#plus sized reader x din djarin

[beskar-candy]

soft around you (x 2)

i keep seeing plus-sized reader fics that dive into body image issues, internalised fatphobia, etc, and i completely respect the significance of those for other people but it’s just not for me. i wanted to offer something more body neutral, or at least try to. i am a beginner writer so pls be gentle! no beta, we die like death watch mandalorians.

relationship: din djarin x gender neutral reader x twi'lek female OC

rating: E, yes this gets spicy so 18+ only or ELSE.

words: 6.6k. oops

contains: plus-sized gender neutral reader described as little as possible other than having more surface area to love and also joint pain and hands smaller than din’s (man’s got big ass hands), polyamory but make it beginners' edition, accidental acquaintances to lovers, bisexual besties only half joking about wanting to date each other, developing big feelings very fast, minimal foreplay and saliva as makeshift lube, protected penetrative intercourse in vague and hopefully gender neutral terms, strong violence and wounding, some angst, din gets harmed by a culturally significant weapon but it’s discussed in detail, warning for discussion of the Great Purge of Mandalore which was essentially colonialism and genocide so please do not read if that doesn’t support your mental health journey

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When you first laid eyes on Din, the first thing that struck you was how strong he is. Not chiselled and lean in the way dehydrated holo-vid stars are, but actually strong – beneath his well-fed belly is the strength of a warrior. You hadn’t meant to look, of course. You’ve met Mandalorians before – unavoidable, really, in your line of work. You would never actively try to get a peek under the beskar without consent, as some had definitely seemed to care more than others about remaining covered at all times. Plenty of cultures in the galaxy have similar customs. But it was your responsibility as a weapons smith and shop co-owner to tend to injured customers, wasn’t it? Especially if the injury was inflicted with one of your weapons, and the injured customer got beaten halfway to Mustafar before deciding to simply hurl his assailant’s entire body into your merchandise and earn his reward in under a minute. Such misunderstandings are common on Nevarro, affectionately known across the system as the bounty hunter's haven. Yes, you were only being a decent and sensible person. It had nothing at all to do with how that mirror-like helmet had held your gaze for several seconds longer than socially necessary. How the visor seemed to sweep every hill and valley of your generously shaped body. Or how his gloved hands seem to completely engulf yours. Or... well. You were just being a good person.

One hour before

You huff out a breath of exhaustion and wipe your sweat-dampened face with the backs of your hands. The dim light of the workshop isn’t helping your tired eyes, and there seems to always be smudges of blaster oil on every surface despite your constant cleaning. You stretch towards the ceiling slowly, having made your peace with the ache in your back and neck a long time ago. “Nyx?” you croak. The Twi’lek bookkeeper and co-owner pops her head around the doorway with eyebrows raised. “I’m going to snap at the next customer who asks me to repair thirteen pre-Imperial blaster pistols in a standard day. I might just snap at the next customer, period,” you groan pitifully, pressing your forehead flat against your workbench. Nyx gives you a sympathetic smile, and you turn to watch her tilt her head in amusement, her long blue lekku swaying gracefully with her movement. “Drinks at the Guild cantina?” she asks knowingly, more of a statement than a question. You shoot up rapidly to meet her gaze, light having returned to your eyes. Her laughter rings out through the stagnant air as she wraps her arms around your strong neck from behind. “Thought so,” she murmurs into your ear, pressing a soft kiss against your oil-smudged cheek.

“Nyx?”

“Yes, my love?”

You plop your ample chin into your hands, elbows propped against the workbench for support. “Date me,” you suggest half-earnestly. She grins, all pearly teeth and twinkling eyes as she steps backwards as if to check you out for the first time. You ignore your heart as it flip-flops under her mirthful gaze.

“I’m a hot commodity. You’ll have to make an appointment first.”

She wiggles her eyebrows as you gasp in faux offence, but can’t quite keep yourself from matching her grin. It is at that moment that blaster fire echoes outside, ricochets pinging off your front windows.

Nyx grabs your hand reflexively and you both scurry towards the source of the noise. Excitement seems to vibrate in the air – an overconfident quarry about to have their shit rocked no doubt – when a towering, broad man covered in head to toe beskar stumbles through your doorway. It has to be the most of the metal you’ve ever seen on one person. His breastplate heaves from exertion as he presses his back to the wall by the door, withdrawing a well-loved but otherwise pristine blaster from its holster. “Armorer, I need you to stay there,” he rumbles through his helmet’s vocoder, eyes never leaving the doorway. His deep rasp strikes your nerves like lightning, wavering somewhere between anxiety and arousal. Ordinarily you would say something snarky about being able to defend yourself, but somehow it didn’t come across as patronising – more that he just didn’t want to be interrupted. Besides, that much pure beskar only means your day is about to get more interesting. And nobody had ever addressed you as an ‘armorer’ before. Certainly not in such a... pleasing voice. Nyx side-eyes you curiously, but you just shrug and squeeze her hand reassuringly as you both remain in place by the credits register.

As if on cue, a young humanoid man in tattered and bloodstained clothes runs in, noticeably favouring his left leg. You muster a polite customer service smile and nod in his direction as the hulking shadow of the armoured man silently approaches him from behind.

“Pardon me, esteemed weapons smith, did you happen to see a certain bounty hunter that-”

The Mandalorian strikes him sharply in the back of the head before the man can finish his sentence. The young man crumples halfway to the floor onto his injured knee. His wince echoes through the room. A small smile grows on your face as the Mandalorian silently retreats a step, an apex predator winding back in preparation to pounce. Surprisingly, the bedraggled man manages to block the beskar vambrace as it comes crashing down on him. He staggers to his feet and lands a well-aimed jab at the Mandalorian’s unprotected side, before landing several other shots to the gaps in the beskar. Nyx’s grip on your hand tightens almost painfully. The Mandalorian takes a few steps backwards, seemingly surprised but relatively unaffected by the blows, before lunging and landing several of his own. The two go back and forth until the young man draws a nasty-looking dagger from his boot, and they struggle for a moment until he manages to sink it into the larger man’s thigh. The Mandalorian lets out a grunt and clasps his injured leg for a moment. The quarry takes the opportunity to slide across the floor beneath him and smash his captor’s helmet against the ground hard, the deafening clang making you jolt in shock. It’s messy and inelegant, but the smaller man continues to land blow after blow, managing to inflict a couple more cuts to areas unprotected by beskar.

A chill flows down your spine as you recognise the blade in his unrelenting grip. Just two standard weeks ago, a slightly dodgy local antique dealer had sold you a small chunk of unrefined beskar alloy. Having assessed it to be genuine with your magnifying lens, you’d bought it at a bargain, gleeful at his ignorance of its true value. You had relished being able to practice the highly technical smithing techniques you’d learned over the years from a kind, older Mandalorian lady who had frequented your shop before she'd moved away. You had relished the opportunity to make something for the sheer enjoyment of it instead of credits. You’d then gifted it to a Mandalorian customer passing through from off-world and promptly gotten on with your day. It clearly had not remained with them.

You freeze in place, horror and regret boiling inside you as the Mandalorian’s blood begins to seep through his armorweave onto the concrete floor. You have sometimes had the misfortune of seeing people wounded or killed by weapons you made or handled, but this was different. This was much worse, knowing what beskar meant to his people. Adrenaline thrums through your veins as you watch the beskar-clad man stoically attempt to block the onslaught of blows, the young man clearly invigorated by what he thinks is an imminent victory over his hunter. Just when you are starting to think it’s over for the Mandalorian, he rolls clear of the quarry and rises from the ground to throw his attacker’s body clear across the room. The young man unceremoniously crashes into your ammunition display and knocks over several catalogue stands. He rolls halfway onto his back and groans, but before he can regain his composure, the hunter elbows him in the nose hard enough that the crack of his head against the floor echoes off the walls. The man on the floor goes motionless. Seemingly unsatisfied, the Mandalorian slowly and carefully pulls a beskar spear from where it was tied to his back, before shoving it clean through the man’s leg for good measure. The hunter, holding one gloved hand to the worst of the wounds in his side, manages to clasp the binders shut with the other. Once the quarry is restrained, he removes the spear in one practiced movement, then bends down to collect the beskar dagger that had spilled so much of his blood.

You instantly tug your hand free and run to him on pure instinct. “I’ve got a med kit here for situations like this. Stay still,” you order him. Panting, the beskar mountain of a man collapses heavily to the floor as you flip the door sign to ‘closed’. Nyx quickly hands you the kit and medical scanner, with which you immediately run a helmet-to-toe scan to assess his injuries. Once you establish that the wounds are from the abdomen down, you find your eyes glued to the movement of a small strip of visible belly with each breath. His armorweave tunic must have ridden up in the struggle, revealing light golden skin dusted with brown hair. Shaking yourself out of your distraction, you move to lift his shirt further and he snatches your wrist before you can, but doesn’t push you away. He then apparently thinks better of it and loosens his grip on you a little. “I’m not going to touch your helmet,” you promise, bringing your gaze to meet his as sincerely as possible, “I just need to stop you from dying on my floor.” That seems to appease him and he gently releases your wrist, giving a small nod of consent. You go into a kind of trance, gesturing at each piece of armour before you pull it off, only removing the necessary parts for you to treat his wounds. As if on autopilot, you start cleaning and stitching them shut, ignoring the heat rising in your chest as deep grunts slip out through his helmet occasionally. Before long you’re soaking gauze in bacta and meticulously dressing each laceration. You finish in a matter of minutes. He wasn’t the first customer to get injured in or near your shop, and he would hardly be the last.

Only when you are done do you allow yourself to really look at him. How stupidly broad his shoulders are. How his soft belly rises and falls under your hand, now laid still against his pleasantly warm skin. How his pants cling a little tight to the thickness of his thighs and... other areas. After putting his armour back on, he clears his throat and slowly gets to his feet, offering you a hand up as well. “Name’s Din,” he murmurs quietly, as if it were for your ears only.

“Huh? Oh. Okay,” you acknowledge dimly, all thoughts having vacated your brain. Your voice sounds far away in your ears as you introduce yourself in return.

“Thanks,” he adds, then immediately turns on his heel, cape swishing behind him, and begins moving for the door.

“Wait!” you call after him. He halts mid-stride, then turns to face you.

“You – I should take a look at your spear. Free of charge, of course. Least I can do after... all that,” you babble nervously, wiping your palms on your coveralls.

After a contemplative pause, he nods his gratitude and reaches out to politely present you with the spear. Your heart beats hard in your chest as his large, weather-roughened gloves completely wrap around your hands. You look up and inhale sharply as his helmet slowly moves down and then back up your body, seemingly taking in every centimetre of you for the first time. Your widened eyes remain glued to where you’re pretty sure his are behind the dark T of the helmet, not even noticing as blood continues to drip off the point of the spear onto the floor.

“Yuck. Spotchka anyone?” Nyx interjects cheerfully from behind the register, already scuttling towards the break room before anyone can reply. “Uh... yeah,” you call out absent-mindedly, eyes still locked onto Din’s.

You both immediately look away as she returns, placing cups on the little caf table in the waiting area and filling them with a gratuitous amount of the bright blue liquid. “So, Mando,” Nyx begins warmly, “do you always get your behind handed to you?” You choke a little on your drink and shoot her an amused look. Din sinks into his chair with relaxed posture and gloved hands clasped between his spread thighs, seemingly taking the comment in good humour. “Only when my quarry is carrying a Mandalorian weapon,” he responds after a beat. Your nose wrinkles in discomfort.

“It’s not actually – I would never claim to... I made it,” you manage finally. His helmet snaps to face you. “It’s nowhere near the quality of the things my mentor would make, I was just so excited to have the opportunity to work with beskar and use the techniques she taught me. I know I’ll never have the depth of knowledge a Mandalorian armorer has-“

“Could’ve fooled me,” he interrupts, surprisingly good-natured. You can’t help but smile bashfully. A glowing compliment indeed from someone who seems to be a very reserved man. He goes completely still for a moment, a thought crossing his mind. “Was it made with Imperial-forged beskar?”

You shake your head vehemently. “We work hard to keep the lights on around here, but I would never knowingly accept something stolen by Imperials,” you tell him seriously. “It was unrefined beskar alloy, not totally pure, not an ingot. No engravings or anything.” He visibly relaxes again and your little smile returns.

Nyx observes the two of you with a raised brow as you drain the last of the spotchka in your cup and get to cleaning and repairing tiny dents in the spear.

“You know, we’ll have owned this place for three years next week,” Nyx tells him with no small amount of pride. Din turns his helmet to face her with interest. “She does the calculations and handles the business side of things, I work with the weapons,” you explain further, continuing to meticulously manipulate the barely noticeable dips and ridges in the metal.

“And... how long have you been together?” he asks in a semblance of small talk, taking great pains to sound casual.

“Oh well, we’re not exactly-“ you begin as Nyx also replies, “We’re just really close. People being pals you might say.”

“I see.” The Mandalorian shifts almost imperceptibly in his seat. “And what about you?” he continues, that dark T of his helmet locked onto her face. Nyx’s eyes widen. “Oh, well, you know. Not really looking, but not ruling anything out either.” You steal a side glance at her, wondering if that means what you think it means. You suddenly find yourself concentrating very hard on polishing the spear like your life depends on it. Minutes pass between the three of you in silence. “Here you are, sir,” you fluster, thrusting the cleaned and repaired spear away from you like it burned you. Din rises to his full height sinfully slow, stride no longer affected thanks to the bacta and care you gave him, and his hands completely cover yours once again as he takes it from you. You try to stop yourself from hyperventilating as he steps even closer to you while testing the spear’s balance in his hands. “Looks good,” he comments finally, sweeping his gaze down and back up your body again. You are too overcome by his attention to see Nyx bristle slightly beside you. His cape flows around him again as he turns and leaves your establishment.

You and Nyx both burst into incredulous laughter at what had just happened once his footsteps fade from earshot. “He probably thought he was being subtle,” she giggles, kicking her feet up onto the caf table. “Oh Armorer, how long have you been dating this radiant bookkeeper? ‘Cause if you aren't I would just love to press you against this wall,” she imitates in a humorously deep voice. You snort at her impression of him. “Me? ‘And what about you?’ Like you wouldn’t also climb him like a tree,” you shoot back playfully. Nyx hums, twirling a lekku in mock contemplation.

“I don’t know, that cute girl at the nuna roll stand seems like she’s about to ask me out-“

“Just admit it!”

“Okay, so he’s got the whole big warrior man thing going for him. It’s not... not attractive,” she replies with a grin. Nyx then pulls her feet off the table and sits up straight. “Are you thinking of making a move the next time he visits?”

You chew your lip in thought. “Maybe? Could be worth a shot,” you consider. “Do you think he’d treat you right?” the Twi’lek asks, suddenly serious. “Like I would treat you?” Something clicks in the back of your mind, but you brush it off. Nyx has always been a flirty person.

“He seemed....” you trail off thoughtfully. “I don’t know. He seemed gentle, I guess. Considering how he absolutely obliterated that poor bounty.”

She nods in acknowledgement, eyes fixed on the floor. “Anyway,” you add as casually as possible, “who knows if he’ll be back?”

A week later

Minutes before closing time, the Mandalorian enters your workplace carrying no fewer than five duffel bags stuffed with weapons. “I told my – I told a covert on Glavis about you,” he begins somewhat hesitantly. “They had a lot to say about the knife. And my spear.” You do a little jog of excitement to the door and flip the sign to ‘closed’, as you had a week ago. “And?” you reply expectantly, practically bouncing on your toes with anticipation of the contents of the bags. It was a shame Nyx had already called it a day – you find yourself wanting her to see all of it. To be sharing this moment with you. Din sighs under his helmet, a frustrated, almost embarrassed sound. “I think we should sit down,” he suggests, sounding unsure in a way you weren’t expecting. Both of you take the same seats in the waiting area as you had the week previously, a frown burrowing into your forehead. You begin nervously playing with the waistband of your pants which have become tighter since sitting down.

“Is something wrong? Did I damage something?” you ask anxiously. He shakes his head. “I’ve learned something about Mandalorian culture I didn’t know before. Something I thought you would want to know too,” he tells you through what sounds like gritted teeth. He has already spoken more words to you since entering than in his entire last visit. “The spear, the dagger, they believed they shouldn’t exist.”

You tilt your head in confusion. “Shouldn’t exist?” you repeat, shocked. He sighs again, his discomfort with talking so much and so vulnerably apparent. His voice sounds tight when he explains further. “There are some of us who believe beskar should not be forged into weapons, only armour. The Armorer of the covert told me of a young Mandalorian girl who once thought to build a weapon capable of bypassing beskar. The Empire stole her design and used it to murder hundreds of us.” You instinctively cover your mouth with a hand to suppress a sound that never comes.

Din has gone completely still, shoulders tense as a boulder. “The Armorer believed my spear, the dagger, that their very existence threatened us. Beskar pierces beskar.”

You shrink further into your chair, thighs pooling beneath you as your press yourself into it. You want to sink into the lava flats of this Maker-forsaken planet and quietly pass away from shame. “I didn’t know,” you confess in a small voice. “If I had known, I wouldn’t have-“

“It doesn’t matter. The alloy you were given was not pure enough to pierce my armour. But she did melt them down and forge them into armour for foundlings – for young ones who need their help in the future,” he informs you with surprising softness. You can only close your eyes and nod in solemn agreement.

“Maker, I’m so sorry. My mentor, she never spoke of this. Only of how much she loved that the art of forging beskar had been cultivated and kept over centuries. She was so excited to share it with me.”

He nods slowly, deep in thought. “It was drawn to my attention some time ago that the Way I was raised with is not the only way to be a Mandalorian,” he tells you, gloved hands clasped tightly between his thigh guards. “There are many who craft blades from beskar. Your mentor probably one of them. I was raised in a specific sect, with its own beliefs and customs about how things should be. Children of the Watch must never remove their helmets in front of others. Yet I have met warriors who remove them constantly. But I... am not welcome in that covert any longer.” Pain enters his voice in the last sentence like a stone sitting in his throat. Your heart breaks for him. This stoic, gentle warrior who had been cast aside by his own people like so much waste, however justified they felt in their reasoning. Tentatively, you reach out and take his hand into yours. His stiff posture seems to instantly melt under your touch. “Din – can I call you Din?” you begin gently, running your thumb over the back of his glove. After a moment of consideration, he nods. “I’m really sorry they turned you away. I don’t know much about the nuances of Mandalorian culture, but I do know you must have had a good reason to remove your helmet. And it doesn’t make you a bad person, Din. It just means you’re different now.” His inhale shudders in response to your words. The hunter before you tilts his helmet to the floor. You wonder if he has ever been told he is enough before. If he knows that every being in the galaxy makes choices that others don’t understand, and are still worthy of being loved. If he knows that includes him.

When he raises his head again to meet your gaze, something clicks into place inside him and he tightens his grip on your hand, lifting it to press the back of your hand against the forehead of his helmet. It feels so tender that you’re not sure how to respond other than simply savouring the gesture. “So these weapons aren’t from them, for you to fix. They’re mine,” Din admits, gently placing your hand back in your lap. “I brought them because I want to ask you something.” A hopeful feeling shoots up your spine. “If you say no, I will simply pay you for your time, collect all of this and be on my way. But I was wondering... if you might come with me when I leave in a month.” Your eyes go wide as a loth cat’s.

“Come with you? Where?”

“Where I'm needed. You’re skilled with weapons and first aid.”

Oh. Din was inviting you to join him because it made practical sense. A booked and busy bounty hunter like him could obviously use in-house weapons maintenance and the occasional patch-up. You try to squash down the excitement you had felt at the prospect of him having any other intentions. A breath whooshes out of your lungs, and all of your good sense with it. “Okay,” you blurt after barely a moment. The bounty hunter nods and reclines in his chair, legs spread, his posture radiating an energy of quiet confidence that makes your pelvis grow warm. “But... what about Nyx? She’s better at piloting than me,” you add. Din considers this for a moment. “She didn’t seem interested.”

You don’t think that’s strictly true, but then she also hadn’t expressed any intention to get to know him better. “You should come back tomorrow,” you suggest, “and leave your weapons. I’ll service them for you and when you pick them up at the end of the day we can... talk more.” He stands up from his seat and gives you another nod of acknowledgement before heading for the door. The poor man had probably overshot his conversation quota for the day. “And Din?” you call out to his back. He turns a little so the side of his helmet faces you. “Thank you for sharing all of that with me. You didn’t have to,” you tell him, trying to squeeze every gram of tenderness you feel into your voice. The Mandalorian gives you another small nod, before facing forwards again and leaving your shop.

The next day, you put a makeshift sign out the front claiming something or other about being closed for fumigation. You had already made enough from the thirteen blaster pistols client to justify the peace and quiet. Nyx had decided to take the day off, leaving you to work your way through the cleaning and maintenance of Din’s weapons with your favourite holonet podcasts playing softly from the workshop speakers. You find yourself missing the light bell of her voice ringing through the air. The smell of her perfume clinging to your clothes. Something inside you aches without her here. The vibrant enthusiasm of a host’s voice fades into the background as your thoughts then drift to the man in beskar. Despite having only met Din days ago, you feel like maybe he is a small part of you now, after he let himself be so vulnerable with you. You feel like maybe you are a small part of him, and now you carry each other around because of the moment you shared. You recall the way the he had pressed his helmet gently into the back of your hand like a kiss, and a smile breaks across your face. Despite dispensing with his bounty with the incredible violence of a storm, he had been so open with you. You had agreed to leave with him impulsively, but you don’t regret it. Something about the way he had chased a quarry into your doorway, out of every little shopfront on Nevarro, feels cosmic. The glances you shared, his hands overwhelming yours, the electricity crackling between you every moment you were together, it all feels like something much bigger than mere coincidence. It feels like the loving design of some long-forgotten god, waiting centuries just to bring people together.

