DIN DJARIN x FEM READER Adventure Romance (Western AU)
This one took me by surprise too. I actually wrote most of this scene a long long time ago, and it fit perfectly with this week’s @writer-wednesday prompt. So I thought I’d clean it up and share it all with you in my first Writer Wednesday!
word count: ~2.9k
summary:A gun lesson gets you all riled up.
warnings:Mature/Explicit, as always all my works are 18+ References to plot, but can be read as a standalone. Use of a gun and flirting and lots of silly fluff, and descriptions of sexual content, dirty/corny jokes, and mild angst.
a/n:i am not immune to coffee shop aus this is probably a part 1 since i have more ideas!! self indulgent fluff that came to me while i was making coffee this morning and frantically typed out unedited. hope you enjoy!!
A fight–bloody, brutal and sure to lead to someone’s death. It was all playing out before your eyes with perfect clarity. There was a well placed shot ringing through the air, a body falling, a scream of anguish, and then-
“Incoming.”
Your head lifted from your laptop screen at the sound of your coworker’s voice and you were immediately pulled back into the real world. The universe you were writing was replaced by warm sunlight, light wood counters, and the ever-present hiss of a steam wand that seemed to be the soundtrack of your life. A bell sounded as the heavy front door was pushed open and you hopped off of your stool to take their order. The customer was one of your regulars, a sweet older lady that you tried not to blame for interrupting your already scarce writing time as you made her usual latte. Today was supposed to be your day off–your day for sleeping as late as you wanted and then writing until your hands cramped. Instead, you were back at work for the seventh day in a row because you were too damn nice to say no. Plus, you could use the extra money.
The bell above the door rang again before you could finish the drink and your laptop sat sadly abandoned for the next hour as you found yourself in the middle of the lunch rush. Nevarro Coffee House was small, but it had no shortage of regulars and locals that didn’t mind paying just a bit more for good coffee. It was located around enough shops and offices to keep a steady stream of customers, although having a Starbucks a few blocks away ensured that you never gottoo busy. You worked routinely through the rush, writing forgotten in favor of pulling espresso shots and warming up enough pastries to feed a small army. Finally, the bell above the door quieted and the rush ended as quickly as it had begun. Taking advantage of the lull, you grabbed a rag and began to wipe down the counter, waving your coworker off to her break. The counters and espresso machine were covered in their usual smattering of coffee grounds, syrups, and sugar dumped haphazardly from the available packets. You wiped it all down, enjoying the silence of an empty shop until it was once again broken by the clang of the bell.
The door opened to another customer, one that was vaguely familiar to you as he’d been in a few times before. You smiled expectantly as he leaned against the counter, squinting at the menu on the wall above your head…for a while. It was a small menu–you didn’t offer too many variations–but he was staring at it like it held the secrets of the universe.
“Can’t decide?” You broke the silence and he blinked like he was coming out of a trance, eyes coming back to you a little unfocused. He looked exhausted. Dark circles stood out under soft brown eyes that he rubbed with the heel of his palm.
“I’m sorry. I’m a little tired.” He said in what had to be the understatement of the year. He smiled a small, self-deprecating smile and shrugged his broad shoulders. Dark, unruly curls framed his surprisingly handsome face as he tilted it up again to the menu board. He looked at it for only a beat before his eyes landed back on you. “Actually, just give me anything. I need the caffeine.”
You raised an eyebrow at him. In your experience, people were very particular with their coffee. You’d been yelled at even when you’d followed customers’ extremely specific customizations, so making something with no direction was new for you. “You sure? I don’t want to steer you wrong.”
He shrugged again, waving off your concern. “Go for it, I trust you.”
Emboldened by this stranger’s unusual faith in you, you got to work. “Do you like it sweet?” You ducked into one of the cabinets, grabbing your favorite Colombian light roast and measuring out the grounds.
“I like it strong.” He was smiling again when you glanced over. One of his elbows was on the counter and he was watching you, curiosity in his tired eyes.
“Good answer.” You tried not to get distracted by the feeling of his gaze on you. People watched you make their coffee every day, but this felt strangely intimate. Maybe it was because there was no one else in the shop, or because this man had come in looking like he had just rolled out of bed with his sleep-tousled hair and was watching you like you were the most interesting thing in the world.
