. Just hit the ground a little too hard…”

“It’s not nothing,” Mando’s tone turned serious as he inched forward to stay in your proximity, “Let me see.”

“N-no…” you tried to protest.

“Cyare…” His tone was soft yet it left no room for argument, and the Mandalorian moved too fast for you to block anyway. That came as no surprise, considering he was the best bounty hunter in the galaxy. What did surprise you, however, was the tenderness and care in his touch as he held your sides and carefully lifted your shirt up.

Mando couldn’t stop the low growl that escaped his lips when he saw the wound on your side. It was fresh, but not bleeding. And a scan with his helmet told him that it wasn’t deep, which provided some relief. He sighed as he looked up at your face and he internally kicked himself for not noticing the slight swelling just below your eye before now.

“What happened?” Mando couldn’t help the anger in his voice, though it wasn’t directed at you, “Who did this to you?” he tenderly cupped your face with both hands. When you stayed silent as you looked into his visor with sad eyes, he added softly, “Tell me.”

You let out a heavy breath as you caved, “Shaun…” your voice was hushed as your gaze dropped to the ground, “Shaun Deggs.” All the light that Mando admired in your eyes was gone, and the normally bright smile that drew him back time and time again was clouded over with the tears that you fought back. 

Mando knew the name: it was the target he came to ask you about. His blood boiled as he thought about all the ways he would make him pay for hurting you. You, who was his one light in a dark world. You who was the only person he looked forward to seeing. You, who Mando… cared a lot for. 

He let out a low growl as his grip tensed.

Feeling the intensity of his emotions, you filled the tense silence, “He’s been a regular at the club for some time… deep pockets. He gets himself into trouble with gambling though,” you rambled, “I don’t know how, but somehow he found out I was working with you…” you sighed wearily, “He didn’t like that…” your voice trailed off as you let the Mandalorian piece together what happened.

Mando never felt a rage like this before; he never felt the need to protect someone so greatly like this. At that moment, it didn’t matter that Shaun was worth more alive than dead. He was going to pay for what he did to you with his life. He was going to pay for taking away the light in your eyes.

“Where can I find him?”

*

“No, no, no… P-please…” Shaun begged as he crawled on the floor. Bruises erupted all over his skin as cuts bled and he was sure he had at least three broken bones.

Hovering over him was the imitating figure of the Mandalorian. Blade in hand, he leaned over and smacked him across the face once more as he grumbled lowly. Never before had the Mandalorian felt a rage like this, and with every smack to this low life, he saw your face flash before him. Mando wondered if you looked like this when Shaun paid you a visit, if you were this scared. And he wasn’t there to protect you…

“Tell Gar I promise I’ll pay him back,” Shaun’s voice cracked as his body weakened, “Just don’t kill me please… I’m worth more alive, Mando.”

“I don’t care,” Mando growled, “You hurt someone… Important to me,” he spoke your name, “You remember her?”

Shaun bit his lip and nodded as he whimpered, “I-I’m sorry… I won’t go near her ever again. I swear!”

“I know you won’t…” 

The scream Shaun let out echoed in the room. 

*

You let out a heavy sigh as you ran your hands across your face. It was late into the night, and Mando made you promise to stay at your place until he got back after he walked you home and bandaged your injuries. He barely spoke while he carefully set the bacta patches on the gashes in your skin, but you felt the tension there without the words needed. Even through the layers of amor, you felt his anger radiate and you saw the tension in his arms and shoulders. You had never seen him like this before, and it made your mind spin.

Ever since you first laid eyes on the Mandalorian, there was something that drew you to him. Instead of being scared of him, you felt safe in his presence, and he was the one person you felt like you could let your guard down around. The routine came easily for the two of you: he would come by the club for information on a target, and you would take him to a back room and give him what he needed… and then some. Fully expecting him to be rough with you, it came as a pleasant surprise when Mando was so tender with his touches and he handled you so gently.

Feelings weren’t a luxury you could afford in this life, though. And you knew being a Mandalorian, he couldn’t let himself get too close either. So you kept your true feelings buried deep down, and you were grateful for the time you got with him. It caught you completely off guard though when Mando went into a rage once he saw you were hurt.

“That has to mean something, right?” you whispered to yourself as you clutched the small vibroblade Mando handed you, not wanting to leave you unarmed. There were two things you knew about the Mandalorian and his culture: the helmet never came off, and weapons were as important as air. 

You bit your lip and held the weapon close to yourself as you heard his words to you in your head: “Stay here. Keep this close. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

But you were jolted from your thoughts by a knock at your door. A specific, rhythmic knock. Your face lit up as you set the blade down on the table and jumped for the door. When you opened it, the familiar figure of the Mandalorian greeted you on the other side and your shoulders dropped with a heavy exhale of relief. 

“Mando…” you breathed.

He cupped your face as his heart fluttered in his chest at the sight of your smile, “You’re safe now.”

Glancing down, you noticed a small splash of blood on his beskar. Your eyes went wide as you realized what his words meant, and the way he held your face confirmed your suspicions. You grabbed onto the fabric around his armor and dragged him inside without another word. Emotions ran high as he locked the door behind him and gladly followed your lead.

“Mesh’la,” Mando murmured as he leaned forward and rested his forehead on yours. His hands lightly trailed down your face so that he caressed your jaw on both sides as he exhaled deeply.

“Mando,” you repeated, too lost in a whirlwind of emotions to form any other words. What he did for you was… 

“Din.”

You blinked your eyes open, not even aware you had closed them, “Is that…?”

His hands trailed down your sides so that they rested on your hips, though he was still careful of your wounds, “Yes.”

Tears of happiness filled your eyes as you smiled brightly, “Din…” you echoed his name.

Din groaned at the sound of his name in your voice. “Close your eyes,” his tone was soft as one hand came up and cupped your jaw, “Trust me.”

“I do trust you.” A soft moan escaped your lips as you obliged without a second thought. You trusted the Mandalorian… Din. And you were sure he trusted you too. From the way he reacted when you were hurt, to him leaving one of his weapons with you, to killing a target that would have brought him a higher payout if he had been alive. There had to be something there.

When your world went black, you felt the hand come off your hip before a soft hiss echoed in the room. Your breath caught in your chest as you felt his breath on the skin on your face. He murmured your name as his fingers caressed your jaw before the gap between your faces closed.

This was the first time he kissed you; every time before, the hamlet always stayed on. And kissing Din was even better than you had imagined. Without words, his kiss conveyed all the unspoken emotions, and when his tongue touched yours, everything bubbled over into an explosion of affections. 

Din moaned into your mouth as his hand tightened on your face and he kissed you deeper. Your lips parted as you tilted your head and surrendered to him completely. The taste of him sent a wave of heat through your body, and your core fired up at the way his tongue tangled with yours. 

Keeping your eyes closed, you grabbed onto his shoulders and dragged him back towards your bedroom. Nerves tingled against your skin as vaguely you realized this was the first time you took him back into your private, personal room. But, you felt safe with him, you trusted him, and you wanted him there.

Din broke away from the kiss when he crossed the threshold into your room, and he lowered his helmet only to have his hands free to hold you. His arms wrapped around you carefully as Din savored the lingering taste of you on his tongue. He let out a contented sigh as your warmth wrapped around his heart, and he had you safe and sound in his embrace.

But, you had other plans in mind, and after you stayed in his arms for a moment, you lifted your head and started to yank at the pieces of his beskar. A soft laugh escaped Din’s lips as he let you strip him, and his heart fluttered as he watched how expertly and with such care you took off his armor: a gesture he allowed to you and you alone.

Once the outermost layer was off, and only fabric adorned his body, Din decided it was your turn. As you tried to rip off his shirt, he tenderly took your hands and lowered them, “Let me, love.”

Your eyes scanned his helmet, as if you desperately tried to read his expression though the beskar. 

“Let me take care of you, tonight,” he clarified in a soft voice, echoing your own words as he delicately stripped you of your clothing piece by piece before he ripped off his own clothes.

As hot as you felt, a chill still ran up your spine as the fresh air hit your skin as you allowed Din to strip you. He had seen you naked many times before, yet this time felt different. You were in your home, no music from the club played in the background, and he took his time with you. Times before, he seemed to be in a rush, or he was still riding the adrenaline from a bounty hunt, or you were on a timer.

This time, though, you both had all the time in the galaxy.

That same vulnerability was reflected in Din’s helmet; he had never before been stripped completely. Always needed to keep his guard up, he usually left most of his armor and clothing on, until now. But, just as you felt safe with him, that same security and trust beat in Din’s heart. And it fluttered in his chest as you gasped softly and your eyes poured over every inch of his skin, and a rush of heat pulsed through his veins at the wanton look of desire in your eyes. The way you licked your lips involuntarily made his cock twitch with need. 

Din scanned you over once you were both bare, and a fresh pulse of anger flooded his system as he saw the bacta patches on your skin. Carefully, he ghosted his fingers across the wounds, “I’m sorry I wasn’t there,” his voice was nothing more than a whisper.

Tears filled the corners of your eyes as you looked into his visor and this time you had no doubts what his expression looked like, “It’s not your responsibility, Din.”

His hand trailed up your body, pausing as he tickled the skin of your breasts and for a moment Din really soaked in how beautiful you were. When his hand reached your face, he wiped away the tear that threatened to fall from your eye, “Yes it is,” he said plainly yet with firm conviction. 

“Din?”

He let out a low growl as he took control and guided you back to your bed. Need guided his movements, yet Din was still careful not to hurt you as he lowered you onto your bed so that you laid on your back. Wide eyes looked up at him, nothing on his body but his helmet, and you gasped as you noticed how hard he was.

“Please Din,” you pleaded, “I need you…” You felt a rush of wetness in your pussy as he climbed over you without hesitation.

Din hovered over you as he rocked his cock along your folds, yet he was still careful not to hurt you or brush against your injuries. He groaned as he felt how wet you were, and his cock twitched between your bodies. Your name escaped his lips in a prayer as he shifted himself to caress your breast with one hand while staying over your body.

The moan you let out went right to his cock, and Din brushed across your nipple with his calloused fingers. Your breast was so warm and soft under his grip, and every time you cried out in pleasure, he inched him closer to losing control. But, Din fought to keep his composure. This wasn’t like times before. This wasn’t a desperate need for release. This was… something more.

“Fuck me,” you breathed, “Din…” you bucked your hips against his body, grinding yourself against him.

“Fuck…” he groaned as he felt your wetness on his length, “So beautiful… You’re so beautiful.”

You opened your eyes as you took in the sight before you. You couldn’t help the way your eyes roamed down to his chest as Din stayed overtop of you. It was then you noticed the way his arms strained on either side of you, his muscles tight and tense as he held himself back for fear of hurting you. But, the way he cared only made you more desperate, and this time it was your turn to caress his face.

Reaching up, you cupped his helmet, mirroring the way he touched you earlier, “I’m ok, Din,” you reassured him, “I’m ok because of you,” he heard the emotions in your voice as the room warmed, “You won’t hurt me. I want you… Need you…” you pleaded. 

He moaned your name as he dipped his head down and touched his helmeted forehead to yours once more, “I…”

Din interrupted himself when he slowly pushed into you, still careful not to hurt you as he filled you with his cock inch by inch. You broke the connection from his forehead as you dropped your head onto the pillow as you felt the familiar stretch. Instead of fucking you quickly, though, Din pushed into your slowly, taking his time until he bottomed out inside of you.

“So good… Feels so good…”

Neither of you were sure who spoke those words. Perhaps it was both of you overlapping at the same time.

“Din… Move please…” you pleaded as you ran your hand along his back before you slipped it under his helmet. Soft, thick hair met your hand at the nape of Din’s neck and you couldn’t help but give it a gentle tug.

Unable to deny you, Din groaned as he rocked back and slowly thrust forward again, filling you to the brim. You cried out in pleasure as he fucked you at a slow and steady pace. There was no rush, no need to pound into you. All you both wanted was to feel the other, and you clung to his shoulders as his cock hit that sweet spot inside you over and over again.

Din wasn’t just fucking you this time. He was making love to you. And it was everything you ever thought it would be. Tears filled the corners of your eyes again, but they weren’t tears of sorrow. They were tears of joy, tears of elation, tears of emotions. A string of curses and praises flowed from both your lips as your warmth engulfed Din over and over again as he rocked into you.

“Fuck… Din… Yes…” you moaned as you dug your nails into his skin and wrapped your leg around him, desperate to keep him close, “You’re gonna make me cum…”

He growled as he fought off his own climax, “Show me how beautiful you look when you cum on my cock, cyare.” Din snaked a hand between your bodies and rubbed at your clit as he sped up his thrusts. 

Without the music of the club to fill the room, Din was able to hear the wet sounds of your pussy with every thrust. And it turned him on unlike anything else before. He growled softly as the need to send you over the edge fully overwhelmed him. At that moment, nothing else in the galaxy mattered: only you. 

“Din…” you cried out as he pushed you over the edge. Your entire body trembled as you came hard, your inner muscles squeezing his cock as you rode out your climax. 

“Fuck,” Din growled your name as your orgasm triggered his own as he came deep inside you, spilling himself into your body and filling you up even more. 

Just as Din was about to collapse onto your body, he stopped himself. The ecstasy of his climax took over all brain function for a moment. But, he caught himself and instead carefully pulled out of you and landed on your bed beside you. Right away, you rolled over and laid your head on his chest as you wrapped an arm around his waist. Together, the two of you came down from your highs, lost in the other’s arms.

Your eyes stayed closed as you peppered soft kisses on Din’s chest and listened to the pounding of his heartbeat. A warm smile lit up your face as you felt his hands gently stroke your back comfortingly, and you were aware of how careful he was to avoid any of your injuries. 

“Din…” you waited for him to hum in response, “Thank you,” you whispered.

His breath hitched in his throat, “You never have to thank me, mesh’la,” Din replied, “I’ll always keep you safe.”

You trembled as his words went right to your heart. You stayed in the comfortable silence for several moments before you spoke again, “Hey Din…” your voice wavered as you traced random patterns on his bare chest. You felt him tighten his grip on you and you summoned the courage to ask, “Do you think love is in the stars for either of us? Do you think our lives would allow that?”

Din was silent for a time, and you knew he was choosing his words; he knew exactly what you meant by asking that, “Probably not,” he answered honestly, “But,” he interrupted your heavy sigh, “That doesn’t stop me… or you…” You’re stronger than you know…

He felt the way your entire body relaxed in his grip and he knew you understood the meaning behind his words. The truth was, he would do anything to protect you, to keep you safe. It didn’t matter who it was, Din wouldn’t hesitate to plunge his vibroblade into the chest of anyone who would dare harm you…  

As you laid in his arms, Din lifted his helmet for the second time that night and placed a soft kiss on the top of your head. The contented sigh you let out told him you were still awake, and you felt it. He smiled against your scalp, another gesture he saved only for you, before he lowered the helmet and settled in your bed.