Your mind turns to Nyx again. In your mind’s eye you see the curve of her smile when she says something cheeky, remember the plush softness of her lips against your cheek. The woman who had been by your side for years, unknowingly being all you ever wanted simply by existing. A moon blessing you with her orbit. Years of late nights walking the tightrope between companionship and something more, chaste kisses in the workshop followed by laughter and more kisses, all swirled together like milk and caf in your mind. You think of her lipstick in your bathroom, and then of Din’s bags on your floor, and then more of her. You wonder how your heart can hold so much love. You wonder if what you feel is love or just infatuation with the concept of both of them. You think... maybe it doesn’t really matter. As you finish up the final piece, you make a decision to ask her something before you leave.

The door swings open and Din’s broad silhouette appears. You grin and run up to meet him, deciding on a whim to wrap your arms around him. He goes still for a moment in surprise, but slowly wraps his arms around you in return and squeezes you against him. One of his gloved hands finds its way into your hair, where he begins to stroke it gently. You look up at him with a beaming smile, unable to contain your affection for this man. You inhale sharply as his hands find your waist and ever so slightly squeeze. The air suddenly grows warm between you as you hold his gaze through the helmet. You blink up at him, suddenly unsure what to do with your hands. You settle for placing your palms on his breastplate and drawing little circles with your fingertips, waiting for his next move. Din sighs, but this time it’s a sound of relief, like taking off your shoes when you get home. You fill so his arms so perfectly, you think you could stay there forever. You’re savouring the warmth of his enormous hands around your waist when he presses his helmet to your forehead, another echo of a kiss. Your breath quickens as he slowly reaches up to stroke your cheek with his thumb, separated from your skin only by the time-smoothed material of his glove. No words are spoken between you but you can feel what he’s trying to say – it’s in the way he holds you close, squeezing at the softness of your curves and dips with the hand that’s not cradling your face. The connection between you is so tangible you think you could reach out and touch it. You keep touching him instead, your hands slipping ever so slowly down to the belt of his pants. “Tell me what you want, Din,” you whisper to him encouragingly. He presses his helmet to your forehead again. “Whatever you’ll give me,” the man behind the armour replies. “Anything. Everything.”

Another smile breaks like the dawn across your lips as you untuck the hem of his tunic and run your hands up the little swell of his glorious abdomen to his chest, rising and falling rapidly under your touch. You squeal unintentionally as he lifts you with ease, gently placing you back down on the edge of your workbench. You hear him inhale sharply as he presses his helmet into the little junction between your neck and shoulder, flings aside his gloves and runs his burning hands over every roll and stretchmark of you greedily. “You’ll be my undoing,” he confesses as he slips the straps of your coveralls down your arms. You tear yourself away from him to shed the remaining layers of fabric between you. “I want to do you first,” you laugh breathlessly, pulling him into the space between your thighs. His hand slips beneath his helmet and into his mouth, coming away slick with spit. You cry out involuntarily as he plunges a finger inside you, filling you the way you’d been craving since he first entered your store. “Maker,” you whimper as he pushes and withdraws, pushes and withdraws like the tides on Naboo. Your eyes roll back as the world narrows to where he adds another finger, then another, your whole sensory universe made up of the pleasure he’s giving you. “Din, I’m gonna-“ He pulls back his hand just as something swells deep in your belly, leaving you to whimper at the empty feeling where he had just been. “Shh, I’m gonna take care of you,” he whispers soothingly, stroking little circles right over your most sensitive area with his thumb. You just know he’s smirking under that helmet as you squirm in overwhelming ecstasy under his heated touch.

The warrior in front of you pulls out his stiff cock with a hiss, hurriedly patting down the pockets now bunched up by his ankles before retrieving a condom. He presses his helmet back into your neck and inhales heavily as he rolls it down with impressive efficiency. “Tell me what you want,” he repeats your earlier words. “Fuck me,” you plead breathily. Your hand claps over your mouth as he pushes the tip of himself inside you, the stretch almost unbearably delicious. It feels like a lot, as prepared as you are for him. He grabs your wrist again, just as tightly as the day you met him, only this time to drag it away from your face. “I want to hear you,” he growls into your ear. “I want to hear everything.” You cry out loudly as he suddenly fills you fully the way you had been waiting for. “Din, more,” you demand, your voice sounding strangely far away beneath the ringing of your blood in your ears. He grunts with effort as he begins thrusting into you harder, deeper, further, hitting a spot that makes your thighs tremble. His low moans spark a fire inside you that rages and feeds off of the roughness of his thrusts. The pressure inside you keeps building as he hits that heavenly spot over and over, with what sounds like curses tumbling from under his helmet in languages you haven’t heard before. “Come for me,” you ask him huskily, and barely seconds later you feel the warmth of him burst into the condom buried within you. He groans loudly and shudders, thrusting weakly and slowly until he’s given you all he has. “Kriff,” Din curses under his breath. You can only nod breathlessly in agreement. The two of you take your time redressing, stealing glances and smiles between each article of clothing. He stills for a moment, hesitating before allowing you help him slot his armour back into place. “I’ll be back once I get this bounty,” the hunter promises, briefly illuminating the hologram on the puck in his pocket. A baby-faced Nikto with a hint of the devil in his eyes flashes up. “Go be good at your job,” you encourage him with a little smile. He presses his helmet into your forehead briefly before slinging his bags onto a stick pressed horizontally against the top of his shoulders, and hauls his belongings out the door.

The following evening

“So, how was yesterday?” Nyx calls out to you from her bedroom with great amusement, kicking her feet and twirling a lekku with her finger. “I’m assuming you sealed the deal?” You can’t stop the smile spreading across your face as you emerge from her shower. “It was... exactly how I thought it would be. Passionate, rough, but somehow still really sweet,” you tell her. Her eyes flash in a challenge as you collapse down next to her in the bed. Something about the thought of you with him lit a fire in her. It had felt like jealousy at first, but now...

“You wanna make out?” she asks you mischievously. "Always," you reply with a grin. Then the clouds of her lips collide with yours, and a rush of desire fills your body. You lean into her as your tongue searches for entry. She opens her mouth and moans quietly as your hand comes up to the back of her neck to pull her closer. You roll on top of her in bed, pressing her hands into the pillow. You tear your mouth away from hers breathlessly. “Good?” you ask, unable to suppress a cocky smirk. Nyx laughs and throws a pillow at you before leaning back in to suck love bites into your neck. Your eyes flutter closed as you try to remember what you were going to say to her. “Wait, wait,” you begin, and she immediately ceases her affections. “What’s wrong?” she asks with concern. “Well, I was wondering...” you trail off, unsure how one is meant to ask their current (sort of) flame about a new one. “What do you think of Din?”

Nyx sits back on her elbows, lekku swishing as she tilts her head in contemplation. “I’ve actually been thinking about it a bit the past few days. I think I like him too,” she admits eventually, wringing her hands in her lap. “I think... I like you with him. You seem happy. And it makes me happy.” Your heart feels like it could flutter right out of you like a porg on its way to a warm fire. You snuggle your face into the silky softness of her chest. “How would that even work?” you wonder aloud. “I don’t know, honeycake,” she replies with a little sigh. “But maybe we could find out. The three of us. Together.” You meet her eyes and nod before settling back down into her arms. “Besides,” she muses, “we would hardly be the first group of beings to feel this way.” The bookkeeper was, of course, correct. Your neighbours growing up had lived together in wedded bliss, the four of them filling your corner of the block with laughter and playful banter. It just hadn’t occured to you that maybe that was an option for you, too. You’d had relationships before, just always one at a time. Not necessarily on purpose, things had just turned out that way. Now, you wonder if things could be different. The two of you would just have to ask Din.

Then you remember what you’d agreed to with him. Specifically, what you’d agreed to without her. “He invited me to go with him,” you blurt suddenly, eyes locking onto hers anxiously. Nyx pulls back from you in surprise. “Well, I think he wanted to invite you too, but then when he blatantly asked you if you’re single you kind of didn’t really respond as enthusiastically as maybe he thought you would, and then you didn’t say anything about liking him after-” She takes your hand tightly in hers. “I would go anywhere with you. Including hitchhiking across the galaxy with a tall beefcake Mandalorian man,” she laughs, pressing a kiss to your intertwined fingers. “Besides, we’ll always have the shop if things don’t work out.” You nod, overwhelmed by the prospect of a new adventure with the two of them.

When he enters your store the next day, he skids to a halt as you both greet him holding hands. “Uh, congratulations,” the hunter tells you awkwardly. You chuckle, and Nyx fails to hide her smile. “We have something to talk to you about,” the Twi’lek woman addresses him firmly, taking his hand in her other one. Din goes very still, but doesn’t let go of her hand. You notice as his breastplate begins to quicken in its rising and falling, just as it had when he first entered your store. His helmet remains angled towards her face, as if glued to examine her stunning features. “I...” his voice cracks a little, and he clears it before continuing. “I was hoping I might talk to you both as well. But you go first.” Din gestures towards the two of you with his and Nyx’s hands clasped tightly. “If you’ll have me,” she begins furtively, eyes darting back and forth across his helmet as if it might give her the right words, “I want to come with you. We both want to come with you. If you’ll have us.” You hear him inhale sharply. He still hasn’t let go of her hand. A moment passes as he thinks it over. “I’d like that,” he replies, voice so soft you almost didn’t catch it through his helmet vocoder. You take his other hand with the one not holding onto Nyx. The three of you are linked together like worshippers at an altar, basking in the light of something new. “Where to first?” you ask him in a whisper, afraid to break the reverie of the moment. He tilts his helmet in a way that makes you wonder if he’s smiling under there, and squeezes both of your hands.

“I gotta pay a visit to a little friend.”

[nerdieforpedro]

He told me his name

The Mandalorian/ Din Djarin x plus size female reader

My entire blog is 18+ MDNI

Word Count: approx. 1.3k

Summary: It's not clear if you enter The Mandalorian's orbit or you enter his, but slowly the two of you are growing closer.

Warnings: vague mentions of mechanic work, HANDS (It's my thing about Din okay?!), fluff, some violence, blood, injuries and first aid

Notes: I've wanted to write another Din fic for a while and didn't have any sparks. Then I read @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin 's Din fic (Sorgan girls Are Easy) she put out yesterday which is excellent. I had my spark. ⚡️ Though the fic I wrote isn't similar to hers at all. Not even in the same category. 🤣 My fic is very moody. I might write a follow-up one shot to this. Not another series!

Dividers are by the wonderful @saradika-graphics

Main Masterlist / Din Djarin Masterlist /Our Journey Across the Star Ocean

Lingering near your workstation had you curious, but you chalked it up to just being curious about how you worked. You’re aware that your organization, separation and tinkering can be slower than other mechanics but it also means you don’t need to double check your work as often.

The Mandalorian was intimidating and never rude or even commanding. In fact he was polite and let Peli speak to him pretty casually. You only said hello and goodbye.

That’s why it struck you with surprise when Peli asked during one evening card game with the droids if you’d consider riding with the “walking tin can” as she put it. You blinked and asked why you, shouldn’t he be asking her to come with him. She told you that she had a business to run and she’s not gallivanting around with a trigger happy bounty hunter who has to keep track of an adorable but absurdly strong baby. 

“You need some excitement anyway. You’ll just waste away here without any good memories or fun stories to tell. It will just be a life of regrets of paths not taken.”

Her words rang in your head as the small green child sat in your lap. The Mandalorian was at the controls, silently charting their course. Was this a good decision?

He allowed you to come with him when he got his tracking fobs and when he turned in his bounties. The first touch was between your shoulder blade to your back, guiding you and the child through the market back to the Razor Crest.

The second was when his gloved hands touched yours while trying to improve your aim using a blaster. His voice was more gentle than his normal flat one. Closer to what he used with Grogu but still not as much warmth. It was enough to have you believe him to be kind.

The third happened after he brought a bounty back to the ship and he saw Grogu patting your cheeks as you spoke to him. Explaining about what different bolts did, it looked like you were organizing your tools again. His gloved hand was placed on your shoulder which had you peer up at his t-visor. He gave you a nod and went to inventory his weapons. Maybe it wasn’t just kindness. Maybe he believes you to be useful, a smile creeps along your face.

Such small gestures continued until you took Grogu out for a walk. 

It was a fairly green planet and Din said it was safe, you didn’t wander far from the ship as it was still in view. The first crawling plant you saw and shot it through and through with your blaster. The second, nipped your leg but you were able to knock it off and shot it twice. On the way back to the ship you were clear, but one jumped the gangway and a tentacle sliced across your back before you were able to turn and shoot it. You limped back into the Razor Crest and were able to clean and dress your leg but not your back. Grogu wouldn’t stop screaming and you kept moving him away from you to not get blood on the poor child.

The bounty hunter saw you, quickly put his bounty on carbonate and grabbed the bacta spray. He spoke to his son and was able to calm him slightly as he ripped your shirt and bra to try and access the wound on your back but the blood and secretions in your wound from the tentacle made it increasingly difficult as you bled. 

“I apologize for this. I’ll need to cut off the rest of the back of your shirt to clean and apply the spray and…” He paused. The Mandalorian you know never paused, he was always measured in his speech, even with Grogu. “It may be easier for me to do if I remove my gloves. They’ve become too slick with your blood. Is that alright?” You found it puzzling that he was asking permission considering it’s one of the main tenets of his religion. You didn’t care either way as long as the bleeding and pain stopped. 

“It’s fine Mando. Do what you need to do. Grogu’s okay right? I didn’t get any blood on him, I think.”

You closed your eyes and heard the Mandalorian give a few curses as he removed his gloves, warm calloused fingers were dabbing your back and applying pressure. After holding it a few minutes, you felt the cool spray of the bacta and some patches being applied with more pressure. There seemed to be less pain and your back didn’t feel like a dripping pool so you counted your lucky stars and thanked the Maker that the bounty hunter had come back earlier than later. You felt something soft spread over your body and you were lifted off the floor of the ship and brought to your cot. How did he lift you so easily? Did beskar help with that? You didn’t think so, but you know next to nothing about the stuff. It was there that you drifted off to sleep.

When you awoke later, Grogu had tucked himself on your pillow with a small green hand on your cheek. It made you feel happy to see the little green one next to you, but you felt something in your hand. It was what had been on your back. Mando had one of his gloves off and was holding your hand with his bare one. His other hand was touching Grogu’s back but his glove was on. You turned away for a moment to let a tear fall. He cares about you, you’re more than useful, maybe.

Grogu remained asleep but Mando awoke, squeezing your hand in his. “You’re awake? Has the pain subsided? I should check-” You turned back to shush him and carefully sat up, the blanket falling off your partially and he released your hand to pull it around you. The back of your shirt was open and had fallen forward some when you got up, but not expose anything thankfully.  “You should keep warm. We’re on our way back to turn in the bounty. I-I am sorry.”

“There’s no reason to be sorry. They came out of nowhere. I was able to not get killed because of the blaster shots you had me practice and Grogu’s safe so-” Since you’re not holding Mando’s hand any longer, you grasp the blanket, to have something in your hand.

“You were not safe. You were hurt badly. Do…I would not blame you if you wanted to leave.” His register is low, not threatening, but there’s sadness in it. He was sitting at your bedside mere moments ago. You wished to hop back in time and keep still so you wouldn't wake him. Just to have stayed in that moment a bit longer…

“I refuse to go. I will not. You’ll have to toss me off. I’ve seen so many things and places and I want to see that much more. You’re stuck with me Mando.” The blanket drops as you release it and you grab his bare hand with both of yours. “I’m not going to but. I just don’t want to go.” Speaking as you lock your eyes on his t-visor, a deep hum is heard from the hunter, but you remain firm.

“I am called Din. Please do so while it’s just the three of us.” His thumb ran across your palm and tickled your skin making you chuckle. “You will remain and hopefully I will hear more of your laugh.” Your smile only grows with his answer. “Please rest for now. Our journey isn’t over.”

Space Buddies: @linzels-blog @maggiemayhemnj @angelofsmalldeath-codeine @missladym1981 @morallyinept @sherala007 @yorksgirl @daddy-dins-girl @magpiepills @megamindsecretlair @anoverwhelmingdin @theincredibleinkspitter @alltheglitterandtheroar @mrsmando @drawingdroid @harriedandharassed @i-own-loki @lady-bess @undercoverpena @pedroshotwifey

[drawingdroid]

The Unknown Regions Masterlist

A Din Djarin X Plus Size Reader Series

Summary: You, a soft astrophysicist, meet the hardened Mandalorian in less-than-ideal circumstances. Your abilities will lead to you crossing the galaxy together in search of his green son.

Words: 10k+

Warnings: Smut on Chapters IV and VI; expect conversations about weight; body dysmorphia and internalised fatphobia that may be triggering, so read at your own discretion; reader is AFAB and user she/her pronouns; no use of y/n; the bucket stays on; naked female clothed male; fluff and smut; hurt and comfort; Sad Din :(

A/N: The last chapter of The Unknown Regions is finally in the oven so I prepared this little moodboard and finally made a Masterlist to celebrate. I hope you enjoy the series, I may write more about these two!

Read it on ao3

🪐 Chapter I: A long day

🪐 Chapter II: Bike ride

🪐 Chapter III: An expert

🪐 Chapter IV: Is it a bomb?

🪐 Chapter V: As you wish

🪐 Chapter VI:

🪐 Chapter VII:

[abbonation]

Kinktober Day #9, Din Djarin

WOOOOOO!!!! The largely uninspired Abbo returns with a 2.3k cockwarming fic 😍😍 literally unheard of! Any whoosies, yeah. It's hot, it's explicit, what else do we want from Kinktober, anyway?

Warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY!!! Cockwarming, AFAB!Fem!Reader with little (Or a lot ;) of chub <3) the crest DIDN'T DIE,

He had tried to restrain himself, he really had, but when he watched your eyes as you lowered your robes down your shoulders and onto the cold floor of his ship, he knew this wouldn’t last long.

You’d traveled in the Crest with him while he was without Grogu and then became somewhat of a caretaker to him when he returned from training with Luke. You had seen the very near destruction of Crest on Tython and, now, you were all back together again; living and traveling through space on the never-ending journey that was his life. 

Through the nearly two years of close proximity, you had grown close. He knew your quirks and you had grown accustomed to his- and, despite his best efforts, he had developed rather intense feelings for you. Never acted upon, never spoken of but you had to know. By the way your look lingered on him both in and out of battle. By the way your head turned when he talked with others, it felt like you were two magnets hovering against the others’ pull, never close enough to click together.

Then, you encountered a beast that the local planet-dwellers later told you was called a Boma. He knew you shouldn’t have gone separately but he really needed some time to be alone and splitting up under the guise of catching your quarry faster would allow him time to do what he needed to keep his sanity. You agreed to meet back at the Crest before sundown and use the comms only when necessary to conserve their power- however, when he hadn’t heard from you and started to notice the darkening sky, he worried. 

“Hey- you okay? On your way to the Crest yet?” 

"—"

After a few moments of silence, he tries again, “Are you there? It’s gonna be really dark here really soon.” 

A shrill scratching sound chirps through the speaker on the comm and, instantly, he knows he needs to find you. When he does though, after racing back to the Crest and turning around to follow your trail instead of his, it’s been nearly an hour and he finds you walking towards him, pulling behind you a creature nearly the size of yourself.

He jogs over shouting, “What the hell happened to you?”

“Well, I guess I can tell you the whole tale. If you’ll carry this thing the rest of the way,” You smile and shrug up at him and he feels his stomach clench as he realizes just how anxious he’d been to find you, and how much better he feels now that you’re here.

-

“So it just ran up to your legs, smelled your cape, and started attacking?”

“That’s what I said, right?” You deadpan. 

“Why would it wait to attack you until it could smell you?” 

“Mando, I don’t know, can we just get some food and get back to the ship, my ankle fucking hurts from where I fell.”

In the small town is where you learned of the nature of these “Boma” . They were just your run of the mill beast, but apparently they had a real liking for eating Mandalorians. 

“Well, at least I know it wasn’t my stench that he didn’t like,” you joked to him over your dinner. 

“We’d better get back though, I’m… really tired.” You had this look in your eye though. One like you weren’t very tired at all. One like how you look right after battle.

So you thanked the bartender and made your way back to the Crest, confirming Grogu’s safety in his pram and fixing a couple glasses of Ne'tra gal for you and your Mando. He swallowed and tried to shove down the one thought in his brain since dinner. You smelled like him. 

“Thanks for trying to save me. Even if I didn’t need your help.” You hand over his glass and sit on a crate across from him in the hold. 

“I just didn’t hear you respond to my comm, I was worried,” He looks at the bottom of his cup. 

“Yeah well, this bad boy here had my back,” You lightly tap your thigh a couple times where your knife sheath lies and his eyes zero in on the spot as he moves up his helm slightly to sip. 

“I- know you can handle yourself. I just-” He trails off. 

“You just what?”

“.. I just want you to be- protected.. From everything.”

You smile gently at his visor and he can feel his cheeks heating at your stare. 

“You know that’s not possible, Din.” 

He wishes he could show you the power you hold over him. He has to look away from your eyes when you say his name. 

