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draculasfavoritewife · 9 months

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Misconceptions

Summary: Traveling with the Mandalorian was always going to create false impressions -- if only they knew what he was like behind closed doors.

Pairing: Din Djarin x fem!Reader

Warnings: Reader being a bit of a tease, implied smut, heavy sensuality and SOFTNESS! Din is a bit of a soft dom (according to me).

So I came up with this idea on a road trip last year, when I read a theory about the concept of Mandalorian celibacy, and the dialogue generator in my brain went off the rails 😁. My personal headcanon is that while Mando is not a full-on dom like I've seen some write him, he does like to be somewhat in control so yeah.

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

You knew something was wrong the second he entered -- or rather, stormed into -- the small room in the inn your little crew was occupying for the night. Normally even when fully armored he can move with surprising stealth, stalking his prey like a wild nexu on the prowl.

You've always wondered how he manages to not clank like a droid wherever he walks.

Now, though, none of that control softens the thud of his heavy footsteps as he passes you without even so much as a greeting and aimlessly unpacks his gear, taking no care to muffle the clatter of his personal arsenal before he chooses his pulse rifle to dismantle and start cleaning.

You approach him cautiously, noting the deadly sharp motions of his gloved hands and the stiff angles of his shoulders. He's quiet, much too quiet, only the crackle of his tight breaths sounding through his vocoder.

"Want some help?" you ask, keeping your own tone warm and flashing a brief smile at his gleaming helmet.

Silence.

Undeterred, you delicately pull his EE-3 carbine from the mess and seat yourself cross-legged near his feet, expertly taking it apart and starting to lovingly free it from the layers of buildup caused by frequent use.

A side glance reveals that his shoulders have loosened slightly, rolling forward as a longer breath drags from his lungs. He's not angry at you, as your unsolicited presence actually seems to have calmed him a tiny bit.

The pair of you work in the quiet for some time, only disturbed by the child whenever he toddles up to one or the other of you to eagerly show you some new insect he's found in the dust of your temporary lodging quarters.

"So," you finally say casually, not taking your eyes from the detailing of his rifle as you finish your task. "Want to talk about what's got you in such a snit?"

He snorts. "No."

"Din," you finally look up at him then, and see his head tilt towards you as it always does when his true name leaves your lips, "you know you don't have to shoulder everything yourself anymore. We're partners. I'm more than capable of carrying my share. What's happened?"

"It's nothing like that," he grumbles, his visor flicking away. "Someone just made me angry, is all."

You wait, opening your arms and lap to Grogu as he squeals and reaches for you. Din's already said more than he probably meant to, which means there's more coming.

You just have to wait for it.

He doesn't keep you waiting long, to both his surprise and yours. You've been wearing him down with your patience lately, it seems.

"Some piece of bantha fodder in the cantina made a comment about you after you took Grogu back up here," he mutters. "He had the GALL to ask me what I pay you."

You hear leather protesting as his dangerous hands clench into fists.

By what he leaves unsaid, you know the implications of the remark meant something much different than simply a relationship of business employment.

You blink up at him, oddly more touched by his rage towards the scum who would suggest such a thing than bothered by the story itself.

"If we weren't already trying to keep a low profile here, Cyar'ika, I would have stuffed those words back down his vile throat until he choked on them."

You rise to your feet, Grogu still cradled to your chest, trying to deny that you find his threat on your behalf so arousing. "Well, I can't decide whether to be insulted or flattered. I never thought I could pass for a courtesan."

"You're not helping" he tells you dryly. "And you know that's a load of bantha."

With a grin, you take the child to his little bed in the next room, and place your palms against the Mandalorian's cool beskar breastplate when you return. "I'm sorry for joking about it, ner'cyare. And I'm sorry you have to hear people speculating about our relationship. I wish they could keep those thoughts to themselves."

Letting your fingers drift upward to tug on his cowl, you add, "But it's not even as bad as what someone said to me while I was getting food for Grogu."

