#mando/f!reader

[omgreally]

Defeat

Defeat - E 18+ - Din Djarin/F!Reader - 900 words Warnings: fluff with a side of smut. The post-Season 3 drabble nobody asked for.

Din Djarin's brooding again.

You are fairly certain he does it unconsciously, like breathing, protecting Grogu, or beating the living shit out of people. Usually, there's a correlation between those. But then there are the quiet moments, the softer moments in between the more visceral ones.

It's like he doesn't know what to do with himself now except exude an aura of I-really-wish-I-was-killing-someone-right-now.

He's sitting on the porch, feet up, watching Grogu levitate some frogs.

"Retirement doesn't suit you, Djarin," you tell him, not for the first time.

The helmet turns, and Mando--Djarin--lowers his feet as if he's ashamed, as if he's been caught doing something he shouldn't, like relaxing. To a Mandalorian, that's tantamount to heresy.

He still keeps his helmet on when he's outside.

You approach slowly, as if he's a wild animal, stopping short of extending your hand for him to sniff. The impassive helmet just stares. So you insinuate yourself onto his lap, and the vocoder digitizes a soft noise as you settle with your back against his chest.

"What are you ruminating about this time?" You watch Grogu juggle a family of amphibians, giggling.

"Nothing," Din Djarin says, a fuzzy rumble against your back. He moves your hair away from your neck, and you shiver at the brush of his gloved fingers. His thumb finds a knot in your trapezius and presses in firmly.

"Liar," you reply, but without any real venom. He's working the knot out with slow circles, and it feels quite nice, actually.

"I think I know the problem," you say, trying not to groan. He makes a noise which means go on, lifting the hairs on the back of your neck. "You're bored. There's not enough adrenaline in your system when nobody's been trying to kill you for a while."

Djarin is silent, which means you're right, but I don't like it.

"Think Grogu can keep himself occupied for a while?" you add, with the dark heat of the forge in your voice and your fingers drifting back along the outside of his thigh.

He stands, and you slip off his lap. "Perimeter's active," he says. "He won't wander too far."

There was a time when he wouldn't let Grogu out of his sight. A robust security system--the one you installed--helped. You're impossibly glad you did as you let Din Djarin grab your hand and lead you back inside the house.

He turns off the lights. Clothes hit the floor like bodies amid the thunk of weaponry and armour. Calloused skin meets yours, and you fight to kiss him, but he dodges away and applies his mouth, impossibly warm, to your neck and lower.

You don't make it easy for him. He handles you delicately--for him--but each touch weakens his defense. The sweep of your fingers over his chest, his stomach, disarms him. He wrestles to pin you to the wall, but he knows he's defeated. The battle was lost the moment he took your hand.

The bed is soft, and Din Djarin is hard above you, inside you. The stretch and burn of him is enough to unmake you. But he is trembling, his mouth open against the hollow of your collarbone, panting as if he's been running for his life. You wrap your legs around his waist and draw him in closer. His scalp is damp beneath your fingertips.

But Mando has always been pinpoint-accurate with both his aim and his timing. He rears back enough to reach between your bodies, and his trigger finger settles on your clitoris. He knows when to strike a last-minute killing blow, and this is it. You curse and cry his name, and you can just about see, in the dim half-light from under the door, the curve of a triumphant grin on his face, and that's what it does you in.

The blinding rise of your orgasm crests, burning through your nerves from his fingers and his cock. You clench around him and try to cover your own mouth with your hand, but he drags it away, pins it to the bed and leans forward to growl in your ear, "I want to hear you."

You writhe and sob, but the Mandalorian is relentless, driving into you with the force of a man possessed, to whom surviving the next thirty seconds is the only option he has left. It's not until you're limp and spent beneath him that he stops moving, that he withdraws his hand and lets you go so you can breathe again.

He keeps his weight off you, his arms bracketing your head, hips pressed to yours, savouring the twitch and shudder of you around him.

"You win," you croak as soon as your ability to speak returns.

"Just because you've surrendered doesn't mean I'm done with you yet," he says, and shifts a little atop you. Oversensitive, you gasp at the hard, wet slide of him; nearly frictionless, he's so deep inside you that you ache.

"I can't," you gasp.

But you can. And you do. And so does he.

Afterwards, he tells you it's a draw.

When you head back outside, limping a little--and there's a definite swagger to Djarin when he notices that--Grogu is more or less where you left him, sitting by the pond. His bat-wing ears twitch, and he babbles happily as the Mandalorian picks him up.

"Hey," you say, frowning as you notice something. "All the frogs are gone."

Grogu burps.

Din Djarin sighs. "Guess he won, too."

♥

[imaswellkid]

Cee, this new masterlist is the sexiest thing my archivist brain has seen in a while. I think it's in love.

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Hi, I'm Cee (she/her)! I write romantic comedies for Pedro Pascal characters and I update slowly. If you're new around here and want a taste of my writing, I suggest you start with the drabbles, which are the shortest and a good way to see if it's for you.

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[absurdthirst]

Riduur in Training {Mando x F!Reader}

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 14.3k

Warnings: Sexual training/grooming, mentions of creeds and honor, cults, playing fast and loose with Mandalorian traditions, removing helmets, forced weddings, nudity, masturbation, oral sex (male and female receiving), loss of virginity, fingering, vaginal sex, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, humiliation, dishonor, pregnancy

Comments: You arrive with the Armorer to take your place as Din Djarin's riduur, one that he had no warning of. Trained to be the spouse of the next leader of the covert - you will be dar'manda if he rejects you. And Din is horrified to learn that you have been trained for his pleasure.

A/N: We leaned into the cult-like mindset for this fic. Beware.

Co-written with @storiesofthefandomlovers

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|| MasterList || The Mandalorian MasterList ||

Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.

“It is your duty to wed Din Djarin.” You have heard these words for weeks now, nerves settling in your belly even though nothing of your anxiety is reflected in the dark visor of the beskar helmet covering your face. You swallow as the ship bringing you to Nevarro starts its descent into the atmosphere and you hear the comm tower direct the Armorer to a docking bay near the town, but she ignores that and turns to the north of the city. Making you chew your lip as the lava flats pass underneath and you see the rockiness of the desert starts to appear. This will be your home, where you will make your family. With Din Djarin, as his riduur, only he doesn’t know it yet. 

Another day in Nevarro and Din is settling down to clean his weapons when there’s a knock at his door. Grogu is at school and he is immediately on edge. Working fast to put his blaster together, he stands up and slowly makes his way to the door, pressing the button to open it just as he aims the weapon. “Din Djarin.” The Armorer greets him and he lowers his blaster but keeps it in his hand. His eyes flick beneath the visor between the Armorer and the mysterious Mandalorian beside her. “Can I help you?” He asks, a little perturbed at being disturbed in his solitude.

The mandalorian in front of you does not seem to be expecting you. Your stomach bottoms out and the Armorer speaks again. “We have some business with you.” She doesn’t wait for an invitation, stepping inside the house and you reluctantly follow. You’ve heard of him, seen him from afar but his beskar is impressive upclose. Taller and broader than you imagined, you feel your cunt clench as you imagine this warrior bedding you. He steps back and you look around the little house that he has been living in since the retaking of Mandalore. It’s suitable, but you can tell that he’s not frivolous or used to creature comforts. You can change that for him. 

Din is tense, his shoulders back and his legs spread evenly in case this is some kind of trap. He trusts the Armorer to an extent but his upbringing means he doesn’t trust anyone, not even himself. “The business?” He asks, not offering a refreshment like his fellow Nevarrians would. He is a Mandalorian through and through.

“It is time that you take a riduur.” The Armorer tells Din with a hint of irony in her clear voice. You can tell that he’s shocked by the way he rears back and you know that he had no clue what the covert and Mandalore had planned for him. “I have brought you the woman you will enter a riduurok with, create warriors. She is fertile.” 

Din can’t help it. He lets out a shocked chuckle and he shakes his helmet, “I do not want a riduur. I have said this many times.” 

Your helmet tilts towards the Armorer who shakes her head, “you have avoided the responsibility long enough. As a Mandalorian, it is your duty, your creed, to protect the covert and that includes breeding to add to our numbers. This one is made for you. She will do as you say. You simply have to breed her after your riduurok.” 

Din’s fingers flex against the side of his blaster, “I am not ready.”

Still, you don’t speak, even though your head turns towards the Armorer when you are so obviously being rejected by the man you have been raised to marry. “You are ready.” She insists, motioning towards the other rooms where the child that Din has taken under his wing is obviously napping. “Your young charge would do well with having brothers and sisters to help him.”

Din sees you step forward and he shakes his head, “she’s not staying. I do not want a riduur. You need to take her back to the covert.” He demands and shakes his head. “I am not suitable for a riduur. I never will be.”

“If you do not take her as your riduur, you will be dar’manda once more.” She insists. “Part of your creed was to the covert and the covert requires this of you. Mandalore requires this.” The Armorer tells him and you feel ashamed that you are obviously lacking whatever quality that Din requires in a riduur. 

“I will be a good riduur.” You tell him. “Trained vigorously for one day giving life to the next generation of Mandalorians.”

Din recoils, not wanting a bride who hand picked for him, reared for him. It is a practice he knew of back when the Mandalorian fled Mandalore and had to recoup their numbers. He doesn’t want to be dar’manda again. He had to find the waters to redeem himself before and it’s not a journey he wishes to repeat. He swallows harshly and takes a moment, “fine. Join us now.” He demands, wanting to get this over with.

The Armorer nods in approval but you almost wish to protest. He does not seem happy. However, you do not say a word, being trained that this is your fulfillment of the Creed. Your duty to Mandalore is to marry Din and have his ad. Your gloved hand reaches out to join with his, only to be ignored by the bounty hunter. You drop your hand, happy that you have not removed your helmet yet due to your embarrassment. “Repeat your vows.” The Armorer insists, turning her head towards you to start. 

Taking a deep breath, you begin to speak. “Mhi solus tome, mhi solus dar'tome, mhi me'dinui an, mhi ba'juri verde.” You recite softly, hoping that Din just needs some time to adjust to the idea of a riduur.

Din inhales deeply as you recite your vows and he isn’t sure what he could say to prevent this. All he can do is take you as his riduur, offer you shelter and make sure you’re well kept. He won’t touch you to consummate the riduurok. He sighs and looks at you. Wondering what you look like beneath the helmet. “Mhi solus tome, mhi solus dar'tome, mhi me'dinui an, mhi ba'juri verde.” He repeats, back stiff.

Once the vows are repeated, you reach for the locks on your helmet. The Armorer had warned you that Din was also a part of her sect, he did not remove his helmet as you might, in front of others. You only hope that he might remove it once she leaves and you are alone. Slowly slipping the Beskar off your head, you look up into the visor of your now riduur. “Hello, Din.” You greet him softly with your name, since that hadn’t even been exchanged.

His eyes widen under the helmet. You’re gorgeous. He is taken back by your beautiful face and it is a few moments until he recovers. “Hello.” He says your name but doesn’t take off his helmet. “Is that all?” He turns to look at the armorer.

“I will leave you to become better acquainted.” The armorer seems pleased as she clasps her hands together. “She has never had a man, so take care her first time.” 

You bite your lip, embarrassed that she would be so casual with that information, although he is now your riduur. “Thank you for bringing me here, safe journey back to Mandalore.” 

The Armorer nods. “This is the way.” You repeat the phrase and soon she has disappeared out of the house to leave you alone with Din.

Din sighs as he makes his way back to the table, disassembling his blaster so he can continue with the work he was doing before he was interrupted. “If you have things…you can take the spare room.” He jerks his helmet towards the door across the cabin, opposite of his room and Grogu’s. He doesn’t plan to consummate the riduurok. He plans to leave you untouched. He did as the Armorer asked and he has fulfilled the requirement of his creed.

Tilting your head, you stare at the Mandalorian that both the Armorer and Bo-Katan have talked about with pride. He is uninterested in you. “Do you wish that I had a cock instead of a cunt?” You ask bluntly, wondering if he preferred male companionship. “I know that we must have sex to breed and if you prefer, you can take me from behind.” You offer. “I can use my mouth to arouse you?”

Din snorts, he can’t help it. “No. I don’t wish you had a cock. I don’t wish - I do not wish to take you without us - I don’t know. We don’t know each other and now you’re my riduur. I am not consummating this riduurok. You are welcome to live here but I will not touch you.” He says with finality.

You stare at him in shock. “But we have to.” You insist. “Part of our vows are to create warriors.” You are panicking slightly since this is what you’ve been trained to do. Be a Mandalorian spouse and to bear his children. “We cannot have warriors if you don’t fuck me.”

“I do not desire warriors. I have a foundling. I don’t want ads.” He tells you and you appear gobsmacked. “I’m sorry, riduur. I did not ask for this. I was perfectly happy on my own in my cabin here. The Armorer wishes for more than I can give.” He says, grabbing the cloths to start cleaning his blaster.

It’s clear when he doesn’t speak again and refuses to look your way that he is ignoring you. Speechless, you turn and walk towards the door that he had motioned to. The spare room where you were supposed to sleep. Your pack with all your belongings was still on your shoulder and you felt like giving him some time might be best.

Din diligently cleans his weapons, taking more time than necessary to do so. He sighs when he hears the door open and he looks up after putting his last blaster together to find you standing before him. “Why- dank ferrik what are you- why are you naked?” He demands to know, turning his helmet to avoid looking at you to give you some dignity.

You are used to your own nudity, spending hours naked in the covert while other Mandalorians barely undress for their showers, or don’t undress at all if they use a sonic shower. “So you can breed me.” You answer, moving closer to him. “I wish for you to breed your warrior into my belly. I can provide great satisfaction and pleasure to you.”

Din recoils, confused by your desire for him to get you pregnant, for you to pleasure him. “Riduur. Why…you act like you’ve been raised for this?” He offhandedly comments. “I don’t want to fuck you, to breed you. Please. Get dressed.” He pleads, unable to look at you.

“This is my purpose.” You are so confused and distressed by his attitude. Has he not been taught that for breeders to keep to the Creed, they must exhaust all efforts to bear warriors? “I have no wish to be dar’manda.” You shake your head. “I will learn however you wish to receive pleasure and make sure that you are satisfied every time.”

Din can’t believe what he’s hearing. “I don’t - that isn’t what you are here for. Your creed…it’s not to be my baby machine, riduur. I will not breed you. You will not pleasure me. I will not touch you. Please get dressed.” He says coldly, deciding that acting like he’s indifferent to you would make you do what he says.

You start shaking, terrified of breaking your creed and you can’t help the tears that start falling. “I’ve - I’m going to be- I can’t- I’ve failed.” You sob, turning around and rushing back into the room that you had undressed in. The Armorer had assured you that Din would breed you and now you are being rejected.

Din sighs, closing his eyes beneath the helmet, and he knows he has hurt you but he cannot breed. His life has only just settled and he has the kid. He doesn’t need another one, or several, distracting him from doing what is needed to keep Grogu safe and healthy. That’s his creed. He hears you sobbing and decides to give you some space, heading out to pick the kid up.

It takes you some time to stop crying, but you know that you cannot force a warrior like Din Djarin to bend to your will just because of your creed. He must want this as much as you do, so you set about to make sure that he understands how you will improve his life. Your armor laid aside, you do not need to wear it inside your home with your riduur and you put on some of the outfits you had worn while you were in training for comfort. Leaving your room and making your way to the small galley style kitchen to fix him and his foundling a proper meal to enjoy when they return. 

When Din returns home with Grogu, the kid coos in surprise at the smell, always hungry, and Din can’t deny that his own stomach rumbles as the scent wafts through his filter. He opens the door and finds you in the small kitchen, wearing tight pants that cling to your ass and he muffles his groan. Din has always been an ass man when he picks his holos and Maker, yours is gorgeous. He can’t let you know that. “This, uh, this is Grogu. My foundling.” He introduces you to Grogu who tilts his head and offers you a smile.

“Hello, Grogu.” You tell the child your name and smile in delight when he waves his arms for you to pick him up. “I hope you are hungry.” Din scoffs. “The kid is always hungry.”

Din watches as you pick up the child and his back straightens a little defensively as you hold the kid he’s fought so hard and sacrificed so much to protect. You notice but don’t say anything as Din watches you. Grogu lifts his hand to your cheek, cooing, and Din watches the awestruck look on your face and he can’t help but think about how pretty you look.

The kid has some powers, the Armorer had warned you about it. The kid was a Jedi. But you didn’t realize he could show you things. You see Din, saving him, protecting him.

Din wonders what Grogu is showing you but your awed face makes his stomach twist and he sighs, “come on kid. Let’s sit you down for dinner.” He says and takes the child from you to put him in the high chair so he can have his food. He won’t eat in front of you. Even if you are his riduur.

“You are allowed to take off your helmet in front of me to eat.” You remind him softly, fixing Grogu a plate and then one for Din. “But I can go into the bedroom if you wish to have some privacy.” He might eat in front of the child but you want to show him that you can bend to some of his ways like a good riduur should. Perhaps it will help him become more comfortable about the situation.

Din shakes his head, “I will eat after. Sit. Enjoy the meal you cooked.” He orders and you set the plate down in front of Grogu. He doesn’t want you to miss out on enjoying the meal you spent time cooking.

You feel bad, knowing the food is better when it’s hot, but you listen to him. Using the plate you had fixed for him and sitting down at the small table. “I will be quick.” You promise.

Din doesn’t argue, he sits down and watches you and Grogu eat. It’s unusual, having another Mandalorian around him, but you don’t seem to have the edge that most Mandos have. You are softer, less hardened by war and survival. “You have known the Armorer for a while?” He asks, wondering how long this has been planned.

Nodding, you look up at his visor and then back down to your plate. “I was a foundling, like you.” You explain. “But I was raised by a sect that removed their helmets. When I was of age, I was sent to your Armorer for training.”

Din frowns under his helmet, watching you eat. It's strange to see someone eating in front of him that isn't the kid. He never sits down to eat with others. "Training? For - for battle?" He asks, glad you can't see the confusion on his face.

“No.” You shake your head. “I was training to be a proper riduur to a leader.” You tell him quietly. “To be able to pleasure you and stand by your side as you guide our people into the light.”

Din is half glad you can’t see the horrified look on his face beneath the helmet. “You mean you…you’ve been trained to be mine?” He asks, “or for - for a leader in general. I’m not - I gave up being Mandalor. I don’t understand why you’re mine. If you’re mine.”

“Yours.” You clarify. “The Armorer had chosen me for you when you were still bounty hunting for the covert here on Nevarro. Actually….” You wipe your mouth and set down the napkin. “I was supposed to be joined with you three years ago. Before the covert fell.”

To say he’s shocked is an understatement. Din inhales sharply at the news and he doesn’t know how to react, grateful once more that you can’t see his face. You’re meant for him. You’ve been trained to be his. “Why me? Why- why not give you to another Mando?” He asks, confused now he’s no longer the Mandalor.

“I don’t know.” You shrug slightly. “The armorer made her decision and that was enough for me.” You know that the armorer would not give you to someone who wasn’t worthy. You were trained to be a good riduur, you cannot be a good riduur to a bad one. “Do you wish that I had been given to another Mandalorian?” You ask, looking up at him under your lashes. His broad frame nearly overwhelms you as you sit while he stands and you wish you could show him some of the pleasure you can provide.

He doesn’t know how to react. Any way he reacts will hurt you or him and he doesn’t want to do that to you. You deserve more than him placating you. He sighs and shakes his helmet, “I never asked for a riduur. I never asked for you.” He confesses, “I don’t know how to feel. We are bound now so I will do my best by you. You will stay here. Fed and clothed and you’ll have whatever you want but I cannot give you me. I’m- I can’t do that when you are only performing a duty.”

You frown, unhappy with his answer. You gesture to the child who is smearing his food over his face. “You do your duty towards your foundling, do you not?” You ask softly, standing up. “You did not love him when you first found him, yet you would seemingly break your creed to save him.” Din stiffens and you quickly shake your head. “He did not show me your face. He keeps that for himself.” You assure him, knowing that it would upset him to know you know what he looks like, even if you are his riduur. “Your fondness for the child grew.” You collect your plate and sigh. “I hope that can be the same for us.”

Din decides to not continue talking with you. He sighs and watches you as you clean the dishes. Grogu coos and tilts his head at him and he raises his eyebrows at the kid despite him not knowing his facial expression. “Don’t.” He murmurs before he looks over at you. “I have a duty to you but that duty does not include taking sexual pleasure from you without cause.”

“Cause?” You snort and set the plate of Din’s food on the table after you finish cleaning up. “I didn’t think there needed to be a cause beyond wanting to give and receive pleasure.” You hum, moving over to the child and picking up the foundling. “Eat your meal, Din Djarin. I will make sure that Grogu is cleaned up.”

He doesn’t say anything else as you leave the room and he is tense when Grogu looks back at him but he doesn’t comment, wanting you to feel like he trusts in your riduurok even though he hasn’t trusted anyone for a long time until he met the kid. He listens for several moments as you take Grogu into his room until he decides to unlatch his helmet and he sets it down on the table. He scratches his cheek and picks up the fork, digging into the meal you made. He groans softly at the taste. Maker, you’re a good cook.

Cleaning up the kid, it’s cute how easily he settles into your arms. “This isn’t exactly what I had in mind when I was tasked with raising warriors.” You murmur to yourself and to the heavy eyed little one. “But I hope that I help, rather than be a burden. Your dad doesn’t want me here.”

Din finishes his meal and washes up his plate, setting it on the side to dry. He secures his helmet just as you knock on the hallway to come back into the kitchen. “I’m covered.” He declares and you walk in. “The kid asleep?” He asks and you nod, sitting down on the chair opposite him. “The meal was good. Thank you for cooking. I don’t remember the last time I had a meal cooked like that.” He confesses, “maybe my mother.” He winces at the unlocked memory.

“I’m glad you liked it.” You tilt your head, watching his body language and realize he must not like to talk about his past. “If you don’t mind, I will take over cooking.”

Din chuckles, “I won’t argue that, cyar’ika.” He promises and clears his throat as he watches you. You are beautiful. In and out of beskar. He wouldn’t tell you that though. You’re here because of the Armorer and he needs to remember that.

“Well….I have a feeling you won’t be comfortable removing your armor if I am awake, and you probably need some time out of it.” You are guessing he’s like a lot of the Mandalorians from the Nevarro covert. “Let your skin breath.” With that, you stand and give him a small smile. “Good night, riduur.”

“Good night.” He murmurs, watching you go and when the door to your room closes, he sighs and rubs his helmet. He doesn’t know what to do. He’s bound to you now but to know that you’ve been bred for him makes him anxious and uncomfortable. He’s never been “in love” or anything close to it. Never allowed himself to get close to anyone. Emotionally or physically. He has seen holovids of sex but he is painfully inexperienced in that department. He has paid for oral, has had a few women he’s fingered behind a cantina, but he’s never experienced penetration.

In your room, you strip down naked, comfortable with your form and lay down. The fullness of Din’s shoulders and his trim waist has you dripping and it should be a sin for his voice to be so sexy through the vocoder of his helmet. Raspy and shooting straight through you. Your fingers slide down your stomach and you moan quietly, imagining that they are his fingers, even with the gloves on. They slide down, circling your mound before delving into your slit and whimpering quietly when you rub your clit.

Din swallows harshly, walking into his room to strip out of his beskar, and he is annoyed with himself that he’s half hard at the thought of you in the other room. You’re beautiful and he hasn’t been around a woman this much since Omera and he isn’t sure if what he felt was attraction to her or protective. He sits down on the edge of his bed, torn until he grips his now hard cock in his hand.

“Oh Maker.” You moan softly, slowly rubbing your bundle of nerves and letting your legs spread apart as you massage your breast. “Fuck.” You hiss, feeling your nipple harden and you slide your fingers down to dip into your slick cunt. Imagining what Din would look like under his armor.

Din grunts as he fists his cock, now hard and aching. It’s been so long since he touched himself, too preoccupied with the events that happened before he settled on Nevarro. He imagines your lips wrapping around his cock. It’s so wrong but you’re beautiful and meant for him. It’s hard to stay away. He will but for tonight, he will indulge in the thought of having you.

With your hand between your thighs, you imagine all the ways you would pleasure your riduur. All the ways you could learn to share pleasure. You’ve never taken a man before but you are well acquainted with a cock, wondering how impressive he is beneath the flight suit he wears. “Din.” You moan softly, enjoying the way his name rolls off your lips.

His hand pauses and he thinks he heard his name. He shakes his head, knowing he's imagining things, and he continues pumping his cock. He imagines pushing into you, seeing your face as you take his cock. He groans as he imagines filling you with his cum, watching it drip out of you.

Your fingers dip inside your cunt again, making you moan louder and brace your feet on the bed as you push them deeper. Wishing that you were sealing your vows with your riduur instead of fingering yourself. Even being in the training room was preferable. “Fuuuuck.” You hiss in frustration, not feeling as good as you know you could.

Din grunts as he fists his cock, getting closer and closer. He hisses as he squeezes his cock and he can't hold back anymore. He cums, spurting onto his chest and hand, groaning your name softly as he imagines taking you as his riduur but he can't do that. He closes his eyes as he rides his orgasm until the guilt hits him. You're innocent and pure. He isn't. He doesn't deserve you.

Sighing when you finally find that spot that feels so good, you rub your clit. Pinching your nipple and moaning as you imagine it’s Din. He’s a warrior, one that can also be tender and you imagine him taking you apart with his cock and his fingers, his helmet on in your imagination. “Din, Din.” You moan softly, getting closer to that peak and your thighs start to shake.

Din soon settles into bed after cleaning himself up and he swears he heard his name again. Sighing, he closes his eyes and allows himself to sleep without his helmet, the door is locked and he needs to process the day. He doesn’t know what he’s going to do but he’s bound to you now so he needs to care for you but he won’t touch you. He can’t. Not when you are doing it out of duty, of obligation.

Your peak is satisfying, but you know would be so much better if it were with Din. You had been trained to want sex, to crave it and yet now that you could have a man, he was rejecting you. Getting under the covers, you wonder if it is just a matter of him getting to know you before he gives in and touches you. You hope so.

The next morning, Din is dressed and feeding the kid by the time you wake up. "Good morning." He greets you softly and the kid coos at you before he digs back into his porridge. "I could've done that. You should've woken me up." You huff and Din shakes his head, "you are not here to serve us."

Your shoulders slump and you can’t help but feel like a failure. “I don’t know what to do.” You whisper quietly. “I- my creed- my purpose- you don’t want me here.” This is nothing like the armorer had told you it would be, and you feel like a failure. “I will no longer be mandalorian.”

“You are my riduur. You’re not failing. I - I don’t mind you here but-” He says your name, “you aren’t my servant. You’re my equal and I can make our foundling breakfast.” He declares and your beautiful face turns down.

You frown slightly and sigh. “Even if I am your equal, you would have me do nothing, contribute nothing.” You are stubborn in some ways and now you are clawing to find your place here. “I cannot share your bed, I cannot care for you and your foundling, I cannot share your burden.” You turn away and shake your head. “I am not allowed to share your life.” You walk back to your room quietly to put your armor back on.

Din sighs, looking at the kid who clicks his tongue at him in reprimand. “I know.” Din sighs and Grogu finishes his food. After he’s finished eating, Din cleans up and takes Grogu to school, wanting to give you some space.

Once you have your armor on, you pull your weapons out, intent on cleaning them. Knowing that Din would be happier if you weren’t here, you decide to leave your bag packed. Bringing your weapons out to the table to start disassembling them.

Din returns home without Grogu to find you sitting at the kitchen counter, back in Beskar and even wearing your helmet. That disappoints Din a little, already missing seeing your beautiful face. He can still imagine you naked. Wants to even if his conscience won’t allow it. He sighs and makes his way onto the porch, deciding to look through his holos to see if anything new has come in

You finish cleaning your weapons, reassembling them and sliding them into the holster on your hip. Your helmet tilts slightly when Din comes back into the room. "I am going into town." You tell your riduur, giving him more consideration than he had given you when he left.

Din nods, not wanting to show you that he’s a little bothered by you leaving but he grunts softly, “be careful.” Despite knowing you’re more than capable as a Mandalorian to look after yourself.

You nod, turning and walking away from the small dwelling and checking your map that is pulled up on your bracer. You try not to take his warning to heart, it doesn’t mean that he cares, probably that he would just prefer not to have to provide any backup. 

**** 

It’s been a week since you arrived and Din has tried to keep his distance. It’s clear to him that you’re not happy to not be fulfilling your duty but he doesn’t try to rectify that. He needs to keep away. It’s hard though. Every day he’s spent around you is making it harder to not touch you. You are beautiful. Inside and out he’s discovered. He spends his nights touching himself, jerking himself off to thoughts of you.

It is probably the longest time that you have spent in your armor in years. When you were training, you had kept to fitted clothes, with your helmet on as you moved through the tunnels, but when you were in your training room, you didn’t have it on. It wasn’t needed. Now, in deference to your riduur, you were wearing your armor and helmet unless you were sleeping and it’s driving you insane. Chaffing and making you feel too encapsulated. You had been eyeing the hot spring that was behind the living quarters, knowing that a soak would go a long way to restoring your spirits. 

Din just dropped Grogu off at school when he is walking across the sand and sees you. He knows it’s you. His visor zooming in to see you getting into the hot spring. Naked. He should look away. He should go inside. He can’t. His cock twitches and he changes direction to hide away from your line of sight so he can watch you. It’s so wrong, but fuck, his hand is sore from jerking himself off. To know you’re his in name, in creed, has him hard and aching for you. Especially now he knows what you’re like. You’re sweet and kind, gentle with Grogu and he knows he is getting more and more lenient with his strict vow to stay away from you.

Moaning at the heat and how good it feels on your skin, you settle down onto a little rock ledge inside the spring that acts as a natural seat. You wonder if Din has ever soaked in the spring, but figure that he is so ridged, he would not for fear of someone coming up on him. Throwing your arms back, you close your eyes, sighing at the freedom and sense of pleasure you get from being out of your armor.

Maker. He is aching in his flight suit, watching you as you arch your back to expose your breasts over the swell of the water and he groans at the way your nipples harden. He moves closer to watch you, knowing this is wrong but he wants to see you.

You had reached out the armorer to talk to her, only getting the advice to stay firm and not let Din drive you away. So here you are. Right now, the problems that you have with Din feel minute, the sun isn’t too hot today and there is a nice breeze coming from the city that seems to temper the weather. 

Din watches you from the shadows. He feels guilty for watching you but he can’t help it. He groans softly, reaching down to squeeze himself through his flight suit, his eyes drinking in your form as you relax.

The steam rises around you and it strikes you that this is a really romantic spot. It would be very sensual and you decide to push off the wall and submerge yourself completely, going under the water. Imagining being here with Din and having him naked in the water beside you. 

When you get out of the spring, Din inhales sharply, and he loves the way the water slides along your skin as you stand up. He groans softly, squeezing his cock through his pants and he watches you, caught under your spell as you stand there naked and glistening under the sun.

You don’t want to get dressed again. You don’t want to go back into the little house where you don’t fit into any role. Instead, you sit on a stone on the edge of the hot springs and stretch out, letting the sun bake your skin dry. 

Din knows he shouldn’t be watching you like this. He swallows harshly and closes his eyes, making his way back into the cabin, working fast to pull his aching cock out of his flight suit. He sits down on the edge of his bed and forgets to shut the door as he grips his cock and starts to pump himself.

The door closes and your eyes open, lifting your head to look around. “Din?” You ask, sitting up and standing quickly. If he is back home, you should go back in the house with your armor on, but you don’t. Quickly walking inside nude and calling his name again. “Din? Are you here, riduur?” 

Din pants as he gathers the pre-cum from the tip of his cock, working his length as the sight of your figure burned into his retinas. He will never forget it. He groans and doesn’t notice you coming into the cabin, calling his name. His usually razor sharp senses are dulled by the pleasure and lust racing through his veins.

“Din?” You can hear him grunt in his room, pausing near his door. You shouldn’t go inside, you’ve never been in his room. Respecting his privacy - but what if he’s hurt? You bite your lip, reaching for the button to open the door and rush in as soon as the door slides open. “Din, are you-” You stop in shock, seeing him grip his cock. A thick, long cock that has you instantly dripping wet. “I-”

His eyes widen as you enter his room and he gasps your name under the helmet. “I- riduur. I didn’t - I’m sorry.” He lets go of his cock and starts to tuck himself away from your sight, you shake your head, moving fast to kneel before him and take his cock in your hand and then within seconds, you’re taking his cock into your mouth. “Dank Ferrik.” He hisses, “you don’t- you don’t have to do this.” He chokes out, not wanting you to do this if you feel obligated.

You swallow around him before you pull off with a small pop. “I want to, Maker, I want to.” You promise, squeezing the base of his cock as you look up at him with a lustful smile. “I’ve found you sexy from the first moment I saw you. Even in your old armor. I want to touch you.” You repeat before you duck your head again to take him deep into your mouth. Loving how thick he is and the way his vein throbs on your tongue. 

He can’t argue, not when your lips are wrapping around his cock and taking him deeper. Maker, you’re gorgeous. Your eyes look up at him and he reaches out to caress your cheek with his gloved hand. “Riduur. You - fuck - your mouth.” He pants, refusing to close his eyes as you take him into your mouth.

You wish you could see his eyes. To mark how he looks when he cums rather than the expressionless visor. Instead of focusing on it, you decide you want to pull moans out of him. Swirling your tongue around the head and bobbing up and down until you are taking him deep into your throat and the fabric of his flight suit is against your nose. 