“Have I,” You swallow and steel yourself, “Have I ever shown you any of my scars, Mando?”

He looks up again, your face looks different now. You look more.. hungry?

The ale in your blood and food in your belly fuels your courage and you stand from your crate, walking over to stand in front of the Mandalorian. You place your hands on his shoulders and bend your knee up and place your foot on the ledge of the crate he sits on, inches from where his dick is imprinted into the fabric of his flight suit. 

He says your name and looks up at your face, “I- what are you-”

“Do you want to see, Din?”

He realizes then, you feel it too. He’s been so blind and his head swims at the confirmation of this.

“Yes, show me.. please,” He places a gloved hand at your ankle under the hem of your robe and begins moving it up your calf. 

You press on his shoulder to stop his hand and raise the hem of your robes up to right above your knee, down the skin right in front of his visor runs a jagged line of skin thicker than the rest. 

“This one I received when I killed a man who was trying to stop me from leaving his bed.” Din swallows and looks at your face, he’s speechless.

You move your hands to pull the hem higher and stop again, right above your knife sheath, so that the fabric is caught in the crux where your thigh meets your hip and is tucked under your belly. 

“These are from a cat on my home planet,” What looks like little claw marks blossom from the side of your thigh. He moves his thumb up to brush over them, and you smile at the memory of your friend from home. 

“And, Din,” You step down from the crate and stand between his open legs. He’s aching to touch you now. Running his palms up and down his thighs to avoid doing something he’d regret. You move your fingers up to the buttons at your neck that fasten the robe to your body and unbutton each one carefully, taking deep breaths, “These will be a different type of scar. Ones on the inside, ones I won’t soon forget.” You drop your robe to reveal your body to him, your underwear the only remaining coverage. Din sucks in an audible breath from the vocoder and stands from his spot. 

He chokes out your name, backing you over to the wall next to his sleeping quarters. “Do you know what you’re doing? Do you want this? If we do this, things will be different.”

“I know that- I want them to be,” You lean up to whisper into his ear. “You think I can’t hear you in your bed nearly every night. Rubbing yourself raw at the thought of me- of this?” You place your hand where his thighs join and he buckles, dropping his helmet down to your own shoulder and thrusting his hips into your palm. You reach your other hand from where it toys with the curls that peek out from under his helmet to cup his ass, pushing his hips forward into you. 

“Please,” He moans. 

You turn to his bed and pull yourself inside, moving backward into the dark space. “You liked that the creature smelled you on me, huh?” You chide him. He stands at the threshold as if deciding whether to make the leap. To change his life forever. 

“You wanted to come save me from it yourself so something would know I belong to you, right?” He leans forward into his room, hands resting on the top wall, tent in his pants more than obvious now. 

“Or were you just too busy jacking that cock in the forest to notice anything?” 

The choice is out of his hands now, he’s not acting of his own volition. He kicks off his boots and crawls in above you, quickly closing the door and locking you both into silent darkness. 

When he continues to say nothing even as you hear the ruffling of clothes and sheets as he arranges himself you whisper out, “Din?” 

From mere inches above you, you feel his breath fan down on your face and realize he’s removed his helmet, his hand moves over your belly, between the space where your breasts splay out and up to cup your throat. “Yes?”

You shudder at his unfiltered speech. “Do you- are you-” Suddenly you’re the one at a loss for words when he leans his forehead to rest on yours, and runs the hand that was holding you down your side to your thigh. 

“I did like that you smelled like me. I really liked it.” He punctuates his words with a thrust into your belly. 

“I want to lay you in this bed and fuck you every day so that you never stop smelling like me.” Another thrust. “Would you like that, sweet girl? Would you like to lay here and be my cock sleeve? Just for me to use whenever I want?” You’ve never heard someone speak to you like this, much less the ever-reserved Mandalorian, you’re shocked into silence by his tongue and he continues. 

He moves your legs to open for him and you reach down to stroke over his thighs where he kneels above you. He groans at your touch, “So sensitive, Din. C’mere.” He moves down to lay his lips on yours, he gets more comfortable the longer you lick and nip at each other, and he keens when you run your hands up over his scalp and give his hair a very light tug, 

“Oh, please, do that again, mesh’la,” You continue running your fingers through his hair and move to lick up the column up his throat. His noises are free-flowing now, heavy breathing floating through the air in his bunk. 

He lifts his head to make room between you and presses his crotch into your clothed pussy. You can feel your arousal making your underwear slick against your entrance, and clench to thrust up against his stiff dick. 

“Fuck, that's- that’s perfect, sweet girl.” He does it again, setting you into a rhythm of humping while he rubs over your tits, rubbing your nipples between his fingers when you show him that’s what you like. 

“Fuck Din, you feel so good,” You moan out to him and his hips stutter, “I’ll cum if we don’t stop, I- want you to feel good too-” So you slow your movements and move to push down your underwear, “Take off your pants Din, we’re gonna start slow, okay?” 

You maneuver to be on top and line his cock up at your puffy entrance. “Do you feel that, Din? How, mmm, how wet you’ve made me?” 

“Y-yes, I’m so hard for you,” He moans out. 

You rub your clit with his tip a few times and notch his head just inside “I don’t wanna come yet-” he huffs into your ear.

“You won’t, I’m gonna slip down and then we’re gonna get you used to me, okay?” 

A deep rumble leaves him when you start to slide down his thick length, stopping when your clit rubs into his pubic hair. “Jesus, Din- you’re.. fuckin’ big” You flutter around him unintentionally and he thrusts against you, holding onto your lush hips. 

You lay down over him and he roves his hands over your back, resting one against the back of your head and the other ghosting over your ass. 

“Can we just stay like this for a minute?” He asks.

“We can do this as long as you need,” You tell him, reveling in the way his pubic bone bumps against the hood of your clit. He stretches your walls deep, which you can’t say you didn’t expect- but to know you were right feels good. You sit up some when he pulls his feet up the cot, giving you room to lean back against the top of his thighs, and, with him still inside you ghost your fingers down over your breasts and belly to tease over your cunt. 

“Are you touching yourself?” Din questions. 

You clench at his voice, “Yes, Din. I’m– gonna rub my clit until I come around your cock and then you’re gonna come too, okay?” Your voice is much more high pitched and your usual level-headedness has obviously gone.

“Fuck, I wish I could see you, your tits bouncing in my face,” you feel his cock twitch inside you and rub two fingers around your clit, working up speed. 

“You wanna watch my face when I cum, huh, Din? Wanna see me give in to your pleasure?” 

“Ngh fuck yes, that's all I want, my sweet girl, my mesh’la.” He’s grasping at the sheets of his cot now, desperately thrusting up into your cunt. 

“Mm, fuck, are you ready?” You whine out as you feel your walls start to flutter from the stimulation, “Are you ready to come for me, sweet boy?” 

“Oh fuuuck, yes I’m gonna- I’m-” And he does. He pushes your hips down onto his cock to keep you still as he empties inside you, limply thrusting for another few seconds as you come down. 

You move to get off his cock and he holds you still again, so you opt to just lay back down on his chest resting your face next to his. 

“Can we just.. stay like this for a while?” You can hear the smile in his question. 

[hannibals-favourite-meal]

Happy Times

Mando x plus size reader

I’m only going to say this, Pedro Pascal’s happy trail

Warnings: HORNY THOTS, implied smut, happy trail 🫠, little bit of a size kink I’m really not sorry, degradation

WC: 708

Minors DNI

You were fully hypnotised by the sight in front of you. Mando was partially out of his armour, his chest and thigh plates had been stripped away and were placed on his bunk. It was far too hot on this godforsaken planet for any additional layers and he felt safe enough to remove them.

He was reaching up to a panel above his head, cursing as he could quite reach whatever he was looking for. But you didn’t bother to get up and help, nope, you were perched on a small step stool, Grogu passed out next to you and Mando’s tools on your other side.

Your jaw was fully hanging open, your eyes wide, and there might have been a tiny bit of drool by the corner of your mouth. Why were you like this you may wonder? Well that’s because Mando’s shirt was ever so slightly too short on him so every time he reached up above his head, his shirt would ride up and expose a small sliver of skin just above the hem of his pants.

But even more than that, his pants were slightly too big for him so the top sagged, letting you see the glorious thatch of dark hair at the base of his pelvis. And if your eyes dropped just a little lower, you swore you could see-

“Hand me the wrench please.” His helmet was tilted down towards you and you froze. Your entire body came to light with embarrassment at having been caught ogling the bounty hunter.

“Um yeah here.” You handed him the tool and shamefully dropped your eyes to the floor, wanting to simply melt into the metal to escape his knowing gaze. 

It certainly wasn’t the first time you had been staring at the Mandalorian, in fact, you stared at him every chance you could get. Sure, he was huge, big enough to scare people away by just standing in a slightly menacing way, but he was also protective and kind. Plus his voice was sexy as hell. But, this was the first time you had been caught and it made you feel ashamed.

You gasped as a warm finger curled under your soft chin, forcing you to look up. When had he taken off his gloves? “You handed me a screwdriver. You seem distracted, mesh’la, what’s going through that pretty head of yours?” A shiver of desire rolled down your spine as he towered over you, his massive body blocking the light from the setting sun.

Suddenly, there were no thoughts left in your brain besides him. You could almost feel his smirk from behind the shiny metal of his helm. “I wonder what has you so preoccupied? What could possibly be making you so dumb that you gave me a screwdriver and not a wrench, like I asked for?” His tone was so condescending, it made you feel even smaller but there was no true malice in it.

His hand slipped from your chin when you didn’t answer him, instead he cupped your jaw with his massive paw, squeezing just tightly enough to make you gasp. “When I ask you a question, you answer me.”

“Y-yes Mando.” You stammered out, your thighs squeezing together at the pure dominance and power he radiated. He rewarded you with a gentle stroke of his thumb along your jawline.

“That’s a good girl.” He purred as he bent down so his face was level with yours, only a few inches of perfectly buffed metal between you. “Now are you going to tell me what was so distracting or am I going to have to pry it out of you?”

Hundreds of images flashed behind your eyes, each one more smutty than the last as you imagined what exactly he could do to you to get you to talk. Wetness pooled between your shapely legs, soaking through the flimsy panties you wore. “I think you want it the hard way but I need to hear you say it. Beg for it.”

You swallowed thickly, the words getting caught in your throat. Another squeeze freed them. “Please Mando, I want you so badly.” A modulated frown came through the speakers of his helmet before he spoke again.

“Good girl.”

Star Wars Masterlist | Main Masterlist

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[peterparkersnose]

Merry (Din)mas

pairing: Din Djarin x fem!reader

word count: 1k

warnings: none, din is grumpy but whats new, small sexual reference ? 

a/n happy holidays!

summary Din learns and celebrates about Christmas. 

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read time: 3 mins 41 seconds

“And the issue is…?”

“There is no issue. I just don’t think we should spend our time focusing on the old holidays.”

Din sat at the lousy refresher table feeding Grogu. You stood on top of one of the chairs, balancing your best and attempting to stick a branch with some leaves from the ceiling.

“That’s not gonna stick,” he sighed, taking a bite of his food. “Yes it wi-”

The branch fell on the floor in front of the chair.

A tiny smirk arose on his face.

Annoyance rose on yours. “I’m just trying to give him the natural experience of a holiday as a child,” you argued, hand reached out towards Grogu.

“He doesn’t understand, do you?” Din asked the baby. He was half asleep in his makeshift high chair after finishing his meal. “My point,” he said, finishing the argument.

The next morning Din woke up early to the sounds of brush and grunts from the kitchen.

He opened the door from his chamber and found you wrestling a tree you seemed to have chopped down and dragged into the Crest.

“Maker Y/N, what is this?” he sighed, his hand rubbing his temples. “Christmas…tree,” you struggled, pushing branches down to reach the stem of the tree.

“It needs to go back outside.”

“But Din!”

“Back. Outside.”

“It’s Christmas!”

“I don’t give a womp rats ass what it is. The outdoor belongs outdoor and it will stay outdoors.” he demanded, pointing towards the open hatch.

You sighed, defeated. Maybe Christmas was an old holiday for a reason.

“It’s too early for this shit,” Din mumbled, slumping back into his chambers.

When he awoke, he was met with the scent of what seemed like bread- only sweeter.

When he rose from his chambers once again, he was met with the blasphemous sounds of what seemed like sirens.

“Turn it off!” he yelled, planting his hands over his ears.

He saw your confused face sitting at the table with Grogu once the music stopped. “What in the worlds was that?” he asked. “Christmas music. From a long time ago, the traditional stuff.” you shrugged, stirring a spoon in one of the pots.

Din looked at the colorful paste you had in your hands. It seemed like red goo.

“Oh, come on Din. Just sit with us,” you begged, kicking out the chair opposite from you.

Reluctantly, he agreed.

“Why is he red?” Din sighed, looking at Grogu thoroughly for the first time that day.

He had the red goo all over his hands, various places on his face, and somehow the tip of one of his ears.

“What even is that?” he asked, carefully swiping a bit off of Grogu’s forehead.

“Taste it,” you smirked, amused at his disgust. “Taste it?” Din replied, his nose was crinkled at the meer suggestion.

You swiped your finger in the bowl and sucked a hefty amount of it off your finger. That totally unintentionally turned Din on.

His eyes seemed to pop out of his head. “It’s only frosting,” you teased. The makeshift cooker beeped. You turned around, excitedly taking the sweet smelling things out.

“Christmas cookies.” you said, carefully placing them on a plate.

Grogu extended his tiny hand and began to levitate a cookie off the plate.

“No, not for Grogu. Too hot.” you said, catching the cookie mid air. You dropped it back on the plate quickly.

“Did you see the rest of the ship?” you asked eagerly. “Please tell me there isn’t some magic rabbit sitting in my living room ready to spread Christmas joy.” Din said, crossing his arms.

“That’s easter, wrong holiday. Come on,” you sighed, scooping Grogu up. The apron you had on wiped him clean on your way to the living space.

Grogu cooed as the two of you entered the room. A much smaller tree sat in the corner, decorative lights covered it. “And Grogu helped, didn’t you?” you asked, tickling the child ever so slightly.

Tiny decorative balls hung off the tree. “He’s gonna have a field day with those,” Din muttered. “Already did,”

The cardboard box near the trash was filled with broken bulbs. “And we’re not going to do that again, are we?” you asked the baby. He just whined and looked up at you with his sweet eyes.

“What’s that?” Din asked, referring to the tiny box on the ground. “That is your gift,” you smiled, sitting next to the tree with Grogu in your lap.

“A gift?” he asked, joining you. “I was going to save it for the solstice, but…”

You handed him the wrapped gift. “Open it,”

He carefully tore away the paper and revealed a small box. He opened the lid.

A tiny brooch sat upon white fluff paper. It was a skull, similar to the Mandalorian crest he often wore. This one had three sparkly stones engraved in it, one for each of you.

His lip began to quiver as he stared silently at the beautiful gift. “Do you like it?” you asked, patiently waiting for his response. The silence made you suddenly doubt your gift choice.

“It’s… beautiful,” he said, completely touched by the gift.

“One for me, you, and Grogu. Isn’t that right, buddy? I let him pick the color out.” you smiled down, looking at the baby now grabbing for stray pieces of your hair.

“This is just…”

Din was at a loss for words. He didn’t know how to tell you that this is the first gift he’s ever gotten. Or at least remembered getting. And it was perfect.

“Are you okay?” you asked, reaching over touching his shoulder. He lifted his head from looking at the box in his lap. A smile was on his face as his glossy eyes met yours.

“Don’t cry,” you said, embracing him in front of the tree.

“This is the best gift I’ve ever gotten.” he whimpered, wiping a stray tear away.

Grogu quickly jumped in his lap next to the gift.

“Besides you two.” Din smiled, patting Grogu’s little head as he admired you on his side. 

tag list: @dani5216 @uwiuwi @alohastyles-x @samanthacookieone @maddieinnit0 @alexxavicry

[rainontherooftops]

Looks can be deceiving

Summary: In order to get over the crush you have for your roommate, bountyhunter Din Djarin, you accept an invitation to a date from a colleague at university. When everything goes pear shaped, he is there to pick up the pieces - and tell you exactly how looks can be deceiving.

Fandom: The Mandalorian - Pedro Pascal as Modern! Din Djarin Genre: Romance, Tooth Rotting Fluff, New Relationships, spicy, Roommates to Friends to Lovers Pairing: Modern! Din Djarin x f! Plus Size Reader Triggers : Mentions body shaming, nervous breakdown, mentions of violence and sexual content Rating : M

IMPORTANT INFO: THIS IS A REPOST FROM MY FORMER TUMBLR BLOG

**

Looks can be deceiving.

Din Djarin was not what you had expected your new roommate to be. For one thing, you had never thought you’d share accommodations with a professional bounty hunter. Secondly, sharing rooms with a man who was so handsome and way out of your league was unexpected.

Nine months into your cohabitation, (after the trailer he had lived in had caught fire and burnt down), you had yet to find him bring a man or a woman over.

You liked living with Din.

He was a silent type, but honest and strong and kind. No wonder you had developed a crush on the handsome bounty hunter. Some of his charisma and charm must have rubbed off on you, because a colleague at the university you worked at had asked you out on a date. And you hadn’t been on a date since, well… in forever.

Going out and having some fun would be the perfect opportunity to get Din out of your system. Or so you thought.

As you closed the door to your room, you heard a whistle from behind you. “Someone looks dashing”, Din said. “Going somewhere? I didn’t know you own a dress.”

He was sitting at the living room table, his weapons laid out on it. He was wiping and polishing everything down. ‘You look dashing yourself’, you thought as you took him in, his dark grey shirt and black jeans hugging him in all the right places and enhancing his muscles perfectly.

You looked bleak compared to him. Normally you were sporting jeans yourself and ridiculous shirts or jerseys. This dark green number was the only dress you owned and made you look less like a geeky bookworm and more like a desirable woman – or so you thought.

“I have a date”, you finally admitted.

The frown on Dins face astonished you. “A date?”, he asked, inquisitively – and it stung.

Like so many people, including your mother, you would have expected him to say: “A date? You? How’d you manage that?” But his look was enough – and you hadn’t thought that he of all people would think you not nice enough – or pretty enough – to get a date.

“Yes, a date. A colleague asked me out. We’re going to a fancy dress cocktail party.”

Were you imagining things or were his fists clenched a bit tighter around his gun and the polishing cloth?

Before he could ask any further questions, you decided to flee. “I’ll probably be late, so don’t wait up.”

**

Din was nice enough to wait anyway, checking that you would be home save. Of course he was.

Which meant that you could not hide the shame, tears and embarrassment from him or sneak into your room to cry your heart out. It was dark in the apartment, the only light visible was the blueish tone of the TV.

Taking a shaky breath, you entered the living room after slipping out of your shoes. Din was sitting on the couch, one arm draped on the top of the sofa, the other one nursing a beer.

“Hey, you’re back earl-…”

It wasn’t easy to read Dins expression most days. But your eyes were swimming with tears and your glasses were askew and your face was puffy, and you couldn’t think straight – so now it was impossible.

All his gaze did was make you break down even more. You fisted your hands into the fabric of your dress and started sobbing in earnest. You would have sunk down to the floor, had Din not been by your side in a flash and held you upright.

It was impossible to tell if he talked to you or not as you let go of your dress to hold onto your roommate like he was a lifeline, shivering and trembling all over, leaking all sorts of fluids onto his shirt.

Somehow, after minutes – or was it hours? – of sobbing and receiving calming back-rubs and being shushed, you found the strength to breathe again.

“That’s it. Deep breaths, mesh'la. Come back to me.”

You still had no grasp of his native language, but you knew that mesh'la meant beautiful. And especially after tonight you felt anything but.

“I’m not…”, you stuttered.

“You’re not what, cyar'ika?“

“Beautiful”, you said, somehow finding the strength to escape his embrace and starting to pace in the living room, hugging yourself while walking on unsteady feet.

“Who said that? Did he say that?”, Din growled, trying to catch your gaze, but you were too far gone.

You shook your head.

“It wasn’t just him. According to the voting I was a runner up for the ‘Queen of the Pigs’”, you spat, anger and embarrassment boiling inside you.

Din looked confused – and how could he make sense of what you were saying? He would never take part in activities like the ones you had to endure tonight.

“You’ve lost me”, he admitted.

You sighed in frustration.

“He took me to a fucking ‘Pig Party’, Din.”

Oh gods, did you really have to explain what that was? Was he that innocent slash clueless?

Sighing, massaging your temples in hopes to fight the oncoming headache, you explained: “It’s a party where a group of people ask out the ugliest person they can find on a date and have a secret voting. And at the end, the king and queen of ‘ugly’ are being crowned and the winner who brought the price pig gets a ‘reward’.”

The description alone almost made you want to puke.

It had started out nice. The party had been fun and you were introduced to so many nice people – dates of his colleagues and friends. Interesting people, funny and kind hearted.

Until the small stage in the ballroom had lit up and the true nature of the gathering had been revealed.

The room was eerily silent when you looked up. You had never seen Din look like this. Stiff as a statue, storm clouds in his eyes and anger rolling off him in waves, his fists clenched.

He growled something inaudible.

“What?”

“I said ‘Give me his name’”, he growled, his frown deepening. “I am going to break the bastards fucking legs.”

You shook your head then. The thought of Din hitting the fucking daylights out of your ‘date’ was a nice one, but you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction.

“It doesn’t matter anyway”, you said.

“What do you mean it doesn’t matter. Of course it does. Why would you say that?”