When the sun rose, the two of you could face what lay ahead. But for now Din just savored the feeling of your body safe and warm in his arms. And while the words themselves remained unspoken, the feelings were there. And he was sure you heard them loud and clear: 

I love you, cyar’ika…  

[thefrogdalorian]

A Crisis of Faith

Word Count: 6052 Rating: Teen Summary: Although travelling through the galaxy with a Mandalorian bounty hunter was a daunting prospect at first, you were pleasantly surprised by how swiftly the two of you bonded. However, despite your initial closeness, the man who you were thought enjoyed your presence in his life now seems disgusted by his every encounter with you. When you finally land on Nevarro after weeks of being confined to the Razor Crest together, you hope that perhaps, something might fix your fractured relationship... Content Warnings: Din is mean and gets drunk. Slightly rough with header, shoves them away/leans over them and raises a finger to stop you from speaking but it's clear you're not physically injured by his actions and are somewhat excited by it. Kissing. Physical appearance/gender of reader is not specified but Din calls them mesh'la (beautiful in Mando'a). Author's Note: This was inspired by the line "You're a crisis of my faith," in Would've, Could've, Should've by Taylor Swift. The song is quite different in tone to this fic but I just imagined what it would be like if Din was ever pushed to a breaking point of his faith before meeting Grogu. This was the result and I regret nothing. Thanks to @decembermidnight for some words of encouragement while I was writing this one, I appreciate it!

✯ My Masterlist ✯ Read on AO3 ✯

The metallic clangs of footsteps hitting the rungs of the ladder as your travelling companion descended from the cockpit caused you to look up momentarily from the holodrama you had been quietly watching. As he approached the bottom of the ladder, you fixed your eyes back on the holopad that was propped up against your knees. You sighed deeply. There was a time when Din Djarin’s presence had not made you feel thoroughly miserable and tense. But those moments were long gone.

You didn’t move your eyes to meet his steely gaze as his footsteps approached you in the semi-darkness of the hull. Instead, you focused so intently on the bright screen propped against your knees, which was currently playing a cheesy holodrama, that your eyes began to burn under the strain.

Before you had begun travelling with Din, you had scoffed at people who occupied themselves with such corny forms of entertainment, finding them melodramatic and hollow. Since spending weeks hurtling through hyperspace with no human contact aside from your bounty hunter boss, you had reneged on your aversion to holodramas. You discovered that they provided welcome relief both from the monotony of hyperspace and your constant rumination over precisely what it was you had done to drive such a wedge between you and the man whose footsteps were now getting uncomfortably close to your favoured position to relax in. 

You felt yourself tensing up as he approached. You had retreated to your favourite little nook on the Razor Crest after showering, hoping that he would leave you alone. It was your little sanctuary, your haven away from the tenseness that lingered in the air between the pair of you. Over the past few weeks, you were pleased that you had created somewhere like this to withdraw to. Although Din was fairly neat and organised by nature anyway, you had still helped to tidy the Razor Crest when you first came aboard, organising various objects which cluttered the hull into several large crates. When pushed together and covered in a blanket and pillow, you discovered that you had created a secluded little alcove where you could relax in your own space. So, after you had taken a shower, you perched yourself on your favourite crate and launched yourself into the cheesy drama that was currently playing out on the screen in front of you. It was a welcome distraction from the turmoil in your own life. 

Turmoil that was impossible to ignore any longer, as the looming presence of Din Djarin towered over you, cutting over what little light was reaching you. He did not even have the courtesy to speak one as he stood there wordlessly, hovering over the crates you were sprawled across. You huffed in frustration. Recently, the onus was always on you to begin a conversation. His abrupt change in behaviour towards you made it difficult to believe that he had once been so talkative and forthcoming in his interactions with you. It devastated you all over again to think of the contrast between those happy memories and the tension of the present. The times when Din and you would sit together, chatting for hours about anything and everything as you flew through the stars together were long gone.

“Can I help you with something?” you finally asked, your voice belying your frustration. 

“Came down to use the fresher. Didn't know you were awake,” Din mumbled. 

You swallowed thickly, feeling your eyes sting with tears at his words. He was so brazen in admitting to you how keen he was to avoid you, that you wondered what in the galaxy you had ever done to him, to have him treat you this way. 

“Oh,” you breathed, struggling to maintain your composure in the face of such harsh words. But you were utterly determined not to show any signs of weakness. After all, wasn’t that what he wanted? To hurt you?

It was difficult to believe this was the same man you had met all those months ago. When you had first started travelling with The Mandalorian, Mando as you knew him then, you had – to your surprise – quickly bonded with the mysterious man who had hired you for your services. Mando had wanted to hire you due to your expertise in navigation and ship maintenance. While he was the muscle, bringing in numerous high-value targets, you were his assistant, taking care of everything not related to the bounties he brought back. You were discreet, never asking questions about the nature of his work. You just knew that he needed to bring as many back as possible, to pay off the loan he had taken to afford this magnificent ship: the Razor Crest.

Aside from his line of work, though, in the early days, Mando was surprisingly happy to talk to you about anything. You sensed that before you came aboard he had been somewhat lonely as he led a solitary existence, barely speaking to others and hiding behind his armour. He still hid behind his armour to some degree, of course as he had never removed his helmet in your presence. It was a matter you were never to discuss, aside from him explaining that he would never remove it in front of you. Although you were curious about what he looked like, you respected his reasons for keeping his helmet firmly fixed to his head. Whatever they may be.

Even though you had never seen his face, the two of you had quickly become close in the isolation of hyperspace. Perhaps, even friends. You listened intently as he told you details about his life; the loss of his parents and his subsequent adoption by Mandalorians. Mando even entrusted you with his real name: Din Djarin. To demonstrate that level of trust in you meant a great deal and you delighted each time the syllables rolled off your tongue. The name Din Djarin gave you a thrill each time you said it, sending a shiver along your spine. It was a strong name, one that fit him perfectly.

You did not yet know it, but the night Din had given you his name was also the night everything changed. It was the last night you shared the closeness with him that you had come to appreciate during the months you had travelled together. It spelt the beginning of the end. Ever since then, Din had inexplicably taken a step back from you. He pulled away, retreating into the quiet, solitary figure that you had first met. It had been weeks since he had had a conversation with you that lasted more than a few words. 

Din had seemed increasingly distant and withdrawn and it was abundantly clear that you were the cause of his sudden change of heart. He had not even tried to hide the fact that he was keeping away from you on purpose. It felt as though he was disgusted by your presence. You did not have the faintest inclination of what you had done to make him feel this way. You exhausted yourself by racking your brain for answers that never seemed to come. You were consumed by grief. You missed him. His company had been one of the few things keeping you sane.

Despite his intimidating presence, you had discovered that there was a certain warmth to him that he displayed when it came to interacting with you. The times he had made you laugh so hard that your ribs hurt, the way he had taught you words of Mando’a and how to polish his armour. There was even one occasion where he had taught you to wield a blaster, in case of emergencies. You could never forget how Din’s strong arms snaked their way around your waist, how safe and protected you had felt in his embrace. You remembered in aching detail the touch of the soft, smooth leather of his gloves as he held your hands with such aching tenderness, in an attempt to steady your grip on the weapon. Although, if anything, it only made your hands shake more. 

That warmth and gentleness were gone now, replaced with the cold, hard version of him that was standing before you. This Mandalorian was unrecognisable to you. There was no way he could be the same as your sweet Din. Your Din who never hated to be alone with you. Who treasured your presence, rather than treating it as offensive. Now, Din spent most of his days in the cockpit, hiding away from you. He only descended the ladder to use the fresher or prepare some ration packs when you were in your bunk, behind a pneumatic door. That was how most of the trip to Nevarro had been. Until now, as he hovered over you.

“Well, you should know we’ll be landing in Nevarro soon,” The sound of his deep, raspy voice tore you from your ruminations.

“Okay,” you nodded, eyes remaining firmly trained on the holodrama. 

“While we’re on Nevarro, I have some matters to attend to. I’d prefer it if you stayed here on the ship, but I can’t force you to. You’re not my slave,” he shrugged. 

Then, Din turned away from you and retreated to the ‘fresher, leaving you heartbroken in his wake. But you were determined not to sit there and pine after him. You would not allow yourself to dissolve into tears in a place where he could potentially see the impact he was having on you. 

You promptly pushed yourself up off the crate and walked on trembling limbs towards your bunk. You hastily sealed yourself behind the pneumatic door of the only small space that was truly yours, sequestering yourself from the anguish that lay beyond the door. The bile rose in your throat as you remembered how he had spoken to you, as though you were of as much significance to him as a speck of dirt on his armour. The tears came, then. Flowing down your cheeks in earnest. You were stubborn, however. You didn’t want Din to know the power he held over you. You would not allow him to see how much his words and actions devastated every fibre of your being. The way he shattered your heart into pieces with each emotionless utterance.

So, you buried your head in your pillow, hoping it muffled the way you cried yourself to sleep. You wouldn't give him the satisfaction of knowing just how much he could upset you. 

The worst part of the whole predicament was that you had realised you had fallen in love with him…

✯ ✯ ✯

The loud clunk of the Razor Crest as it finally made contact with terra firma for the first time in several weeks roused you from the fitful slumber you had eventually drifted off into. The noise which interrupted your sleep indicated that you had finally touched down on Nevarro. Your head was pounding. The tears that you had cried the previous evening after Din had been so cold towards you had torn through your body, leaving their mark on your fragile, shattered being. Despite how much your body was screaming at you to gulp down some water, you did not risk crossing paths with him. Honestly, you weren’t sure how much more of it you could take. 

So you waited until the doors to the ship had opened and closed and the latest bounties unloaded, before you emerged from your bunk. After gratefully chugging several flagons of water and quenching your thirst, you headed to the ‘fresher and gazed at your reflection in the mirror. The person who stared back at you was almost unrecognisable. You looked utterly broken, a shadow of the person you had once been. All the spark had gone from your eyes, which were sunken and lifeless; your eyelids were swollen from the sobs that had wracked your body before you slept. Your cheeks were gaunt, your hair limp. You couldn’t believe that the same man who had once caused you to laugh so hard that your ribs hurt had rendered you so miserable. It tore you apart to know that you had allowed someone to wield so much power over you. The man you had bonded with and trusted, who you perhaps even loved, had reduced you to this.

You knew then, that despite Din’s wishes, you had to get out of this towering metallic prison for a few hours. Even though Din would be disappointed, you couldn’t bring yourself to care. You were not a natural rulebreaker, though, evidenced by the way your heart pounded as you left the safety of the ship to wander around town. Nevarro was a planet full of scum and villainy, a backwater scughole most people would not choose to visit. It was certainly not the place you would choose for some convalescence. With the beggars and shady characters that lined every street, it was not the optimum environment to repair your shattered nerves. 

However, since you were travelling with an aloof Mandalorian, who appeared to be utterly ignorant of how much he was hurting you, you were left with no choice. If you wanted any air for the next few weeks, this was the best you were going to get. Din certainly wouldn’t stop somewhere more picturesque to grant you your wish. You grimaced as you stepped out. You had forgotten how stale and filthy the air of this planet was. Yet, it was better than spending another second in that stuffy metal tomb with reminders of the man who loathed you everywhere you turned. The man that you had been beginning to fall in love with before he woke up one day and decided he hated you.

Although you had hoped a day wandering around Nevarro would revitalise your spirits, you were left bitterly disappointed when nothing of the sort happened. The dismal surroundings only compounded your misery. You felt utterly trapped. If the only thing that lay beyond the confines of the Razor Crest were planets like these, perhaps a life with a man who hated you was preferable. At least you didn’t have to see such depressing sights every day of your life, although being trapped in hyperspace with the Mandalorian that hated you was still pretty bleak.

Despite ignoring Din’s request to remain on the ship, you did respect the rule he set to be back before sundown. So, when the sun began to descend in the sky and dip dangerously close to below the lava flats, you returned to the Razor Crest. You found your heart sinking as you ascended the ramp back to the ship. Back to unbearable tenseness and more heartache as you found yourself forced to survive in proximity to a man who despised you. 

The Razor Crest was silent, still. Empty. Din was nowhere to be seen. You couldn’t decide if you were disappointed or relieved at that fact. You couldn’t bring yourself to care. 

At least it meant you would be able to eat the food you had bought from a market stall in peace. The local delicacy was a welcome break from the bland, cardboard-like rations that you survived on while hurtling through hyperspace. It was a meal that your tastebuds certainly thanked you for.

After finishing your delicious meal, you clambered back onto the crate and resumed the holodrama you had been watching before Din had interrupted you the previous evening. You sprawled out on your favourite position in the ship, regaining your strength and finally feeling calm for the first time since you had woken up. The drama unfolding on your screen was a welcome distraction from worrying over the fact that Din had still not returned from his outing. 

Despite how hurt you were by his actions, you could not help but fret for his safety. You were never sure how long Din would be gone during these visits, the times could range from a few hours to almost an entire day. But it was practically unheard of for him to be out so long after nightfall with no word as to his whereabouts. You tried to push those thoughts out of your head and lose yourself in the story on your screen. You settled in for the evening, engrossed in the story. Soon, your eyelids grew leaden…

✯ ✯ ✯

The thuds of the footsteps ascending the ramp startled you awake. You sat up swiftly, groaning slightly as you felt the stiffness of your neck thanks to the awkward position you had fallen asleep in atop the crate. The sounds were incredibly jarring to you, not just because they had woken you up from a peaceful sleep. By now, you were well used to every little noise produced on the Razor Crest, all of the little groans and clangs characteristic of the ship. This sound was different from any of them. You knew it had to be Din, as he was the only person other than you who knew how to unlock the ship. But the footsteps ascending the ramp were so irregular and uneven that it was difficult to believe it could be your Mandalorian companion. They were utterly alien to you, so unlike the careful, methodical way he usually cut a path through the galaxy. 

You found yourself panicking momentarily, wondering if perhaps he was in trouble and someone else had forced him to open up the ship. Until a few seconds later when, sure enough, the familiar brown chest plate and shiny helmet of the Mandalorian you worked with stood there at the top of the ramp.

You swung your legs around to sit atop the crate and waited to see whether Din would approach you. Whether he had even noticed you. Without speaking or making a sound, he moved towards you. You were startled at the way Din lurched towards you, his boots slamming against the floor before he hit the wall with a sickening clang. The way he was staggering, barely able to stand straight, struck terror into your heart immediately. You leapt off the crate without thinking and rushed to his aid. 

“Din, are you alright?” you asked, your voice full of concern as you approached where he was slumped against the wall. 

“I’m fine,” was his reply. Curt. Direct. Classic Din Djarin. 

You threw your arm around Din’s waist, feeling the coarseness of his cape underneath your hand. Despite his heft, you successfully managed to pick Din up off the wall. Din grunted as he threw his arm around you. You were about to ask whether he had been in a fight until your senses detected the smell which lingered on him. It clued you in to precisely where he had been. The characteristic stench of a cantina lingered in the air, emanating from his entire body. The smoke, sweat and booze of the dingy place was unmistakable.

