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lokischocolatefountain · 5 months

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Guess

Fandom: Star Wars, The Mandalorian

Pairing: Din Djarin x Reader

Rating: PG13, fluff

Word count:

Summary: A game of guessing goes right in every way for you and Din, your kind of friend, sort of boss.

A/N: Day 1 of my fic advent calendar and my first Din Djarin fic on here! Credits to my friend @lokislittlevalkyrie for co-creating the reader character and for our long conversations about her and Din. Keep checking the advent calendar Masterlist for more fics dropping this month. And leave me a little comment to encourage me to keep the fics going 💜💜💜

“Stop scowling.”

“I’m not scowling,” he lied, trying his best to keep his tone neutral even though he was surprised that she knew he was scowling. Lucky guess, he told himself. But how many lucky guesses could one person have about his facial expressions?

“You so were!” She insisted, sinking further back into the novelty ‘chair’ she bought on their last stop. It was a sphere half filled with tiny soft particles that molded itself to the user’s shape. She slouched on it as she continued watching one of her holodramas, something with a murder or speeders (or both) at the heart of the story.

“I was not.”

“If you say so, Din Can,” she said, using her nickname for him. He chuckled reflexively, unable to control his responses to her. Thankfully, his helmet filtered the sound out, saving him the embarrassment of finding humor in the humiliating nickname. He smiled, glad she didn’t know just how many times she’d made him laugh whether by mocking him or making clever remarks in general.

“I do say so.”

She was beautiful. Taking up the creed meant hiding one’s own face from others. To hide what would serve as the basis of others’ first impression of you so that your valor and your character would serve as your defining features. Vanity was not something he was raised with. Yet he knew beauty when it stared him in the eye and called him Din Can everyday. Or Tin Djarin. Buckethead when he really pissed her off.

Dinny Bear when she was intoxicated.

Blood rushed to his cheek when he thought of the last time she did that. She’d gotten very comfortable around him in the months they’d been crew mates. All her initial jitters and jumpiness around him had gone and been replaced with her stubbornness, strange sense of humour, and a level of confidence she didn’t have with him before.

He had to chase her down to even get her to accept the job he was offering her as a travelling mechanic. He’d never heard of one before. And she was quite frightened of him after the kind of interaction they had at Peli’s shop. But he needed a mechanic on board. With the kid in his hands now, it became hard to juggle a failing ship with hunting bounties and caring for a mischievous kid who waited for the moment he took his eyes off him to cause chaos.

It helped to have a mechanic on board at all times. She was wonderful and came approved by Peli. Over time, she became more than his mechanic. A friend, he would be brave enough to say. If he were braver with women, he would say that he’s caught her sneaking glances at him. That he felt her twinkling eyes rove over his armor every now and then. Sometimes he was confident of it. At others, he convinced himself that his mind was clouded by his desire for her. By his desire for her to desire him too.

The matter of his expressions came up once again later after dinner.

“Stop looking so grumpy.”

“You cannot see my face.”

“Yeah but you look grumpy.”

He grunted, turning away from her to focus on the controls. They were on hyperspeed. There was nothing he needed to do with the controls. But to come face to face with her when she told him exactly what he did underneath his helmet was…too much.

“Heyy! Let’s play a game?” She asked, her voice bubbling with excitement.

“Play with Grogu.”

“He’s asleep. And this is not a game for little potatoes.”

He chuckled softly at the nickname and looked up at her again, awaiting her proposal. “What would that be?” He asked.

“A drinking game.”

“Drinking is a game now?”

“Dank farrik! I missed when you used to be quiet. Just listen to me. I’ll guess what your face looks like under your helmet and if I get it right, you should take a sip of your drink. And if I get it wrong, I take a sip. Let’s do it with the Silver Elixir,” she said, getting up from her seat to fetch the bottle from their liquor cabinet they kept locked to keep away from wandering little womp rats.

She returned with the bottle, two glasses and straws. They’d recently taken to drinking together. She bought him a straw a begged him to join her, using her sweet eyes and her adorable pout to convince him. She said she only had drinks with friends and that drinking alone on the razor crest made her feel lonely.

He gave in to her, just like he gave in to their little green crewmate.

She didn’t need to use a straw, of course. Yet she did. When he asked, she said it was so that he didn’t feel lonely drinking through a straw like a kid. Even in her insults, she managed to be sweet.

“Start guessing,” he said impatiently as she sat next to him and looked intently at their glasses to see if they were filled equally.

“Sure, sure… You have dark hair,” she said, passing his drink to him. “Dark brown.”

“A little too obvious, isn’t it?” He asked, knowing she had definitely seen his hair in the trash after he gave himself haircuts and shaved his facial hair.

“Drink up, old man!” She said, lips wide in a grin as she knew already that she was right.

He snorted, but followed through, taking a sip of the strong liquor. “Alright. Next.”

“You have….big green ears.”

“Wrong,” he huffed, smiling nevertheless at her sense of humour.

“Damn it! I should’ve known they wouldn’t fit inside the helmet,” she said, taking a sip. She was smiling too, and unlike his, it was out in the open and as bright as the stars around them.

“Those were two descriptors. Big and green. Take one more sip,” he argued. He didn’t particularly want to get her drunk, but he liked how adorable she was when intoxicated. One of their drinking sessions ended with her snuggling up to him because she couldn’t find the kid to snuggle like a children’s stuffed animal.

“What? No! It was one guess, so it’s one sip.”

“Again, you guessed the size and color of my ears and they were both wrong. Take a sip.”

She rolled her eyes, but complained, taking another sip. She leaned close and narrowed her eyes at him, as though focusing on his helmet would reveal what was underneath. He smiled unconsciously, taking in the beauty of her from up close. The light in her eyes, the way her eyebrows knit together when she was in deep thought, lips that impressed him with the wittiest remarks… Lips he wanted desperately to pull to his, to devour and make moan his name.

“No moustache.”

“Hmmm….” He hummed, thinking of how he could sort the point for this. He *did* have a moustache, but that was only now. There were times when he shaved it off completely. “It’s complicated. I have a moustache now, but I change it quite frequently. So, half a sip.”

“If I have to take half a sip, so should you.”

“No, I don’t,” he scoffed at her warped logic. Here he was, being nice and giving her some credit even though she was wrong. But she was trying to take advantage of it.

“Yeah you should. If I’m taking half a sip because I was half right and half wrong, you should also take a sip because you’re half right and half wrong.”

“No. That’s not how it works. I have facial hair now, which means you are wrong. I should’ve made you take a full sip, but I decided to make a concession because I am sometimes fully shaven.”

“Dank Farrik! You’re such a lightweight. Just say you can’t handle your liquor and I’ll let you go,” she taunted, a smirk plying at her lips.

“Oh please, I can handle my liquor much better than you can. Here,” he said, drinking the strong undiluted alcohol like it was water in a few big sips. He slammed the glass against the control panel surface and shrugged. “See, I’m good. You are the one who gets drunk after one portion of the Silver Elixir and terrorizes the kid.”

She gasped, as though he made a much bigger accusation. “I don’t terrorize the kid! I just give him extra cuddles and kisses. He enjoys them very much. It’s called affection, Tin Can. Ever heard of it?”

He tilted his head at her in the way that sometimes made her swallow audibly. “So you think that because of my way of life, I have never experienced affection?”

She opened and closed her mouth quickly, as though her mind and lips were in disagreement about whether or not what they were about to say was appropriate. He smiled under his helmet, proud of himself for stumping her. She talked a lot. Since he was a quiet man, everyone else was talkative in comparison. But she was the voice he heard the most as they lived together on the Razor Crest and their other occupant communicated mostly in coos and squeals.

“That’s not what I meant!”

“Say what. Since the drinking thing was already disproportionate anyway because I’m not guessing your features and I can handle my liquor much better than you do….lets change the rules.” He took a deep breath, afraid of the consequences of his words but unable to miss this opportunity. “For each correct guess you make, I’ll give you a kiss.”

“You’re kidding,” she said, scoffing.

“I’m not known for my humor.”

She took a deep breath and looked directly into his eyes, making his heart skip a beat. Kriff, the things she did without even knowing! He thought he could die from the anticipation of hearing her next guess. Would she guess something ridiculous like big green ears to make sure she doesn’t have to kiss him? Or would she make a very obviously correct guess?

“You have…” she trailed in a softer voice, looking at him almost coyly. “…pink lips.”

Not the most obvious guess. Not all humans had pink lips. And he could easily not be human. He didn’t remember telling her he was… But if she was going for something for a higher likelihood of being correct… Kriff he hoped she was. “Do you want me to turn the lights off or blindfold you?” He asked, conveying indirectly that she was right.

“Wh-whaaat? Why?” She sputtered, looking at him with those pretty eyes, vulnerability brimming in her expressions.

Did he get the wrong idea? Maybe her obvious guesses weren’t because she wanted to be right so she could kiss him… Maybe it was just the product of her usual playful nature.

“Because I will have to take my helmet off when I kiss you,” he proceeded to say, even as his heart beat faster with the anxiety of how this could go. They were adults. It it was a misunderstanding, he would simply get over it and do his best to not make it awkward between them. “And you cannot see me.”

“I…” she trailed off before letting out a nervous laugh. “I didn’t think you were serious.”

“Again. Not known for my humor,” he said, letting a smile seep into his words. She was so kriffing adorable, looking all nervous like a blurrg stuck in a doorway. “You don’t have to, of course. I can give you something else. Ten credits, perhaps?”

“What, no. A deal is a deal.”

“Then tell me, my dear mechanic. Lights out or blindfold?”

“Lights out.”

Pity. He was hoping to see her pretty face when he kissed her. Not moving from where he was, he pressed the buttons on the control panel, turning all the lights out. In the pitch black of outer space, he could see nothing. Perfect.

“What can you see?” He asked, just to be sure.

“Nothing,” she said, in her voice so low and soft that it was swallowed up by the darkness. What entity wouldn’t want to swallow up something his pretty mechanic put out? Every word she said, every touch of her fingers against the trees and rocks and flowers. If he were air, he would luxuriate in her scent. If he were water, he would caress her skin and play with her hair as he cleansed her. If he were fire, he would creep into her skin, warm her up when she needed. But he was nothing but man. So, he would have to satisfy himself with a kiss from her lips.

“Are you sure?” She asked as he stepped forward to her.

“I am. Are *you* sure?”

There was silent for a moment before she said, “Yes. Kiss me.”

Needing nothing else, he took his helmet off and placed it carefully on his seat. His heart thudded against his ribs, and his breaths grew labored. And he hadn’t even touched her yet.

In all his years, he had never kissed anyone. It was not part of the culture of his people what with the metal barriers that kept them from it. He remembered the sweet kisses on his forehead and cheeks from before he took the creed. But that was not what his heart desired. He wanted the kind of thing she watched on her holopad, all the holodramas with characters who showed their desire through an intense kiss that left their partner speechless.

He reached forward and found her hand. She gasped softly, the quietness of the ship letting him in on her soft sounds. He caressed up her arm, enjoying the slight tremble of her skin beneath the tips of his fingers. He stopped at her neck and allowed himself to cradle it in his hand. He felt her lean closer and he reciprocated, taking the final step. He tilted his head to his right feeling that she tilted to her right.

As he closed the gap between them, he felt her warm breath on his skin. He swallowed, his lips parting from how nervous he was. What if he was no good? What if he didn’t have good breath? What if he’s such a bad kisser that she— he gasped softly as she pressed her lips against his. In an instant, she quietened the sounds his head. The fast beating of his heart, he realized was now from the effect of proximity to her more than his insecurities.

She placed one hand on his shoulder and wrapped her other arm around his waist. He let out a shaky breath at the intimacy of their contact and let his other hand trail down her back. She pressed herself closer against his beskar clad chest, making him wish he had the forethought to toss that bit of his armor too. He wanted to feel her. Every bit of her that she was offering up to him like she truly believed he was deserving.

Her lips were soft, just as he’d dreamt them to be. He’d never kissed before. It was an act saved for married couples in the covert, as only your spouse could see you with your helmet off. He had married friends who waxed poetry about the magic of kissing. How they felt like nothing and nobody mattered other than your partner. How it turned you into putty in their hands. He thought it was exaggerated… Until now.

He cupped her cheek, her face fitting in his hand and making him feel a new sense of protectiveness towards her. He’d protected her before, sure, but this felt different. This was something to do with a need to be gentle with her. To cherish her and treasure her. She licked his lips and he parted them instinctively, letting her tongue between his lips. He shuddered as her fingers threaded through his hair. He whimpered and pulled her closer to himself in the moment of vulnerability, using her as a crutch to support him. He’d never been touched like that before…

Her fingers explored his hair and he allowed himself to relax in his arms, even letting himself give her comforting caresses of her back. He felt her melt into his arms as their kiss deepened. She tasted of the silver elixir first, but when they were both a little along the way, he began to taste something that was distinctly her. Something sweet, mixing with the fragrance of her citrusy perfume to further dull his senses.

It was soft, but electrifying. He poured his passions into the kiss, exploring her with his tongue and luxuriating in the sweet little whimpers she let out. The technicalities stopped mattering. He was here, holding the girl he’d been pining for, lips connected as the unlikely result of a stupid game. That moment was all that mattered and her sounds of satisfaction told him that he wasn’t doing so bad after all.

She pulled back in a while and they let out the breaths they’d be holding. She let out a laugh and he smiled, comforted by her job. He didn’t even know he’d been holding his breath. He’d forgetting the necessity for breathing as he found her lips.

“You have…a big nose,” she said, confusing him.

“Huh?” He asked, his mind still clouded from her kiss.

“I get another kiss if I’m right, Dim Djarin,” she teased, pointing to his obliviousness when it came to things of this nature.

“Right,” he said, grinning as he kissed her again. He needed to play games with her more often.

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oliviajdjarin · 1 year

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Din Djarin: You, Me, and the Stars

Pairing: Din Djarin x fem!reader (she/her; afab)

Excerpt: “You leaned up onto your elbows to look down at him, the both of you knowing what came next. Dribbles of rain became more and more frequent upon your head, beginning to soak into your scalp, but you couldn’t feel anything else besides the excitement in your chest and the metal of your husband against your warm body. Drops of rain began to hit his helmet as well, sliding down the sides and collecting within his visor.

How long had it been since he felt a drop of rain on his skin?

He had to have noticed the desire in your eyes to complete what you had started as he covered your hands with his and pulled them up to the sharp edge of his helmet. ‘Go on, riduur,’ he whispered, ‘I’m not afraid anymore.’”

Warnings: This isn’t all SMUT, but there is a little. Reader and Din get married. Kissing, lovemaking, references to past sex, insecurities, swearing, crying, so much yearning, definitely incorrect Mandalorian marriage customs, Din gets shy when you compliment him.

A/N: This is one of my favorite fic genres for Din, I have wanted to write it for years, and many authors have done their own versions of it. I am not attempting to plagiarize or copy any of their amazing work. This is purely me wanting to do my own version on an already incredible idea.

A/N 2: Episode 1: The Apostate are we fucking kidding.

Word Count: 3k

Pedro Masterlist

If you’d like to leave a like, comment, ask, or reblog, it would be much appreciated <3

(gif from pinterest)

His gloved hand had made its way to rest against your bare hip bone, twitching every few seconds in his sleep, effectively sending chills down your spine every time. This kept you from having any sleep of your own.

You didn’t mind, not with the expanse of your Mandalorian in bed next to you, who was nothing short of breathtaking.

The lamplight washed over the metal, soaking him in a wave of sun and fire. His body facing yours gave the lighting all the more canvas to paint, stretching over the deep black of his visor, the brown of his cape, and the orange of his gloves. His body was glowing--basking-- in that cheap lamp you bartered for on Nevarro. He had rolled his eyes underneath all that glistening glory, you could tell by the way his head tilted back ever so slightly, and muttered to himself about its uselessness, thinking you didn’t notice.

But you did.

You noticed everything about him--how he moves intentionally, watches carefully, talks authoritatively...

...and groans uncontrollably when he sinks his gloved fingers inside of you.

Besides, you didn’t get the shitty lamp to see the Crest’s controls better, or find Grogu better in the dark, or even find a snack in the middle of the night. You got it for this--this post-sex euphoric haze that came over you every time he made you finish, the need to drink him up with your eyes, to observe him in is most untaught state, to witness as much of him as you possibly could, while truly seeing nothing at all.