“Because he’s right!”

You started pacing again, not able to stop the waterfall of words that broke the dam of your insecurities.

“I am not beautiful! I’ve never been! I look like a mess all the time, I have three different clothing sizes in my closet because none of it fits right anyway, and I’m fat, and ugly and not even a stupid dress like this can change that!”

Ripping at the fabric then, you managed to slip out of the dress and threw it aside, standing in the living room in your black underwear. The black underwear set that somehow made you feel sexy – at least sometimes. Now you just thought it looked ridiculous.

You caught your reflection in the mirror that hung in the room. Disheveled, a puffy red face, glasses still askew, your carefully crafted ponytail ruined – it stung but for a moment you thought this is what a pig ought to look like.

With wobbly legs, and exhausted from your temper tantrum and open floodgates, you leaned against the dining table behind you, gripping the edges of it for balance.

“Are you calling me a liar then?”

Confused, you looked up. As always, it was hard to read Din.

“What do you mean?”, you asked, preparing to be showered in pity by this handsome man who held your heart in his hands without even knowing it.

“I’ve called you beautiful on multiple occasions”, he explained, turning to you. “Are you saying I’ve been lying?”

The look in Dins eyes made goosebumps spread all over your body. Was this how his bounties felt like? Staring into the eyes of a predator who they couldn’t escape from?

He came closer then, the storm in his eyes still there, thrilling. Putting his arms on either side of you, he caged you in. You had to strain your neck to look him in the eyes. He was so close that you could feel the fabric of his jeans against your legs, his breath on your face.

He smelled intoxicating. Like the gun oil he had used earlier and a spicy, leathery cologne.

“For months now”, he growled, continuing, “I’ve been restraining myself. Every time I saw those hips sway, dancing around in the kitchen.”

It was not painful, the way he dug his fingers into your hips – it was possessive.

“You’ve been taunting me for weeks with that perfect, round, juicy ass of yours”, he groaned, his hands wandering, massaging your flesh through the fabric of your underwear.

“And every time you come out of the shower, only clad in that flimsy, tiny robe of yours”, he moaned, “I’ve prayed to all the gods that the belt would give away and show me those perfect boobs of yours.”

He nibbled at your clavicle then, sucking at the flesh, making you take in a sharp breath. What was happening here?

“I’ve been dreaming about worshipping your body, kissing every inch of skin I can reach. But… all of these features are not what make you beautiful.”

You had to grab his shoulders for balance then as he started kissing your neck. Your breath came out in short, excited huffs as your skin pressed against his chiseled, muscular chest.

“Do you want to know what I see when I look at you?”, he asked, not waiting for an answer. “I see a woman who took me in without a second thought, when I had nowhere to go. I see a woman who is kind, modest, helpful, sweet, honest, feisty, full of love and humor – and most of all – cares for others more than she cares for herself. If that is not the incarnation of beauty, then I don’t know what is.”

Your heart skipped a beat as he finally sealed your lips with his in a passionate kiss, one of his hands loosening the ponytail and cradling your head, the other massaging the flesh of your thigh and managing to lift you onto the table.

It was impossible not to kiss back, to give in to the yearning and desire you had been hiding for months. It was impossible to not believe every word he had said. You knew nobody more honest than Din Djarin. He was many things, but a liar he was not.

Still, after the two of you broke apart for breath, you asked.

“D-Do you really mean that?”

“Of course, mesh’la. And in case you haven’t noticed”, he said, guiding your hand between your bodies and placing your palm against his jeans. “This is what your state of undress does to me.”

Gulping and blushing, you remembered that you were sitting on the dining table in your underwear.

Din could feel that you were shying away, but he didn’t mind. Instead, he stepped away (with great difficulty, it seemed), went to the sofa and draped the blanket you kept there around your shoulders.

“Now, if you’ll allow me – I will spend my time every single day showing you how beautiful you are. Starting now.”

He placed a kiss on your forehead then and a chuckle left his mouth when he looked at you.

“What?”, you asked.

“There it is. The most beautiful smile I’ve ever seen.”

Another blush covered your body then.

“Now, since you are not allowing me to break the fuckers legs, I need to distract myself. How does a cheesy horror movie and late night pizza sound?”

You hopped off the table.

“That sounds perfect”, you said, smiling, still not really believing what had just happened.

Din cleared his throat, saying: “Can I make a request though?”

You blinked but nodded. “Sure.”

With a predatory grin, he bent down to whisper in your ear: “Don’t get dressed again.”

**

[doyoulatin]

Please make more fanfics of Pedro's characters with plus size readers. I'm begging.

[drewharrisonwriter]

Masterlist

I write for any of Pedro Pascal’s Characters and for Henry Cavill. I occasionally go back to my roots, and write WWE fics. All works are 18+, minors DNI

If you want to request a fic, let me know what you want me to write. I don't have a formal tag list for each fic, but just leave a comment 😉

AO3 | Buy me a coffee?

✨On the Mend (Mini-Series | In Progress)

✨Donor (Complete)

Summary: You ask (beg) your best friend, Henry to donate--sperm.

✨ Is that alright? (Paused)

Summary: You are a musical guest in The Graham Norton Show on an episode that also features your ex-boyfriend, Henry Cavill. You play your latest single that you've written when you were 18 and in love with Henry.

✨ No Ties (One shot)

Summary: You don't do commitments, and it looks like Henry may be down for it.

✨Benefits (One shot)

Summary: Pedro and his best friend are in a situationship. With her recent health scare, he tried to muster the courage to ask her to be exclusive.

✨ Keeping Secrets (Currently being rewritten)

✨ A Chance to Start Over (In-Progress)

Written as @thedeadmansgirl

Summary: An unexpected news brought to surface unresolved traumas for professional wrestler, Mark Calaway, resulting to his third wife asking him for a divorce.

When Humanity Fell (2017)

Summary: A series of mini-chapters tells the tale of where some people were at the beginning of mankind's decline.

The End (2013)

Summary: A man swirling thoughts of his lover's demise.

Between Rain and Firelight (2014)

Summary: In the aftermath of a fateful night, two troubled individuals grapple with the weight of their actions and the consequences they must face.

[the-blind-assassin-12]

To Fall At Your Feet

1200 2400 words for 1200 followers #13

A/N: Hi friends! Welcome to the 12-A-Palooza! This event is my way of saying thank you for sticking with me. Your support and kindness toward me and my writing is out of this world and I’m grateful for every last one of you! This is the first of the final two requests, and since they have taken me SO long to get to, I've decided to double them as a thank you for putting up with me your patience. This one was a challenge for me, and I hope you like what I did with it. The song is about trust - or a slight lack of it - and what it feels like when something seems too good to be true, so that was what I had in mind when writing this one. This is completely stand alone.

Warnings: SW canon typical violence, brief mention of blood/injuries

Requested by: @chiyo13 Song: I'm Not Calling You A Liar Character Choice: Din Djarin - with a heavier set/ plus size woman - Thank you so much for this request! I'm sorry it took so long to get to and I hope you enjoy it! <3

Having a place to call home was new to him. 

There was so much he had forgotten about his life before the Mandalorians took him in. He was young, and it was long ago, and the things he’d experienced since then had been in such stark contrast to his earliest memories that they’d been almost entirely overwritten. He knew he had a home, once. A safe place with a soft bed and a family that loved him fiercely. And when he and Grogu settled into the cabin on Nevarro, he realized it was something he could have again. 

Something he could give the kid. 

Though they spent much of their time traveling the galaxy, Din teaching Grogu along the way, having a place to return to that was just theirs was a comfort that he never imagined he would come to value. Being raised in the Fighting Core and then working in the Guild taught him to aim for survival. Spending time with his son taught him to aim higher. 

It taught him how much more to life there was if he was willing to open the door to it. 

But before he could think about what that looked like, he needed to ensure that his home was safe. It wasn’t an issue when he and Grogu were there. Both of them were more than capable of defending their territory from any number of threats, and Greef had done a terrific job of eliminating most of the crime in the city. A Mandalorian would always have enemies, though, and an empty cabin couldn’t defend itself. 

That was where you came in. 

When he brought up his safety concerns to Karga, the magistrate was quick to offer a solution. “I doubt it’ll be necessary as Nevarro is a perfectly respectable planet these days,” the man had said, one hand disappearing into his robe pocket and coming out with a treat for Grogu. Handing it over with a chuckle at the child’s eagerness, he clapped Din on the shoulder. “But I might know someone who can help.” 

He’d gone on to explain that while most of the damage that had been done during Gorian Shard’s attack on the city had been repaired, there was still a section of it that had yet to be restored, leaving a small number of citizens without homes. Most of them had people there on Nevarro who could take them in until the reconstruction was complete. 

You, however, weren’t from Nevarro. In fact, you’d only been there for a few weeks when the pirates descended, and you’d come only because Karga himself had asked you to. He explained that you were once one of his most skilled bounty hunters, and that he’d asked you to help keep his people safe since the New Republic didn’t seem too keen to answer his requests for aid. 

“I’d wager that she’d be more than happy to keep an eye on your abode while you’re gone, so long as the price is right and you give her a place to stay.”

“A hired gun?” Din asked with a tilt of his head, Karga nodding in response. “And you trust her?” 

“Of course I do! As much as I trust you, Mando! I’ve always said that some of my favorite people are bounty hunters. And with a weapon in her hands she’s just as capable as you are of providing protection.”

Din considered the man’s words for a beat, then let out a sigh. “Well, I’d want to meet her first before I agree to anything.” 

“Of course, my friend, of course!” Pulling another confection from his pocket and handing it to a wide-eyed and perpetually hungry Grogu, he promised to set up a meeting. 

– – – 

“I don’t know about this, Greef, I’m not a kriffing housekeeper.” You’d scoffed at first when your boss-turned-friend had brought up the idea. Hands on your hips, you frowned at the man. “You told him that, right? I’d sooner catch a transport back to Tatooine and take my chances in Mos Eisley than take a job cooking and cleaning for some-” 

“Just meet with him,” Karga had insisted. “He’s not looking for anything other than security, and we both know you’re more than up for that task.” 

You’d grumbled, but agreed, and within the next few days you found yourself on a speeder bike, heading in the direction of the cabin out beyond the lava flats. You were doubtful that the man you were on your way to meet would end up hiring you to protect his homestead, sure he would do what so many others had done when deciding whether or not to work with you: take one look at your fuller figure and assume the weight you carried around your midsection meant that you weren’t skilled or able or athletic enough to complete the task at hand. People judged. You assumed he would do the same. 

You were wrong.

When you pulled up to the cabin he - and his kid - had been waiting for you on the bench just outside the front door. He rose as you stepped off of your bike, the sunlight glinting off his broad armored shoulders as he moved. The child hopped down from the seat and trailed along at just the right height that the man’s tattered cape brushed the top of his long, green ears, and you couldn’t help the small smile that curved your lips. 

“Thank you for coming all the way out here.” His voice had surprised you, huskier than you thought it would be. Warmer. “Greef Karga had nothing but good things to say about your skills. I trust his judgment, but I needed to be sure that I could trust you.” 

You liked him right away for how straightforward he was. “Fair enough.” Nodding, you removed your speeder gloves and tucked them into a pocket near your right hip. “If you’re opening your door to someone, you want to know them first.” You brushed your palms together and then extended your right hand out in front of you, introducing yourself.

Just like the sound of his voice, the texture of his gloves against your skin came as a shock to you, the material softer than it looked as it wrapped around your hand. “I’m Din Djarin, and this is Grogu.” He released your hand from his grip and tilted his head towards his left boot, where the child was peeking up at you. 

You glanced down, waving to the kid, his toothy little grin bringing the smile back to your face. He raised one clawed hand to wave back, babbling happily, and then Din’s smoky tone caught your attention again. “Is that a pulse rifle on your back?” 

You assured him that it was, and though he’d asked you several questions about yourself, posed different scenarios to see what you’d do if the cabin were under attack, and thoroughly threatened you should you ever even think of hurting the child or turning on them in any way, you were fairly certain that you had him at the rifle. 

He’d given you the job that same day, which meant that - for the moment, anyway - you had a home. Or at least a place to stay, you reminded yourself, which was all you had been looking for. And that was enough. 

… Wasn’t it?

– – – 

All he was looking for when Karga set up that meeting had been insurance. Safety. The comfort of knowing he - and more importantly, Grogu - wouldn’t have to go through the pain of losing their home again if something happened while they were away.  

You gave him those things, and he was grateful for that.

But the longer you stayed at the cabin, the more he got to know about you and not just about your proficiency with weapons. Each time he and the kid left on a training mission, he realized that he was looking forward not just to returning home, but to seeing you. By the time a year had passed, he realized that he’d found far more than what he’d been looking for when he welcomed you into his life. 

You weren’t only there to protect his home. To Din, you’d become synonymous with it. 

It wasn’t just the familiarity. It wasn’t just the trust that had grown between you, or the companionship that came with sharing a roof, or the way you helped him look after Grogu without having to ask. 

It was the swell in his chest when he caught a smile curving your cheek. It was the calm he felt at the sound of your voice when you spoke his name. It was the way his mind would wander on nights when he couldn’t sleep - to thoughts of sleeping next to you, the shape of you molded to him, skin to skin beneath the sheets. It was the way he imagined how his hands would look, gloveless and gripping your flesh, soft and warm when all he’d ever known had been hard and sharp and cold. 

It was the way he wanted you in every sense of the word. 

He wasn’t sure how you’d respond to such a bold confession. You’d never indicated that you felt the same way or that you wanted your arrangement to change, so he’d kept it to himself, unwilling to risk damaging the relationship you did have. He convinced himself it was better if you didn’t know. 

One holo call was all it took to change his mind on that. 

It came in when he and the kid were just re-entering the Outer Rim territories after a lengthy trip to Kashyyk. When the transmission code blinked on screen and he saw that it was coming from you, he smiled to himself under his helmet. “It's her,” he told Grogu, pointing at the section of the screen that displayed the code. The kid’s eyes brightened, his ears lifting as excited little sounds tumbled from his mouth. “You want to answer it? Go on, you remember which button to press.” He nodded as Grogu’s clawed hand hovered over the correct switch, telling him to push it. 

But he was unprepared for what he was about to see - or what it would make him feel. 

Your face flickered before him and even through the blue tinted light of the projector he could make out a trail of blood coming from your nose, another from a cut that stretched over your eyebrow. The sleeve of your shirt was torn and charred, likely from blaster fire. Your name burst from his lips as Grogu let out a whine from beside him. “What happened?”

“Din. There was an attack. It’s…” You sucked in a breath and winced. “It’s safe now. Bandits came. I took care of them. I just wanted to let you know what you were coming back to.” 

“They hurt you.” He growled the words, moving forward in his seat.

You let out a tired huff. “Occupational hazard. Don’t worry, they won’t be back.” Your eyes flashed sharply and he caught your meaning. 

And though he was glad that they were dead and could pose no further threat, a part of him almost wished they’d gotten away so that he could kill them himself for what they’d done to you. Fists clamped tightly shut, he seethed silently - over the fact that you were injured, yes. But also over the fact that you assumed all he cared about was that you’d protected the property, because that was all he’d given you reason to think. 

He decided then and there that you deserved to know how he felt and what he thought and how much he wanted and needed and cared for you. 

–  –  –  

Both Din and Grogu were out of the cockpit before the sand that had gotten kicked up when the N-1 landed had settled. 

You’d been waiting on the bench, holding a cold pack to the blaster burn on your left arm when the kid jumped and flipped to your side, a slew of worried sounds spilling out, little arms reaching for you. Dropping the pack, you caught the brown-robed bundle, trying to hold back a wince as he collided with you. “Hey, little guy, it’s okay. I’m alright, see?” You rubbed one of his ears between your fingers to soothe him. “Everything’s fine.” 

“No. It isn’t.” 

You looked up at the sound of Din’s voice, setting Grogu on the seat next to you. “What do you mean? Are there more bandits? Did you-” 

“Nothing like that.” He looked down at the kid. “Grogu, why don’t you go inside and draw a picture of what we did on our trip? You can show it to her later.” 

Grogu’s eyes lit up at the suggestion, and within seconds he was climbing down and scrambling inside. As soon as he was no longer in sight, Din let out a sigh and sank onto the seat beside you. “I’m sorry.” 

You frowned. “It’s not your fault. You have nothing to be sorry for.” 

“I… don’t mean for the bandits.” He turned towards you, bringing his hand up to rest against your wounded arm.

“Din?” 

“I can’t believe I could have lost you without ever telling you how important you are to me. How much I care about you. That’s what I’m sorry about.” 

“What?” You blinked. “You… You don’t have to say that just because you feel bad about what happened, Din.” You swallowed. “You don’t have to-” 

He said your name, hand leaving your arm to hesitantly curve around your cheek. “I’m saying it because it’s true and I need you to know it.” 

Though it came as a thorough shock, you could almost feel the honesty rolling off of him and you realized that he had never once been anything but truthful with you. And even though it seemed like something you only dared to dream about when he was gone and you were alone in the cabin - him choosing you when he could have anyone in the galaxy - something in your chest told you that it had been there all along. 

You’d just been too afraid to admit that you wanted it. 

“Well -” You brought your hand up to cover his, keeping it there as his fingers spread to accommodate yours. “Now I know.” 

And now you would make sure that he knew how you felt, too. 

.

.

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[handspunyarns]

Day Fourteen point Five (Marathel).

pairing: din djarin x fem!O/C 

word count: 6K 

chapter summary: Marathel throws another mug, takes her first shower, and gets a little tipsy 

warnings:  violence to pottery, mention of stomach illness, allusion to sexual/physical abuse and rape, alcohol use, English cursing 

***Please feel free to comment, kvetch, or otherwise speak your mind about my work. ***      

You Were Marked: Masterlist   

<- You Were Marked: Previous Chapter 

Marathel started to wake up, but she was quite confused.  She felt very warm and very comfortable, curled upon her side as she was on a soft tick, under a soft blanket, but something was not right … or was something missing?  Her ear was covered, her feet were covered with the blanket securely tucked underneath (so they can’t see me, if they can’t see me then they can’t hurt me) but something was different.  She was wearing soft pants and a shirt, not her usual nightwear, but that wasn’t quite it.  Marathel shifted a bit but still couldn’t put her finger on what she was confused about, or why, so she flipped back the blanket so she could get up. 

“Oh, finally waking up then …?” 

Marathel shrieked and grabbed the closest thing to her, which happened to be a heavy mug that was easy for her splinted hands to hold as it was square-shaped — and identical to the one she had thrown at the droid yesterday — but she was unaware that her hands were now in new minimalist metal splints, had forgotten that her hands were in splints to begin with — and she launched the mug in the direction where the strange voice had come from.  Cobb ducked with a yelp, quickly sliding off the padded chair to the floor to escape the missile hurled at his head, and the mug exploded against the wall behind him.   

“Okay, no more mugs for you, lady!” bellowed Cobb as he jumped up, pointing a finger in Marathel’s direction.  “Dank ferrik!” he shouted at no one in particular as he stomped out of her room. 

Marathel was frozen, her arm still extended, and then she drew a quick breath in surprise, her hand going to her mouth.  She couldn’t decide if she wanted to cry or laugh, and the only noise she could make was a squeaky snort through her nose.  After getting some control of herself, Marathel noticed for the first time that her hand was not in the wooden splint, but in a cunning and strange metal arrangement that allowed her to flex her fingers while still getting support for her full hand.  Marathel was also surprised to find that her hands did not hurt quite as much.  There was pain, yes, but the sort of pain that came with long healing, bones knitting together, tendons reattaching.  She swung her legs over the edge of the bed, noticing that her knee seemed to be better as well.  She gingerly stood up, testing her weight, and decided that while it seemed better, she really needed to stay off it, so she sat back down. 

Fennec came in then, asking, “What the kriff is going on?” 

“I threw a mug at Cobb’s head.” 

“Yes, I heard.  Have you considered not throwing mugs at things that startle you?  It’s a good thing you don’t use a blaster.  I couldn’t begin to guess what you’ve thrown at Mando.” Fennec bent down and picked up some of the larger shards. 

“Just some rocks.  And a couple of eggs.”  Oh, and yourself, you stupid woman. 

“Eggs?” 

Marathel shrugged.  “He deserved it.” 

Fennec smiled.  “That, I do not doubt.” 

Marathel looked down at her hands in her lap.  “I’m sorry I keep breaking mugs.  And I’ll apologize to Cobb when I see him.” 

“Please, what’s a couple of mugs?  You should have seen some of the things that have happened in this damn palace.  Two mugs are small change in comparison.”  Fennec looked at Marathel, sitting primly with her hands in her lap.  She appeared to be making herself as small as possible.  “You know, not everything new is terrifying.” 

Easy for you to say, thought Marathel.  I can’t even manage to sleep on a raised bed.  She lifted her hands to eye level.  “I’m not scared of my new splints.  I like them.  They are very clever.” 

“They are.  They should allow you to do more things now.  Are you in pain?” 

Marathel shook her head.  “Not so much.  Not like before.” 

“Your bleeding has slowed significantly, too,” said Fennec.  Marathel turned back to look at the rumpled bed: the absorbent pad she slept on had a few light lines of blood, whereas before she would soak through the pad completely.   

“Does that mean it’s working?” 

“It looks that way.  How does that make you feel?” 

Marathel wasn’t sure, exactly, but she knew what Fennec wanted to hear.  “Hopeful.”  Perhaps I’ll eventually believe it. 