“Fuck. Cyar’ika. I- shit. You’re so good. So good.” He rambles slightly as you take him deep enough to push him down your throat. “Fuck.” He chokes, unused to this. You are taking him without issue and it’s pushing him closer to orgasm quicker than he’d care to. “Riduur. You’re - I’m going to-” He grunts as he twitches in your mouth.

You want him to cum. Want him to spill down your throat to taste him. To milk him dry. You hum around his length and start swallowing, knowing that he will enjoy the pressure and buck into your mouth if he wants to be deeper.

He lets out something between a cry and a moan as he starts to cum. Spilling down your throat as you swallow around him and he clenches his fists beside his thighs as you work him dry. It’s more than he’s ever experienced and it’s intoxicating.

You don’t let up, not pulling off until he stops throbbing. Swallowing every gloriously salty drop of his release and listening to the laborious pants that slip from underneath his helmet. You slowly start to pull off his cock, humming as you rock back and look up at him innocently. “Good, riduur?”

Din gulps, trying to catch his breath as you look at him with wide eyes and he swears his heart is about to beat out of his chest. “Maker, riduur. I- fuck. You need to get on the bed. I want to touch you.” He says as he tucks his cock away and he reaches for his gloves, “I want to see how wet you are.”

You are thrilled that he wants to touch you. Watching him strip off his gloves as you move to the bed and spread out. There’s no shame as you spread your thighs to reveal your dripping cunt. You had leaked onto the floor when you were sucking his cock. “Dripping, riduur.”

He groans at the sight of your folds. Maker, you are beautiful. “Mesh’la.” He murmurs, reaching out to slide his fingers through your folds. Fuck, you are dripping. He groans and moves his fingers up to rub your clit.

You bite your lip, moaning in pleasure as your nipples hard in desire. Finally feeling your riduur touch you has your cunt throbbing. “Din.” You whimper, rolling your hips down, greedy for his touch. “Please, Riduur.”

He loves the way you moan his name. So sweet and so needy. He slides his fingers down to push two thick digits inside of you. He groans as your walls surround his fingers, wet and tight, and he imagines how you’d feel around his cock. “Fuck. You’re so wet.” He rasps, voice modulated but you can hear the lust.

“For you.” Your fingers dig into his flight suit as you hold onto him. Rocking your hips up and clenching down around him when he strikes something gorgeous inside. “Wet for you. I want- I want you to fill me.” You beg quietly. “I want to experience it- you. Your cock inside me.”

Din groans at the way you beg, "cyar'ika. I've never - you'd be the first. I don't want to disappoint you." He confesses as he works his fingers inside of you. "I've done this. That's it." He reveals, working his fingers and his thumb presses against your clit.

“I- I’ve never- you would be my first.” You remind him, whimpering and jerking your hips up to his touch. “I have no- no expectations. We would learn together.”

"Maker." He hisses as you reveal you're a virgin too. He had tried so hard to forget that. "You'll be mine. All mine." He growls and works his fingers a little faster. You are made for him. You are his riduur and that makes him feral.

“All yours.” You moan, tilting your head back and closing your eyes. “Fuck, Din, please. I- oh fuck.” You cry out when he pushes against that spot again and your entire body lights up. “It’s so good, please, cyar’ika.”

He wants to watch you fall apart around his digits. "That's it, mesh’la. Cum for me." He demands, pushing his fingers against that spot that makes you gush around him. "That's it baby. Cum for your riduur."

Whimpering, his words flash through you and make your body light up in pleasure. Pushing you over the edge and your walls clamp down around his fingers. Body shaking as you cry out.

Din groans as you soak his fingers, working you through it, and his cock is hardening again at the thought of you being his, completely his. Something switched in him when he saw you in that spring and his previous qualms and morality have gone out of the window. He’s spent too long alone and he wants you. He craves you.

Your whines finally give out to breathy pants and you close your eyes. Expecting your riduur to pull away now that you’ve both been satisfied. “Riduur…” you murmur quietly. “That was- was so good. Your fingers are so good.” You praise quietly.

"I want to taste you." Din declares, knowing he can remove his helmet in front of you as your riduur. He is nervous, hands shaking as his damp fingers unlock the seal of his helmet and your eyes carefully watch him as he removes the last barrier between you. He's still in full beskar but the helmet is his most precious protection against the galaxy - not just physically, but emotionally.

Your eyes widen when he actually lifts the helmet up. So sure that he would never break that barrier with you. Watching as a strong jaw, sharp now and soft brown eyes are revealed to you. “Maker.” You whimper softly. “My riduur is the most handsome man in the galaxy.”

Din blushes, actually blushes as his emotions are on clear display without his helmet. Unused to censoring his facial expressions. “Riduur. You don’t - we are already bound.” He mutters, setting his helmet down on the side.

“And I am lucky.” You smile, biting your lip at how demure he is being. It’s very appealing since he looks so intimidating with the helmet on. “Only I get to see you.”

His heart skips a beat in his chest, making it feel like he can hardly breathe as you look at him like he’s the only one in the galaxy. He swallows and nods, reaching out to caress your thighs. “Wanna taste you, cyar’ika.” He murmurs, shifting you down the bed until he’s lying between your spread thighs.

You know that he’s never tried something like this, so you nod. “Whatever you want, riduur.” You promise, Reaching down and running your fingers through his hair and scratching his scalp. He groans and you know it’s a good sound. You always want to scratch your head when your own helmet comes off.

He groans as he leans closer, breathing you in, and he tentatively slides his tongue through your folds. He doesn’t know what he’s doing. He’s seen this in holovids he’s watched late at night but he’s never done it. The tangy taste makes him smack his lips and he does it again, sliding his tongue through your folds until he’s flicking your clit.

“Oh!” You gasp, shivering at the contact and you want to close your thighs together. You can’t because of the broad shoulders and armor between them. Looking down at him is the sexiest sight and your cunt bottoms out around nothing, making you fling your head back against his pillow. “Maker, oh fuck, how- it’s- keep going.” You beg.

Din doesn’t want to stop. The breathless cries coming from you have him ravenous. He doesn’t know what he’s doing so it’s sloppy and uncoordinated but what he lacks in skill, he makes up for with enthusiasm.

You love how eager he is, devoting himself to the task with a singular determination. “Din!” You cry out and roll your hips down to meet his eager tongue. “So good! Fuck, you’re so good.”

He groans at your praise, sliding his tongue through your folds again until he sucks your clit into his mouth. His hands squeeze your flesh, pushing your legs back so he can access more of your flesh.

You keen at the way he devours you. Completely gorging himself and not being shy about it. Greedily sucking and licking at you like it’s his only task. “Oh fuck, right there!” You gasp out.

He follows your gasped demand, repeating the motion that makes your thighs tighten around his head and his cock is aching against his flight suit. He grinds into the bed as you thrash and he throws his armored arm across your stomach to keep you still

It doesn't take you long, just a few more minutes of his tongue swiping through your folds, until you are flying. Crying out a loud "Din!" before your entire body locks up and you clench down on his fingers to soak them with your release.

Din groans as you clench around on his fingers and he sucks on your clit until you’re pushing his face away from you. He kisses your mound and rests his chin there, mustache glistening with your cum as he offers you a small smile.

“I can’t- that was so good.” You admit breathlessly. “I could be addicted to that, to you.” You admit, reaching down and caressing his cheek. He flinches but doesn’t pull away, leaning into your hand and letting you touch him. “I want you to claim me.” You tell him. “Make me your riduur completely. Let me give you what no one else has experienced.” 

Din nods, shifting off of the bed to work on removing his armor. If you are to be his, he will reveal all of himself to you. He swallows harshly as nerves threaten to grip him and he works methodically to remove the beskar until he is shrugging out of his flight suit.

“Mesh’la.” You whisper, looking at the scars and imperfect skin that makes up the body of your riduur. A warrior who has survived every battle he has faced. He is a Mandalorian, and you are proud to be his. “Come to me.” You beg him.

He can’t deny you. Shifting onto his hands and knees, he crawls over your body and leans down to caress your waist, his hand grabbing your tit as he leans down to kiss you for the first time. The first time he’s kissed anyone. It’s messy and he hits your nose with his at first. “Sorry.” He murmurs, feeling unsure.

You giggle and cup both of his cheeks with your hands, cradling them and try again. “It’s okay.” You promise, moaning softly when his lips land like they are supposed to on yours. Closing your eyes and sinking into the sensation. You love it, could live with his lips pressed to yours. 

Din groans, pecking your lips several times, and he slides his hand along your leg, "tell me if it hurts." He murmurs, unsure and lacking confidence as he grips his cock and squeezes, positioning himself at your entrance. "Are you ready for me, riduur?" He asks softly, nudging his nose against your jaw.

“Yes, Din.” You moan softly. “I am ready for you.” It’s on the tip of your tongue to tell him that you’ve been waiting for him your entire life. You don’t think that he would believe you, but you have been waiting for him and now that he’s here, you are eager to have him inside you. 

He nods, shifting closer and he locks eyes with you as he starts to push into you. This moment - it’s one that Din never imagined having. Naked in bed with his riduur. It’s almost enough to make him cum. He groans as he pushes into your tight, wet heat and he swears he sees stars.

You whimper, the thick length of him stretching you out in ways that you could have never imagined. So much bigger than the fingers you had earlier, your eyes roll back. You can feel his body tense and from your training, you know that he will cum before you do. “So good.” you coo, caressing his back. “Move, riduur, please.” 

He grunts, clenching his jaw to control himself as he starts to move inside of you. You’re his dream. The woman he’s always imagined when he jerked his cock was faceless but now he knows who she is. It’s you. You belong to him. He groans and leans down to kiss your neck, biting down on the flesh like he’s wanted to do since he saw your face as he starts to move inside of you.

Whining, you can’t help but tighten down around him. Loving how he had sunk his teeth into your skin. “Din!” You cry out, holding onto him desperately while your entire body rocks up on the bed. 

He loves the way you moan his name, rocking into you over and over and it’s too much. “I - fuck. Mesh’la. I- Maker.” He pants and grunts as he pushes his cock deep inside of you and within seconds he’s painting your walls with his hot seed.

You moan, loving how hot it feels inside you. How full you feel as you roll your hips down. You caress his back and sigh happily, kissing along his shoulder as he rides out his pleasure.

Din groans at the way you take all of him. "Fuck." He pants, coming to a stop as his cock twitches inside of you, turning his head to press his lips to yours. "Riduur." He murmurs, "thank you."

Din gathers his senses and his eyes widen as he looks down at you, “I- riduur. You didn’t - I’ve failed you.” He chokes, feeling guilty and he doesn’t know how to handle the fact that he took your innocence and you never got to climax from it.

Frowning, you shake your head, unsure of what he means. “Failed me?” You huff. “You didn’t- I didn’t make you cum.” Din chokes out and you are astonished. “Riduur, I will not cum every time we have sex. I know that. It’s okay. You made me cum before and it was better than any pleasure I’ve ever had in training.”

Din frowns, carefully pulling out of you and he looks at you as you offer him a doe eyed look that has his stomach twisting with confusion and guilt. “Training? As in - as in fighting?” He asks, his brow furrowed and he’s not used to his emotions being on full display.

You tile your head in confusion, sure that he was aware of what was involved in your training. “I was trained in fighting when I was younger, but I am talking about the training for pleasure.” You correct him.

Din’s eyes widen and he shuffles away from you in shock. “Plea-pleasure? But I thought - you said you were-” His brow furrows once more, “you said you were a virgin and I- shit. I’m confused.”

“I was.” Sitting up, you ignore your nudity and look into his eyes. “While in training, since I could remove my helmet, oral sex was the focus of my lessons.” You explain. “No one was allowed to penetrate me. Not even fingering me. They could rub my clit, but most just wanted their own release.” You smile at him. “You are not a selfish partner.”

Din doesn’t know how to feel. You’ve been trained to be his riduur, even trained to please him sexually. He feels sick. Not because of you, but because of what you’ve been through. For him. Because of him. “You- oral sex? With who?” He asks, unsure of what to do other than ask questions.

You shrug casually, swinging your feet over the edge of the bed and standing. You need to clean up since his cum is starting to drip out of you. “Whoever came into the training rooms.” You say simply. “Sometimes the armorer would turn away some, but there was always someone willing to let me train with them.”

He feels violated on your behalf. The armorer essentially forcing you to train in oral sex for his pleasure. “Maker.” Din shuffles off of the bed, immediately reaching for his flight suit to pull it on. “Because of me. You went through that because of me.” He chokes and stumbles out of the room.

You frown as he rushes out of the room, wondering why he is so upset that you would be trained. Cleaning up quickly, you realize you are in his room and have none of your clothes so you walk out to find your riduur.

Din is panicking. He’s just taken your innocence, given you his, and he’s found out that you were trained to be his by members of the covert. Men he knows. Men who would know you. He is fuming at the thought of those men knowing what his riduur is like, what her body looks like. He stalks through the cabin back to his room to find you gone and he takes his Beskar to put it back on.

Upset that he has left, you put your armor back on. Wanting the comfort of the physical shielding between you. It’s like you’ve been rejected all over again and it’s even more painful now that you know what he looks like, what he feels like.

Din doesn’t know how to handle the knowledge, deciding to take his blaster outside to do some target practice before he picks up the kid. Not that he needs target practice but it will take his mind off of things.

Waiting is the worst part. Sitting around and not knowing what is happening. You hear blaster fire in the distance and sigh. Deciding to send a message to the armorer, hoping she will know what to do.

Din tries to process what just happened. He had sex with his riduur who has been groomed to be his. It makes him sick. You’re a beautiful woman, inside and out, and if he’d known you in the covert, he would’ve liked you naturally, but to know you’ve been raised to be his has him on edge. Grogu senses it when Din picks him up and when the duo arrive back at the cabin, Grogu toddles over to you and coos.

“Hey.” You choke out the word, grateful for your helmet so you don’t show your tear stained face. Bending down, you pick up the little one. His presence and obvious adoration makes you feel a bit better and you concentrate on that instead of the man behind him. “How was your day?”

Grogu coos again, lifting his hand up to press to your helmet, showing you his day including Din picking him up and bringing him home. He had picked up the distress in his father and Din is just as tense now as he watches you and Grogu interact.

You manage to grin, bolstered by the child’s antics, including sneaking a cookie from another kid and you chuckle. “You had a good day then.” You hum. “Do you want to go chase frogs while I make you some dinner?” You aren’t asking Din if you can, knowing he would have some objection to it.

Grogu waddles off after you set him down and Din calls after him, "don't go too far." He is glad Grogu keeps the door open so he can keep an eye on him and he sighs as he turns towards you. "So...how was your day?" He asks, knowing that he took your innocence today but he's trying to make some kind of conversation.

You don’t look at him, but your visor is turned towards him. Instead of answering him, you just turn and walk towards the galley kitchen to start making a meal for the young foundling. He had been upset by your training, so you don’t think that having a conversation is a good idea. 

Din suppresses the sigh that works its way up his throat and he heads outside to sit down on the porch to watch Grogu chase the frogs, floating them up in the air. “Don’t torture them, kid.” He shouts out and Grogu trills as he lets the frog drop into the water. Din fiddles with the edge of his beskar, unsure of what to say to you. It’s him, he’s the one who has made this awkward and he doesn’t regret that. He doesn’t know if you’re doing this out of obligation and duty. He doesn’t want you to want him because of duty or creed.

You move around the kitchen quietly, heartbroken that Din doesn’t want you anymore. You had done everything that you had been taught. Tried to please him and be the partner, the riduur, that he deserved. And still he doesn’t want you. The armorer told you that no one could come for another three weeks. Until then, you are stuck on Nevarro, with a man who doesn’t want you.

**** 

It's been four weeks since you arrived on Nevarro and Din has kept his distance, sleeping in his own bed, and he hasn't touched you. You've mainly avoided him, taking over caring for Grogu and spending time in your room. He feels guilty, for you being bound to him and him not fulfilling his duty as your riduur but how can he when you were trained to be his? Groomed to be his? It's too much to handle and he has kept away.

Today is the day. The armorer sent you a halo message, telling you that Kledo, another mandalorian from the new covert on Mandalore, will be here by the time the sun is setting. After Din leaves to take Grogu to school, you pull out your bags to start packing your things. Over the week before you had slept with Din, you had spread your things out, so now you methodically pack them away. 

Din drops Grogu off and comes back to the cabin, entering with a sigh as he expects to see you in the kitchen preparing lunch but you’re not there. He calls out your name, frowning under the helmet. He calls your name again, a little more frantic, and he rushes through the cabin to try and find you. He enters your room and finds it empty of your things. “Dank Ferrik.” He curses, grabbing his blaster and he tries to figure out if you've gone to the transporter station. He makes his way there and looks around, trying to find you but you’re gone.

When you break atmo, you start to cry under your helmet. Silent tears that stream down your cheek and gather at your chin. Dripping down onto the fabric of your flight suit and absorbed into the fabric. If Kledo had questions about why he was picking up Din Djarin’s riduur and bringing her to Mandalore, he never voices them, just concentrates on your trip there. 

Din interrogates the ticket staff who tell him no Mandalorians have come through the ticket hall and he growls, stalking off to the cabin and he immediately calls the Armorer. "Din Djarin." Her cool voice makes him vibrate with annoyance. "Where is my riduur?" He demands and she shakes her helmet, "you rejected her. She is returning to the covert with Kledo." She declares and Din doesn't waste another second. He hangs up and rushes to the school to collect Grogu, getting into his ship to make his way to a place he swore he'd never return to: Mandalore.

You sleep for most of the journey, after you cry yourself out. Waking when you feel the engines change, approaching Mandalore. “We are here.” Kledo tells you, preparing for landing. “The armorer is waiting for you.”

"You've returned." The Armorer declares as you enter the welding room. She stands tall and you shrink into yourself. "You failed. You have failed your mission as a riduur to the Mandalor." She says without sympathy.

“Yes.” You swallow under your helmet and try not to cry. “Din Djarin rejected me, but not before taking my innocence. I was not good enough.” You tell her. “I have come to ask that you break the riduurok. He should not be bound to someone who is dar’manda.”

The Armorer shakes her head, "you have failed and he has not succeeded in getting you with child?" She asks, wanting to confirm this before you are made dar'manda.

“I-“ you frown slightly, faltering because you don’t know if he had planted his seed in your womb. “I have not bled.” You admit quietly, “but it has only been three weeks since I shared his bed.”

"You will not be dar'manda until we confirm. If you are indeed pregnant, you shall remain with the covert until you give birth...then you will be sent away. The babe would remain." She declares and you nod, despite screaming inside. Din has never traveled faster in his life through the galaxy until he is landing on Mandalore. Many of his kin greet him by bowing their helmets but he doesn't pay attention, rushing into the lower sects of the covert to find you.

Your hands shake as you start to strip your armor and flight suit. Feeling shame for the first time as the armorer had ordered you to prepare to be examined. You have become used to being covered in your time with Din, feeling exposed as you reveal your skin and sink down to your knees to await the covert doctor with nothing but your helmet on.

Din is rushing through the halls, demanding to know where you are. His heart pounding as Grogu swings from the satchel he’s in at Din’s side. Din pushes people out of the way, some shouting at his back as he rushes through the halls to find you and eventually, he discovers you and the Armorer in her quarters. “Riduur.” He rushes over to you, your helmet on and your body covered in a blanket. “What is going on here?” He demands to know.

The Armorer looks at Din and then back down at the piece of steel she was crafting into a cuff. “We are waiting to see if she will be dar’manda now,” She intones. “Or if carrying your child will delay her exile.” Your head lowers even further, shamed that you have failed and unsure why Din is here, unless it is to demand the shuk’la riduurok himself. 

Din's eyes widen beneath the helmet, horrified at what you are going through and all because of him. "Is this necessary?" He demands and the Armorer nods, "this will be the next leader of Mandalore, we need to see if she is with child." Din shakes his head, "with an audience?" He hisses as you are naked and he wants to cover your body with his. "This is the way." The Armorer declares and Din's upper lip curls in disgust even if no one can see it. "She will not be dar'manda."

There is a hushed silence and your head lifts slightly. “Then you claim her as your riduur?” The Armorer asks loudly, and there is shuffling behind you, other mandalorians filing into the chamber to witness your shame. “She is under the impression that you wish to break your riduurok. That you regret taking her innocence.” 

Din is horrified, shaking his helmet. “I do not regret taking her innocence because of her. I regret - she was groomed. Forced to be what I need and I- she should have freedom of choice. To not be forced to be my riduur because she’s been trained to be so. To find out she has given oral sex to most of the men here…she’s been violated and I feel guilty that I was the cause.” He confesses, “it’s my fault.”

“How is this your fault?” The Armorer tilts her head curiously. “This is her path, she could have chosen not to walk it.” She informs him. “She chose to take the oath and to train, it is just as honorable as the path you have walked.” 

Din stutters, “she didn’t - I didn’t ask for my riduur to be trained for me. She deserves freedom of choice. To be allowed to be who she is and love who she wants. She - I don’t want a riduur who is ordered to want me. I want her to want me because she wants me.” He explains, his hands sweaty in his gloves.

“She does love you.” The Armorer tells Din, motioning to you as you kneel on the ground in front of her forge. “If she did not, she would have stayed. Keeping you bound to vows you didn’t not wish.” There is a smug sense of rightness in her tone and you wonder if you are so obvious in your motives. “Shuk’la riduurok would not affect you. You would continue to be as you have always been.” She tilts her head and hums. “Perhaps you have your heart on the line as well, because why are you here, Din Djarin? If not to fight for your riduur.” 

Din rears back as the emotional impact of the past month hits him. He is here to fight for you, the same way he'd fight for anyone he loves. He fights for the people that mean the most to him and suddenly that includes you. Between the distance and the closest he's ever been with another, blurred in those lines, Din Djarin has fallen in love with you. He swallows harshly, "I am here to claim my riduur...and my ad...if that is the situation." He adds and Grogu coos from his satchel, gesturing to you.

Your helmet slowly lifts, shocked to hear that coming out of Din’s mouth and you swear you are imagining things. He wants to claim you? “You claim your riduur?” The Armorer demands once more, finishing with your name. “I do.” Din nods, untwisting his cape from around his cowl and draping it over your shoulders to cover your body. “She is mine by vow and creed.” He adds.

Your helmet tilts up towards his and he shifts to kneel, Grogu jumping out of his satchel and Din leans in to press his helmet to yours. “She is mine and I am hers.” He promises and the Armorer nods. “Very well. Let us see if she is with Ad.” She demands and Din shakes his head. “No. Not like this. Let me take her to her room and we will find out in private.” He says and helps you stand up with his cloak still wrapped around you.

Still in shock that he’s here, you let Din lead you out of the forge room and off to a secluded hall. “Din?” You whisper, reaching out to touch his cloak, wondering if you are imagining this. If you are living inside a little fantasy. “Are you- you claimed me?” 

Din doesn’t answer you as he looks down the hall, Grogu following his steps. “Where is your room here, cyar’ika?” He asks, wanting to get you somewhere private before he talks to you.

Your heart sinks, sure that he is just getting you alone so that he can reject you. Keep it private and publicly have the illusion of claiming you. “Through here.” You motion down the hall to a door next to the training room. 

Din swallows harshly, guiding you into the room and Grogu follows at your feet. Once you're inside, he takes a breath and turns to face you. "Why did you leave?" He demands, wanting to know why you left him without even saying goodbye.

“You did not want me there.” You remind him. “You left me after- after we had sex.” You pull the edges of the cape around you and bite your lip under the helmet. “I did what was needed to give you back your freedom.” Shaking your head, you shrug. “What else was I supposed to do?”

Din's stomach twists, guilty for being so scared that he ran as soon as he touched you. For ignoring you after the event until today. "I- riduur. I have been alone my entire life until Grogu came along. He was my only purpose and I never imagined finding someone. I accepted being alone and then you came along and you - you changed everything. You took care of us - of me. You loved me. It was more than I could handle especially when you were doing it because you were groomed to be mine. I hate that you never had a choice."

“I did have a choice.” You tilt your head and frown under your helmet. “I - Din…the Armorer told me who I would be joined with if I took the Creed.” You explain. Maybe you had messed up by not clarifying before. “She had already chosen you to be the next leader of our covert after her. I knew this. I want this, I wanted you.” You bite your lip. “You were the one who didn’t have a choice, I guess.” 

Din shakes his head, "maybe I didn't have a choice but I do now and I- I claim you, riduur. I want you. I - I love you. If you want me, I am yours. If you want me to leave, I will go. I won't force you. You pick your path, you choose your destiny."

Letting go of the cape, you reach up and unlock your helmet. Slipping it off your head so you can look your riduur in his eyes. “I want to go back to Nevarro with you.” You confess softly. “If I am not carrying your ad, I would like to. Soon. I want to raise warriors with you. Not just because of my creed but because I want to have children with my riduur.” 

Din looks into those beautiful eyes and doesn’t hesitate to reach up to remove his own helmet, setting it down before he cups your cheeks so he can look into your eyes without the visor. “Mesh’la. I want you to come home with me.” He declares, leaning in to kiss you softly.

Your lips melt against his and you sigh in relief. Tears started pouring out of your eyes again even though you had sworn you couldn’t cry anymore. “I want to come home with you.”

He caresses your cheek and rests his forehead against yours, “good. Let’s go home, riduur.” He is so pleased that you want to be with him. “Are you- do you want to find out if you’re carrying our ad?”

As if to answer his question, there is a knock on the door to your room. “That would be the covert doctor.” You tell Din. “You should put your helmet back on.”

Din nods, placing the helmet back on his head. Just because he loves you, doesn’t mean his habits will die. He locks the latches just as the doctor comes in and Din stands straighter, suddenly defensive of you.

“I hear you might be expecting.” The tone of the mandalorian doctor is chipper and you’ve always liked her. The chipper purple armor of her Beskar makes you smile. “I am hoping you can tell us that.” You admit, gesturing to Din. “My riduur.”

Din nods, his stomach twisting with nerves as the doctor pulls out the holopad and what looks like a scanner from her satchel. “Din Djarin.” Din introduces himself and the doctor nods, “Mand’alor.” She bows her head in respect and Din shakes his head, “please. Just Din.”

You bite your lip, knowing that it’s futile to argue that while most of the Mandalorians follow Bo-Katan, they view Din as the real Mand’alor. Even Bo has wished Din would come back to the planet to help her lead. “Will you be able to tell? It’s only been three weeks.”

“We have advantaged technology to be able to tell.” She promises, “please lay down.” She says and you shift to lay down on the bed. Din follows, hovering over you and the doctor asks you to remove your cloak, “just so we can get close enough.” She explains and Din is tense as she pushes buttons on the holopad before the scanner whooshes to life and she hovers it over your lower stomach.

You reach for Din’s hand, hoping that will help him relax. You are used to the doctor, so you are comfortable with her and bite your lip as you look for any indication from the doctor’s helmet. She hums and moves it around, making you shiver at the slightly energetic feel of the scanner above your skin.

Din squeezes your hand, anxious and feeling a little nauseous until the doctor smiles, pointing out the small dot on the screen. “There they are. It’s - it’s very early but you are with ad.” She declares and Din inhales sharply. He’s terrified. He’s nervous but he’s happy. So happy. “Our ad.” He murmurs, a little in shock.

“Our ad.” You repeat in wonder, feeling more tears welling up in your eyes. “We are going to be buirs.” You whimper, squeezing his hand. “The very first time you touched me.”

Din leans in to press his forehead against yours, wishing you could see the wonder on his face, but that will have to wait for later. Grogu coos and Din turns to look at him. "Big brother." Din tells his foundling who straightens up as if ready to take on the role.

You choke out a happy giggle when you see the little foundling’s happy stance and look back at Din. Reaching up to caress his helmet. “I want to go home, riduur.” You tell him quietly. “Tomorrow. For now….i want to rest and celebrate.” Your eyes widen as you realize what this pregnancy means. “The first child born after retaking Mandalore.”

Din smiles under his helmet, “our first child.” He says and rests his forehead against yours. A Mandalorian you know, Ele, comes in about ten minutes later after the doctor leaves to ask if you want anything to eat or drink. “She will eat. And so must Grogu.” Din says and Ele nods, “I will take him for food and will bring him back with some for you. I am certain you wish to celebrate the news.” She says and your eyes widen at the fact that the news has spread so fast. Din hesitates, anxious to be separated from the kid but you know this woman so he will trust her. Grogu coos as he is willingly escorted to where the food is and Din wastes no time unlatching his helmet, throwing it down so he can lean in to press his lips to yours.

“We are having a baby.” You whisper against his lips, giggling. “I cannot believe it.” You are amazed that it happened so quickly. His seed is potent apparently.

Din nudges his nose against yours and kisses your forehead. “We are having a baby.” He murmurs, grinning as his hand caresses your stomach. “I love you, riduur.” He murmurs, “want to show you.”

“You do?” Your brows lift in surprise and you bite your lip. “How? How do you want to show me?” You don’t want to assume that he wants to touch you, although you have been told that men love to show their affection through sex.

Din slides his hand a little lower until he’s cupping your bare cunt, “I want to make you cum. I want to cum inside of you.” He murmurs, “claim you again. I want - I want you to ride me. Ride your riduur.” He murmurs, kissing along your neck.

You whimper quietly and tilt your head. This is a very different side of your riduur than you’ve previously experienced and you like it. “Ride you? You’ve imagined that?”

“Yes.” He confesses, his hand sliding lower until his fingers slide between your bare folds. “I want you to take your pleasure from me.” He murmurs, rubbing your clit with his fingers.

You moan softly, arching your hips up to his touch. “You will pleasure me.” You decide with a groan. “Strip your armor off, riduur.”

He nods, pulling his hand away from you to work diligently to remove his beskar until he’s in his flight suit. “I’ll look after you, riduur.” He promises and moves to remove the flight suit, his hard cock bouncing as he kicks it aside after removing his boots.

“You are- excited….” You murmur, sitting up and reaching out to wrap your hand around his hard cock. “What has you so worked up, riduur? Do you like your baby in my belly?”

He nods, a grunt escaping his lips. He never imagined he'd be so turned on by the idea of you round with his ad but he is. He pants when you start to pump him and he leans in to press his lips to yours, "yes, mesh'la."

“Then lay down.” You order softly. “I’ll show you how you planted your ad in me by riding your cock until you fill me up again.” You squeeze him gently before you let him go.

He groans and nods, quickly shifting to lay down on the bed beside you and his hands caressing your sides as you shift to straddle him. “Mesh’la riduur. My riduur.” He murmurs, proud of his claim over you. His hands slide up to gently squeeze your tits.

You moan quietly, closing your eyes as you shift to letting him lay down. Straddling his waist and grinding down onto his hard cock.

Din groans as you grind onto him. “That’s it baby. Keep - keep going. Want you to fuck me.” He murmurs, his dark eyes flicking up towards you. “Take what you need, cyar’ika.” He tells you, wanting you to be pleasured.

It’s different, keeping the control instead of giving it up to your riduur. It might be intoxicating because of how much it turns you on. Having your riduur submit to you and want you to take your pleasure from him. Reaching down, you line up with his thick length and slowly sink down onto him with a moan of his name.

Din watches you in rapture as you take his cock inside of you. He’s groaning your name and watching his length disappear inside of you. “You’re so right, mesh’la.” He murmurs, his eyes flicking up towards you and he reaches up to caress your cheek. “I love you.”

“I love you too, riduur.” You whisper back, leaning over once he’s fully seated inside you and kissing him softly. Gazing into his eyes and watching him with wonder. He's here, he’s claiming you and you’re going to have his ad.

His hands slide down to caress your body, taking in your beauty and he loves you. “You’re mine. I will protect you with my life.” He promises, thrusting up into you as you grind down onto him. “After this, we will return home.” He promises and you nod, “home.”

He wants to return to Nevarro with you. To have you in the little home he has on the edge of the desert. You have fallen in love with it, with him and his foundling. Even the strange friends he has with the people there. “I love you, riduur.” You promise, having to kiss him again and caresses his cheek softly. “My riduur.”

Din smiles against your lips and he slides his hands along your back. “Baby, you - you are so good to me.” He murmurs against your chin and he kisses along your jaw. “My riduur.” He sighs, his hands sliding down to your hips and he helps you rock on his cock.

This time is just as sweet as the first. Just as awe inspiring. Even if you are slightly stiff as you find what position is best for you to ride him. Finding that you love it when you are pressed against his chest most of all.

He caresses your back and down to your ass, squeezing and smacking your cheeks playfully to get you to move on his cock. “That’s it baby. Ride my cock. Wanna feel you cum.” He says, groaning at the new position. It’s more than he could ever imagine. He’s clenching his jaw to try to hold off his orgasm, wanting you to cum for him.

“Rub my- oh rub my clit.” You beg, grabbing his hand and moving it between you to the sensitive little bundle of nerves. “Oh fuck, Din.” You hiss when he presses and starts to quickly rub tight circles.

He follows your order, rubbing your clit a little faster and he loves the way you flutter around his cock. “That’s it, riduur. Maker, your cunt is so tight.” He groans and thrusts up into you, his feet flat on the bed and you’re pushed up his body as he works to make you cum.

Your chants of his name start to get loud, filtering out of your room and you know that anyone nearby would hear it. Making you gasp as you realize everyone in the covert, everyone on Mandalore would know that you are his. It throws you over the edge and you cry out in pleasure when your cunt clamps down on his cock.

He loved the way you cry out. It’s intoxicating and he knows that you are going to keep him on his toes. His eyes squeeze shut as you clamp down around his cock and he leans in to press his lips to yours, smothering the rest of the cry of his name and he squeezes your hips. “Baby. I- I’m going to - shit.” He hisses, “I’m going to cum.” He chokes and thrusts up into you three more times before he twitches inside of you, filling you with his hot seed.