An Americano seemed to fit him. Strong, smooth, and simple with a sprinkle of cinnamon on top to give it depth. He took a sip as soon as you slid it over to him, looking back up to you with surprise. “That’s actually…very good.”
You grinned, more pleased at his words than you should have been. When he pulled out his wallet, you waved him away. “It’s on the house. You look like you need it.”
His face softened, looking genuinely touched for a moment before he pulled out a bill worth more than coffee and dropped it in the tip jar with a timid, “Thank you.” He was at the front of the shop before he turned around again, one hand on the door. “Does this drink have a name?”
“It’s just an Americano with cinnamon,” you answered, a little proud that you’d made something he’d want to order again.
He looked a little disappointed and glanced from his cup back to you. “Can we give it a name?”
Laughing in spite of yourself, you shook your head. “No one but me will know what it means if we do that.”
“Then I guess I’ll just have to come back for you.” He said it with such a nervous, endearing smile that you couldn’t help the zing of excitement that ran through you. This was going to be dangerous.
He was still watching you, unsure but holding your eyes as you grinned and said the first thing that came to your mind. “Brown Eyes. We can call it Brown Eyes.”
You got only a glimpse of his smile and blushing cheeks before he ducked his head in a nod and pushed open the door. Maybe working extra shifts wasn’t so bad.
summary: Din returns the Boba’s palace after leaving to find his covert, where you want nothing to do with him. “You left. You left me.” Shout-out to @galatially for the prompt!! Thank you ❤️
content: angst, some lovey stuff
paring: din djarin x female reader (only bc I use the term sweet girl)
a/n: AHHH it’s been almost a month since I really wrote and it felt so good to be back. My clinical is going well and if anyone wants to send in anymore word prompts that would be appreciated, I’ll write them when I can ❤️
Din feels the blood rushing through his veins - heart booming in his ears as his throat dries at his nervousness.
After all this time, here you are. Boba kept his promise. You are safe, healthy and beautiful. Just as beautiful as the day he left. The memory still present as ever with tears in your eyes as you beg him not to leave you here.
He stays in the arch of the hall, watching as you tinker around with what looks to be the after of a ship crash. The dark, damp garage gives little away of what you are really doing but the Mandalorian does not need it.
You seem to light Boba’s palace alive, the dark, crumbling edges of stone are no match for you. He couldn’t help himself, Boba had told him you most likely didn’t want to see him but with the news that you have decided to stay with the older Mandalorian and that you were in fact, still here, he needed to.
Fears quickly filled him the moment he saw you, fear of rejection, fears that you will never forgive him for leaving so abruptly like he did. The Mandalorian leans more of his body weight into the arch but parts of the wall crumble against the weight, pulling your attention from the part to him.
summary: Din returns the Boba’s palace after leaving to find his covert, where you want nothing to do with him. “You left. You left me.” Shout-out to @galatially for the prompt!! Thank you ❤️
content: angst, some lovey stuff
paring: din djarin x female reader (only bc I use the term sweet girl)
a/n: AHHH it’s been almost a month since I really wrote and it felt so good to be back. My clinical is going well and if anyone wants to send in anymore word prompts that would be appreciated, I’ll write them when I can ❤️
Din feels the blood rushing through his veins - heart booming in his ears as his throat dries at his nervousness.
After all this time, here you are. Boba kept his promise. You are safe, healthy and beautiful. Just as beautiful as the day he left. The memory still present as ever with tears in your eyes as you beg him not to leave you here.
He stays in the arch of the hall, watching as you tinker around with what looks to be the after of a ship crash. The dark, damp garage gives little away of what you are really doing but the Mandalorian does not need it.
You seem to light Boba’s palace alive, the dark, crumbling edges of stone are no match for you. He couldn’t help himself, Boba had told him you most likely didn’t want to see him but with the news that you have decided to stay with the older Mandalorian and that you were in fact, still here, he needed to.