“I’m glad to hear it.  I brought you some new clothes.  I was thinking you might want to take a shower and wash your hair.” 

Marathel looked at Fennec, puzzled.  “Take a shower?  Like a rain shower?  There’s no rain.” 

Fennec blinked.  “No … I meant in the fresher,” she said, waving her hand towards the room where the vac tube was. Marathel still looked confused.  “I’ll show you.”  Fennec led Marathel to the fresher, opened the door, and then turned on the water.  “See?  A shower.  And in here …” Fennec popped open the storage bin within.  “Shampoo, soap, body moisturizer, facial moisturizer …” 

“Shampoo?” 

“Soap for your hair.” 

Marathel frowned.  “Why do I need a different soap for my hair?” 

Fennec laughed.  “Because your hair is different than your skin.  Just go with it, Marathel, enjoy it.”  Fennec set out fluffy towels and pointed out a small contraption called a hair dryer and opened a drawer that held combs and other toiletries.“By the way, you should probably close and lock the door while you’re in here.”  She left, and Marathel followed her advice and locked the door to her room so that she could have privacy.   

Undressing — amazed she could do so herself, with her new finger splints — she stepped under the spray and was immediately delighted.  It was like being under a warm waterfall, but without the occasional fish and branch landing on her head.  Marathel opened the tube that Fennec told her was soap for her hair, and the scent of sweet fruit filled her nose.  She rubbed a small amount through her hair, and she watched as dirt and dried blood left her hair and swirled away down the grate in the floor.  She used the shampoo again — a more generous amount this time — and then applied the soap with a cloth as gently as possible around her wounds.  The soap had a scent that she couldn’t place but reminded her of fresh grass.  Marathel laughed, wondering why people wanted to smell like fruit and plants, when eating fruit and walking on grass was more enjoyable. 

Marathel could have stayed under the water spray for hours, but she remembered that this was a dry place where the water was scarce, so she reluctantly turned off the water and stepped out.  She began to scrub her hair with one of the towels when her eye caught the large mirror that took up a big section of the wall.  Marathel had never seen a mirror so large before, and she’d been largely avoiding it since coming here.  She lowered the towel and assessed her reflection. 

The first thing she saw was the huge gash down the center of her face.  Marathel’s breath caught with the memory of the Bishop carving her face, the horrible words he said to her as he did so, and she closed her eyes tight to quiet her mind.   

Opening her eyes, Marathel looked at the line of little bottles and tubes Fennec had left her.  Moisturizers, that’s what she said.  The face one was allegedly different than the one for the body, for some reason, but   the bottles had pictures of fruit or plants on them, or a flower, or just colored squiggles, and not a picture of a face or body, so Marathel just picked out the one she liked best, which reminded her of the clean water from the rocky stream and the yellow cup-shaped flowers she liked so much.  She slathered this on her skin — which felt wonderful — everywhere she could reach, and then worried about how she was going to get the stuff out from under all the metal bits now wrapped around her fingers.  Carefully using the corner of the towel seemed to work. 

Marathel then turned her attention to her hair, which seemed to behave differently here than back on Unmanarall.  There, her hair hung straight and heavy, and only had to be tucked behind her ears or into a loose knot and it would stay there; here, her hair took on a mind of its own and was fluffy, wavy, crackling around her head even before using the hair dryer.  The hair dryer thing was loud and blew air hot as fire directly at her in an uncomfortable way.  The top was mostly dry anyway, so she combed the top part into sections and twisted it into a loose braid.  She found a little stretchy round band that secured the end.  Looking in the mirror again — ignoring the red wound down her forehead and nose — she liked what she saw: a pale face surrounded by tendrils of wavy silver hair that floated away from her face. 

Her eyes then skimmed down her bare body and she saw little to recommend it: doughy flesh of a color like fish skin, sagging breasts, a roll on her belly, and hips and thighs that jiggled when she walked.  Then there were the slashes, bite-marks, and bruises.  A small flare of rage ignited inside her.  Her flesh, plump and unfirm though it was, should be hers and hers alone.  Wasn’t that what Din said?  She hadn’t consented when the Dahls overpowered her with their mating impulses, he had told her.  He had made such a point of that when he begged her permission to touch her once the Dahls had finished their mating cycle. No man had ever asked permission from her, ever, not once in her life.  Take, that’s all they’ve ever done to me. 

Marathel shivered; she could not think about that right now.  Too much had happened today, and her mind was tired.  Marathel left the fresher room and went to the little pile of clothing Fennec had brought her.  There was a pair of dark pants, a light woven shirt in a deep purple, and a long vest as green as the summer grass.  She also found a soft brace for her knee and what appeared to be undergarments; they were like her shifts but in two parts.  They also seemed to be like compression garments, supportive.  The bottoms were easy enough, but the top garment was awkward to put on with its hooks and strange shoulder straps.  She assumed it was on correctly; she couldn’t think of a different way to wear it and was surprised to find that her breasts were lifted somehow by the garment, a new sensation for her.   She pulled on the compressive brace for her knee, and then the pants, which were very soft and very form-fitting.  The shirt fit well but felt low-cut to Marathel.  She looked down at herself at the unaccustomed amount of exposed skin above the neckline, considering the undergarment that lifted her bosom, and pulled on the vest, which gave her some modesty.  All she had for footwear were her soft slippers, so she put those on as well. The stone floors here were not kind to bare feet. 

There was a knock on her door.  Pulling on a veil over her hair and forehead, Marathel opened it slightly to see Cobb Vanth on the other side, holding another mug identical to the one she’d hurled at him.  Smiling hopefully, Cobb offered the mug and asked, “Truce?” 

Marathel chuckled and fully opened the door, taking the mug.  “I’m sorry I threw a mug at you.” 

“And I’m sorry I blew up at you, but, damn, woman, you’re dangerous.”  His eyes flicked downward and back up, making Marathel flush again.   “I do wish you wouldn’t cover your face and hair like that …  a face like yours shouldn’t be spoiled by a veil.”  He took a moment longer to gaze at her, and then belatedly said, “I’m also here to find out if you’re hungry.”  Marathel blinked, because it turned out she was hungry.  She nodded.  “Well, then, I get to accompany you.”  He turned and held out his elbow. 

Marathel frowned.  “What are you doing?” 

Cobb pulled a face at her, then sighed and took her hand, placing it in the crook of his arm.  Marathel closed her door and let Cobb slowly escort her down the corridor.  Marathel shyly looked up at him and said, “You don’t have to do this.” 

“Too bad, Mar’, my ma raised a gentleman who treats a lady like a lady … whether she is one or not.” 

Marathel smiled blandly.  “I wouldn’t know how a lady should be treated.”   

She had meant it as a joke, some light-hearted statement to be thrown away and forgotten, but Cobb frowned down at her with a thoughtful look on his face, putting his other hand over hers on his arm. “Well, Marathel, I think that’s a damn shame.” Marathel couldn’t tell anymore if her face was flushing again or now just permanently flushed: this Cobb Vanth had a way of unnerving her. 

After a few moments of silence, she asked, “Would you please tell me … what is a marshall and a freetown?” 

“Well, as Marshall I’m the person in charge of law and order in Freetown, a little mining town out in the desert.  One of those places where you blink, and you miss it.” 

“Law and order?” 

He shrugged.  “I’m in charge of telling people doing wrong to cut it out.” 

“What happens when you’re not there?  Do people just … run roughshod everywhere?” 

Cobb grimaced.  “I kriffing hope not.”  He laughed.  “No, I have a deputy keeping tabs on things.  The town is fine; it’s mostly other people coming in from the outside that cause most of the problems.” 

“Why are you here, then?” 

“You’re holding on to it.”  She looked down at his metal arm.  “It’s a big modification that needs fine tuning.  It’s not quite right yet.” 

Marathel ran the fingertips of her other hand down Cobb’s cybermodded limb, making him wish he could feel it.  “I was so afraid that I would end up with something like this.” She frowned. “But then, I never knew such a thing could be done.  I now wonder why … some will do things like build a new arm, when others do things … like where I came from.”  

Cobb’s heart ached for her, a victim of a hellish place.  “I don’t know.  I wish people didn’t have to come from a planet like yours.” 

“I never knew there was a planet to come from. Not until Din told me where to see Nevarro.  I’m sure he thought …” Marathel looked around her.  “Where are we going?” 

“Din thought what now?” 

“No, I mean — we passed the kitchen long ago.” 

“Oh, no, we are heading to the far courtyard.  This way.” They passed through an archway and into a open outdoor area with many plants and succulents.  At the far end, under a pergola covered in flowered vines, were Boba and Fennec, seated at a table.  They were laughing while Boba poured something from a large flagon for Fennec.  “Finally here,” Cobb called to them. 

“Oh, good,” said Fennec.  “The kitchen went mad again; they keep forgetting that Jabba is still dead, and they don’t have to make as much food.” 

“Frith in heaven,” muttered Marathel upon seeing the table.  There was enough food on it to feed all the Hold’s children.  Cobb pulled out a chair for her, but Marathel looked at him blankly until he whispered to her to sit.  Boba filled a delicate glass from the flagon and called it spotchka, warning Marathel to sip it very slowly and in only tiny amounts.  “Oh!” said Marathel.  “Does this make you feel warm and fuzzy if you drink it too fast?” 

Fennec giggled; she was already a glass or two in.  “I take it you have something similar on your planet?” 

“Yes, dreamberries.  The fruit can be made into a drink, but I like it better as a cooked sauce.  We had some … that is, Din and I, on roasted gorujellys.”  Marathel looked down at her hands.  She remembered that was also the night Din had touched her most intimately, and she had slept in his arms; for the briefest of moments, they were each other’s and that was all that mattered. 

Cobb watched the high color creep back in on Marathel’s cheekbones.  Her face is so luminous; you can almost tell what she’s thinking.  Din had told him how he had come so close to kissing her that day, almost willing to expose his face to her, even before eating dreamberry sauce; if she’d asked him then if he’d take off his helmet, he would have gladly done so and never put it back on.  He’d been so overwhelmed when she allowed him to touch her that he declared his love for her — but in Mando’a (how chickenshit of you, Din) — and she’d said something in return in her own language, but neither of them had provided a translation for what they’d said.  Din was half-afraid that she’d rejected him (unlikely), or she had said something completely opposite to him (even more unlikely).  These two, Cobb thought.  They are going to dance around each other like dewbacks in rutting season.  He would have found it amusing if he wasn’t half-smitten with her himself.   

Marathel, meanwhile, had been struggling with utensils as she tried to eat.  Her fingers were still clumsy, and the metal fork was too heavy for her to hold.  After dropping it half-a-dozen times, she finally gave up and used the flat bread to scoop up the tender meat and grains off her plate.  She had been successful so far at getting food into her mouth and not on her lap, when Cobb said, “Marathel, tell me … how did you and Din meet again?”   

Boba and Fennec snickered, but Cobb knew that Marathel had a complete lack of guile and would simply answer truthfully.  Marathel looked at him, her hand still holding the meat and flat bread halfway to her mouth.  “I …” She put the food back on her plate and dropped her hands and eyes to her lap.  “I saw him coming towards my hut, and I didn’t know who he was.  I had never seen anyone like him before.”  All gleaming metal, as if he’d been created from the wall on the first floor of the Hold.  No face, just a head covered in metal.  The brown clothing underneath the metal, the heavy boots, the ragged grey cape.  There was no clothing of those colors in the Hold: only Captain red, Duke green, Bishop blue, and Hunter green.  Brown was for bedding.  Grey was for cleaning.  No such heavy boots, with straps and belts everywhere, covered with bits of metal. 

“What did you throw at him?” asked Fennec.  “Was it a rock or an egg? Or a frying pan?” 

Cobb scowled at Fennec, but a smile curled Marathel’s lip.  “A rock.  Actually, two rocks.  I missed on the first throw.” Marathel carefully clasped her glass of spotchka with both hands and took a sip.  “Oh my, that’s lovely.  Got him right on the helmet with the second one, though.” 

“So, when did you throw the eggs?” 

“Oh, that was a couple days later.” 

Cobb sighed.  “You’re jumping ahead, Fennec …” 

Marathel took another sip. “When he said that he was a bounty hunter, I had no idea what he meant.  He said he would put down his blaster if I put down my rocks.  I didn’t know what a blaster was, so I got a sharp stick instead.”  Fennec chortled.  Marathel went on with her story, describing her fear of the Bishop’s voice in the tracking fob, her fear that Mando would hurt the Dahls, and her initial fear of Grogu.   

“You cannot tell me you were frightened of that little child,” said Boba. 

“That little child is green and has giant ears!” retorted Fennec.  

Fennec and Boba began a colorful argument about what could or could not be terrifying to someone like Marathel, and Cobb finally just turned his chair to face her.  He crossed his ankle over his knee and draped his arm on her chair back.  Leaning in close to Marathel, he said, “You just don’t fit the, uh, usual profile of the type of bounty Mando tends to go after.” 

Marathel shrugged.  “I wouldn’t know.” 

“I think he was just as surprised by you as you were by him.  What bounty invites the hunter into her home?” 

Marathel sipped at her glass again; Cobb noticed that she had nearly drained the glass.  “I suppose one that doesn’t know the rules of a bounty hunter. One … that is sad.  And lonely.  And curious about a little green child with large ears that is fiercely protected by a large man of metal when he encounters creatures like the Dahls, or a woman throwing rocks.” 

“So, it was the child that you fell in love with first.” 

“Oh yes, Grogu was so charming immediately.  Children are easy to love.  I’ve cared for many, hoped I would have many of my own to raise and love.”  Cobb smiled behind his hand; a thimbleful of spotchka could set her tongue wagging.  He poured her another half-glass.  “But then, watching the Bounty Hunter feed Grogu, even just the act of moving a mug away from him because it wasn’t good for him to drink … that spoke to me in a way that’s … so hard to explain.” 

Marathel was leaning back in her chair, looking at the night sky above her, her face thoughtful, and for once, not afraid.  Boba and Fennec had stopped their mild bickering and were now listening, Fennec with her head against Boba’s shoulder.  Cobb slowly leaned forward, putting his hand on her knee.  “Give it a try,” he said quietly. 

“Men don’t … I’ve never known a man who cared about a child.  Men as I know them, a child is just … just a thing.  A product of fucking a Whyn.”  Cobb, Boba, and Fennec exchanged glances; they had not heard her say the word fucking before now.  Marathel seemed to not notice.  “Men care nothing for a child or woman except for what use they can get from them.”  Marathel sighed.  She looked down at her glass and looked confused as to why it was full again.  She took a long sip and went back to looking at the sky.  “The Bounty Hunter …  the gentleness he showed in his care of Grogu … I thought his name was Bounty Hunter and I thought his helmet was his face.  But, for the first time in my life, I saw a father.  And I wanted so much to know a man like that, because I didn’t know a father, not a sire, but a father, could exist.” 

They were all quiet for a while.  Marathel took another sip from her glass.  Cobb was gently stroking her knee, gazing at her with a knitted brow, but she didn’t seem to notice.  Frowning at the sky, Marathel asked, “Which one is Nevarro?” 

Boba looked up.  “You can’t see it from here.  Nevarro is too close to the horizon to be seen.” 

“Oh,” said Marathel quietly.  “I hope … I wonder if they … if Grogu is all right.” 

Boba said, “You could message them.  I think it’s late night there, but Mando doesn’t live by clocks.”  He held out a holopad in her direction.  “Here.” 

Marathel put her glass on the table and carefully took the proffered holopad, asking, “Message?” 

“Just tap it in, Cobb can show you how to send,” said Fennec. 

Marathel turned the holopad over and over in her hands.  “I don’t understand.” 

Cobb scooted his chair closer.  “Here …” he said, turning the pad over the correct way, and bringing up the keyboard.  “There you go.”  He continued to hold it up for her. 

Marathel stared at the screen.  It was half-filled in tiny, illuminated squares, each one with an unintelligible squiggle inside.  “I don’t know how …” 

Boba frowned. “Did I leave it on Huttese instead of Aurebesh?” 

Marathel continued to stare at the screen.  “No, I …” 

A few moments passed, and then it finally clicked for Fennec.  “You can’t read or write, can you, Marathel?”   

Marathel’s head dropped, and her hands went immediately up her sleeves. “I don’t know what you mean.  I don’t know read or write. I don’t know those words,” Marathel stammered, and her throat felt thick and tight with tears and shame at yet another thing she had no knowledge of.  

“Those are letters on the screen,” said Fennec.  “They form the words we say, so we can communicate without talking.  Does that make sense?”  Marathel nodded, frowning.  “I know of other places where girls aren’t allowed to learn to read.”  Marathel looked up at Fennec.  While she was glad to learn that she was not alone in this fault of hers, it saddened her more that there were others on these planets she had just now learned about where people suffered as she did. Perhaps more. Fennec asked, “Did any of the girls at the Hold learn to read?” 

“I don’t think so.”  She dashed the few tears that had fallen with the side of her hand.   “Maybe the boys did in the Round Building.  We weren’t supposed to know what else they did in there.  There were some walls that had squiggles like those,” she said, pointing at the screen, “painted on them.  Girls didn’t learn in the Round Building.  We only went in there to clean, and to … be of service.”  Marathel fell silent. 

Cobb cleared his throat.  “Well, we can still send a message, anyway … here,” he said. 

BF: Marathel wants to know if Grogu is okay  

“What did you say?” asked Marathel. 

“That you wanted to know if Grogu is okay.  Here, look …” Cobb put his finger on the screen under the sentence he had entered.  “These letters here, that spells Grogu, and those here, that spells Marathel.” 

“That’s my name?” 

Cobb reached into a pocket, pulling out a tiny notepad and a stub of pencil he always carried with him.  “I’ll do you one better.”  As large as he could fit it, he wrote her name in Aurebesh, drawing a line under it so she knew which way was up.  He gave it to her, watching as she traced the letters with her finger, a small smile of wonder on her face. 

That’s my name.  That’s me.  Just this simple act of knowing her name existed in a somehow permanent fashion cheered her heart.  It made her feel … as if she were real, recognizable by others. Marathel looked at Cobb.  “Now what happens?” 

“We wait for Din to answer.  It may take a while.  He might not be near his holopad.”  Within a few moments, however, the holopad pinged with an incoming message.  “Or he will answer right away.” 

Marathel gasped with surprise.  From so far away, he can answer this quickly?  “What … what did he say?” 

Cobb smiled.  “He says that Grogu has an upset stomach.” 

“Grogu?  An upset stomach?” Marathel giggled into her hand.  “What happened to his stomach of beskar?” 

Cobb grinned.  “Let’s find out.”  He tapped in Marathel’s question.  Almost immediately the holopad pinged again.  Cobb chuckled.  “He says ‘compromised by fruit’.”  

Marathel leaned back in her chair, laughing now in earnest, pushing her veil off her face and head. Cobb suddenly felt jealous of Din, who obviously had her heart in the palm of his leather-clad hand.  “Oh, too much fruit goes right through a child!  He should know better.”  She chuckled again.  “Cachu o lwyc, ni asth’mabh.” 

Cobb smirked.  “I have no clue how to spell that, so I need a translation.” 

Marathel took her glass back off the table and drank the remaining spotchka, earning her a raised eyebrow from Fennec.  Marathel whispered loudly, “I said, ‘you’re shit out of luck, you son of a bitch’.”  She giggled. 

“Yeah, I’m not sending that.”  Cobb tapped out a message, and after a moment, there was a return message.   “I told him you wished him luck, and he says, ‘thank you’.”  Cobb handed the holopad back to Boba.  “And no more spotchka for you.”  Marathel burped daintily in response.  “You better eat some more, or you’ll be cursing my name tomorrow, and I don’t know the Mandalorian punishment for letting his lady get toasted.” 

Marathel’s smile faded.  No, I’m not his lady.  Not like that.    “I can’t hold the fork.  My hands don’t work right.” 

Cobb laughed and grabbed a plate of meat-wrapped castan nuts.  “Here,” he said, popping one into her mouth.   

Marathel hummed with delight.  “Mmm, tasty.” 

Cobb put his arm around her shoulders, and she leaned her head back on his arm as he continued to feed her the nuts.  After some time, Fennec poked Boba in his thigh.  He looked down as she used the sign language of the Sand People to ask him: 

Should we be worried about this? 

Boba watched Cobb and Marathel for a while across the table.  Finally, he signed back: 

Let’s just write this off on the spotchka.  For now. 

Fennec nodded.  “Marathel …” Marathel looked over at her.  “If you’d like to learn to read, we can get you a holopad with some teaching primers.  A lot of people can’t read, but that doesn’t mean you can’t learn.”  

Marathel thought about that for a moment, and then said, “I’d like that.”  Fennec smiled back at her.   

The Modifier approached, asking if Marathel was ready to repeat the series of injections.  Marathel looked at her glass, her brow furrowed with worry.  “No, a bit of spotchka isn’t going to affect the treatment.  It might even help, since you’re now … tranquilized a bit,” said the Modifier. 

Cobb gently took her hand, and whispered, “I’ll stay with you, if you want.”  Marathel nodded.  He stood up, assisted her to stand, and escorted her back to the palace, his hand gently placed on the small of her back. 

Boba noticed that the message prompt was still open on his holopad.  He tapped out: 

BF: The Modifier’s contact came through; treatment seems to be working  

Boba watched the return message dots blink for a while, as if Din was tapping out a long message. A short time later, a message pinged through: 

DD: good to hear 

Boba smirked.  That took a long time to come up with, Djarin.   Warmed by the spotchka, and now by themselves, Boba put his arm around Fennec’s shoulders.  She smiled and snuggled against him, and they watched the stars. 