Your eyes close and you smile as you lean down to burrow your face into his neck. “Fuck, that feels so good.” You whimper. “I hope you want many ads. Because I feel like you are going to keep me pregnant.”

Din chuckles, “we have nine months to make you feel good while you grow this one.” He says as he caresses your back. “Then we will make another. And another. And another.” He says as he kisses your neck over and over. “I love you, riduur. We were made for each other.” He murmurs, leaning back so he can cup your cheek. “Now, let’s get dressed and get you home.”

You reluctantly pull off his cock, dressing in the clothes that had somehow been brought back to your room after being stripped in the forge room. Reaching for your helmet and turning to look at your riduur one more time before his own helmet goes back on. “Let’s go home, Din.”

After you both redress, Din finds Grogu and escorts you to the dock where his ship awaits. The Armorer stands there, hands behind her back. “You will be back Mand’alor. The covert needs you. We shall see you when you are ready to return.” She says and Din stares at her for a second before he nods. After settling his family in the ship, he gets in and begins the journey to Nevarro. He isn’t sure what the future holds, if he is going to return to Mandalore. One thing is for certain, he will be spending his days with his riduur, raised his ads, his foundling, and he will protect them with his life. That is his creed. This is the way.

[decembermidnight]

Beskar and Pearls

Summary: Wearing the luxurious gift the Mandalorian gave you while accompanying him on a business trip turns out to be a pleasurable torture.

Pairing: Din Djarin x f!reader

Word count: 3.9k

Warnings: no plot - just smut, 18+ MDNI, teasing in public, Dom!Din, sub!reader, possessive!Din, lots of dirty talk, Din being a sexy arrogant asshole, glove kink, masculinity kink, humiliation kink, hair pulling, unprotected rough sex, mentions of exhibitionism kink, multiple orgasms, multiple creampies (wtf is a refractory period), a hint of overstimulation

A/N: the most coherent thoughts I have while ovulating. I have no excuse. This is FILTHYYYY I hope you enjoy it! Reblogs and comments are always appreciated!! Also a big thank you to @thefrogdalorian for making sure it's written in decent English and to @saradika-graphics for the perfect divider 💕

Masterlist - Read on Ao3

The Mandalorian has just landed his ship on Nevarro after spending an entire month catching quarries in the outer rim. He has been away most of the time, but he made sure he'd make up for it every time he came back, too proud and stubborn to admit with words that he missed you, but demonstrating it by spoiling you with luxurious gifts and his body.

You look at him in reverential adoration as he dresses in his armour – a blend of his Mandalorian heritage and the many trophies he acquired from his victims, dark red in colour and dented after many close encounters with death.

He's just finished strapping weapons everywhere on his marvellous body when he addresses you.

“Hey. Got this for you. Wear it. We’re going to the market, I have some business to attend to,” Mando says as he hands you a small drawstring pouch he was hiding in his utility belt.

You immediately open it and its content leaves you speechless. It’s the sexiest piece of underwear you’ve ever seen – an expensive-looking black lace thong with just a string of pearls meant to go between your pussy lips.

If he wants you to wear it while in Nevarro, a lawless planet full of dangerous bounty hunters, you will wear it under the shortest skirt you have. The mere thought of his eyes glued to your ass, hoping to get a glimpse of it while being vigilant of other men at the same time, makes your head spin. You let out an aroused sigh and look at him, impassive as always behind the dark visor.

“That should keep you busy,” Mando chuckles and tilts his helmet.

You immediately wear it along with that short, flowy dress that also happens to be his favourite one on you.

“Let me see it,” he says as his hands grab you by the waist. He brings you closer to him and immediately lifts your skirt. He kneels before you and lets out a satisfied hum when he sees the tempting way the pearls disappear into your slit. The Mandalorian lingers there, dark visor trained on that heavenly view as his gloved hands caress your thighs. The sharp contrast between the coarse leather and your delicate, soft skin gives you a thrill of pleasure. You guess – you hope – the trip won’t take long.

His chestplate rises and falls as he struggles to catch his breath and maintain his composure at the sight of your perfect cunt dressed in pearls. It’s incredible to see how something so dainty could turn out to be so perverse and sinful.

“Come on. Let’s go now,” he says as he stands up. Now at his full height, his imposing figure resumes towering over yours. You admire him in awe, taking in the broadness of his body and the way his armour magnificently highlights it.

He offers you his hand to descend the ramp and as soon as you start walking, you understand why he said that it would keep you busy. With every step that you take, the pearls pleasurably rub against your clit. You can feel yourself getting wet already. There's an aroused expression on your face that Mando does not miss.

"Are you enjoying it?" he asks teasingly.

"Yes," you answer and bite your lip.

"Good,” you can hear how pleased he is seeing you like that after you’ve barely taken a few steps out of the ship. You know the thought of you being so aroused in public while having to control yourself is making him hard. You decide to play his game, see where this leads.

Mando is walking right behind you, strutting proudly as he stalks you like a hunter follows its prey. You feel his gaze trained on your butt, so you accentuate the swaying of your hips to get more friction from the pearls and to seduce him even further, hoping to get a reaction from him.

"Shake your ass as much as you want, you're not getting anything until I'm done here. You're only getting this scum to see how pretty you are. I like it," he slaps your ass and chuckles. You bite your lip to muffle a whimper.

"See the way they're looking at you? If they dare even think of touching you, their dead body will touch the ground before they lay one finger on you," he whispers in your ear as he grabs your hand and positions it over his blaster.

"You are mine," he growls in your ear as he wraps his other hand around your waist. He pulls you close, until the flustered, naked skin of your back touches his cold beskar chest plate. A thrill of excitement traverses your whole body and goes straight between your legs.

No one would be so stupid to touch you, not when a Mandalorian is claiming you as his, not when you can feel his erection against your ass. The whole thing is making you light-headed with arousal, so much that you start to shamelessly rub your ass against his cock. His hand tightens its grasp around your waist as your head rolls back to rest on his shoulder. You sigh in his neck and his hand trails up and wraps around your throat.

"Behave now," the Mandalorian growls as you feel his fingers tightening their grasp, trying to restrain himself from giving into lust already.

“I want you,” you whisper in his neck.

“I know,” he replies confidently before releasing you. What an arrogant motherfucker. You want to make him so hard he’ll want to bring you back to the ship and fuck your brains out, putting his desire for you before his stupid pride and his business. You want him to surrender to his carnal instinct.

The more steps you take, the more desperate you become for relief from this agonising, yet pleasurable torture. The pearls are stimulating your clit mercilessly, without ever getting you close to an orgasm. Your cunt spasms and clenches and what's worse is that he knows. Mando has spent so long quietly studying his bounties that he can tell by the irregular way you're breathing that you're struggling with the sensation. You bet he's enjoying every second of it, smirking under the helmet.

Just before entering the market area, he pulls you closer to him one more time, making you gasp.

"Now be quiet. You wouldn't want to fuck up my business. Be a good girl," he whispers softly in your ear as you feel his hand on your lower belly—close, so close to where you want him the most. Maker, he’s rock hard. You can feel it. You can’t think of anything else when his erection is pressing against your ass and his arm is tightly wrapped around your waist. He lets you go and you enter the market area together.

You try to divert your attention on whatever item they’re selling in the stands but it’s mostly weapons and things for bounty hunters that you couldn’t care less about. You can feel your arousal starting to drip down your legs, making your inner thighs slippery. Your swollen clit is pulsing and begging for attention, but Mando has been clear - you’ll get nothing until I'm done here, and you know nothing could make him change your mind, unless you play your cards right.

He grabs a seat in a beat-up wooden booth, his legs spread wide due to the massive erection trapped in his pants. There is an undeniable air of confidence and arrogance to him when he sits like this, looking so imposing and authoritative. You wish you could just drop to your knees and please him in any way he wants.

"Be my good pretty whore and sit here," Mando invites you to sit on his thigh and you immediately comply. You're so damn wet, you can't keep your legs closed.

"Hmm? Sitting here like this with your legs spread open? Do you want everyone to see your pretty cunt? Better let them know to whom this belongs, don't you think?" he coos in your ear with his husky voice. He knows you're both perfectly concealed and no one could see what's going on under that table. He's doing that just to prove a point—that you belong to him.

You nod mindlessly as his hand cups your cunt and stays there, still, without moving.

"Mando. Mando I need–" you whisper in his neck in a trembling voice.

"Oh. I know," he says, pleased when he sees how flustered you're getting. "Not yet," he growls as one of his gloved fingers trails your slit. He stops right before your clit, making you whimper and grip his arm tight in response. You dig your nails in his flightsuit as he feels how unbelievably wet you are.

"Hey. Behave now," he whispers as a Rodian approaches the booth and takes a seat, greeting him with a nod of his head. He immediately hands Mando a puck.

You have no idea what they’re talking about – you can't focus on anything else apart from the way Mando’s gloved hand holds the puck. You look at his fingers with pure lust, thinking of them touching your clit, pumping inside your cunt, the coarse leather caressing your skin. 

You let your hand trail on his inner thigh and he stays surprisingly calm, not flinching one bit as your fingertips slowly slide higher, until they finally meet his cock. He is so unbelievably hard, you feel him throbbing underneath your fingers as you trail them all over his length. The Mandalorian won't betray any emotion, which turns you on even more. He's perfectly calm and collected on the outside, but you bet he'd love to throw you on that table and bury himself in you.

As soon as the Rodian hands Mando a handful of credits as an advance, he leaves.

"Please. Please, I need you," you whisper in his neck.

"I'm not done here. Be patient."

The throbbing need between your legs causes you to ache so badly that you don’t notice another man has approached and taken a seat until he begins speaking with the Mandalorian.

They're speaking in a foreign language, and Mando’s interlocutor does not seem happy. Judging by their tones of voice and gestures, they appear to be negotiating the fee for Mando collecting a certain bounty that the man needs capturing and he is displeased that Mando commands a high price. You’ve learnt over the time you’ve spent with the Mandalorian that there's not much room for negotiation with him. He has leverage since he's regarded as being the best bounty hunter in the outer rim. The way he speaks is so confident, it makes you even wetter how he does not lose composure while the other man is basically yelling at him. 

He starts running his thumb on the string of pearls digging in your slit, feeling how wet you are for him as he keeps talking to his client while you're sitting in his lap, doing nothing but looking pretty. You're his slut and he wants everyone to know it, but you have to act cool even as he teases you under the table. You have to control the way you breathe, you can't let even the smallest whimper out. Why is this so hot? Why is he so hot?

In the end, the man hands him a hefty amount of credits and rises from the table with a huff, muttering and cursing as he goes.

"Please, take me back to the ship and fuck me. I won't ask for anything else, please," you whisper sensually in the crook of his neck.

"I'm not done here," he tries to appear impassive, but as soon as you resume your touching between his legs, he jerks slightly. You smirk, satisfied.

"Mando…" you trace the outline of his cock with your fingers, feeling how hard his erection is while purring in his neck. His pants are thick, but as you stop right at the tip, drawing circles on it with your fingertips, you can feel the fabric getting slightly damp.

“You’re so hard…” you sigh sensually as you keep rubbing his cock. You hear a choked grunt from him, now that he can’t focus on his job anymore, now that he’s at the mercy of your teasing. You’re so tempting, acting so shameless in public, the thrill of someone noticing the two of you drives him insane and you know it. You’re finally getting your revenge. You can bet he's close to losing control. Mando is twitching in his pants, his breathing getting heavier and heavier...

"Fuck it." He grabs you by the arm and you rush out of the market and back to the ship.

The Mandalorian doesn't even wait for the ramp to close behind him to bend you over the first crate he finds, kicking your legs open with his feet and freeing his throbbing erection. His gloved hands run up your skirt and position themselves around your hips, keeping you steady for him as he slams into you all at once. He meets no resistance from your drenched cunt whatsoever, leaving you breathless as you exhale in a loud moan. You're crushed between the crate and his beskar body, pleasurably forced to take his thick cock. You're only able to let out ragged groans and clamp tightly around him as he finally gives it to you just like you wanted.

"You. Fucking whore. Couldn't wait for me to finish my business. Wanted this dick so much, hm? Are you happy now?!" his thrusts are furious and relentless, his hips crushing your body against the crate with a devastating force. The angle at which he's hitting you is deep, so deep that you can't even prop yourself up on your shaky elbows. You're just getting brutally fucked without dignity.

"You get so disobedient when you want this cock. Maybe I should just tie you up and gag you?"

You can't even mumble words, too absorbed by the feeling of his cock thrusting inside of you, so aroused at the idea of him using your body for his pleasure.

"You're so wet. Damn. It must have been such a torture, right? To be so wet and turned on? Hearing you beg like that made me so fucking hard. Feel it. Feel what you do to me," he rasps as he rails you deep and hard.

The way the pearls are rubbing against your clit and the perfect rhythm of his thrusts are driving you close to the edge already.

"Mando, Mando, I'm–" you can barely mumble as you helplessly drag your hands against the crate.

"Yeah. Come. Seems like it's the only thing that will make you obedient. You wanted it so much, you can have as many as you want today."

'Thank you, thank you, tha–" your blissful chant is abruptly cut as the orgasm takes control over your body. Your cunt clenches hard around his thick cock and your legs jerk uncontrollably, barely touching the ground as he keeps you still and never stops drilling into you as you ride your high. The pleasure is so intense, it leaves you breathless as your cunt keeps involuntarily spasming around him in aftershock. You're panting against the metal crate beneath you, overwhelmed and reduced to a trembling, feeble mess, the coldness of it is a relief against the hot, flustered skin of your body that won't stop begging for him.

"Is this what you wanted, hm? For me to stop everything I was doing to come here and take care of you? Needy girl. You desperately wanted attention, hm?"

You can only mumble in assent, feeling the way he takes out his rage on you.

"Bet you would've let me fuck you in a dirty fucking alley if I wanted to."

"Y-yes–" you reply in a breathy groan, drenching yourself at the mere thought.

"What a slut. What if someone heard you screaming like that? What if someone heard how wet this pussy is when I fuck it? Fuck, you're dripping!"

For a man who barely speaks in normal circumstances, he sure does like to run his mouth when he's buried deep inside of you.

"Yeah. I bet you'd like it if someone saw me fucking you like the slut that you are," he pants and you start whimpering and clamping around him at the idea.

"I knew it. You're such a whore. But you are mine, and I won't let anyone hear these pretty moans and see this perfect cunt. They belong to me. To me," he growls.

"Yes – yes. I fuck–ing b-belong to you," you repeat mindlessly.

"Does it get this much to get you this wet? Just a string of pretty pearls? Looking so fucking good. So fucking good. Are you enjoying it?"

"Yes, Mando!"

"Shit, you're so tight. You're making me come," he says in a broken voice. His thrusts get erratic, as does his breathing "This cunt is so perfect, so fucking perfect," he emphasises the very last word before bursting, spilling hot and wet inside of you in a ragged groan, whining at how good it feels. His muscles tense and he gets rigid behind you, his head rolling back in pleasure.

"Oh, fuck! You're so hot. Spill all of your cum inside of me. Like this, yes!" you cry and start touching your clit, so turned on at the sight and feeling of his orgasm.

The sounds he makes as he comes are the hottest ones you have ever heard. The infamous Mandalorian – stoic, imposing and menacing – is getting lost in the overwhelming pleasure you’re offering him. Your drenched, tight pussy is making that dangerous warrior crumble. You’re so aroused, you need more.

"Please, please don't stop fucking me!" you dare asking him.

"I won't," he grunts as he keeps burying his dick deep, so deep inside of you.

"Don't stop. Don't stop. Oh, fuck, I need you to fuck me harder, please!" you plead as you feel his cum starting to drip down your hole. "Maker, please!" you say as you start frantically slapping and rubbing your clit as you hear the obscene, sloppy sounds of his cock thrusting in and out of you, of his hips slamming against your ass.

"I won't stop. Fuck, I want more. I can't stop. You drive me fucking insane!" he growls, resembling a wild beast, completely overwhelmed by lust. You feel his cock still pulsing inside of you as you get even wetter.

"Look at this perfect cunt. You're so full of my cum, damn, you can't ever get enough of it, can you? Fucking cum slut. Look what you make me do. Just came inside of you but I can't stop fucking this perfect cunt. You want to drain me. Are you proud of yourself, hm? Making me so fucking hard in public and teasing me like the whore that you are."

"Fuck, yes, I'm your whore. Your slave. I'm so close, please–" you mutter deliriously while your fingers and the pearls are rubbing against your clit in a wet, nasty mess of your fluids and his cum. You come hard around him once again, strangling his spent, sensitive cock in your tight grasp and hear him grunting, his grip on your hips tightens and his whole body jerks, but he really can’t have enough.

"Yeah. Yeah. Come on my fucking cock, whore. Let me feel it." he encourages you, gritting those words between his teeth, fighting his own oversensitivity, so addicted to the way you feel around him.

He doesn't stop fucking you, not even after your orgasm. He keeps railing you relentlessly. You bring your hand to your mouth and suck your fingers, tasting the bitterness of his cum blended with the slightly salty taste of your fluids on your tongue. Its taste is addicting, the scent heady and intoxicating in the best way possible.

"You taste so good, Mando. We taste so good together," you drawl, overwhelmed by pleasure.

"Yeah, I bet we do," he grabs a handful of your hair and pulls it to lift your head up, giving it to you even harder, making your eyes roll back in your head. You are screaming, completely entranced by the way his cock is still pumping hard inside of you.

"So damn loud. You like being fucked like this, hm?"

He hits even harder from this angle, keeping you nice and still for him to use as he pleases. You're so busy screaming that you can't even reply to him.

"Yeah. Scream as loud as you want. Let me hear how much you want it. I like it."

You can feel his cum dripping down your legs with every thrust, hearing the sloppy, squelching sounds your bodies make. Mando can't even restrain himself anymore, he’s moaning and sighing at how much he's enjoying it. Your cunt is spasming around him, turned on at the way he sounds.

"You like it, hm? To reduce me like this?" he says in between thrusts.

The truth is that yes, you do. You love making the Mandalorian falter with your teasing, making him so desperate and boiling with lust, he has to leave business to fuck you hard, so hard that any coherent thought leaves your mind. You love it when you can feel the man under all that beskar, when he makes you feel like the most important and beautiful thing in the galaxy.

"Yeah, you do," he answers himself as he slows his rhythm, slipping out of you completely only to slowly bury himself inside of you to the hilt, enjoying the view and feeling of his cock entering into your cunt dripping with his cum.

You bite your lip to muffle your screams just to hear him moaning and sighing as he feels the welcoming warmth of your cunt.

“Mando. Mando, please,” you beg as you feel your legs impatiently shaking as his shaft rubs that perfect spot inside of you with each thrust.

“What?”

“Harder. Please?” you beg, subjugated by that perfect teasing.

He slams into you so deeply that you feel it pulsing against your cervix.

“What? Like this? Hm?” he says as he starts to jackhammer you.

“Yes, yes, yes, yes,” you chant as you resume touching your clit.

“Greedy whore. Ready for another one? I'm not stopping.”

“Mmmm,” you can only reply as you feel another wave of overwhelming pleasure approaching.

You hear him panting as he gives you a few more violent, deep thrusts, driving you over the edge one more time.

“Yeah. Take it – fucking t-take–” he grunts when he feels your walls clenching around his cock, your orgasm pushing him over the edge, too.

A loud, violent snarl rips through his lips as he comes, filling you with his white, thick load once again. The grip of his hands around your hips turns to steel, your eyes roll up so high all you can see is pitch black as he keeps pumping his cock into you as you both ride your high. The feeling completely obliterates you, turning your body and mind into a helpless, exhausted mess.

A huge, satisfied grin forms on your face as you feel him slowly slip out of you and his cum starts dripping down your cunt and legs.

“Good work," he pants "now be a good girl and wait for me while I go back there. Don’t move one muscle and maybe we will pick up where we left off,” he says as he tucks his spent cock in his cum stained pants, not giving a shit about it, looking at the mess he made of you, disrupted and leaking with his seed. Wrecked, used, marked. His.

[lamentationsofalonelypotato]

What Did I Do?

Pairing: Din Djarin x f!reader, Reader POV and Din POV

Summary: When your brother drops in for a surprise visit, it has an odd effect on Din that you can't understand. Takes place after Season 3 when Din and Grogu have been living in their cabin on Nevarro. This is the fifth fic in my Sugar, Spice, and Starlight Series!

Tropes: Bakery AU, Grumpy vs. Sunshine, Mutual Pining, Jealous!Din, Miscommunication.

Word Count: 7.3K

Warnings: Angst, Miscommunication, Heartbreak, Sadness, Awkward Situation, Big Brother Antics, Protective Big Brother? Din getting super jealous and handling it poorly? The reader is really soft and likes to bake? Din being a little bit self-deprecating to himself? Din might be a little bit OOC.

Note: This is told from Reader's perspective. Any references to the reader is made using you or your. There is no use of y/n! I tried my best to proofread, but nobody's perfect. If you don’t like, don’t read, but if you do like, you’re my favorite! I'm just starting to write for Din, so please be gentle.

Internal monologue is in italics and is in first person.

Main Masterlist

Series Masterlist

A/N: Okay, warning now this one is a little bit sad and angsty, but angst is my middle name so I can't be held responsible for this 😅

Reader POV

“Stop eating all my merchandise! Do they not feed you on your planet or something?” You shout hitting your older brother, Ezekiel, on the back of his head with a wooden spoon. It was much more satisfying now because he wasn't wearing his usual helmet to protect himself and the loud smack of the spoon against his skull filled you with an unashamed amount of joy.

Your brother's visit to Nevarro had caught you by surprise. He rarely called before he dropped in unannounced, but by now you were used to it. That being said, he had still scared you when you woke up in the middle of the night to the sound of your front door being opened and a dark shape slipping through the opening to loom in your living room.

Given what you’d been through with the Transdoshan a month ago, you figured that your reaction was justified.

If your screams had woken up your neighbors upstairs they hadn’t cared and all your brother did was laugh at you when you’d come at him in the darkness armed only with the large cookbook that you’d fallen asleep reading.

But you'd missed him.

You hadn't seen him in three months, not since you left to find the perfect place to open your shop, aka the cheapest real estate that you could invest your entire life's savings into. It had seemed like fate when you'd found the listing on your holopad one night while you were mindlessly scrolling for something in your price range, and you'd bought the place sight unseen despite your brother’s numerous insistences for you to “sleep on it” not make a random impulse purchase in the dead of night.

You hadn’t listened to him, and you didn’t regret your decision for a single second.

You loved living on Nevarro. Loved the small sprawl of buildings that warmed in the sunlight and turned to shades of silver in the moonlight, loved the fountain where growing families frolicked in the crystal blue water, and loved the customers who walked into your shop and feasted on the multicolored pastries stacked in the pristine glass cases at the front of your shop.

Some more than others.

Your cheeks warm with the thought of Din and Grogu. They hadn’t been in yet, not since your brother had arrived last night, and you wanted Din to meet him, after all, Ezekiel was the only family you had left.

You could feel the anxiety over their meeting sparking along your nerve endings. Something about it felt important, like your two worlds were colliding in the best way. It felt special.

Get a grip, it's not like the two of us are dating and I'm bringing him home to meet my parents. It's just Ez, but…

The thought of your brother and Din getting along seemed like a big step in that direction.

Things had definitely changed since Din saved you from the Transdoshan one month ago. It felt different between the two of you and you loved every second of it.

Din would stop by every morning to say "hello" before he took Grogu to school and a bag of goodies with him when he left to go about his day and each night Din would stop by after you closed up to walk you home. You'd told him a few times that he didn't need to, that you didn't want him to waste his time, but he'd said that "it wasn't a waste if it meant you were home safe."

You weren't sure why he was so worried about you getting home safe, but if it meant spending more time with Din you weren't going to say no.

He would walk stoically next to you, his Beskar glinting in the starlight that shone down and dramatized the formidable figure of the man you were quickly falling head over heels for, with Grogu snoring quietly in your arms, while you talked about your day and Din listened in the still silence of the night.

Sometimes you worried that you were just babbling on like Grogu, but Din listened. And just when you thought you were saying too much, Din would ask you another question to keep you talking.

It wasn't things that you’d thought he'd be interested in anyway- he'd ask you about how you picked flavors for your treats, how much time you spent on each one- and then there were the other questions, the ones about your kitchen that you didn't understand why Din would ask you or why he was interested in. Things like: how big one of the ovens was, how much space you needed on the counter to knead bread, and how many burners you needed when you used a stove top.

You figured that he was asking because he was trying to see how much room he'd need in his kitchen at his house as he was still working on it. Sometimes you thought about asking him if he needed help, but you didn’t know anything about construction. Of course the thought of watching Din working on his kitchen made your throat tight. Watching him sand down cabinets with his large hands until they were butter smooth, seeing him reach overhead to install light fixtures-

Your cheeks heat with your blush.

But you liked spending those walks with Din, holding Grogu in your arms as he drifted off to sleep. Each time Din tried to put Grogu back into his bag to give your arms a rest, Grogu would wriggle defiantly while you shooed away Din’s hands until he finally sighed and gave up.

By the time you reached your door Grogu would be fast asleep, his lips still sticky with the cake that Din told you not to give him, but you did anyway and always earned a heavy sigh of your name through the modulator of the helmet.

Something about the way Din said it, made you smile and your cheeks warm. You liked it, and each time you would wish to hear what it would sound like without his helmet on.

But it wasn't just the walks home that were new, you noticed that you'd see Din more in the city during the day. Whenever you went to the market Din would show up and take the bags for you so you didn’t have to carry them back to the shop, whenever you were reading by the fountain you'd catch a glimpse of his armor disappearing into the crowd of people on the outskirts, and whenever you were cleaning the front counter you’d see Din walk by talking to Karga or to Cara.

Each time you saw him with Cara you felt your chest tighten. She was everything you weren't. Confident, self-assured, tough, not to mention she wasn't soft like you were. She was almost cut from stone, arms shaped with hardened muscle the size of your face, and she had a look on her face that always said "don't mess with me." It made you wonder if that was what Din wanted, if he wanted someone who was more like Cara. Cara could take care of herself and here Din was walking you home to "make sure you were safe."

Not to mention he’d saved you from the Transdoshan who you knew you’d have been helpless to fight him off.

You didn’t want Din to think of you like a bother or like a little girl who couldn’t function without some knight in shining armor to save her. The thought that he’d like Cara more because of her self sufficiency  made your smile slip into a frown, but you shook it off.

You were going to focus on the fact that Din was spending time with you, because you were sure that you were imagining it, but when you first opened your shop and in the time before you had officially opened your shop you hadn't seen Din once in town.

But now you couldn't help but bump into him.

However, that wasn't the only thing that changed between the two of you, Din had started bringing you little things from other planets whenever he left to go on a bounty. First it had been a rock its sharp edges worn smooth from an ocean on another world and a shell the size of your hand that allowed you to hear the rapid beat of waves against an invisible shoreline when you held it up to your ear. Another time Din had brought you a little figurine to keep on the shelf behind the counter carved out of strong whiskey colored wood.

The newest thing that Din had brought you was the apron you were wearing around your waist over your purple dress. It was beautiful, a dark blue and hand embroidered with flowers along the edges in different colors each one intricately woven into the soft fabric. It was almost too pretty to use, but you liked having it on when Din came by.

When he'd given it to you, you'd been speechless while Din had stuttered out a "Do you like it cyare?"

And you'd shaken your head enthusiastically. You hadn't known what to say, it was the most beautiful thing you owned and it was special because it meant that Din was thinking of you when he was gone, that he had taken the time to find something he knew you would use everyday.

But also because you’d thought the sound of his stutter through the helmet was unspeakably cute, and you were sure that his cheeks were red with his blush when you hugged him and said you loved it.

The hugging was also a new development. It started the night that Din had walked you home after the Transdoshan and since then it had only become more frequent. That night you had felt Din stiffen in surprise before he hugged you back and you were afraid when he’d stuttered out his goodbye and then left.

But the next night, when he walked you home, he had stepped forward as if anticipating the hug, waiting for you to initiate it. It make you beam at him and hug him so tight you weren’t sure if you were hurting him, but you were just so happy that he’d wanted you to hug him you couldn’t stop yourself. And now it was a nightly occurrence.

Not to mention whenever Din told you he was going to be gone for a few days, you always gave him a hug before sending him on his way with a bag full of treats while you bounced Grogu in your arms happily. Din had begun to leave Grogu with you when he went away and you were more than happy to have the little guy around.

“Yeesh, calm down!” Ezekiel rubs the back of his head with one hand and shoves another square of the Uj cake into his mouth with his other one. “Can you blame me? This stuff is so good! I’m so glad you decided to move to the middle of nowhere and throw away your life to open a bakery!” He jokes with a wide smile.

“That’s it! Get out Ez!“ You say taking another swing at him with the wooden spoon.

He dodges the attack. “Sorry baby sis, you're stuck with me for another three days." Ezekiel sing-songs through a mouth full of the sticky brown pastry.

You exaggerate a sigh and roll your eyes. Secretly you loved having him here, but you weren't going to admit it.

Your older brother might be annoying, and yeah he might be eating the one thing that you make especially for Din when he comes in to the shop, and yes your brother might be keeping you up every night with his snoring because your apartment was only one room and you couldn’t block the heavy rumble of his snores with your pillow and-

Where was I going with this? Oh right.

But he was the only family that you had left and you loved your brother.

Even when he'd left you with your grandmother, he didn't really leave. He called you on your holo-pad every week, sent money when he could, and when your grandmother died he had come to bring you back with him to his home, before trying his best to convince you to move in with his clan, but you had told him no.

You didn’t regret that. You felt like you were building something on Nevarro for yourself, doing something for you for the first time in your life.

And you couldn't wait to see where this path led.

"Shut up and make yourself useful!" You roll your eyes again, grabbing a tray of Jorgan fruit buns and thrusting them into your brother's open hands.

"If I had known you were going to put me to work I wouldn’t have come." He grumbles under his breath.

"Too bad. Jax wanted a few days off and I'm shorthanded." You say grabbing a tray of spiced egg-milk tarts, before leading the way out into the crowded shop.

The early morning rush had begun to subside, but there were still a good amount of people sitting at the smooth wooden tables at the front of your bakery chattering excitedly over buns, pies, and thick slices of cake with sweet cream icing.

This is why I came here.

The scene in front of you filled you with happiness, the smell of the sweet rolls and fresh bread bringing you back to the moments you spent tucked in your grandmother's kitchen watching her knead bread, pipe sticky icing, and roll out dough with a practiced precision that only you could replicate. Each day you felt her with you, and each day you knew that you made the right decision to come to Nevarro.

Ez follows you out into the crowded shop with a chuckle, carrying the tray and holding it for you while you stock one of the two large glass cases.

The buzz of the coffee maker behind the counter reminds you that you need to make your rounds with the pot to refill cups, but you hold off.

You were slightly surprised by the crowds. You thought that the presence of another Mandalorian would cause a stir, given everything that people still said about Din, but apparently they didn't feel the need to shame your brother to the outskirts of town as they had him.

That or maybe you'd shamed enough people into being nicer.

Doubtful.

You'd gone with Din to pick Grogu up a few times after school when it was slow and you needed the fresh air after being cooped up in the bakery all day, and each time Ms. Cross would whisper under her breath with the other parents who all threw looks in your direction. You ignored them and bounced Grogu on your hip, listening to him babble, telling you about his day in his own little way while Din watched you, and unbeknownst to you, smiled beneath his Beskar as Grogu did.

However, despite the rumors that were obviously circulating about Din and you, your business hadn't suffered. You had the only bakery on Nevarro, and, not that you were bragging, you knew for a fact everything you made was delicious and addictive. Even Ms. Cross would still come in a few mornings during the week for a cup of coffee and a Jorgan-berry cream tart before she went off to the school. She never said anything to you, and you were more than happy to have Jax deal with her before she left, casting an uncomfortable look in your direction as she did.

But even if you only had one customer, there was only one person that you were eager to see.

You hadn't mentioned Din to your brother. You knew that the moment you did that it would lead to endless teasing about Din and how you felt about him, but you wanted to ask your brother if he knew of any clans of Mandalorians that didn't remove their helmets.

When Din had told you "this is the way," it did little to pique your curiosity… but what he'd said about being married to him had.

The thought of being married to Din brought a heat to your cheeks and an enjoyable shiver down your spine- the thought that you would be the only person aside from Grogu that he shared his face with made you bite your cheek to stop the smile from splitting your face.

You didn't know why Din had been so adamant about telling you that particular part of his culture, but since he'd shared that little tid-bit it took all your willpower not to think about it during the day.

He wasn't telling you that he wanted to marry you. He was just sharing something about himself.

You chided yourself.

Aside from Din "demonstrating" how he kissed, Din had not said anything or done anything else that would persuade you that he wanted to be more than just friends. He was still calling you his friend and you figured that he was only getting you the presents because he was trying to repay you in his own way for your kindness to him when you baked treats for him.

But there was a little part of you that hoped. Hoped that Din was starting to see you as more than a friend, hoped that maybe that kiss the two of you shared had meant more, and hoped that all of it was Din trying to express how he felt about you the only way he knew how.

"So how have you been? Really?" Ez asks you, breaking up your train of thought while holding the tray steady. He's studying you, his gaze concerned, but also inquisitive.

It was like your brother to be a little bit overprotective. When he'd found out you were living alone here, he'd installed another lock on your front door.

Of course that may have also been to fix the one he broke when he broke in last night.