Fears quickly filled him the moment he saw you, fear of rejection, fears that you will never forgive him for leaving so abruptly like he did. The Mandalorian leans more of his body weight into the arch but parts of the wall crumble against the weight, pulling your attention from the part to him.
The moment your eyes meet the glint of beskar your heart stops. Biting your bottom lip as hard as you can - trying to hold back the tears that threaten to slip past fluttering eyelashes.
With the awareness he steps forward but it only causes you to stand from your sitting position, turning to find the other exit - any exit as he grows closer and closer.
As you pace towards the other way he reaches out, the fingertips of his gloves brush against the bare skin of your arm. Relishing in how close you are once again. “Hey, hey, stop - stay.”
But just as pundgent and bitter as a lemon, you rip from his grasp. Forehead wrinkling as you stare at him with abhorrence, “Don’t touch me.”
“I’m sorry.” He blurts quickly, “I shouldn’t have left like I did. I’ve been thinking all day to what I’m going to say to you and I, - I couldn’t think of anything except for that I missed you, sweet girl.”
“You don’t get to say that - you don’t get to call me that, anymore.” It’s spoken between gritted teeth as you take one more step away from him. “Leave.”
“Are you listening to me?” While din has suffered the fire within your personality but he’s never seen you so filled with hatred but on the edge of tears. His heart breaking knowing he’s the reason, he caused all of this.
Him and his selfish need to stay loyal to the Mandalorian Creed, his own family who has abandoned him. Only now does he realize what a mess he’s made of you. While he thought of you often, he thought you’d be better without him.
“You left. You left me.” The words make his own eyes water as sobs wreck your check. He feels his own grow extremely tight - almost as if someone had a hand wrapped around his throat, suffocating him.
“I didn’t know what to do! I lost my kid, I lost my creed -.” He’s about to explain how much he thought of you, laid up late at night imagining kisses your lips, rubbing your soft skin and nudging his nose into your hair - smelling the smell of strawberries and flowers.
“You didn’t loose me!” The words cause you both to pause. Din knows this, he knows he’s the reason for the strain in your relationship. What did he expect? To come back and you’d accept him with open arms after three months of heart break?
One thing you did learn about yourself over the last few weeks is - you don’t need him anymore. Boba and Fennec have been training you - showing you the way of protecting yourself and with your knowledge of mechanics, you didn’t need anyone - you could make it on your own.
“Don’t talk to me again. I owe Boba a debt - he has cared for me when you left. I will stay to handle this spice business but after that. You’ll never see me again.” Another attempt to exit the room but the Mandalorian can’t fight the urge to touch you again. This time his hands are bare - gloves thrown mindlessly to the ground and the moment you look up, his helmet as well.
His hair is longer than the first time you seen his face on the imperial ship - brown locks curling at the ends. Glossy eyes that beg you to listen, to stay. Vulnerable as ever as he brings your hand to his lips to kiss your knuckles.
“You don’t have to do this -”
“It’s nothing you haven’t seen before, this is me. I want you to know that from this point on I am mindlessly, continuously devoted to you and only you.” He pauses before inching closer and with the feeling of his lips on your skin, you can’t seem to move as brown eyes never leave your own. “You can leave - find yourself and what you want but I will find you eventually. Try everyday until you forgive me.”
“You can’t do that, Din.”
“I can and I will.” Despite the heavy armour he wears, he untucks his under tunic and takes your hand to guide it up and under the fabric. Feeling the hotness of his skin, every round and plane of his skin, the thick muscles of his abdomen until the hairs of his chest tickle your fingers. He lays your flat palm against his chest, where his own blankets yours. “My heart hasn’t been whole, with you here, despite being so upset with me, only beats for you, my love.”
He watches your eyes soften, posture relaxing as if with every tick of his heart is a calming presence but just as quick you pull away, stomping away and out of the room where the Mandalorian smiles. Knowing that this won’t be the last time he will see you.
Summary: A surprise. A crack in the wall. A desire. A dream.
Word Count: 900
Warnings: T, not much going on in this but some good old fashioned yearning. While this story is not explicit, my blog and the content shared on it is 18+ so MINORS DNI.