The Modifier suggested that they do the injections in Marathel’s room, so that she could go to sleep comfortably after.  She left the men in the corridor while she changed back into the soft clothing she’d woken up in earlier and got into her bed.  As she let the men in, she carefully moved the mug Cobb had brought her as far out of reach as possible, which he found amusing.  The Modifier suggested she lay on her other side for the injections; he was concerned about damage to her skin.  Marathel complied, but now she had her back to Cobb. 

Cobb cleared his throat and said, “If you don’t object … I could sit on the bed next to you.” 

Marathel thought she might object; the idea made her stomach flutter, and it wasn’t just the spotchka making it do so.  She thought about it and decided that Cobb certainly meant no harm to her; he might be a bit too handsy with her, but he wasn’t about to harm her.  She agreed, and Cobb kicked off his boots and settled on the bed next to her — on top of the blankets — sitting up against the headboard as she lay on her side.  The Modifier administered the first injection, and Marathel felt the instant cold sensation, and then the nervous-twitchy feeling through her limbs as the injection coursed through her system.  She whimpered; Cobb sought out her hand and held it gently, his large thumb stroking the back of her hand.   

“Doing okay?” he asked. 

“It stings more this time.”  She drew in her breath with a hiss; it did sting much more, as if the spiky pebbles from before had transformed into long-spined sea urchins.  Marathel thought if she stared at her arm long enough, she would be able to see the spines distend and pierce through her flesh.   

Cobb was watching her face and grew concerned, as her breathing grew shallow and fast.  “Marathel?  Honey?  You still there?”  Marathel did not answer, and he could see she had broken out in a cold sweat.  The Modifier did not seem too concerned, but Cobb moved down on the bed, so he was lying on his side next to her, much like Din on her bed tick in her open-sided hut.   

He held both of her hands in his, and her eyes looked unfocused and confused.  “Bounty Hunter?” 

Cobb reached out and pushed a lock of hair off her face.  “No, honey, sorry, it’s just me.” 

Marathel took a deep breath.  “Sorry, I lost myself for a moment.”  She looked into his eyes.  “It’s better now.” 

Cobb smiled at her.  “Good.  Just keep breathing, hang in there.” 

Marathel smiled wanly.  The next two injections were given with little to no reaction at all from Marathel.  The Modifier, pleased by her lack of reaction, said, “You’ll probably feel like sleeping for the next couple of days, Marathel.  If you could leave your door unlocked, I’d like to check on you a few times while you rest.” 

Marathel nodded.  “It’s not like I have anywhere else to go,” she said, and Cobb laughed. 

The Modifier left, but Cobb remained where he was, gently stroking her knuckles with his thumbs.  “I’ll just stay until you’re fully asleep, Marathel, then I’ll leave you alone.”  Marathel, her eyes closed, nodded again.  “But you can always shout if you need something, right?  Just no mug-throwing, that’s all I ask.”  Marathel smiled slightly; she was already almost fully asleep.  He leaned over and lightly kissed her cheek.  “That’s from Grogu,” he said.  Marathel did not respond, but carried on her soft breathing.  Before he could lose his nerve, Cobb leaned in and kissed her gently on the mouth; he thought he detected the slightest of response from her lips kissing him back.  “That’s from the Bounty Hunter,” he whispered, telling himself it wasn’t a lie.  Cobb watched her sleep until his own eyelids grew heavy, and then he carefully climbed out of her bed.  He grabbed his boots, and gently pulled the blanket over her ear, as he’d seen her in her sleep earlier, and left her room. 

Next chapter ->

[nerdieforpedro]

Sard’ika Sessions

Session One

Fanfiction 18+

Main Masterlist | Sard’ika Sessions Masterlist I Din Djarin/The Mandalorian Masterlist

Summary: Your first session with The Mandalorian test both of your boundaries.

Warnings: Din Djarin in his own warning, currency for sexual services, HANDS, slight body worship, thigh-riding, temperature play, beskar use, body insecurity, limited eye contact, fingering, overstimulation, angst (always), liberties taken with The Way and Creed, discussion of pregnancy prevention, no name use (Din will call reader by nicknames)

Notes: I’ve wanted to write for Din for a while. He’s one of my favorite Pedro Boys I hadn’t written any fics for until now. The Star Wars world is huge and has such a significance for pop culture in general. It’s all intimidating, but this idea wouldn’t let my brain go. So I had to write it to get it out. This is The Way.

I did use some Mando’a in this fic. Kept it limited to a few words because despite researching I still found it confusing and didn’t want to mess up too badly:

The suffix of (‘ika) denotes turning a word into a nickname but should only be used in private.

Sard’ika = flower (reasoning behind this nickname is explained in later sessions)

Mesh’la = beautiful

Word Count: 2,384

The Mandalorian is aware that you listen for his heavy footsteps. Always ready at your door in what he requests, a simple green slip. Depending on his tastes for the time spent with you, he may want simple cotton or a more decadent silk. He is well aware that he is using you for his own desires. He tells himself that this is what you’ve agreed to and it is mutual use. He pays you in credits after all.

His idle thoughts concern him.

Half of them are of his charge - his son who is training with a Jedi. He misses him dearly, the little whomp rat troublemaker changed his life, if asked, the Mandalorian may admit that his son led his beskar clad body to you.

The other half are reminiscing of what he has done with you and planning when he can do it again. Possibly with new accessories.

While he was talking to Greef about yet another bounty payout, Grogu had wandered over to you, poking your calf. He allowed you to pick him up and talk to him, hold him. This intrigued Mando. After he finished with Greef, he was walking over to you to reclaim his son when he heard you tell the child, “What I wouldn’t do for some more credits? Honest work doesn’t pay much little one. I’m only good at hunting numbers.”

An offhand remark. You may have been joking, but he remembered meeting you before, a few times. On a few occasions, if Greef was busy in some meeting or whatever that man did, you’d be the one to confirm his bounty objective was met and issue his credits. Mando did attempt to control more carnal desires with self-sessions while the child was asleep and with visits to the pleasure house, though due to his beskar, he drew attention.

Your soft curves, delicate looking skin and wide hips enticed him. Not soft spoken, he enjoyed the way your voice echoes in his helmet when you speak, he may have recorded your short greetings to listen to at later times. Eyes that betray your interest in the enigma that the Mandalorian knows he is. It’s one of his largest advantages. He wonders what exactly you want to know about him and is it the same bodily knowledge he seeks. After hearing your comment, he eagerly awaits when Greef either cannot or will not meet with him. The reason matters not. It means he’ll be able to speak to you directly again.

The day comes. The shock on your face is adorable, the warrior wonders what other faces you are capable of making and what actions will inspire them. He was ready to appeal to your expressed need for money to his son and possibly a deeper interest you may have held in him. He wasn’t sure about the second part. You inform him of the location of your home, to come after you finish your shift. Already knowing when your shift ends, the bounty hunter arrives ten minutes before you do. Explaining that the oncoming person was later, you apologize, there was no need, but he thanks you anyway, grateful that your curiosity aligned with his.

Entering your home, it’s simple, but decorated with pictures of plants and planets. It appears lived in and he finds that cute like you. The Mandalorian wants to break you in slowly, no need to rush things. He finally has you to himself in private.

“The only items I will remove are my gloves. Understood?”

Your compliance is appreciated with his boundary and with your clothes. Erect nipples speak to him, gloves are off and his large hands each hold a breast. Massaging them is its own reward for his patience, months have passed since he’s felt another person’s flesh. The low hum from his helmet as his hands begin to roam your body is palpable, he watches as you shudder from his touch.

Leading you over to your small loveseat, he sits, hands running down to your thighs. Pushing them apart, observing your slick, curious about its taste. The visor turns upward to you, “Sit on my thigh. Make yourself come Sard’ika.” (flower - nickname) Watching you hesitate, the hunter taps his right thigh and holds your hands, placing them on his shoulders. “Use my armor to show me the sounds you are capable of sard’ika. I chose you for your plush body. Do not delay, no credits if I am not satisfied.” His tone is stern with a hint of desperation. He’s close to having you in the first position he wants.

Nodding, your knees place themselves on both sides of his armored thigh, their cool surface has you let out a soft, “Ahh. Mmm.” Your hum as he feels your body start to relax has his calloused hands run across your skin from your thighs to your hips. The Mandalorian had wanted to hold the jiggly flesh since the first time he saw you get up from your desk to go wherever the credits are held. His helmet had hid each time he licked his lips, and undressed you with his eyes, your hips wigged, still easing yourself down on his thigh. The warrior is finding himself impatient, and lifts his thigh to finally touch your wetness. A soft chuckle is heard as you gasp from the temperature change, but it feels wonderful. You hadn’t realized how hot you were, your continued hums you made, biting on your bottom lip to not scream in front of him. Sliding up and down this man’s precious beskar. Protection that he wore and used day in and day out being used now for pleasure, specifically yours was swelling your chest with pride. A sudden slap to your ass, interrupting the squelching sounds of your cunt against the metal finally made you yell out. This pleased him greatly, he did not want you to be quiet, but he would tell you later, he wanted you to focus on continuing to drip on his beskar so he would smell it when he went on his next bounty. “M-Mando, what else do you want me to do?” You asked meekly, your core was starting to clench against nothing, desperate to have something to press against. His helmet tilted.

“You haven’t soaked my thigh yet Sard’ika. Do you require my help to do so?” His voice was amused seeing your face, watching you try to not only keep yourself quiet but appeared to be looking away from his helmet. “You can ask for my help. In return, you must climax and look at my visor.” Your nod did not move him, grinding your wet cunt on his metal only gave you so much, just a little push, any added stimulation. You decided since he hadn’t moved, you would, pulling on his shoulders afford a new angle forward so your nipples would brush across his breastplate as now not only was your slit in contact with his beskar but so was your clit.

“I-I can do-do it. M-Mando.” Through staggered breaths you informed him that you would finish your task he had given you. The Mandalorian felt himself throb under his armor and flight suit. He had already been half swollen when he arrived to your doorstep, the friction was driving him mad, but he kept telling himself he had a plan. He would stick to it. Now, looking right into his T-visor made you whimper his name as you finally soaked his beskar, your mouth agape, falling forward with your head on his shoulder, panting.

“Such a sight Sard’ika. I will take more from you,” The bounty hunter softly ran a hand up your back, pulling your slip up, exposing more of your skin. “This is no longer needed. You’ll be on the couch, you must continue to focus on my visor.” After your slip was thrown to the floor, his forearms were suddenly under each one of your legs as you were lifted in the air, holding on to him in a panic, your hand touched his helmet before pulling itself back to his shoulder. As he turned toward the couch he stopped, still holding by your legs.

“Sorry Mando. I didn’t mean to. You picked me up. I panicked. Please put me on the couch.” Your eyes turned away from his visor, he cleared his throat.

“Your legs were too weak so I had to lift you. What was surprising about that silly Sard’ika? Do I need to tell you again why I chose you?” Laying you gently on your back, his hands ran up the sides of your body, touching your face. You closed your eyes, unsure if you should look at his ungloved hands. “I told you. Look at my visor. I think I’ll change what I was planning then.”

“What do you mean?” You heard a small snort as Mando rolled himself down your body, between your legs. You propped yourself on your elbows, curious what he was going to do. “Mando?” Your voice was unsure, but you soon covered your mouth, feeling a single rough finger touching your clit. The instinct to close your legs was thwarted by the hunter’s broad shoulders and beskar.

“You’ll keep your self open and let me explore you Sard’ika. If you won’t follow directions to look at my visor, then I won’t be able to enjoy watching your face as I learn your swollen cunt. It is….” The finger circled your clit before trailing down to your opening and entered smoothly. Finally having something to clench, the wet sounds from your core made Mando quicken his breathing. His free hand had to adjust his flight suit under his armor for his precum was soaking them. He wanted to free himself and plunge into you, but he kept telling himself that there would be a next time. “...perfect for a flower such as yourself. Will you cry for me mesh’la?”

You wanted to ask him what he meant by the word he used, but your mind was muddled. He was commanding you, but didn’t appear to want you to touch him, instead he was set on you having orgasms. One of his hands reached up and took your from your mouth. “I will hear you cry Sard’ika. No more hiding.” Another finger was inserted and you felt a stretch, it burned slightly but your juices soon took that away with the pleasure from their thickness and abrasive skin grating your insides as they clamped around them.

“M-Mando, please, slow down…I-It’s too much…” Tears formed at the edges of your eyes. The continued stimulation was overwhelming, your hips pushed forward as your came a second time, screaming before becoming flaccid on the couch. The warrior’s fingers soon came to a stop as he sat you up, covering you with a throw blanket he found on the other end of the couch.

“You did well Sard’ika. I am satisfied. I shall leave the credits on your table. Taste this and describe it to me.” He brought his two fingers soaked with your nectar as you parted your lips, not questioning him. Your viscous fluids were tangy and slightly sweet, you told him. A low rumble came from his chest before he put an arm around you and put the area above his visor on his helmet on your forehead. You’re sure that means something, just not what, just like the words he used. There were questions he had about why he chose you, why he appeared to be intimate with you on top of the acts you were performing with him. Once able to move, you reached and held one of his hands, he hadn’t put his gloves back on yet.

“Is this alright? I just wanted to touch them once. You’re much more gentle than I thought you’d be Mando.”

The Mandalorian pasused. It was only supposed to be an exchange. Credits for sexual release. He didn’t anticipate such a longing for intimacy. Maybe it wasn’t only carnal desires he had for her. After all, he had given you a nickname in his language, two actually.

“Call me Din Sard’ika. The next time we meet, you’ll call me by name, but only when we are alone like this.” Your nod earned another soft headbutt, then he rose to put his gloves back on. “Can you wear the emerald again next time? It complements your caramel skin mesh’la.”

“Yes I can. Din. Um, what does that word mean? And the other one? Shad-Sar’ka? I think. You called me by them a few times.” You stood and wobbled a bit, following him to the table where he removed the credits from his bag that he had left on the table when he came in. He strapped it to his back again under his cape.

“I will inform you as we continue our,” Din paused for a moment. What would one call these? Meetings sound formal, this was not a date, “our sessions together.” He was not ready to tell her what they meant. It would involve other questions. More pressing matters were to be spoken of. “Are you on any methods to prevent pregnancy? Future sessions will involve penetration.”

Your eyes widened at his question, but it wasn’t entirely unexpected. “I’m not but I can start. I haven’t need to for - I just haven’t need to.” You settled on. He didn’t ask about any of that, how long it had been and why. Mando nodded and put a hand on your shoulder.

“You do not need to start. As part of The Way, men are sterilized until certain life events are met. Mine have not been, but if it would make you feel safer, you’re welcome to. I thought it best we spoke about it first.” His explanation was sound and quelled some of your anxiety, though you had more questions about how sex with a Mandalorian would go exactly. The two of you agreed to next week, he did get a new bounty from you earlier in the day. Anticipating the week to follow, the remaining days we agonizingly slow. You ended up buying three different jade slips, each with different fabric for those hands of his to remove from you as he saw fit.

Next: Session Two

Space buddy tag list: @rhoorl @for-a-longlongtime @trulybetty @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @maggiemayhemnj @missladym1981 @angelofsmalldeath-codeine @morallyinept @sherala007 @yorksgirl @beabliss @daddy-dins-girl @mandoisapunk @saturn-rings-writes @magpiepills @mrsmando @djarins-cyare @goodwithcheese @fhatbhabie @beefrobeefcal @sp00kymulderr @laurfilijames @legendary-pink-dot @undercoverpena @secretelephanttattoo @megamindsecretlair @alltheglitterandtheroar @gwendibleywrites @iamasaddie @perotovar @legendary-pink-dot @soapjay @joels-shitty-puns @linzels-blog @i-own-loki @dindjarindiaries @sin-djarin @djarinsimp @iamafadedmoon @drawingdroid @pedrodascal @anoverwhelmingdin @theywhowriteandknowthings

[drawingdroid]

The Unknown Regions I

A Din Djarin x Fem Plus Size Reader Fic

Summary: You, a soft astrophysicist, meet the hardened Mandalorian in less-than-ideal circumstances.

Warnings: Expect conversations about weight, body dysmorphia and internalised fatphobia that may be triggering, so read at your own discretion; injuries and blood; canon typical violence; reader is AFAB and user she/her pronouns; no use of y/n; smut to come in next chapters; porn with plot; plot with porn; Din Djarin needs a hug and a fuck.

Word count: 2,631

A/N: This is something I’ve started, 100% self-indulgent since I have been feeling bad about some recent body weight gain. It was going to be just some pure filth with heavy body worship but the plot started to have its own life. This will be probably about 3 chapters long, so if you think it may be something you’d enjoy, I’m grateful to have you here!

🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐

It had been a long day and you were finally preparing to go to bed. You decided to pamper yourself a bit since you’d been more stressed than usually. So you took a long, hot shower. It was a luxury there in Tatooine, but one of the perks of your workplace were the good job conditions. Nevertheless, last weeks had been hectic and you had to stay at your office longer than normally. You loved your job, but you also appreciated some work-life balance and you weren’t having it at this moment. And your body was taking a toll too.

When the water went cold, you carefully exited the bathtub. Before wrapping yourself in a towel, you examined your body thoroughly and sighed. You had always fallen on the bigger side, and you liked it. Your curves, your softness, they made you feel sexy. But since you started this job, it was clear you hadn-t been taking care of yourself. The long hours at the observatory meant less sleep, less time to exercise and cook homemade, hearty meals. Not only did you feel more tired, but also it was clear that you had gained weight. You observed carefully the new stretch marks, the plush of your breasts and the tummy roll that wasn’t there before. Your new body. It looked kinda cute, but now your clothes didn’t fit anymore and your full bust spilled in every of your outfits. And the other problem was that you compared yourself with the other girls at work. It always escalated until you would start to feel insecure and your confidence weakened.

You sighed again and finally grabbed the towel, wrapping your hair, and then used another one to dry your body. After applying your lotions and skincare, you chose a beautiful nightie and then finally went to bed to resume reading the holobook you had been reading before on your commute to the observatory. It was important to you to have a comfortable nest where you could feel protected from the outer world, so you had invested in the softest duvet to cover you on Tatooine's cold nights. You were perfectly relaxed, even had a scented candle burning to help you decompress, when a blaster shot made you jump from the mattress .

Your first instinct was to drop to the floor and open the drawer on your nightstand where you hid your own gun. Your father had given it to you when he learnt that you would be transferred to the dangerous desertic planet. More shots, men shouting and a lot of metallic sounds. For the Maker’s sake, this compound was meant to be secure, these things didn’t happen to you anymore. It was very hard for you to achieve being in a stage of life where you felt safe. You were feeling afraid, but also angry. These people had broken into your little bubble and ruined your perfect evening.

The shooting continued and with every shot you flinched, but managed to prepare your blaster to defend yourself in case something happened. Maybe you’d have to accept the idea that there wasn’t anything like “safe” on Tatooine’s surface.

You stayed still and quiet for a while until the sounds ceased. Finally you could breathe, your heart still pounding, and dared to move. When you decided that it was quiet enough to stand up, another sound froze your blood. Your front door. There was someone there. You started trembling. You could call security. The residential complex where most of the observatory workers lived had its own since Tatooine’s law enforcement was…well, non-existent. But after a shooting like this, they’d surely have their hands full. Kriff, what if they had been killed? A shiver ran through your spine. There was a stranger at your door. Maybe they were hurt, or worse. You hadn't heard more noises. But the loud clank against the metal surface had been clear enough.

The decision to not be reckless won, and you called security from your holocom. But as you had expected, no one was responding. A low grunt came from the front door. You inhaled sharply.. They were in pain. What if they were some of your coworkers even?

You convinced yourself to bite the bullet and be brave about it. After the rebellion, you decided to not get involved in more conflicts. You had had enough for a lifetime. But there you were again. Laying against the wall in your nightie with your blaster against your chest.

“Hello?” No response. “Someone there?” Anything.

It felt a bit ridiculous to ask politely to a potential attacker. After stewing over for a while, you were determined to check yourself if there was actually someone at your doorstep. Inhaling sharply, you counted to three for yourself and opened the door at the same time you aimed your blaster with determination.

Another clank.

What the kriff.

You slowly lowered your blaster. There, laying on a puddle of his own blood, there was a huge man covered in armor.

“Hey, are you okay?” What a stupid question, of course he’s not. You started to get nervous. There was a lot of blood there. The stranger then said something but his voice was so weak you couldn’t hear him. Never stopping aiming your blaster towards him, you crouched next to his helmet. He repeated his words.

“My…kid…” Maker, there was a child in the shooting? You looked around yourself frantically, but in the dim light only your own lawn was visible.

“Where is he?”

“They…have taken him…” Something in his strained, modulated voice, broke your heart. You’d always had a soft spot about children.

“We’ll find your son. But you are bleeding out and no one is dying today at my doorstep.” You observed his frame and decided that the best was to drag him inside from his underarms. “I’m gonna get you inside, ok?”

He just hummed groggily and you decided to take that as a yes.

You had spoken too soon about dragging him. He was kriffing heavy and you had to use all your willpower to get him in your house. After one of the greatest physical efforts of your life, you finally laid him on your carpet and then sprinted to the bathroom to bring the med kit. Kneeling next to him, you tried to localize his wounds, but with the dark flight suit, it was almost impossible to know if he was bleeding somewhere. Your hands started shaking over the idea that maybe he was actually going to die on your floor. You grabbed your commlink to call the med center, starting to panic.