Even though you were appalled at his drunken stupor and disgusted by his recent actions, you still cared about him. Without hesitation, you began helping Din towards his bunk. The first few steps were difficult, but soon enough you and Din settled into a rhythm. You wanted to make sure that he was alright since you feared that he had drunk too much and something terrible would happen to him in the night. You wished you could remove his helmet and ascertain his levels of drunkenness, whether he had any wounds which required bacta spray. You knew that was never going to happen. You may never have discussed his reasoning fully, but you knew Mustafar would freeze before Din would remove his helmet in your presence.

You were about halfway to the bunk when it happened. Despite the fact he could barely stand, Din abruptly shrugged off your help and shoved you away from him, as though burnt by your touch. Although he hadn’t hurt you, your throat tightened and your eyes watered. He hated you. You shakily exhaled from your nostrils. All your determination to never let him see how much he had upset you was gone. He had gone too far. You decided you couldn’t take it anymore.

“Din, please. Have I done something to upset you?” you pleaded as he continued stepping away from you, backing into the wall. Until it was physically impossible to put more distance between the two of you.

Din threw his head back against the wall, his helmet hitting it with a clunk. He sighed deeply, seemingly composing himself. After a few moments, he pushed himself off on unsteady legs and walked over to you, looming large over you. The backs of your knees were backed against the crate, there was nowhere to go, nowhere to run or hide from this Mandalorian towering over you.

“Do you have any idea what you do to me?” Din grunted, voice tinged with something far darker than anything you had ever heard from him.

“Din, no, I…” you gasped, taken aback by his words.

You were practically falling over the crates now, feeling the hard surface biting into the backs of your knees as you tried to back away.

“You’re a crisis of my faith,” Din rasped. 

“Wh-what do you mean?” you stammered, stunned by his words. How could you, of all people, make this stoic Mandalorian lose composure like this? “Din, I don’t understand,” you begged.

He raised a gloved finger to your lips, shushing you instantly. You noticed your eyes widened in shock in his helmet’s reflection, standing there helplessly as the musky, leathery smell of his gloves filled your senses.

“Kriff!” Din swore, his last reserves of composure dwindling. “So innocent, mesh’la.”

In happier times, Din had taught you some basic Mando’a. He was enthusiastic to educate you about parts of his culture and you were eager to learn. You loved the way his voice sounded when he spoke the ancient tongue of his people. However, you were unable to understand that particular word. Although you were able to observe how his voice had softened slightly when he said it. You attempted to part your lips to speak, but Din hushed you again by pressing into your lips slightly harder with his glove. He wasn't hurting you. In fact, you found the pressure and his demeanour somewhat thrilling. At least he was paying you some attention, for a change.

“Do you know what the consequences would be if I removed my helmet in front of you and pressed the kiss on your lips that I’ve been aching to place there for months?” Din growled, his voice low and rough.

You shook your head vigorously, eyebrows raised at his words. Although you had initially been startled at the way Din had backed you against a crate, you were grateful for the position you currently found yourself in. At least, trapped between his body and the crate, you at least had some surface to balance yourself against. Otherwise, you feared you may have collapsed onto the cold, metallic floor of the Razor Crest at his confession.

“If another living being caught a glimpse of my face, then according to my Creed, I would be shunned as an apostate,” Din explained. 

You sighed deeply, pulse thundering in your ears as you struggled to process the implications of his words. Your heart leapt as it sunk in that Din reciprocated your feelings. You realised that his erratic behaviour had possibly been driven by his desire for you. He wasn’t running or hiding from you anymore. Perhaps whatever beverage Din had imbibed from underneath one of the long straws you knew he used when in public had given him the push necessary to reveal his feelings to you. You silently thanked Maker as finally, Din was making it clear that he wanted you. 

Yet in an instant, the hope and joy you felt were snatched away from you. Your heart settled back in your chest, weighed down by the cruelty of your circumstances. That his Creed meant that you may never get to be together in the way you both desired. You nodded your head slowly, in understanding and after a few moments, Din removed his hand from your mouth, permitting you to reply. 

“Din, I don't want you to violate your Creed for me,” you asserted, horrified at the notion. “But I wish there was some way I could feel your lips against mine. I… care about you, Din. And since you stopped speaking to me, I’ve been a shadow of the person I was. Nothing makes sense without you.”

Din sighed, bringing his hands to your waist. Shivers traversed your flesh at the way he gently squeezed your body in his hands. The care and warmth that you had been missing from him had seemingly returned. Your Din was back. Even if you could never be together, at least he had returned to you. You hoped the callous way he had treated you would now be a distant memory.

“I’m sorry, mesh’la. I know I’ve treated you terribly. I’ve been too much of a coward to accept the way I feel about you,” Din breathed, his voice shaky under the weight of his words.

“Please don’t ever do that to me again, Din,” you pleaded. “I cannot take it, the anguish of racking our every interaction in my brain. Trying to figure out what in Maker’s name I could possibly have done.”

“You did nothing,” Din insisted, emphasising that fact keenly. “I am not good with… with acknowledging my feelings. How quickly I came to care for you terrified me more than any job I have ever taken. I will spend the rest of my life making it up to you.”

“Oh, Din. I was terrified I had lost you forever,” you admitted, voice cracking as tears began to stream down your cheeks.

Din did not reply immediately. Instead, he lifted a hand from your waist and carefully wiped the tears that flowed down your cheeks with the soft leathery tips of his gloves.

“I know. I’m so sorry,” Din sighed. “I will spend tomorrow and every day that follows rectifying the damage I have done. Will you allow me to do that?”

You nodded eagerly, unable to reply with words given the way Din was cupping your jaw with his hand and stroking your cheek softly.

“Good,” Din breathed. “Why don’t we get some rest? I need to sleep the booze off. Then, I swear tomorrow will be a fresh start for us. No more hiding and ignoring you. Okay?”

“Okay,” you agreed, smiling for the first time in what felt like months.

You helped Din to his bunk. Although he had begun to sober up somewhat, he was still unsteady on his feet. He slurred apologies into the side of your face and hair as he went, and you felt the way your spirit lifted at knowing how truly remorseful he was.

As you rested your head on your pillow that night, you grinned until your cheeks ached. The smile had not left your features since Din had told you the way he felt about you. Tonight, your body ached with glee, not under the weight of profound sorrow. No sobs were afflicting you, just happiness over the future that lay ahead.

✯ ✯ ✯

The sounds of Din’s footsteps rapping against the floor beyond your bunk caused your eyelids to flutter open slowly. For a moment, your body defaulted to the way his presence had made you feel for the past few weeks and seized up in fear. Then, you recalled the events of the previous night and everything felt lighter. As you lay there for a few moments and processed the sounds, you were immediately relieved to hear that Din’s footsteps were much more even and steady, as they had always been before last night. Your Din was truly back.

You opened the door to your bunk and grinned at the sight before you. Din was rummaging around in some crates, searching for something. For weeks when you had entered the same space as him, he had not acknowledged your existence. Now, however, when he heard the door opening which signified your presence, he looked up immediately. Din did not use his task as an excuse to ignore your existence. He seemed to be honouring the fresh start that he had promised.

“Morning, mesh’la,” Din said softly, “How did you sleep?”

“I slept perfectly, thank you,” you replied with a smile. “What are you looking for?”

“This,” Din whispered, drawing his hands from behind his back. You watched with confusion as he held up an old shirt and tore a length from it. Then he beckoned you to approach him. 

“What if I told you that there was a way to circumvent the rules, without breaking my Creed?” Din questioned as you approached.

“Are you sure, Din?” you asked, voice filled with uncertainty, despite the way your pulse had quickened.

“Do you trust me?” Din breathed, answering your question with his own.

“Of course,” you nodded in an instant, even if his response had done nothing to allay your confusion.

His gloved hands held the strip of material up taut between them. You realised, as his hands moved towards you, cloth stretching across your face, that he was about to blindfold you. You knew you should have been terrified that an emotionally volatile Mandalorian, who had been so inebriated he could barely walk mere hours ago, was about to cut off one of your senses in this manner. A life of travelling through the galaxy meant that you were well-versed in sensing danger. On the surface, this appeared to be one such dangerous situation which you had spent your time desperate to avoid. However, the man in question who was about to deny you of your most vital sense was undoubtedly a gentle, considerate man. He was your Din, a man who you knew and trusted like no other. Your Din, who had returned to you. There was no fear or hesitation in your heart as the cloth was tied around you.

With your eyesight cut off, your hearing became more sensitive. You almost gasped as you heard the hissing of Din’s helmet depressurising. This was happening. You wanted to enjoy every second of it, every touch and sound. But it was difficult to appreciate every little noise given the way your heart thundered in your chest and resonated in your ears. You barely remembered how to breathe as, with one hand, Din steadied himself on your hip, while the other cupped your chin and turned it towards his face. 

Then, his soft, plush lips brushed against yours, moustache tickling your upper lip lightly. You almost giggled at the sensation. But just at that moment your lips began to curve into a smile, Din placed his hand on the side of your neck and slid his tongue into your mouth. All coherent thought vanished. 

You could not be certain, but you supposed that you were the first person Din had ever kissed. His inexperience should not be mistaken for inability, though. You were stunned by how he was applying himself as his lips moved softly against yours, conveying wordlessly the affection he held for you. With every small gesture of his lips against yours, you were beginning to understand just how long he had been holding back. He was desperate for you, a man possessed. Hungry for the touch of your lips against his. You braced yourself against him, hands coming to rest on the cool, hard metal of his chestplate.

Eventually, Din pulled away. Your chest heaved due to the exertion of the kiss. For a few seconds, you both stood there in the afterglow, unsteady, ragged breaths melding together. Din’s hands stayed on your hips, holding you close to him. 

“I love you,” you whispered, without really thinking. You momentarily tensed up, fearing that you had said too much. But you felt the way Din’s hands tightened their grip on your waist, his thumbs tracing slow circles into the skin above your rib cage.

“I know,” Din finally replied. 

Your mouth parted in shock. Then, he stole another kiss from your lips. This time it was languid, unhurried. You smirked against his plush lips as the turn of events sunk in. For weeks, you had been so convinced that Din hated you. Never again would you feel the closeness of your bond with him. When, in reality, he was not only aware of your feelings but reciprocated them. 

“I’m so sorry for the way I treated you,” Din whispered, as his gloved thumb stroked your cheek tenderly. “I was scared by my feelings for you. No one has ever made me feel this way before. I didn’t think anyone would ever make me feel this way. That was until I met you, mesh’la.”

“I was terrified I had done something to offend you,” you admitted.

“Never. You are the greatest thing that has ever happened to me. Your presence in my life is a gift. I am sorry for not making you feel that every day.”

You almost burst into tears at his words, utterly floored by his sheer sentimentality. You knew there was a gentle, caring man underneath all that armour. He may have disappeared temporarily, but there was no doubt that he was back now.

“Is there anything I can do to make it up to you, mesh’la?” Din spoke again when you were too overwhelmed by his words to reply.

“You can start by telling me what mesh’la means,” you smiled. “Then, perhaps another kiss.”

“Beautiful,” Din sighed, “It means beautiful, in Mando’a.”

“Oh, Din,” you whispered, as you leaned in for another kiss. This time, your hands came to cup his face, delighting in the scratchy stubble you found underneath your fingers. You could feel the strong outline of his jaw. You had never laid eyes upon him, but you knew he was gorgeous. After the kiss ended, you pulled away and held each other for a few moments.

“I love you too, by the way,” Din whispered into your hair, before adding: “Mesh’la.”

You couldn’t help but break into a wide grin. Now that you knew what the word meant, your head was spinning with giddiness. You and Din stayed that way, wrapped in each other’s arms, enjoying your newfound closeness. You would have been quite content to remain that way forever, but there was an entire galaxy out there for the two of you to explore. 

You heard the unmistakable hissing sound of a Mandalorian helmet pressurising and then gentle fingers at the material’s knot at the back of your head. When Din removed your blindfold, you were not surprised to be greeted with the steely gaze of his helmet once more. This was how it had to be. 

You supposed that perhaps it should feel strange to know that you had never laid eyes upon his face, but were certain that you had already fallen in love with him. Knowing Din Djarin, however, went far beyond seeing his physical features. You knew his heart, his inherent goodness despite the way he had lost himself for a while. You only knew what the touch of his lips felt like against yours and that he maintained a moustache and facial hair. Beyond those details, you knew nothing of his face. But you knew the bond the two of you shared, the nights discussing your pasts, your presents, your futures. The way you would laugh until your ribs ached. How protective he was over you.

So, sure, you had never seen his face… but you knew that you loved him all the same. 

You climbed the rungs of the ladder to the cockpit, following behind Din. You’d follow him to the ends of the galaxy if he so much as asked. You knew he’d do the same in return. You didn't know exactly what the future held for the two of you as you sat back in the red leather chair of the Razor Crest’s cockpit. As Din punched in the coordinates to your next destination, you sighed happily. This was a fresh start. The beginning of the rest of your lives together.

His crisis of faith had been averted. 

[loquaciousferret]

Riduurok

Pairing: Din Djarin/ The Mandalorian x f!reader

Warnings: Descriptions of blood, injury, anxiety, mentions of death. No explicit content. Maybe more so please read at your own risk.

Word Count: 2.1K

Authors Note: Part 2 is already confirmed. Thank you to @lovers-liability and @tightjeansjavi for their help and encouragement with this. I hope you love it.

Thank you for reading! - LF

You knew something was wrong when the sun began to set. He had assured you he would have an easy hunt today and return long before dark. Your anxiety grew as each star made itself known in the night sky, each passing minute telling you he was in more and more danger.

After what felt like a lifetime of worry, the perimeter alarm sounded to announce someone’s approach to the ship. You hurried to check the cameras and your stomach dropped at the sight before you, Din, clearly very injured, limping towards the ship on shaky legs, clutching his neck.

You rush to open the doors and lower the ramp to take in the scene in more detail. His upper body is a painting of crimson on a hard beskar canvas. Smears of blood of a variety of shades littering his chest and shoulders.

You gasp, reaching out for him. “Din-“

Before you can continue or he can respond, he takes one more wobbly step towards you, and collapses.

You freeze in panic. Grogu cries out from the corner of the room, having leaped from his crib at the sight of his dad returning.

A strangled moan is emitted from Din's helmet. He's not unconscious, yet. But if you don't get to treat him or at least see the condition of his injury, it wouldn't be long before he was.

“Din?" You ask, adrenaline taking over, replacing your fear with an ability to take action. "Din, are you shot?"

“Jus' grazed my neck." He responds, his voice shaky and pained.

"You- Your-" You stutter. "Din, I- You have to remove your helmet. I w-"

"No." He growls.

"Din, I won't touch you. You can lift it yourself, I need to see the wound. I will treat it quickly and you can put it right back on to recover."

"I said, no. Leave me. Bring me a med pack and get out."