It was right then, only for a few sinful, pathetic moments, that for the first time, the desire to see him--truly look at him--overpowered any and all of your rational thoughts. The left side of your brain was crying out at you to stop, remember his Creed, remember how much you respect it, while the right side of your brain took the opportunity to pummel your brain with everything you had been depriving yourself of for months.

How would it feel to wake up to his face every morning, see his eyes crinkle from a smile, his teeth peek out of his lips, his scruff beginning to grow in. How would he look, exactly--brown eyes or blue, or green, or hazel? Darkened skin or light, full lips or thin, thick hair or thin.

It scared you how little it mattered, but how badly you wanted to know.

How would his eyebrows squeeze together when he focused, his tongue pop out from his lips as he was thinking, or his laugh--one of his true laughs--sound without that fucking modulator. Would it be as dry as it always sounded, or would the extra oxygen in his lungs breathe life into it. Would he have dimples? Wrinkles? Endless freckles, or only a few. You hoped he had enough for you to memorize.

Would his skin be soft or rough? How calloused would his diligent hands be, or would your theory that he had a soft spot for hand lotion finally be proven true. How much did his muscles flex underneath all that armor? How sculped would he be, after carrying all that weight for all that time?

Would he let you be the first to find out?

Your free hand began moving on its own accord, slowly bringing itself up to trace a line down the front of its vizor, trying to convince itself that yes, that was skin you were feeling. That was body heat, and pores, and scruff, and lips, and a pulse underneath all that muscle. You traced his helmet so gently and so quickly that it was mere seconds before you were pulling away, feeling the exhaustion from the night’s previous activities beginning to hit you all at once. Your eyes were fluttering shut, and with one last kiss to his metallic, bitter-tasting shoulder, you were out. Out quickly enough and deep enough for you to miss Din’s whisper in reply, brushing a lock of hair from your forehead.

“One day, mesh’la. One day.”

~*~

That day had finally come.

Din’s gloved hand in yours was the only thing keeping your mind tied down to the forests of Sorgan. You were finally--finally--going to swear to the man you loved that you would love him forever, and he would to you, for all his days.

Luckily for you, Peli was kind enough to keep the kid safe on Tattooine while you and Din headed off. Din was adamant that the ceremony be special, not some random day on the Razor Crest, but on a star-filled night on Sorgan.

“That’s how I want it,” he had told you after days of pestering him, “just you, me, and the stars.”

Frankly, you just wanted him.

He led you up a small hill that led to a cleared-out field, stretching farther than you could see, and your pulse beat louder and louder as you took each step. You could only imagine how he was feeling underneath all that armor, what shade his eyes turned when he was nervous, and how you would react when you finally knew the answer.

The night air cooled you as you made your way to the top of the hill, Din guiding you to the flattest and clearest spot. He was a quiet man--always listening, always watching--but he was being abnormally quiet as you made your way to the designated spot. The creatures in the trees chirping and buzzing filled the anxious air for you.

Finally, Din stopped and faced you, taking both of your hands into his own. He gazed at you intensely, and you met it straight on. “You’re sure about this?”

You smiled softly, letting the love shine through in your eyes, and nodded. “Yes.”

He exhaled a sigh with undertones of emotions that you couldn’t quite place, and immediately started peeling the weapons off his body, one by one, placing them gently in the grass. He started with his spear, pulling it from its carrier with a familiar shling. He traced it with his palm before setting it down, and moving to his weapons belt, removing every artillery he had. Dispensing his whistling birds into the dirt, delicately. He stripped himself of any and every bit of his arsenal.

“This is the first step,” he said as he worked, “to prove that you can trust me, and to deny any ill-intent on my part.”

You couldn’t help but smile at the thought that he had already done this step in your shared bedroom. Every night. Without fail.

Once he finished, he took his hands in yours again, pulling you near. His hands had a slight shake to them, so you squeezed them tighter.

“Are you afraid, Din?” you whispered over the buzzing insects.

He said nothing as he squeezed your hands back, only breathed slowly as he looked into your eyes. You brought his hands up to your mouth and pecked his leathered knuckles, looking into his star-glazed helmet. “It’s just me and you.”

He exhaled again, but this time, you knew it was out of relief, and maybe even...excitement.

“Okay,” he whispered, his forehead inches from your own now. “Then let’s do this.”

You smiled so wide your cheeks ached. “Okay.”

Din chuckled slightly before looking down and widening his feet to match up with the length of his shoulders. He straightened up to his fullest height, allowing the stars to shimmer on his beskar that much more, causing the pounding of your heart to echo louder and louder in your skull.

You were really fucking doing this.

“Now we say the vows,” Din said, sounding out of breath. “I know you know them, but for a Mandalorian and a...non-Mandalorian...it’s tradition for the latter to repeat them back to the Mandalorian. It symbolizes your full understanding of the Creed, as well as your full acceptance of it.”

You nodded, gulping, and mimicked his stanse--strong, confident, ready. The trees around you swayed in the wind as Din gathered his breath.

“Repeat after me,” he began, taking a second to rub his thumb over your knuckles. “Ready?”

“Ready.”

Din’s voice steadied as he said, “Mhi solus tome.”

“Mhi solus tome.”

“Mhi solus dar’tome.”

“Mhu me’dinui an.”

“Mhi me'dinui an.”

“Mhi ba’juri verde.”

“Mhi bar’juri verde.”

With a newfound shakiness in his voice, Din continued, stating them in your familiar tongue, “We are one when together, we are one when parted.”

“We are one when together, we are one when parted.”

“We will share all, we will raise warriors.”

The birds chirped, the insects buzzed, and one drop of rain landed on the top of Din’s helmet as he said, “We’re married.”

You didn’t hesitate to immediately jump into his arms, effectively bringing the most feared bounty hunter to the ground with you.

Tears lined your eyes as you laughed in pure ecstasy, your brain unable to process that the man in your arms was finally your riduur. Not your partner, not your boyfriend, not just your husband, your riduur. He was yours now, infinitely, endlessly, above space and time, and you were his. Din laughed loudly in your arms, just as filled with joy as you were, and you could have sworn that noise filled the hole in your heart that had been sore and empty all your life.

You leaned up onto your elbows to look down at him, the both of you knowing what came next. Dribbles of rain became more and more frequent upon your head, beginning to soak into your scalp, but you couldn’t feel anything else besides the excitement in your chest and the metal of your husband against your warm body. Drops of rain began to hit his helmet as well, sliding down the sides and collecting within his visor.

How long had it been since he felt a drop of rain on his skin?

He had to have noticed the desire in your eyes to complete what you had started as he covered your hands with his and pulled them up to the sharp edge of his helmet. “Go on, riduur,” he whispered, “I’m not afraid anymore.”

And with that, you lifted the visor from his face, carefully, using all your willpower to not shut your eyes at even a peak at his skin. Your hands shook as you lifted and your heart clogged your throat as the man you had sworn to protect, kissed until you were dizzy, and shared the darkest, most shameful parts of your being with finally hit your eyes.

Your first thought when your eyes ultimately discovered their deepest desire was that you had married the most beautiful man alive.

A blanket of thick, dark brown curls covered the top of his head, framing his face. His skin was a golden tan, highlighting his cheekbones and pink, plump lips that you had kissed so many times. His face was further framed by dark eyebrows and sculpted facial hair, as well as a prominent, strong nose. It was counteracted by a soft jawline and big, brown eyes. They were darker than you expected, an almost black, but slightly glazed by surrealness of this moment. Raindrops began to soak the curls atop his head and drip into his slightly opened mouth, drawing your attention to the one thing you were most excited about.

A small freckle, right below his chin. One of your favorite spots to kiss in the darkness of your bunk. It was just sitting there, waiting for you to memorize.

You realized soon after that the raindrops dribbling onto his cheeks weren’t rain at all, but a mixture of both his tears and yours. You let out a chuckle of disbelief. He was right here, right in front of you. Just how you had always wanted him to be.

You brushed his tears away as you whispered, “Ner riduur cuyir mesh’la.”

It turns out his eyes do crinkle when he smiles.

“That’s what you were practicing the other night?” he asked, his voice dripping with honey free from the modulator. You nodded.

He smiled wider, brushing your soaked hair from your forehead, “Ner riduur cuyir mesh’la bat brilliant.”

You couldn’t help the giggle you released at his words, nor could you prevent your lips colliding with his own. It was better than any kiss you had ever shared before.

He sighed into it as he kissed you back, the most relaxed and full of life as you had ever felt him kiss you, yet he exuded passion. His tongue caressed yours within seconds, bringing you as close to him as he possibly could. You ran your hands everywhere you possibly could--through his hair, down his neck, under his chest piece, over his cheeks. He groaned when you discovered how easy it was to scratch your nails into his hair and his scruff without the fear of opening your eyes, and you had to pull away to smile.

“I can’t stop looking at you,” you whispered, moving your kisses to the column down his neck. You felt it heat up with a blush.

“Neither can I,” he whispered, and maker his voice. His throat vibrated against your lips as he spoke. “I knew you’d be beautiful without my sensors, but I wasn’t ready for how beautiful.”

He pushed you closer to his neck as you hit his favorite spot, nibbling down just how he liked. His large hands were suddenly off of you, and a rustle of leather later, they were back on your body, gloveless. You whined into his ear when you finally felt that yes, he was obsessed with hand lotion, and his soft hands massaged into your scalp.

The rain poured harder and harder in the darkness as you and Din kissed and stroked and loved on each other. You eventually reached down to his pants, sliding your fingers down underneath. In previous years, he would fuck you, but the armor stayed on. The most skin you got to feel was his dick and his face, but both were a rarity. His goal was always to make you scream and come all over him, but now you wanted more. You wanted to drown him in your mouth and body.

“I’m on a drink,” you whispered into his mouth, feeling his happy trail against the pads of your fingers, “if you want.”

His skin and hair were soaked, but his eyes and muscles were suddenly awake, widening in excitement. “Yes,” he nodded, almost profusely, “yes.”

You pulled back and traced a line down his face, just like you did that fateful night in your bunk, only this time, you didn’t have to imagine the heat of his skin, or the look in his eyes as you pulled his pants down and yours to the side.

“Look at me,” he whispered suddenly as you lined yourself up, and you obliged. “I love you, Y/N. More than anything. More than my Creed, more than my life.”

You smiled, and kissed him. “I know.”

And you slid him inside of you.

You and Din had done this before, but never enough times for you to remember what it felt like. It was a surprise to you every time, without fail, how perfectly his curve fit into you, like you were molded and crafted for one another. His girth filled you fully, threatening to flutter your eyes shut, but you kept them open. You wanted to see his face as he entered you, see his eyebrows etch together, his mouth pop open, and his Adam’s apple bob.

He really was beautiful.

The rain soaked through your clothes as you moved, keeping your mouth either on his or on his face the entire time, listening to his groans and whines for more.

“Just like that riduur fuck yeah,” he got louder and louder as he spoke, “that’s it. You’re perfect at this. At everything.”

You grinned, whispering, “you look so fucking good right now,” and proceeded to suck a hickey onto his neck.

“Stop,” he said with a chuckle, and you laughed back, marking him as yours. He sucked a few onto your collarbone soon after.

You rocked and rocked and squeezed onto him just the way he liked, getting lost in the feeling of the cool rain, his warm dick, his glorious face, and the stars in the sky, that you nearly missed his squeezes on your arm.

“I’m close,” he whispered, suddenly creeping his hand up your thigh, “I’m so close.”

“Fill me up, riduur,” you whispered, “I want to feel you for days dripping out of--”

Your breath caught as his soft finger rubbed on your clit just right, causing you to squeeze on him so deliciously. He went, and you went seconds after at the feeling of his warmth inside of you. He had never gone this far. Not once.

You practically collapsed on top of him, letting him massage your hair and rub your back as you both came down, down, down. You pressed your nose into his neck, smelling his skin. The rain made his usual lemon scented three-in-one that much more pungent.

The both of you sat in silence for a few moments, letting the last of the rain dribble down on you, your heartrates steady, and your brain process the fact that everything about that moment was pure and real and just an inkling of the rest of your lives. The rain slowly came to a stop, and Din chuckled, making you chuckle.

“So now it stops,” he laughed, and you sat up to meet his eyes.

“I liked it. You look hot in the rain.”

He looked down with a blush on his face, “Good, because you look freezing.”

You hadn’t noticed your teeth beginning to chatter. “I’m fine.”

He shook his head and lifted you off of him, your mewl at his exit from your body borderline pathetic, and kept you lifted with one arm while he pulled up his pants with the other. He helped you pull up yours before positioning you bridal style in his arms as he began the walk back to the Crest.

“Din, your helmet, and your things--”

“Don’t need them,” he whispered as he walked, holding you close to his chest. “Not around you. Not anymore.”

Mando’a Translations:

“Ner riduur cuyir mesh’la.” -- My riduur is beautiful.

“Ner riduur cuyir mesh’la bat brilliant.” -- My riduur is beautiful and brilliant.

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wrathkitty · 11 days

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Short Debts Make Long Friends - Chapter 19 (part 1)

Chapter 19: I Don't Need to See Your Face; I Just Need You to Help Me Pretend

This is the big leagues? you were wondering as you followed Mando down the stairs to meet the man himself. This wasn’t even your worst Black Friday, when some asshole decoupaged all the dressing rooms with Christmas-themed hentai and you had to explain to your very, very sheltered manager why the tentacles were wearing Santa hats.

But then Kaba happened, and everything surpassed all the Black Fridays, and your worst nightmares, too.

One minute, the porcine-faced Klatoonian was casually seated at his desk and weighing his options; the next, Mando had shoved you behind him and yelled, “Go!” over his shoulder.

This was your first chance to see the Darksaber in action, but you didn’t need to be told twice. As Kaba’s goons descended, you and D-5 had run for the exit, with full intention of booking it to the usual rendezvous point at the transit station.

You were halfway to the door when you heard it. You knew the sounds Mando made during a fight. Every grunt, every hiss and yelp, even the occasional curse that meant he’d been hurt.

You had never heard that sound from him before.

Autopilot clicked into gear, knocking self-doubt right out of the driver’s seat.

You bolted back the way you came, instantly zeroing in the source of Mando’s agonized cry as soon as you ducked through the transparent strips of curtain – the patch of scorched, glowing flesh on his leg that should have been really well-done CGI, except you knew better.

Short Debts Make Long Friends - An overeducated, underpaid millennial finally gets to go on her first adventure.

Anyone who reblogs gets a DM with a future snippet of their choice! (Humor, angst, sexyfuntimes.) You know you wanna...

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#din djarin x reader #mando x reader #din x reader #mando x original female character #short debts make long friends #din djarin x female reader #the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian #din djarin #baby yoda

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djarins-cyare · 9 months

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Not me posing my Din Djarin doll into scenes from my fic… holding out his hand for you to take 🥹🥹

For more heart stopping moments, check out Be-All And Endor.

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chiriwritesstuff · 26 days

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... in Every Universe - A Roswell-inspired Modern! Din Djarin x F! Reader Soulmates AU (Prologue)

Chapter Rating: M

Chapter Summary: At five years old, you're found wandering alone in a weird town called Roswell and have no recollection of how you got there. 20 years later, you're working at your adoptive family's diner and you can't help the connection you feel with the town's bounty hunter, who just can't stop staring at you... what happens when you're on the brink of death and the man in question saves you in a way you can't explain?

Chapter Tags and Warnings: Canon divergent, minor descriptions of violence towards the reader (she gets shot), flashes between different universes and POVs, eventual smut, explicit language, loosely based on 'Roswell' (the 1999 WB series), Grogu exists in all universes, no beta we die like men!

Word Count: 1.7k

Nova

"Here we go! One meteor shake and one Alien Blood for the lady!"

You place the drinks down on the table, a forced smile gracing your lips as you eye the eccentric couple across from you. Arching a curious eyebrow, you take in their vibrant Crash Festival shirts, suppressing the urge to snort. "So, are you two here for the Crash Festival this weekend?"

"We sure are!" the man excitedly says, placing an arm around his girlfriend. "It's our first time here in Roswell. Are you from here?"

"Proud to say my family's been in Roswell for at least the last four generations," you declare, a hint of pride coloring your words as you wipe your hands on your apron. Sure, you think to yourself. I was actually found wandering around town by myself not knowing who I was at five years old before being found by your adoptive father one night, but how would they know?

The couple's faces light up with excitement, drawing closer to you. "So your family must know about what happened all those years ago then?" the woman asks, her voice barely above a whisper. "...with the crash, that is?"