He goes rigid. "Tell me."

"Some old guy gave me a pitying look when he saw I was with you. Came over and basically said something along the lines of, 'Best to give up sooner rather than later, Sweetheart. You know those Mandalorians...they're CELIBATE.'"

Din's left speechless for a moment, and you can almost imagine his eyes blinking in shock.

"I...what...why...?"

You shrug carelessly and step away from his body, crouching down to reorganize his weapons where they lie forgotten on the floor. "It's just a rumor, Din. Since our people pick up foundlings all over the place and have so many rules of conduct. The galaxy's just jumped to the conclusion that our people don't actually engage in...intimacy, of any kind. I used to hear the same thing said about me, before I stopped wearing the armor."

He's quiet again, thoughtful as he draws the curtains across the window, shrouding the room in shadow. You allow a wicked grin to curve your lips for a moment, confident you've rerouted his focus from his earlier outrage.

A muted clank tells you he's removing his beskar now that it's dark.

"I hope I didn't offend you by relaying that story," you sing-song into the shadows behind you.

Nothing.

As soon as your guard is down, a pair of long arms has you in a durasteel grasp and you're lifted from the floor and tossed onto the bed before you can even make a sound.

"What's brought this on?" you half-laugh into his bare chest as he all but smothers you.

Hot lips tease your throat and rough hands crawl up your spine beneath your shirt, making you arch into him for more and wrap your legs around his hips.

"I'll show you who's celibate," he growls close to your mouth, punctuating his words with a kiss that hints at teeth. "Someone's asking to be reminded."

"Teach me a lesson, then, ner'alor," you hum into his hair, reverently inhaling the smell of leather, sweat, and smoke that always saturates his skin. Most times he protests your use of such an authoritative term for him, but when he's riled up, you know that some deep dark part of him likes it.

He needs no further urging, and soon both of your respective annoyances are long forgotten in the throes of bliss.

Much later, when the flames have cooled, you lie tangled together in the sheets, his head resting on your chest and your fingers lovingly working the knots out of his thick hair. As much as you yearn to someday look upon the face of the man you love so deeply, you can't deny that the darkness gives a gift of true closeness you might never have known in the seeing world. The flicker of his eyelashes against your skin and the way his now-tranquil breaths warm your body are enough in this moment, and no amount of credits could ever persuade you to give this up.

"Your helmet has really made a reptavian's nest of your hair this time, my love," you observe as your fingers catch in his curling locks for the umpteenth time.

"Mmm, most of that mess is your doing this time, Cyar'ika." Din's voice is husky, as it always gets when he's on the verge of sleep, but he sounds more at ease than he has in days, and you allow yourself to hope that he'll sleep through the night tonight, that his body will actually let him fully rest for once.

"At least I can undo that with time. I'm afraid once daylight comes, my new skin pattern won't be so easily hidden." You have a few suspicions already of where the bruising evidence of his zealous kiss blossoms across your flesh, and as you prefer to dress much lighter than your armored companion, such adornments do not go unseen.

"You love wearing my mark." There's the barest hint of smugness underlying his tone. "Don't try to pretend otherwise."

"...Alright, I won't." You reach down to toy with his mythosaur necklace, letting the tips of your fingers flit down his torso and feeling him pull you closer in response, his own hands settling into their place at the top of your hips. "Whatever other people might say, Din Djarin, I love you. Never doubt that."

"Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum, Mesh'la."

You're about to drift off, there in his embrace, when a lonely chirp from the other room jolts you fully awake and you sigh.

"I'll go get him, Din."

"Hurry back," he murmurs, reluctantly releasing you from his warm hold.

You scrabble around in the blankets for a moment, unable to locate your clothes, until Din tosses his shirt at you. "Here, take mine."