“I’m calling the med droid, I can’t help you.” You said to the unconscious man, worry drawing a line between your brows.

“No…droids.” You jumped when his gloved hand grabbed your wrist with surprising strength, but the next moment he was dropping it and looking gone for good. Okay, you weren’t the one to contradict the unknown warrior. Trying a different approach, you decided to guess where his injuries were by touch. Some drenched patches between his armor informed you where his major injuries were, so you cut his flight suit there. No time for undressing him.

The wounds looked like knife stabs after you cleaned them. You pressed both the one in his tight and another under his chest plate, to stop the bleeding and then applied bacta spray. But it wasn’t enough. He was growing colder every second and his heart rate was slowing. He was going to die, you realized.

You looked around you desperately trying to think when an idea came to mind. First, you started your stove as fast as lightning and then you chose your largest knife from the drawer. While anxiously looking at him, you put the knife on the flames and then ran to his side again.

“Sorry, this will probably hurt…” And before the knife became cold, you pressed the flat surface of the tool directly against his skin. The smell wasn’t beautiful and neither were his groans of pain, but at least it looked like he wasn’t waking up. You checked the wound and finally it had stopped bleeding. You cleaned the knife and repeated the process in the other stab. After several times, the tissue looked closed enough and only then you started to disinfect the burnt areas with care. They’ll leave nasty scars, but at least when you put your ear next to the helmet, it looked like he was breathing although shallowly.

It was almost dawn when you decided he was out of danger. Exhausted, you finally were able to remove his armor in order to drag him somewhere more comfortable and dress his wounds. It was hard to find the hidden mechanism, but once you got it you were fast. First you removed his heavy chest plate. Probably he’d breathe better without it, Then you put aside the pauldrons and the vambraces, and finally his side and back plates and ended with his legs.

Removing the sticky flight suit and his undershirt was an ordeal, but when the first of the two suns started to appear in the horizon, you had achieved the first part of your mission and his chest wound was fully dressed. While you were bandaging him you hadn’t noticed, but now under the orange light and having finished your task, you could admire the man you had saved. And maker, what a beautiful creature. His torso was strong while lean. You felt bad for the big scar the burn you would leave on his golden skin.

You resumed with his pants and you tried so hard not to look but you were just human and well, wasn’t he gifted there too. Tending to his thigh wounds you had noticed how thick his legs were, but now just down to his undergarments, you noticed the warrior’s actual strength.

You scolded yourself for lusting over the man who almost died in your carpet and was, probably, a criminal. And also a dad. When every wound was tended, you moved to his helmet. Since it had some kind of seal, you hadn’t lost precious time removing it when you couldn’t find the release button the first try. You trashed around the garment until you found said button, hearing a hiss, and put your hands around the helmet to carefully remove it.

The next thing you know is that you’re laying on your back, the warrior on you while he’s pinning your wrists effectively against the bloody carpet, his thick thighs keeping yours in place. You blinked, incredulously. Wasn’t this man on the verge of death? What the kriff?

“What do you think you’re doing?” His raspy, low baritone made you shiver. You should be scared, but your self-preservation instincts had abandoned you. IOn the surface of the T shaped visor, you could see your reflection. Rosy cheeks and doe eyes for the man that was threatening your life.

“Saving your metal ass.” You sassed, lifting your chin proudly. It looked like he wasn’t fully aware of himself since it took him half a minute to process the situation. He then started to release you slowly, but stil tense in mistrust. The skin where he had been grabbing you now felt cold. You looked at each other for what it felt like an eternity.

“M’ sorry.” He finally apologized sitting on his heels, noticing his bandages for the first time. Then he observed you, now on your elbows, your nightie ruined with his blood and purple eye bags under your beautiful eyes. “Did you do this?”

“The stabbing, no. The healing, yes.” You responded while looking for a comfier position on the floor, still on guard but curiosos about him.

“Thank you.” He said after a long silence. You finally released your breath.

“It's sloppy work, I’m afraid it will scar over ugly. Sorry.”

“It doesn’t matter. Thank you.” He repeated. He now looked disoriented , like a lost child. A 180 cm child. Oh wait.

“You…your child, you said someone took him.” He inhaled sharply and his tan shoulders tensed, your words hitting him like a thousand bricks. Then he tried to stand up but almost fell. You stood up fast enough to hold him before he could hurt himself. “Wait, you lost a lot of blood there.”

“I need to find him.” His voice was strained, like he was about to cry. You put his arm around your shoulders and he let you. It was like all the fight energy from before evaporated the moment you named the kid. The warrior’s skin felt warmer now, thanks to the Maker. You only hoped it didn’t become too warm due to infection. He was still heavy without his armor, and although he was making an effort, helping him lay on the sofa wasn’t easy.

“Look, you lost a ton of blood and have poor cauterized wounds from a random girl. You can’t find anyone in this condition.” You tried to not sound too harsh but the truth was there. “Don’t you have anyone you can call?”

He sat looking so defeated it broke your heart, but he finally nodded.

“That’s great, contact them then while I prepare some breakfast. You should hydrate and eat something.” He fixed his visor on you while you went to your room to change into something that wasn’t bloody and sheer to start with. When you returned, he was apparently speaking with a man. You gave him privacy while preparing some scrambled eggs, broth and fresh fruit, considering if you should call in sick to your job.

“They left you for dead, you have that advantage. They won’t expect you when you strike back .” Said the man in the holo. He was middle-aged and looked elegant. He then he spoke again in a kinder voice. “But you should focus on resting and healing now, Mando. Let us take care of it.”

“Thank you Karga, really.”

“Anything for the little one.” And then he hung up. The warrior put his head between his thighs, looking like the most miserable creature in the world. Your chest ached at the sight.

“Here, have some broth, you should hydrate. And probably have a transfusion too.” You half joked, sitting with the tray next to him. Mando, as you heard the bearded man call him, looked at you as if you were a ghost. You handled the tray to him carefully but he didn’t move at all. The longest and most uncomfortable silence went on until you decided to stand up and went to prepare for work.

“If you need to use the refresher, we have warm water here, not just that sonic excuse of a shower.” You started while sipping from your mug trying to look nonchalant. “I need to head to the observatory now, but you can stay as long as you need. That was such a beating you took.” You looked at the bruises that were forming across the golden skin you were desperately trying not to observe all the time. Both of the suns were up now, and they illuminated his frame beautifully. And the mess of dried blood in your floor and carpet, too.

You sighed. “Ok, I need to leave now, if you need anything…” You scribbled your commlink frequency in a holopad. It was strange how this looked as parting with a one night stand you won’t be seeing again. You had a certainty he wouldn't be there when you returned either.

“Thank you.” He finally acknowledged the tray and then nodded in your direction. Confused, injured and desolate, you felt guilty for leaving him there. But today was important since the planet you had been studying was the closest to Tatooine…You couldn’t miss the opportunity even though it felt so wrong.

“Take care, Mando.” You said before disappearing through the main door in a hurry.

Next chapter

[lawrites]

Chrome & Chemises Part II

Din Djarin x Gender Neutral Plus Size Reader

You find yourself invited to Bingley’s mansion through a strange set of circumstances. With Mando’s impertinence and Caroline’s insistence upon his attention, you fear that you may end up in worse health than Jane.

Part 1

This chapter got away from me, sorry! I cannot take credit for much of the dialogue or story, as it comes from Jane Austen and the writers of P&P 2005. I just add descriptions and the space bits :) I realize that this will be a slow burn but that is pride and prejudice babey

This chapter is safe for all ages. CW: mentions of fatphobic internal thoughts, some self-deprecation, Mando being very blunt, sickness

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The last few stragglers, including your family and surprisingly the entire party of one Mr. Bingley, were ushered out of the Lucas residence thankfully before 1 AM. Bigger celebrations, while exciting, can also sometimes go into the early dawn.

While you all load into your landspeeders, you and Jane use the opportunity to lean against each other. You close your eyes and she does as well, comfortable and ready to nap a bit on the way back. It paints a picture of the trust the two of you share as siblings.

This fact isn't lost on Caroline, who is situated next to Mando in their own speeder. She scoffs and gestures towards the two of you. "Well, that is just so indicative of this little port, is it not? Unable to keep propriety. I cannot believe that the two of them cannot keep their posture for the short ride back to their residence." Bingley looks behind him at the two of you and his eyes soften as he sees Jane again. "I think sh-they both look lovely." Caroline rolls her eyes and looks to Mando, "And with how this ball went, I bet I can guess what you are thinking right now, Mandalorian." Her eyes glimmer with what she most likely intends to be mirth, but instead appears more to be desperation.

Bingley tries to insert himself into the conversation again, no doubt ready to defend the ball, but Mando holds up one gloved hand instead. "What am I thinking?"

Caroline smirks. "You must be thinking how terrible it might be to spend even one more evening with such tedious company."

Mando answers her own expression with a smirk of his own, hidden under his helmet. "Oh, you are incorrect. My mind was more agreeably engaged." Mando turns from Caroline and looks directly at you across from him, safe and comfortable in your family's landspeeder. "I've been meditating on the great pleasure which a pair of fine eyes on the face of a pretty person can bestow."

Caroline scoffs, rolling her eyes at what she assumes MUST be a joke, though the worry in her eyes is palpable. Mando stares straight ahead, his helmet betraying nothing to Caroline to further affirm her thoughts as your landspeeder sets out towards home.

----------------------

The ball seemed to leave you energized and exhausted all at once. You feel entirely ready to collapse as soon as your landspeeder brings you back to Longbourn, but after you fall prone across your carefully made bed and position yourself, you find that your mind will not stop thinking.

A gentle knock at the door has you sit up slightly, and you hear the door click open and closed. Jane's hushed voice spears through the darkness, "May I join you? I'm all nerves tonight." You pat the bed next to you, realize she can't see, and respond, "Of course."

Only a few minutes later, a small nightlight has been turned on and adjusted to its dimmest setting, casting a slight glow over you and Jane under the covers. Though you are grown beyond childhood at this point, you feel young again as you both giggle and kick your feet, reminiscing on the night.

"Mr. Bingley is just what a man ought to be." Jane's eyes sparkle even in the low light. "Sensible, good-natured..."

You cut in, "...charming, conveniently rich..."

Jane gives you not even a half-hearted push, "You know perfectly well that I don't think considerations in marriage should be focused only on money."

You nod, you mouth set in a straight line to show your seriousness even as your eyes continue to hold a glint of humor, "Oh I agree entirely. Only the deepest love could persuade me to matrimony, and with my body and the way society is...I will end an old maid." You make sure to insert a laugh at the end of your sentence that was less than convincing to anyone who knows you well, and Jane knows you better than anyone.

You disguise your own insecurities with humor, as usual. You may be comfortable in your own body, but you've built armor against the worst voices in the world. If you acknowledge what they say about you first, it takes the moment away from them. Your self-confidence is usually great, but since you have to see yourself at your worst to predict what others will say, you can never forget what you consider to be flaws.

Jane bristles, as she usually does at your worst comments about yourself, and gently grips your arm, "Y/N, do not say that about yourself. While I agree that you need not settle for anything besides the deepest love, I want you to consider that there is someone out there who will love you for your heart, mind, and body."

You scoff and roll your eyes. "Well that is much easier for you to say, dear sister. Every person who looks at you falls in love with you."

Jane grips harder, and you can almost feel her impatience at you. "Y/N. Do not patronize me, I see the world for what it is just as you do. But I've also grown up with you as a wonderful sibling for all these years. Do you think that I do not see the best in you as you do in me?"

You try to search for an answer, and finding none, you instead make an attempt to change the subject. "Well, I certainly know who sees the best in you..."

Jane rolls her eyes, but sensing your discomfort, she continues along your train of thought. Thoughts of Bingley cause her eyes and grip to soften as she sighs. "Do you really think he liked me?"

"Jane, he danced with you at every opportunity propriety could give."

Jane releases your arm entirely, her hands occupied with curling a strand of her hair repeatedly. "I cannot say I expected such a compliment."

You try to break the awkward moment from before entirely by using your humor once more. Teasingly, you remark, "Well, Mr. Bingley certainly IS very amiable, so I give you leave to like him. You've liked many a stupider person."

Jane pushes you once more. "Y/N!"

You laugh quietly and continue. "You're a great deal too apt to like people in general, you know. All-" you pause and think on her previous statements, "-most of the world is good and agreeable in your eyes."

Jane turns to you, "Not his friend! Oh! I can't even believe what he said about you!"

You are reminded, painfully, of what Mando had said about you earlier. You take a deep breath and smile, "Oh? Mando? Well...I could more easily forgive his vanity had he not wounded mine, of course." You look to the nightlight and feel a tiredness fall over you all of a sudden. As you reach for it, you continue. "It's no matter, I doubt we shall even speak again." And with a click, you are plunged into darkness, the both of you finally ready to sleep.

----------------------

At breakfast the next morning, you are blearily trying to butter some toast while your mother prattles on and on about the ball.

"...and then he could not dance the second with Jane and had to find another, but then the third dance was with Jane. Then a fourth with Miss King of little standing, returning again to Jane for the fifth."

Your mother appears ready to continue until your father interjects, "If he had any compassion for me he would have sprained his ankle on the first."

Your mother's eyes become hard, meeting your father's across the table. "Oh Mr. Bennet, the way you go on it seems like you expect our children to have a grand inheritance."

Your father ignores her and asks you to pass the butter, but she continues anyway. "As you very well know, Mr. Bennet. When you die, which could be any day, our children will be left without a roof overhead or a penny to their name. You know that you do not make enough to keep us all in this house, and it will pass to whoever along the line DOES at the first sign of our misfortune."

You roll your eyes and step in, "Mama, my goodness, it's ten in the morning!"

Your mother turns to you, appearing ready to continue her lecture, whether it would be focused on your duties as heirs to Longbourn or your own insolence, you cannot predict. Luckily you are saved from a lecture about insolence from your mother by an entrance from Mrs. Hill. "A message, Ma'am, on the communicator. Addressed to Miss Jane Bennet from Netherfield Hall."

Your mother and Jane both light up, and Jane reaches for the communicating tablet as your Mother squeals. "Oh thank the Lord, we are saved!"

Your sister hurries to click through the screen and open the message, the entire room falling in a hush as her eyes quickly scan over it. "It is from Miss Bingley, Caroline." She pauses as she reads more. "She has invited me to dine with her!" Her smile drops a bit as she scrolls and sees the rest. "Oh, her brother will be dining out."

Your mother retreats into herself, her face appearing introspective as she thinks. "Well...that certainly won't do..."

Lydia chimes in. "I didn't think he was that handsome anyway."

You elbow her sharply, making her cry out and glare at you as she rubs her arm.

Jane speaks up, "May I take the landspeeder? To Netherfield?"

Your mother continues to mumble to herself, looking up at the sky.

You interrupt her thoughts. "Mama! The landspeeder! For Jane??"

Your mother looks lost in thought. "Oh...certainly not. She will go on our Kybuck."

You and Jane both yell "Kybuck??" in sync, in disbelief at your mother's decision. She just smiles slightly as she hears slight thunder from outside.

----------------------

You are trying to help Mrs. Hill bring in the clothes that were set to dry as a downpour is starting around you. As you run in, your mother is staring at the window, pleased.

"Just as I predicted. She will have to stay the night now."

You are at this point amused by your mother's actions. "I don't know if you can take credit for making it rain, Mama. Let us hope that Jane is safe."

-----------------------

A knock on Netherfield's door causes a servant to leave the lunch set up and open it. Outside, dressed in blue and looking beautiful, if not soaked due to the thunderstorm, is Jane. She smiles at the servant and starts a greeting, but instead she turns a bit to sneeze. The servant looks worried and gestures for her to come in, the door sliding shut automatically behind her.

------------------------

You are clutching a communication from Jane in your hands, the family tablet seeming to give far too little information for your tastes. "...and my kind friends will not hear of me returning until I am better. But do not be alarmed. Excepting a sore throat, fever, and headache, I am fine."

As you finish reading it aloud you glare at your mother. "This is ridiculous."

Your father agrees. "Well, my dear, if your daughter dies let it be a comfort that it was in the house of Mr. Bingley."

You mother brushes off his comment easily. "People do not die of colds."

You roll your eyes. "But she might well perish from the shame of having such a mother." You try to reason with her. "We are isolated! What if it worsens? We would have to wait days to receive the shipment of medication we might need from other ports!" You stop, considering your options. "I must go see her."

You mother turns to you suddenly. "You cannot! The Kybuck is with Jane and I cannot spare the landspeeder." You look outside, "No matter, the rain has stopped and I can walk now."

She strictly replies, almost yelling now "You will be covered in mud from your walk! You won't be fit to see anyone!"

You respond as you leave the room to prepare, "I will be fit enough to see Jane, which is all that matters."

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You've always enjoyed a nice brisk walk. Mr. Bingley's estate is further out of your settlement than seems reasonable, but the slight breeze causing the leaves on the trees to rustle makes you smile. At the insistence of your mother, you did end up wearing a dress, though you covered it with an old, heavier cloak of your father's that would keep you warm. You feel a blaster in the pocket hitting your hip every once in a while, his own insistence that you protect yourself in the country fresh in your mind.

A smile covers your face as you continue to march, needing this quiet moment of solitude before you enter the lion's den. Just at the moment when you consider the true ramifications of showing up as you are, a step leads you directly into a puddle of soft mud. You see your shoe almost entirely covered and the hem of your dress sinking into it as well.

Shrugging, you pull your foot and dress out and laugh as the breeze picks up again. The only thing now on your mind is Jane, even though you do dread the reactions of the Bingley's and Mando when they see your haggard appearance.

You initially walk up the steps to Bingley's Manor in confidence. Knocking soundly, you take the time to do a last minute check. Dress? Dirty. Hair? Frazzled. Shoes? Covered entirely in mud. You try to run your hands over your garments but the door opens. You tell yourself it would have been useless anyway as you inform the doorman about your purpose.

Hoping that you are just brought up to see Jane, you instead have the displeasure of being told to wait outside a room until you are announced. You hear your title and step into the room with as much grace as you can manage given your appearance.

You see Mando and Caroline sitting down for what is most likely their lunch, looking as pretty as a painting. Caroline is in a silky, stylish dress with her hair perfectly managed, and her eyes widen at the vision of you against the white stone of their home. Yes, you feel quite out of place in a home that was lavish enough to be carved out of stone instead of assembled by metal.

You hear a scraping sound and look over to see Mando has stood up straight, presumably in welcome, his posture seeming very awkward and stiff. He bows to you slightly, and you return that with a slight curtsey.

The tense silence is broken by Caroline's voice, "Good lord, did you really walk all the way here?"

You nod tersely, your mind now primarily focused on getting out of this room and to Jane. "I'm so sorry, but how is my sister?"

Mando, surprisingly, is the one to interject. It is difficult to tell with his vocal modulation, but you believe he sounds a bit softer, "She is upstairs."

To the point as usual, then. You nod in thanks and turn to the steward, who brings you out of the room.

As soon as you are out of earshot, Caroline sputters as Mando carefully sits down again. "Goodness! Did you see their petticoat? Six inches deep in mud. Dreadfully incapable of..."

She is cut off by Mando. "I thought their concern for their sister does them credit."

Caroline blinks, but recovers quickly. "Well, their hair certainly does not. I wonder if their appearance after this has..." She glances pointedly at Mando, "...possibly lessened your enjoyment of their 'fine eyes?"

Mando casually responds as he continues reading the paper in front of him, "Not at all, they were brightened by the exercise." He tries to read the words in front of him, but only can truly focus on the fact that his helmet informed him of the presence of your blaster. Could you truly use it?

---------------------

You first know that you are approaching Jane's room by the vision of Mr. Bingley sitting in a chair outside of a set of doors, looking worried. He brightens when he sees you.

"Mx. Bennet! Oh I am so glad to see you. The doctor is tending to your sister now."

Your heart melts a bit. "It is nice to see you as well Mr. Bingley. Thank you for fetching a doctor for my sister."

The doctor exits the room just a few moments later, and during your discussion she mentions that your sister has a nasty cold, but should recover nicely in a few days. With the news that she will be okay, you rush into the room to see your sister.

You almost feel like rolling your eyes upon seeing her. While you are worried about her looking feverish, languid, and exhausted, of course her complexion and hair is still perfect. In fact, her rosy cheeks and the slight glow of sweat make her glow. It honestly just makes you smile as you see her, your beautiful sister cannot be taken down even by this.

"Jane!"

She turns to you, "Oh! Y/N!" You approach and give her forehead a kiss, trying to tell her temperature with your lips. It is still slightly high, as the doctor said. "Oh, your face is cold!" She laughs a bit and then leans away from you to cough, her face hidden in the crook of her arm.

She collapses a bit after, looking slightly past you to the hallway where Mr. Bingley is discussing something with the doctor. "Oh I just feel awful. They are being so kind to me and I feel like such a terrible imposition."

You shake your head and smile, wanting to give her some better news. "Oh do not worry. I don't know who is more pleased at you being here, Mama or Mr. Bingley."

Jane chuckles and coughs a bit more as Mr. Bingley finishes up his conversation with the doctor. You turn to him, "I cannot thank you enough for taking such diligent care of Jane. I am ashamed to say she may actually be more comfortable here than in our own home."