"I'm doing great! I really like it here, and business is even better than I thought it would be. I mean I know that I'm good at baking things but this-" You gesture with your free hand around the crowded shop. "It's better than I thought."

"Gran would be proud of you." His eyes crinkle around the edges with his smile.

"Really?" You sniffle looking up at your brother.

"Of course she'd be." He puts the tray down on the counter, before he runs a hand through his thick hair. It was different than yours, so long that he usually wore it up in a bun. How he wore his helmet over it, you weren't sure, each time you thought that he was somehow defying the laws of physics. "And I'm proud of you too sis."

"Ez-" You sigh his name with a soft smile.

"No, I don't say it enough. I am so proud of you baby sis." He pulls you into a bear hug, so tight that it takes the wind out of your chest when he did.

"Thanks Ez." You squeak exaggeratedly while he squeezes you against his armor. The breastplate cuts into your cheek, but the familiar cool feeling of the metal makes you think about Din and how it feels to hug him.

I really have to stop thinking about him as often as I do.

But even you knew that was impossible to do.

You pull away from him, raising a hand to the side of his face. "I'm proud of you too."

The front door of the shop opens with a happy chime as another customer comes into the bakery, but you don't look away from your brother.

"Really?" Ezekiel flashes a hundred-watt smile, something lurks behind his eyes that makes your heart squeeze uncomfortably in your chest.

The truth was you knew that your brother still felt bad for leaving when you were kids. You saw it in the way he overcompensated to make you happy whenever he visited and you'd seen it in the way he'd begged you to stay with him on his planet before you moved to Nevarro.

You wished that he wouldn't. You'd never held it against him, never brought it up in a way to hurt him in the heat of a fight. You knew how broken he was when your parents died, and you owed so much to the clan of Mandalorians he'd joined. The same clan that treated you like their family whenever you visited.

It brought a smile to your face to know that your brother found where he belonged, and every day you were beginning to believe that this was where you did. In a small shop on Nevarro with the smell of fresh bread, cinnamon, and cloves wrapping you in a warm blanket, feeling at home for the first time since you'd lost your grandmother.

And there was something else.

You were drawn to Din, had been since the moment you met him. And maybe it would never work out between the two of you because you were falling in love with someone who still called you his "friend" despite how much time you spent together and how Din looked out for you, but you wanted to see where this path took you.

"Mhmm." You nod with a wide smile.

A gleam of silver shines in the corner of your eye, reflecting in the brilliant light from the sun that moves with a gentle hand through the front of your shop and you turn your head to look over the counter, your hand still on Ezekiel's cheek.

Din is standing there, holding Grogu in his left arm, wearing his full armor as usual. There's a rigidness to his stance, his helmet tilted just slightly to the right as he stares at where Ezekiel and you are standing.

An odd hush has fallen over the patrons sipping coffee.

"Din! Hi." Your smile turns blinding at the sight of your friend. Your hand drops from Ezekiel's face, who perks up at the appearance of another Mandalorian.

Din's body is stock straight, tense, unmoving. He doesn't return your greeting as he usually does, in fact he hasn't said anything since he'd entered your bakery.  You can feel his gaze on you, but it doesn't bring the usual warmth. And for some reason you can't help but think that Din is upset about something. The rigidness of his stance is unusual. You were accustomed to Din relaxing as soon as he entered your shop, his body untensing with each step closer to the counter as if being there made him feel the same way you did- like you were home again with your grandmother.

But Din isn't relaxed, in fact you think that he looks even more tense than he did a few moments ago.

Worry pricks in your chest.

"Hey brother!" Ezekiel says with a smile, oblivious to the tension in the air. Your brother says your name "Didn't tell me that there was a Mandalorian on Nevarro. I'm Ezekiel." He reaches across the counter to shake Din's hand.

Din doesn't answer for a moment, head tilting down to where Ezekiel's hand is stretched in his dirrection, before he looks up again.

"Din." He replies in a monotone, his voice buzzing against the modulator, not making any move to take your brother's hand.

Ezekiel blinks in surprise.

Why is Din acting so weird?

Grogu gurgles in his arms and reaches out for you, his hands opening and closing, asking for you to hold him with a happy smile on his face. But as you reach out to take him, Din pulls back so Grogu is out of reach.

Your hands hang there in the air for another few seconds as the wave of rejection crashes over you, making you feel like you were taking a knife to the heart.  Din has never, never acted like this before. He had never withheld the kid from you, especially not when Grogu was obviously asking for you.

Your smile falters.

"You want your usual?" You clear your throat, trying to recover, but when you try to smile it falls flat.

Why is he doing this?

You didn't understand why Din was acting this way. You'd been so excited for him to meet your brother, but now you wished that he'd never come. You didn't want him to meet Din if Din was going to act this way.

The good first impression that you knew Din would get from a fellow Mandalorian was dissolving before your very eyes like sugar in a strong cup of tea.

Din's empty hand tightens into a fist where it hangs at his side the longer he stands there looking at Ezekiel and you.

"Sure." Din replies, his tone cold.

It didn't matter that Din used the voice modulator on his helmet, you could hear the difference in how he spoke. You knew when he was upset, annoyed, angry, happy- you were so in tune with how Din acted that it didn't matter that you couldn't see his face. You knew him.

And seeing him like this was breaking your heart.

Ezekiel does not miss the attitude shift and his smile drops into a frown. Despite your brother leaving when you were younger, he never lost that protective instinct. He was your brother, it didn't matter that you were all grown up, Ezekiel was not one to back down, especially not if he thought that Din was being rude.

 "What's your problem?" He snaps, narrowing his eyes at Din.

The room is still completely silent, the tension crackling in the air like a lightning storm across the plains that brings the rumble of thunder in it's wake. You could feel the other people glancing from Ezekiel to Din waiting for the storm to break.

"Nothing." Din's stance remains rigid, while Grogu wriggles in his arms defiantly still trying to reach for you.

"Ez-" You try to interrupt, but Ezekiel waves you off.

"No. He's being a dick. What do you have a problem with me? Or with her?" Ezekiel starts to walk out from behind the counter, but you grab on to his arm to hold him back.

The last thing this needs is his temper.

"Ez please." You plead, looking from him to Din. The anxiety now was more of an electrical storm, buzzing and surging in your chest, electrifying through your nerve endings. Not to mention the last thing you wanted was for Ezekiel and Din to start fighting in the middle of your shop. "It's okay. Din was just dropping by to say hi."

There really wasn't way to salvage this situation, you knew that by now your brother has made up his mind about Din. There couldn't be another introduction, because Ez would always remember this, remember that Din was rude to you- or rather rude in the way Ezekiel saw it.

"And now he has." Ez almost growls, narrowing his eyes at Din. "So get out."

Din's helmet tilts in your direction for a moment, his hand tightening on the child. "Fine." And then he's gone, stomping out through the front door of your shop, the jingle no longer happy, but now more of a clang of destruction.

"Din wait!" You shout running after him, leaving your brother behind.

You couldn't let him go like this, not when you didn't understand what had just happened. Why he was acting angry with you. You wanted to know what you did so you could fix it.

He's ahead of you weaving through the crowds, trying to slip away, but you rush after him, watching the gleam of his metal in the morning sun, lighting the way to him.

"Din!" You reach him and gently grab his arm to stop him. "Please wait."

He whirls on you so fast you shudder out a gasp in surprise. "What?" His voice sounds cold tinged with annoyance and another emotion you can't place.

You recoil slightly with his shout. Din had never spoken to you that way. He was always softer with you, gentle in a way that he wasn't with anyone else except Grogu. To see him like this broke you.

"Please I'm sorry Ezekiel didn't mean to be rude he's just always-" You begin to say, trying to explain the situation and trying to understand why Din is acting the way he is.

"I have to go." Din interrupts, his helmet isn't tilted down at you, it's turned up to look over your head.

"No." You say shaking your head, heart thunderous against your ribs. "Din please tell me what's wrong. Tell me what I did. I want to help-"

"I have to go." He says again, pulling his arm out of your grasp.

Grogu coos and touches his father's armor, tapping it with his little fingers to get Din's attention, but he ignores him.

"Din-" Tears burned in your eyes as you say his name, confusion and hurt swirling in your chest, but if Din notices he doesn't care.

He turns away before you can find the words to finish your sentences vanishing into the crowd in a flash of silver and black. The people around you push and shove to get past in the early morning rush, but you can't feel it.

All you feel is the hole in your heart growing steadily with each step Din takes away from you and the tears that have begun to fall onto the dirt beneath your feet.

What did I do?

Din POV

How could I have been so stupid?

Din grits his teeth together as he continues down the dusty path back to his cabin outside of town. Each step sends a cloud of the reddish brown dirt wafting over the desolate plain. There's a rumble of thunder, that rattles against Din's armor, a warning of the afternoon storm that waited with bated breath behind the dusky clouds on the horizon.

Hurt and anger dueled in his chest, forming an unnatural lump in the pit of his stomach while the memory of what he'd just witnessed in your shop continues to flicker across his mind. It had been since the moment he walked out the door.

The images of you holding on to the Ezekiel's cheek in your shop with the soft look in your eyes that Din used to think you only reserved for him and you smiling at Ezekiel with your cheeks darkening with your blush as Ezekiel smiled back at you, made feel like he'd taken a punch to the stomach. Before when Din had heard the sound of your laugh it felt like something had broken inside of him and warmth he'd never known would flood through his body, but now the sound of your laugh mocked him and the shine of your smile like a dark cloud.

Of course she already has someone courting her, she was only being nice to you. She's nice to everyone. Why didn't I see this before?

He'd gotten his hopes up over the past few weeks, all the time he spent with you feeling the warmth of your smile in his chest, hearing you softly say his name in a way that made something deep down break open, and all the moments that he felt like you had begun to feel the same way about him that he felt about you. 

Din had never allowed himself to hope for anything, but you changed all of that the moment Din walked into your shop for the first time and saw you standing there holding his son, taking care of him like he was your own.

But now Din felt like an idiot for hoping, for thinking that you would ever be with him.

That’s why she wasn't afraid of me, she already has a Mandalorian in her life.

When Din killed the Transdoshan he'd been so afraid that you would run from him, that you would turn your back and join the people who whispered unspeakable things about him, but you hadn't, you'd run to him, hugged him, allowed him to touch you…

Din felt his cheeks warm momentarily remembering the way that you held his hands, how you'd cradled them between the two of you, almost reverently. Your skin was softer than Din imagined, your curious fingertips trailing and exploring places on Din's rough palms that made him weak in the knees and made him want to melt into your touch. And Din would be lying if he said he didn't go to sleep at night thinking what it would have been like to feel the gentle caress of your fingertips against his face, for you to trace the sensitive skin and look at him, really look at him the way no one else had since he was a boy.

Din cringed as the image of your hand on Ezekiel's cheek comes flashing across his mind, followed by the echo of your laugh in his ears. Din wondered if the two of you would have another laugh later when you told Ezekiel that Din had been calling you 'beloved' in Mando'a.

He sighs as he opens the front door of his home coming to a stop just inside the entryway, to stomp his muddy boots against the rug. His head turns in the direction of his kitchen.

It was still in varying levels of construction. As soon as Din saw how much you loved to bake and cook he knew that you’d need a place in his home big enough to do so. He’d been working on his kitchen since the moment he decided to court you, creating the space from the questions he’d asked you about how much room you needed in your own bakery.

If you were to accept his courtship this would be your home as much as his and Din wanted to make a place that felt like home to you. He'd seen the way your face lit up when you spoke about your grandmother and her large kitchen, saw how happy it made you to remember her, and Din wanted so badly to give you that here.

He’d wanted you to have somewhere that felt like home to you, now he wished that he hadn’t started in the first place.

Grogu babbles something where he swings in the bag at Din’s side and Din knows that Grogu must be confused as to why Din hadn’t allowed you to take him.

Din couldn’t pretend that everything was okay, not when it felt like he’d taken a blaster shot to the chest when he saw you there with Ezekiel, and he didn’t want to see how you made Grogu smile or how you smiled at his son, not when Din knew you’d never be his.

But the biggest question that Din had was how the hell Ezekiel was able to spend any moment away from you. In the months that Din had known you, Din hadn't seen him once and Din couldn't imagine how Ezekiel could stand to be away from you that long.

Din could barely last a day before he ended up back at your bakery. It was an addiction, like an itch he couldn't scratch until he found himself taking the dusty trail to your shop through the crowded city and the only salve was your smile.  Even when he was out on a job on another planet each day that passed by was agony because he was so far from you.

He thought of you constantly, what you were doing, how you were, if you were reading alongside the fountain with the sun kissing your skin as the wind blew through your hair, if you were walking through the market wearing one of those dresses that hugged your body and made Din's throat tight whenever he saw you in them, if you were at your shop feeding Grogu treats while he cooed and tugged at your hair, and if you were safe.

That last thing Din ensured when he was gone, by telling Cara to keep an eye on you, discretely of course. Din didn't want you to know how much he worried that something would happen while he was away. The Transdoshan had only proven to Din what he already knew, that you didn't belong in his world. The one filled with blood, death, and blasters, the one that he was so afraid of you seeing.

But he couldn't stay away. No matter how hard he tried Din couldn't keep away from you. You were like a siren call in the silence of the night, promising everything good that Din thought he'd never had and didn't deserve.

How much Din missed you when he was away was only exacerbated by the bag of treats you sent with him when he left. The silent nights in the cockpit while he ate a bite of uj cake or a meat pie, he imagined that you were there with him, your soft smile making him feel warm from the inside out.  Din was starting to get a little soft around the middle, but he wasn't complaining, everything you made him was delicious and only made him think of you more.

But Din couldn't imagine how Ezekiel was able to live somewhere else and only see you sometimes, when Din could barely get by without catching a glimpse of you each day even if you didn't see him.

And why would he want to? He should spend his time with his cyare. Not leave her alone on another planet alone. It should be him here protecting her, making her smile, making her happy, not me.

His jaw tightens. He didn’t want to think about that right now, but it was the only thing he could. That it was him who had been here for you over these past few months and him who looked out for you. It was him who made you smile and walked you home, him who brought you gifts, and him who listened to you talk about your day.

Stars, Din loved that. 

He loved listening to you talk about your day with him, loved to hear everything you’d done even if it was something as small as filling the salt and pepper shakers at the tables in your shop. He liked to watch the starlight trace along the softness of your figure with a gentle hand as Din walked you home at the end of the day, see the way Grogu cuddled against you as if you were his mother.

The thought made Din's throat tight, because from the beginning you'd always treated his son that way, as if he was your own and Din hated the way you looked when he didn't let you hold Grogu. Truthfully, the memory of how you looked in the street while you pleaded for Din to come back to the shop, for him to tell you what was wrong hurt just as much. He hated to see how disappointed and worried you looked, and Din hated to walk away from you, but he had to, because if he didn’t he would be in danger of doing something very stupid…

Like telling you how he felt in the middle of a crowded street where everyone could see the two of you and laugh when you turned him down.

Din placed Grogu on the floor and made his way to his bedroom, sitting down on the edge of his bed that squeaks under the weight of his armor.

The image of you with Ezekiel in the bakery flashes through his head again making him sigh again to himself. All of his muscles tense and untense with the memory and a wave of emotion that Din cannot name crashes over him.

He reaches into his pocket for the pouch he'd placed there this morning.

Din had given you many gifts over the past month, each one was chosen specifically for you to prove his commitment. Din was determined to prove that to you, to prove that he could be someone you depended on, to prove that you were someone important to him, to prove that he would always put you first, and of course to prove his affection. Din still wasn't comfortable talking about how he felt, in fact he wasn't exactly sure how to quantify how he felt about you in terms that you could understand. Not when you made him feel things that he thought he couldn't anymore.

The gifts seemed like the next best thing, at least until he found a way to say how he felt.

Each time you unwrapped something Din brought you, he felt light, as if the weight of everything he'd done was lifted. To catch that glimpse of your smile made Din weightless and made him wish to make you smile like that for the rest of his life.

His favorite gift had been the apron you'd been wearing when he saw you today. He'd been walking through the market on Tatooine, when he saw a vendor selling hand embroidered clothing. Din had been looking for something small to bring back for you, a handkerchief or a cloth, but then he saw the apron and it looked like you. The small multicolored flowers were delicate, but woven against a strong resilient cloth. And Din knew he had to get it for you.

When he'd brought it into your shop, he was afraid. The other gifts he'd given you were merely trinkets, things he found along the way from places that Din hoped to take you someday. You'd told him that you hadn't seen as much of the galaxy as he had and you longed to visit more of it.

Din was willing to take you away right there and then if you asked him. He wanted to see your eyes shine with wonder as he showed you the vast reaches of space and wanted to hear your soft gasp when he took you places that you'd only heard about.

But you’d been so happy that you'd hugged him. Din wasn’t used to hugging, in fact before you, he could count on one hand exactly how many times that he had been hugged, but now he craved it.

The subtle press of your soft body in his arms was an addiction, the soft sigh you made each time he hugged you back like a soothing salve over his heart, and the smell of sugar and spice that filtered through his helmet with the gentle brush of your hair made him weak in the knees.

You felt like you belonged there wrapped in his arms, and Din wanted you to.

Now he knew that it was impossible. You didn't want him, you were just being nice, the same way you were to everyone else on Nevarro who didn't deserve it.

He rolls the pouch in his hand, the gift inside jingling merrily, oblivious to the gloom that rose over Din like a dark omen.

This gift was different.

Like the apron this one was special and if you were to accept this one you would be accepting his courtship, accepting him. You wouldn't be married, but if another Mandalorian were to see it, they would understand that you had a clan and you belonged to Din, that you were engaged to him.

Din's fingers deftly open the drawstring at the top of the bag and pull out the silver necklace. It was a simple chain that had a small circular pendant the size of the tip of Din's thumb stamped with the sigil of the Mudhorn.

It was made of Beskar, something that Din had gone back to Mandalore to have specially made for you by the armorer. He'd had it made after everything that happened with the Trandoshan. Din knew that having his clan sigil hanging from your neck would ward off unwanted attention, it was his way of claiming you, of warning off anyone who dared touch you.

The things that the Transdoshan did to you still made anger burn through Din. He hated that the creature had been able to do any of those things to you, lived with the guilt for not disposing of the creature sooner. But Din knew by giving you this necklace, anyone who saw it would know better than to touch you, not when the clan sigil of a Mandalorian hung from your neck.

The armorer had been pleased to hear that Din was taking a Riduur, and told him that she wanted him to bring you back with him so you could be properly introduced. Din had been excited to show you off, but now he felt embarrassed that he'd have to return it and tell the armorer that you’d refused him.

He lets out another sigh watching the necklace hang from his hand glinting in the dim light of his bedroom. Another image of you with Ezekiel makes Din shut his eyes tight, but it does little to rid himself of it.

Why did I even think that she would ever want me the way that I want her?

Guide:

Cyare: Beloved

Riduur: Spouse

Thank you so much for reading! Likes, Reblogs, and Comments are not required, but are always appreciated! If you'd liked to be added to my taglist for fics in this universe please let me know!

Taglist

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[orcasoul]

Broken Part 1

Summary: Din is on the brink of death. The only way to save him is to remove his helmet. Surely he'll understand and forgive you... right?

Warnings: swearing, description of injuries, angst, established relationship, use of Y/N.

A/N: this one has been on my mind for ages and I couldn't wait any longer. I'm a huge sucker for angst, so I hope I've got this just right.

Word Count: 5,174

"Just... a little further. We're almost... there!" Your knees feel about ready to buckle as the Razor Crest comes into view. "Din! Din, no!..." Din's heavy frame slumps from your shoulder, pulling you to the ground with him. "You... argh... you gotta get up." He's still, terrifyingly still. You press the button on Din's vambrace to lower the ramp and with your waning strength, pull the unconscious bounty hunter across the muddy ground and up the ramp, the desperation to save him overriding the burn of your exhausted muscles.

With a last tug at his wrists, you manage to drag him away from the ramp and further into the belly of the ship, immediately pressing the button to close it. You're not taking any chances. "Din? Din, can you hear me?" You shake his shoulders roughly, hoping the momentum will rouse him. Nothing. But at least he's still breathing. A little wail emanates from the sleeping bunk before the door whooses open, revealing a very worried and frightened Grogu.

In an instant, Grogu is at Din's side, having used the force to propel himself across the hull. "It's okay, buddy. He'll be okay." You don't know who you're trying to convince, him or yourself. Grogu murmurs anxiously, his large ears drooping as he places a tiny hand on Din's helmet. Without another moment to lose, you begin to strip Din of his armour, checking for injuries. There are plenty of cuts and bruises, maybe some bruised ribs, but the injuries don't appear to be severe enough to render him unconscious. "Din!" you shout louder this time "Ner Karta, please wake up."

Your frantic heartbeat thumps against your ribs, threatening to break through at any minute. You're at a loss at what to do. That's when you notice it; a sight that makes your blood run cold! A slowly oozing trickle of deep crimson, pooling on the floor by Din's helmet. "No, No, no, no," you shudder as you carefully slide your fingers under the lip of the helmet at the back of Din's head. Your stomach plummets when your fingers meet a warm and sticky substance. Blood! Din's blood!

On hands and knees, you scramble across the floor to a nearby crate, searching frantically until you find the medkit. You rush back to Din's side and with trembling hands, open the medkit and retrieve the Bacta spray. You momentarily freeze when you realise what you must now do. There's nothing else for it. To save Din's life you have to remove his helmet. A barrage of thoughts invade your mind at the same time; would Din be angry? Would he hate you? Would you hate yourself for breaking his creed? Would he understand? Would he forgive you?

Time is of the essence now, every precious second bleeding away, along with Din's life. You have to do it. You have no choice, consequences be damned! You're not about to let the man you love die, even if he does hate you afterwards. You'll accept his wrath if it means he's alive. You set the Bacta spray down beside you and take a deep breath. "I'm so sorry," you whisper regretfully, and with a heavy heart, you gently lift the helmet up with one hand while supporting the back of Din's head with the other.

The helmet rolls away from you with a clunk. Brown curls fall backwards from the most beautifully sculpted face you've ever laid eyes on. Patchy, greying scruff decorating a perfectly chiseled jaw, a strong aquiline nose that suits him so well and plush lips... He really is stunning! So much so, that you're taken aback. But you snap yourself out of it. There's no time to lose! You grab the bacta spray and roll Din onto his side to get to the wound. Your breath hitches in your chest and you spray slowly, making sure to liberally apply the treatment.

You're probably using more than necessary, thinking back to how Din would often scold you for wasting the valuable resource when you've patched him up before. But this is literally Din's life in your hands. You'll exhaust the whole supply if you have to. The affects are almost instantaneous. You breathe a sigh of relief as the bleeding ceases and the damaged tissue begins to repair itself. Grogu looks up at you with expectant eyes. "He'll be okay, sweety," you soothed, while stroking Grogu's ear, comfortingly. "Mmm..." Grogu looks back to his dad, sadly.

Once you're satisfied with the progress of the Bacta spray you unwind a sterile bandage, cautiously wrapping it over the wound and around Din's head, trying not to jostle him too much. You then shift your attention to the many cuts and scrapes littering his body, making sure to disinfect every abrasion you see. There's no way you can lift him off the floor so you fetch a pillow from your shared bunk to place under his head and drape a blanket over him. It's not much but it'll have to suffice. With the adrenaline now subsiding, exhaustion begins to sweep over your body and mind, causing you to fall back on your arse, rather un-gracefully, and catch your breath.

You hadn't noticed just how much you'd been shaking this whole time. With controlled breaths your heart rate slowly returns to normal. Grogu waddles over to you with outstretched arms. Poor little guy needs some reassurance. Your maternal instinct has you reaching for him but you stop as you notice the drying blood on your hands. "Hold on, buddy," you say, gently, then rush to the fresher to wash away the blood and horrors staining your hands. Sitting down next to Din, you scoop Grogu into your lap, cradling his head in your chest, while humming a soothing melody to calm him. "Your dad's a fighter, kid. He'll come back from this," Please, you silently beg to whoever might be listening.

All you can do now is wait. Wait for Din to wake, wait for everything to make sense again. Hopefully he won't be furious. Surely he'd understand there was no other way. Even now it feels wrong to look at his face, the very act being sacrilegious to his people. But it's too soon to put his helmet back on. The wound needs more time to heal. Guilt starts to take root the longer you think about what this now means. What you've taken from Din cannot be easily undone. Because of your actions, he is now technically an apostate. He will be cast out of Mandalorian society, exiled in disgrace and it's all because of you.

But what was the alternative? Let him die? Let Grogu lose his dad? Live with the knowledge you could have saved him, but refused? No! It's unthinkable. You know in your heart, you've made the right decision. You just hope Din will see it that way, too. You're not sure how much time has passed, or how long you and Grogu have been asleep, when you are startled awake by a low moan. Grogu stirs in your lap as you sit up from the wall you were slumped against. An equal amount of relief and dread consume you. He's okay, he's waking... But how will he react to the violation of his creed?

"Din?" you gulped, nervously. Din lets out another grumble as his head turns in your direction. You clutch a now awakened Grogu tighter to your chest, apprehension swirling in your stomach. You feel sick! You bite your lower lip, waiting for his eyes to open, for the inevitable realisation to dawn on him. Slowly Din's eyelids lift and you are met with rich, chocolate brown eyes, eyes you would happily let yourself drown in, if it weren't for the look of abject horror and betrayal staring back at you. "Wh... what have you DONE?!!" Din exploded, his face turning red with rage and his eyes filling with tears.

You're frozen to the spot, eyes wide, voice lodged in your throat, refusing to co operate. He's furious, of course he is. "I..." your voice fails as your throat constricts in panic. Between Din's shocked gaze and Grogu's little whimper, you somehow find your voice. "I'm so sorry, Cyare. I had to. You... you were bleeding." Desperation to make Din understand claws at you. "It was the only way to save-" "No!" If looks could kill, you would be dead this very second. "It was NOT the only way," Din seethed, staring daggers at you, "You didn't have to remove my helmet. You chose to do it!" You can't believe what you're hearing.

"But you would have died!" Tears gather at your lash line at the thought. "Better to die a Mandalorian than live as an apostate," Din snapped as he sat up, clutching the back of his head. His eyes frantically dart around the hull, searching for his helmet. He reaches for it but you reach for his arm to stop him. "You can't. You're still healing-" "Don't!" Din recoiled from your touch as if you'd burned him. You heart drops like a stone to your stomach. You've never seen Din so angry, so hurt, his face portraying the image of a man who has lost it all. And you did that. You took away his sacred creed and left him with the ashes. The hiss of the helmet fills the tense air as Din places it back on, the familiar T- shape in front of you once again.

Only it's directed to your lap, where Grogu sits, looking with uncertainty between you both. "Patu," he murmured, while reaching out for Din. Din gently takes Grogu into his arms, his heaving chest and taut shoulders relaxing slightly. "I'm okay, pal," Din soothed, trying to calm his foundling, but you can hear the strain in his voice as he now fights to keep his emotions at bay, no doubt for Grogus' sake. Din stands on shaky legs, your first instinct is to help him up, but you stop just short of touching him, unsure if your help will be welcomed. Without so much as a glance in your direction, Din heads to the ladder with Grogu tucked into his chest. "Din? Cyare wait, we have to talk about this-" "Just!..." Din raises his hand to stop your words, his back still facing you. "just stop," he sighs despondently. "I can't look at you right now." Tears sting your eyes as you watch him ascend the ladder, locking himself and Grogu in the cockpit, away from you.

Din sat in quiet dispair, trying to come to terms with his new reality. One where he is now an apostate... again. Sure, he had removed his helmet to save Grogu when he'd been abducted by Moff Gideon and to say goodbye, but that was his call, his decision to make. By removing his helmet, you'd taken away his choice, his creed, his very identity. You should have let him die an honourable death. Of course, redemption is possible but that doesn't change the fact that you betrayed him. He had trusted you, opened up to you and believed that you respected his creed and his way of life.

The longer he sat contemplating, the angrier he became. How could she! he thought bitterly. Not only had you dishonored the very foundation of who he is, you had also inadvertently destroyed the close bond you'd both built over the past year. He doesn't even know who you are anymore. To have done what you've done... how can he ever forgive you? His helmet suddenly feels too restrictive, too suffocating. Din pulled his helmet off with one hand while still holding Grogu close, and set it down on his lap, staring bleakly into the pitch black visor.

Until he can atone, this helmet will serve as a reminder of what has been lost. "Mmm..." Grogu tilted his head as if to ask 'are you alright?' Din exhaled, long and deep and looked at his son with a thin lipped smile, his face reflecting back to him in the childs' large, glossy eyes, the only eyes that are, by creed, permitted to look upon his face. "I'll be okay," he whispered softly, "I'll make this right." He can find forgiveness in the living waters, that part is simple enough - well maybe simple isn't the right word. He still has to live with the fact that he has grievously sinned against the creed. Even the living waters can't wash that truth away - but how can you both move forward from this? Is it even possible?

A dull, throbbing pain pulses through Dins' temples, causing him to groan and lean his forehead into his palm, his elbow resting on the armrest. He needs to calm down. He needs to think with a cool head. Grogu yawns and snuggles into Dins' stomach. "Okay you little womp rat, time for bed," Din smiled as he tucked Grogu into the crook of his elbow. After securing his helmet, Din makes his way down the ladder and into the hull, where he finds you sitting with your back pressed against the wall. His heart physically aches at the sight of your red rimmed eyes and blotchy face. You look as though you're about to say something, but he hasn't got the energy for this right now. All he wants to do is settle the kid in his hammock and rock him to sleep. So Din quickly opens the bunk door, disappearing inside.

The dim light of the hull reflects your sombre mood as you listen to Din's modulated voice, muffled by the closed door, speaking softly to Grogu. Most of the time you and Din would say goodnight to him together, every bit the picture of a happy family. But now you are shut out, physically and metaphorically, and it hurts, maker it hurts so much. You are only meters away but it might as well be the length of the entire galaxy. A short while later the door slides open and Din slowly walks out, keeping his steps light as to not wake Grogu. He turns to you for a moment, seemingly unsure of what he wants to do next. He takes a step towards you but then stops. Sighing, he turns on his heel and retreats to the cockpit once again.

Your heart sinks and lungs deflate in crushing disappointment. You can't stand it anymore. If Din won't talk to you then you'll talk to him. You bring the sleeve of your top to wipe your face - not that it'll make a difference to your puffy eyes and reddened cheeks - and steeling yourself, you make your way to the cockpit. The silence is deafening, oppressive, brutal. You gingerly sit in the co-pilots' chair, fiddling nervously with the hem of your top. Din remains motionless, staring out of the window, shoulders strung tighter than a bow. You feel invisible and you hate it. With a steady breath, you break the silence.

"Din, we have to talk about what happened." Din still doesn't look at you. "There's nothing to talk about," Din retaliated, the coldness of his tone sending shivers down your spine, "What's done is done!" You shake your head. "Please believe me when I say I didn't make this decision lightly. It was the only way to save your life. What else could I have done?" The tears threaten your eyes again as you try desperately to make Din understand. "You could have let me die an honourable death." An incredulous huff forced it's way up your throat. "How could you expect me to do that? Listen to what you're asking? Would you have let me die if I were injured?! "That's different," Din retorted, annoyance building on his voice.

"How?!" You're so close to clawing at your eyes in frustration. "Because you're not Mandalorian!" Din's booming outburst had you shrinking back in your seat, his large frame now towering over you, making you feel exposed and vulnerable. You know Din would never hurt you, no matter how angry he got, but at the same time you've never felt so small, so helpless. Is this how his bounties feel under his intimidating gaze? Din seemed to notice your unease, immediately unclenching his balled up fists and taking a step back to give you some space. After a moment of silent staring, he shakes his head and simply states, "You'll never understand."

That was a low blow! You've always respected Dins' creed, his way of life. Never asked him to go against it and never judged him like so many other's have. It's a part of him and you love all of him. Fear and despair have now given way to anger. "Maybe you're right," you glowered, "I'll never understand because if it comes down to chosing between the creed and your life, I'd chose you everytime. I love you too much to just let you die for an ideal." "And you think being an apostate is any better?" It's like talking to a fucking brick wall! How could he not see the impossible situation you'd been placed in?

"I don't know what else to say, Din..." you sigh, your shoulders slumping in defeat, "I'm sorry it's come to this, but I'm not sorry for saving your life." "Then there's nothing more to say," Din clarified with finality, sitting back down and turning to the window again. Silent tears run down your cheeks as you leave the cockpit and join Grogu in the bunk.

When you wake the next morning the bunk is empty, cold. Even though you were certain Din wouldn't have joined you last night, disappointment weighs heavily on your heart. A part of you had hoped he would calm down and come to you. You rub the sleep from your eyes and sit up with a groan, dreading the tension that will, no doubt, still be rife. "Morning, buddy..." you cooed, gently as you stood on the mattress to wake Grogu. Your brows scrunch in confusion at the empty hammock. Din must have come in to get him while you were still asleep.

Stepping into the hull, you hear babbling from Grogu in the cockpit, followed by the occasional chuckle from Din. A flicker of hope ignites within. Maybe now he's had time to cool off, you can both talk reasonably and calmly. Maybe not all is lost? However that flicker is soon doused when you walk into the cockpit and see Din's posture turn rigid, his chair not even turning so he can acknowledge your presence. The air turns icy and heavy with friction as you take a seat. "Good morning..." you offer, meekly. "Morning." Din's monotone reply confirms that he's still upset.