You pull it over your head, feeling immediately oddly at home swimming in the folds of the massive piece of clothing. It's unexpectedly soft, well worn from years of use -- and abuse -- and it smells just like him. You smile to yourself as you crawl out of bed, the shirt's hem drifting to the tops of your thighs.

"Cover your eyes, I'm opening the door," you tell him.

"I'm not going to go blind from a sliver of light," he grumbles.

"Just thought I'd warn you." You push the door to your shared room open, about to go rescue Grogu from his solitude.

"Wait. Stay there."

You hear him dressing in the other half of his clothes, and the bed creaks as he rises. You instinctively let your eyes flutter shut as his quiet footsteps approach from behind.

"Just for a minute...I want to really look at you with my own eyes."

Your heartbeat quickens at that, and you realize then that he's never really seen you, either.

Through the visor of his helmet, sure, but he's never actually set eyes on you this vulnerable, this...undressed.

You're almost as much of a mystery to him as he is to you, intimately as you know each other.

It amazes you, the trust you've established between the two of you as he stands before you and his breath rustles your unkempt hair. He doesn't reach to cover your eyes himself, worried that you'll look at him without consent. He trusts that your love and respect for him is enough to keep your eyes softly closed.

He studies you, hands tracing down your arms and along the shape of your body covered in his dark shirt. His touch is light, almost shy as he takes the sight of you in. Never in his wildest dreams did he imagine that one day he would be standing here with someone like you, someone wearing his clothes, who loves him enough to share everything with him and not demand that he break his sacred creed before he's ready.

Someone who he wants, more than anything, to be his forever, to one day, if his life ever allows it, become his riduur.

The person that he almost -- almost -- for a second entertains the thought of telling to open her eyes, to really LOOK at him as he is, unmasked in the soft light of the hallway.

But he doesn't, not this time.

Someday.

You feel his hands frame your face, melt into the familiar calluses of his fingertips as his thumbs lightly caress along your cheekbones. You smile wistfully as he tenderly kisses your closed eyelids, then rests his forehead against yours in a keldabe kiss.

"Mesh'la," he hums quietly, and you can hear the hushed awe in his voice, the way he gets when he's overwhelmed by feelings he can't put into words. "Dank farrik, you're so lovely."

You shiver slightly at his words, feeling heat race to your skin. You don't know exactly why, but you've always loved the sound of his voice when he lets that particular expletive slip.

"Careful, Djarin," you murmur as your lips seek out his. "You don't want me asking for another round before you're ready."

"Why do you assume I'm not ready?" he teases, teeth catching playfully at your bottom lip as you pull back.

"Developing more of an appetite, I see." You rise on your tiptoes to brush your nose against his, grinning as always at the way his scruffy facial hair tickles your face.

"I had to, to keep up with you." His hands tighten on your waist, drawing you against his well-muscled body suggestively.

You reluctantly push away from him, though not before planting a kiss in the hollow where his throat meets his collarbone, a place you know drives him wild. "I do have to go. Your ad'ika wants his buir."

"That was a dirty trick, Mesh'la." He sounds put out, and a little pent up now.

You twist your finger in his necklace, before turning away so you can open your eyes and finally go rescue your foundling. "I'll make it up to you later, Cyare. I promise."

"Don't make me pay you," he deadpans, reminding you of the comment that first started off this very pleasurable evening.

You smirk, knowing he can hear it in your voice as you saunter away. "Oh, I'm very certain I'll get exactly what I want from you."

When you finally return, the child clutching the folds of your borrowed shirt, he's in bed again, so once the door is shut the darkness swallows you in its comforting shroud once more.

You listen to Grogu's happy squeaks as he clambers across from your chest to Din's, and the answering murmurs of his father. Content in the company of the two beings you love most in the galaxy, you stretch out to lie against your lover's warm body, relishing the temporary luxury of a soft mattress to sink into and room to spare. You're not going to wake up with kinks in your spine for the first time in forever.

"You should get a bigger bed on the ship," you suggest through a yawn. "This is awfully nice."