"Well, I guess since you both seem like nice folks, it wouldn't hurt to share this with you," you say conspiratorially, reaching into your apron and withdrawing a folded paper. "I assume you can keep a secret?"

The couple's eyes widen as they slowly take the photo out of your hands, their mouths agape in astonishment. Your coworker Omera rolls her eyes as she passes by, coffee pot in hand, chuckling quietly to herself. "You are so bad," she whispers in your ear. "You're lucky your dad isn't around, I'm sure Greef would sprout another head if he had to deal with your antics once again," she adds, offering refills to the two men at the table next to you.

"Refill, gentlemen?" Omera asks the men, frowning as she notices their aggravated state.

"Does it look like we need any refills?" one of the men asks harshly, waving her off. "Just go away!" he shouts, glaring at her. She gives you a frown as she turns around.

You wave her off quickly, turning your attention back to the couple.

"My grandfather actually was working near the crash site when he was younger and managed to take a picture before the feds arrived to clean up the scene," you whisper, glancing to your side to make sure no one else can hear your conversation. The photo shows a grotesque alien amongst the wreckage of a crash site, obviously fake.

"Does anyone else know about this photograph?" the woman presses, taking note of your hesitance.

"Well, I know about it, and now you guys know, too." You say seriously, trying not to laugh at their obliviousness.

"Woah, this is fucking insane!" the man exclaims quietly, looking at the photograph once more.

"I'll be right back, alright?" you suddenly say, a serious look on your face. "Don't show that to anyone, okay?"

"Yeah!" they both sputter, the man folding the photograph and placing it in his pocket. "Your secret's safe with us!" the woman whispers, nodding.

You nod back at her, straightening yourself up. You catch up to Omera as she laughs at the mischievous expression on your face.

"You are such a menace!" Omera playfully smacks you as the two of you make your way back to the kitchen, a satisfied smirk on your face. "Oh, and Din Djarin is staring at you again," she adds, discreetly nodding in his direction.

"No way!" you exclaim, pushing her into the kitchen. "Omera, that is so in your imagination!"

You turn to look in the direction of the man in question, your eyes meeting his as he clears his throat, quickly breaking eye contact and glancing at his young son seated next to him. Your breath suddenly catches in your throat as you nervously glance back at your friend, the collar of your scratchy uniform suddenly too tight and constricting. "Din Djarin? This?" you point to yourself, shaking your head at your best friend. "No, uh-uh."

"Oh, but with those cheeks and that smile of yours? How can that handsome brooding man resist the princess of Roswell, huh?"

"Omera, come on, cut it out!" you exclaim, waving your hands in protest. "...and even if he was staring at me, it doesn't matter. I'm with Cobb! He's steady, sexy, and totally into me!" you declare, nodding to yourself as if trying to convince yourself as well.

"It sounds like you're describing a golden retriever or something," Omera deadpans, walking back towards the dining hall. "Sounds awfully exciting, shacking up with the Sheriff and all that," she mutters to you, shaking her head. "Why have dependable vanilla sex when you can have exciting mysterious sex with Roswell's resident bounty hunter? I bet he could fuck you five ways to-"

"I gave you a week!" the man from the neighboring table shouts, jumping up and pulling out a gun from his pocket. "You're about to see what happens when you mess around!"

"Nova!" Omera's voice rings out suddenly. "Call your dad, things are getting crazy!"

Before you can react, the other man lunges at the one with the gun, struggling to disarm him. In the chaos, the gun goes off, and you feel a sharp pain as you're hit.

"Oh my god!" Omera exclaims, turning to the other patrons. "Is everyone okay?" She looks towards your direction, her eyes widening in shock as she sees you curled up on the floor. "Nova!" she screams as the dining room descends into chaos, the two men running out of the restaurant in a hurry before someone calls 911. "Someone, help!" she screams into the crowd frantically.

Din

Din jumps as he sees the bullet go in your direction, glancing at his young son still seated in the chair next to him. "Grogu, are you okay?"

"Yes, dada," he shakily responds, his eyes glancing at your crumpled form. "Nova's hurt!" he exclaims, pointing in your direction. "Grogu help her!" he cries, attempting to get out of his seat.

"No!" Din shouts, "You stay right there, I'll help her, okay? Stay with Uncle Boba!"

"Din, no," Boba warns through gritted teeth. "We can't risk getting exposed-"

"I can't just fucking leave her to bleed out!" Din cries helplessly, looking in your direction. "I need to help her!"

As he rushes toward you, Omera follows closely behind. "Call 911!" he commands, using it as a diversion to keep her away, not wanting her near the two of you as he grapples internally with what he's about to do.

"Nova," he whispers, ripping your uniform away from your body, his eyes trained on the blood pooling on your torso. "I need you to look at me, can you do that for me?" he pleads, placing a hand behind your head. "Nova," he begs, "Please baby, I need you to look at me."

Your eyes flutter open slightly as he gazes intently back at you, his hand applying pressure to your wound with gentle urgency. Vivid images flood your mind as Din focuses on healing you.

In an instant, you're in a desert, brandishing a laser sword against a lizard-like adversary. A voice calls out, and you're struck from behind by a blaster shot. Then, as Din presses harder on your wound, you're transported to a spaceship, writhing in pain as you clutch your abdomen. A figure stands beside you, armored and mysterious, their helmet removed. But before you can identify the man in armor, you snap back to reality, meeting the deep brown eyes of Din once more.

Din breathes a sigh of relief as the wound on your torso closes, his eyes fluttering closed as he recalls the visions he shared with you moments before. She can't be, he thinks to himself, his hands cradling your face gently as he draws you closer to him, pulling you into the safety of his chest. "You're okay, Nova," he whispers against your ear. "You're with me, alright? Stay with me."

"Dada," Grogu's sudden cry breaks the moment, his face etched with concern. "Did you heal mama?"

"What did you say?" Din's voice is filled with disbelief as he looks at his son. "What did you call her?"

"Mama," Grogu repeats, attempting to reach you. "I felt her pain just now, I knew I saw her in my dreams-"

"Djarin!" Boba's sudden shout startles you, and Grogu protests as he's lifted up, reaching out toward both of you. "We've got to go, NOW!"

Din swiftly assesses the situation, gently setting you back down on the ground before grabbing a nearby bottle of ketchup. Squeezing it over your chest and uniform, he meets your gaze with urgency. "You took a fall and broke the bottle accidentally," he whispers to you, swiftly rising to his feet. "Please, if Cobb asks, just say it was a nasty fall, okay?" With that, he dashes towards the door, joining Boba and Grogu already waiting in the idling car outside.

You nod as Omera rushes to your side, helping you up as you watch Din jump into the car and speed away.

"Nova," Omera says, her voice filled with concern as she takes in your disheveled appearance. "What in the hell just happened?"

"I don't know," you stammer, trying to make sense of it all. You close your eyes once more, and it feels as though you're still in that spaceship, with Din's hands clasping yours as he gazes back at you, tears streaming down his face. Your heart races as you glance down at your wounded form, only to find yourself suddenly pregnant, your eyes widening in disbelief at your swollen abdomen.

"Stay with me, Nova," Din pleads in your memory, tearing away your tunic as blood gushes from your abdomen. "Please, stay with me," he cries, tears cascading down his face as he tenderly caresses your pregnant belly. "Please Cyar'ika, please don't leave me!"

"Nova!" Omera's desperate screams are the last thing you hear as you slip into unconsciousness, the world around you plunging into darkness.

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beskarandblasters · 11 days

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Stonecatcher

Chapter One: Working for the Knife

Din Djarin x OFC!Athalia (Second Person POV)

Artwork: The Lovers by René Magritte Gif: @cherubispunk Series Masterlist | Series Playlist | Din Djarin Masterlist

Series summary: An up-and-coming bounty hunter and a promising arms dealer cross paths on Dantooine. What starts as a business relationship quickly becomes more. How long can you bury your emotions and be a stonecatcher for someone else before you finally snap?

Series warnings: pre season one of The Mandalorian, instant smut but slow burn romantically, Athalia is able-bodied but other than that has no physical description, angst

Chapter summary: An introduction into our main character, Athalia, the people around her, and the world she lives in. And the fateful night she crosses paths with a certain Mandalorian.

Word count: 3.5k

Chapter warnings: sonic = shower, descriptions of nausea, taking medication, drinking, dub con/consent under the influence, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, creampie, mentions of birth control (implant)

Gas hangs heavy in the air, permeating the small room and suffocating your senses. Your hands are slick with the thick substance as you fill-up the cartridges, getting ready to load them into the blasters. Every so often you stop and look away, blinking and holding back tears from the fumes. It’s painstaking work, often messy and tedious but you suppose it’s better than working in a brothel or even a cantina like your friend Sheva.

But eventually, you need a break, pulling yourself out of your chair and stepping out back for some fresh air. Your house is located on the edge of Casia, a small village on Dantooine. There’s not much here yet but the influx of travelers leads you to believe Casia will be much more than a primitive village one day.

Your house overlooks the rolling hills and grassy knolls. The rainy season just ended which made the brown grass tinged with a shade of lavender. In the distance, there are a few blba trees, branches shaking in the gentle wind along with the blades of grass. The afternoon sun is shining and the air is invigorating, a harsh contrast to the stuffy gas-filled interior of your home. Moments like this where you’re appreciating the little things are few and far between lately. Your business has consumed everything– your thoughts, your time, your social life.

You take one final deep breath, closing your eyes as you do as if the stress will just melt away. If it only were that easy.

“Are you stopping by tonight?”

You startle with a jolt, turning around to find Sheva, standing with a smile and a hand on her hip. She’s wearing her work uniform, stopping by your place on the way to her shift tonight.

“Didn’t mean to scare you,” she chuckles.

“You’re fine,” you sigh, “But to answer your question, I think so.”

“You think so??”

“What?” you shrug.

“You should get out more often.”

“There’s not much to do in this town to begin with.”

She rolls her eyes and says, “Still, there’s plenty more to do here besides sitting in your house all day, huffing blaster fumes.”

“I’m building my business!” you protest.

“Mhm, sure.”

“Hey, once I gain a more steady customer base I can afford to get those gas cartridges pre-filled.”

“I am just waiting for the day,” she says sarcastically.

“I’ll be there tonight, I promise.”

“Holding you to it,” she says, turning and saying goodbye over her shoulder.

Once you head back inside to get ready for the evening you’re immediately sent into a coughing fit. A pounding headache follows soon after. Maybe Sheva was right…

Fresh air spills in through the windows of your front room as you open them one by one, but it’s not enough. The sonic might help. You turn on the water, shedding your clothes as you wait for it to heat up. The steam fills the small room, alleviating your headache just a tad. But as you wash the gas off your hands, you realize there’s one thing that’ll actually do you some good; a trip to the Apothecary. Medication will quell your headache but a conversation with Sulee, the owner, is perhaps the most healing thing on Dantooine. You’ve known her since you were a child and she’s watched you grow up. She’s been there for you through everything– every test you took in school, every breakup, every fight with Sheva. She’s watched you through every stage of your life and somehow she always knows just what to say when you’re feeling lost and in need of guidance.

Once you’re out of the sonic you dry off and look over your outfit choices for tonight, thumbing through your closet for the perfect thing to wear. Nights out are scarce lately now that you’re so dedicated to the business and it feels like you have endless options to choose from, all outfits from your younger, wilder days. But then you finally settle on one of your old favorites– a simple black dress with matching boots before locking up and heading to the apothecary.

It’s golden hour now and the village is cast in a hazy red glow. Now’s the time when people start pouring into the cantina because there’s nothing else to do. It’ll be a miracle if you get a seat at the bar or even talk to Sheva throughout her shift. She’ll just push you to try and meet someone and you fight back, telling her there’s no one to meet here, that this town is too small for dating. And then you’ll drink too much, filling up on revnog before going back to your fume-filled house, that’ll only contribute to the killer hangover you’ll have the next day. Sounds like a blast.

The Apothecary is located in the center of the village, a modest-looking building decked out in the same earth tones that match Dantooine. Spring is coming to an end but the flowers planted out front are thriving, blooming in a lavender color similar to the blades of grass. Sulee takes pride in keeping the outside of her building presentable, making sure the weeds are pulled and the flowers are cared for. But in her old age, it’s hard for her to get down on the ground by herself, finding herself stuck until someone walks by to help her up. You try to help her when you can but it’s been getting more and more difficult for you to help when the business has occupied all of your time. It makes you feel guilty, flaking out on someone who’s been there for you your whole life. You try not to think about it that much, only letting the guilt eat away at you at night when you’re alone in bed, staring up at the ceiling and telling yourself you can do better, you can be better.

Now’s not the time for guilt.

The Apothecary smells heavenly when you step inside but it’s also impossibly warm. Spring is transitioning into summer and there’s no need for the wood-burning stove to be on. But she’s old so she gets a pass, even though you can feel the sweat already building up on your back.

“You look sick, Athalia,” she says, not even looking up from the pot she’s stirring on the stove.

“I am not!” you say defensively, just as your headache pangs again.

“You don’t go outside anymore,” she sighs, looking up at you from her stool, “You know the sun is good for you, right?”

“You sound like Sheva. You two conspiring against me or something?”

“Just looking out for your best interest,” she shrugs, “Do you need anything?”

“I just have a headache.”

“Knew you looked sick,” she tuts, “Let me get you a pill.”

She goes to rise from her stool but you stop her, helping her sit back down.

“I’ll get it. Just tell me where.”

“Top shelf to the right,” she says, pointing to the shelf behind the counter.

You head behind the counter, glancing at the notepad open on a page with a to-do list on it. A quick glance at Sulee lets you know that her back is towards you still, giving you a moment to snoop. You look over the page, focusing less on the contents of the list and more on the state of her handwriting. It’s shaky and barely legible. You’re reminded again of her declining health and how absent you’ve been lately.

“Did you find it?” she asks, still facing the stove.

“Yup!” you lie, spinning around and scanning the top shelf.

You find the bottle she was talking about, downing a couple of pills before setting it back on the shelf.

“Have fun tonight,” she says, looking up at you as you walk to the door.

“I didn’t even tell you where I was going.”

“The cantina. Where else would you be going?”

“You’re right.”

“There’s nothing else to do in this town,” you both say simultaneously. You share a laugh and start to feel a bit better for once.

“See you later!” you call over your shoulder before leaving the Apothecary.

The cantina is on the other side of Casia, on the side of the village where the river sits. It’s sort of an unfortunate place for the cantina to be considering that many travelers will drunkenly stumble and fall into the river. Luckily for Casia, charging travelers rescue fees is one of the village’s largest sources of profit.

The cantina is just about as busy as you thought it would be. Many of the townspeople are packed into booths lining the outer edge of the room. But there are also a few people you don’t recognize, mainly humans but also a few other species such as a Trandoshan, three Twi’leks, and a Sullustan. The free-standing tables are full but luckily there are two seats left at the bar.

Perfect. You can stay close to Sheva like you had hoped to, enjoy a few rounds of revnog, and turn in early.

You shuffle past the sweaty bodies, the smell of smoke hanging in the air. Being here isn’t too far off from being home, given the smell. The only different thing is the noise. There’s an uncomfortable stillness in your house that’s present all the time.

Sheva spots you at the opposite end of the bar from where she’s at. She makes eye contact with you and stops talking to the customer she’s standing in front of, much to his dismay.

“What?!” she says, raising her hands in a faux defensiveness, “I’ll be here all night. Don’t get all clingy on me.”

She turns and grabs a glass, pouring your first drink for the night. She slides it down the countertop to you, mouthing the words “help me” and gesturing to her overbearing customer.

You take the glass and shrug, shooting her a smirk before taking a sip. Looks like you’re on your own until this schmuck decides to leave.

It takes another three rounds for this guy to leave. And thank the Maker he did because he was occupying all of Sheva’s time. She finally makes her way to you, sighing and slumping against the bar.

“New boyfriend?” you tease.

“Don’t start.”

“Where’s he from?”

“Tatooine. Don’t know what he’s doing here but to each their own.”

“Wow. Left one shit-hole and came to another one.”

“What a sad life.”

“Hey now. He traveled all this way to see you! Don’t be rude.”

She groans again while you erupt into a fit of laughter.

“Hey, sweetheart! I need another round of Spotchka,” a man three seats down from you calls out.

“Duty calls,” she says, standing up straight and putting on her best customer service smile.