Late in the evening, Din makes his way to the bunk to settle the child. He expects you to be in it already, but when the door shutters up it’s empty. He pauses, considering where you could be, before seeing what’s replaced you.
Your legs trembled beneath you as you gripped onto the leather of his gloves and allowed him to pull you from the ground. You fisted his cowl out of instinct, trying to hold onto whatever you could to allow yourself to be easier to lift and in less danger of being dropped.
He pulled you up onto the corrugated roof with ease and steadied you with two strong palms gripping your shoulders.
“You alright?” His voice rasps, smoke having infected his lungs even through the seal of his helmet.
“Yeah, I think so.” You answer tentatively “Thank you. Thank you so much.”
The Mandalorian keeps a gentle grip on you as he jerks to look at the continuing riot below. Then in the opposite direction, he whips his head to survey his surroundings.
“Yeah.” He sighs “Well, I’m not done yet.”
You stand silent and still, but for the quirk of your brow, unsure of his meaning.
“Hold on to me.”
“What?”
“Hold on to me.” He repeats “We need to get off this roof before the whole thing collapses under us.”
You glance down to your feet. Small holes in the corrugated iron allowed smoke to seep through in thick plumes, and slight vision of the flames that licked at the walls inside the hut below.
You step forward nervously and offer out one of your hands for him to take.
“No-” he corrects as he takes your hand. He steps closer and places your grip firmly around the back of his neck. “Hold onto me.”
Your body shuffles closer to him as you position your other hand as he instructs.
“What are you going to-”
Before the end of your sentence is complete, you feel yourself lifted into the air at high speed. The wind is knocked out of you; you squeal and hold onto the body of the Mandalorian for dear life, clinging to him in shock and horror as the ground beneath you falls away, as does the vision of your burning district.
His hands are wrapped tightly around you, one large hand holding onto the handle of your waist, whilst the other secures your head against his breastplate.
Thank the Maker that you were still half deaf from the grenade, or you weren’t sure you’d be able to stomach the sound of wind whipping past your ears so quickly, as your Mandalorian in shining armour offered his daring rescue attempt.
Your view of the ground falls further still. It seems to swim in your vision; turn and wave from side to side. Your body feels weightless yet heavier than ever, as you are lifted so easily high into the air, but meet against the harsh force of resistance as the wind around you lashes at the shape of your body.
You squeeze your eyes as tightly as you can and wait for it all to be over.
You’ve almost forgotten how to stand by the time your feet hit hard ground again, your legs not knowing how to support your weight, causing you to unintentionally lean into the Mandalorian.
He reassures you with his touch. At either side of your body he squeezes you, then moving his grip to your upper arms as he surveys the area.
He’d dropped you both at one of the spaceports. Landing pads surround the strip on each side, with starships of all makes, models and sizes, docked on each one. Unfortunately for you both, what also surrounded the strip were scavengers and wannabe rioters that were trying to get their fare share of stolen goods whilst the inner district was distracted by the violence.
A group of three men surrounded one of the rustier looking ships, looking desperately like they were about to try and blow the side door open in an effort to access it.
You feel the comforting grip on your arms leave, and their warmth with it.
“Hey- Hey! Don’t even think about it.” The Mandalorians voice sounds, dripping with authority “You so much as twitch and I’ll disintegrate you.”
His aim is expertly poised on the group of troublemakers, a long - that looked like it had been custom modded - rifle pointed at their heads.
The men seem to think about it for a short moment, before deciding to go with the intelligent option and not try to take on an angry Mandalorian. The one closest to the two of you raises his hands in a surrender beside his head, and the two behind him soon follow suit.
“Good.” The Mandalorian says it almost as if he was talking to a pet “Now step away from my ship.”
He waits as the group shuffle a safe distance away from the banged up looking Razor Crest - They don’t even make those anymore. The aim of his rifle moves with them.
“Alright.” He continues “Get on.”
He cocks the butt of the rifle toward his ship momentarily, gesturing for you to approach.
“Me?”
“Yes, you.” He answers indignantly “Go on, I’ve got you covered.” he reassures, training the weapon firmly back on the group that were still standing watching this exchange.