"Patu," Grogu smiled as he patted your leg to pick him up. You couldn't be more grateful for the distraction right now. "And good morning to you, baby," you grin as you scoop him up and place him in your lap. "You two strap in," Din orders as he fires up the engines. "Where are we going?" You bring the seat belt around yourself and Grogu. "Sorgon." Din's clipped tone is like a knife to your heart. It's the same tone he'd used when he'd first employed you two years ago, when you were both still adjusting to each others' company.

Now you realise how you've taken his caring tone, his laugh, his tenderness for granted. It feels a million miles away now. You swallow the lump in your throat and give Grogu your full attention, feigning cheery laughter while trying to ignore the 'bantha in the room' the whole way to Sorgon. The Razor Crest descends into the atmosphere, the blackness of space giving way to a dazzling blue, causing you to squint and shield your eyes. You've always liked Sorgon, visiting several times with Din over the years.

The simple, peaceful way of life is so unlike most worlds you've visited, and with that simplicity comes a tight knit community. One who always welcomes you with open arms. You've even made a few friends here, your closet one being Omera. Grogu bounces excitedly on your lap as the ship touches down on the outskirts of the small village, no doubt ecstatic at the prospect of seeing his friends again, especially Winta. "I know, I know..." you chuckle fondly, placing a kiss on Grogu's head.

Din shuts down the engines and without a word or even a glance in your direction, he leaves the cockpit. The harsh treatment makes you want to cry, but in an effort to shield the kid from any more tension you plaster on your best fake smile. "Ready to see your friends, sweetie?" Din lowered the ramp and was instantly greeted by a handful of locals, eager to welcome back the man who gave them back their home and dignity when the Klatooinian bootleggers attacked them.

He shook hands and accepted enthusiastic slaps on the back. He looked to where you stood, embraced in Omera's arms. Winta had already claimed Grogu, the two of them heading off to play with the other kids. The sight of his son playing with the other children warmed Din's heart, but that content, fuzzy feeling soon faded when his gaze fell back on you. Dread and sorrow wash over him, choking him, knowing what he has to do. Din turns to one of the men, lowering his voice. "Please, I need to speak to the village elders."

Din felt like the worst person in the galaxy as he discussed your future with the council, all the while you remained completely unaware of the real reason he'd brought you here. He'd been reassured you'd have a place here, a safe community to call home. Even through the anger and hurt, he had to know you'd be safe, protected. And since the defeat of the Klatooinian's, sorgon had become a peaceful planet again. He couldn't imagine a safer place for you to start over. Now all that's left to do is to break the news to you.

The ache in Din's chest grew stronger as he walked through the village looking for you. It didn't take him long to spot you, sitting by a fire with two other women you'd become friendly with. Din could tell you were wearing a forced smile by how it didn't reach your eyes. When your gaze locked with his, your smile faltered, replaced with a look of deep remorse and longing. Din sighed wearily and walked over to where Grogu was happily frolicking about with other kids. Again, guilt gnawed away at him as he thought about how hard this is going to be on Grogu. In time, he'll understand, hopefully.

Din catches sight of Omera and makes his way over to her. "Hi," Omera smiled. "Can I speak with you? It's important." Omera's smile dropped slightly, her face taking on a more serious countenance. "Of course," she replied. Din shifted uncomfortably, unused to asking for favours. This is the second time today. "Could you do something for me?" Omera raised an eyebrow in intrigue, waiting for Din to continue. "Would you look after Y/N? She... she's going to need a friend now, more than ever." " What do you mean?" Omera asked, clearly confused. "We're leaving, me and the kid... and Y/N is staying here... permanantly."

Omera glanced over her shoulder to you, then turned back to Din. "Is everything okay with you two?" Din looked down and placed his hands on his hips. "No." He shook his head before raising it again. "I can't explain right now, but, please, promise me you'll look out for her." Omera's face softened. "Of course I will. She's my friend." Din felt like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders, albeit a small one, compared to the weight he'll have to bare for the rest of his life; the weight of breaking your heart and leaving you alone in the galaxy.

But what else was there to do? Nothing could ever be the same between you both again. This is for the best... at least that's what he keeps telling himself. "Thank you," Din replied with a twinge of sadness in his voice. "That... means a lot to me." He patted Omera on the arm in gratitude before making his way over to where Grogu was playing. "Time to go, pal," Din cooed as he bent down to pick Grogu up. "Say goodbye to your friends." Grogu waved as the other kids bade him farewell.

You could tell something was wrong when Omera sat beside you, her normally soft and calm mien now absent. In it's place, concern and worry clouded her features. But before you could ask her if she's okay, Din appeared before you. It's the first time he's acknowledged you since this morning. "Would you come with me for a minute?" The gentle tone of his voice and outstretched hand made your tummy flutter in anticipation. Without a second thought, you took Din's hand and stood up. But the little hope that gesture had given you was dashed when Din immediately released your hand, and you had to fight against the anguish his absent touch left in it's wake.

You silently follow Din to the Razor Crest, stopping at the edge of the ramp. "Are we leaving already?" you ask disappointedly. Din remains silent while he turns around to pick up a bag off the ramp. He holds it out for you and sighs, "I am... you're staying here." And just like that your whole world has come crashing down around you. Din's words are a punch to you gut, stealing your breath away. "What do you mean I'm staying here?!" Your voice wobbled as your veins ran cold. "I mean..." Din set his shoulders and took a deep breath, "This... us..." he gestured between you both, "it's over." Shock has you rooted to the ground. Icy chills prickle over your skin, nausea sweeping through you.

"You... you can't be serious! Din, we have to talk about this. You can't just go making rash decisions like this, please!" Your imploring eyes search Din's visor, hoping to detect even a fraction of hesitation behind it, but you find nothing but unnerving calmness. "I'm not making a rash decision," Din replied almost emotionlessly, pushing your bag of belongings into your hands, "I thought about it all last night and it's the right thing to do." "Look, I know you're upset with me but please just take a minute to -" "I don't need a minute!" Din snapped, his patience wearing thin.

Tears burn your eyes, the lump in your throat causing your voice to quiver. "But I don't understand," you begin, willing your tears to remain where they are, but your resolve is cracking with every passing second. You have to make him see how ridiculous this is! "You broke the creed once to save Grogu and you attoned. Can't you do that again?" "Of course I can," Din answered through gritted teeth. "Then... what's the problem?!" Your voice has now risen in pitch, despite your best efforts to de-escalate the tension. "The problem is you!" Your mouth snaps shut and eyes widen in response to Din's sharp words. Words lined with a razor edge, cutting straight to your core. "You didn't just break the creed Y/N, you broke my trust! The creed can be restored, my trust in you can't."

Words have now completely abandoned you, numbness slowly consuming you as you let Din's truth sink in. You now realise just how much you've hurt him. 'I thought you understood me, respected how my religion is absolute. I can't..." Din shook his head, his voice shuddering as he continued, "I can't trust you ever again. I feel like I don't even know who you are anymore." "Please..." you whimper as your tears begin to fall freely. "please don't do this. Don't leave me. I love you and I know you love me." "I do," Din agreed without hesitation. "Then we can get passed this." You reach for Din's hand but he pulls away. "No." he takes a few steps back, "Love isn't enough."

"So, what?..." you yell as your heartbreak turns into anger, "You're just gonna leave me here, after everything we've been through? You're just gonna to throw it all away like it meant nothing?!" "This is the way," Din responded, robotically, as if he's no longer a living, feeling organism. Fury welled up in your chest, until you were trembling with rage. "Fuck the way!" you exploded, wanting in the moment to wound Din as he has you, but regretting it simultaneously. Din visibly stiffened at your blasphemous insult, his fists clenching at his sides.

"I couldn't lose you Din. I saved your life and I'm not sorry. I'll never be sorry." A silence settles between you both before Din sighs and responds, "I know... I'm sorry, Cyar'ika." Din Turns to walk away but you grab his arm, spinning him to face you. "Wait! Where's Grogu?" Your eyes dart to the ramp in search of him. "He's in the ship." "You were just going to take him away from me?!..." you gasped, hand on your chest as if the action would lesson the intensifying ache, "Without letting me see him." "It's for the best. Saying goodbye will only upset him," Din spoke, now devoid of emotion, "Please don't make this harder than it has to be."

In that moment your heart shattered completely, the shards ripping you apart from the inside. They say love hurts, but that is an understatement. This raw agony feels like it might just be the end of you. "Please!" you now beg, tears streaming down your face, "He's my son too. Don't take him away from me! He'll think I abandoned him." "He'll understand.... in time." Despite Din's persistence, he seems conflicted, like he's fighting himself on his decision, like underneath all that Beskar he's hurting as much as you.

"Please Din! Please don't do this!. Don't leave me!" you sob loudly as you fall to your knees, clutching your abdomen as if to comfort yourself. Seeing you in distress is unbearable to Din, but what makes it worse is that he's the cause of said distress. He Automatically takes a step towards you, hands outstretched, seeking to hold you but he stops himself and regains his rigid posture. "I'm sorry," he mutters as he quickly spins on his heel and storms up the ramp.

The rising Crest wobbles in your tear filled eyes as it ascends into the sky, heaving breathes causing violent hiccups to rip through your airways, as you watch your family disappear forever. In your distraught state you don't notice a pair of arms wrapping around your shoulders. It's only when your head is gently pulled into a warm chest, that you realise Omera is holding you as your whole life falls apart.

Part 2

[gloomwitchwrites]

Greener Things

Din Djarin x Mandalorian Female Reader (Clan Kryze)

Content & Warnings: canon-typical swearing, canon-typical violence, mutual pining, admission of feelings, search and rescue, mando’a language, Mandalorian culture & customs, fluff, light angst

Word Count: 3k

It isn’t until the woman he loves is in danger that Din realizes he’s wanted her all along.

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // spring 2024 masterlist

Din observes the round fruit.

It does not hang from a tree or dwell within a bush. This one grows on a vine. The fuzzy stalk swirls over and around metal trellises. The fruit is a deep blue so dark it almost resembles space, but in the right light, it shines.

“It’s for fermentation.”

Your voice is soft, and yet Din cannot help but react as if you’ve commanded something of him. He promptly rises, turning in the direction of your voice. You flush with embarrassment as if you’ve walked in on him without his helmet. Arms tightening around the basket you’re holding; you bring it out in front of you like a shield.

Within the woven threads, Din glimpses the same dark fruit.

“Is it native to Mandalore?” asks Din, because questions keep him here. It gives him an excuse to stay a bit longer.

That is Din’s habit, and he is not all that interested in shaking it. The Growing Caverns are an extension of what they’re building here on Mandalore. Not only is the air breathable, but things are growing again. Din witnessed it on his second visit, when the stranded Mandalorians showed them all that they had done after the Night of a Thousand Tears.

Now, it’s a system. An effort to feed the ever-growing enclave.

You are but a small piece of that. A nurturer. Someone bringing life to the plants to sustain everyone else.

“No. It’s not native to Mandalore,” you answer, stepping closer to Din. He instinctually matches your movement. “This fruit is found on Kalevala.”

Your lips look so soft. Inviting. But it’s not like Din can kiss you. He cannot remove his helmet. Yet he can think about it. Even now, his thoughts meander outward, imagining what those lips might feel like against his lips. How they might feel against his skin.

“It likes the rolling hills and cliffs.”

“What likes the rolling hills?” asks Din absently, still focused on your lips.

“The plant,” you laugh, indicating the fruit with a nod of your head.

Din inclines his head because he doesn’t trust himself to speak. He was too kriffing focused on your lips that he wasn’t paying attention to what you were saying.

Your smile remains and it is such a sweet thing to Din.

He wants to capture it. Bottle it. Keep it with him always.

This whole interaction is indulgent. There is no reason for Din to be here, but he cannot seem to stay away. That first day, after Mandalore was reclaimed, Din planned on leaving with Grogu. But you appeared with that sweet smile, asking him for assistance, and Din answered without a second thought.

Now, he’s here, remaining on Mandalore, making excuses every day just to come see you.

Din glances around the large cavern. There are raised boxes with all sorts of plants growing from them. Others dangle from pots hanging from the cavern’s ceiling while others are bolted into the walls. Something is always different when Din visits.

All Din knows how to do is fight. And here you are, knowing how to fight too, yet using your skills to feed your people instead. It’s vastly different from how he was raised, and what he’s come to understand.

Things are changing for him.

Din clears his throat. Every day he comes, and every day he says the same thing.

“Things look good here,” he comments.

Your smile shifts to a knowing smirk, and Din is thankful you cannot see his face behind his helmet. Even with the insulation, Din is sweating.

“They are,” you agree, shifting closer to him.

Again, Din matches your movements, the two of you nearly on top of each other. Over the last few weeks, you’ve done this more and more. Leaning in, standing close to him, giving him all your attention. However, you never touch him, but Din wishes that you did, even if it’s just a passing touch.

But whatever Din feels in his heart, you are not of his tribe. You are of Clan Kryze. You walk the Way differently from him. You do not always wear your helmet. While Din accepts that both Ways are true, your path doesn’t completely align with his.

While he enjoys your company, and adores your smile, Din cannot act. Everything he feels must be buried deep. Hidden. There are some things that cannot be even if Din wishes they were so.

You shift toward him again and sigh, bringing the basket to rest against your hip. You suddenly appear tired, and Din hates that.

“Why do you come here every day, Din?”

To see you. To see your smile. To hear your voice.

How does he begin to answer that?

What answer will be acceptable to you?

Does he tell you of how his stomach flips when you say his name, or how his heart races the moment you recognize him across the room?

“It’s peaceful,” decides Din because it’s partially true. “I like it here.”

Your smile returns but it’s not as bright as before. Are you disappointed in that answer? Maybe. Din hopes that he hasn’t brushed you aside with his response.

“Will you stay on Mandalore?” you ask, and that gives Din pause. “I heard that you might leave us soon.”

Din has not been open about leaving Mandalore and returning to Nevarro. It’s possible that Bo-Katan might have said something in passing.

It’s best to be honest.

“I’ve thought about it,” he replies slowly.

You nod, your smile fading a bit. “I’d miss your daily visits if you left.”

Kriffing hell, Din isn’t strong enough to resist. The truth comes rolling out of him automatically. It’s a tug. A sharp pull. A snapping of string that cannot be undone.

“I would miss them too.”

It’s the right answer, and saying so soothes something within him. That sweet smile of yours returns, and Din has to dig down into every fiber of his control not to reach out and touch you.

Din clears his throat, suddenly nervous. “Let me help with that.” He nods toward the basket of fruit, arms extended.

You give it to him without resistance, and Din takes pride that he can at least do this one thing for you. Stepping to the side, Din allows you to lead the way, the two of you exiting the cavern to head toward the Great Forge. The passage is tight, made of solid rock, and as it spits the two of you out onto solid ground, you pause to glance back at Din.

Your gaze lingers on him and Din isn’t sure what it is he sees there.

But it is momentary. Fleeting.

You give him your back, continuing on, and Din strides up beside you effortlessly. Amongst the towering forges, Din glimpses the Armorer. She stares back, arms at her sides, observing. Din inclines his head in her direction and she repeats the gesture.

At the communal kitchens, Din drops the basket full of fruit off as you speak to another member of Clan Kryze.

It’s funny, this feeling, how Din could see a place for himself here. He has always been alone even with his covert. On Mandalore, with you, there is a sense of belonging, like he is supposed to dwell amongst Sundari’s broken halls.

“Thank you for your help.”

Din could melt into your voice. Let it swallow him up. Consume him.

“I’m always at your service,” he replies, turning in your direction.

You’re right there. So close. One touch can’t hurt. Just a small one.

Din’s fingers flex and then curl in before relaxing. He makes the first move, the backs of his fingers gently brushing against your bare ones. Your eyes widen, and for a moment, Din believes he’s ruined it all.

But as he starts to pull away, your index finger hooks around his, locking the two of you together. And you do not drop your hand.

Din stares into your face, and it is all that he needs. He is lost in your eyes, and your smile. How can he return to Nevarro?

Someone clears their throat, and the two of you jump back from each other.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Din,” you say quickly. “Thank you.”

Din backs away, departing with an inability to form words and a tightness in his chest he doesn’t entirely understand.

There’s a clamor near the Great Forge. A crowd.

Din navigates it, emerging from between two Mandalorians to the edge of the throng. Bo-Katan stands at the top of the stairs. To Bo-Katan’s left is the Armorer, and to her right are Koska Reeves and Axe Woves. There are several more Mandalorians that linger on the stairs. All of them are talking amongst each other.

One of the Mandalorians on the stairs speaks up, his voice projecting clearly over the crowd. His armor is the blue of Clan Kryze. “We need to send a party.”

A significant portion of the crowd vocalizes their approval. Din remains silent.

“We should,” agrees Bo-Katan. “But without knowing where they are, we’d be going in blind.”

“I agree with Rax,” says Axe. “Just volunteers. We all understand the risks.”

Several Mandalorians in the crowd step forward and voice their willingness to volunteer. Whatever Din has stepped in to, it’s not good. Glancing down the line, Din spies Paz Vizsla. He and Din have always been at odds, but Din needs answers. Melting back into the crowd, Din shuffles toward Vizsla. Din appears next to him, and the big guy gives Din a passing glance.

“What happened?” asks Din in a low voice.

“A creature from the Mines crawled out of its hole,” answers Paz.

“Attacked miners?”

Since retaking Mandalore, the Mines have been a priority. Groups go down to clear out all sorts of nasty things while other groups descend to fix pipes and passageways. Sometimes unrefined beskar ore is found. Sometimes they find armor absent its owner.

“No,” replies Paz. “Growers. Thing crawled straight up and burst through the rock.”

Din’s throat drops into his stomach.

“Casualties?”

“Two,” says Paz. “The rest were taken or injured.”

A twisted wrench within Din’s gut sends a wave of nausea through him. He wavers slightly on his feet before reality comes crashing back. Din swallows down the trepidation and terror, turning everything in him into steel.

“Who?”

Paz rattles off the names, and Din nearly sighs with relief. You are not dead, and you’re not amongst the injured. But you’re gone. Taken. And that simply won’t do.

Axe Woves raises his voice above the crowd again. “Who will volunteer?”

There is no forethought. No pause. Din steps forward silently.

If anyone will bring you back, it will be him.

Din silently slides into a crevasse, dropping down onto solid rock. Other Mandalorians move in the dark, their headlamps off as they creep closer toward their target. They too are silent, and though Din cannot see them, he feels them. They are everywhere, surrounding the beast in a circular maneuver.

The Mines are endless. Full of dangers.

This creature is but one.

Din uses his helmet’s internal display to see the world around him and pick up on heat signatures. The creature is large, easily taller than three grown men stacked on top of each other, and its fur appears coarse. While it has two legs, Din notices three sets of arms.

In the creature’s rage and confusion, it likely lashed out at whatever it could. It has the mental clarity to seize without injury, but the why is uncertain. And yet the why doesn’t matter to Din. What matters is that you’re alive.

You are alive.

Din has already found you. He just can’t approach yet.

It’s too dangerous.

When you work in the Growing Caverns, you don’t always wear all of your armor. There isn’t any point to it. It only impedes your efforts. Which is likely why you couldn’t entirely fight back.

Din will make sure you never remove your armor again. He’ll lecture you about it until you hate him for it. As long as you’re safe, that is all that matters.

The crevasse deposits Din into the den of the beast. It shifts, and Din freezes. You are right there, tucked against it. But you are not alone. There is another grower with you. The two of you have your arms wrapped around each other.

There are others, but their heat signatures no longer register on Din’s display. They are gone.

In that same display, Bo-Katan’s crouched body comes into view. She moves silently across the rock, Koska Reeves at her back. They approach you and the other grower, and with subtle movements, manage to shift the beast’s arm away from your confined bodies.

Din sidesteps, following suit until he’s right up on you. His hand is on your waist. At your back. You stiffen, and then melt, fingers digging into his flightsuit between the beskar. You do not speak. You say nothing. You only cling to him, and Din ushers you away as Axe Woves escorts the other out of the den.

Everyone backs up. Begins to retreat.

The moment Din enters the crevasse again, he moves swiftly. What Din would like to do is pick you up in his arms and carry you out. Yet it might cause too much noise or could slow him down. You’re not limping. You don’t appear injured.

From behind him comes a rumble. A shake that makes the rock around him shiver.

Din does not pause.

There’s a roar, and then a deafening boom.

The chargers have gone off.

Din tucks you against him as the crevasse widens. He bends forward to dip his arm under your thighs, and then he’s lifting. Running. Your arms go around his neck and you press your face against his chest.

Another round of chargers goes off but it is a distant thing.

There is no roar. No bellow of anger.

Din does not turn around to see if any other Mandalorians move with him. He is determined to return you home.

The twisting, tight rock widens again, and Din steps out into a cavern with a low ceiling. Din sighs with relief as several Mandalorians approach him, concern clear on their faces. Din eases you back to your feet, and though you wobble briefly, you remain upright.

You turn toward him, lips parted as if you want to say something to him. But whatever you wish to say is not to be. You are whisked away, and Din can only watch.

There is little Din perceives after that. He merely exists until he’s finally allowed to see you. For him, it feels like years. In reality, it is only a day.

“You came for me,” you murmur. The adoration and affection in your eyes is piercing, spearing him through the heart.

“I wouldn’t leave it up to anyone else,” replies Din blandly because it’s true.

You laugh, and then wince. “That’s sweet,” you say, but Din hears the doubt.

Din leans forward on the upturned bucket he sits on. Your makeshift cot is low to the ground, and Din has to look down at you in this position.

His heart hammers in his chest, the memory of hearing you’d been taken still fresh and hot.

“Your absence was a wound,” says Din. “I was hollow when I heard.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“I thought you were dead.”

You fingers grip the thin blanket on your body. There is no armor. It was removed. Set aside. You’re only wearing a gauzy top and bottom. Bare feet poking out from the bottom of the blanket.

“I wasn’t,” you whisper, but Din isn’t sure why you’re resisting so much.

“Do you truly believe I wouldn’t come for you?” When Din asks, he is not harsh. He is genuinely curious. There is hope laced within the question.

You shake your head. “I knew you would. It’s all I thought about in the dark.”

“And I came.”

“You did,” you agree.

Your fingers loosen from the blanket and Din allows instinct to lead him. His hand extends, slips under yours, fingers intertwining. Your eyes are watery but there are no tears. Even if there were, Din would wipe them away.

“Why?” you whisper. “Of everyone. Why me?”

Din’s breathing is shaky as he settles himself. The truth is loud. Blaring. He needs to say it, to speak it into the ether, to know if you also feel the same. At least, in some capacity. He’ll take anything you’re willing to give him.

“You are my peace.”

You give him that sweet smile again, the one he wants to bottle up and keep forever. “Not the farming?”

Din chokes back a laugh, shaking his head. Your smile is teasing now. Kriffing hell, he wants to kiss you.

“You know what I mean,” he chastises.

“I do,” you affirm, grinning.

It is just the two of you. There is quiet. Peace.

Your free hand reaches out, fingers brushing over the beskar of his chestplate. They roam upward, pausing at the Iron Heart there.

“What do you want of me, Din?”

“You,” he says automatically. “I want you.”

Your gaze lingers where your fingers touch. It flicks upward. Holds. Though Din wears a helmet, he swears you can see behind it, peering into his very soul.

“I thought you’d pass like the rains,” you murmur, the tips of your fingers pressing lightly against the beskar. “That time would show the truth.”

“And did it?”

You nod. “You stayed. You always stayed.”

“Would you like me to stay?”

Stay. Stay here next to your bed. Stay here in this room. Stay here on Mandalore.

“You won’t leave?”

“Only if you tell me to.”

You sigh, and it’s the sweetest sound to him. “Then stay, Din. Please.”

taglist:

@padawancat97 @foxxy-126 @sweetbutpsychobutsweet @singleteapot @garfunklevibes2012

@tiredmetalenthusiast @thepetitemandalorian @miaraei @coffeecaketornado @kayden666

@cherryofdeath @enfppuff @cinnabeanz @ninman82 @no-oneelsebutnsu

@marispunk @ferns-fics @beebeechaos @tulipsun-flower @nomercyforthewarrior

@hantheconqueror @glassgulls @childofyuggoth

[the-scandalorian]

Pairing: Din Djarin x female sex worker!reader Rating: E, 18+ Word Count: 3.1k Content Warnings: touch-starved Din; reader is blindfolded; smut Summary: Mando makes regular visits to the healing baths. Note: A big thank you to @frannyzooey for always enabling my depravity and finding the dope ass images for my header ❤︎

He always waits for you inside the door.

“It’s the least I can do,” he says, when you’re surprised by the unexpected touch the first time. A light hand cups your elbow, guiding you to the middle of the room, until you can feel the smooth tiles that mark the edge of the sunken pool with your bare toes.

The marble is slick with condensation, heated by the same geothermal source that warms the spring water. The air is steamy and humid, braided with the rich scents of cardamom and argan oil, of rose from the petals you know are strewn across the surface of the bath. Candles flicker languidly in the shadowy corners of the room, but you can’t detect any of their light.

When you lower yourself to the floor—carefully, blindly—he checks the tightness of the black silk wrapped around your eyes with gentle fingers. He reassures himself it’s secure, that you can’t see a thing through the fabric in the dark, hazy room. A reassurance he needs every time.

You come to expect it. To expect him.

He’s consistent. He’s hesitant.

It takes dozens of visits before he lets you join him in the bath. You always offer; he always refuses—politely, always so politely: a no, thank you, eventually paired with a fleeting touch. A warm hand placed over yours. Two fingers stroked down the red silk of your dress. If you’re lucky, a squeeze to the thick of your thigh or a graze of your cheek. His denial is so soft, so warm—so regretful—that you ask every time just to hear him want it.

When he inevitably says no, you sit behind him on a velvet cushion on the edge of the pool instead, swathed in the inky blackness of your blindfold, your feet dangling in the warm water, and work scented oils into his skin and tension out of his shoulders, his neck, his arms, his back, his chest. Your existence is reduced to tactile information, your world narrowed to the sensations in your hands—the textures at the tips of your fingers. The taut muscles of his shoulders, the raised scars that litter his arms and chest, the hair dusted over his pectorals, the callouses on his palms. All slick with water, slippery with massage oil.

The helmet stays on for the first handful of visits. You know by the modulated sound of his voice, by the brush of beskar against your wrist when you work a knuckle into the base of his stiff neck. It disappears somewhere around the tenth visit. When he meets you at the door, your name sounds markedly different. You don’t mention it, don’t draw attention to it, but you do enjoy the unfiltered, raw quality of his voice from then on.

The noises he makes when you touch him are always better than you remember. Their tone and cadence mark a gradual progression from high strung and uneasy to mellow and sedate as the tension coiled in his muscles dissipates under your hands. The harsh exhales devolve into low groans, quiet grunts. Sounds of pleasure waited too long to be had, of physical release so desperately needed. Every once in a while, when you work out a particularly stubborn knot, he murmurs a hushed, rumbling oh, fuck.

Once, when you earn a delicious moan paired with a strained, needy fuck, just like that, he bites off the last word so harshly that you know it was involuntary.

It turns you on more than the touch of any client ever has.

Even with the blindfold, you can feel the burn of his eyes on your skin. Its weight is familiar from the start, when you meet him at the entrance to the baths, the echoing stone entry hall with its gilded fixtures and branches of guttering candles. A balled fist rested on the counter, he nods at you in all his armored glory, a cordial gesture that seems to gain gravity and intimacy each time he offers it. The black visor follows your walk down the long hallway to your rooms, dips to your hips when he thinks you’re not looking. Heavy, substantial. Pressure that could be measured, harsh enough to leave an imprint in its wake.

It stays on you until you shut the door between you, leaving you in the antechamber to tie on your blindfold and him in the main room to undress.  

When you knock and enter, you can still track his gaze despite the layers of black silk—the feeling of it like a searing brand. Settled on your face when you smile up at him. Dragged over the curves of your breasts when you shamelessly tip forward to trail fingers through the water and they just barely begin to spill over the low cut of your dress. Trained on the movement of your tongue when you part your lips and lick a slow, gratuitous line over the bottom one. Riveted to the dark space between your legs when you spread your knees unnecessarily wide and the fabric of your thin, short dress rides up your thighs.

You tell yourself not to hope for more.

Then one day he shows up, and you can tell something is off. His usual steady, controlled energy has been replaced with a pent-up buzz. He’s worked up. You can hear it in his clipped words, feel it in the extra touches. The hand on your lower back guides you to the pool almost hurriedly.

His shoulders are even tighter than usual when you get your hands on them, his back a series of stony knots. He groans when you work at the tension in his neck, your thumbs digging into the tautness at the base of his skull. And when you offer yourself this time, feeling optimistic that you’ll get your most reluctant no yet, a strong hand guides you slowly and wordlessly down the smooth stone steps to join him in the water.

Reflexively, you pull your dress up and over your head, tossing it behind you before the hem can catch in the water. You lose his touch in the process, but a path of goosebumps down your body echoes the course of his gaze as it pulls along your curves. You can feel his attention, his captivation at your nakedness in the fervent tension that snaps taut between you.

His invitation is so unexpected, though, that once you’re standing in the hot, waist-deep water, you’re stunned motionless. Disoriented. You don’t know where he is for a moment; you feel his hot gaze everywhere, all at once. You never actually thought you’d get this far with him, and now it feels daunting—the darkness of blindfold, the ever-changing line of his limits and preferences. You feel untethered.

Until the water shifts and he touches you.

“Beautiful,” he says, damp fingers following the curve of your cheek so lightly you can only just feel them.

You take his hand in both of yours and kiss his palm, soft lips brushing over rough skin. He catches you under your chin, and one fingertip traces your lips, his other hand settling on your waist, flexing. 

You don’t want to push him too fast, and you also want to take full advantage of this opportunity while you finally have it.

You part your lips, and his fingers still.

You let your tongue peek out to circle the pad of one finger, inviting. To your delight, he responds by carefully pushing two fingers into your mouth. When you close your lips around them and suck, he lets out a broken, pained sound, pressing down on your tongue lightly before he eases them back out and drags a wet line down your chin to settle his hand around your throat. 

You smile up at him, unseeing, as you trail fingers down his chest, the soft give of his stomach, dipping below the water as you reach the ridge of his hipbone. Moving slowly, always slowly, so he can stop you if he wants to.

Sure enough, his hand finds yours, trapping it against his skin. “You don’t have to—”

“I want to," you interrupt. "I want to touch you.”

It’s an understatement. There isn’t enough time to share all the myriad ways you’ve fantasized about touching him.

“I’ve thought about this since the first time I saw you walk in here in your armor,” you say, letting your voice pitch low. “What you’d feel like under all that metal.”

His hand disappears, and yours slips further down the v of his hips to wrap around the base of his cock. Hard, thick, big like you knew it would be. 

“I think about it every time I work my way down your chest. How easy it would be to slip my hands lower...to see if you enjoy having my hands on your body as much as I do.” 

He breathes out slowly, but his whole body is rigid as you drag your other hand over his shoulder, down his chest, a granite statue under your touch even as you start to work him over in long, luxurious strokes. 

“I’ve been dying to know, Mando.”

His cock twitches in your hand, his skin hot and slick as it pulls over his hard length. He isn’t relaxing into your touch like he usually does, and this white-knuckled, shallow-breath, penitent version of pleasure is not at all what you’d intended for him, what he deserves.

You tip your face up toward his. “I need you to relax for me. Can you do that?”

A rough exhalation. Noncommittal, a little wry.

You step closer, gingerly moving into his space. He lets you. The water shifts around you as you move into him, close enough that your breasts brush his warm body and you can place a soft kiss on his chest. His ribs expand in a rapid, deep inhale, a rough hitching breath, and his hand comes up to cup the back of your neck.

You press him backward with a palm to his sternum, and he resists reflexively, his feet planted firmly. A man not so easily moved. Who is used to doing the telling, not being told.

“Sit for me?”

He relents with a hum, going pliant for you as you back him up to sit on the submerged marble bench. He helps you climb up, strong hands guiding your movements, settling you onto your knees in a straddle over his lap.

You dip your head to find the crook of his neck and lavish open-mouthed kisses on his throat, below his ear, automatically respecting the limits of where his helmet would be, as you move your hand between your bodies. You’ve never touched above his neck and won’t change that now, even though you’re dying to trace the contours of his face, to fit your lips to his.

Perched over him, you can feel his body gradually relax under your attention, his posture softening, his breath dropping into a more natural cadence. His hands find your hips, your thighs, slide back to grip your ass, as you begin to increase the pace of your stroke.

“Have you, Mando? Have you thought about this?”

You feel him nod once against the side of your head. Jerky, frantic.

“Good,” you purr into his skin, letting your teeth drag over his collarbone.

He groans, his hips lifting off the bench to push himself into your grip harder. The heat that always simmers in your core when you’re around him grows and spreads. It’s overwhelming—so much of his bare skin on your bare skin, after so long with so little. Almost feverish as you move together in the hot water.

Your hand pauses mid-stroke; his hands tighten in protest, sliding you a tiny bit closer on his tense thighs. “Do you think about me?”

His ragged breathing stalls. He nods again. “All the time.”

You hum, pleased, and resume the tight pull of your fist. Your own arousal is approaching a blistering point, so hot and bright, and he’s barely touching you—one hand on your ass, the other dragged up your body to palm your breast, his strong thighs pressed to the inside of yours. He rolls your nipple between two fingers, and you gasp. 

“Feel so good,” he rasps, the heavy weight of his hands reverent as they catalog the slopes and rises of your body. “Just like I imagined.”