You consider his request for a brief moment. He seems in no condition to treat himself. He has already collapsed to the floor, and he lays against the cool metal, hardly able to support his weight on his forearms. You are sure he won't be able to treat himself without passing out. A cocktail of tortured moans and grunts spills from under his helmet.

"Din, you must let me do this. There is no other way."

Grogu continues to cry. He can see his dad is in pain. He can see you are too, pleading with him.

"Take him out of here," Din gasps, "Bring me a med pack, and leave me. That is not a request."

You whimper, terrified with both options, not sure whether to do as he asks or to defy him. After a moment, you give in, rushing to sweep Grogu into your arms and hurrying to Din's quarters to put the baby in the bed. You know you don't have long. You practically toss him onto the bed, "I'm sorry baby, your daddy will be fine, stay here."

You rip a med pack from the wall on the way back to where Din lies. What you see makes your heart stop. A pool of blood is growing around his helmet. He is no longer supporting his weight on his arms, instead he is completely collapsed to the floor, his helmet twisted at what looks to be a painful angle. Laboured, raspy, breaths sound from his helmet.

"Oh, Din." You gasp, dropping to your knees beside him.

He stretches out a hand to reach for the medpack, and you give him a syringe loaded with bacta. He drops it instantly when you place it in his outstretched palm, his hands shaking and weak.

You realise there is no way he will be able to administer his own treatment.

You plead with him again, "Din, please. Please, just let me do this. I will never tell a soul. I w-"

"Stop." He snaps. "I will not let you do this."

"Please, no." You are sobbing now, and he flexes his fingers, stroking your knee.

"Yes, and I am sorry. I am sorry. I really am. Tell me you will look after him."

"N-No, Din. I don't have to look after him. You aren't going anywhere." You argue, in disbelief at what he is suggesting.

"Tell me you will do it." He says, his voice barely above a whisper but somehow still commanding in its tone. "Give me your word, and it's the last thing I will ask of you."

"No." You cry, "Just let me take it off, Din, he needs you. I need you."

He breathes. "I am sorry, truly. But you must not touch my helmet. This is my fate, mesh'la. It is my duty to fulfil it. This is the way."

You start to panic, sobbing, you are confused, devastated, and more than anything, angry at him. You are downright furious that he thinks he can leave Grogu, that he thinks you two can go on without him. And next, you are angry at yourself, for begging him to abandon his beliefs for your own somewhat selfish desire of being with him.

Din has never told you much about his religion other than the basics. But you have picked up bits and pieces. You have heard stories from others, shared around crackling campfires, whispered under night skies from people who suspected what you and Din had, reassuring you that one day you would look into your lover's eyes. And you will, you remind yourself, as long as you can get him through this. Suddenly, you have the answer, and the words escape you before you can fully process the thought.

"Marry me."

"What?" You can't place his tone. If it is shock, then you don't blame him. You are shocked too. The intensity of your feelings towards Din have hit you like a ton-weight tonight. What you had thought was attraction was suddenly proving itself to be profound, ardent, undeniable love.

But perhaps it is a plain rejection of the idea.

"Th- They told me, if we were to be married that I- That-" You splutter, his breathing becoming more and more shallow with each passing second.

"Mhi solus tome." He murmurs.

"What?" You say, unable to hear him clearly or understand his words.

"Repeat it." He instructs.

"Mhi solus tome." He says again, his voice slightly quieter.

You try your best to copy the unfamiliar language. "Mhi solus tome."

"Mhi solus dar'tome." His voice is faint, as if it is coming from the other side of the room.

"Mhi solus dar'tome."

"Mhi me'dinui an."

"Mhi me'dinui an."

"Mhi ba'ju-" His voice trails off, his last syllable turning into a strained exhale.

"Din?" You say. He is completely unresponsive.

You place your hands on his shoulders and shake him lightly, desperate to bring him back to you but scared to cause him more pain or injure him further.

"Din, please-"

He whispers your name.

"Din, please, Din keep going, you have to-"

He whimpers. The sound makes you feel as though his pain is going right through you, too, and you cry harder.

"Din, plea-"

"Mhi ba'juri verde."

You can barely hear his words but you repeat what you could make out.

"Mhi ba'juri verde."

He lets out another hopelessly painful breath.

"Din? What next, Din, keep going for me."

He doesn't respond. Your hands are covered in the blood seeping from his helmet.

"Din?"

"We-" He coughs and you can see that the motion wracks his body with pain.

"Yes, Din? what is it? What next, Din, please, ple-"

"It is done." He chokes out.

You brace yourself to remove his helmet, terrified to discover the severity of the injury beneath. You grip the bottom of the beskar armour and carefully pull.

He cries out in agony.

You sob as you keep going, slowly removing it to expose his skin centimetre by centimetre. His neck is soaked with blood to the extent that you can't even discern his skin tone. As it reaches past his jaw, you see scruffy dark stubble. Then, flushed cheeks and an angled nose. Eyes, of which you don't know the colour as they are screwed shut in pain, but covered with a layer of thick dark eyelashes. A strong brow bone and a few lines of age. Thick, dark hair, plastered across his forehead with sweat, but you can make out scruffy curls.

You can't waste any time looking at him, though, moving on swiftly to frantically wipe blood from his neck and find the source of his injury.

A graze, he had told you. But the sight before you told you something entirely different.

You pick up the bacta syringe from where he had dropped it to the floor and carefully inject it as close to the wound as possible. He doesn't so much as wince, and you are terrified that you may already have lost him. With the thick liquid fully released, you retract the syringe. You spray the wound next, enough so that it closes, and dress it in a thick padded bandage.

Soft breaths still escape his lips but this can only ease your anxieties slightly. Until he wakes up, you are balanced on a precipice, unable to ascertain if you were too late to save him.

You must have collapsed from exhaustion, spending the longest night of your life, curled into the side of Din, your-

Your husband, Din Djarin.

You remain in a blissful sleep-like state for a mere moment, wondering if it is also a custom of his religion that you will take his last name. You hope it is.

But then you shoot upright, the events and circumstances rushing back of how exactly you went from... well, whatever you were, to spouses, in such a short period of time.

You yearn to feel his warmth, but you are met with cold steel against you.

You yearn to hear his voice, but you are met with silence in the wide-open heart of his ship.

You force yourself to look at him. The lines that were drawn between his brow and across his forehead last night have disappeared, he looks peaceful. He looks beautiful. You take your time analysing his features. You never want to look at anything else now that you have seen him.

A feeling of calm and contentedness washes over you. You don't know why, but you know he is going to be okay. You know he is going to come back to you.

And just like that, he does.

Your name falls from his lips.

His eyelashes flutter and you see him slowly opening his eyes. This seems as though it takes exertion, as he breathes heavily whilst doing so.

For a moment, you panic internally. What if he has forgotten? What if he regrets it? What if he thinks you did this without his consent?

"Din-" You gasp, as he looks up at you and takes you in.

His features flash in a strange expression and you feel as though your suspicions are confirmed.

"Din, I promise, I didn't d- We- I-"

His lips turn up ever so slightly into a reassuring smile.

"I haven't forgotten any of it, my love. I just can't believe you could possibly have looked more beautiful than I already thought you were through my visor."

You throw yourself at him and he grunts but then laughs.

"I-" The tears start again. You are overwhelmed with emotion. Relief and elation numb the hurt, but you don't know how you will ever get over the night you nearly lost him. You know you will never be able to put this feeling into words.

Somehow, you don't need to. It is as though he can read your mind.

"Shh," He says, rubbing your back. "I know, cyare. I know."

You stay like this for a moment until you pull back from him. He removes a glove and strokes a tear from your cheek.

"I'm here now, my love. I will never let you hurt for me like this again."

You nod and sniffle. You believe him.

"Where's the baby?" He asks softly.

"Oh," You say, and you laugh a little, surprised and embarrassed. He was the reason you were here after all, your job was as his caretaker. But for a moment, you had forgotten him. "I put him in your bed last night. I didn't hear him all night . I hope that means he slept through."

"Alright. Go and tend to him. I will get us the hell off this planet. I need to take you to my people."

MASTERLIST

Taglist: @silkiers @tightjeansjavi @chaotic-mystery @lovers-liability

Tag because I think you might like this: @deceiver-of-gods

[ladamedusoif]

Tempered in the Fire - Part Four

See the Series Masterlist for complete content warnings, historical event information, and series notes.

Cross-posted to AO3. Follow my writing blog @ladameecrit and turn on notifications for updates.

Pairing: Blacksmith!Din Djarin x F! Reader

Summary: Ireland, almost a decade after the rebellion of 1798. You are an unusual woman: married, but alone; a widow, with no certainty her husband is dead. When your local blacksmith is badly injured in an accident and unable to work, you have no choice but to travel to the next forge, run by a man of few words whose uncertain origins and dark complexion make him stand out among the locals. You are immediately intrigued by this mysterious, taciturn figure - and the striking little boy he’s taken as his apprentice.

Word Count: 7.1k

Rating: Explicit; 18+ MDNI (chapter; series)

Content (chapter specific): Blacksmith!Din AU; historical setting; angst; smut; violence; unprotected PiV sex; oral sex (F and M receiving); racist (anti-Traveller) language; period-typical misogyny; references to domestic physical, emotional, and sexual abuse; references to family loss and death; abusive and derogatory language; strong language.

Translations for the Irish language provided throughout as needed, though I have not translated mo chuisle as a term of endearment (it literally means 'my pulse', more usually used as 'my love').

A/N: I am so, so sorry for the gap between chapters here and am grateful to the readers who've been so patient! Thanks, too, as ever, to @paulmescal-s for working through the gnarlier bits of this story with me and being such a great sort-of beta.

In the future, after many years had passed, you would find it hard to remember exactly how much time you had together, at the forge, before the hard reality came knocking at your door. Those days and nights of domestic happiness could never have been enough.

By day, you keep house, sew, and bake. Each morning, you do some basic reading and writing with Gró, or take the little boy around the hedgerows and trees at the boundary of the property, teaching him the names of plants and animals. Din had explained your presence to him, and he beamed every morning when his father carried him down the attic ladder and he saw you again. 

Din, so used to being the lone adult in the household, insists on contributing to the routine: cooking, cleaning, setting the fire. It feels so natural, so right - and yet a blade dangles over this strange little found family, ready to drop at any moment. 

Each evening, Din readies Gró for bed, sometimes bathing his son in a tin bath in front of the fire while you tell him a story by way of distraction. It has quickly become a highlight of the blacksmith’s day, these moments where he watches as you make his beloved boy squeal with laughter, or hold his rapt attention with the twists and turns of a tale. 

They were content and settled, this clan of two. But Din couldn’t help the daydreams about a clan of three that sometimes flashed through his mind. 

He took every opportunity he could to touch you throughout the day. A squeeze of your hand at the breakfast table as Gró drained his cup of milk. A discreet kiss to your cheek as he made his way into the forge for his morning’s work. A gentle caress of your waist as he passes you while you’re laying the table for the main meal, taken in the middle of the day. 

With Gró settled and asleep in the loft, the two of you moved more hastily in the evenings, now, to sort the things for breakfast and smother the fire. The sooner the chores were done, after all, the sooner you could shed your clothes and climb into his bed together. 

The nervous caution of your first time together soon dissipated as you grew more familiar with each other, more in tune with each other’s needs and desires. For all his inexperience and your difficult past, the two of you are perfectly-matched lovers. The feeling of Din’s broad body on yours, glistening with sweat, begins to exorcise the demons of the past. You ride him on top, one hand intertwined with his as he squeezes your breasts and watches you come. He slips his cock inside you one morning as you’re lying together, your back pressed to his chest, and fucks you slowly and carefully until you’re both coming quietly, mouths pushed into the pillows. One evening, he was even too impatient for bed, hitching up your skirts and taking you over the heavy wooden table, hand pressed against your mouth as you whined against his palm. 

“I want to learn you,” Din whispered one night, easing your long shift off so that you were completely bare, lying alongside his own naked body. 

You traced your fingertips along the softness of his lips. “Learn me?”

His strong, clever fingers roamed over you as he nodded. “Learn you. Know you, all of you.” He squeezed your tits softly, sucking gently on each nipple. “Commit you to memory. How you feel, how you fit together. Do you like this?”

You wound your fingers through his messy curls and nodded. He followed the curves of your body with his broad, calloused hands, moving over your waist and holding your hips firmly as he reverently kissed your belly. He took his time, hands memorising the exact shape and volume of your form.

“You are a beauty, mo chuisle,” he murmured, dark eyes looking up at you from between your legs. “So lovely and soft and warm.”

His fingers pressed into the meat of your thighs as he mapped you out, and you felt the wetness between your legs as your hips bucked upwards, legs parting instinctively. 

“Can I…see, mo chuisle?” Din’s palm grazed over the hair covering your mound. “See you…see you here?”

“Of course, my darling.” You opened your legs wider for him, watching as his eyes grew round in awe, before darkening with lust. He reached for his cock, whimpering a little as he stroked himself. 

“That’s beautiful.” He had shifted his head closer to your centre, his expression a little bashful. “I’d like to kiss you here.  Would that be alright?”

“Please, darling,” you hissed. “Put your mouth on me.”

“I’ve never…” He exhaled nervously as he settled between your legs, fingers already playing with your wet folds. “Never even thought of this, but…”

You ran your fingers through his hair and smiled, understanding what he was trying to say. “You’ll know just what to do, love.”

This was new to you, too, though you had heard of men doing it to their girls, especially if they were not meant to lie together. Your friend Mary had, just prior to her marriage, confided in you that she and her betrothed had found a way to sate their passions without the risk of her falling pregnant before the wedding. 

“The mouth is a great thing, all the same,” she’d said, dangling her bare feet in the cool water of the local river on a warm summer day as the two of you lazed on the grassy bank, skirts hitched to your knees. She had explained the mechanisms of it to you, chuckling at your sceptical expression. 

“Just wait, girleen. Just you wait and see.”

Now Din’s soft, plush lips were pressed against your slit, tongue tasting your wetness, and you finally understood what she meant. It was heaven: the way his lips brushed against the little bundle of nerves and made your whole body convulse with pleasure, the sensation of his patchy beard against your thighs, how he began to slip his tongue in and out of you. His grunts and moans vibrated against your core and you came hard against him, giggling when you saw the slick glistening all over his smiling face. 

In the nights to come, you returned the favour, languidly sucking and licking at his perfect cock while he held your head in place with his broad hands, hips bucking up against you as he groaned with sheer pleasure.

You paused, reminding him that he needed to be quieter, before slipping his cock between your lips again. “‘S not my fault, mo chuisle,” he panted, eyes locked on how his hard length disappeared into your pretty mouth. “Feels far too good.” 

As he came in your mouth for the first time, you’d looked up at his beautiful face, release and pleasure and affection written on every part of it, and begged whatever deity might listen to let you stay here forever.

Din is more comfortable showing his feelings through actions, physical gestures, than words. Little by little, though, you notice him opening up more, saying more. Not that he’d ever be what you could consider a talker. 

One night, nestled together, you ask him to tell you about himself.