“Sweetheart? Is that the best you can do?” she pretend-jokes, grabbing a glass for him.

You nurse the rest of your drink, getting ready to wind down for the evening. It’s a shame you didn’t get to see much of her tonight but it’s the weekend. At least you got to spend time with Sulee, even if it was brief.

Just when you’re setting your credits down on the bar, you sense a presence beside you. You turn your head and startle a bit. It’s a Mandalorian. You’ve only seen less than a handful of them in your lifetime. His helmet is silver but the rest of his armor doesn’t match. Instead, every piece of armor is a different earth tone, peppered with scratches from cycles of wear and tear. His gloved hands rest on his belt and his cape is black, also showing signs of wear.

“...Can I help you?” you ask, starting to feel the revnog. Your face feels hot as you talk to him. There’s something attractive about him even though you can’t see his face.

“I’m just passing through town and I’m wondering where’s the best place to purchase a part for my rifle.”

You don’t care if you’re slightly drunk. You’re not going to miss an opportunity to make a sale.

“What are you looking for? I might be able to help.”

You half expect him to chastise you, a woman offering to help a big scary man with his rifle. But he doesn’t.

“I’m looking for a scope for my Amban Rifle.”

“I’ve got plenty of those,” you say, standing up from your stool, “Follow me.”

You lead him out of the cantina, stumbling a bit as you walk. His hand rests on the small of your back and butterflies flutter in your stomach.

“You alright?” he asks behind you.

“Mhm,” you call out, taking a deep breath of the cool nighttime air as you step out onto the street.

Silently, you walk side by side to your house. But deep down you’re excited at the prospect of a sale and potentially a new recurring customer. Until you remember he’s not from around here.

He follows you inside and your nose is still met with the smell of gas. You hope that he doesn’t smell it. Maybe he can’t with his helmet.

“How much are you charging for it?” he asks.

There’s that hurdle. The price.

You hadn’t exactly thought that far ahead. It’s your first scope sale.

“Twenty credits?”

“...That’s it?”

Kriff, that was probably too low. But you can’t go back on your price now.

“...Yup,” you say, closing the door.

“I’ll take it.”

“Great. Can I see the rifle?”

He pulls it off of his back and hands it to you. You take it in your hands and look at the scope he has attached to it currently, checking for the size he needs. The glass of the lens is cracked.

“How’d you manage this?”

“Broke it during a scuffle.”

You look up from the rifle and raise your eyebrow, silently wanting more information. He gives it to you.

“Bounty gave me a hard time.”

“You’re a bounty hunter?”

“Mhm.”

You return your gaze to the rifle, running your fingers down the barrel. It’s… filthy.

“When’s the last time you cleaned this?”

“Uhh.”

“Don’t worry. I got it.”

You turn towards your cabinet behind you and open the door, searching for oil and a pad. Meticulously, you clean his rifle, starting at the barrel and working your way down. There’s an uncomfortable silence looming over you two as he just watches you clean his rifle. You notice he’s shifting between both feet, almost like he’s nervous. His hands clench and unclench at his sides and that’s when you spot what’s making him fidget so much; the bulge in his flight suit.

This man is getting hard watching you clean his rifle. Maker, you’re going to have fun with this.

Once you’re done you set it on your table, getting ready to search for the right size scope. Turning and bending over a box in the corner of your front room, you rifle through the jumbled mess. Bending over while wearing a dress was intentional but not being able to find the scope was not. And now you fear that you look like an idiot, an idiot who’s barely cut out to run her own business.

“Do you need help?” he deadpans.

“Uhh…”

You hear him walk closer towards you just as you’re trying to lift the box from the floor. And before you know it his crotch collides with your ass. You stifle a giggle and he sighs. Kriff, that was inappropriate and you normally wouldn’t laugh. But in your drunken stupor, you thought it was funny.

“Do you have it or not?”

“What if I don’t?”

He lets out another exasperated sigh.

“Are you just gonna let this little trip go fruitless?” you press, wondering if he’ll catch your drift.

“No,” he practically growls, his hand cupping your ass, “I’ll take what I can get.”

“You’re not taking anything if I’m willingly giving it to you,” you chuckle, backing into him further.

He grabs you by your hips, dragging you over to the table where you do your work. He shoves the rifle aside and you hop up on the table, lying back and hiking up your skirt, spreading your legs for him.

“So eager,” he teases but in a way that actually feels mean. It doesn’t hurt, though.

Instead, you shoot back, “Says the one who got hard watching me clean his rifle.” He huffs as his hand palms your inner thigh and you press further, “What’s the matter, Mando? Got all hot and bothered watching a woman handle your blaster?”

He leans forward, bringing his helmet above your face. You stare into the visor, lips curled into a smirk.

“Shut up,” he says, most likely through gritted teeth.

“Or else what?” you counter.

“Or I’ll make you.”

“Oh, I’m so scared,” you say, rolling your eyes.

He jerks his groin into you, bulge pressing against your underwear-clad cunt. You sit up and sigh, doing the work for him and tugging off your underwear. You toss it on the floor and lie back down, telling him, “If you’re going to have your way with me then just do it already.”

You spit in your hand and reach between your legs, getting yourself nice and slick for him. He pulls his cock out of his flight suit and you can’t help but want a look. You prop yourself up on your elbows, inching upright to sneak a peek. It’s as big as you thought but that was a given considering the saunter in his step. But it’s also thick and uncut. Seeing the head of his cock makes you wonder if the shade matches his lips. It doesn’t matter, though. Something about not seeing his face makes this even hotter.

He takes his cock in his hand and strokes it a few times, spreading the pre-cum that’s built up at the tip down his shaft. He hooks his arms around your thighs and pulls you into him, thrusting his cock inside you.

Your breath hitches at the sudden girth inside you, his cock buried down to the hilt.

“You can take it,” he says.

“I-I know,” you breathe out, still getting adjusted to his size. You’re not about to let him get a rise out of you, even now when he’s balls deep in you.

His hands move to your waist, holding you steady as he draws his hips back and thrusts into you again. With each one you get more accustomed to him, your pleasure builds and core muscles grow tense. But he’s determined to make a mess of you. He brings his hand by your cunt, thumb rubbing your clit as he pounds into you.

Your moans grow higher in pitch and your front room is filled with the lewd, wet sounds of his cock sliding in and out of you. With the noise you remember that you opened all the windows before you left for the cantina tonight, meaning that anyone walking by can hear Mando railing you.

Your back arches and your orgasm spills over the edge. Stars dance in your vision as he fucks you through your release, thumb still rubbing your clit.

“That’s it. Cum on my cock,” he says, keeping the same pace.

You’re too blissed out to come up with a witty response. Your walls clench his cock and the sensation triggers his own orgasm. His cum spills inside you and you panic for a second at the accidental creampie until you remember you have an implant. It’s just finally useful for once.

He pulls out of you when he’s done coming and you sit upright on the table, avoiding eye contact with each other.

He puts his cock back in his flight suit and after a beat of silence you say, “You still want the scope, right?”

“I do.”

You slide off the table and smooth down your skirt, walking over to the box of parts and crouching down. You find the scope and stand up, holding it out in front of you.

“Told you I had it.”

He sighs again as you attach it to his rifle. He reaches into his pocket, grabbing a handful of credits, and placing them in your hand.

“Here’s twenty-five credits. Keep the change.”

“Thanks, Mando,” you say, handing off the rifle.

He nods with a tip of his helmet and gets ready to leave, walking to the door and giving you a final look before disappearing into the night.

That was… hot. And certainly not how your business transactions normally go. It’s a shame he’s not from around here, though.

You close your windows, deciding that you gave your neighbors enough of a show tonight, and head to bed. You’re not one for one-night stands, but for an experience like that… you’d make an exception any day of the week.

End note: Today’s the one year anniversary of my first fic! Thank you to @wannab-urs @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin and @clawdee for letting me talk out this series this y’all + being my beta readers 🤍🤍

Fic notifs: @beskarandblastersfics

Tag list: @wannab-urs @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @freelancearsonist @djarins-cyare @survivingandenduring @littlegrungegirlaf @pamasaur @chiyo13 @pedrostories @schnarfer @burntheedges

#stonecatcher #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin x oc #din djarin x ofc #din djarin x original female character #din djarin smut #the mandalorian fanfiction #star wars fanfiction #the mandalorian x original character #the mandalorian x oc #din djarin x reader

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skiitter · 1 year

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Chapter Nine (hehe). The gang of two gets to Coruscant and things heat up. Hunters and Rattataki and hotel rooms oh my.

#light ghosts #skitterfics #din djarin #the mandalorian #din djarin/original female character #the mandalorian/original female character #I was intending for this chapter to be the one where we learn Nine's real name but alas my updates did not work out as such #i know it's late im sorry shut up JEDI SURVIVOR CAME OUT OKAY.

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netherfeildren · 7 months

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The Cassandra Complex : Chapter VI : Sisyphus

Series Masterlist : Moodboard

(Din Djarin x F!Reader)

Content Warnings: Canon typical violence; Blood and Gore; Explicit description of injury; Use of misogynistic language; Threat of SA but none occurs; Ass play; Anal sex

A/N: It's all downhill from here, baby!!!

Rating: Explicit 18+

Word Count: 10K

Read on AO3

CHAPTER VI : SISYPHUS

DEATH: Why the bow, if you’re breaking no laws?

Anne Carson, Grief Lessons: Four Plays by Euripides

You’re in the dark again, warm and sated, together. He’s propped up on one elbow, practically half on top of you while you lay on your belly, pressed into the soft blankets and the blistering heat of his body; your cheek, smooshed into the ball of his shoulder while you let him explore your skin at will. He’s been biting and licking and kissing all over for what seems like hours after having fucked you halfway to delirium, and you can do nothing more than hum and whimper when his teeth get too hungry, his bite too sharp, listening to the sounds he makes. Low rumbles of appreciation deep in his chest that you feel vibrate into the bones of your back, breathy huffs where he takes in your scent, mingled with the flavor of his own sweat and come. You’re damp and sweaty and a little sticky in the soft crevices between your limbs, and maybe it should be disgusting, but he tastes you everywhere anyways.The tip of his nose dragging down the line of your spine, a soft nip to your waist, a sharper one to the inside of your bicep, that vulnerable and ticklish swell. He rolls you slightly further towards him to expose your breasts to his explorations, and you feel the tickle of his armpit hair on your cheek where your face is tucked into his side. He sniffs below the damp line of your hair at the nape of your neck, mouths wetly at the satiny skin, and you drag your fingertips up his arm, barely there, pulling a shiver from him and a soft moan. “What’s your favorite place in the galaxy?” Your voice barely a break in the silence, the soft song of your breathing.

A wet suck to your nipple, “Balls deep inside of you,” entirely serious in that monotone way of his.

“Disgusting.”

“Nuh uh, delicious,” a long swipe to the other nipple, pad of his thumb brushing over the dip of your navel. A whine of his name, and he gives you a laugh, the sort of laugh that changes the trajectory of a person’s life, the sort of laugh that is so real it could almost be confused as imaginary. He moves up, lets you savor the sound of it, and there is no better taste than this: someone else’s laughter in your mouth. You twist your fingers in his curls, run your tongue behind his teeth, belly pressed to belly. “I’m being serious,” you remind him.

He buries his face in your neck, a soft hum, “Here, on the ship.” With me? You want to ask. “What about yours?”

“I like water.” You always had, had always been a swimmer when the moment allowed.

“Then we shall have to find some water for you, won’t we?” His fingers have snuck down to your bottom, and he kneads your soft flesh, the line of his once again swollen erection trapped between your bodies. Yes, you’d like that, you think, to be in water with him. You dig your fingers into the rock hard muscles of his shoulders as his mouth resumes its explorations.

“I want a loth cat,” you tell him next.

Mhmm.

“Din?” His mouth is once again latched at your breast, and his cock has begun to thrust and grind against your belly, sticky tip drooling against your skin.

“Please, be quiet,” he says with your breast still in his mouth. “I’m very busy.”

You ignore him, twist your fingers tighter in his curls, arching your chest further into his mouth. “Will you get me a loth cat?” Voice all soft and breathy and breaking as you lift your thigh around his naked hip.

Distracted: “A what?”

The man really, really does not listen. “A loth cat. Will you get me one?”

Finally, he pulls his head back. “No. What is that?”

“You’re saying no, and you don’t even know what they are!”

“You’re not bringing any animals on my ship,” and even though he can’t see it, you roll your eyes at him.

“It’s a pet. Not an animal.”

“Explain the difference to me.” He bends his head to your breast again, all teeth now.

“A pet is fluffy, and I will love it.” But he brings his cock back into the mix then, and there are no more allowances for ridiculous requests for quite some time after that.

“Now you’re going to be good and stay here like I’m asking you to this time, right? Where you’re safe.” He’d landed the Razor Crest a conservative distance away from Niima Outpost; didn’t want you too far isolated in the sand dunes while he left you to go out and fetch his bounty, but not so close you’d be easily noticed.

“Oh, you are soooo stern,” you pout up at him from where you’re curled up in your bed.

His only response: a long suffering sigh, hands on his hips. You roll your eyes at him, nuzzling into the pillow that smells just like his hair. “Yes. I promise I’ll stay on the ship this time. Where it’s safe.” He comes to one knee beside your shared bed, he’d never crawled back into that tomb of a bunk again after that last time together, this was your shared place now. He brushes a gentle thumb over the pout of your bottom lip, tipping your chin up to the dark tee of his visor, “What a good girl you can be… when you set your mind to it, little one.” You scoff, rolling your eyes at him again, but feel your cheeks heat and your lower belly go tight and fluttery. Your pussy clenches with a slight twinge, and you feel the slow thick drool of his come seep out of you. He’d taken you hard earlier, savage and rough and without restraint – like he was angry at having to leave you and taking it out on your cunt.

“Only when I try very, very hard,” you tell him. He dips his chin once, and then unfolds to his great height above you, another nod, another paused moment to take one last, long look at you, and you want to beg, so badly, for him not to go. It feels like the first time he’d left, all those weeks ago. Your first experience staying on the Crest without him while he went out to hunt his bounty, and at the same time, all the worse. You know him so much better now, you need him, you… You what? No, you can’t think of it now. It’s a non possibility, something you aren’t capable of. But a pesky, perilous corner of your mind whispers, like the Force healing? A non possibility of that sort? You want to ask him to take his helmet off and kiss you before he goes, you want to beg him to stay, you want to ask him why he’s not called you that sweet name again since that last time, the only time, in the heat and damp darkness of the fresher when he’d whispered it into your skin, cyar’ika, and you want to cry, just a little bit, if you think on it too much. On the fact that he’d not repeated it, at the possibility of it having been a mistake or a slip in the heat of the moment. But you say none of those things, and ask for no kiss, and look after him with regret and an inkling of unsettled trepidation as the broad expanse of his back lumbers down the lowered plank and then disappears with the closing of the hatch into the scorched badlands and marching dunes of Jakku.

The hull is left dark and serene with his departure, quiet, and yet it sends a small shiver up your naked spine, bare and wet beneath the warm covers like he’d left you. He keeps the space meticulously clean, but now it’s littered with small signs of your presence in his life, of your life together. Your tunic thrown over the lone stool where he forces you to sit when you take your meals with him crouched at your feet, obsessively watching to make sure you have your fill, strange and lovely man that he is. He has a complex about the food you consume, as if it’s imperative to him that you eat as much as you can, that you’re always satisfied in the ways he cannot, or will not allow himself to be. He doesn’t eat enough, never as much as you know he’d probably secretly like to, and for a man of his size and brawn, surely not enough as he needs to, and it’s slowly fostered an angry kernel of resentment within you. He should always have all the things that he needs and wants, as much food as he desires, always, and anything that would keep those things from him you’re bitterly coming to detest. It even, in a strangely convoluted way, makes you angry at yourself, that your presence here with him prevents him from freely and comfortably discarding his helmet to take his meals. If you weren’t here with him he could eat as much as he wants whenever he wants without worry of being seen, and sometimes, try as you might, you can’t let go of the thought.

He’d left the pair of his thick socks you’d appropriated for yourself draped over one of the steam pipes that are warm to the touch, so that when you’d put them on they’re nice and toasty for you. The sight of them makes your heart kick and flip and burn in your chest, and you turn over to face the other way, towards the wall so that you’ll not be forced to look upon the empty hull and the warm socks and the Din-less space and remind yourself how much you hate when he goes away. He’d said he’d be back quickly, only a few hours he estimated, and you comfort yourself with this as you tuck your hands beneath your cheek and slowly drift off into a restless sleep.