Bingley smiles and his eyes look to Jane, not even slightly fazed by her appearance. In fact, his eyes shine as they take her in. "It is a pleasure to have her here." He pauses. "Well...not a pleasure to see her so ill...rather it is a pleasure that she is here...being ill." He trails off slightly awkwardly, unable to express that he is glad to see Jane in his house no matter the circumstances. He straightens up a bit and continues, "But you must join us as a guest, at least until your sister recovers."

You try to argue but he won't hear it. "We shall send a speeder for some things for you, it is no worry. I wouldn't have you separated from her during this time."

As he leaves, you are nervous at the thought of staying, but relieved that Bingley is truly one of the kindest suitors your sister has had. Truly, he is well suited to her. You smile at Jane and wiggle your eyebrows a bit, and though her slight push has less force behind it, you cannot help but see the absolute joy in her eyes as well.

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Jane has made wonderful progress on her recovery. You have spent nearly every second you can in this unfamiliar house with her, your discomfort only second to your devotion to your sister. But, as she is getting better she is able to rest without as many coughing fits as before, and has asked you to leave her be for the time being.

Therefore, you find yourself in a sprawling room in Bingley's home. There are rows upon rows of shelves lined with actual books, desks and chairs, and a lounge area that sits in front of a chrome fireplace. More than often you find yourself settling on a comfortable couch to read, trying not to think about how much everything in the room costs as the fire crackles in front of you. You cannot keep yourself from bringing the books up and sniffing them every few minutes, the smell of old pages mixed with the burning fire making you feel content.

You are so absorbed in your current book outlining a few lesser known stories about the Jedi that you almost fail to hear the voices and footsteps approaching the room. Having only a few moments, you sit up straight, brush your outfit a bit, and place your book in your lap, leaning over it and appearing to be lost in thought.

The doors slide open, causing you to look up in their direction and see Caroline, Bingley, and Mando. Bingley smiles upon seeing you, exclaiming that it is so good to see you out of your sister's room. He approaches and you stand up to greet him as he further mentions that he is impressed at your fortitude and love for your sister. You smile and thank him, seeing that Mando has settled at a desk near you and Caroline has decided to sit in a chair between. She is purposefully not glancing in your way at all, a fact that you are glad to allow.

Mando touches the glass top of the desk and it lights up, surprising you. He pulls up something and begins to type. The low sounding keystrokes aren't enough to keep you from reading, and so you return to your stories. Unfortunately, Caroline, who had been looking casually at her own personal communicator, decides that the sounds are enough to distract her. "You type so quickly, Mandalorian."

Mando responds, rather bluntly, "You are mistaken, I type rather slowly."

Caroline, determined as ever, decides to lean over and spy on what the Mandalorian is writing. "Oh, I cannot imagine how many terrible communications your people must need to send." You look up in shock at her tone. "To talk of violence so often...it makes me ill."

You cannot possibly consider what angle she was using to gain Mando's interest, but it seems that there was no matter. She fails as Mando soon replies, "It is fortunate that they fall to my lot instead of yours, then." His final tone makes you assume that she would end their conversation there, so you return once more to the pages in front of you.

"Oh! You must be writing to your ward or his keeper. Tell him that he is just...the most talented little thing." Caroline tries to take on a jovial tone, but the slight desperation once again seeps through. Ward? The Mandalorian has a ward?

The Mandalorian makes the tab he was working on disappear and turns to Caroline. "He is to be protected and kept a secret as a foundling, Miss Bingley." His tone sends ice into your veins. But your are surprised to learn of his foundling. They are usually children taken into Mandalorian protection...so Mando has enough of a heart to care about a child? He honestly could have made you into a fool for thinking the opposite.

He turns to you. "I trust you can keep him a secret, Mx. Bennet." You nod. "Of course. I have read of foundlings before. They are to be protected as you have said." You smile softly in reassurance. "I would never put a child at risk, you have my word."

The Mandalorian seems to loosen a bit, "You have my gratitude." He moves to turn back to his communicator desk once more, but instead brings the T of his visor back to face you. "You have read of Mandalorian culture? Our foundlings?"

You force yourself not to shrink under his gaze and nod. "Only a little, admittedly." You glance to the shelves of books off to your right, trying to escape his focus. "My father has many books in our communicator, and a few in print. But as the communicator is shared...I have not had as much of an opportunity to research more."

You turn back to see that he is still staring straight at you. Or at least you think he is. Trying to appease him and find some middle ground with which you might start a friendship, you continue. "Though I would of course be happy to learn of anything through your own stories, if you would be willing to speak of them."

Mando pauses for a moment, but instead of telling a story he instead asks, "So, you and your siblings...you are not as accomplished due to your lack of resources?" It is difficult to interpret his tone due to his modulator, but you insist that you can tell his intent from his words alone. You have to keep your mouth from dropping open.

You decided to extend an olive branch and he decides to rudely comment on your family's lack of resources. It may have been true but it was certainly not polite to say. Mr. Bingley seems to sense this, and he cuts in quickly. "I would not say that Mando."

He smiles at you agreeably. "I would say from what we have seen of Mx. Bennet and their sister that both are accomplished in my book." His face scrunches a bit in confusion. "Though...the word accomplished does confuse me a bit. I have heard of many of marriageable age being touted as accomplished with little understanding of the word."

Caroline snorts, surprising herself, but seems to recover quickly. Mando turns to Bingley. "The word is applied too liberally, I agree. I only know around a dozen whom I would say are accomplished."

Caroline adds little, agreeing with Mando as usual. "Yes, I agree as well."

You must look astonished as you respond. "Goodness. You must comprehend a great deal in the idea."

Mando turns back to you. "I do."

Caroline cuts in, "Absolutely. One must have knowledge of planetary music, multiple languages, dances, and art, along with that same knowledge of the major planetary systems beyond" She gets up and walks, trying her best to glide. "And something needs to be present in the way they present themselves."

Mando adds, "My own requirements are the ability to shoot well and..." His visor looks to the book in your lap, "...read on Mandalorian culture."

You snap the book shut and look directly at him. "I am no longer surprised at you knowing only a dozen who are accomplished. I know none who hold all of the qualities you both require."

Mando meets your gaze. "Are you so severe on those who you consider competition?"

You roll your eyes, "I have never met a person who knows everything you have described. Even off-world visitors do not hold such knowledge. That person would be fearsome to behold."

Mando nods after a tense moment, almost in agreement, as Bingley chuckles a bit. He gazes at you with eyes full of mirth. You smile back at him before returning to your own stories once more.

--------------

Some time passes, and Caroline approaches you. “Let us take a turn about the room.” You are not fond of her after your interactions, but you agree that walking after sitting for so long might do you some good. As you stand, Caroline forces your arm to link with hers, and starts to guide you about. “It is refreshing, after sitting so long in one place, is it not?”

You hesitantly reply, “It is a small kind of accomplishment I suppose.” Mando looks up from his typing, and the T of his visor looks squarely at you for a brief moment before focusing once more on his communication. Caronline interupts his focus by interjecting, “Oh Mando, won’t you join us?”

Mando shakes his head and responds, “You can have only two motives for arranging this, and I will not interfere with either.”

Caroline arranges her face to appear confused, looking to you. “Now what can he mean?”

You want to roll your eyes but refrain. “Our best way of disappointing him would be to ask nothing about it.”

Caroline leans towards Mando, ignoring you. “Please, tell us!”

Mando forgoes typing entirely and sighs a bit before looking up. “Either you are in each other’s confidence and have secret plots to discuss, or you are aware that your figures appear to the best advantage by walking.” Caroline giggles and you, again, refrain from rolling your eyes. He continues, “If the first, I would get in your way. If the second...I can admire you both much better from here.”

You pause. Both? Mando would admire your figure? No. It must be a jest, one of his more cruel taunts once more. Caroline almost poses as she stops directly in front of Mando. “Oh, shocking! How shall we punish him for such a speech?”

Looking at the serious Mandalorian, his T looking directly back at you, you bring one hand under your chin in feigned concentration. The best way to get back at a man like him would be to undermime his pride. “We could always tease him, of course.” You smile widely and slightly mockingly.

Caroline opposes, “Oh no! Mando is not to be laughed at.”

You snort, almost feeling sorry for Caroline as she took you so seriously. “Oh! Are you too proud, Mandalorian? I wonder if you consider that to be a fault or a virtue.”

Mando looks back down at his work. “That I could not say.”

You do your best to smile sweetly, making sure your words appear as a jest, “Well, we are trying to find a fault in you.”

The Mandalorian looks up suddenly, his visage directed towards you once more, and he says in a rather serious manner, “Maybe it is that I find it hard to forgive those that have done me and the ones that I love wrong. My good opinion, once lost, is lost forever.”

You hold his gaze, your smile never waning. “Oh...dear. Well, I cannot tease you for that reasonable answer. What a shame...for I do dearly love to laugh.”

Caroline’s eyes shine as she cuts in, “Silliness does seem to be a family trait.”

Continuing to smile sweetly to show Caroline that she cannot get to you, you nod to the Mandalorian and return to your couch. Picking up the book, you curtsy slightly to the room. “If you do not mind, I would like to check on my sister and spend some time with her.”

As you leave, you of course cannot see that the Mandalorian has not resumed his work. In fact, his helmet seems to follow your retreating form and then stay glued to the door from which you left. Eventually, with a small sigh, he looks down to the datapad and keystrokes can be heard as he sends out another communication.

------------------------------------------

Once more, I apologize for the length and possibly dry-ness of this chapter. I just love the dialogue in these scenes and didn’t find a good cut-off point. I hope to get the next part out sooner! :)

[hannibals-favourite-meal]

Hello darling! I was reading through your fics and an idea popped into my mind. From your 1000 follower celebration prompt list, 1 and 17 with any au you think fits best with Din? I think this could be very beautiful ❤️

Lost Amongst the Stars

Din Djarin x plus size!Madalorian!reader

With all said and done, there was only one thing left for him to do, be honest.

Warnings: lots of mentions of pregnancy (Din wants kids bad 🥵), fluff, mention of injury, breaking the Mandalorian code involuntarily, talks of death, first kiss, implied smut

WC: 2.5k

A/N: f/c = favourite colour

A/N: I know You are my Sunshine isn’t a Star Wars song but I thought it would fit

Minors DNI

1: “God you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” 17: “I have always loved you.”

1000 Follower Celebration

Grogu wasn’t settling and Y/N couldn’t blame him. They had just barely escaped Tatooine with their lives intact and the child was finally reunited with his clan. All he wanted to do was see his father and mother (not that they were actually together) but with Din driving the Crest away from the inner planets and Y/N occupied with both nursing her wounds and comforting Grogu, he wasn’t getting the attention he wanted.

Y/N’s modulated sigh was barely heard over his fussing. She laid down the unused bandages beside her and rose to her feet, letting out a groan as her sore muscles stretched and strained under the familiar weight of her berserker. Grogu was so small in her arms as she picked him up from the base of the ladder he was trying to climb.

“I know ad'ika but he must fly the ship.” His little bottom lip turned out in the most adorable little pout, his big brown eyes shimmering with tears. She cooed and rocked back and forth with the child clinging to her f/c chest plate, a small hand reaching out to caress her covered face. 

She knew he was tired and cranky and probably just needed a good cuddle. Glancing up to make sure the cockpit door was still locked, Y/N looked back down at her child, who now had fat tears dripping down his tiny cheeks. “Alright alright but only for a little while.” Shifting him to her non-dominant arm, she was able to reach up and unbuckle the bindings on her helmet.

——————

Din sighed in relief as the last of the planets fell away into the blackness of space. Hopefully they would be safe for a while. He leaned back in the pilot’s chair, taking in a deep breath. He instinctively looked to his right, expecting to see her berserker in his peripheral vision in her usual spot behind him. 

His heart clenched at her absence, even if she was barely twenty feet away from him. She had constantly been by his side for years, helping him with bounties and jobs that got out of hand. She was a brilliant hunter and a kind soul, something he could not have ever imagined. Truthfully, it started off as him enjoying having another Mandalorian around after being alone for so long but it slowly shifted into something more.

He was able to keep it under wraps thankfully, but then the child came into their lives and all he could think about was that she would make an amazing mother, preferably to his children. Every time he closed his eyes, he thought about what she would look like beneath her f/c armour, what would her eyes look like under the double suns of Tatooine versus reflecting the glittering snows of Hoth? He knew she was beautiful, how could she not be? 

He’d seen glimpses of her curves when she removed part of her berserker to tend to an injury or to buff out a dent. But beyond that, she was a kind soul, always watching out for others before herself, finding beauty in things that he would have overlooked. She even picked up trinkets for every planet they visited, either to keep for herself or give to the child or him. Din always scoffed saying he didn’t need any of the useless items but always took them and stored them in a safe place under his cott. His personal favourite was the necklace charm that vaguely looked like his prized blaster.

He trusted her entirely and she trusted him, they had even exchanged names after a few months of travelling together. She had even turned away when he bore his face to Grogu to say goodbye. 

Rolling his neck, Din loosened up his muscles. Pulling off his leather gloves, he allowed his tanned skin to breathe. The clips on his boots came off easily and he placed his socked feet on the cool floor of the cockpit. It was a secret delight of his that he could walk around barefoot, it made him feel safe, that he trusted Y/N enough that he could shed some of his armour around her and not risk being attacked or have his credo broken.

After double checking that the Crest was on auto-pilot, Mando carefully unlocked the door, worried that both his companion and the child were asleep and he didn’t want to wake them. He slipped down the ladder, feet silent against the metal. Turning to face the hold, he froze, eyes wide in shock.

There she was, bare faced, looking down at the child who was slowly losing to his exhaustion. She was humming a lullaby he vaguely recalled from his own childhood, her unmodulated voice was the most beautiful thing he had ever heard. Din quickly spun around, squeezing his eyes shut in an attempt to forget what he saw. But the image of her s/c skin lightly brushed with sweat as her h/c hair hung down over her perfectly chubby cheeks was too much. Her face was seared into his mind, never to leave.

But Din turned too quickly in his haste to avoid looking at the woman and the edge of his helmet caught the ladder, making the loudest clang he had heard in his life. His blood turned to ice as the reverberation died off and the hull was silent. He knew she had heard it, how could she not? He was dead.

——————

Y/N couldn’t help but smile at the child as he gazed up at her. It was not the first time she had removed her helmet for him but it was incredibly rare. Who knew what Din would say about her breaking the creed for the child? It was worth it though, to actually see Grogu clearly and not through the tinted view of her helm.

She adored the shade of green of his skin, how truly deep his brown eyes were. Without thinking, she swayed gently, slowly rocking him to sleep. Grogu chirped and snuggled even closer, resting his head on the bare skin of her neck, his little breaths causing goosebumps to appear. 

The song rumbled through her chest from some deep recesses of her mind.

“You are my sunshine

My only sunshine

You make me happy

When skies are grey

You’ll never know dear

How much I love you

Please don’t take my sunshine away.”

She hummed the tune, not recalling the rest of the words, as she hugged her boy closer, so thankful to have him back in her arms, back where he should be. Maybe this could make Din happy once more.

He had been so sad without the little womp rat making trouble everywhere. His silences, which usually brought her comfort, were now forced and tinged with sadness. She hated that, how he pushed her away and isolated himself in his grief. He became barbaric, so angry, a tightly wound ball of fury and despair that scared her sometimes. 

It had been so long since she heard his modulated chuckles or caught him doing anything other than cleaning and preparing his weapons for the next hunt. She missed who he was, the strong warrior with a heart of absolute gold. She couldn’t deny that there was a large part of her that she wished she could be enough for him, that her presence could pull him out of his funk, but she knew that she never could be his person. 

Y/N was stupidly head over heels for him.

She shook her head, trying not to think about the powerful jagyc who haunted her dreams and seemed to have barely any feelings of friendship towards her. Instead, she focused on Grogu, his eyes fluttering as he finally lost himself to sleep. “I love you” She whispered into his hair and then picked up her humming once more. Just as his little breaths evened out and she felt his muscles go lax against her, Clank! 

That wasn’t the ship falling apart or gunfire, it was the berserker of a Mandalorian coming into contact with metal. She knew because she had lost count of the times she slammed into the wall or a door jam on the Crest. Anxiety rushed through her veins, this couldn’t be happening.

“Din?” There was a pause. “Yeah.” Her heart was beating out of her chest. Her fingers dug into Grogu’s robes and her voice shook. “Did you see my face?” He didn’t answer and her eyes squeezed shut as she forced her tears not to fall. “T-tell me.” She was on the verge of crying, shame and embarrassment curled in her gut. “I did.”

Her creed was broken, truly. It could be forgiven that she had shown herself to the child since he had been adopted into their clan, but another person, another Mandalorian seeing her like this? It meant death. She could kill him to protect her honour but she loved him too much. A life without him would’ve been worse than death, and knowing that she was the one to do the deed, would’ve driven her to madness.

Or, he could kill her. 

With one last kiss to Grogu’s head, Y/N placed him in his little bed, making sure to seal the hatch up tightly so he couldn’t see what would happen next. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Din tense, the muscles in his back flexing like they did when he prepared for a fight. Taking in a deep breath, she wiped away her tears and spoke once more. “I’m not going to kill you, ner vod.”

She fully faced him now, slowly unbuckling the rest of her armour and laying it on the box she had been previously sitting on. “Why?” If she didn’t know any better, his voice sounded strained and full of emotion. “It was my fault so I should be punished, not you.” She felt lighter without the heavy metal covering her plump frame, she was naked without it, vulnerable.

“I don’t want to kill you, mesh’la.” His back was still turned to her and she took the time to take one last look at the man she loved more than anything. “Nor I you. I would rather die than cause you pain.” Her steps were silent as she approached him. Her hand trembled as she reached out, fingertips just grazing the back of his jumpsuit.

“Look at me Din, please.” She pleaded, fingers curling into the navy fabric. His shoulders slumped and he turned, the visor of his own helmet meeting her eyes. Even hunched over with his head bowed, he still seemed so large compared to her. Y/N’s palm cupped the cool metal where she knew his cheek would be. “It’s ok.” He shook his head, his own hands coming up to rest on her wide hips.

“How can you say that?” She chuckled tearfully, leaning her forehead against his own. “I’d rather it be you than anyone else in this universe. You always have been, and always will be my heart. I could never live without you.” His grip tightened on her hip bones. “And what makes you think I could survive without you?” “Because you’ll have our son.”

They stood there in silence, just holding each other, willing this to last for an eternity. “God you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” Din whispered just loud enough for her to hear. “You are literally the first person to ever tell me that.” “It is true.” 

His hand moved from her hips to her jaw, his calloused thumb rubbing the apple of her cheek, completely hypnotised by the softness of her skin and the heat of her body. How warm could one person be? His heart ached with what had to be done. Din suddenly went stiff in her hold.

“Marry me.” “What?” Y/N’s eyes were wide with shock, had she heard him right? “If we are joined in riduurok, we can see each other’s faces.” She tried to pull away but he held fast, refusing to let her go. “I don’t want to marry you to save my own skin.” He shook his head firmly. “Y/N, I have always loved you. I’ve just been too much of a coward to tell you.”

“You love me? Really?” Din smiled behind his helmet. “How could I not?” Her bright grin almost made him stumble back with just how beautiful it was. “I love you.” She replied. He released her but didn’t step away, only reaching up to pull off the last piece of metal that separated the two of them. 

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat as Din’s face was finally revealed to her. To say he was handsome would be the understatement of the millennium. His shaggy hair fell in front of his brown eyes that sparkled with hundreds of thoughts. His chilled jaw was covered in scruff leading to a small mustache that only enhanced his beauty. “You’re beautiful.” He flushed a deep pink at her confession and she chuckled at his bashfulness. 

She took his hands in her own, their fingers intertwining. “Mhi solus tome, mhi solus dar'tome, mhi me'dinui an, mhi ba'juri verde.” There was no hesitation in her words, no second thoughts and Din couldn’t help but grin stupidly at her, with no fear of mockery. 

He squeezed her fingers and repeated the words. “Mhi solus tome, mhi solus dar'tome, mhi me'dinui an, mhi ba'juri verde.” Din wasted no time, as soon as the last words were spoken, he grabbed the back of her neck so their lips could meet for their first ever kisses. Y/N’s knees wobbled as he pulled her into a tight embrace, her arms winding around his neck.

Fireworks seemed to explode around them as they moved in sync. Y/N tilted her head to deepen the kiss but instead bumped her riddur’s large nose. She laughed into his mouth. She felt him smile against her before he gripped her jaw to encourage her back into the kiss, tension palpable between them. 

——————

As the sweat cooled on their bodies, Din rested his head on Y/N’s bare chest, his arms wrapped firmly around her middle as she buried her fingers in his messy hair. There were still echoes of their lovemaking, the chorus of moans and grunts that had filled the small bedroom.

Perching his chin on her sternum, Din watched his riddur come down from her high, her eyes shut, lips parted with soft pants. Her skin was littered with hickies and bite marks, the same as his. “Sing for me, please.” Y/N lovingly stroked his head. “What would you like me to sing?” “Anything.” He settled back down on top of her, feeling the vibrations of her words through her chest, lulling him to sleep.

“You are my sunshine

My only sunshine

You make me happy

When skies are grey

You’ll never know dear

How much I love you

Please don’t take my sunshine away.”

Translations:

ad'ika - little one

jagyc - man/male

ner vod- my friend

mesh’la- beautiful

riddurok marriage

Mhi solus tome, mhi solus dar'tome, mhi me'dinui an, mhi ba'juri verde - We are one when together, we are one when parted, we will share all, we will raise warriors.

riddur - husband/wife

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