"What's wrong with mine?" He sounds offended, the fingers of his free hand searching until they find their way beneath the draping excess of his shirt that's still cocooning your form. It surprised you at first, probably surprised him too, just how much the man craves these rare spells of skin-to-skin contact, made all the more meaningful by his personal restrictions. You settle into his languid stroking before mustering a reply.

"It's just nice not to worry about falling off the bed when all three of us are together."

"I suppose," he concedes, pausing a moment to no doubt smile at the tiny snores of the now-sleeping child. "But there is something to be said for how close necessity draws us. Don't you roll away from me in the middle of the night."

"Or what, you big gundark, you won't pay me?"

He squeezes the soft part of your waist at your teasing. "Maybe I won't."

"That's a breach of contract." You tangle your legs with his and wrap your arms around his midsection, assuring him without words that you're not going anywhere. "Admit it, you'd like it too. Imagine a world where you don't wake up every morning with stiff muscles." You lazily start to knead into his back, soothing out the weariness and tension that like to take up permanent residence there.

He sighs appreciatively, breath hitching slightly whenever your ministrations encounter an especially stubborn knot. "I do not wake up EVERY morning with stiff muscles."

"Could've fooled me, with the amount of old-man groaning I hear whenever you get out of bed."

"I don't do that."

"Why do you think I always wake up when you leave, hmm?"

"Because you're incapable of keeping yourself warm and you need me to keep from freezing to death." His reply is certain, leaving no room for further rebuttal.

"Kriff. You do know me too well. You still sound like an old man in the mornings, though."

"Don't argue with me, Cyar'ika." Din's voice is warm, but his hand starts straying from platonic towards more intimate. "You're at a bit of a disadvantage."

"How so?" You shouldn't ask, but an impish desire to hear him actually voice his dangerous thoughts overpowers your common sense.

The smirk in his voice is audible. "You have a much more difficult time keeping quiet than I do. You wouldn't want to wake the kid now, would you?"

"Dank farrik."

He relents when you wordlessly concede, returning to a comforting caress rather than an instigating one.

You've almost dozed off again in your shared darkness when the mattress bucks as he hauls himself out of bed to take Grogu back to his own room. You gaze through half-closed eyes at his silhouette when he pauses, back-lit in the warm glow of the opened doorway. You take him in without detail for a brief moment, the curves of his well-defined shoulders and arms, the textured mess of his hair, the slope of his prominent nose. Your heart blossoms with the affection and passion this wounded, pure warrior ignites within you, and you are hit once more with the desire to truly see him, bare and in the light, all his barriers laid down for you.

He's the only man you would ever consider taking as riduur.

Someday.

Before you know it, your brave hunter has returned to your embrace, leaning over you and trapping you between his arms as he rests his scruffy cheek against your smooth one, the two of you allowing a long moment to simply breathe each other in, thankful once more to whichever gods you may believe in that for one more day, you are alive, and you belong to each other.

Then he rises to his knees and pulls you up with him, his breath warm on your skin.

"Don't ever leave me, Mesh'la," he whispers roughly into your throat.

Your head snaps back in delight at the sensations his mouth stirs within you, and your nails scrape across his scarred back in answer, drawing wordless sounds from deep in his chest.

"Never, ner'cyare. I would hunt you across the stars if ever we were parted."

He sighs, the movement of his body rocking yours. "Thank you."

"Can I keep this shirt?" you ask saucily.

"Yes." His hands curl around its hem and start lifting. "But take it off for now."

You hum questioningly as you allow him to guide the thick fabric over your head.

"After all," and his voice hardens, taking on the dogged quality that makes him the best there is at what he does.

"I haven't forgotten about that next round you promised, my love."

Ner'cyare = My beloved

Ner'alor = My leader/boss

Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum, Mesh'la = I love you, Beautiful

Riduur = Spouse

Ad'ika = Little One/Small child