“Hello, beastie.”

You’re thrashed into wakefulness by an agonizing grip twisting in your hair trying to rip the very strands from your scalp. You screech, disoriented trying to kick out, get your bearings, but the hull is still darkened from the way Din had left you. You feel another pair of hands trying to grasp at your ankles, and you kick out savagely, bracing yourself against the cold floor, and then the sickening crunch of the bones in your hand as a heavy boot slams down on your fingers, agony, agony, what is happening? An alien dialect in a language you can’t discern, rough and grating is spit back and forth between several voices, and then the first voice comes again and an old, hunched female steps into the dim light from the shadows. You recognize her reptilian Thalassian aspect immediately, and your heart drops into your stomach. Slavers. You double your efforts, kicking and screaming and trying to claw at the hands in your hair, to rip yourself away while your crushed hand screams in agony. The old female comes closer, beastie, beastie, we’ve caught ourselves a beastie, she sing-songs in a hollow voice. Another boot to your belly, kicking the air out of your lungs, sending fire through your ribs and bile up your throat, but when you turn your head, you make eye contact with one of the old crones henchmen, another Thalassian, and with a single thought you send him slumping to the ground, brains oozing out of his ears in a melted, bloody mess.

“Murderous little beast!” the female screeches, and she’s unraveling a whip from around her forearm, and before you can even brace yourself, snapping it at you so that it’s splitting open the meat of your cheek. Searing agony spreads across your face, your vision goes in and out, and you try and shake it away, but then more of that guttural unknown language and an order from the crone, and your arms are being jerked forward so harshly it feels as though your bones will be wrenched from their sockets, and they’re clamping something around your wrists. Something cold and sucking and terrible. You slump forward, tangled in the soft blankets of yours and Din’s shared bed, still naked beneath, and you try to reach for the Force, for your strength, for Din’s mind out there in the desert, but there’s nothing. Acute silence, unbearable nothingness. All your strength zapped and stolen away in the blink of an unguarded moment, like an amputated limb.

The female is hunched over the body of the one you’d killed, leaning heavily on a thick walking stick, spitting hissing sobs, and when she turns back to look at you, you can see there are tears marring her ugly, wrinkled face. “You killed him! Creature! Dark creature!” She spits. “Pull her back, let me look at the little whore’s face.” Unforgiving claws in your hair again, and your head is ripped back and angled towards the weak light of the fresher, the blanket covering your modesty slipping to reveal your nakedness beneath. Fear and shame and fury curdle and burn within you like acid. If he comes back and finds you gone, or worse dead, he’ll be devastated, so hurt, so angry, he’ll blame himself. They can’t – they cannot put him through that. You have to think, calm yourself, get out of these binders they’ve put you in, some sort of Force suppression technology at work. The things glow a sickly purple color, nothing like the lovely warm violet of your saber. But before you can even get a firm grasp on your thoughts, collect yourself, the woman slides the walking stick in her grip, and pulling it back behind her shoulder, swings it forward with all her might to hit you in the face with the heavy, bulbous end of it, right over the split from the whip. You feel the very mass of your brain jostle within your skull, a sickening crunch, the vision in that eye going completely dark. Maker, they’re going to kill you if they’re not careful. A terrible sound rips from your throat, something worse than a mere cry, going slack jawed, whacked further into the pit of unconsciousness. One of the others says something to the old Thalassian and turning away from you, she hisses something back. She goes still for a few moments, leaning on her stick heavily once again, the sound of her wet panting breath, and when she seems to have finally collected herself she turns back to you again. In basic she says, “I know what you are. I’ve heard what they’ve been trying to do to your ilk. How they mine you for that sweet little nectar that runs through your veins, through all of us – the Force. There are rumors of you circulating the Outer Rim, did you know? We heard of you and came searching. Received word from our Huttese friends, whispers of a Mandalorian mercenary and his dark pet roaming about the dunes of Jakku, an old gunship spotted lurking where it should not be. We’ve been searching for you, beastie,” she whispers, coming closer to inspect you, voice maniacal with cruel glee. The pain in your face, your head is a numb throb sharpening to acute fire, vision fading and then glowing bright white and burning. Your head, Maker, they’ve knocked it clean off your neck. “There are many clamoring to get their hands on you. Tell me, what does it feel to be whittled down to nothing more than the worth of an invisible and illusory thing? The Force,” voice contemplative and disgusted, all the same. “To be worth nothing more but that unseen ether flowing through your veins. How does it feel to be nothing? Look at you – playing the whore to some Mandalorian brute. Pretty thing…” She pushes back at your shoulder with the butt end of her stick, “Before you went and made me angry. Hmm… perhaps, I shall sell you with that same offering, as well? Would you like that? I wonder what will fetch a higher price, your blood or your cunt.” She laughs and her thugs join around her. You can feel the wide split in your face drooling blood, throbbing in agony, the sound of their raucous and cruel laughter creating a painful symphony above the pounding of your blood in your ears. “A magical whore!” She cackles, flashing her rotting grimace. “Yes, I quite like that idea. Stealing you away from that murderer – mercenaries, the lot of them, those Mandalorians. They hide behind the conflated righteousness of their Creed and their failed history, but they are nothing but another murderous cog in the wheel that would subjugate those of us they deem lesser.” The laughter leaves her suddenly, going serious, and you feel such fear in that single pause of silence. He’s going to

be so angry when he finds you gone, and you– you cannot be enslaved again, you can’t, you won’t. You’ll kill yourself before you allow it. “Monster,” she hisses, “This is nothing worse than what a thing like you deserves after the sort of evil your ilk spread. Imperial slut,” she spits at you, and her saliva lands like a glob of acid on your bare chest, burning. “Grab her. We’re going before her Mandalorian brute returns and kills us for taking his pet.” Her underlings say something in that unknown language, gathering to grip you under the arms and around your ankles, and a frenzy ignites in your heart. Through your broken and torn face you begin to howl, writhing and kicking your legs with as much strength as you can muster despite the broken ribs. “No, no! I will not go!” You screech, getting one in the face. He jerks away and lets your bottom half hit the hard floor with a harsh thud. “Let me go! I will not– I will not go!” You won’t be taken from him, you won’t, you won’t. The one holding your upper half shoves you painfully to the ground, your poor, battered head slamming once again, and another brutal kick lands to your ribs. Maker, you’d not missed beatings like this. The crone begins to scream at them, garbled sounds you can’t make out, and you lay your head on the cold floor. You just need a second to breathe, that’s it. You can endure much, much more than this, it’s only the binders stealing your strength, you just need a moment, and then you’ll fight again or break out of these terrible things and kill them all, but your head, Maker, your head feels as if it’s been split open down the middle. Their yelling reaches a crescendo, an added shrillness to it that was not there before, and then one of the henchmen is toppling painfully over your prone form, a heavy knee to your spine as he lands diagonally over your body, but his weight is instantly ripped away from you. More screaming and oh, the sound of blaster fire, the piercing screams of the old Thalassian, you turn your head slowly, slowly to the side and there, through the bloody and matted strands of your loose hair, that bright and familiar gleam, a flash of burnt red. You bring your manacled wrists slowly up to your chest, hunching into as small a ball as you can make yourself, cradling your broken hand to yourself.

He’s here.

He’s here, it’ll all be okay now.

You let your eyes flutter shut and listen to the Thalassian’s screaming reach a crescendo, and it sounds a little like that long ago familiar sound of flesh tearing from flesh. You don’t want to see. You don’t want to see him commit atrocities in your name. It’s a funny thing, you think, the nature of his violence. He is a Mandalorian, and like the Thalassian had said, yes, perhaps, mercenary, and so it would stand that he is a man who commits violence, but you’d found – Maker, you hurt – you’ve found… that a thing that commits violence is not always also, or at once, a violent thing by nature. The moment makes of us what it needs us to be, but that does not always indicate our true selves. Violence committed in an instant of necessity, the peril of threat, does not always mean that we are bad or violent in our hearts, and Din… your Mandalorian does not have a violent heart. Beneath all of that uncompromising beskar is a soft heart, a good heart. It’s why you–

The scream stops.

No, no, no, no, no– “Look at me, look at me, cyar’ika. It’s okay. It’s okay, I’m here now. They’re gone, it’s okay.” You’re a crumpled, bloody, broken heap on the ground. He’d left you. He had left you here alone for this to be done to you. There is something hot and terrifying crawling its way up the inside of Din’s chest, searing his throat, turning it to char. He turns you over with all the gentleness he can muster, his shaking hands slippery with blood, the broken, dead bodies littered around the two of you as he pushes your bloody hair from your face and takes in the way they’d savaged you.

And Din– Din feels a fury the likes of which he’s never felt before in his entire life. And in the wake of a sort of fear he’d never experienced previously either, not even at the sight of his child self watching his mother and father murdered, the image of their crumpled and broken bodies becoming smaller and smaller as he was taken away into the unknown by the Mandalorians who’d saved him, it leaves him unbalanced and of tremulous control as he pulls you into his arms. You’re cupping one of your hands strangely in the other, and when he takes your manacled wrists you let out a painful, garbled sound. Your hand is mangled, fingers darkening already and bent sickeningly in incongruous angles, and he wants, very badly, to look away from the sight of your pain. It causes a physical ache inside of him, nausea and fire and thunder, like a blaster bolt to the belly, a knife to the lung. “Look at me, cyare,” and your eye blinks open, the darker of the two, the one that whispers silently at him when he looks at it too long, the other, the bright one like a scream, is too swollen to open, but you, miracle of miracles, for you are a miracle wrapped in the shape of a girl, give him the tiniest of attempted smirks; something like the creation of myth unfolding before him. The side of your face not broken and bleeding, lifting into a crooked little half moon, and bloody smile full of sharp, menacing teeth you croak, “I knew you’d come.”

Din knows in this instant that he is going to love you for the rest of his life. It is not a question, or an uncertainty. It is simply fact. Truth like his Creed, like The Way.

“I’m here. I’ll always come for you,” he tells you in lieu of saying that which sits heavy on his tongue now, which is that he’d let you eat his very heart out of his chest if you so desired it, that he belongs to you intrinsically. “I’m so sorry. I’m here now.” The hand not mangled grips the fabric around his throat and Din feels a sob in the shape of your name build in his chest. The Mandalorian, on the verge of tears. He gently presses you closer, tries to breathe, tries to swallow his howls. They were slavers, he’d marked them from the moment he’d spotted them through the open hatch of the Crest, dropping the long dead bounty he’d found half buried in the sand to sprint towards you. He’d worried about the possibility of this for some time now, the threat of someone coming for you, recognizing what you were, thought he’d prepared for it. Rumors were difficult to avoid or quell and despite his attempts to keep anyone from getting too close to sniff you out, you attracted attention. It was inevitable. Too beautiful, too alive, too alluring. He’d been afraid of something like this happening, and he’d thought the best way to keep you safe was to keep you here, hidden away on his ship, security system set and impenetrable. He’d been a damned fool.

He takes in the sight of your bare limbs, the beginnings of nasty bruising over your naked abdomen. The idea of someone taking you from him, severing his claim, keeping you away from him… and like this, when you were supposed to be safe here in this place the two of you’d made a home of together, while you were bare and waiting for him as he’d left you, when you were still full of his semen, potentially full of his–

He swallows the thought. There are certain things you believe about yourself that Din is doubtful to agree with just yet…

“Take them off,” you whisper up at him, “I’ll–” a pained swallow, “I’ll heal. It’s okay, Din. Don’t be afraid,” you say with such earnestness, a tiny life of an eyebrow, but he is anyway. You shouldn’t be the one telling him not to be afraid right now, split open as you are, but you do anyway, and Din is deathly afraid – of this, of you, of everything, of not being fast enough, strong enough, good enough to protect you, to keep you. Din feels more afraid now than he has ever felt in his entire life.

“It’s okay. I’ll be okay. It’s not that bad,” and at the same time, your words make him so angry. At what life had made you believe, at what the galaxy had made you believe was okay. This is not fucking okay. Seeing you hurt like this is not okay. He moves to gently, as gently as he can possibly be, disengage the binders from around your wrists, careful to not jostle your broken hand too much.

“It’s not okay.” He looks at your mangled face, the blood running into your hairline, your swollen eye, that lovely and luminous eye that makes his heart feel split into a million different pieces, all engraved with the etching of your name, “This is not okay.” And then his gaze lands on the blood splattered gem of your earring. This sight he must close his eyes to, he cannot bear it. That tiny sparkle, the significance of your relationship made material, covered in your own blood and his failure to protect you.

He opens his eyes again to take in your wet gaze, unseeingly staring up at him, dark and fathomless. It shutters closed, long lashes clumped together in the sticky mess of your blood and tears. “It will be. I’ll heal soon. This is not the worst that’s been done to me,” voice thin and reedy, as if you’re embarrassed, ashamed to say the words out loud. As if you recognize them for the travesty they pose. He has to look away, swallow another sob. Din can’t remember the last time he cried, the last time he felt like crying, but he feels it now. Eyes hot and pinched and uncomfortable.

He should have never left you. He will never leave you again.

Wrapping you in the blanket, he makes sure your modesty is covered, and with as much care as he can, takes you in the cradle of his arms and moves you back into your bed.

“Where’s your bounty?” You croak.

“That doesn’t matter now. Rest. I’m going to–”

“Of course, it matters. It’s–” a pained swallow.

“Don’t talk, cyare. It’s okay. We can–”

But you press on, cut him off. “That's the whole reason we came here. We’re not going to let this be a waste.” This being your savaging, split open, almost stolen. Din feels his heart drop down into his stomach. He nods once, swallows, tries to cough up the knot of agony lodged in his throat.

“I dropped it when I saw them. They did something – fucked with the system and deviated the signal so I wasn’t alerted when they broke in. The bounty was already dead. Beacon signal still going. I found him and came straight back – saw the open hatch and knew something was wrong–” You give a soft, pained moan, brow folding into an agonized frown. Maker, he’s not going to survive this. He feels like a fucking coward. Terrified, sick to his stomach, angrier, weaker than he’s ever been in his entire life.

“Slavers. Thalassians,” you whisper, resting your head against his chest plate, broken hand clutched against your chest. “I need you to reset my fingers before they heal wrong.” Fuck, he’s never had a panic attack before, but he worries he might be having one now. He tries to swallow the scream for you, thinks he whispers something like, alright. Shifting you in his lap, he pulls his blood soaked gloves from his hands, and when he reaches for your hand he takes in the tremor of his own fingers, feels a humiliating wash of shame curdle inside of him. He’s a Mandalorian for Maker’s sake, a warrior, and yet the sight of your pain, your hurt, leaves him unraveled, as frightened and green as a child. He has never experienced the dilemma of having someone he– someone that matters, hurt. Carefully propping your back up against his bent knee he pulls you in close so that your hip is tucked up against him, he grasps your wrist tenderly between his fingers, soothes the pad of his thumb against the soft inner slope of your wrist, the webbing of blue beneath the thin skin is comforting somehow, you’re alive. He made it in time, he’s going to fix this, take care of you. “It’s okay, Din,” you whisper again.

A sharp jerk of his chin, “I know. I’m going to make this right.”

He smooths his thumb up the base of your palm, trying to settle, comfort you, the both of you, he rubs a gentle circle into the center, feels you tremble and jerk against him, and he hums low in his throat, a deep sound to remind you that he’s here, he’s got you. “It’s alright, little one. It’s alright, it’s alright,” keeps murmuring low reassurances in your ear, unsure whether they’re more for you or for himself, as his fingers slide up slow and light and grip your ring finger first, grasping it at the base to hold it securely and pulling on the tip to straighten it out, quick and efficient movements, a muted snap. There’s one. “It’s okay, it’s okay.”. Moves to your pinky next, so tiny gripped between his own large, rough fingers. He has to grind his molars together, bite the inside of his cheek so hard he tastes blood. He holds the base of that vulnerable little finger, the fine bone almost nothing beneath his touch and straightens that one too, listens to the hollow pop of the joint righting itself back into place. That one pulls a swallowed screech from your throat, you turn your face sharply away, and he sees your legs shuffle and kick in his periphery, your breathing fast and shallow.

“Hurt– That one hurt,” you choke, and he watches a single tear squeeze out of your swollen eye and make a slow, devastating track down the slope of your mangled cheek, losing itself to the shredded gash.