"I want to hear your story, Din.” The comforting caress of your hand against his face makes him smile softly.

"I don’t know what there is to tell.”

You cuddle closer to him, enjoying the feel of his solid frame against you. “Well, I don’t know much about your family, for one…”

He shifts a little in bed and for an instant you worry you have overstepped the mark. 

“It’s not a very happy story, mo chuisle, but if you want to know…”

A kiss to the expanse of broad, tanned chest exposed at the neck of his nightshirt. “I want to know. If you want to tell me.”

He finds your hand and presses it to his chest, seeking reassurance in your familiar touch, and taking a deep breath before he begins to whisper his story to you.

"I’m a travelling person. I don’t know where I was born - other than that it was probably somewhere towards the west of the country, on a campsite. I have - had - an older sister, a younger brother. Lived off the money from whatever work my father could get - fixing pots and pans, mostly, sometimes farm labour, depending on the season.”

"A hard living.”

He nods, bringing the back of your hand to his lips. “Hard, but loving.” He inhales deeply, again, before continuing.

"We were never really wanted anywhere. Moved on, camps disturbed, even attacked, sometimes. We learned quickly how to hide at the first sign of trouble.”

He closes his eyes, a flash of sorrow crossing his beautiful features in the moonlight coming through the little cottage window. “I suppose that’s what saved me.”

For a few moments, Din is quiet. 

“We had camped on land that was part of some big estate, belonging to Lord somebody or other. The usual situation. My father and a couple of our other men went fishing the first day and poaching the first night, to get us some food. I can still see the scales of the big salmon he caught, glinting in the firelight as my mother cleaned it.”

"A feast.”

He nods, a little smile on his lips at the memory, before his features darken again. “But not our feast to take. The lord’s feast, by virtue of the land being given to him by some far-off king.” He shakes his head ruefully.

"I was coming back with some cans of water the next morning when I heard shouting. The glimpses of red moving towards the camp - the yeomanry. The landlord set them on us, and they gave us no quarter. When some of our men and women tried to defend our few possessions, they - well, they turned violent.”

You hold him close, feeling the anguish in his breathing.

"I saw my father fall, killed by a blow to the head with the butt of a yeoman’s musket. My mother caught a glimpse of me, roared at me to run, to hide, and to my eternal shame I did just that. I didn’t go to them. I ran.”

"She wanted you to live, Din. She was saving you.”

He swallows hard, audible in the stillness of the night. 

“The local priest found me a couple of days later, still carrying the empty can. I’d hidden in a ditch, ate blackberries to survive. He arranged for the local blacksmith and his wife to take me in, train me as an apprentice.” 

He pauses again. You realise this is the most he’s probably ever said to you in one go. 

“When the time came, I took to the roads myself, honing the craft before I could set up on my own. I wasn’t long back when the priest called, saying a cousin in the east knew of an empty forge in need of a good smith.”

"And that’s how you came here?”

Din nods. “That’s how I came to be here.”

You venture a sensitive question. “Din… what happened to your mother, your siblings?”

"Poorhouse. No other choice.”

Silence.

"I didn’t know where they’d gone. So much sickness in those godforsaken places…”

Another pause.

”My brother died first. Then my sister, and then my mother.”

Your voice is tiny, barely a whisper. “Did you… see them?”

"By the time we found out what poorhouse they were in… it was too late.”

Tears prick at your eyes, and you do your best not to let them fall. This is his story, his grief, not yours. Instead, you shift up the bed a little, still holding his warm body close, and lean in to caress and kiss him. 

There’s a wet, salty tang on his cheek. You kiss away the silent tear. 

For a moment, you think of what Din told you about how he came to adopt Gró: his unwillingness to let the boy go to a poorhouse or orphanage, his desire to protect and train the child, just as he himself had once been taken in by the smith and his wife. Just as he, himself, had once been a lost little boy. 

You press your lips to the messy curls at the crown of his head. 

There are times when you almost forget that you’re not really meant to be here, so natural and right does it feel. And then you are jolted back, reluctantly, to a reality where you are still technically the wife of a violent, cruel man who could claim you at any moment. 

That afternoon, you hear the sound of horses approaching and immediately disappear up to the loft, as usual, until you know it’s safe to descend. You listen attentively as the door opens and breathe a sigh of relief when Gró’s delighted little voice greets Peigí, here on one of her regular visits. You hear Din enter the cottage from the forge, chatting companionably to his old friend, and make for the ladder.

You’re a few rungs down when you hear a second, less familiar voice.

“So where is she, Din?”

He stutters, the panic evident in his voice. You wonder if you can make it back to the loft. 

Too late.

Father Carthy hears the sound of your skirts and turns, greeting you by name in grave tones. 

“You might as well come and join us, my child.”

Peigí’s gaze is apologetic as you climb down the ladder and move to join the little cluster of adults, Din having sent Gró outside to play. You stand beside him, arms wrapped protectively over your body, resisting the urge to reach for his hand. 

“I’m sorry, girleen.” Peigí wrings her hands, expression anxious and sorrowful. “Father came to see me today before I left for the forge, I couldn’t turn him out.”

You meet Father Carthy’s eyes with a look of defiance, straightening yourself to your full height, silently demanding an explanation.

“I am not here to force you home. I know your…situation.” The priest exhales deeply, fingers fiddling with the little black buttons on his long robes. “And between us and the wall and the Lord Almighty, if that kind of cruelty and abandonment was grounds for annulment… well.”

The back of Din’s hand brushes almost imperceptibly against yours. 

“But you are still a married woman, and…” The cleric sighs apologetically. “My child, you were seen here. Out in the back field, with the boy. And if I’ve heard it, and people are talking, then it’s only a matter of time before -”

You interject in a low, steady voice. “Before Searlas finds out where I am.”

The priest nods sadly. “That’s why I came here. Why I came with Peigí, specifically. We… have a suggestion.” He looks expectantly at Peigí, who offers you an encouraging smile as she nods in agreement.

“My sister, Rosie - she’s in the next county, big farm, spinster, plenty of space and could do with the help. You could stay there for a bit and then come home to your own place - until they change the garrison, surely, or that wastrel Searlas can be warned off…”

You bite your lip, mulling it over. 

“I mean, maybe he’s not going to come looking for me.”

Peigí and the priest exchange a concerned glance. The cleric clasps his hands together and looks at you sympathetically.

“The thing is… I have eyes and ears, as it were, in the barracks, and in the public house preferred by the garrison. I didn’t want to tell you, my dear, in case it frightened you - but he has been talking about you.” He purses his lips, almost afraid to tell you the truth. “He has openly talked about finding you, about… claiming you. And if he finds out you’ve been staying here, with a bachelor - think of your reputation, my child.”

You let out an involuntary sob, and Peigí places a comforting hand on your arm. “I think you need to be gone tomorrow, girleen. At the latest. I’m sorry, I know it’s awful quick, but…”

For the first time, Din speaks. His voice is low, controlled, serious. 

“But you - I mean, she must be kept safe.” He looks at you, dark eyes full of care and concern. “If you want to stay, I will keep you safe. I promise.”

There’s nothing more you want in the world than to throw your arms around him and let him protect you, just as you long to protect him from the sorrows of his past. But his description of the day he lost his parents echoes in your mind, as does the tension that crackled in the air the day the soldiers were at the forge. You cannot - will not - bring that down on him again, nor on Gró.

“Din, if I stay here I fear that none of us will be safe. Not you, not me, not Gró. I couldn’t take that risk, my d-” You catch yourself just in time. “I mean, my dear friend.”

Peigí’s wise, inquisitive eyes dart between you and Din, and she emits a low, intrigued hum.

Din exhales in frustration. “I said I would keep you safe, here. I mean it.”

Father Carthy places a paternal hand on Din’s shoulder, expression gentle but resigned. “She’s right, Din, and you know it. Apart from her own reputation - you don’t want a troop of redcoats landing on the doorstep, do you? Think of your home, your livelihood - your son.”

The blacksmith’s expression is defiant, but you can see the reality of the situation dawning on him as the light fades from his beautiful eyes. He nods, silent, a hand twisting at the soft, worn leather of his apron.

“Early as we can after dawn tomorrow, then?” Peigí squeezes your hand as she waits for your answer.

You cannot bring yourself to look at Din as you nod in agreement. 

It is still bright outside, just about, when Gró is settled for bed and the dinner things cleared and tidied away. You have packed up your saddlebags in silence, fighting the tears that threaten to fall at any moment.

Din’s broad hand reaches around your waist as he moves past you, pulling you close to him. He nuzzles into the crook of your neck, kissing the delicate skin.

“Can we take a little walk, mo chuisle? Before night falls?”

You face him, tracing the line of his jaw with your fingers. “A little one. Don’t forget there’s a little boy asleep in the loft, we can’t go too far.”

He presses his lips to your fingertips before kissing you on the forehead. 

You walk hand in hand in the dusk, wandering through the field at the back of the forge towards the old oak tree that stands at the boundary of the property. Din is quiet - even quieter than usual, just casting occasional glances in your direction and squeezing your hand with a gentle smile.

In the shadow of the oak, he kisses you deeply, pressing your body against the tree as he holds your face in his big, strong hands. 

“I don’t want to go, Din.”

“I don’t want you to go, mo chuisle.” He kisses you again, chastely, and looks in your eyes. A question hovers on the tip of his tongue.

“Tell me, my darling.”

He holds your hands, grounding himself a little in your comforting touch. 

“I want you to take Gró to Peigí’s sister’s. Please.”

Even in the half-light, he can read the shock on your face.

“Oh, Din, I… I couldn’t. I couldn’t see the two of you parted, he’d be lost without you and you without him and-”

He shakes his head firmly. “I have to keep you safe - both of you. And if a gang of redcoats turned up and it was just me and him…”

He saw his father die. 

“He’s your son.” 

Din nods. “He is. And I can’t leave him alone again.”

He lost his entire family.

��He might not want to leave with me.”

“I’ve explained it to him. He knows it’s not forever, he understands the reasons why.” You catch a glimpse of his smile, a beacon of hope in the twilight. 

“Mo chuisle, you’re the closest thing he has to a mother in this world.”

You hold each other close through the night, afraid to sleep lest you miss a single second of this time together. 

Din tucks his face into the side of your neck, inhaling your scent deeply and softly kissing the exposed skin of your shoulders. You wind your fingers through his hair, trying to memorise the rhythm of his heartbeat and his breath.

"You should sleep, mo chuisle,” he whispers against your body. “Tomorrow will be a hard one.”

"Says you,” you whisper in return, enough to elicit a muffled chuckle from the blacksmith. 

He pulls away to look you in the eye, fingers mapping the shape of your features. Even in the low light, you can see how his beautiful eyes glisten: this strong and stoic man, fighting the tears that threaten to fall.

You take his hand and guide it down your body, pausing to hitch up your shift and open your legs. You inhale sharply as his fingers find your pussy, well-practiced now from nights and early mornings spent pleasuring you. 

With a shift of your hips you roll onto your back, bringing Din on top of you. You pause to take in the sight, suppressing the gnawing feeling that this might well be the last time. The glint in his dark eyes. The moonlight illuminating his features. The feeling of his strong, broad body above you, perfectly positioned between your thighs. 

“Make love to me, Din.” 

He does so slowly, carefully, anchoring himself with one hand on your hip and the other still caressing the side of your face. You kiss as he fucks you, your whines absorbed by his soft mouth. No man had ever made you come before Din, you muse, as your cunt pulses around him and you near the edge. No man had ever made you feel like this - not just physically, but emotionally, too. Sex was presented to you before your marriage as a duty, not a pleasure. With Din, though, lovemaking felt like the most beautiful, natural expression of the spiritual connection that existed between the two of you. 

You come almost simultaneously, Din groaning into your shoulder as he fills you with his seed, you biting your lip to stop yourself from crying out. Still inside you, he kisses you, over and over, your hands trailing through his wavy brown locks and fingers grazing against the rough, patchy stubble of his jaw. 

For a moment, you think he’s about to say something. But all he does is kiss you.

It’s still dark outside when you wake, but there’s a comforting glow inside the cottage. You sit up in bed, turning to see Din stoking a small fire in the hearth. He has lit the lamp on the mantle, its flickering yellow flame casting light and shadow through the glass. 

You dress quickly, shivering as your body adjusts to the colder air after the warmth of your shared bed, and cross the room to the little cupboard that holds the few pieces of crockery Din owns. By the time he has climbed the attic ladder to rouse the boy, you’ve set the table for a simple breakfast of bread, butter, and the last of the jam you’d brought with you. 

Gró’s fair hair peeks over his father’s broad shoulder as Din carries him down the ladder. The little boy is still half-asleep, eyes still closed and nestled into the blacksmith’s frame. Din carefully slides him into his usual seat at the table, ruffling his son’s hair as Gró rubs his eyes and yawns. 

“I think some bread and jam will help wake you up, hmmm?” You take a couple of slices of bread from the dish and place them on the boy’s little plate, before pushing the jar of jam in his direction. His dark eyes widen as he looks at you, astonished. This is a rare treat, indeed: usually it’s you or Din who spreads the sweet conserve on his bread, as Gró is liable to be heavy-handed. But this is not a day for rules or restrictions.

“You can have as much as you like, little one.” 

The tears threaten at the sight of Gró enthusiastically scraping the jam out of the earthenware pot, a huge smile on his face as he spoons it liberally onto the soda bread. He takes a huge bite and hums delightedly, before turning to you and beaming. The little boy already has blobs of jam on his cheeks and nose, and the sight makes you chuckle. 

Din returns to the main room carrying a small knapsack containing Gró’s things. He places it alongside your saddlebags before he joins the two of you at the table, giving your hand a squeeze that, you suspect, is intended to reassure him as much as it is you. He keeps a smile on his face, keeps his tone cheery and light, even as his eyes glisten with tears. 

You are saddling Réaltín in the dawn light when Peigí appears down the lane, wrapped in a rough brown cloak and riding her small grey mount. She dismounts swiftly and nods to you. 

“All set?”

“I think so. I left the two on their own for a little bit, just to… well, you know.” You swallow hard and look in the direction of the forge. “It’ll be hard for them.”

Peigí hums in agreement. “Aye, ’twill. But Din’s right. And hopefully that bollocks of a so-called husband will be out of the picture soon enough and you can come home. The prick.”

You can’t help but chuckle at the venom in her tone. “Hopefully. I’m awful grateful to you and your sister, Peigí. I mean, maybe we’re being overly cautious, but…”

She shakes her head, russet curls bouncing. “Not a bit of it. You can never tell with a fucker like that.” The cottage door opens, and Din appears, Gró securely held in his strong arms. 

“And there’s the best boy in all of Ireland!” Peigí races over, taking the knapsack and planting a kiss on Gró’s cheek. “We should probably get going, girleen.”

She tactfully retreats to the horses, giving you, Din, and Gró some space to say your goodbyes. You feel the blacksmith’s broad arm snake around your waist, uncaring as to whether Peigí saw the affectionate gesture - or, more likely, all too aware that she knew exactly what was going on. 