You can’t help but think about how easily you could sit on his cock right now. All it would take is a slight shift and tilt of your hips and you could catch the blunt head at your entrance. He’d stretch you so deliciously—that girth and length—but your wetness would let you work yourself down onto his lap until he was filling you completely. You’d fuck an orgasm out of him, riding him until he found his release in the tight clutch of your body, milking his cock until he shuddered from the oversensitivity.

One day. Maybe.

He’s close—you can tell by the strain in his voice, by his ragged breath, by the way his hands tighten on your ass. By the way he wraps one large hand around yours on his cock, tightening your grip. 

“Just like that.”

You’d give anything to see his face when you feel the urgent flex of his hips as he fucks into your joined hands, the jerk and shudder of his large frame as it curves over you, his forehead dropping to rest heavily on your shoulder as he moans brokenly through the pleasure. It’s the most intimate part of all of this—so human, so trusting. So tempting to reach up and touch his face, to put detail to what you’ve imagined so many times.

You regret that your hand is submerged in water, that you can’t feel his hot release slide over the dips and swells of your knuckles. That you won't be able to lick it off your fingers—to taste it, for your own pleasure and for his. To listen to the sounds he’d make as he watched you eat his come.

Instead, when it’s over, when he’s finished, the weight of his forehead lifts from your shoulder and his touch abandons your body. You resist the urge to search it out, to ask for it back.

You imagine how he looks unwound underneath you, his head tipped back against the edge of the pool, muscles slack. His body finally truly relaxed.

Your part is done. 

He’s never spent this long here, and you imagine he’s hyperaware of that. Always on a timeline. Some small part of you thought maybe—hoped—this time would be different, that maybe he’d linger, that maybe he’d want to touch you. You slide backward off his lap to take your leave reluctantly, but when you reach blindly for the edge of the pool, there’s the sound of quick movement through the water and he closes a hand around your wrist.

Relief courses through your veins.

He doesn’t say anything, just guides you. You can’t tell what his aim is until he arranges your body over his just so—just the way he wants you. He has you straddle his lap backwards this time, your back flush to his chest, your knees opened wide by the spread of his legs between yours.

You think about what he does for work, the command and skill it requires. Those capable hands and sure grip have wrestled so many bounties into submission—into handcuffs, into rope bindings, into his carbonite chamber—and here they are exerting their power and ability for the sake of your pleasure. Blunt instrument, suddenly fine.

His breath is hot by your ear, his heavy hand settling meaningfully on your inner thigh. “Can I—?”

“Yes. Fuck, please—”

You guide his hand between your legs, desperate, and his mouth finds the back of your neck. His mouth. Stubble scrapes across your skin, soft lips molding to the contour of your shoulder. The heat that’s been building in your body, that started as a low smolder in your core, has been growing to a rolling boil the whole time you were touching him. And his mouth on your body? Like striking a match to gasoline.

The reality of the situation, the surprise of this touch, ratchets your arousal to a precipitous height. It’s the sheer brazenness of it—the unflinching way he’s taking such a huge step. In the name of your pleasure, of his desire to taste you.

The offering of such intimacy, a secret shared.

A warm tongue blazes a lazy trail from the notch of your vertebra to your nape as two fingers slip into the slit of your sex, beginning a slow massage of your clit. Your mind goes blank.

It’s almost embarrassing how easily he makes you come, how little time it takes with his hand between your legs and his lips on your skin. He fucks you with two thick fingers, another swirling over your clit, and you wonder vaguely how he knows how to curl the two inside you just right against your g-spot.

You reach behind you to grip the back of his neck as you arch, your hips circling. He hooks his chin over your shoulder and you go molten at the thought that he’s watching himself finger-fuck you to climax.

“Are you going to—?”

“Yeah,” you breathe.

“Good.”

It's said through clenched teeth, a gritted jaw. He’s deriving so much pleasure from your pleasure, it's dizzying.

Teeth close over your shoulder and he bites down as you begin shudder and shake, as you clench and spasm around the thrust of his fingers—as you listen to his voice break on a groan as he feels it and draws it out—until the pleasure wanes and you melt back against him, boneless and sated, his strong body an anchor underneath you in the water.

You pant together, your head tipped back to rest on his shoulder, and all you can think about is how fucking close his lips are to yours. You could turn your face and kiss his jaw. He could angle your head and push his tongue into your mouth so easily. You’re so pliant; you want it so badly.

You consider asking. And then you consider the fact that he’s likely thinking about the same thing—your closeness is palpable, the tension a live, shivering thing—and he isn’t doing anything about it. He isn’t fitting a hand to your cheek to maneuver you just so.

You won’t ask for something he isn’t ready to offer.

When he finally does let you go, this visit that was so different from the others ends the same. He guides you back to the exit and hands you the robe that hangs by the door. As he helps you shoulder it on, he murmurs a sincere thank you, accompanied by a rumble of your name.

There’s one notable difference: as you're walking through the doorway, he catches your hand and squeezes it fleetingly before letting it drop.

The door shuts behind you with a click.

As always, a stack of credits far too high will be left in the room for you, and just like every other time, you’ll wait impatiently for his return. 

[djarins-cyare]

WIP Weekend

I haven’t done a WIP post since December because I’ve been suffering through the dreaded writer’s block 😓, but thank you to everyone who has tagged me in WIP games since then. I do keep track, so big hugs to these gracious people for not forgetting I exist while I’ve been stagnating in writer’s hell 💚:

@the-mandawhor1an @myownwholewildworld @burntheedges @ace-turned-confused @quinnnfabrgay-writes

@evolnoomym @djarinmuse @almostfoxglove @bergamote-catsandbooks @sawymredfox

I’ve been really struggling with the concluding chapter of my (now over six months late!) secret relationship fic for last summer’s Roll-A-Trope Writing Challenge, and I couldn’t figure out why. It’s a massive smutfest, and yeah, smut usually takes me longer to write, but I’ve never had this much trouble before.

After stepping away for a while, when I came back to it, I realised I was trying to make my characters do things that were out of character. It wasn’t working because it didn’t make sense in the context of the 70k words that had come before!

So I decided to write that into the smut, and today I’m giving you a peek at the moment the characters realise they aren’t entirely on the same page…

Please check out my previous WIP posts for additional snippets from earlier in the fic, here, here, here and here.

He groans his approval, shifting his hips until his blunt tip notches at your entrance. And just like during your last encounter in this room, he throttles time to a near standstill, pushing into you at a sublimely slow pace. Each second drips by like molten metal, searing and stretching in burning bliss as he fills you deeper and deeper until he can go no further and you can take no more. Yet still he pushes – as if he wants to root himself inside you – and his tongue finds its way back into your mouth, locking you together at both ends. You whine against him, crushed by a weight in your chest that has nothing to do with the heavy man atop you. It’s a hunger, a need, a desperation. You’re teetering on the cusp of fulfilment – it’s close enough to taste but not enough to sate. Yet you can’t move with his heavy pelvis immobilising your hips and a mouthful of his tongue preventing you from encouraging the friction you crave. A growl of urgency rumbles in your throat, and you drag your nails down his naked back, landing a goading slap on his ass. It has the desired result, and he eases off the kiss, nipping your lip in retribution but continuing to pin your hips in place. “Fuck me.” It tumbles out like a challenge, so you appeal to his dominance by making it a request. “Gedet’ye!” You feel him bury his face in your neck, where he releases a heavy breath before picking back up and quietly confessing the reason for delaying your pleasure. “Do you have any idea how fucking magnificent it feels to be inside you again? I will fuck you, senaar’ika, I’ll give you everything you want… but let me savour this first. Gedet’ye.”

gedet'ye = please

Sorry it’s a little shorter than usual. This being a final chapter snippet already makes it a smidge spoilery, so it’s all I can offer.

I can assure you, though, that the final smutfest will be... let’s say, ‘multifaceted’, so Din slowing things down here is not indicative of the ongoing mood. 😈

As usual, if you’d like me to tag you when I (finally) release the chapters, please raise your hand or communicate your wish however you see fit. You can also join my tag list if you like.

(Including this GIF simply because I’m obsessed with the “attentively receiving instructions before ravishing you” vibe + extremely biteable neck combo 🧛🏼‍♀️, which I find very Din-esque)

Sending no pressure WIP whatevs/whenevs tags to the following wonderful writers 💚:

@604to647 @ak-vintage @almostempty @beefrobeefcal @bluestar22x

@captainredspade @cas-readsandwrites @drewharrisonwriter @guiltyasdave @handspunyarns

@hauntedhowlett-writes @hellishjoel @iamsherlocked-1998 @itsjuststardust @jennaispunk

@joelalorian @kedsandtubesocks @lotusbxtch @mandaloriankait @mermaidgirl30

@mrs-hardy-hunnam-butler-pascal @mushgloomz @mysterious-moonstruck-musings @novemberrain-writes @peepawispunk

@penvisions @probablyreadinsmut @prolix-yuy @schnarfer @secretelephanttattoo

@sin-djarin @stellamarielu @the-blind-assassin-12 @thischarmingmandalorian @tightjeansjavi

@two-birds-alone-together @whocaresstillthelouvre @whxtedreams @xdaddysprincessxx @yopossum

[moonlitdesertdreams]

Too Sweet

A/N: Hi friends. I haven't written anything in a while, as I've been tussling with my mental health and raging SAD from the weather near me. Please accept this Mandalorian drabble? Rambling? Takes place between the end of season two and Din's appearance in the Book of Boba Fett. Tags: The Mandalorian, Mandalorian x Reader, Din Djarin x Reader, Mandalorian x F!Reader, Apostate!Din WARNINGS: None Summary: You've been a safe place for Din Djarin for years. He comes to you at his most vulnerable, but always has to leave before you're ready. Title inspired by the Hozier song of the same name.

Word count: 1.6k+

Hours later, you’re still in shock.

Din Djarin is in bed next to you, sans helmet.

It wasn’t unusual for him to be in your home- hell, it would be more unusual for him not to be there between jobs. Your Mandalorian had spent years visiting, hovering somewhere in between a lover and a partner. He shows up in the afternoon one day, and is gone early in the morning before you wake. When he returns, beaten and bruised, you chastise him for leaving without saying goodbye. The routine was comfortable. Familiar. 

Except every other time he had been there, you had never seen his face. 

It feels like a dance each time he comes. You tend to his wounds quickly but gently, lathering cuts and bruises in bacta before wrapping bandages or slings where necessary to let the medication heal. Once you’ve played nurse, Din secludes himself to your study to eat dinner. And each time, without fail, he leads you to the bedroom to extinguish the fireplace and blow out your candles. His hands find your body, and he ravishes you in the darkness. 

Key word being darkness.

Today was the same song and dance. He’d limped into your cabin without greeting, shaking snow from his armored body and settling himself into a kitchen chair while you fussed. A tube of bacta and half a roll of bandages later, he silently trudged away to eat in the study. There was a distinct lack of little green child with him today, which was a major concern after the past year. You suspected it had something to do with the oppressive sense of sorrow following him through the house. So you carried on with your usual routine, asking little to no questions. It wasn’t until he’d crowded you up against the sink, bowl still in your grip as you rinsed it, that he spoke. 

“Mesh’la.”

Strong arms wrapped themselves around your waist, and you leaned back into an unarmored chest. In hindsight, you chastised yourself for not noticing the words lacked the electrical buzz of a vocoder. 

“Din.” You returned.

He only grunts, right hand gliding up your side. It grips your shoulder, and presses until you turn to face him, bowl still gripped in your damp fingers. 

“You know, words are- Din!”

The porcelain bowl shattered as it collided with the kitchen floor. You’d dropped it out of pure instinct, hands flying up to cover your eyes. As much as you’d tried to forget what you saw, it was burned into your brain. Wavy hair, long nose with a scar crossing the bridge of it. Big, brown eyes that couldn’t possibly belong to someone so stern and ruthless. It flashes across your mind, and you almost tear up at the thought of Din breaking his Creed after all these years. 

But he’d pulled your hands away and explained - while your eyes are still pinched closed- that he was an apostate. The Child was returned to his own people, but at the cost of Din’s Creed. It had taken minutes of coaxing and reassurance, but you’d opened your eyes and cursed the universe for being so cruel as to hide such a face. From the set of his brow to the nervous biting of his lip, you basked in seeing so much bare skin. It took less time for him to attach his lips to yours and lead you out of the kitchen.

He’d taken you to bed, and now here you sit. 

Your room isn’t anything special. Quaint and cozy if nothing else, with two small windows that face out over the mountain’s edge. A fireplace flickers opposite the bed, its warmth trickling out to the sheets and heating your toes. Two bookshelves border either side of your headboard, with a nightstand tucked on Din’s side of the bed. On it, the usually extinguished candles burn bright. 

The firelight flickers against Din’s tan skin, highlighting each bead of sweat and curled tendril of hair where it sticks to his forehead. He’s naked, back propped against the headboard and covered in a maroon sheet from the waist down. You’ve donned a short silk robe, black and bordered with lace where it plunges between your breasts. You lay between his legs above the sheets, head on his chest. One of his large hands caresses your scalp and trails to the ends of your hair. The other hand is occupied by a half-full glass of old Corellian whiskey. 

You trace a line of yellow bruises on his hip where they extend below the sheet on his lap. 

“What happened to you?”

His chest rumbles. “I fought an Imperial Moff. And Imperial battle droids.”

Your eyes widen, and you sit up. Din’s hand leaves your hair to grasp at your waist, pulling you to face him.

“Stars, Din.” You reach out to touch a patch of black and blue skin over his collarbone. “No wonder you’re so beat up. I’ll get you some more bacta before we go to sleep.”

He lifts your fingers from his collarbone to his mouth, kissing each fingertip. “You’re too good to me, cyar’ika.”

“You deserve it.” Is your instant reply. 

If there was anything you knew about Din, it was that he never quite comprehended the good he brought to the world. 

The Mandalorian brings the whiskey to his lips and takes a swig. You opt to push an errant curl behind his ear. 

“I’m not a good man,” Your name falls off his tongue like honey. “Spent my whole life as kyramud.” 

You tilt your head at the Mando’a. He’d called you some pet names for years- mesh’la, cyar’ika. But this… kyramud was new. Without his helmet, hearing anything out of his mouth was like a drug. But Mando’a warmed you to the core, building off Din’s comfort and fondness when he spoke the ancient tongue. You yearned to know more. 

“Teach me Mando’a.” You kiss him gently, tasting the whiskey where it lingers on his lips. “So I can tell you why you deserve every bit of kindness.”

Din adjusts your legs so you’re sitting square between his, rear end on the bed and calves straddling his waist. He props you up with the ridiculous amount of pillows lying around. 

“I’ll teach you anything you want.” Din strokes your knee. “Where do I start?”

You chew on your bottom lip. “What am I to you?”

“Ner cyare.” He pauses, debating. The whiskey makes another appearance, and you’re distracted by his Adam's apple bobbing deliciously in the column of his throat. “Naysol uj par ni. Each day I see you is aay’han.”

“What does that mean?”

Din tilts your chin up. “My beloved. Too sweet for me.”

You blush. “What about the end? Ay-hen?”

“Aay’han. Mourning and joy. At the same time.” He finishes the whiskey. “I mourn when I leave you here.”

Much to your annoyance, tears prick your eyes at the reminder that when you closed them, he would be gone before you woke. “Don’t remind me. Please.”

Din leans forward to capture your lips with his. The sensation only serves to make the stinging behind your eyes worse, and a single tear drips down your cheek. He’s quick to kiss it away, large hand curling into your hair. You climb all the way into his lap, suddenly desperate for closeness. His skin is hot and damp, and you’ve never felt anything better. 

“Ni ceta. I never meant to hurt you.”

You sniffle against his neck. “Just promise me you’ll say goodbye from now on.”

He wets two fingers with his tongue and extinguishes the candles before cradling you in strong arms. Two words are murmured into your hair, quiet but sound.  

“I promise.”

You grip him tighter than ever, warmth sadly fading as the dread of morning envelopes you. 

*

The reflection of daylight off snow-covered ground wakes you. 

It bounces in your windows, bathing the room in cool white light. You blink slowly, a heaviness settled on all of your limbs. It’s a familiar soreness that aches from your shoulders to between your legs, dredging up memories of the night before. Din’s bare face, and all the sweet words in Mando’a that he tried to teach you before you remembered he can never stay as long as you’d like. You sigh, letting one of your arms dangle off the edge of the bed. The thought of turning over and seeing the candles, thinking about him blowing them out on each visit was too fresh. It’s easier to lay and stew in your sadness, watching fluffy flakes of snow fall. The clock on your wall reads ‘1457’, another unintentional reminder of your late-night escapades.

You hate to admit that the feeling makes you tear up again. So you lay in bed, curled beneath a thick comforter while the fireplace crackles its last few breaths towards your feet. It’s easier to stare at the snow than it is to close your eyes and think about Din. 

“Damn it.” You breathe. 

“What are you damning?”

You swear that you stop breathing for a moment. Despite the fact that he had already spoken, you ask aloud, “Din?”

The sounds of bare feet padding across the floor nears, and the Mandalorian appears in your vision. Barefoot and clad only in a pair of loose gray lounge pants that tighten at his ankles. His abdomen is without cover, displaying an array of healing bruises and deep scars. You sit up, letting your feet hang off the bed. 

“You’re still here?” You look at the clock again. “At 1500?”

Din smiles, kneeling in front of you. He presses a mug of steaming Caf into your hands and a kiss to your forehead. 

“If it’s alright with you… I might be for a while.”

It’s your turn to smile as he smoothes away your bedhead. 

“No arguments.” You sip at the warm mug. “I’ll keep taking my Caf in bed, though.”

___________________________________________________

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[jolapeno]

stars are but dying suns

din djarin x f!reader | masterlist

summary: you're not sure where you stand, when under a sea of stars.

warnings: 18+, allusion to smut ONLY. soft!din. idiots who have feelings but don't know what to do with them. jo's writing din so it gets weirdly poetic again. wordcount: 1.5k an: dedicated, as always, to the one and only @eupheme - happy may the fourth my love.

“Would you steal one for me, a star?” 

His silence is deafening, but then it always is.

“I don’t know if you’d know what to do with it if I did.”

READ ON AO3

[freakrenaissance]

A more primal first time 🤤 i loved this... love dirty, desperate din 🔥

The First

Din Djarin/F!Reader

Rating: E for Of Course It Is

Words: 1888

Summary: You make Din an offer he can’t refuse. 

Warnings: Loss of virginity, virginity/innocence kink, first time, sexually inexperienced reader, implied age gap, very much top!Din, thigh riding, (briefly) questionable consent, size kink, Big Mando meat, unprotected vaginal sex (Very Bad Idea), just…pure filth, there’s nothing redeemable about this, I’m sorry.

ao3 link // masterlist // taglist form

“Would you like to be my first?”

Mando has you pinned up against the hatch in a second, his gloved hand rough against your neck. Your words make him hiss from underneath the helmet, the sibilant noise turned thick and icy by the vocabulator. It raises the hairs on the back of your neck, springs sweat to your forehead. 

You’ve been waving yourself under Mando’s nose for a dozen or more days, maybe two weeks. It feels, to him, like forever. It was supposed to be just a simple escort mission, a there-and-back, for what - he doesn’t know, or care. But you flaunt yourself - your confidence, your skill with words, like you’re always one step ahead in a conversation. And you’re so painfully young. It radiates off you - not an innocence insomuch as a freshness, like a flower at full bloom - all but daring Mando to lean in to fill his lungs with the scent of you. 

Well, now he has, and he can’t say he regrets it. Not now. No, that will come later, in the clarity that follows. 

He almost looks forward to it. 

Keep reading

[djarinsphere]

sex in the dark with din.

(do not interact if you are not at least 18 years old!!)

when he first opens up to you and both of you can’t deny the sexual tension, he’s willing to take off his helmet as long as you can’t see any of him in the dark.

you’re only feeling him everywhere. there’s the scrape of his beard against your neck, his strong chest hovering above you and his calloused hands making their way down your thighs. you kiss him and it’s sloppy at first, but he soon seems to memorise every small crevice of your body.

his fingers make their way through your wet folds, carefully entering you and he knows exactly what to do from here. your hands can feel his strong back as he’s lying on top of you, lips still absentmindedly planting kisses all over your neck.

when he’s finally buried inside you with his cock, you hear his groans right next to your ear. he’s trembling in your arms, starved of this kind of attention for so long. your legs wrap tightly around his waist as he starts to thrust slowly and steadily at first. his quiet moans sound like heaven to you and you eventually feel his fingers lace with yours, pinning your hands down next to your head.

his pace eventually grows sloppier, faster. din is growing more desperate and so are you. you need more of him, every thrust pushing you closer to orgasm and he’s hitting that sweet spot inside you at just the right angle.

when he reaches his high, his face is buried in your neck, hot breath against your skin and that familiar scratch of his beard again. your fingers are holding onto his warm back, your breasts pressed against his hard chest while you tremble underneath him. your orgasm washes over you in waves and the mandalorian wants to memorise every little sound you make.

or the way your pussy clenches around his cock. the way your nails dig into his skin.

it’s not a surprise to either of you when you engage in this a little more often.

[absurdthirst]

Unmasking the Mand'alor {Mando x F!Reader}

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 8.6k

Warnings: Drinking, flirting, insults, fighting, caveman-like behavior, helmet stays on, fingering, oral sex (male receiving), rough sex, clothed male/naked female, first kisses, confessions, wedding vows, loving making

Comments: You want a helmet on Mando to fuck to pretend they are the one you really want and think you can never have. Until flirting with one in front of Mando makes him react.

A/N: Canon? Who dat?

Co-written with @storiesofthefandomlovers

**Follow @absurdthirst-writes and turn on notifications to stay up to date on all new fics.

|| MasterList || The Mandalorian MasterList ||

Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.

Mandalore has changed. You glance around the bar, noting the repairs that have been done,the debris cleared out. It had once been the armory, fitting to be the social center of a society of warriors where their weapons are a part of their religion. Mandos wearing helmets are almost in equal number to those that are showing their faces, the two sects still managing to coexist peacefully - most days. The Bespin Fizz in your hand is smooth, although you really want a Fuzzy Tauntaun next time. The bartender was a Mando that still believes that Creed involves not showing his face, making him almost as attractive as one that had brought you here. 

Din strides into the bar, his hand empty of a drink but he notices how everyone looks at him. The leader of Mandalore. His visor scans the crowd until he finds you at the bar. You are the star of his dreams, every holovid porno he watches he imagines you in their place. He can’t have you though. You don’t want his baggage. Dealing with the kid, being the Mand’alore, it’s too much to handle for him and he’d be selfish to make you deal with it alongside him. He sighs and taps his gloved fingers on his thigh, watching you as you watch him walk in.

He feels your eyes on him as he makes his way through the crowd until he is pushing his way into a space beside you at the bar. He orders a drink despite knowing he won’t remove his helmet to drink it. It makes him look more approachable and he wants the others to feel like they can speak to him about their worries and concerns regarding Mandalore. He is reluctant to take up an official role, never wanting to be a leader, but he needs to position himself for covert if he is to establish the Mandalorians as a force to be reckoned with within the galaxy. “And whatever she is having.” He adds, tilting his helmet to the bartender before he looks at you.

“The Fuzzy Tauntaun this time, Josin.” You tell the blue armored bartender. You cock your eyebrow up as you turn to see your own eyes reflected back at you in the darkness of his visor. “You gonna drink with me, Mando?” You ask playfully, taking a long swallow of your Bespin. “Want a straw?”

“You know I won’t drink it. I’m just here to put in an appearance and then go back to my quarters. The kid is with the other foundlings tonight. Sleepover or something.” He says, knowing that the reason he’s come out is so he doesn’t just sit in his room thinking about you and yet here you are. “You can have my drink too.” He promises, glancing around the room again. “Are you having fun?”

“So far.” There’s the dull roar of conversations and the occasional shit talking that gets a little out of hand, but there’s not been any fights in here. “Although….” You turn and smirk at him. “You need some music in here. Liven the place up a bit.” You drain the rest of your drink and shrug. “I had fun at the cantina on Mos Eisley.”

“I’ll be sure to get that sorted. Not like I haven’t got bigger things to do.” Din rolls his eyes behind his visor even though you can’t see it. Your drinks are placed in front of you and Din immediately pulls his credits from the pouch on his belt. “On the house for our fearless leader.” Joisin says and Din can hear the grin in his voice. “Thanks.” He replies even though he knows he will leave a tip.

You smirk and give a small chuckle at his sarcasm. It had thrown you off at first, the dry wit, but now it just makes him even more attractive to you. Even if you’ve never seen his face. It honestly irritates you that Bo Katan has, and not you. Wanting to put some features to the faceless fantasies that you have. You pick up your drink and take a sip. “Oh that’s nice.” You coo, turning back to the bartender and winking at him. “Thanks babe. I’m gonna have to have another of these.”

Din is thankful for the mask as he bristles at the affection you use towards the bartender. He wants to hear you call him that. He taps his fingers on the counter, watching you take a sip of your drink. “Maker, this place has the best drinks.” You moan and Din’s cock twitches in his flight suit, unable to help himself as he wonders what you’d sound like moaning his name.

You are completely unaware of the thoughts going through Mando’s head, sipping your drink and looking around. Surrounded by walls of metal clad men, you are soaking wet because of the one standing beside you, but he doesn’t want you. You need to get laid, badly. “Who is that?” You ask, nodding towards a Mandalorian in the corner that has a green chest plate, but his helmet is pure beskar, like Mando’s.

“Throck Kac.” Din answers, his brow furrowed with a question of why you’re interested in learning that information. Throck is a strong Mandalorian, almost strong enough to challenge Din for leadership but he hasn’t. Not yet. Din is always looking over his shoulder in case anyone decides to challenge him. Not that he cares about the dark saber, he’s more concerned about being killed.

“Throck Kac.” You repeat his name and look over at him in interest. He’s obviously one that doesn’t take his helmet off, but you ask anyway. “And he’s - like you? Doesn’t show his face?” You don’t want him to remove his helmet, the face above you needs to be a visor. Especially if you are going to fuck him and imagine it’s the man beside you.

Din is confused about why you want to know that but he answers the question, “yes. He keeps his helmet on at all times.” He tilts his own helmet to look at you as you have this look in your eye when you stare at Throck.

You hum, taking another sip of your drink and the visor turns towards you. You shiver slightly and look back towards Mando. It’s not the same, but you know he won’t touch you and you want to be touched. “Good to know.” You murmur nonchalantly.

Din notices your shiver and he frowns under his mask, wondering what caused that, and he sees Throck making his way through the crowd towards you. He taps his gloved fingers on the counter as he watches the other Mandalorian make his way to you.

You see Mando bristle, stiffen slightly as he taps those orange gloved fingers on the bar and you turn to head. Seeing that Throck is coming towards you. You turn your body and take another sip of your drink.

Din can’t watch this shit. He turns his visor towards the mirror behind the bar and he watches as Throck puffs his chest under the armor and walks up to you. “What is a beautiful lady like you doing in a shit hole like this?” He asks, tilting his helmet.

The line isn’t that great, but it’s better than no line. You tilt your head coyly and grin. “Waiting for something to happen.” You admit, not noticing that Mando has turned away. You try so hard not to watch him every moment. “Why? What are you doing in a shit hole like this?”

“Waiting for something to happen.” He replies and you can hear the smirk in his voice, “but it looks like I’ve found what I’ve been waiting for.” He nudges a little closer, pushing Din back who huffs under his helmet and watches in the mirror. “Oh really?” You smirk and Throck nods, “been waiting on the most beautiful woman in the galaxy to show up and here she is.”

You roll your eyes and wish that someone else would pay you outrageous compliments like that. “Have you seen every woman in the galaxy?” You tease. “I don’t think so, because there are some women here with their helmets on.” You nod to the female Mandos standing around. “Maybe they are the most beautiful woman in the galaxy.”

Din rolls his eyes under his helmet and he flattens his hand against the counter, resisting the urge to clench his fist. “I have eyes. A visor that can see the smallest details. You - mesh’la - are the most beautiful woman in the galaxy. In my galaxy at least.”

You smirk as you take another sip of your drink. You aren’t drunk, but the alcohol makes you bolder than you would normally be. “If you fuck half as well as you flatter, I might be in for a good night, Mando.” You use the moniker you use for your Mando on purpose, wanting to see how the other man likes it. You don’t want to call his name out in bed, because you won’t be thinking about the man fucking you.

Din clenches his fist on the countertop as he listens to you call Throck “Mando.” He loves when you affectionately call him that. He clenches his jaw when he watches Throck lean closer, “well why don’t we find a quiet room and find out just how good your night can be?” Throck asks, a smirk clear in the tone of his voice.

You bite your lip, hating that he doesn’t have that musky, spicy scent that Mando has. But his voice is modulated and as long as his helmet stays on, you wouldn’t mind him fucking you. “Why don’t we?” You purr. “My quarters are empty.” You offer.

Din hears tour sultry offer and his jaw clenched, his chest tightening at the thought of another Mandalorian touching you…fucking you. He hates it and he shakes his helmet, turning towards you. “That’s not a good idea.” He says and Throck scoffs, “why not? The lady wants me. I want her. Stay out of this Mand’alore.” He spits sarcastically and Din turns towards him, his chest puffing in defense. “Because I’ve heard that the woman who spend the night with you end up with bruises that take weeks to heal.  She deserves better than that. Walk away now.” He demands, his voice taking on the authoritative edge.

You are surprised that Mando didn’t mention this sooner, he had to have known your interest. He’s not innocent. You learned that when you found out he used to be involved with that Twi’lek from his old crew. So it’s just that he doesn’t want you, and apparently, he doesn’t want anyone else to want you either. Just a companion for the kid. “I’ll be fine.” You promise. “Besides, I like it a little rough.”

Din hisses through clenched teeth, "not that rough. He chokes them. He - they can hardly walk." Din has watched many holovids on rough sex but the things he has heard about Throck makes his blood boil. He's a sadist. "She said she can handle it. Let the lady decide what she wants to do. Come on, mesh'la. I'll show you a good time." He reaches for your hand and Din sees red. He slaps his hand away and shoves the other Mandalorian backwards. "Don't touch her." He growls, jealousy and protectiveness swelling in his chest.

You jump back, surprised by the sudden defense from Mando. He’s always defended you against enemies, but this feels completely different. “She wants me to touch her.” Throck snorts, bowing up and stepping forward again in challenge. The conversations have died down and you feel every helmet and eyes turned towards you. “Stop.” You huff, not wanting them to fight.

Din growls, shaking his helmet, and he shoves Throck again. "She doesn't know what she wants." Din pushes him back again and the Mandalorian falls back into a table where several Mandos cry out as their drinks are spilled and cups fly onto the floor.

You don’t take offense to his insulting comment because you are too busy gasping in shock. “Mando!” You hiss, watching the scene deteriorate and unable to stop it as several push you out of the way as they crowd in.

Din sees red as Throck swings his arm to punch Din in the side after he stumbles to his feet, finding the vulnerable spots where the Beskar doesn’t cover. Din hisses and fights back, his strength and experience on his side as he battles with the other Mandalorian.

“Stop! Stop this!” You shout, but your voice is drowned out by the cheering of the crowd of Mandalorians. They love fighting, it’s practically a sport to them and the more vicious the better. Even when they are trying to rebuild their religion, they will always cheer on a fight. You shove through the crowd and push through to see Din head butting Throck with his helmet and punching him under the jaw where the just fabric covers his chin.

Din is clouded by jealousy and fury as he fights Throck. "You want her for yourself?" Throck realizes as Din throws him down on the ground and he speaks his winded epiphany. "Shut up." Din growls, lifting him to drop him to the floor again. The Mandalorian wheezes out his concession and Din's chest plate heaves as he turns towards you. "Din." You speak his name and it's like he's in a fog as he strides towards you, grabbing your legs to lift you over his shoulder. The others cheer as he carries you from the bar and he ignores your cries of protest and confusion.

“What- what are you doing!?” You cry out, head hanging down and you curl up your fist to beat against his back. Hitting it and crying out in pain because you forgot he had a backplate. “Put me down!” You yell, kicking your legs but he doesn’t stop. Mandalorians who weren’t in the bar turning towards you as Mando stalks down the hall with you hauled over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. “Put me down, dank ferik!” Your hand slaps against his ass, the only unarmored portion of his body that you can reach.

Din ignores your pleas and the ache in his ass as you protest him carrying you away. He strides to his quarters, only setting you down when the door slides shut to his rooms. “What the fuck?” You cry as you stumble when he sets you down on your feet. Din doesn’t really know what to say. He feels like his body is on fire, his blood boiling, and the thought of anyone touching you makes his fists clench. He doesn’t even think when the next word escapes his lips, his mind still hazy with emotion, “strip.”

Your mouth drops open in shock. That single word burning through you and your cunt clenches with need. The mandalorian you have dreamed about is standing like and impenetrable wall in front of you and ordering you to strip. You don’t argue, reaching for your shirt hem and pulling it up over your head.

He watches, frozen on the spot as your skin - the skin he’s dreamed of, fantasised about so many fucking times, is finally exposed to his hungry eyes. He doesn’t say a word as you work on removing your clothes and his cock swells in his flight suit and his fingers twitch with the need to touch you.

The silence lingers between you and if you weren’t seemingly wrapped up in a trance of your fantasies, you would question him. You can't, though, you can’t say a word as you strip down to your bare skin and stand completely naked in front of a man that you have barely caught glimpses of.

Din’s eyes trail along your form and he groans your name, stepping forward to grab your waist and he drags you against him. His gloved hands slide down to your ass, greedy to feel all of the woman he’s dreamed about. “Mesh’la. Tell me what you want.” He demands, squeezing your globes of flesh in his hands.