“What did that to your cheek?” He grits at the same time that he rights your index finger into place, tenses his knee to keep you steady and upright as you jerk. Panting wet breath hiccupping, trying to swallow back your cries for a moment, he cradles your bruised hand in his, wishes he wasn’t wearing this fucking helmet so that he could kiss the back of it, lick your wounds. He feels like screaming.

“A w– a whip.” You don’t turn back to look at him, and Din feels his blood turn to frost. Something so painful moving through his chest he struggles for breath.

“They whipped you in the face?” He looks at the pieces of Thalassian surrounding the two of you and curses himself for killing them so quickly. He should’ve been smarter, more patient, drawn it out. Made them suffer.

“It’s okay–” voice short, tense. “I’ll heal.” Face still turned towards the open hatch and the hot Jakkuian night, he watches another tear fall.

“It doesn’t matter–”

“I’ll heal. I’ll–”

“That doesn't matter–they hurt you. You can be hurt. Just because you can heal, just because you don’t care about what happens to you doesn’t mean that I don’t.” He cups the back of your head, begs you to turn back towards him with his touch. “You being hurt hurts me, do you understand me?” Voice soft as he can make it go, trying to make you see what he’s saying in the only way he thinks will penetrate the fog of your painful history.

And you do turn back at that, finally, thank you, thank you, he can see the edges of the wound start to knit themselves back together. A girl and a miracle and a myth all woven into one. “Do you understand me?” He asks again, cupping your chin, gathering the wet of your freely falling tears now, pressing the pad of his thumb to the corner of your eye.

“No, no, I don’t understand,” face crumpling, you press your forehead beneath the edge of his helmet. They hurt me, they hurt me, you cry over and over, and Din knows that you don’t only mean the Thalassians. He wishes he possessed the hand of the Maker. That he could reach across to the far corners of the galaxy, the most shadowed depths, the blackest pits, and wipe away any speck of darkness that’s ever touched you, anything or anyone that had ever done you harm. He wishes he could give you his very heart as an offering, anything that would settle the sound of your anguish. But then he thinks that an impossible sort of thing, for his very heart is held right here, sobbing in his arms, living on the outside of his chest.

After he insists on you allowing him to spread bacta along your cheek and hand, despite your protestations that it’ll close on its own, that you’re fine, you remind him that his bounty is still lying dead and forgotten out in the sand sea beyond the ship. He goes out to retrieve the pitiful thing, felled by the wrath of Jakku, most likely, and you make an agonized attempt to stand and dress yourself. Your ribs and back ache, the line of your spine feels on the verge of fracture from the last blow you’d taken, and you shuffle about slowly, trying to force yourself to hurry and get yourself covered before he returns, not wanting him to see the extent of the damage done to your ribs and back. You manage to get on a pair of underwear and one of his shirts before he’s stomping back up the gangway, dead bounty slung over his shoulder. He bends to shuck the thing off, the limp body hitting the durasteel with a harsh thud that snaps your mind into focus for a millisecond so that you’re taking in the carnage surrounding you. The release of gas from the carbon freezer sounds around you as you find the old Thalassian – her head seems to have been ripped clean from her neck somehow, you cock your head slowly, taking the sight in. He’s moving about, dragging the pieces of the bodies and chucking them out the hatch, and your mind feels like a piece of elastic snapping far out and away from you, and then shooting back in a painful reverberation, vision going hyper focused, too bright to bear, and then murky, as if viewed through a broken pane of glass. You hear the whirring, metallic shifting of the closing gangway, and your head swoops, belly twisting with nausea. There are pools of blood coagulating thick and disgustingly viscous on the floor, and you reach out for the wall to steady yourself as your blood rushes in your ears, but he’s immediately there, gentle hand to the curve of your waist and the bend of your elbow to pull you to himself. “It’s okay,” he says again. And he keeps saying so, but seeing this, what he’s done for you, something feels distinctly not okay.

You think of the Corellians who’d attacked you all those weeks ago, the Corellians you'd slaughtered for him. And the memory somehow makes the sight in front of you worse, some sort of horror. You’d turned him into you. You’d forced him into repeating your own horrible actions. In a moment of startling, sickening clarity, you’re confronted with the reality that he is only encased in beskar, he is not made of it. And one day they will go through him to get to you. Because there will surely be more, there will surely be another day, another time, another planet; more slavers or dark siders or someone of equally low measure will come for you again, and he can’t protect you forever, nor you him.

This time, please, let it end differently.

It’s all you ever do, you think, beg and plead for a different sort of fate. The duel of the fates, over and over again, but it is only ever you, alone, at odds with destiny itself. Fighting against what must be, what already is, what always has been. Your own sick ouroboros; eternally destroying and recreating yourself and the things around you.

He leads you back to bed, grabs his socks from where they’d lain draped over the warm steam pipe, and you return his own past words to him while he kneels before you, pulls them over your cold feet, looking over his shoulder the world seems inverted, mirrorlike, the black puddles of blood filled with dark mercury. They would have taken you from him. “You shouldn’t have had to do that.” Your voice sounds hollow and cold, unlike yourself.

He pauses his care of you, helmet tipped down, and you wish you could see his eyes right now, you feel, strangely, like you need them, like it would make everything better, more clear and stable. Taking one small foot in hand, he wraps his fingers around the entire thing. “You’re right,” he tells you, and your stomach flips with bile and fear again. “I shouldn’t have had to do it because I never should have let it happen. This is on me. I shouldn’t have left you alone for this to happen.”

You reach for his wrist, wrapping your fingers around the thick of it to feel his pulse beat against your fingertips. Something furious in the fluttering thrum of it; something of a monolith about him, steadfast, unmovable, the strongest thing in the entire galaxy. There’s a tinge of crimson rage swallowing him, and you can tell he’s doing everything in his considerable strength to keep it under reign for your sake; the proof is in the strew of bodies he’d littered the floor of the ship with. “They’ll always come for me, Din. As long as I’m alive, as long as the dark exists, as long as The Force exists they’ll come for me. They’ll never stop.”

The helmet snaps up, the yawning tee of dark transparisteel whispers its rage at you. “Then I’ll make them,” he grits. “I’ll find a way. I’ll protect you. We’re going to fix this. I’m going to fix this.” And you feel so–so strange. So sad. Devastated. The wave of fate swallows you whole, and that dark red thread crumbles to dust. You feel so unbearably sad for the both of you that your tears are renewed. Sad and old and at the end of your line.

And again: A person without a soul cannot cry. And so this must only be proof of the fact that you still possess yours, as shriveled or weak as it’s been made, you must still have one. You must. You must.

It’s his now. Undoubtedly. Whatever of your soul has bloomed back into life belongs to him now. You bring your trembling fingers up to the face of his shining beskar helmet, warring wishes wrapped into a strange tangle for what you know will not be the last time: that it wasn’t there, that you could have all of him, and, at the same time, that you too had something of such strength and conviction to protect you as his Creed protects him. What a comfort it must be. “I know you will.” Lie.

He goes to initiate takeoff and get the ship into hyperspace after that, and you can hear the uncharacteristic frenzy of his movement echoing in his rushed steps as he flits about the cockpit. Settling into your nest of blankets, you face the wall so you’re not made to look at the mess that’s been left, and when he returns, you listen to the sound of him divesting himself of his armor, the rustle of falling clothes, you can feel his panic now up closer, pressing against the confines of your skin like some living thing, trying to sneak its way into whatever break in you it might find. He was frightened, he is frightened. For you. If you weren’t struck stone cold you’d perhaps laugh at the idea of it, but strange memories flash in your mind, highlighted by painful bursts of bright light behind your closed lids, memories of darkness and pain and being so alone another person, a real person, existing in the entire galaxy seemed too far fetched a thing to be true. The sort of loneliness that forces you to forget that other living things exist. You curl in on yourself, still tucking your now halfway mended hand close to your chest, cupping your other palm over your eyes to hide yourself away. Shocked into a subdued, humming terror. A peripheral thing, the reality that you should be afraid or shaken, and you are, kind of, but interrupted by that memory of similar or much worse things that make this small mishap seem inconsequential in the shadow of all the rest, all the past.

You listen to him move towards the fresher to throw the two of you into darkness, and you panic, “Don’t turn the light off, please,” you murmur, still hidden behind your palm. If you cannot see the world, perhaps the world cannot see you either. “I’m sorry to ask – I won’t look, I promise.”

He pauses, silent for a moment. “Don’t apologize. Don’t. It’s okay. Anything you want.” What you really wish he’d say is that he doesn’t care if you look or not, a selfish and rotten and horrible feeling rolling in after the thought.

He crawls in behind you, sliding up against you bare and burning hot; an entire sun held inside the heart of a single man. He keeps his hands to himself at first, and you enjoy the brush of his chest up against your back on every one of his inhalations, the symphony of his breathing, but eventually he braves the salted earth and passes a gentle hand down the line of your spine.

“What do you need?” His voice is the deepest thing in the entire galaxy, you think. Space has nothing on it.

You press your hand tighter over your eyes. “Nothing.”

“You are strong and capable,” he says after a moment, and you worry you might vomit. “But you don’t always have to be. I don’t want you to have to fight when you’re with me. I only want you to be comfortable and cared for and well. Let me help you.”

“Okay,” barely a sound breathed through the part of your lips. And it takes several hours, but eventually that thing they’d come for, the very thing they’d attacked and tried to take you for, heals you. The Force. What is it to hate the very thing that makes you up, the very marrow of you, the sustenance of your life? Agony, madness, bitter, bitter resentment. Loneliness. To be alone within yourself. Terrible pain. Every bad thing that’s ever come to you throughout your entire life has been done in its name. And you’re angry at the fact, you think. For years and years things were done to you to honor that invisible giant, and it built an anger within you that is incoherent, unidentifiable, inconsolable.

You ache like you’re recently made.

But he holds you so gently while you knit yourself back together, seam by seam, so that the possibility of pain is removed entirely from the equation. He holds you like he loves you, and you want to ask him if he does, if he thinks he could ever love a thing like you, even if you do not deserve it. Even if he does not deserve it.

You fold it away instead.

Tell me, what does it feel to be whittled down to nothing more than the worth of an invisible and illusory thing? To be worth nothing?

Like spitting salt through an open wound, the agonized phantasma of an amputated limb.

You’re nothing.

And Din? He’s everything.

From behind your hiding spot you tell the quiet: “Sometimes it feels like I haven’t been happy my whole life. But I know I feel it with you. I want you to know that.”

“Do you?” His hand slides up the line of your vertebrae to cup the back of your neck, and you tremble beneath his heat, as if he were anointing you with the power of a sun.

“Yes.” You wish you had the courage to say more, to say everything. A real confession, the cutting sort: I was made to be nothing more than a weapon, but now I am a human, now I am alive. Now I am only myself. And I hurt, and I wish I were a girl again: only half savage, unmarred and free. But despite all of this, I am still only yours.

“I know already.”

Cyar’ika. Cyar’ika.

And so what does it matter if you hurt when he calls to you so sweetly? And yet, a quiet and unused part of you whispers back that it should not be so, that the thought is not quite right. Focus, focus, call them growing pains if you must. Focus only on him. And you realize that there is something about him that makes you fragile in the face of his strength, for some reason and most importantly, in a way that you like, in a way that is appealing to you like nothing else you’ve ever experienced before. Something that tells you that you need him to be strong in ways you’ve never had or needed to be strong before, a strength that is soft, something that is unyielding for the vulnerability you allow yourself with him. You can’t understand it.

“And I will let you take care of me.”

“I’m going to. This means something,” he says very quietly, the words bouncing off the back of your neck, and you know it is true. “This means something.”

It does. Everything. The two of you mean something together.

You finally turn to face him again, eyes closed, seams more securely knitted together and press your forehead to the notch of his throat, cracking your eyes open to look down at the expanse of his abdomen. You run a flat palm down his belly, feel the strength of him. If there is nothing else, perhaps, there can be Din.

“Close your eyes,” he threads his fingers through the back of your hair, “Let me kiss you,” and you feel your heart break and melt into desperation all at once. You press your eyes shut tightly and tip your face up towards him, parted mouth and bated breath, ready to receive the taste of him. He licks into you, pulling a moan from your belly and onto his waiting tongue, and you wish there was something more you could give him, something deeper, more significant that could translate all you feel for him. “I need you to forgive me,” he licks the words into your skin. “I need you to tell me you forgive me for letting this happen.”

“Don’t say that. There’s nothing to forgive. There’s nothing–”

“I should’ve been more careful. Smarter, more prepared. We shouldn’t have wasted time in that fucking desert for so long.” But you’d distracted him, kept him from going out, seeing to his responsibilities.

“There’s nothing to forgive,” you say again, tipping your head back to bear your throat for him.

He licks a line up the slope, tasting your pulse, the proof you’re still alive. Plants a kiss at the hinge of your jaw and then presses his forehead there. “I’ve failed you,” he whispers.

“Din, listen to me, listen to me. You could never do that. Never. Do you understand me?” If he only knew all you’ve not told him, all the ways in which you’ve failed him. You’re sure he’d see you in a very different light.

“It’s not going to happen again,” he promises, and you’ve not the heart to tell him again that they’ll never stop. That the life of a hunted creature is the only sort of existence you could ever live. You pull his mouth back to yours, kiss him with a renewed fervency. If you cannot give him anything more you’ll put everything you have into this.

“Just kiss me, please,” you beg, twining your arms around his neck and opening to him. He drags his mouth along the inner slope of your bicep, ending at the dip of your elbow and laving his tongue at the sensitive dip. Gripping the bend of your knee he hitches it against his hip and rolls the two of you over. Settling between the cradle of your thighs, he levers himself up off you, careful not to demand you bear his full weight, and finally, you feel ready for the dark again. With a single thought you submerge the two of you into the almost dark again, a weak stream of light coming from the fresher, rattle of the Crest moving through hyperspace sounding around you. He prepares you to take him softly, slowly, with intention. The gentle pad of his thumb to the slick seam of your cunt, parting your folds to get to the wellspring of your desire for him. A single finger and then another hooked against that place inside of you that seems now branded with his ownership over you. Nothing like this has ever existed, and you press the thought into his mind as he tastes your tongue, brings you to orgasm for him with slow and exploring fingers, the slick slide of his thumb over your swollen clit, and the whisper of your name to the shell of your ear. When he feeds his cock into you, slowly, so that you’re made to feel every curve and ridge and then meeting the end of you, so deep you can’t tell where he ends and you begin, it brings tears to your eyes and all sorts of confessions to your tongue that your more rational mind knows should be kept in the shadows. But very like the sun, he shines a light on all the dark and derelict parts of you better left unseen.

When you come for a second time, thick cock splitting you in half, there’s a screaming desperation for more urging you on. “Remind me–” you beg him.

“Of what? What do you need?”

“That I’m yours. That I belong to you. That I’m alive.”

“Do you need reminding of that?” He squeezes your bottom, presses you tighter to himself, his wet mouth sliding against the slope of your shoulder. “Don’t you know always? No matter what?”

“Yes.” Soft, soft, soft, but you don’t need it like this – you need it more– “Remind me anyways.”

You’re as close as can be, but he tells you anyway: “Come here, come here. I’m going to take care of you.” He pulls out, a wet and sucking sound, and turns you in his arms so you’re back to belly, and pulls you open again, thigh thrown over his hip. He runs his hands over the hills and contours of you, cups and squeezes your breasts, rough fingertips softly at your nipples, and you feel your cunt clench and gape, hungry for filling. He cups you over that soaked, ravenous place, slides his hand back and forth over the wet, swollen mess, and then further back, his fingers pressing and prodding gently at your ass. “I’ll have you here now, little one. Yes?” All you can do is nod back against his shoulder where your head is propped, a tightening so intense it’s almost painful strangling your throat, your heart, your cunt. Nothing more than a knot of abandoned want. A thing that doesn’t know how to take without devouring, and you do, you want to devour him. You think he might even let you. He presses a slow finger into the knuckle, and you go tight, bearing down around the invasion, spitting his name out in the shape of a wail into the quiet hull.

“It’s alright,” he gently thrusts that probing finger, hooking and wriggling it. Making space within to fuck you open on his cock. “You’re so tiny here, little thing. But you’re going to take me so well. I know you are.” He pulls his finger out entirely, and then there are two pressing back in as slow as possible, petting first, stretching second. “How’s that? How does that feel, my sweet girl?”