The little boy brings a hand up to touch his father’s handsome face, big eyes scanning Din’s features as if he’s committing them to memory. 

“Ná bíodh eagla ort, grá mo chroí.” [Don’t be afraid, love] The blacksmith smiles, but he’s fighting back the tears as he kisses his son’s golden hair. Instinctively, you rest your head on Din’s shoulder, trying to keep your own emotions in check. 

Gró’s dark eyes fill with tears and his father comforts him with cuddles. “You’ll have a lovely time on the farm, won’t you? And you’ll look after her while you’re on your visit.” He looks at you, and you nod, smiling at Gró.

“Of course he will. He’s a big, brave lad.” The little boy grins at the praise before flinging his arms around Din’s neck for a final tight hug.

“Be good, and take this.” Din reaches into his pocket to produce a small, silvery chain, evidently made by his own hands. A metal disc dangles from it, and you realise that Din has engraved it with his son’s name. He places it over the boy’s head, smiling at Gró as he picks up the pendant and coos at the shiny object.

“We should get going, lads.” Peigí’s voice carries in the still of the early morning, and Din passes his son to you. Gró nuzzles against you, still holding on to the little pendant that hangs from his neck. 

Din’s long fingers find your hand and press something into your palm. He leans in to kiss your cheek. His voice, warm but wavering with emotion, whispers in your ear. 

 “Is tú mo ghrá thú, mo chuisle.” [You are my love, my darling.]

You stifle the sob that’s rising in your chest. 

“I love you too, Din.”

Peigí’s sister Rosie shares her sister’s hardy, forthright personality and her tightly curled auburn hair, but not a lot else. Where Peigí is small, Rosie is tall; where Peigí is talkative and open, Rosie is quiet and reserved. Still, her welcome is genuine, her home comfortable, and you feel at ease from the moment you cross the threshold after a long day’s journey to some semblance of sanctuary.

You retire quickly once you’ve been fed and watered, Peigí sharing with Rosie while you and Gró make do with a settle bed. The little boy falls asleep almost immediately, and you gently kiss his soft cheek, willing him to know that it comes from his father, too.

With the household abed, you can finally look again at Din’s parting gift to you: a chain and pendant, similar to Gró’s. Where the little boy’s bears his name, however, yours carries a symbol, evidently engraved into the metal by the blacksmith himself. Three interconnected spirals - an ancient symbol, one that you recognise from a dolmen tomb that stands in a field not far from your birthplace, one that people in the locality have long speculated about.

Father Carthy would say it is a symbol of the Holy Trinity: three divine beings in one, a sign of early Christians in Ireland. But the storytellers in the townland say it’s far older than any church, its meaning lost to the mists of time.

You trace the three spirals with your fingertip in the darkness. Three as one. For you, that is meaning enough.

He was alone for a long time, Din reminds himself - alone before you, alone even before Gró. He can be alone again.

That said, though, there’s being alone and not knowing anything different, and being alone now. He still automatically goes to the foot of the attic ladder every morning, ready to wake his little boy. He hides the bowl and cup Gró usually uses, because the sight of them makes his heart ache. He throws himself into his work, distracting himself with glowing-hot metal.

And then there is your absence. He had never lived with a woman, not like this; never shared his bed night after night, never loved like this. For the first few days, he wakes with a start when he reaches for your warm, soft body and realises you’re not there. 

He tries not to think about the reality of the situation: the fact that, even if you were to return home tomorrow, you could never be together, at least not while Searlas lived. There are nights when, alone in his bed and desperate for the embrace of your arms, violence tempts Din. In his younger years, he might already have taken matters into his own hands. 

As the days and weeks tick by with no sign of your so-called husband, and no word from Father Carthy, the blacksmith reminds himself to be patient - and not to fall into complacency. He had never really lost that sense of looking over his shoulder: from childhood, from the rebellion, and now he felt glad of it. No one from the community mentions you to him, though he knows they must have heard by now that you had been hiding from Searlas at the forge. He does his repairs as usual, driving into the village with his pony and trap to return items and collect others, pulling his kerchief over his face as he makes his way through the main street lest he spy a troop of redcoats. 

One of the regular customers asks about Gró when he’s returning her extra-large soup pan, newly mended. Din hesitates, but keeps his expression steady.

“He’s spending time with some…cousins,” he explains. “On a farm. It’ll be good for him, he’ll learn from the experience.”

The woman doesn’t ask further, pays up, and retreats back into her little house as Din turns his horse and cart for home. As he gathers speed, he hears a voice calling his name. Father Carthy, clad in his long black cassock and wearing a broad-brimmed hat, is waving to him from the end of the laneway that leads to the chapel. 

“Could you spare me a few moments, Din? Follow me up to the parish house.”

The priest’s house is a decently-sized cottage, larger but not too dissimilar to the majority of the dwellings in the village. Father Carthy might be responsible for the majority of the believers in the community, but his is not the “established” church, the official church of the state and gentry, and as such his home is a far cry from the grand, double-fronted manse occupied by the vicar who tends to the local worthies. Even the location of the chapel, tucked off a narrow laneway behind the main street, is a testament to the lower status of this particular branch of religion.

Din enters, taking off his hat and kerchief, and follows the cleric’s gesture to take a seat near the hearth. Father Carthy does the same, pulling his chair closer to Din.

“I have news. I haven’t been able to find a way to dissuade Searlas from seeking her out, but a little bird tells me that they’re going to change the troops again in a week or so. The current crop has been…rowdy.” The priest purses his lips, mulling over the stories he has heard of public drunkenness, fighting, and even soldiers nonchalantly carousing with women in the pubs and on the street. He decides not to give Din too many of the gory details. 

“So they’re going to be sent elsewhere, split up. Clonmel, I heard, for some, and Castlebar for others. Maybe a few to Cork. There’s ructions, as you can imagine - a rare thing to break up a regiment - but…”

Din meets the priest’s meaningful gaze. “But…he would be gone.”

Father Carthy nods. “It’s not a solution, not forever, but it at least would let her come home to her own place again, and Gró home to you. You were right to send the boy with her, too - who knows what might have happened had he come knocking?”

Din closes his eyes and furrows his brow at the priest’s turn of phrase: “her own place”. It was a reminder of the truth, that you were not - and could not be - his.

Father Carthy gets to his feet, a signal to Din that it was time to go. “In the meantime, I’m going to look more closely into the canon law around annulment. I’m not hopeful, but maybe she might be able to build a case for it. He did abandon her, after all. Anyway -” he opens the door, and Din exits “- it would free her, at least, from the threat of him.”

The blacksmith thanks Father Carthy as he saddles up to head back to the forge, his heart lighter than it had been in weeks. On the road home, Din smiles to himself as he thinks about seeing Gró again, holding his little boy in his arms, watching you give him an extra spoonful of jam at breakfast, tucking him in to sleep at night. He thinks about your eyes, your smile; the feeling and taste of your mouth; the scent of your skin. 

No matter what, he promises himself, no matter the rules or the law or whatever a piece of paper might say: he’ll kiss you again, hold you, take you to bed, and show you how much he missed you.

A couple of days later, as dusk settles, Din lights the lamp and finishes clearing away his lone dinner bowl and mug. Anticipation courses through him as he thinks about seeing two - no, three - places set for the evening meal again. Soon. Soon, they’ll be home.

He yawns and stretches, a hand reaching up to scratch his wavy, dark locks. It had been a hard day in the forge: a run of horses that needed to be shod, urgent repairs, and the difficulty of managing the work itself as well as the bellows and the fire, all by himself. An early night, he decides, might be in order.

He’s in his shirt and breeches when he hears the sound. A horse, its footfall cautious and uncertain, as though it had not been down the laneway before. A rider, barking commands and swearing at the animal. Din pulls his kerchief from his pocket and fastens it around his face before climbing swiftly up the attic ladder. His hand reaches into the thatch, on the other side of the house from Gró’s little bed, and retrieves a pike, smaller in design than the ones he’d hammered by the dozen in 1798 but no less lethal in the right hands. He grips the pike in his right hand, hidden from view while he opens the door with his left.

The rider struggles off his horse, evidently drunk. His scarlet tunic is unmistakable. The light from the cottage illuminates his features: pale, washed-out complexion; unhappy mouth set in a miserable line; hard blue eyes that offered nothing but coldness. 

“Where the fuck is she, then, the stupid fucking bitch?”

Din’s fist tightens around the pike, but he holds his ground, still peering around the door. “Who is it? Who are you?”

Searlas swaggers drunkenly towards the house. “I know you’re a tinker, but you don’t have to play thick with me. You know who I am.” He beats his chest, peacocking as he nears Din’s threshold. “I’m a soldier of the fucking crown, so I am. And I’m here for what’s mine.”

He pokes Din’s broad chest, seeming a little startled at how solid the blacksmith actually is. Searlas’s watery eyes meet Din’s stern gaze. 

“So… where the fuck is she?”

“Whoever you’re after,” Din says, maintaining the same tone he’s used throughout the encounter so far, “they’re not here. I live alone.”

Searlas pushes Din in frustration, and Din recoils a little at the stench of cheap poitín from the other, smaller man. “I know she’s fucking here. The whole fucking place knows.” He steps back and starts to roar upwards, as if addressing you in an attic hiding place. 

“Did you not think I’d find you? You’re that fucking stupid, you would think that. I’m here now, time to go home. You’re mine, remember?” He shakes his fist, swaying a little.

“She’s not here. And even if she was, why do you care so much now? You left her on her own for years, apart from all the other things you did to her.”

Searlas stares at Din, a look of disgust on his face. “So you do know her? She’s full of shit, so she is. Full of lies. Not to be trusted.”

He wheels around again, almost losing his balance completely this time. “You were seen, you lying cunt!”

Din’s fingers clench and release over and over around the pike. He swallows the urge to run this miserable fucker through.

The soldier looks at him through glassy, drunken eyes. “She’s mine, see. And I think I want to take what’s mine. Time she was taught a lesson.” He roars the last word, as if hoping you’ll hear him and emerge.

The blacksmith edges out slightly and stands firmer, broader, in his front door. Searlas stares at him accusingly. 

“D’you fuck her?”

Din holds his body and face completely still, focusing on the grip of the pike and his breathing.

“I said, did you fuck her? Did you fuck my wife?”

Din takes a deep breath. “Do you have the right to call her your wife, after what you did?”

Searlas’s jaw drops in astonishment. Din knew that he was just a bog-standard Irish Catholic soldier signed up for cannon fodder like all the others, but it was clear that the other man believed his uniform made him one of the “betters”, no matter what.

“What did you say to me?”

“I said, do you have the right to call her your wife?”

Searlas almost growls with drunken fury. “I have the right to call her whatever I fucking like.” Din notices his fist tightening by his side and steels himself as the other man approaches, menacingly. 

“I’ll call her what I fucking like,” Searlas repeats, “including calling her what she is. A slut. A liar. A frigid, barren, useless excuse for a woman. And now? She’s filthy, tinker’s whore. That’s all she is. A stupid, ugly, disgusting tinker’s whore.”

The speed with which Din moves takes the soldier by surprise, as does the bright flash of the pike’s blade as it reflects the moonlight. The blacksmith uses the long handle first, roaring as he beats Searlas away with some well-placed blows. He moves with agility and confidence as the soldier fumbles in his sleeves for a weapon, and produces a narrow switchblade dagger.

“I’ll fucking show you, tinker,” he roars, the poitín giving him an exaggerated confidence. “I’ll skin you alive, fucking another man’s wife.”

He lunges at Din, but a swift, measured flick of the pike’s bladed end knocks the dagger to the ground and tears a hole in the scarlet tunic. Now Din presses his advantage, driving Searlas back to his horse.

“Get out of here and leave her alone. Forever. Don’t you ever come near her again.”

A more sober man would have cut and run, and would do so wisely. But Searlas’s selfishness combined with his drunkenness made for a terrible cocktail of aggression and abuse.

“And what will you do, tinker? They should have hanged every last one of you rebel scum in ‘98. Pity that scalp wasn’t ripped from your skull with a pitchcap.” He pats his thighs, as if seeking another blade. “You couldn’t defend yourselves then, why do you think you could stand up to the king’s army now?” He cocks his head and looks at Din, eyes menacing. 

“Or are you just that desperate to defend a thick, useless slut like my wife?”

The grunting, the roars, and the sickening sound of a strong, sturdy fist meeting flesh and bone resonate in the stillness of the twilight. And then another sound, louder still: the unmistakable thud of a man’s body hitting the cold ground. 

[dindjarindiaries]

Hi!!! I saw your prompts and I was hoping to request one for Din. I absolutely love your writing, especially the hurt/comfort.

I was hoping to request: “Seriously, though, I’m fine! Stop making such a big deal out of it!” for Din. Thank you so much!

character: Din Djarin (The Mandalorian)

prompt: “Seriously, though, I’m fine! Stop making such a big deal out of it!”

main masterlist • prompt masterlist

You holstered your blaster as your chest heaved from the fight. You dared to look down at your throbbing leg just to see a streak of red strained across your pants. A quiet curse fell from your lips as you looked up and met Din's visor.

"Nice work." Din nodded as he made his way over to you, his gloved hands holding your shoulders as his visor gave you a once-over. "Are you..." He trailed off as his visor caught your leg.

"I'm fine." You raised a hand to the lip of his helmet and urged him to meet your gaze again. "It's just a scratch."

Din looked between your wound and your eyes a few times. He shifted his weight and sighed. "Cyar'ika..."

You held his helmet between your hands. "I'm fine." You nodded at him. "I promise." You gestured with your head to the nearest exit. "Let's head back to the ship."

Din tilted his helmet, evidently not convinced but allowing you to go on anyway. He was closer to your side—your injured side—than usual, and you tried your best to hide the slight limp you had. This wound would no doubt need a few stitches, but you planned on doing those on your own, once Din was asleep.

You hissed as you rounded a corner, and Din stopped you with a firm hand on your shoulder. You exhaled and raised your brow at him. "Din..."

"Can I at least look at it?" Din's free hand pulled into a tight fist at his side.

You took a quick glance around and nodded. "All right. But we should make it quick."

Din nodded and immediately knelt down, keeping one gloved hand on the non-injured part of your thigh and using the other to look closer at your wind. You inhaled when his fingers got too close, and he pulled them away without hesitation. "They got you good." Din exhaled a worried breath. "This is gonna need stitches."

He stood back to his full height and pointed a finger in the direction of your leg.

"You're lying to me. I know that hurts."

You took his finger and folded it back into place. "I'll live." Din tilted his helmet and took a step closer to you, making you chuckle. "Seriously, though, I’m fine! Stop making such a big deal out of it!" You gave his fist a squeeze. "Can we go now?"

Din looked down at your hands and nodded, though it was reluctant. You shook your head but couldn't help smiling as you once again led the way to the ship. Din was somehow even closer to your side than before, and his visor was fixed more on your leg than it was the way ahead.