You moan when he touches you, eyes sliding halfway closed as you burn the feel of his touch into your memory. Half afraid this is a fevered or drunken dream. You feel drunk when you haven't just moments before. “You.” You whimper. “I want you, Din. Always you.”

Din groans when you speak what he’s dreamed of hearing for so long. He walks you back towards his bed, letting your body drop and he keeps his armor on as his gloved hands explore your body. He squeezes your breast, watching your mouth drop open. “I’ve wanted you for so long.” He confesses, “never imagined I’d have you.”

You whine in frustration, hating that he could have had you so long ago. “Anytime you wanted me you could have had me.” You gasp when he pinches your nipples and tugs on them. “Anytime.”

“Fuck.” He curses, his cock now throbbing and pressing against his suit in a way that makes him ache to be free. He focuses on you though, pawing at your tits, burning the sight of them to his memory in case you decide this is a one off. “Can I - can I touch you?” He asks and you giggle, “you already are.” Din shakes his head, “no. I want to touch you.” He says as his hand slips  lower to cup your cunt.

“Please.” You beg, reaching out and catching the edge of his pauldron and you try to pull him closer. “You can touch me however you want. As long as you don’t stop.” You want him to strip, but you feel like he won’t. Even if he kept the helmet on.

Your permission makes his stomach twist and he swears he nearly cums then and there. He hisses your name and withdraws his hand. You whimper in protest and he chuckles, removing his glove so his bare fingers can touch your wet flesh. “Cyar’ika. You’re so wet.” He murmurs in awe as he circles your clit.

You close your eyes, not sure if you should stare at the smooth, tanned skin of his fingers. His nails are short, neat and clean. Instead you just feel the way he touches you with certainty. “Always wet around you.” You confess breathlessly. “Imagining- fuck- sitting on your cock while you were flying the Crest.”

Din groans, his gaze flicking between your cunt and your face. His digits already coated in your arousal and he twitches in his flight suit, "you could've had that anytime you wanted." He promises and rubs your clit, wanting to hear you moan his name.

“Fuuuuuuck.” You whine, irritated at yourself for not pushing him to touch you earlier. “Din….Inside.” You beg, wanting his fingers to curl up inside you. Opening your eyes, you stare into the dark visor of his helmet and wish that you knew where his eyes were focused right this second.

He's watching your face as he slides his fingers lower and he starts to push his finger into your cunt. You're clenching around his digit and he hisses, his gaze flicking down to your pussy as he adds another finger to feel how tight you are.

“So thick.” His fingers are thicker than your own and your eyes roll back while your hips grind down onto his hand. “Oh Maker, it’s- so damn good.

He can't believe how tight you are around his fingers and he starts to pump them in and out of your dripping cunt. "You are so fucking beautiful." He murmurs, curling his fingers when he pushes them deeper.

“You are.” You groan, even though you’ve never seen his face. His body, the armor and the way he wears it, his strength and competency all make him sexy. “Touched myself thinking about you. About this.”

Din groans at your revelation and he twists his wrist so he can press his thumb against your clit. “I’ve jerked off so many times thinking about you, cyar’ika. Fuck. So many times. Imagined you in my cot.” He confesses with a modulated tone.

“Didn’t think you wanted me.” You pant, you tone needy as he gives you exactly what you want and still you crave more. “It’s- it’s why I was going to take Throck.” You admit. “His helmet looks the closest to yours.”

Din growls, his fingers pumping faster, “he can’t have you. He doesn’t deserve you. I don’t - I don’t either but I can give you what you need. He can’t.” His blood boils at the thought of it and he reaches down with his free hand to squeeze his bulge, trying to find some relief.

Your eyes have opened again and you watch as he squeezes his cock. Making you moan at the slight. “Fuck.” You bite your lip. “I know you won’t, uh, undress, but can I see it?” You ask hopefully. If you can’t, you will understand but you are greedy for anything that he can give you.

Din knows he should say no but he can't deny you when you ask so sweetly. He nods, fumbling with his belt to undo it and he works on pulling his aching cock out of his pants. He is throbbing and when he can squeeze himself, he groans in relief.

He’s thick. Your mouth waters at the veiny, heavy length that is weeping from the tip. He’s longer than you imagined too, surprising you because you’ve never seen a cock so beautifully proportioned. “I want to suck it.” You moan, tearing your gaze away to look up at his visor. “Would you let me?”

Din swears he sees the Maker and he nods without hesitation. “If that’s what you want. You can have whatever you want, mesh’la.” He promises with a groan as he continues to finger your dripping pussy.

“Come here.” You shift down, twisting your body so you can reach his utility belt. You don’t want to miss the feeling of his fingers curling inside you, but you want to taste him. “Fuck it’s so big.” You coo, hooking your fingers under his belt to tug him over to you. Clenching down around his fingers as your own wrap around the velvety hardness of his cock for the first time.

He twitches in your grip, groaning your name, and he stops moving his fingers for a moment as you pump him in your soft hand. “Fuck.” He pants, “that’s - it’s so good.” He murmurs, eyes fluttering closed.

It’s almost surreal. You could cum from this alone. The scent that is specifically Mando, Din, envelopes you and beckons you. Making you lunge up and wrap your lips around the tip of his cock.

His stomach clenches, his helmet hitting his chest plate as he looks down at you. “Fuck. Imagined this so many times.” He confesses, “mesh’la. You are - fuck - don’t hurt yourself.” He urges when you choke after you take him deeper.

You pull back slightly, taking a deep breath before you take him back into your mouth. You don’t care if you choke, you want to hear him moan. Your cunt clenching as you start to take him deeper.

Din pants, his mouth dropping open beneath the helmet as he watches you eagerly suck his cock. It's beautiful and your walls flutter around his digits, making him remember to continue fingering you while you suck him off.

Humming around his length, you start to lift your head faster, deep throating him as much as you can before you pull off. You want to take all of him down your throat, especially if this ends up being a one time thing.

Din chokes on his own breath as you take him deep down your throat and he can’t believe this is happening. He hisses your name, his free hand cupping your cheek and sliding down to your throat to feel the way it bulges with his length pushing deep.

You moan around his cock when his hand grips your throat. There have been a few times you’ve imagined that gloved hand there, applying pressure while his cock hammers into you. Your eyes are watering and you can barely roll your hips down to his plunging fingers, you are so engrossed in sucking his cock.

He rubs your clit with his thumb, groaning your name when you gargle around his cock. He grips your throat a little harder and he doesn’t want to cum down to your throat. He caresses your cheek and pulls his cock from your throat. “I want you to cum on my fingers, mesh’la.” He demands, working his fingers in your cunt.

Whining, you close your eyes, nodding as he continues to pump his fingers deep into your walls. “Mando - Din, you are so deep inside me. Your fingers-“ you bite your lip when he pushes against a spot that makes you gasp out. “There!”

He groans, focusing on that spot and he watches you with his chest heaving as you cry out. His thumb works your clit and he keeps pressing against that spot, his cock twitching in your grip.

Your walls start to clench down around him, your eyes flying open when the sensations crash through your body. “Din!” His name spills from your lips as you start to shake apart from the skill of his fingers.

He works you through your orgasm, his cock throbbing at the way your jaw drops and your moan of his band. “Fuck. Mesh’la.” He murmurs in awe, loving how you soak his fingers.

He doesn’t pull away immediately, working you through it until you are completely wrung out. Slumping back against his bed in bliss and reaching down to caress the back of his hand, shivering when you feel how warm and soft his hand is.

Din withdraws his hand from your cunt, immediately wrapping his wet fingers around his cock, starting to pump himself as he observes how wrecked you are. "You are everything I dreamed and more." He murmurs, squeezing his cock.

“Then fuck me.” You beg, wanting to feel him inside you as he groans in pleasure. You want to feel the way he pounds into you and let him relieve all the stresses he has in your body. “I want you, Din.”

He can't deny you. He groans, nodding, and you whimper, watching him jerk his cock. "Hands and knees, cyar'ika." He demands, hissing when you follow his order. Your ass on display and he caresses it with his gloved hand, smacks it as he shuffles closer. "Tell me to stop." He orders, wanting to give you one last chance to stop him because once he has you, he's never letting you go. You will be his.

“Don’t you dare stop.” You push your ass back,  shaking it slightly as you beg for his cock. “If you do, I’ll go find Throck.” You threaten, although you know that would never happen. You wouldn’t be able to let him touch you after Din has. You are marked by him, even if it’s not visible.

Din growls, "I'll kill him if he touches you." He warns and slides the head of his cock through your folds. "You are mine." He grumbles as he starts to push into your tight, wet cunt.

The claim on you is complete, your back blowing as he drives into you. Not stopping until the armor covering his thighs touches the back of yours. You cry out wordlessly and hang your head down between your shoulders.

It's like something overtakes Din and his hands grip your hips, one gloved one not, and he starts to thrust into you. Jaw clenched beneath his helmet as he starts to fuck you in earnest, needing to claim you as his.

All you can do is hold on. Your hands fisting the sheets of his bed and you lean forward, lifting your ass more as you press your face into the bedding. Inhaling more of his scent in the space where he sleeps while you choke out his name. “Din! Fuck- more.” You moan, wanting him to completely destroy you.

Hearing you say that disappoints Din and he will reflect on that later but right now, he's thrusting harder. "Fuck. Need you - need you to cum first." He groans, his bare hand sliding down to rub your clit.

Your body bucks under the pressure of his fingers at your clit, surprised and pleased by him prioritizing your pleasure. “Din!” You gasp out his name again, looking over your shoulder as he rocks into you, his helmet faceless but you clench downs around him. The sight of him behind you as he hammers into you throws you over the edge.

The way you clamp down on his cock has him gasping out your name and he struggles to rock you through it with how tight you're squeezing him. "Mesh'la." He pants, pulling out of you and your whine echoes in his chambers. "I want this to last." He confesses, his cock throbbing with the need to cum but he takes a deep breath, trying to control himself. "On your back." He orders, wanting to see your face.

You flip over eagerly, not minding having this Mandalorian looming above you. He’s still completely covered except for one glove missing. His cock the only other thing you see. It’s wet with your juices and you moan at the sight of him. “Mando.” You reach up and squeeze both of your tits. “Din. Fuck me.”

He grabs your thighs, pushing them back as he shuffles closer until he is pressing back into your fluttering cunt. Your walls are still fluttering and he groans, eyes focused on where his cock disappears into you.

He’s holding onto your legs with an iron grip, his one hand flexing and showing the rippling muscles on the back of it. It’s intoxicating and you want to know what he’s thinking with his helmet tipped down, obviously watching himself fuck you. “So sexy.” You moan. “So strong.”

Din groans as you take everything he gives you. His hips pressing against your ass as he lifts your lower body so he can sink deeper. “Mesh’la.” He murmurs, lost in the feel of you.

You whine, eyes rolling back and you swear is pushing into your womb. “So good.” You gasp out. “So deep.” All you touch is the fabric of his flight suit when you reach down and you moan his name again.

"Touch yourself. Touch your clit. Show me how you touch yourself thinking of me." He demands with a growl on a particularly deep thrust.

You cry out in pleasure, letting go of your breast to reach down. Using two fingers to start rubbing harsh circles on your clit. “Every night on the Crest.” You confess breathlessly. “Everyday since I met you.”

Din twitches violently inside you at your confession and he watches as you rub your clit. “That’s it, cyar’ika. Fuck. I- I jerked off thinking about you. So many times. You don’t even know how beautiful you are. I watch you all the time.” He groans and feels your walls starting to flutter and clamp down on his cock. “Cum for me, mesh’la.” He orders, wanting to see your face when you cum on his cock.

A few more harsh thrusts of his cock sends you flying. Your back arches as you cry out loud enough for it to be heard through the halls of Mandalore. You don’t care though, you can think of nothing but how perfect he feels. “Cum for me!” You beg. “Fill me up, I want to drip your cum.”

Din pants, getting closer and closer to his orgasm. He pushes into your tight cunt, unable to hold back as he tries to work you through your orgasm but he can't hold back. He chokes out your name as he buries his cock deep, pulsing as he starts to fill you with hot spurts of cum.

You’ve heard him groan in annoyance, in pain, in sorrow, but you’ve never heard him groan like this. He sounds like he’s died and he’s reached the Maker, completely wrecked under his helmet. You bite your lip, knowing that he can’t remove his helmet, even if you begged him to. It would be wrong of you to even ask.

He feels like he's out of his body as he rocks into you, slowly to work himself through his orgasm. His helmet rests on his chest and he looks at his cock, shiny and milky with your combined cum, and he swears he sees all the stars of the galaxy.

You relax into bed, trying to catch your breath bit you feel like you’ve just run for miles through the deserts of Tatooine. A smile on your lips, you close your eyes, cunt still pulsing around his cock. “Maker.” You hum. “So that’s what it’s like.”

Din hums, his voice modulated, and he pulls out of you, groaning at the sight of his cum welling up in your pussy. "That's what it's like." He echoes, his eyes flicking up to your wrecked face.

“Nice.” You giggle slightly, but you can barely move, feeling him set your legs down as he shifts to stand at the foot of his bed. Managing to roll over to your side, you curl into his pillow and sigh. “You smell so good.”

Din desperately wants to feel all of you. He strides into the 'fresher, wetting a rag for you and he comes back with it, gently wiping you clean. "Stay there." He orders, tossing the rag into the sink and he walks over to the lights. "Close your eyes." He orders, watching you spread out on the bed.

You close your eyes, wondering what he is doing and then you sense the room going dark. “Din?” You ask, sitting up but you keep your eyes shut. “I’m here.” He tells you, moving around in the dark and you frown slightly, not understanding what is going on.

He strips his beskar with a familiar efficiency and the last item is his helmet. He's anxious to remove it, knowing you could easily betray his trust and turn on the lights but he pushes aside that fear. He loves you. He knows you wouldn't do that. He swallows harshly and unclips the locks, removing his helmet and after setting it down, he slides into the bed beside you. "You can open your eyes. The lights are off." He informs you, his voice unmodulated.

Inhaling sharply, you hear the change. His voice. It’s….clear. “Din.” You cautiously lean back, aware that he has removed his helmet and still you don’t open your eyes. “Is- is that allowed?” You ask softly, aware that he had gone through such a trial to be able to wear his helmet with honor again. Even if the living waters are in the cavern below you, you know how much his Creed means to him.

He chuckles at your tone, his eyes adjusting to the darkness, and he reaches for you, pulling you against his bare body. "It's allowed. It's a...loophole." He says with a smirk, "I wanted to feel all of you. Let you feel all of me."

“Maker.” You gasp, feeling how hot he is as he presses close. Instantly addicted to the feeling, you let him drag you over to him, practically laying on him. “You can do whatever you want with me, Din.” You admit quietly. “I would let you.”

He slides his hand along your back, "I can't give you everything. If I were any other Mando, we could speak our vows here and now and you could see my face. I can't - I don't want to promise you the galaxy and not fulfill my duties because I am duty bound to the kid...to Mandalore. I want to give you what you want but I can only give you this." He murmurs, wanting you to understand.

You try to understand what he is saying but you frown. “I just want to be with you.” You murmur, settling into his side and slowly sliding your own hand across his skin. “I’ve known I will never see your face, and I still lo- uh, wanted you.” You almost said it, but it would be foolish to confess your feelings when the man is literally saying that you can never be more to him than his partner in bed.

He catches what you nearly said and his heart stops. He cups your cheek, wishing he could see your face but he presses his forehead against yours. “I love you, cyar’ika. To me, you are my riduur. Please don’t misunderstand me. I want you. I love you. I’m trying to protect you.”

“What about me wanting to protect you?” You ask softly, leaning into his touch. “I don’t know what you are protecting me from, but I’ve already survived the Empire with you. The dangers of Mandalore. Everything.”

Din swallows harshly, knowing that he could be selfish, take you as his, but it’s hard to stomach that in case something happens to you. He’d never forgive him. “I’m protecting you from me. From the trouble that follows me.”

You snort, your eyes still closed as you shift to lay your head on his chest. “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.” You scoff. “You’ve always kept me safe, even when it meant putting yourself in danger.” You yawn and sigh. “It’s why I love you. You protect others. Me, the kid. Those that need you.” You smile softly to yourself. “You’re a hero.”

"Sleep, mesh'la." Din orders softly, caressing your spine, and he hears your breath even out after a few moments. 

****

You blink, your body aching, and you smile as you remember what happened last night. You pat the bed and frown when you feel the cold and empty spot. He left. "To your left." Din says, kneeling by the bed.

Your eyes are naturally open, not registering that the lights are on. Or maybe it’s that you assume that Din would be wearing his armor, his helmet back in place. So when you turn your head to the left like he indicates, you are shocked when you see a warm pair of brown eyes staring back at you. “Dank ferik!” You yell, squeezing your eyes shut. “Shit, I’m so sorry! I’m sorry!”

Din watches your reaction and he reaches for your hand. “It’s okay, mesh’la. It’s okay.” He promises, “you can look at me.” You take a moment and blink as your eyes adjust until you finally look at him. “Hi.” He murmurs, taking in the sight of your beautiful face without his visor. “I want you to be my riduur. If you want that, repeat after me.” He says softly, squeezing your hand. “Mhi solus tome, mhi solus dar'tome, mhi me'dinui an, mhi ba'juri verde.”

“What does that mean?” You ask, staring at him as if you are memorizing his face. He smiles and you swear your heart stops at how beautiful he is. "We are one when together, we are one when parted, we will share all, we will raise warriors." He explains softly, squeezing your hand again. “Mandalorian wedding vows.” Your gasp is followed up by his small chuckle. “I told you that you are mine.” He hums and you swallow harshly. “M-mhi solum-no, uh, solus tome….” You see him nod as you struggle through the lines. “Mhi solus dar’tome.” He reminds you and you quickly repeat, “mhi solus dar’tome.” You bite your lip and he supplies you with the last lines again patiently. “Mhi me’dinui an, mhi ba’juri verde.” You finish, your voice steady as you stare into his eyes.

Din offers you a blinding smile, unable to believe you’re his riduur. “We are now one. We share all. Which means you can see my face. See all of me.” He tells you, “I wanted to give you everything. All of me.” He murmurs, squeezing your hand again.

“What changed your mind?” You ask, your free hand slowly reaching out to caress his cheek. He might not want the touch, so you give him time to pull away. “I would have taken whatever you could give me, even if I give you more than everything that I am.”

Din leans into your touch, "I imagined you with someone else and it killed me. I was stupid. I let my fears rule me and Mandalorians are never scared." He snorts, "but I am terrified to lose you. I love you, riduur. I need you." He confesses softly, letting you see all of me, the parts he conceals behind beskar.

“You have me.” You promise, leaning in and pressing your lips to his gently for your first kiss. His eyes widen, but he doesn’t pull back until you do. “And I’m going to stay with you.”

Din can’t help it, he surges forward to press his lips to yours. He’s sloppy, inexperienced, and he shifts to push you back onto the bed, his naked body covering yours in an effort to feel every inch of you against his bare flesh for the first time.

You groan at the feeling of his skin against yours. “Din.” He’s not the Mand’alor or a Mandalorian right now. Just a man, bare and vulnerable with you. The door to his quarters is locked and no one can interrupt you. Your hands sweep over his shoulder and down his sides, mapping scars from where someone has managed to injure him beneath the Beskar. “I love you.” You moan into his mouth.

Din groans, "I love you too." His hand caresses your neck until he's cupping your breast. "You are so beautiful." He murmurs, "so fucking perfect." His cock starts to harden against your thigh but he's in no rush as he kisses along your jaw.

You groan in bliss, feeling him start to get turned on. “We will raise warriors.” You muse. “Does that mean Mandalorians want kids?” You ask playfully, rolling your hips up to push against his cock.

Din chuckles, “yes, but only when we are ready.” He promises but his cock twitches at the thought of you full of his ad. He kisses down your neck until he’s satisfied that he has kissed every inch and then he takes your nipple into his mouth, sucking and biting.

“Din!” You are surprised by his eagerness to use his mouth on you. Reaching down, you start to tangle your fingers into his hair, the strands surprisingly soft and silky. “More, baby, oh maker, that feels so good.”

Your praise has his cock hardening and he loves how you feel under him. His tongue flicks over your nipple before he switches to the other one, taking it into his hot mouth while his hand squeezes the flesh of the one he just abandoned.

You give him complete control, whimpering praises as he pays lavish attention to your body. Worshiping you like you had never imagined he would. You knew he would fuck you good, giving you his cock hard and deep, but this is reverent. “My riduur.” The word is not one you would use, but it must be Mandoa and he groans in response, showing you that he likes it.

Din is eager to please and hearing you address him as your riduur has his heartbeat pounding in his ears. He has time to worship you. The kid is safe with the foundlings and he wants to spend his time tasting every inch of you. He wastes no time kissing down your stomach, eager to hear you moan his name, and he kisses until he is settled between your spread thighs. “Fuck.” He murmurs, eying your cunt and inhaling the heady scent of your arousal before he dives in. His tongue is sloppy and he has no idea what he’s doing except what he’s seen in holovids. He hopes he can please you.

You shiver and jolt in pleasure. Crying out, your fingers twist in his hair and you tug slightly. “Maker!” His tongue is searching and you look down to find his eyes fixed on your face. Watching you as he flicks his tongue and you moan at the sight of him between your thighs. “There.” You praise breathlessly.

Your moan of approval has him lapping at your clit. He loves it. He loves how you taste and he pays attention to your whines and whimpers, wanting to know what feels good to you. His fingers grip your thighs, keeping you steady while he unravels you with his tongue.

His touch starts to become more sure, confident as he licks through your folds. He is smart, almost too smart at times and he is quick to learn what you like most by your moans of approval. “Your tongue is as clever as your fingers.”

He chuckles into your flesh, loving the way you praise him, and he dives back in. He sucks your clit between his lips, closing his eyes as he hums against your flesh.

“Oh fuck.” You gasp, head tilting back as you moan. “Oh fuck, I’m so close.” Your stomach heaves and your thighs start to shake around his ears as he pulls you closer to the edge with every suck of his mouth.

His hands slide down to squeeze your ass, needing to feel you cum on his tongue, and he pushes his tongue deep into your pussy. His nose presses against your clit as he groans into your wet flesh.

That slight change in sensation sends you soaring. Feeling like you are in hyperspace as stars burst behind your eyes, making your vision go white as you cry out his name. “Din!” Your body bucks and twitches as your walls flood with your juices to soak his tongue and chin.

He swears he nearly cums himself then and there when your walls clamp down on his tongue. He groans, working you through it, and he knows he wants to do this over and over again. He’s addicted to how you taste and how you sound.

“You are a quick learner.” You praise breathlessly, giggling as you come down from your high. “That’s better than spice.”

He chuckles, kissing your thigh and he shifts up your body to press his lips to yours. He can’t get enough of kissing you. He loves it. He slides his tongue into your mouth, knowing you can taste yourself, and he loves it.

You hum in approval, slowly kissing him back and reaching down to wrap your hand around his throbbing cock. Starting to stroke him as he rocks into your hand while he keeps kissing you.

“I need to be inside you, riduur. I want to claim you.” He murmurs against your chin and you nod, shifting so you can position his cock at your entrance. He groans and slowly starts to push into you, loving the way you moan his name when he stretches you out again

It feels like he’s pushing so much deeper without the layers of armor and his clothing between you. His skin sliding against yours as he covers your body with his own. “I love you.” You murmur, tilting your head up to kiss his chin.

He groans, pressing his lips to yours as he starts to move inside you. “I love you too, mesh’la.” He murmurs and he starts to move inside you, loving the way you gasp as he stretches you out and he’s addicted. He loves how you feel gripping his cock.

This pace is different from last night. Last night, Mando was claiming your body and right now, Din is claiming your soul. It’s love making, soft and slow as if he has all the time in the galaxy. Lifting your legs, you hook them over his hips and start to move with him, groaning softly in pleasure from the way his cock spears into you.

He pants as you meet his thrust and he kisses every inch of skin he can reach. His hand slides up until it finds yours and he presses your joined hands into the pillow under your head. It’s slow and unhurried, so different to how he lives life. How he has to live life. “Riduur.” He murmurs against your jaw, “I love every part of you.”

“You are so perfect.” You coo, reaching up and caressing his cheek with your free hand. “It is such a shame that you have to hide such perfection behind your beskar.”

Din feels his chest tighten with your words, “I- I don’t know - I never thought I was much to look at.” He confesses, grinding into you and his cock twitching when he pulls back to look into your eyes and he sees the admiration there.

“You are so handsome.” You promise, knowing that you could gaze at him forever. Even if you know that he must put his helmet back on. “I am lucky. I am the only one who gets to see how handsome you are.”

Din offers you a smirk, pleased that you like how he looks, and he leans down to kiss you. “You are beautiful. Always thought it since the moment we met.” He confesses, “in that cantina.” He rocks into you a little faster, wanting to hear and feel you cum for him again.

“I thought I felt you looking at me.” You tease, breathless as he starts to pick up the pace. “Can never tell with that helmet on.”

“Always looking at you.” He promises, “can’t stop.” He squeezes your hand and lets go of it, his grip shifting to your thigh to bring it higher so he can sink deeper into you.

“There.” You whimper softly, eyes rolling back in pleasure. “Right there, Din. Fuck, you have the best cock. I’m gonna cum.”

He grunts, focusing on that spot, and he groans your name as you start to stiffen beneath him. “That’s it, baby. Cum for me.” He murmurs his demand, his dark eyes watching you as he pushes you towards your orgasm.

It doesn’t take long for him to work you up. Pressing inside you against that spot has you seeing stars. Until the last swing of his hips and you scream out his name. “Diiiiiin!”

Your scream of his name has him shaking above you and he hisses at the way you squeeze his cock. He pushes into you, working you through it and the emotions of the day are overwhelming. He can’t hold off like he did last night. It only takes a few more thrusts until Din pushes deep, his cock throbbing as he paints your walls with hot seed and your name is a strangled groan, spilling from his lips.

You caress his sweat sheened face as he collapses on top of you. “I love you, riduur.” You murmur softly. “Until the end of the galaxy .”

Din smiles, nudging your nose with his as he tries to catch his breath. “Until the end of the galaxy.” He promises and sighs, knowing that you will be by his side no matter what. He will protect you with his life. “Let’s get something to eat and then we can get the kid from his sleepover.” Din murmurs and you nod, caressing his back. “That sounds perfect.” Din smiles, rolling over so you are on his chest and he strokes your back, closing his eyes. He has everything he could ever ask for. He just has to fight to keep it now.

[chaotic-iguana]

HI OMG UR FICS ARE INTOXICATING WTH!!!

Can I please req a Din Djarin where he and the reader are travelling together and reader is bubbly/sunshine personality and then she admits her feelings and Din doesn’t reciprocate at first.. then her personality changes and she’s all sad and he can’t stand it!!!! Cause he does love her and he can’t bare to see her that way!!!

Super angst and fluff please 😭😭😭😭 THANK H IF U DECIDE TO WRITE THIS 🤍🤍

HELLO THANK YOU SO MUCH!! ofc im writing anything u request lysm ur the best plus the prompt is so adorable ahufsdkfjhfs. just to try sumth new, im gonna switch it up and do this one from din’s pov. lmk what you think!!

Enough

Summary: Din rejects reader when she confesses her feelings to him even though he feels the same, only to regret it later.

Pairing: Grumpy! Din x Sunshine! Reader (no use of y/n)

Wordcount: 2.6k

Warnings: none, just a lot of angst and fluff

masterlist

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Din Djarin was not a good man. He was aware of this, which is why he was careful not to get to close. Not to taint things with his darkness; the destruction that seemed to shadow him wherever he went. He learned to turn his head away when you sung softly to the child, to clench his fists and keep himself from reaching for you when you giggled at your own terrible (adorable) jokes, to steel himself against your pleas to purchase every single fuzzy fabric you saw, no matter the form. Socks, blankets, shirts, trousers, even a kriffing hat, which Din stopped and let you buy just to stop the stares he was getting from people at the way you were practically jumping in your spot, pointing at the shop’s display. 

But despite his best wishes, Din was not a strong man, either. Not as strong as he needed to be, to resist you. You, with a beaming smile that never failed to make him blush under his helmet; with tender, caring hands that looked so soft that Din wanted to rip his beskar off so you could brush them against him, just once. Your hair, which smelled so sweet that Din could catch traces of it through the beskar. Your eyes, almost siren-like when you blinked up at him while rambling away about something. The way you scrunched your nose with a snort when you couldn’t hold in a laugh. The fact that you had never, ever asked for his name - or an explanation of his helmet, for that matter - even when he knew you hadn’t heard of Mandalorians before. The lilting notes of laughter in your voice before you turned to him with a sly smile, offering him with a witty quip he would have killed others for voicing, before throwing back your head and howling. No, Din was nowhere near strong enough to stand a single damn chance against you. 

He could hear you humming to yourself and the baby while you heated some broth, stopping to lean down and pepper kisses all over Grogu’s face as he cooed happily. Walking into the cockpit, he grunted in acknowledgement of your “Hey, Mando! Sleep well?” before turning to the child and nudging his helmet against his wrinkly forehead. When he turned around to see a gentle smile gracing your face in acknowledgement of the scene in front of you, he straightened up and cocked his helmet as if daring you to comment. 

He was itching for a fight: something, anything to stop the sweet torture of your presence which seemed to breathe life into your surroundings, no matter where you stood. You’d find a way to brighten a graveyard, Cyar’ika. Your smile tightened slightly before you presented him with a bowl of his own, brushing past him to take the child in your arms and leave the cockpit. Every muscle in his body was tense, his mind begging him to let you stay, to apologise for his hostility. To hear you prattle on about something menial while he ate, to revel in the domesticity of being with you. Not like that, of course. You were simply too good for him. Too perfect; too pristine. Your eyes too bright and your heart too soft for him to be worthy of your love. And so Din slipped off his helmet, ducked his head, and ate in silence.

He had noticed that lately, you still spoke to him, but you’d leave with the child more often. He could hear conspiratorial whispers sometimes, the child nodding and babbling his own input as if the two of you were hiding something. You weren’t awkward around him, per se, just less readily giving of your laughter, your jokes, your mindless chatter. All Din knew was that his mind would not rest unless he confronted you, and soon. A restless yearning for your erratic, unnecessarily bright gestures gave way to the anxiety spooling in his gut. Had you finally seen him for what he is?

So later that day, after the supply run when you had fed and put Grogu to sleep, he approached you in the cockpit. He shuffled uneasily behind you, shifting his weight from side to side as he waited for you to break the silence. But uncharacteristically, you just continued to stare into hyperspace without a word. When Din cleared his throat, you turned your head his way. But your gaze was flitting around; your hands fiddling nervously in your lap. Why were you apprehensive? 

“Are you…” Din swallowed, unsure of how to phrase his question, “okay?” Are we okay?You looked up at him then, your eyes wide with anxiety, before looking down at your lap again. Could you be…scared? Of me? 

But then you took a deep breath; the nerves fading from your face and giving way to a look of complete resignation, your shoulders slumping with the weight of inevitability. Your gaze met his visor, and he could see that your fingers were lightly curled into fists.

“I don’t really know how to do this, Mando.” Another deep breath. The colour has faded from your face and suddenly you seemed so small, folded in on yourself, that Din had never had to wrestle harder with his own self-control to stop himself from pulling you into his chest and holding you; comforting you, until you’re back to your bouncy self. “You know that I like most people, right?” He nods; you do seem to like and be liked by most people he’s come across, even the ones he would deem unworthy to so much as look at you. 

“I’ve always really enjoyed meeting new people, and making friends. Life is easier when you’ve got people, right?” You’re rambling again, but instead of the usual enthusiasm lacing your tone, crippling worry dripped from your every word. Are you leaving him? 

“I think-I know that I like you more than I like everyone else. Anyone else. I like everything about you more than I’ve ever liked about anyone else and I just…” you trailed off, gulping. “It feels like you and Grogu are my family, already. And I guess I just can’t help but wonder if you might want more than this, like I do. I-fuck it-I’m in love with you, Mando.” And then you’re shying away from him again, biting your lip as you search his visor for a reaction. 

You’re in love with him? This has to be a joke. Din waited for the catch, standing unmovingly in front of you as if waiting for one of your signature punchlines to come tumbling out of your mouth. When it doesn’t, he just gaped at you, his mind overwhelmed with too many thoughts to even say anything. A part of him had never been happier than this moment right here; never loved you more than right now. But the other, more dominant part of him was practically reprimanding him. And what now, idiot? Profess your undying love to her and subject her to a life as the wife of a bounty hunter? No comfortable homes, no proper vacations or even neighbors. A life on the run. With you, dikuit - a man who has never been loved enough to understand how to reciprocate. There is nothing you can give her. There is nothing you can do. 

Din bristled under your gaze, suppressing a wince at the words that came out of his mouth next. “You mean to tell me that you are in love with a man you have never even see the face of? A man who hasn’t even told you his name? Stop lying to yourself. There is no ‘family’. You are the child’s caretaker, and nothing more. It would be best for you not to forget that in the future.” He wanted to slap a hand to his mouth, to bite his tongue - anything, anything not to see the way you wilted in front of him as his words registered. You slumped further in the chair, shoulders curving inwards as you brought your knees to your chest to curl up into a protective position, as if he was hurting you. Frustrated by the fact that he could neither pull you in his arms to comfort you, nor find it in himself to continue spewing bullshit he didn’t mean, Din just turned and walked away. He pretended not to hear the muffled crying echoing through the ship that night. 