“I don’t– I don’t know,” moaning and shifting, trying to plead for more with little hitched arcs of your hips. “More, please.”

“You want my cock?”

“Yes–”

“How badly do you want it? Tell me–” He twists his wrist, stretching, claiming, all while the hill of his palm rubs against your cunt, so wet you can hear the slick sound of its desperation echo in the quiet.

“So badly,” you moan and sob, “More than anything.” He pulls his fingers from you and grips the root of his cock, fat head at your ass and starts to press in slowly, slowly, stretching you open around the incredible girth of him. Your breath comes in puffs and gasps, an unbearable heat flushing through your body, pulsing in your face and swirling in your belly, tightening the tips of your breasts into painful knots. You moan out his name, please for more, for harder, for faster until he’s buried to the root and you’re strangled into a hiccuping silence. Overwhelmed and overwrought by the feel of him buried in your ass so deeply. There’s no space for anything else inside of you, stretched to the brim and so full you can barely breathe. He’s everywhere. Gripping your hip you feel his breath against your cheek, the sweating, curling hair around your ear ruffled as he pants and groans, gritting his teeth and rumbling deep in his chest as he starts to thrust slowly into you.

“How’s that?” Voice strangled. His other hand comes around to thrum gently at your clit, the swollen mass of bundles pulsing with each punch of his hips. Your cunt leaks down to where the two of you are joined, and he picks up his pace, fucking up into you harder, faster, that strumming thumb flicking more quickly. He flattens his fingers against you, rubs at the length of your leaking sex, and you’re beyond words. Impaled and cock drunk. All you can give in return is an approximation of his moaned name, and he gives a quick, sharp slap to the top of your mound. “I want you to tell me how it feels,” voice ragged, almost broken. You tighten almost impossibly at his roughness, clenching down around him so he’s gasping, shocked ah, ah, ah’s, ending on a ragged groan. He brings his forehead to your shoulder, and you listen to his overwhelmed sounds. The first time you think you’ve heard him so close to the precipice of losing control. “Most perfect fucking ass in the entire galaxy,” he grits. All mine, mine, fucking mine.

“Feels–” His fingers resume their exploration of your cunt, “Feels so– so good,” your voice is nothing but agony made pleasure.

“Yeah? Feels good?” The sound of his hips slamming against your ass, wet and lewd, the press of his heavy balls to the round of your bottom. “What about this?” He begins to slowly press two fingers into your gaping, grasping cunt, and oh, it’s too much, your orgasm hits like an exploding star, singing all coherent thought along the way. You feel your pussy gush, go tight as a knot, and he snarls at the curve of your ear, bites down on the line of your shoulder, not halting the thrusting of his fingers inside of you. “Fuck, yes–fucking come for me. Come for me while I fuck your ass–”

“No–no, I can’t anymore, please, I can’t,” you cry.

“You can–you can. I know you can. My fierce little cyar’ika, soft only for me. Aren’t you?”

And how can you deny a man such as this anything. One that holds you so, one that fucks you like he loves you. You’ll lie to yourself, like so many other lies you tell, and pretend that this is the touch of love, that it’s something you deserve. His fingers, his cock are ruthless within you and they force another soaked orgasm out of you, shaky and weak, before he’s following suit, fucking the searing heat of his spend deep inside of you. He rolls you over onto your belly, levers himself up over you and slows his thrusts until you feel the last spurt of his cock kick inside of you, the low reverberations of his pleasure sounding from his chest. When he pulls out he spreads you apart, thumbs at your swollen skin. “It gapes so pretty for me,” he murmurs as he plays with the milky white drool, smears it into your slick, stretched skin. “This is how you should always be, covered in my come, beautiful thing.” All you can do is bury your burning hot face in the blankets.

When the two of you have finally settled later, cleaned yourselves up, and he’s made sure you’ve had enough water and a snack, when your panic has gone dormant, you remember your earlier request. A sniffle, and then voice broken and wet, just for added insurance: “You’ll get me my loth cat now, won’t you?”

A long suffering sigh, but he squeezes you tighter to his chest, presses a kiss to the crown of your head you feel sizzle all the way down to the tips of your toes. “I’ll get you anything you want, anything.” You smile into his skin, a miracle all of its own, that after everything he still provides you the ability to smile.

But later, right before he falls off the precipice of consciousness into the ebony deep and serene lake of sleep, you whisper into the thrum of his life force right at his neck: “We will take care of each other, won’t we?” Again – the both of you, together.

“Always,” he says, and it rings with such promise, in a way you know only someone such as he could swear, and you’ve always been a liar, but you do not want this to be a lie.

This time, please, let it end differently.

Chapter VII

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kenobiwanx · 5 months

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here i am drawing din and my oc to let you know that my commissions are open! 🫢

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pedropascalsx · 2 years

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Target Practice {Din Djarin x F! Reader}

Summary: You get distracted by the Mandalorian cleaning his weapons, and he can see right through you and what you’re needing from him.

Warnings: Gun kink, gun fucking, weapon fucking, p in v sex, creampie, mentions of oral, slight fingering, breastplay and some dirty talk. Please tell me if i’m forgetting anything. - obvious canon divergence. Canon? we don’t know her. No use of y/n.

Word count: 2.8k

A/N: So as usual I am a little nervous about posting this but I had so much fun writing it, I really hope y’all enjoy it and if you did please let know! I love hearing your feedback. I am REALLY trying to improve on my writing and my smut, i promise!!!

Shoutout to my best girl @djarinispunkk for beta reading this for me. Shoutout to @prolix-yuy for being the best supportive enabler and helping convince me to run with this idea.

And shoutout to my girl @pedrito-friskito for being the sweetest person alive; i love you to pieces - happy birthday, i hope you enjoy this.

He could spot it from a mile off - he was certain he would be able to even without zooming in on his helmet - a look that was reserved just for him, a look that you were sure only he could bring out in you. A look that said more than your timid self could muster to say aloud, one that was drenched in want and lust. The first time you had given him that look, he had all but ran across the hull to you, whispering ‘are you sure?’ into your ear and then ripping your dress over your head in one clean sweep the moment you replied with a breathy ‘yes’. He’d taken you entirely by surprise; he was gentler than you’d anticipated, and it seemed to surprise him just as much. You’d found him leaving the door to his room slightly ajar for you every night since. The conversation still slow but day by day, he revealed more and more to you. Most the time he’d just ask questions, little things to get to know you more and more, and when you’d ask the same back, you’d get a nod or a short reply. Some days he wouldn’t ask you a thing, he’d keep himself as quiet as he needed to and communicate with the tiniest of touches: letting his hand linger on the bottom of your back, or resting his hand on your thigh for a few seconds before letting it go with a quick squeeze. The last time you’d given him this specific look was when he was taking apart one of his guns; you were mesmerised, watching him methodically take apart each piece and polish it until it gleamed perfectly. It wasn’t until you’d realised his hands had stopped moving entirely that he’d caught you staring, his helmet poised with a slight tilt. He stared back intently behind the beskar and your breath hitched as you realised that you’d been caught. You couldn’t see them, but you felt the burning gaze of his eyes burrowing into you, seemingly reading the filthy thoughts floating around your brain.

Before you could speak, a wordless command in the form of his finger pointing towards his cot was sent your way. On shaky legs, you immediately made your way into his room and removed your clothes. He always liked it when you were ready, not wanting to waste time in removing your layers – he likes when you’re bare. Bare and waiting for him. Ready for him to strip off his gloves and run his rough calloused hands all across your body, silently aching behind layers of beskar for you to do the same to him. You were sure that he’d never allow it, honestly you weren’t sure he could. So utterly devoted to his creed.

His hands were one of two parts of him that he’d revealed to you. He’d gotten into the habit of removing his gloves the minute his kid was snoozing soundly in his crib, waiting for you to notice and to slide your hand into his. You also loved the way he wasted no time in pulling you to the bottom of his bed, spreading your legs so he could slide in between them and tapping your thighs in the form of a command for you to wrap your legs around his waist. Only then would he begin to run his hands all over you, taking his time to squeeze and play with your tits. Telling you how badly he wanted to suck them, run his tongue across them and bite down until you squealed beneath him. But this time was different, he breathed out the usual ‘good girl’ at seeing you spread bare for him, the two words he knew went straight to your core and made you leak arousal for him. He kept his hands to himself, his helmet tilting upwards and back down again as he took in the sight in front of him in.

“You look so good like this” he grunted, before finally reaching down to run his palms up and down your thighs. Spreading your legs, a little further before slotting himself against you, gripping up to your hips to stop any movement until he’s ready, “Tell me what you were thinking when I was fixing my gun back together, sweet girl.” His cock twitches as your breaths become shaky and your chest heaves up and down. He’s always more vocal when you’re like this, always more giving with words when he’s got you where he loves you the most. “Tell me, don’t make me ask again,” he growls out. You feel your core clench down around nothing with a desperate need. “I was thinking… thinking about how it-it would feel” you murmur, your voice small and shaky as he runs his thumb across your cheekbone.

“How it would feel where, baby? Tell me what you want.” You bite down on your lip as his fingers trail down your torso, just lightly sweeping against your skin until he gets to your core. A finger slightly circles the area beneath your belly button before he drags it down to the top of your slit, millimetres away from where you want to feel him the most, waiting until you give him the answer he is chasing.

“In-inside of me,” you splutter out, and he rewards you with a firm press against your bundle of nerves. “Good girl.” he grits out as he starts to draw circles around your clit, “You want it, sweet girl?” he asks as he reaches behind his back and pulls out the very rifle you had been focusing on minutes before. “Yes,” you moan as he continues working your clit. “Safe word or hit down on the bed if you need me to stop” he says whilst dipping two fingers into your entrance, gathering up as much slick onto his fingers before removing them and spreading it down the barrel of his gun. You groan as he removes his hand from your core and places it on one of your thighs, spreading you open a little more before rubbing the cold metal against your clit.

“You ready?” You nod your head ferociously as he moves the gun down slowly through your folds, until it reaches your entrance and he pushes it in, relishing in the soft moans escaping your mouth as the barrel breaches you more and more.

“Play with that pretty little clit,” he orders as he slowly starts to pump it in and out, studying your face as it contorts in pleasure and the pretty little sounds you make escape through your plump lips. He fucks you with his gun until he feels your pussy grip hard around it, until your eyes roll back into your head, and you beg to feel his cock filling you instead. He then flips you on your stomach and thrusts his achingly hard cock in and out of you until you’re a quivering mess, pussy lips sore and swollen from being railed into his cot and your bundle of nerves trembling from overstimulation. He left for a hunt the very next day and didn’t return for almost 10 days. He had told you he wanted to watch you fuck yourself with his gun the very first night he returned, but he quickly pulled it away and pressed himself into you, the gun quickly forgotten about.

And now you find yourself stood in the hull of his ship, your fingers tracing his pulse rifle. Feeling the cool metal against your fingertips as you run them slowly up and down the prongs. You’d never been brave enough to touch it before, knowing the power the rifle holds and having seen his disintegrate threats with it in a single blast, but today you couldn’t keep away. Memories of his gun rubbing that sweet spot inside of you replaying in your head, over and over as you dripped your arousal into your panties.

You couldn’t help but wonder how this would feel. How Mando would look draped in his armour as he stood over you again fucking you with another one of his weapons.

A gloved hand squeezes your shoulder, and you jump at the unexpected intrusion, so lost in your own filthy thoughts you didn’t hear him enter, “S’okay baby” he groans into your ears, a hand sneaking around your front and down to cup your mound, “You’ve seen what that one can do, sweet girl, I don’t think you could handle this one” he whispers. “I can handle it” you reply sounding braver than you’d expected to, “I want you to fuck me with it, Mando.” “Go get ready for me, sweet girl.”

You slowly walk towards his room, and just before you get to the door, you spin around to face him. Keeping your eyes on the visor of his helmet as you reach up to pull the straps of your dress off of your shoulders before letting it fall down around your ankles. You swear you hear a shaky breath escape through his modulator before you reach back and unhook your bra, swiftly pulling it down and letting it join your dress on the floor. You take a small step forward before dipping your fingers into the waistband of your panties and you slowly start to pull open the door, slightly swaying your hips as you do so. You step out of your panties slowly, and instead of letting them drop to the floor you let them hang from your index finger and you reach your arm out for him to take them from you.

You watch his chest plate rise and fall for a few short moments before he takes two long strides before you and snatches the flimsy lacy material from your finger. A smart contented sigh leaves your lips, and you hear him mumble something about not getting them back as you enter the room and lower yourself onto the bed you share. “Such a dirty, dirty girl” he groans as he sees you laid bare and waiting, “Fuck, you’re dripping, baby girl.” Your breath hitches as he lays the pulse rifle down beside of you, “Not yet, gotta get you ready first” he says, sensing your anticipation.

He holds his hands out in front of your face, and you take the silent order to remove the gloves as quickly as possible, the moment the first one is free he takes the opportunity to run his fingers across your cheek. “Such a pretty girl,” he murmurs before pulling the other free from your grip and plunging a thick finger inside of you, praising the way you clench around his digit immediately.

“Good girl, baby,” he coos as he slowly pumps it in and out, over and over until you’re begging for more. Eventually, he adds a second and reaches up to grab your own hand, moving it down to your clit. Your soft mewls fuel his need for you to cum on his fingers, and he orders you to rub your clit harder as he roughly palms at your breast with his free hand. You whimper the only name he had given you as you clamp down onto his fingers, vision blurred and seeing stars as he praises you throughout your high.

“You sure you want this?” he asks, gripping your jaw gently as he studies your face. “I do.” “And you’ll use the safe word if you want me to stop?” “Yes, Mando. I promise.” “Good girl.”

He reaches down to pick it up and you watch as he slowly studies his weapon, trying to work out the best way to do this, the way to do this without potentially harming you. He keeps his hand off of the trigger and holds it tentatively with both hands. After watching him think for a few moments about how to do this, you carefully reach down and guide the rifle towards you, keeping it straight as you encourage him to push the bottom prong inside of you as the top slides across your bundle of nerves.

“Fuck yourself down on it” he orders, “I’ll keep it still, baby. You cum on this and then you’ll cum on my cock.”

You keen over his words, and the way he lets the sweet endearments he keeps just for you slip out when you’re at your most vulnerable for him. Slowly, you move your hips, rocking downwards slightly and gasping at the way the cool metal feels against your clit. Your pace increases as you get used to the feeling, moaning louder and louder as the prongs rubs against the spongey spot inside of you and across your clit at the same time. You can see how affected he is at the sight laid out in front of him by the obvious tenting on his pants; you desperately feel the need to reach down and palm him he’s too far away. Desperate whimpers and moans fly freely from your mouth. “I know baby, I know” he soothes as your orgasm builds up inside of you, “I’ve got you, baby.” “I n-need… I need you, Mando” you stammer, as blinding pleasure explodes behind your eyes and you fuck yourself down harder and harder throughout your orgasm, chanting his name over and over as he continues to tell you that you’re his good girl, his and no-one else’s. The moment you come down from your orgasm, he slowly removes the blaster from your heat, discarding it as quickly as he can before freeing his almost painfully hard length from his pants. “My mouth,” you stutter as you attempt to pull yourself up, but a strong arm pushes on your shoulder to keep you laid down.

“Next time, baby… I need to be inside of you. Fuck. Need to feel that warm, tight pussy cum around my cock.” More arousal drips from your core as he continues letting filth drip from behind his helmet. You watch as he pumps himself a few times before dragging the tip of his cock through your folds, hovering at your entrance for a few seconds before filling you in one swift movement. Heavy breaths run through his modulator as he lets you adjust for a few moments.

“Look at you, so fucking perfect. My perfect sweet, sweet girl. Always so good to me. Always taking my cock so fucking good. Maker, how did I get so lucky as to stumble across you?” Before you can say anything back, he rolls his hips back and starts thrusting back into you. Your hands grip on to the cold beskar draping his shoulders as he fucks himself into you at an unforgiving pace, hitting that sweet spot with perfect precision. You squeeze down around him, choking out as his name as the feeling of euphoria begins to build inside of you; with each calculated and rough thrust, you feel the course patch of his pubic hair brush up against your clit and as you whimper his title, he whispers a simple one syllable word into your ear. “Din.”

“Din?” you repeat back to him. “Scream it, baby, as loud as you need to.” His name, you realise. His name. Din. “Din” you moan over and over, and you feel the affect it has on him - the way his shoulders seem to relax and the way his hands palm your breasts a little bit softer as he coaxes your next orgasm out of you.