Eventually, you got back to the ship, and the first thing Din did was ease you down onto a cargo crate by taking a gentle grasp on your shoulders. You sighed and let him work; if it would make him feel better about it, then you didn't mind.

Din soon knelt down with the medpac and went to work. "This is gonna hurt, I'm sorry."

You lightly scoffed at that. "Please, as if you haven't stitched me up before."

Din's visor glanced up at you for a moment. "That doesn't mean I should stop apologizing for the pain."

You smiled and ran a hand over his helmet. "You're too sweet."

The hand Din had steadied on your thigh gave it a gentle squeeze in shyness. "You're not gonna think that in a second here." He then offered his hand up to you, and you took it between both of yours as he started to fix you up.

You only let out a few tight growls and whimpers as Din worked with the stitches. He took each tight squeeze you gave his hand with grace, as if it didn't bother him in the slightest. He was quick yet efficient, and soon, he had finished up and was bandaging it.

"There." Din's hand that wasn't in yours gave your leg a squeeze. "How's that?"

You offered him a smile that was even warmer than before. "Much better." You held his helmet between his hands and urged him closer. "Thank you, Din."

He rested his helmet against your forehead. "Thank you for letting me take care of it."

You ran your knuckles along his metal cheek. "It's nice to see that you care so much."

Din tilted his helmet at that. "I always will."

main masterlist • prompt masterlist

[theidiotwhowritesthings]

A FRESH START [22]

Din Djarin x F!Reader

Warnings: panic attack, trauma reaction, mentions of injuries, nonsexual nudity

Word Count: 5,935

Updates every Thursday

Summary: When you made plans for your future they never involved being hired by a Mandalorian to baby-sit his adorable, green gremlin of a child. However, after your life fell apart in the span of one disastrous night, you found it to be the only feasible option you had left. Nevarro was a far cry from Coruscant, but the thriving community turned out to be exactly what you needed. Every day you spend in Nevarro you fall more and more in love with your new life, but when your past rears its ugly head you find that perhaps peace wasn’t meant for everyone.

[a/n: i was forced to shorten the taglist for the sake of my sanity. tumblr won't let me post with more than certain number. I think that's why I've had the hardest time with this shit. I made it a first come, first served so if your username got dropped I am so so so sorry but that's why.]

#22: LIKE FATHER, LIKE SON

.

"i find my place in between your arms, in between your tender kisses and soft whispers of 'it will be alright', in between the warmth of your embrace, and the scent of your neck, and the fierceness of your touch, i find my place lost inside your soul." -Hearts and Empires

.

Din was immensely proud of your skills as a physician. However, if you didn’t get your ass out of the damn medic tent he was going to throw you over his shoulder and carry you home forcibly. More than anything, you needed rest. He wasn’t able to convince you to stop working and because the medical aid had yet to arrive no one else sided with him on these matters. Karga had the nerve to tell him to calm down. Din had nearly wrung the High Magistrate’s neck. 

He watched as you flittered around the medical tent aiding those who were injured alongside Aayla. Grogu had refused to leave your side, and that didn’t seem to bother you at all. Right now, as if you weren’t exhausted and barely standing, you had a sling wrapped around your chest which held Grogu against your back. Din could see the little boy resting his head against your back while rubbing your shoulder with his small hand. The sight warmed his heart and Din would be tempted to snap a picture to save if it weren’t for the state of your being. Your scrubs were still stained with blood and you had yet to clean your own wounds. It was stressing Din out to watch you working so hard when you were still in the state you were in.

While turning to see someone else, Din noticed you wavering on your feet. That was enough. He pushed forward and pressed through the injured crowd straight to you. “Hey.” You turned to meet his gaze. “It’s time to go home. You’re barely able to stand.”

“I can’t⏤”

“Ner kar’ta.” Din said firmly.

You sighed. “Alright. Fine.” Your shoulders sagged. “I guess I am a little tired.” Din shook his head, a quiet chuckle slipping from his lips. Your small smile turned sheepish and Din dreaded whatever it was you were going to say next. “I need to make sure Nima has cleared the tarmac though so the medical team can park.”

“What?”

“We need to get⏤”

Din reached his gloved hands out to cup your face. At the contact, the rest of your words fell away. He leaned forward and spoke firmly. “We’re going home. You need to rest. Somebody⏤ Anybody else can do the rest of the work here.” He let his thumb trace your cheekbone. Din wished he could feel your skin against his. “Have you managed all the emergency cases?”

“I mean, yeah, but⏤”

“Then it’s time to take care of yourself.” Din finished.

Your lips pressed together and gave him a small nod. Din let out a breath of relief. Without wasting another moment, Din slipped his hand into yours and began to drag you away before someone could distract you with a new job. Just having your hand in his was a comfort he couldn’t even begin to describe. During his travels, he imagined what his reunion with you would look like often. Never did he imagine karking pirates would be involved, but this feeling in his chest he had anticipated. He knew being back by your side would feel like coming home. In fact, he may have underestimated how strongly the reunion would make him feel⏤ which was quite the feat considering how badly he craved it.

Din stepped into the shared home and he couldn’t help but let out a sigh of relief.

“Frog. Frog.” Grogu chirped. He turned in time to see you untangling the boy from the sling to set on the ground. Grogu bounded further into the room probably to look for his stuffed toy. 

Din focused back on you and his heart ached at the exhaustion painted on your face. Not wasting another moment, Din ripped off his gloves, tossing them aside, and reached out to cup your face. You let out a shuddering breath when his skin came in contact with his and Din felt that last tinge of stress leave his body. You were safe. It felt more real like this. 

“Are you still allowed to take this off to kiss me?” You asked. Din couldn’t tell if your quiet voice came from a meekness or just the weariness of your last 24 hours. 

“Yes.” Din chuckled. “We just need to be more careful.”

Technically speaking, it would be best if he didn’t take his helmet off anymore. Having you close your eyes was not the most ideal of plans. Accidents could happen, and more than anything it was just a loophole in his Creed. However, Din would give up vital organs before he gave up the gift and honor that was kissing you. 

You closed your eyes and Din lifted one of his hands so he could lightly trace your bruised and dirty features. He hummed, “You’re injured and tired. We should take care of that first.”

“Literally nothing is more important to me right now than this.” You replied.

Din hardly needed further convincing. Removing his hands from your face had been painful⏤ even knowing that it was only for a moment so he could take his helmet off. Without the barrier between you and him, your injuries looked worse. The dark coloring of the bruising and the red of the blood was so much more prominent. Din could see bags under your eyes he hadn’t noticed before. With a quiet sigh, Din cupped your face once more.

“Ni ceta.” Din mumbled soft apologies. He leaned in to press his lips first against your left eyelid then your right. He continued to pepper soft kisses across your cheek until they found your lips. Din would be a liar if he said he hadn’t spent every single night while gone imagining what your lips would feel like on his return. And, just as with the reunion, his mental image did not do the moment justice. Din had pictured passion and heat, a battle between one another to devour the other first, but this kiss was not that.

This kiss was soft, tender, and patient.

Three things that Din never got to call his own, living a life of battle in armor of Beskar.

Your lower lip was slotted between both of his and as he gave it a gentle tug you released a shaky sigh. The sound struck him like a hot iron and Din couldn’t help but breathe you in. He pulled you closer so your body was flush with his, let the tip of his tongue trace the shape of your lip, as he deepened the kiss. Din allowed desperation to seep into his very touch. It couldn’t be helped. Din was desperate. He was desperate to feel your very alive heartbeat under his touch. He was desperate for the warmth you exuded. He was desperate to show you how thankful he was for your safety. He was desperate for you to know how proud he was of you. He was desperate for you to know how sorry he was for not being here. 

Din was desperate, and it was all for you. 

“Ni ceta, ner kar’ta.” Din spoke directly against your lips. Nothing short of the Maker would tear him away from you. Your own hands lifted and when he felt your fingers rake against his scalp, tug on his hair, Din’s repeated apology fell out in a groan. Din dragged his lips along your jawline, taking the time to leave a kiss on every inch. Eventually, his lips found your neck and he left kisses over the darkened bruise there. “I’m so sorry.”

“Not your fault.” You replied in a hoarse whimper. 

Din disagreed entirely. He should’ve been here. He never should have left your side. You flinched when his lips touched a spot more tender than the rest. It was barely noticeable. In fact, he wouldn’t have realized you flinched at all if it wasn’t for your body being pressed so tightly to his. It was enough to remind him that you still needed care and rest. Din pressed one last kiss against your lips⏤ innocent and loving. When he pulled back you let out a whine of complaints. Din reached down to grasp his helmet and pulled it back on.

He leaned forward to rest the beskar against your forehead and at the touch your eyes opened once more. More than anything, Din wanted to see the color of your eyes unhindered by his visor. Even with the helmet on he found your eyes mesmerizing but the visor always muted colors. It seemed fitting if he thought about it. Even with the loophole of taking his helmet off, with your eyes closed a part of you stayed hidden to him. Just as he was hidden to you.

“Let me take a look at your wounds.”

“No.” You said and Din furrowed his brow. As if reading his displeasure at the response, you shook your head and clarified. “I meant, not now. I want to take a shower first. I need to.”

Din found it hard to argue against that. You wouldn’t be able to fully relax until the day was washed from your skin. He nodded and walked you further into the house. He kept one hand on your lower back, and Din loved that you kept pace with him. It wasn’t as if you didn’t know where the bathroom was, but the action made it feel like you were just as desperate as he was to stay in the other’s presence.

Grogu waddled out of the hall, dragging his stuffed frog behind him, just as the two of them reached the mouth of the hallway. He held his hands up, chirping out a request to be held, and Din knelt down to scoop the boy up before you could. Grogu blew a raspberry at him. “No buir. Need Ma.”

“I know, ad’ika.” Din replied. “But Ma has to take a shower.”

Grogu grumbled in protest, but when you reached out to lovingly pet the boy’s head Grogu was marginally appeased. As you drifted to the bathroom, Din gathered a fresh towel for you and he also grabbed one of his shirts for you to change into. A decision made solely to relieve the itch in his brain that needed to see you safe in his bed wearing his clothes, but you accepted both items with a tired smile. 

When the door shut and he heard the water kick on, Din blew out a breath of relief. He glanced down at Grogu who was still staring at the bathroom door. “It’s good to be home, isn’t it ad’ika?”

“Home with Ma.” Grogu nodded in agreement.

“Right.” Din chuckled. “We’re home with Ma.”

The hot water pelted your back and left your skin radiating heat. You had washed your hair, begun to wash your body, but midway through you dropped the bottle of soap. As you knelt down to pick it up, you suddenly had a flash of kneeling beside Wynn’s dead body. It sucked the air straight from your lungs and knocked you to your ass. Now you sat under the unrelenting stream of water with your legs curled up to your chest⏤ gasping in distress. Any air you did manage to fill your lungs with was uncomfortable and brought no relief. It felt like you were suffocating. 

A choked sob left your lips as you buried your face in your arms as they rested atop your knees. No matter how much you tried to turn your tired mind off, it continued to ruminate on the decisions you made. If you hadn’t forced Wynn to leave, would she still be alive? She wanted to wait for help. You felt trapped in this memory. A loop of telling Wynn she needed to run followed by watching the life leave her eyes right in front of you. You could still feel the warmth of her hot blood while holding her wound⏤ still feel the snapping of her ribs during the course of your desperate CPR. All useless. You didn’t save her. You sent her to her death. 

The sensation of having a towel thrown over your shoulders was startling. Your head snapped up to see Din knelt beside you. The shower head was off, Din’s gray pajama shirt plastered to his body on the side from water, and just behind him you could see the bathroom door hanging off it’s hinges.

“Ner kar’ta.” Din’s voice was rough. “Please talk to me.”

“Din?” You gasped. He had the large towel wrapped entirely around your body covering every inch of you. “What⏤ I don’t understand⏤”

“I heard something fall. I called out for you, over and over, but you didn’t respond.” Din replied. His voice took a sheepish tone. “I⏤I broke through the door.” He let his arms run over the towel covering your arms, giving them a squeeze. “Found you like this. Even when I turned the water off you still didn’t…”

It was the sight of your reflection in his visor and helmet that seemed to push you over your edge. Tears welled in your eyes and once the first ragged sob left your lips it was followed quickly by a string of others. Despite the fact that you were sitting on a tiled floor soaked with puddles, Din sat down right beside you and cautiously pulled you into his arms. You tucked yourself against his chest, and he fully enveloped you with his arms while resting his head on top of yours.

“It’s okay. You’re safe.” Din murmured. “Do you want to talk about it?”

You shook your head. Your sobs only interrupted by the sound of your lungs gasping for air. Din tightened his arms around you, a feat you didn’t know was possible, and you found comfort in his solid form. Din was here. Din made everything better. You weren’t sure how long the two of you sat there, but eventually Din mumbled softly, “We need to get you dressed. You’ll be cold soon.” You didn’t tell him that you’d never feel cold in his hold. “Need to treat your wounds too.”

Din helped you stand. He cautiously led you out of the shower, arm around your torso, and he stopped you in front of the bathroom counter. “I’m going to get the first aid kit from the kitchen. Are you going to be alright?”

You nodded. Din paused, as if hesitant, before returning the nod and moving toward the door. He mumbled a curse under his breath, you could hear it, and then he grabbed the large chunks of the door that had broken off when he rammed it to set aside where nobody would trip over them. While he was out, you grabbed his shirt and tugged it on⏤ using the damp towel to try and pat dry the dripping ends of your hair. Din returned, his visor scanning your body, before he settled beside you again.

With a focused intensity, Din applied a bit of bacta to the wound at your hairline and then rubbed some of it into the bruise around your neck as well. In the midst of his work, you whispered, “Wynn is dead.” Din’s fingers paused in their motion, surprise reading in his frame, but he was quick to return his movements and stance back to baseline. “She’s dead and I didn’t tell anybody. I forgot to tell someone.” Tears returned to your eyes. “I just left her in the street, Din. I left her like she meant nothing.”

“Hey.” Din said firmly. “This was during the firefight, was it not?” You nodded in confirmation. “You had no choice, ner kar’ta. That wasn’t your fault.”

“I think it was.” Your words fell out a pained whisper.

Din’s hands lifted to cradle your face and you leaned into his touch. It felt like he wanted to say something, but he paused. Instead, Din tangled his hand with yours and pulled you out of the bathroom. He didn’t ask, didn’t even hesitate, to pull you into his room. The moment you entered you heard Grogu’s familiar snores and it was such a comforting sound to hear after weeks sleeping in silence that you nearly cried. Din pulled back the covers and helped you slide in.

Rather than follow you into bed, he took a step back and the look on your face must have been obvious enough that he reached out to caress your face. “I’m coming back. I need to change clothes.”