——————————————————————————————————

That had been three weeks ago. He’d gone for a hunt right after, returning within the week. What he found back at the ship made a part of him wish he wouldn’t have returned at all. Your eyes sat bloodshot on hollow cheeks, sunken in your face as dark blotches formed under them. You were quiet, even with the concerned child - all the singing, humming goneas if it had never been. Grogu kept gesturing to you when he father looked his way, as if asking what was wrong. Din knew what was wrong. He just didn’t know how to fix it. He couldn’t find it in himself to leave you alone again, so he’d been mumbling excuses to you each morning as to why he was still on the ship. You’d never answer, just offering him the barest dip of your chin. Din hadn’t just rejected you-he’d been cruel about it. And he hadn’t slept since the night he’d spat those pathetic words at you in an effort of self-preservation, either. The moment kept replaying in his head over and over: your initial nervousness, the words you’d said to him, and your wince at the ones he’d reciprocated with. 

But like he’d admitted: Din Djarin was not a strong man. For you; only for you, he would crumble. To see your usual cheeriness replaced by this emptiness nearly made his knees buckle. You’d stopped eating, too - quietly slipping your food to Grogu, whose concern was overridden by his constant hunger. He’d done this: out of fear of hurting you, he’d reduced you to a mere shadow of what you used to be by doing it anyways. Out of his fear of fucking it up, he’d gone and done that exact thing without even trying to make it work. It was unacceptable to him, to go without hearing your laugh or your jokes or your humming. Not to see you giggling with Grogu. Fix it then, dikuit. So he would. 

Din walked into the cockpit, picked Grogu up from his place on the floor, and whispered a soft apology to him before shutting him in his cot. Grogu, ever-understanding, had just pressed a claw to his helmet and nodded as if wishing him luck. Thanks kid, I’m going to need it. He’d seen your confusion when he had taken Grogu out of the cockpit, but youremained mute. Walking back towards you, Din could feel his chest hurting at the way your hands shook and your eyes glossed over when he got closer. 

“I’m sorry.” His words have no effect; a tilt of your head is the only proof you offer to show that you heard him. Ironic, isn’t it, to be at the receiving end of what I do to others all the time? “For how harsh I was. I didn’t mean it.” Your mouth opens this time, but he raises a hand to stop you. If he doesn’t get this out now, he never will. “I was the one lying to myself, not you. I fell in love with you a long, long time ago, ner’karta. But I was scared-still am-because I have nothing good to give you. Not like what you deserve. My creed alone means that I can’t show you my face until we get married. My job doesn’t allow me stability. I have never been…loved. I do not know how to love you properly. All I know is that it doesn’t feel like a good morning until you say it, that I feel myself flushing under my beskar when you smile at me, that I have to bite my lip to stop a chuckle when you tell me your jokes. All I know is that since you’ve come into my life and made it brighter, it seems I can’t face the darkness alone again. These past two weeks have been hell, cyar’ika. I cannot bear to see you like this. Please forgive me. I will drop you off anywhere you wish to go.” 

And then your face is twisting and you’re sobbing - large, shuddering sobs that alarm Din when they begin. He reaches a tentative hand out towards you slowly, giving you more than enough opportunity to slap it away. When you don’t, he steps closer and pulls you into his chest. As I should have done then. You shake with the force of your hiccups, and Din reaches to rip off his gloves before wrapping his arms around you, a warm hand coming to cradle your head against him. All he can say is a feverish repetition of “I’m sorry, I’m sorrymy love, please forgive me”. 

By the time your tears subside, you can hear sniffs coming from under the helmet too; his modulated voice cracking and giving away his own crying. “Y-you don’t get to-to decide for me. You can’t decide whether or not you can offer enough or whether you can love me properly or not. Just love me, Mando. All you have to do is try.” Your voice is so fragile, so tentative as you speak into his chest that Din’s heart aches at the pain he can hear in it. You continue, “I don’t need stability from you, nor do I need your name or face. To have your heart is enough.” And though you can’t see it, Din has to shut his eyes and brace himself against the weight of his own tears this time. His chest warming, butterflies in his stomach as he tucks you impossible closer.

“Like I said, cyar’ika, you’ve had it for a very long time.” And then you’re smiling again, as Din’s knees threaten to buckle from the force of emotion that wells up at the sight. You’ve pulled back from his chest, but stay close enough to graze his helmet with your nose.

“Is that so, Mando? Do I want to know how long?” You whisper back, somehow looking straight into his eyes despite the visor. 

“Din.” At your frown, he clarifies hesitantly. “My name, cyar’ika. Din Djarin.” You beam brighter, repeating it to yourself. “Wait - cyar’ika? You started calling me that last year, when you were annoyed I bought that fuzzy green hat with frog ear and Grogu tried to eat it on the way home. I thought it was like a swear word, or something -not that I think you would swear at me, you just seemed very annoyed, you know?”

A chuckle slips past his modulator, before he gives in completely. “Close your eyes, please.” When you comply, he rips his helmet off and cups your jaw with his hand, thumb stroking your cheek. Leaning in, he presses his mouth to yours gently, leaning back to look at you. “Beloved, cyare. It means beloved.” Before he can say anything else, your hands tangle in his hair, and suddenly you’re pulling him back into another kiss. And another. And another. 

You two remain so wrapped up in each other that you actually forget to leave the cockpit until Grogu stomps in, having apparently broken out of his cot, and begins babbling at you both angrily, before seeing the smile on your face after so long and hurtling towards you at full speed, nearly tripping on his robes in the process before you catch him in your arms. 

It was true, though. You didn’t need Din to go out of his way to give you anything. This was enough. 

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 @theywhowriteandknowthings, @josephquinnswhore

[lamentationsofalonelypotato]

Didn't Anyone Warn You?

Pairing: Din Djarin x f!reader, Reader POV

Summary: When you're tasked with bringing pastries to Parent's Night at the local school, a guest appearance makes quite a stir. Takes place after Season 3 when Din and Grogu have been living in their cabin on Nevarro. This is the third fic in my Sugar, Spice, and Starlight Series!

Tropes: Fluff, Bakery AU, Grumpy vs. Sunshine, Protective!Reader

Word Count: 6.2K

Warnings: Judgement, Small Town Gossip, Uppity Teacher?, Reader protecting her man, Din finds it hot watching the reader with Grogu (but she doesn't know 🤭)?, One or two curse words, Parent's Night Gone Wrong, The reader is really soft and likes to bake? Din being a little bit self-deprecating to himself? Din might be a little bit OOC. It's mostly just fluff.

Note: This is told from Reader's perspective. Any references to the reader is made using you or your. There is no use of y/n! I tried my best to proofread, but nobody's perfect. If you don’t like, don’t read, but if you do like, you’re my favorite! I'm just starting to write for Din, so please be gentle.

Internal monologue is in italics and is in first person.

Main Masterlist

Series Masterlist

A/N: I needed to write a small fic about the reader being the protective one. I do have a protective!Din in the works that I am very excited about!

Reader POV

The sun warmed the dirt street beneath your feet as you wove carefully through the crowded streets of Nevarro City basking in the light as it slid over your skin and soaked into your bones. Your dark blue skirt swished pleasantly around your ankles with each step you confidently took in the direction of the small children's school on the other side of town, while you mentally ticked things off your checklist, and tried your best not to drop the oversized white box you were holding.

Despite hiring another person to work the front of your shop, you didn't have enough money to hire someone to do deliveries, hence the large box of sweets balanced precariously in your arms as you made your way down the sun-kissed streets.

Ms. Cross, one of the two teachers employed at the small building on the end of the street, had come into your shop just yesterday to place a large order of pastries for the parent's night she was throwing at the school. She expected quite a turnout and you had spent the better part of last night and this morning working dough, icing cakes, and basking in the warmth and soothing smells that wafted through your small kitchen while Jax, the girl you hired, helped customers up front.

Jax had offered to deliver the pastries herself, but you'd waved her off. You didn't mind the walk.

It was another beautiful day on Nevarro and it wasn't often that you got to see the city at this time of day. The sun shone brightly as it dipped behind the buildings, beginning it's lazy descent into the horizon and sending a honeyed glow over the world around you.

It was Nevarro in shades of gold, the city seen through a cool glass of whiskey, a world bathed in amber light.

The city had begun to slow down. People meandered through the shops that lined the dirt road, filling the streets with a mishmash of individuals some old some young, but all moving at a gradual pace.

There was a dull thrum of energy from the electricity that buzzed in the lights that were fitted on the sides of the buildings, a wisp of chatter on the wind from the people passing by, and the low rumble of thunder in the distance over the rocky plain where a storm brewed just enough to bring a graying haze to the horizon.

It made the city seem more alive, a colorful backdrop to a wonderful day.

"Excuse me!" You say steering yourself around a woman wearing a large purple robe covered in bells that jingle happily, and toting a basket the size of you on her back.

"Sorry!" You say again to another as you push your away between two men walking so slow you wondered how many batches of dough would rise before they moved out of your way.

Unfortunately as you pass, your sandal catches on a loose rock and you lose your balance.

No, No, NO!

You think to yourself as you begin to fall backwards, hoping that the ground is softer than it looks, and also while trying to mentally calculate how you can land without ruining the oversized box of treats in your arms.

Remaking in such a short amount of time wasn't possible and you didn't think that someone named Ms. Cross would listen to any excuses, especially not someone who probably listened to little kids all day trying to say that a Rancor ate their homework.

But you never find out how to save the sweets.

Two large gloved hands find your shoulders, grabbing onto you from behind, and steadying you before you can begin your descent to the warm ground beneath your feet.

You gasp in surprise, the feeling of the stranger's touch sending a white hot jolt of electricity through your body as they hold fast to your shoulders.

"Are you okay?" Din's familiar voice brings a blush to your cheeks.

You half turn to look over your shoulder at him.

The silver of his Beskar glints in the sun, sending a flicker of sunlight over your face, and his helmet is turned down towards you, much closer than you anticipated, so close you can see the reflection of yourself in his armor and it’s enough to make you wonder what it would be like to hear the real rumble of his voice against the gentle curve of your ear. To feel the exhale of his breath on the back of your neck as he held you steady and closer to him than he ever had.

It was good to see Din again.

His visits to your bakery had gone from once a week to every few days and you found yourself looking forward to whenever he'd show up toting the cutest customer in the galaxy with him.

And each time he stopped by, you could feel Din becoming more comfortable around you, and noticed him opening up more and more.

Well, opening up as much as a man wrapped in a metal shell on an almost desolate planet could.

Basically it meant that Din was now saying more to you than one sentence and you were trying your best to coax more out from beneath the hardened exterior.

It worked… sometimes. Din had told you that he was spending his free time working on his cabin.

The image of Din working hard on his home, sanding down wood to make cabinets, installing light fixtures, building a kitchen, and fixing the plumbing was one that lived rent free in your mind.

You'd always thought that a man who could do things around the house, a man who had hands rubbed rough from hard work was attractive and the knowledge that Din could do all those things made your heartbeat stutter in your chest and your throat tight.

By now you knew that the way you felt about Din was far past "just friends." You didn't exactly know when it happened, only that it had happened. You hadn't thought it was possible to feel so strongly about someone who you'd never seen, but you did. You liked Din and maybe that was crazy, but he was kind, honest, a good listener, and sometimes a little bit awkward, but you thought it was cute.

But there was a problem.

You noticed that despite everything Din told you about his cabin, he was hesitant to talk about what he did for work. You knew that he was still a bounty hunter and that he did leave Nevarro occasionally on jobs, but whenever you'd ask him about it, he'd turn the subject of the conversation back to you.

You weren't sure why that was, but you were more than happy to focus on Din fixing up his cabin.

As soon as you'd realized that Din didn't have a fully functioning kitchen back where he lived, you'd started making more savory things for the shop just so that you had something other than sweets to give him. You were worried that he was starving himself in his home so far from town and each time he visited you'd send him on his way with a bag full of treats and a polite squeeze on the arm.

The first time you'd done it in the street, you'd thought that you were overstepping, that it made Din uncomfortable, but then you noticed the next time you did it how he leaned a little bit more towards you, and how his shoulders un-tensed with your touch. It made your cheeks warm to think that he liked it as much as you liked taking care of him.

And despite Din's continuous attempts to pay you for the food, you'd refused every cent. He was your friend and you didn't like the thought of him going back to his cabin alone in the middle of nowhere with nothing to eat or the thought of him going off into the cold reaches of space with nothing but junk to snack on.

"Yeah." You laugh, cheeks burning with embarrassment.  "Lost my footing."

Din nods his head once and releases your shoulders while you try not to notice how your body responds to the loss of his touch.

The people around the two of you continue to walk past, but you notice they give Din a wide berth and out of the corner of your eye you see a woman pick up her child and skirt to the other side of the street away from Din with wide eyes.

It pricked your heart to think that so many people thought poorly of him, that they weren't willing to give him a chance, and that they were unwilling to get to know him before they made judgements about him.

You remember the rumors you'd heard of the Mandalorian that lived outside of town, the ones that made him out to be a villain and a murderer.

In all the time that you'd lived on Nevarro you had not seen the Mandalorian the town described one bit. Because the man in question standing in front of you who just saved the pastries from the fate of being smooshed beneath your body could not be the same one the people feared.

Din's helmet tilts downward in the direction of the oversized box balanced in your arms in a silent question.

"Ms. Cross, ordered some pastries for parent's night at the school. I was on my way to drop them off." You smile at him. "Until I decided to get better acquainted with the ground."

He doesn't laugh, but you imagine a smile pulling up on the end of his lips. By now you were used to not seeing his face, but it didn't quiet the small voice in your head that longed to see what he really looked like.

It kept you up at night sometimes, running through the usual combinations of the possibilities of what he could look like. There was a part of you that thought Din must be handsome, someone with a voice like his had to be. But there was another part of you that didn't care, not when your burgeoning crush was attached to Din's personality and the way he treated you.

"Thanks for not letting me fall. It took me all of last night and this morning to make these and I don't want to see the look on Ms. Cross' face if I couldn't deliver." You continue, still looking up into the black t-shaped visor of his helmet. "Someone named Ms. Cross has got to have a hell of a stink-eye."

The soft chuckle from Din's helmet makes you smile wider. Making Din laugh often made you feel as if you'd swallowed sunlight.

Din takes the box from you gently without explanation, the rough material of his gloves brushing against your skin and sending a zip of electricity tingling up your arms.

"Din what are you doing?" You ask as you try to reach for the box to take it back from him, but he only moves out of your reach.

"I'm heading that way to pick up Grogu. I'll walk with you." Din hesitates, clearing his throat. “If that’s okay?”

"I’d love that,” You answer honestly as your blush deepens and you drop your eyes away from his helmet. “But you don’t have to carry it!” You try again to reach for the box, but Din moves effortlessly away from your reach.

“It’s not heavy.” He pauses. “And it’s probably safer for the pastry.”

Your lips turn up in a smile.

Did he just make a joke?

“Keep laughing and I’ll make you my official delivery boy.” You threaten.

“Oh no anything but that.” The buzz and monotone of the helmet replies but you can hear just a trace of sarcasm.

It makes you laugh and again you imagine Din smiling back at you through the polished metal.

“Fine, you’re hired. I’ll make you a little apron to wear over your Beskar.” Your smile turns into a smirk as you lean in towards him to whisper, "A bright pink apron."

Even though Din is still wearing his helmet, when he laughs this time you feel a wave of heat travel through your body and you decide right there and then that you’re going to spend every waking moment making him laugh. 

I wonder what it would sound like without the helmet.

You still hadn't been brave enough to ask Din why he didn't take it off. It felt too personal, and you didn't want to make him uncomfortable, not when you could see him starting to relax whenever he saw you.

"I'm sure it'll be very intimidating." You say with a giggle as you turn away and walk in the direction of the children's school. "I'm already making something for Grogu, but I'm always up for another project."

It was true. You were worried about the cold winters that would come to Nevarro in a few months and you were crocheting a hat to keep his little ears warm. There was a woman in town who sold imported Wampa fur in the market she stained with natural dyes, and it was a joy of yours to spend a few minutes in the early mornings when the city was just waking up seeing what was new in her shop.

You can hear Din’s heavy footfalls against the dirt as he catches up.

"What are you making for Grogu?" Din asks when falls into step beside you.

People part in front of the two of you so that you’re no longer stuttering polite excuses as you go, but you don't miss the wide eyes or the elderly women sitting on the sidelines that grasp at their necks watching the two of you in horror.

You hated that, hated that so many people were going to write off Din as some kind of monster, when he was one of the nicest men you'd met in your entire life. Not to mention you thought that he was sweet.

If you'd ever spoken that aloud people probably would think you were crazy, but Din was kind to you. You saw the way he cared for Grogu, how gentle he was with him, and how polite Din was to you whenever you saw him.

Right now was proof of that, Din was carrying a box for you without being asked because he saw you struggling!

"A hat." You stare down another man who you catch watching the two of you walking through town with an odd expression.

"A hat?" Din chuckles, adjusting the box in his arms.

"Yeah. He's got those big ears, and I know it doesn't snow here, but the wind sure does blow cold in the winter, so I thought he might need a little something to cover up. I'd make you something for your ears too, but you don't exactly need it. I'm sure they're plenty warm all the time."

"That's nice of you, but you've already given us so much food I don't think you need to-"

You don't let him finish. "I want to." You glance over at him and are surprised to see that Din' helmet is turned in your direction. You'd expecting him to be looking straight ahead at the path, not looking at you. "And I like giving the two of you food. There's nothing wrong with sharing what you have with your friends."

Din doesn't answer you, but you think your notice his hand flex where it rests against the side of the box.

"That's the way my grandmother was anyway." You look away from the man walking beside you, finding the heat of his gaze through the helmet a little too much for you. "She used to make extra of everything we had for our neighbors. Food, clothes, goods… It didn't matter that we didn't have a lot of money, my grandmother wanted to make sure that everyone was taken care of." You smile to yourself at the memories of afternoons you spent loaded down with boxes of food and handmade blankets that you helped your grandmother deliver to your neighbors. "And I've always liked doing that too. I think that everyone should have that kind of comfort, even if they're not used to it." That last part you hadn't expected to say, but it was true. You knew that Din wasn't used to that, and it was exactly why you liked doing that for him and Grogu.

You wanted Din to feel comforted, especially in a place where you were sure that he noticed the stares and heard the gossip about him. The last thing you wanted was for Din to move away because of the way people looked and spoke about him, the thought that you wouldn't see him anymore made an unwelcome feeling settle in the pit of your stomach.

And even if the two of you would be nothing more than friends, you still cared about Din and wanted him to be happy.

The outside of the school doesn't look like much, just a small stone building painted a fresh white, but the multicolored sign that says “welcome” hanging from the rafters above brings a pop of color to the plain building. The sound of chatter and children giggling floats out through the open door and you brace yourself for what’s inside.

When you walk into the building a hush falls over the small cluster of students and parents.

Heads turn in your direction, eyes skimming over your body before they flick upwards to where Din hovers at your elbow still holding the large white box printed with the sticker from your bakery.

Ms. Cross stands across the classroom crowded with small wooden desks, next to a young woman who bounces a small child on her hip, but even you notice the teacher's gaze flicker with something that looks a little bit like fear when she notices Din.

That welcome sign apparently came with fine print.

Your hand touches Din's forearm, feeling the cool smooth metal beneath your fingertips.

You were sure that Din had been in much worse situations than surrounded by judgmental parents and their children all staring at him like he was some kind of side-show, but there was something inside of you that wanted Din to know that you didn't care what other people said about him, and that you weren’t embarrassed to be there with him.

Din's helmet turns to stare at where your hand lays against his arm. If you could see under his helmet you would know that Din's eyes widen with the gesture, and that his heartbeat just stuttered a step with your touch as surprise threaded through his body.

"Come on. Let's see where Ms. Cross wants us to put these." You flash him another smile to soothe his nerves and earn a nod from Din who follows behind you in the still silence of the classroom, while you ignore the stares of the other parents.

There's a squealing noise that shatters through the terse quiet and you notice Grogu toddling towards to the two of you, hands outstretched opening and closing happily, oblivious to the shift of attitude in the room at his father's presence. 

"Hey buddy!" You smile at Grogu as you pick him up, scratching one of his soft ears. "Did you miss me?"

He gurgles something and nuzzles his head into your arm which you take as a yes.  Din still has his helmet turned in your direction, watching you with Grogu, a small smile hidden beneath his silver and leather.

"Hi Ms. Cross." You greet the teacher with a smile ignoring the way her eyes are still locked on Din’s formidable figure behind you.

Her graying black hair is pulled back in a tight bun, her body encased in a loose set of navy blue robes that make her look regal and deserving of attention. Her nose twitches once, twice, a nervous tick as her dark eyes survey the Mandalorian.

She obviously wasn't expecting him to come with you or really at all to parent’s night.

You wonder if she even invited him.

Probably not given her reaction.

"Hi-" She says your name through a tight lipped smile, twitching her nose once more. It's a little long for her face, coming to a rounded base that protrudes over her small mouth smeared with an awkward color of lipstick that smudges just barely at the left crease of her mouth. Her beady eyes shift up to Din again. "Hello Mando."

It was odd to hear people call him that when you knew his real name, but you'd noticed that he never seemed to tell anyone else that his name was Din. It made you feel special that he'd shared that with you.

"Hello.” Din's monotone crackles and buzzes through the silent classroom.

"He was nice enough to help me carry the pastry." You smile more to Din than you do to her. You didn't think that she deserved that, not when she was acting like Din was a stain on her perfectly pressed robes. "Where would you like them?"

"On the desk." She gestures behind her to the large desk at the front of the classroom where everything on top is stacked in neat piles and like her robes, nothing looks out of place.

"Okay. Do you have plates or-" You ask looking around the room. You hadn't thought to bring any, nor had she told you that she wanted any.

"Oh they're in the back. I'll show you." She offers, casting one more nervous glance at where Din stands holding the box.

The chatter in the room has begun to pick up again around you, the parents watching the Mandalorian who loiters by the teachers desk out of the corner of their eyes.

But as you walk away into the small back room that you hadn't noticed when you walked into the classroom, you can feel Din’s gaze following you.

He did that so often that by now you were used to it. Whether it be watching you sweep up your shop, knead dough for fresh bread, or you helping other customers, you could feel Din's eyes on you.

You didn’t hate it.

You got the impression that Din was curious about you and was still trying to figure you out. And you welcomed his curiosity and inquisitive gaze especially if it meant that Din was starting to see you as more than a friend.

Grogu is still in your arms, pulling at the strands of hair that have escaped where your tied your hair back that morning in a colorful scarf while you wait for Ms. Cross to reach up into the top cabinet for the plastic plates. But when she pulls out the package and you reach out with your free hand, she pauses half-way.

"Did anyone-" Ms. Cross hesitates, her nose twitches once more, beady eyes mapping your face. "Did anyone warn you?"

"Warn me?" You question, confused. Grogu coos in your arms babbling under the woman’s scrutiny.

Oh no I didn’t think about allergies for the pastry. She didn’t tell me about that!

It was the only thing you could think of that she was trying to warn you about.

Ms. Cross shifts her feet uncomfortably her lips pressing into a tight line. "Everyone has noticed that you've been spending time with that Mandalorian."

You frown at the way she says "that Mandalorian" as if Din is something unpleasant that has been brought down upon Nevarro, like a curse or incurable illness.

“Everyone?” You raise an eyebrow, confused.

“Everyone in town.” She amends.

Your body tenses with her words, trying to understand what she's implying the entire city has been saying behind your back.

Is she trying to warn me about Din?

"Um-“ You begin, but she interrupts you.

"Honey, don't you know anything about his past?" She whispers the word 'past' like a curse, her eyes widening as if she was present for the "past events" in question.

"What he's done?" She continues as if you couldn't understand the first part of her sentence. “Who he really is?”

Fear flashes in her gaze as her eyes flick upwards to the door behind you as if worried that Din is waiting to strike at any moment.

You feel your jaw clamp down so tightly that the sound of your teeth grinding together almost drowns out the roar of the anger that comes when you understand exactly what she was doing.

"I mean-" She continues in a tense whisper. " Everyone around him gets hurt or worse. Not to mention he kidnapped that kid and has been passing him off as his own. I mean he’s obviously not his father. Who knows what he's doing to him!” Her eyebrows pull together in concern looking at the child in your arms who coos softly and grasps at the tip of your finger happily.

"I'm sorry, I think I heard you wrong." You clear your throat, as you find your voice. Hoping that you did in fact hear her wrong and that this is just some kind of hallucination.

"Oh honey." She gives you a pitying look. "He's dangerous. And with you being new and all… I'm sorry that no one warned you.”

Ms. Cross has the audacity to smile and continues, oblivious to your rage. “But I’m happy that we can talk about this, because everyone has just been so worried about you. You spend so much time with him. And-"

Have they all been spying on us? Creeping around, gossiping about Din and me?

You hold up a free hand to cut her off. "I'm going to stop you right there."

It was difficult to keep your voice steady with the fury that had begun to burn under your skin, rivaling the fires in the stocked ovens back at the bakery.

Truthfully, you didn't like getting angry, didn't like to lose your temper. It reminded you far too much about the way your brother Ezekiel acted before he left you with your grandmother years ago, how quick to anger he was and how it didn’t take much for him to erupt before he was taken in by the Mandalorians and shown how to channel his rage.

That being said it took a lot for you to lose your composure, but when you did, it meant that there was hell to pay.

And right now, standing in this room with a woman who barely knew you and absolutely didn't know Din, your anger knew no bounds.

How dare she? Din hasn't done one thing worthy of this! He's not some crazy wild man who comes into town guns blazing! And how can she say those things about him not being Grogu's dad? He's been a perfectly acceptable father to Grogu!

"First of all, it is none of your or anyone else in this town’s business who I spend my time with nor do I care what any of you are saying of me or think of me for doing so! I do not have to justify my actions to you or any other nosy busybody on Nevarro!" You keep your voice in a low growl of a whisper. The last thing you wanted was for Din to hear what the two of you were talking about.

He doesn't deserve that.

Her mouth drops open in shock at your outburst, but you continue.

"Second of all, that Mandalorian, the one that everyone in this town is so afraid of, is one of the kindest, most caring people that I've met here on Nevarro, and I am honored to have him as a friend. Not to mention that he has been a wonderful father to Grogu. I have never met a father more caring and considerate to his son in my entire life. And you have no right to judge Din for adopting Grogu! And third, what he has done with his life is his business, he does not have to explain his life choices to you or anyone else on this planet. Or better yet, the whole galaxy!"

By now you were pointing an accusatory finger in her direction, eyes narrowed with your anger and frustration.

"So maybe instead of shoving your big nose into places that it doesn't belong, you should pull out the judgmental stick that you have shoved up your ass and worry more about your students!" You snap, eyes narrowing at the woman who blinks at you in surprise.

It obviously was not how she expected you to react to her “helpful advice.”

You push past her, plates forgotten, to make your way back into the classroom, but you hesitate and turn around to stare at her while forcing a false smile. "But thank you sooo much for your business. I hope that everything was made to your expectations and that you come again soon. Hopefully with a better attitude and a more welcoming outlook for my friend."

You stop back into the classroom with Grogu cuddling in your arms, but the anger you have is still bubbling up beneath the surface. All the parents turn to stare at you, but you huff out a breath and ignore them.

You didn't care if the entire town thought you were crazy, Din was your friend and a planet full of small-minded busybodies wasn't going to stop that.

Sure, maybe he was a bounty hunter, but that didn't make him a bad person. And as much as you wanted Din to tell you more about himself, you knew that he was shy and you didn't want to force him. You wanted Din to offer those things up because he wanted to tell you, not because you gave him an ultimatum.

Din is standing by the desk arms crossed over his chest. His helmet tilts in your direction and you hope again that he didn't hear what you whisper yelled at Ms. Cross.

You step confidently towards him, ignoring the cloying feel of the other people in the room watching you.

"Din can you walk me home, please? I'm kinda tired and Jax is closing up the shop for me." You smile, but it feels a little forced.

You were still buzzing with anger and you didn't want to stay here a moment longer to subject Din to the gossip and wide eyed stares of the other parents in the room.

He nods once and follows you out the door of the small building without looking back.

Grogu wriggles in your arms before resting his head on your shoulder as the final rays of sunshine warm his ears. He coos something softly, eyes opening and closing, until finally he begins to drift off. Put to sleep by the gentle rock of your arms with each step you take down the street.

You're trying to come up with something to say, but there's nothing in your head except the words of Ms. Cross that make the rage inside of you burn hotter.

There was no reason for her to say those things about Din! He's not some monster who preys on the weak people in town and enslaves them, he's a person! And all of those small minded people can just-

"Are you okay?" Din asks you, shattering through the silence between the two of you and breaking through your internal monologue.

"Huh?"

"You're quieter than usual."

"I think it's ironic that you're calling me quiet." It makes you smile a little bit. "Especially given that you have only one facial expression and if I were to look you up in a dictionary there would be a picture of you under 'strong and silent.'"

Din chuckles. "I'm sure there would be a picture of you under clumsy."

"Shut up." You snort hitting him on his muscular arm. "But yes there would be."

Under the word 'nosy' there would be a picture of Ms. Cross.

There were less people out now, most had gone home for the evening which meant that Din and you walked without feeling the curious eyes of the townsfolk around you. It was a welcome feeling after being jammed in that small classroom.

The twin moons had begun to rise from the horizon and the stars above spread across the open sky sending the silverly light over the buildings that lined the dirt street and reflecting off Din's armor.

Just as the sunlight had hardened the edges of the Beskar, something about the starlight smoothed the sharp lines of the formidable armor and made the metal look almost soft to the touch. It made the armor beautiful, like Din was washed in shades of silver and gray.

The silence grows again between the two of you the closer you come to your front door, and you can't think of anything to say without dwelling too hard on what Ms. Cross said to you.

"Thanks for walking me home." You offer a small smile, this one feels more genuine, and hold out Grogu so Din can take him.

He takes his son gently, who mumbles something in his sleep, but curls into his father's chest when Din cradles the small child in his arm. You watch as Din takes great care to make sure that Grogu doesn't wake and how Din adjusts him so Grogu's head is laying against the soft fabric of his father's cowl rather than the hard metal of his breastplate. It warmed your heart to see how Din cared for Grogu, and it only made you think about what Ms. Cross implied.

How could she say those things about Din if this is how he treats his son?

"You're welcome." Din's helmet tilts down to look at you, your reflection glinting in the brilliantly polished metal.

"I guess I'll see you around?" You ask hopefully.

He nods once.

You turn to your door, typing in the security code on the panel beside it, but you hear Din whisper your name. It comes out soft, the hiss of it through the helmet is just a buzz against your ear, but it still makes your cheeks warm. You turn back to look at him with wide eyes.

"You didn't have to say what you did." His voice comes out quiet, helmet still tilted down towards you.

Your heart sinks. You hadn't wanted him to hear what you’d said to Ms. Cross or what she'd said about him. You didn't want Din to believe for even a second that there was any truth to what she'd whispered to you.

"I did." You say firmly. "I don't care what other people are saying, Din you're my friend. And you don't deserve what they think of you. None of what they're saying is true."

"How do you know?"

His question makes you pause. It surprised you.

If anything you were expecting Din to nod his head and leave without another word, but he wasn't, he was waiting to hear what you had to say.

Before you can stop yourself, you reach out and touch his forearm, the one that he's holding the kid with and look up into his helm trying to catch a glimpse of the man you care for through the opaque visor.

"Because I know you and they don't. I see how you are with Grogu, how you care for him, how you always put him first-" Your mouth pulls into a shy smile, "And I also see how you are around me. You always do little things for me without being asked- like carrying that box today. And you're always so nice to me. You don't have to be, all I do is make pastry," You laugh a little awkwardly. "But it always makes me happy to see you, because you're kind and you go out of your way to make me feel comfortable around you."

Din doesn't reply and you're under the impression that he's speechless.

What you don’t know is that his cheeks have flushed beneath his Beskar and he's trying very hard to find the words that never seem to come easy to him. The ones he wishes to say to tell you that you don't just "make pastry" that you make him feel like he belongs for the first time in his life, but the words stick in the back of his throat.

"But I mean I-" You stutter, embarrassed. You weren't about to confess that you had a crush on him and you weren't sure if he'd ever feel that way about you, but you were afraid that Din's silence meant that you'd overstepped. “I don’t think someone who acts that way with Grogu and me is anything like what they assume you to be. And it's none of their business anyway.”

You start to pull your hand back from Din's arm, cheeks so warm you imagined that they could fry an egg, but Din's gloved hand comes down over where it rests on his forearm keeping your hand there for another few precious seconds.

"Thank you ner cyare." His voice modulator catches a little bit on that last word that you’re sure is Mando'a, and you had no idea what it meant, but the way he said it while holding on to your hand tugged at your heart.

"What does that mean?" You ask, curious.

He hesitates for a moment, before answering. "My friend."

"I thought Burc’ya meant 'friend?'" You question a little bit confused. You knew a handful of words in Mando'a from your brother and your friend Josh who took it upon themselves to teach you all the curse words, because they felt like that was important, but they had taught you a few simple words as well.

"It's another word for friend."

You weren’t really sure if you believed him because you didn’t think that there were that many words for friend in Mando’a.

But why would he lie about something like that?

"Oh." You nod, before flashing another wide smile at him. "You're welcome, Din. Goodnight."

"Goodnight."

He releases your hand and waits patiently until you safely close the door behind you before he walks away down the darkened streets, disappearing into the night, with the thrum of your touch under his skin.

And you fall asleep that night hearing the soft sound of your name slipping through the helmet, and the buzz of his words in Mando'a sending you off into the sweet abyss.

Guide:

Burc'ya: Friend

Ner Cyare: My Beloved

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