You feel a gush from between your legs as you begin to soak him with your pleasure, before clamping down and screaming his name as you cum. He follows shortly behind as he thrusts in and out, painting your walls with his cum as he does so. “Fuck” you blurt out with a giggle, “That was… incredible.” “You are incredible” he says with a smirk that you can’t see but you can hear as he rolls down beside of you. You breathe out another tiny giggle as your hand slides into his. “It’s kind of perfect. It’s nice. Simple.” “What?” “Your name. Din. I like it.” “I like hearing you say it.” He says as he squeezes your hand three times. “I think you like hearing me moan it more.” “Mhm. Next time you moan it, it’ll be because my face is buried between your thighs.”

You gulp at the promise leaving his lips; never before has he tasted you, never before as he taken his helmet off around you, but the idea of finally feeling his lips against yours makes your heart stutter. You don’t press him on it, instead you snuggle up next him; letting the coolness of his beskar soak into your warm skin as he wraps his arms around you.

Letting him fuck you with his weapons was the best idea you’d had in a long time.

#pedro pascal #the mandalorian #the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian fanfic #din djarin #din #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din dijarin x reader #din djarin x f!reader #din djarin smut #the mandalorian smut #my fanfic #my fanfiction #mando x reader #mando x you #mando x original female character

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wrathkitty · 1 month

Text

Short Debts Make Long Friends - Snippet from chapter 19

He lifts the helmet from his head, sets it aside, and turns to confront his reflection in the mirror.

Dank farrik, he needs a haircut.

He leans in to take a closer look at himself, frowning. All things considered, it could be worse. Split lip, and he’s got the beginnings of a black eye, but it’ll be dark and you won’t see, and the blood and grime will be easy to clean. But should he wash off or use the sonic? And shaving, when was the last time he shaved –

Why is he even thinking about something as stupid as shaving! He told you he’d be a few minutes, and he’s already wasted, what, one minute – oh fuck it’s already been three —

He quickly concludes that anything that has touched the same air as Kaba Baiz needs to go in the sonic, his person included. As for what to put back on…

He releases the fasteners on his cuirass, thinking hard. His base layers are short sleeved. You are wearing short sleeves, and you have asked him to hold you in bed. The thought of touching your arms with his bare hands is intoxicating; any more mutually exposed skin and…

Shuddering, he hauls himself into the shower and starts peeling everything off.

There is a reason he has always avoided sharing a bed. You never knew – you had left for the Cantina by then, thank God – but one single night spent lying beside you had resulted in a wet dream so vivid that he had woken up rutting the mattress.

Part of the problem was simply being long overdue for release – raising Grogu did not lend itself to much time spent alone, and during the rare instances he found himself alone, he usually was too tired to entertain thoughts of anything other than sleep. But for a man accustomed to ignoring his baser instincts, that morning in Mos Eisley had left him shaken, nearly to the point of paranoia.

Din grimly looks down at the pile of clothing at his feet. The sonic’s as good as a disinfectant, but every fiber in his flight suit seems imbued with death, and he doesn’t have a spare.

Does that make me a monster?

He winces, remembering the torture in your eyes. He can’t wear the flight suit. He just can’t. He’ll just have to wear his base layers and stay awake till morning, which won’t be a problem because right now he is so keyed up that he will be awake until the day he dies.

Short Debts Make Long Friends - An overeducated, underpaid millennial finally gets to go on her first adventure.

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#thar be smut ahead #fucking finally #pun intended #slow burn still applies though #din djarin x reader #mando x reader #din x reader #mando x original female character #short debts make long friends #din djarin x female reader #the mandalorian #the mandalorian fanfiction #din djarin #baby yoda

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samantha-rae-velcher · 10 months

Text

Past comes to haunt, future to save

Din Djarin x Fem reader

Requested by: none

Warnings: Jealousy, Swearing, violence, sexual tension, use of a knife, spicy at the end.

A/n: 18+ NSFW if you don't like the Warnings please don't read

___

They had gotten a communication from some guy that Din knew from way back, apparently they used to fly together. Y/n was not happy with this, she could feel something wrong the minute they landed the crest in the hanger.

"I don't like this." She said as Din turned in his chair, getting up to leave the cockpit. "Hey."

Y/n grabbed his arm and pulled him to a stop.

"Do you trust this guy?" She asked.

Din looked down at her hand that was gripped to his bicep.

"This doesn't feel right." Her voice came out just above a whisper.

Din gently caressed her cheek, making Y/n close her eyes.

"I don't like this either. Any sign of trouble, we'll leave."

___

Din and Y/n walked around the hanger with the man, he seemed smug. She kept glancing at the ship, making sure no one was fucking with it.

The three of them went back down to the crest, the man introduced them to a guy called Migs Mayfield. And a Droid that looked like a bug they called him Zero. A big red ugly mother fucker with horns.

"That's Burg." Mayfield said.

Y/n made a disgusted face when Burg shaped up to Din, she took note on how her mandalorian didn't budge even when the red man attempted to scare him.

"I thought you said you had four." Din's voice was gruff, it made a shiver run up Y/n's spine.

"He does." A woman said from behind them.

Y/n turned and furrowed her brows at the sight of a purple Twi'lek. Her fists clenched and uncleaned as the woman stalked closer.

"Hello, Mando." She whispered.

"Xi'an."

Y/n looked over at Din, his voice sounded full of adoration. It made her roll her eyes and look at the razor crest.

"Tell me why I shouldn't cut you down where you stand?" Xi'an suddenly came at Mando only to have Y/n's blade against her throat.

"Because I will fuckin kill you." She growled.

The giggle she let out was sickening, it made Y/n sneer.

"You're his new companion?"

Y/n felt Din's hand press against the small of her back, causing her to lower her weapon and step back.

"Its nice to see you too." Din murmured.

Xi'an smiled and came closer to Mando, she ran her knife down his chest plate and made a clicking sound.

"Ive missed you." She tapped it against his armor and attempted to make eye contact through the visor. "This is shinny. You wear it well."

Mayfield looked over with a confused expression.

"Do we need to leave the room or something?"

The main man that called them there, stepped up and pushed his way into this dog shit of an interaction.

"Well, Xi'an has been heartbroken since Mando left our group."

"Awww." Mayfield mocked. "Are you gonna be okay sweetheart?"

"I'm all business now." Xi'an pointed her dagger at Din. "I learned from the best."

Y/n shook her head and flipped her hands in the air, as the jealousy rose in her.

"That's all well and good! Can we get the fuck going!?"

"What's wrong? Are you scared Xi'an will take your Mandalorian owner."

Y/n grabbed Mayfield by the front of his shirt and pulled him close.

"I am not his pet."

"Sure looks like that to me."

___

Y/n, Mayfield, Xi'an, and Burg all sat in the cargo hold as Din was watching over Zero's shoulder in the cockpit.

"How long have you been with Mando?" Xi'an asked.

"Since he collected his bounty and handed me over, but I kicked the ever loving shit out of the men who wanted me. And I snuck back to his ship and opened the door for him when he arrived."

Mayfield's brows shot up his forehead. "You were his bounty?"

"Yeah."

Burg began digging through Dins stuff, opening the door to his weapons closet, only for Din to shut it in his face. The red devil lookin fucker turned and tried towering over Mando again, growling and huffing.

"You wouldn't scare a sleeping kitten. Sit your fat red ass down!" Y/n yelled.

Mayfield joined in. "Im a little particular about my personal space too, let's just get this done and you'll never see our faces again."

"Tell me why we even need a Mandalorian." Burg grumbled.

"Because apparently they are some the greatest warriors in the galaxy."

Burg looked between Mayfield and Din.

"Then why are they all dead."

"You flew with him Xi'an. Is he as great as they say?" Mayfield asked.

"Ask him about the job on Alzok III."

Everyone looked over at Din.

"I did what I had to do."

"Oh but you liked it." Xi'an smiled and pointed her knife at him. "You see, I know who you really are."

"D- Mando....what is she talking about?" Y/n asked.

Din shook his head. "You don't have to worry about it."

Mayfield chuckled. "He never takes off the helmet."

Xi'an fallowed in his humor and shook her head, they looked over at Y/n.

"You ever seen his face?" Mayfield asked.

"No, and if he ever takes off the mask....I hope I'm blindfolded."

"Why?"

Y/n glanced at Din, then back at Migs.

"This is the way."

Her words made Dins heart race. He never knew that she respected his creed, he always thought she found it a nuisance because she couldn't see his face.

"Your just as weak as he is." Burg said in a gruff tone, making Y/n spin around and get right up in his face.

"Neither of us are weak, and you'll find that out come whatever the fuck it is your planning."

___

The group had finally gotten to the prison ship, they were running through the corridors fighting off droids all the while listening to zero over the ear piece.

Y/n pulled Din into a corner, she held her finger up to her lips and kept her grip on his bicep. Four droids passed by, Y/n looked over watching them walk up the hallway. She could feel Dins gaze on her, his thumb came up to caress her cheek.

"You don't have to be jealous." He whispered.

She locked her eyes on his visor, the deep black was almost bone chilling. If he was anyone else, she would be afraid.

"Jealous of what? Xi'an? I'm not."

"I never mentioned Xi'an....you did."

Y/n felt his hand move to her hip, gently squeezing. Her breath hitched at the warmth his hand spread over her body.

"Din I-"

"Hey are you guys coming!?" Migs yelled from down the hall.

The five of them made it to the control room, zero was babbling about a organic signature in the room but Migs didn't listen.

"Yeah yeah, open the door!"

They entered the room and man jumped out of his chair, pointing a blaster at them. Burg and Mayfield circled him, the man was obviously scared.

This went on for a good few minutes, Din trying to talk him into putting his weapon down. Mayfield yelling at din, both of them pointing their blasters at each other.

And it all led to Xi'an killing the poor bastard.

"Would you all shut up." She said in a bored voice.

Din looked over at Y/n who was glaring at Xi'an. He had never seen such anger in her eyes, she looked as if she wanted to kill her.

"You didn't have to kill him."

Xi'an stood, her smile made Y/n sick. "It was quicker than negotiating. none of you had it under control, so I killed him. All you were doing is waisting time."

Xi'an then ran out the door, the others fallowing until Din stopped and turned back to Y/n. She was standing there looking down at the poor man's body.

"Y/n, we have to get moving." He whispered.

"This is what you did? Killed innocents when they stood in your way? Is that what you did?"

"No."

"I'm having a hard time believing that." Y/n got closer, she could feel the heat of his body radiating off of him. "What was Xi'an talking about back on the ship?"

"Hey Mando! You coming!?" Mayfield yelled from down the hall.

"Something is going on." Y/n whispered, handing him the distress beacon the man was holding. "They're up to something and I don't fuckin like it."

With that she made her way to the others, Din looked down at the dead officer on the floor as he left the control room.

The group ran through the halls once more, Burg battered down on a big droid and threw it to the floor. A droid came walking around the corner yelling "Intruder alert!", Y/n grabbed it by the neck and slammed it into the wall, pulling it's head off. Sparks flew as it's body fell limp, the prisoners cheered and hollered as the group continued down the hallway.

They made it to the cell, Mayfield opened the door and inside was a male Twi'lek. Y/n frowned, this guy was no doubt Xi'an's brother.

"Qin." Din said.

"Mando, funny the man who left me behind us now my savior."

Burg grabbed Y/n and threw her into Din, they stumbled into the cell and landed on their backs. Just as the door was about to close Din fired his blaster, it bounced off the door and the walls. Mando covered Y/n as the blaster bolt hit him in the beskar.

"I told you this wasn't right! Did I not say they were up to something!?" She yelled, clenching her fist as she landed a punch to the door.

Din pulled her over by the arm, he gripped her wrist and examined her hand. Her knuckles her bleeding and her hand was shaking.

"Calm down." He said, pressing his forehead to hers. Y/n closed her eyes, enjoying the feeling of his cold beskar against her skin.

"Din, they know the kid is in the bunk. If they get to crest chances are they're gonna hurt him."

"That's why they won't make it to the crest."

___

Mayfield and the rest of the fuck head brigade made it half way back to the ship when Zero came on the coms.

"Zero to Mayfield, we have a problem."

"What is it!?"

"They have escaped."

"AHH!" Xi'an yelled. She pointed her dagger at migs, getting really close. "I told you we should've ended them."

"I know I know."

Suddenly the lights turned red, they all felt their hearts jump into their throats as the door closed between them.

"Brother!"

"Zero! Where is he!?" Mayfield yelled. "Zero!?"

"Sister." Qin said. "Go with the Devaronian. Find Mando and kill him, Mayfield and I will try and make it back to the ship."

___

Y/n fallowed Din through the corridors, they ducked into a large vent and Din held his finger up to his helmet, motioning for Y/n to be quiet as Burg and Xi'an ran by.

When silence covered the area, Y/n let out the breath she didn't realize she had been holding. Din looked out of the vent and started to leave when she grabbed his arm and pulled him back in.

"You go after Burg, and I go for Xi'an." Y/n whispered.

He nodded and left the vent, Y/n crawled further in and went up an air shaft. She made her way through the ceiling until she found the female Twi'lek, Xi'an was creepy through like the vial little roach she was.

Y/n dropped down, landing behind her. Xi'an turned around and threw her dagger at Y/n. She caught it and ran at the Twi', grabbing her shoulders and kicking her in the stomach. Y/n flipped her over her shoulder and slammed her head against the wall, successfully knocking her out.

Y/n ran up the hall with Xi'an in tow, she was about to run passed a cell when she saw Burg out cold laying on the floor. She shrugged and harshly threw the Twi'lek in there with him.

Y/n was rounding a corner when she heard footsteps behind her, she spun around and took a swing, her fist was caught and she was held against the door of another cell. To her surprise and pleasure it was Din, she felt warmth rush to her core when she realized what a vulnerable spot he has her in.

"Din." She said, her voice just above a whisper.

"Don't attack if you can't over power your opponent."

He released her wrist, slowly sliding his hands down her arms, making Y/n shiver.

"Have you found Mayfield?" She asked.

"Not yet."

"We should probably start looking."

"Yeah....we should."

Y/n kept her eyes locked on Din's visor as she moved around him. He tilted his head and fallowed her with his gaze.

"You coming?" She asked.

He nodded and they started towards the exit. Y/n turned in the direction of where she could hear Mayfield trying to contact Zero, she nodded to Din and he began walking to Mig's voice. Y/n on the other hand kept going towards the ship, she made it to the latter just in time to run into Qin.

She felt a blaster press to the back of her neck, a dark chuckle rang out from behind her, making Y/n cringe.

She turned around and raised her hands up, Qin stood there with a shit eating grin plastered on his face.

"Mando's little woman." He said. "He down graded from my sister to you?"

"If you ask me I'd say it was an upgrade."

"No one asked you."

"I don't need your permission to speak."

Qin chuckled and began rambling off about how he was gonna hold her as a hostage and Mando was gonna give him the crest and how the two of them were gonna be stuck here and blah blah blah.

Din came up behind him and smacked Qin over the head with a droid arm. Y/n smiled as the Twi'lek fell to the floor with a loud thud.

"The kid." She said, turning around and scrambled up the latter. Y/n froze when she saw Zero pointing his rifle at Grogu, she felt rage as she ran up and knocked him over. Y/n ignited her lightsaber, slicing through the middle of the droid.

The sound of Din dragging Qin up the latter startled Y/n. She quickly hid her saber and ran to help.

___

They had gotten rid of Qin and the man that hired them, and now they were on their way to God knows where. Y/n and Din sat in the cockpit, watching the stars race by. She bit her lip as she remembered being pressed against the wall by the mandalorian, the sound of his voice as he stared her down.

The thought of what he could've done to her in that moment made a quiet moan slip past her lips. Din's head slowly turned towards her, Y/n's heart raced when she felt the heat of his gaze burning into her.

"Y/n." He said in a gruff tone.

"Hmm?"

"Come."

He wasn't giving her opinions here, that was a command. Din held his hand out for her, she stood up and took it as she slowly made her way into his lap. Y/n could feel his erection through his flight suit, he grunted as she pressed her hand down and palmed at his cock.

Din gripped her hips, pushing her off and turning her to face the control panel removing her leather belt and pants, he then brought her back down against his chest. Din spread her legs with his so she was exposed for all who dared to take a gander at his woman.

"I won't be gentle, little one." He whispered.

THE END ❤️

Part 2?

I hope you enjoyed

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