Your eyes focused on the large wet stains from where you had been curled up into him. Din crossed the room and your eyes widened and bit when he began to pull his shirt off. His movements were confident and it warmed your heart that he was comfortable enough with you to reveal himself like this. Your eyes trailed over the expanse of his muscular back⏤ admiring the rugged lines of his broad shoulders and the various scars that littered his skin. Din pulled a new shirt on and you expected him to come back. Instead, Din began to pull off his sweatpants. Slowly, you sat up, pulling the sheets closer to you, and you couldn’t help but let your eyes trace the shape of his lower half. You were blatantly ogling this man in his boxer briefs as he tugged on a new pair of sweats. Before turning back around, you saw him pick up his vambrace, pressing a few buttons, before setting it down once more.

Din turned around, tying the strings at his waistband, and he chuckled. His voice came out as teasing and light hearted. Clearly trying to put you at ease. “Are you checking me out, ner kar’ta?” 

“I missed you so much.” You replied. Too tired, physically and emotionally, to tease back the way that you wanted to. Instead, the truth tumbled out of your lips.

He came back around to the bed and slipped under the sheets. As Din’s arm wrapped around your waist, you let him pull you back into laying down. You shifted so your head rested on his chest and Din began to drag his knuckles up and down your spine. “I missed you too. Being away from you was unbearable for Grogu and I both.” Din hummed. “He tried to stay up for you, but passed out. Grogu didn’t sleep well last night. I think my anxiety kept him up.” Your hand was resting on his side⏤ fingers dragging up and down his ribs. You mumbled into his chest. Din’s hand, the one rubbing your back, trailed up to rake through your hair. “I want to talk.”

“About?” You mumbled.

“Ner kar’ta.”

You let out a soft chuckle. “Din…”

“You don’t have to talk to me, you don’t have to tell me anything, but…” Din sighed, “I’d like to know. I want to help.” He massaged the back of your neck right where it met your skull and all your tension sat. A soft sigh left your body as you relaxed in his arms. “I sent Karga a message about Wynn. They’re going to find her. Put her to rest.” You buried your face down into his chest knowing your tears would dampen his new shirt all over again. “I just want to help.”

After a few moments of peaceful silence where you listened to Grogu’s snores and Din’s heartbeat, you turned so your face wasn’t pressed into his chest and you could speak. Hesitantly, you began to tell him what happened⏤ starting with the bombs that fell on Nevarro and ending with Paz leading you out of the burning city as you carried Elodie. The entire time Din didn’t speak. He’d mumble an acknowledgement or hum here and there, but he made no comment. 

When you finished, Din finally spoke up, “Tell me why you said what you did. You said what happened to Wynn was your fault.”

“She didn’t want to go. She wanted to stay hidden and wait for help.” You closed your eyes tightly as the memory of Wynn’s lifeless eyes assaulted you once more. “If I had listened to her she might be alive. Help did come. I⏤I should have been more patient.”

“Ner kar’ta, you made that decision based on the limited information you had. You didn’t know I was coming and bringing help. Where the three of you were hidden wasn’t safe. If one of the pirates did discover you, you’d be pinned down in a hole.” Din spoke with a firmness that left no room for argument. “In that moment, you made the best decision you could. You made the right decision.” He used the arm not around you to grasp your chin and tilt your head up so you were facing his visor. “Listen to me, ner kar’ta. That was not your fault. You did not take Wynn’s life, she gave it to save Elodie. Wynn is a hero. Don’t take that from her by shouldering needless blame.”

There was something about the way Din spoke that resonated with you. His words calmed the turmoil in your soul. Din could repeat the same sentiment that anyone else would speak, but when it came from his lips it soothed your wounds like a salve. He couldn’t heal everything, there was self reflection only you could puzzle through, but he was a hand to hold as you waded through the worst of it.

“Din…” You started. Before you finished your sentence, it occurred to you that the words you wanted to say were significant. You wanted to tell Din you loved him. That’s what you felt right now. It was overwhelming. It was all encompassing. 

Din still had his hand at your chin and he let his large hand shift from your chin to your jaw. He held the side of your face and let his thumb trace patterns in your skin. “Yes, ner kar’ta?”

Saying those words felt like quite the leap. You were confident in the way you felt about him and how he felt about you, but there was a part of you that couldn’t quite push the words out. You were too mentally wiped out to process those thoughts right now. Not knowing how else to express how grateful you were for this man, you turned your face so you could press a kiss to the palm of his hand.

Din let out a content sigh and he shifted his body so you could rest more comfortably against him. He hummed and you heard the rumble of it in his chest. “Get some rest. I’ll be here when you wake up.” He went back to soothingly dragging his fingers up and down your spine. “I’ll always be here.”

You let your eyes close and took a slow breath as Din’s warmth and the comforting smell of him lulled you into the best sleep you’ve gotten since Din and Grogu left. 

Nevarro was in pieces. Rubble decorated the streets and buildings were in shambles. Despite how terrible it looked, Din couldn’t help but be proud of the citizens of the city he looked after. They were strong. Nevarro was already healing only days after the attack. Din walked down the street with Grogu in his arms. The boy was squirming, wanting to get down, but with the rubble and debris Din didn’t want him wandering around. As he walked down the street, every once in a while a person would pause to thank him for bringing help⏤ bringing the Mandalorians. Din would nod in response, but it would shoot a pang of guilt through his chest. He didn’t deserve thanks. He had left them after all.

Din’s steps slowed as he began to pass the school house. Outside of the building, a memorial had been set up for Wynn. Candles, flowers, and cards covered the front steps and Din found himself letting out a sigh. The school teacher was a hero. Din meant that seriously when he spoke to you. It hadn’t been your fault, absolutely not, and both you and Wynn were the reason Elodie was alive and well. Her and her parents were currently off world. The little girl needed more intensive care than could be provided here, but last Din heard the child was doing very well.

“Miss?” Grogu mumbled. Din recognized the title Grogu would call his teacher. 

“Yes, ad’ika.” Din confirmed. Grogu’s ears wilted as he stared at the memorial. Din rubbed Grogu’s back and began to walk again with the goal to reach the clinic. You had left home early to go to work. You’d be there for any emergencies, per the norm, but you were also using today to see many of the people who were injured the day of for follow up. To ensure everyone was healing as they should. Din was of the opinion that you needed more rest, if not physical then mental, but trying to convince you of that was a near impossibility.

When Din reached the corner, Bo Katan pushed off a wall to join his pace. Her helmet was tucked under her arm. The Armorer had announced that the Mandalorians needed to come together rather than fall apart. It was a sentiment he could understand. Mayfeld had asked him about the helmet situation. Mandalorians coming together was a good idea, Din agreed, but coming to coincide with one another didn’t change the Creed he had dedicated himself to.

“Once this place gets cleaned up, I can see it being a nice place to live. To settle.” Bo hummed. Din nodded once, and she glanced his way. “I’m glad your partner is safe.”

“Thank you.” Din replied sincerely. 

“There is something I’d like to speak to you about.”

“I figured.” He said. “Does this have anything to do with retaking Mandalore?”

Bo chuckled, “Good guess.”

“What about it?”

“Well,” Bo kept by his side, “Is there anything I can say that will convince you to come with me to reclaim my fleet from Axe Woves?”

Din didn’t pause even a beat when he answered. “No. There isn’t.”

Bo sighed in annoyance and Din briefly felt guilt at the waves of frustration wafting off of Bo’s tense frame. Half of him felt like it was his duty to help in any way to restore Mandalore, but the other half could not even begin to fathom leaving you again. It occurred to Din that this might be selfish of him. His people needed him, right? He locked his jaw at the thought. 

“Your help would make this all go smoother, I think. We make a good team.” Bo said.

Din chuckled, “Did that hurt you to admit?”

“It did.” Bo smirked. “Which is why you should take it seriously.”

Din paused when the clinic came into view. He turned to face Bo and shook his head. “It’s not that I don’t want to help. Retaking Mandalore is a noble endeavor. One I would be honored to help in.” He paused. “But my family is here. I got lucky during that attack. I... I almost lost her.”

“I understand that.” Bo replied. “I know the weight of what I’m asking you, Djarin. I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t think it was important.”

Din glanced back to the clinic and did a double take when he saw you coming out. A smile began to form on his features, but it fell when he watched Paz walk out behind her with Ragnar by his side. His eyebrows furrowed in confusion. You were wearing your white coat, a look Din truly loved on you, and Paz was chatting with you about something. Something that made you laugh in response. Since when was Paz funny? 

“Didn’t know you were the jealous kind, Djarin.” Bo chuckled.

Din snapped a glare at her. “I’m not jealous.”

“It’s all over your face.”

“I’m wearing a helmet.”

“Yet somehow I still know it is.”

Din grunted in mild annoyance. He wasn’t jealous. Per say.  It was just like with Vanth. Din was confident enough in his relationship with you, even as undefined as it currently was, that he wasn’t worried about someone sweeping you away. Din just had a bad habit of accidentally letting his possessive nature show and there was something about seeing his brother flirt with you that stirred him into wanting to fight.

Both you and Paz glanced down at Ragnar who must have been speaking and you set a hand on the boy’s shoulder with a smile. 

“Hm. They’d make a cute family.” Bo teased.

“Stop.” Din snapped.

He was caught off guard when Grogu jumped out of his arms. Him and Bo quickly followed after the boy who was in a mad rush toward you. Din watched as his son shoved past Ragnar, making the boy stumble enough that Din had a feeling the Force was involved, before leaping into your arms. 

“Oh, hey, baby.” You cooed.

“Ma. My Ma.” Grogu cuddled into your arms while shooting Ragnar a glare. 

Bo glanced at Din. “Aw. Like father, like son.”

Din wished he could take his helmet off just so Bo could see the full weight of the glare he currently wore. He continued forward until your eyes shot to him and the bright smile that filled your features just from spotting him. 

“What are you guys doing here?” You asked.

“Just checking in on you.” Din replied. Bo cleared her throat and Din sighed before nodding his head toward the woman standing beside him. “This is Bo Katan Kryze. Bo, this is Soran.”

You held your hand out to shake Bo’s hand and the red headed woman returned the greeting. Paz let one of his large hands settle on your shoulder and Din felt himself bristle at the motion. His older brother chuckled. “No need to worry. Wero’ika is doing more than fine.”

“Yeah, Paz brought me a late breakfast.” You chirped. 

Yeah, okay, Din was going to murder him.

“Oh, hang on,” You glanced over your shoulder, “I see a problem patient walking in. I’m not gonna subject Aayla to that.”

Din nodded once and you shot Bo and Paz a smile, squeezing Ragnar’s shoulder as well despite Grogu’s complaints, and then you turned to leave. As soon as you were inside the clinic, Din turned to Paz with a grunt. “Wero’ika? What the kriff is that?”

“A nickname, Djarin.”

“Mir’sheb.” Din snarled and Paz laughed in response. Ragnar tugged on his father’s arm before pointing off to the side. Paz nodded, telling him to be cautious, before the boy ran off to play with a group of kids down the street.

Bo chuckled. “I didn’t realize this was the beginning of a love triangle. Interesting.”

“It isn’t.” Din said.

Paz tilted his head and crossed his arms. “I’m unaware of Soran being in possession of a token of intention.”

“I’m working on it.” Din said through clenched teeth.

“Perhaps, I’ll work on it faster.”

Din knew Paz was just trying to get under his skin. Part of his frustration was the fact that it was working. His hands drifted to rest on his hips as he clenched and unclenched his jaw. Paz was smug. Din had known him long enough to recognize the set of his shoulders. 

“I’m⏤” Din began then cleared his throat. “I’m giving her time.”

“You’re wasting her time.” Paz argued with a chuckle. “Wero’ika⏤”

“Don’t call her that like you know her.” Din cut in. “A lot just happened. I’m not going to rush her into anything.”

He glanced from Paz to Bo then back to Paz. Din gave the man a gruff good-bye before pushing past the two of them to head into the clinic. He greeted Miriam at the front desk. Before he could cross the threshold into the main room, the young woman caught his attention and let him know that you were down the hall instead. Din furrowed his brow in confusion, but walked down to find you sitting in the break room snipping the sutures off a patient’s wound.

“Marshal.” The patient greeted with a nod that Din returned.

Grogu was playing with a latex glove on the counter while you worked. You shot him a smile before focusing back on your work. Din settled beside his son, leaning against the counter, and just admired you with a sense of calm. He wondered if Paz was right. Not a line he’d ever say out loud, but Din wondered if he was just finding another excuse to hide behind. He wasn’t sure what he was so afraid of. You’ve made your interest in him very clear, the two of you shared a bond like he’d never experienced before, but still he hesitated.

“Alright, it looks good. No need to restrict yourself, but if it starts bothering you again just let me know.” You smiled. The patient thanked you, gave him a final good-bye, then left. You wandered over to where he stood with Grogu and began to wash your hands in the sink. “Hey, so your brother seems cool.”

Din grunted. “Who Paz?”

“Yeah.” You turned the faucet off and grabbed a few paper towels. “I thought he might not like me because I yelled at him during the battle.” Din’s eyes widened. He’d have to ask about that. “But instead I think I accidentally earned his respect? Also, what does ‘wero’ika’ mean?”

Din chuckled. “Little Problem.”

Your jaw fell open. “He’s been calling me a little problem this entire time?” Din nodded. “Son of a bitch. I’m gonna need you to teach me something amusing and mildly rude to call him in return.”

“Oh, I can think of some names for him.” Din replied. He cleared his throat. “I, uh, wanted to talk to you about something, but don’t feel any pressure with this, alright?” You quirked an eyebrow at him. Your eyes briefly glanced at Grogu and you shot your hand out to snatch the latex glove from Grogu’s mouth and wagged a finger at him. “I left to redeem myself. To restore my Creed with the plans to…” Din shifted awkwardly. “To court you.” The corner of your lips curled up. “I know a lot has happened recently, so again there is no pressure here, but I wanted to…make my intentions known.”

You reached out and wrapped your hand above his elbow, between his armor plates, and gave it a small squeeze. “Din, I appreciate your patience and concern, but I⏤ I want this. I want you.” He sucked in a sharp breath. “So, just tell me how we do this. How does Mandalorian courting work? Do I sign on the dotted line or…?”

Din laughed, in part due to relief, “No. Nothing like that. I have…” He reached to the back of his belt to unhook the blade and sheath that was once his. Din brought it around to hold out to you and you stared at the blade curiously. “In Mandalorian custom, a token of intention is given to the person being courted and to accept it means accepting those advances.” Din cleared his throat again. Maker, his mouth was dry. “Tokens are usually a weapon with the person’s signet on it.”

He pulled the blade out of the sheath enough that you were able to see the mudhorn etched into the blade’s side. Din tucked the blade back into the sheath and gave you a small nod. With a bright smile, you took the blade from his hands and he felt like his heart was going to explode in his chest watching you run your finger against the mudhorn.

You held the blade against your chest and nodded. “I accept, Mandalorian.”

Grogu began to clap his hands together and you broke out into laughter that relaxed every single bone and muscle in his body. The only regret Din had was not doing this at home where he could pull his helmet off and kiss you.

mando'a translations:

ni ceta: sorry wero'ika: little problem ner kar'ta: my heart mir'sheb: smartass

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