Behind the Mandalorian is the vision of your home district burning, melting, falling to pieces in a storm of blaster fire and screams.
So - you pad slowly towards the Razor crest.
“What are you doing?” You ask frantically as you follow the warrior up to the cockpit and watch as he engages the thrusters on his engine from the pilot seat.
“What, you want to stay here?” He asks, unimpressed, gesturing to the burning skyline.
“I have nothing else?” You respond timidly, the entire evening’s events suddenly barreling to the forefront of your mind.
Helplessness, confusion, fear.
Your eyes fall to the floor as the Mandalorian studies you for a moment. His voice then leaves his vocoder, softer - warm.
“I know a little backwater planet.” He soothes “They’re good people, they’ll take care of you. As long as you can contribute? Farm, sew, babysit?”
All you can muster in response is a saddened nod, a thick crease still resting across your brow.
The Mandalorian stands and pads over to you gently.
“Hey.” He coaxes, arms coming to rest under your elbows in a comforting gesture “Why don’t you go down into the hull and find yourself something to eat? Get some rest?”
You lift your gaze to meet the visor and a strange stone drops in your stomach. Was it the sudden realisation that everything you had was now lost? Had it only now finally hit you? A sickly feeling falling upon you at the herald of change?
Okay but I like this little drabble an unhinged amount Thankyou to my lady love @radiowallet for inspiring it via ask
Slight NSFW - strong language and mentions of sex.
A fly on the wall can see a great many things.
His legs might not be as long as yours. Nor his stature. Hence, the distance from the cantina to the Razor Crest is 50 times as long as it would be for you or me - yet he makes the journey with much more ease and grace. His wings carry him smoother and faster than your legs can herald you over the coarse dirt. He does not have to abide the obstacles of paths or people as you do. He floats silently and unseen from place to place, observing, curious, before zipping on to the next surface that glints in his kaleidoscopic vision. So much he sees, so much he knows, yet he utters not a word. Nature’s greatest secret keeper.
He sees another whose default mode is silence.
A Mandalorian stands within the hull, his eyes trained on another; you. You’re loading small crates full of supplies, hauling them onto the belly of the I-mover droid assisting you. The droid wheels itself up the ramp to greet the Mandalorian, who unloads him carefully, before returning to you for another crate. The process repeats.
Although the Mandalorian says nothing, the adoration that radiates from him is obvious. Beams of quiet contentment and affection seep from his every poor, ripple down the ridges of his Beskar and pool at your feet. A whisper that surrounds you in his unspoken devotion.
He was transfixed on the lazy smile spread across your face, bewitched by the quirk of a click in your knees as you bent down towards theI-move; besotted even, by the regard you held for the little pile of scrap and bolts.
Din didn’t like droids.
Yet the way you petted this one. Thanked it, as though it even understood the notion of gratification. How careful you were to load it evenly so that the weight of what it was carrying was spread efficiently over its joints…
What an angel you were.
Singular, in every way.
And he loved you.
He loved you cautiously, carefully, and sometimes with a little too much distance. But this didn’t mean that he didn’t also love you deeply, passionately; with a complicated desire to both ruin and protect you.
There was nothing else he thought about. Nothing else that drove him in his decisions and his actions but the conscious need to give you what you wanted, what you deserved.
Happiness, fulfilment, shelter.
A shelter made from the warmth of his arms, the naked caress of his body, which would offer a sincere sweetness that often his words wouldn’t know how to convey. He might not always be able to say it with his words but he could say it with his body, with his actions.
He longed desperately to know if you understood him when he spoke that language. When he conveyed his devotions through acts. When he fervently channeled all of his feelings for you into the motion of his hips as they would rock against you.
His words still fail him.
So for now, as he always did, he would watch.
He would keep silent until the night was dark and the ramp was lifted. When he is safe to speak the language he reserves only for you. One of worship and gratitude.
“Get outta here.” The warrior grumbles swatting at the wall.
To no avail. Not even the greatest warrior in the galaxy is safe from being outsmarted by a creature far smaller than he, with the ability to walk on the ceiling.
“Will you get out?” He complains again, attempting to catch the fly in gloved hands “Or atleast sit still, you’re driving me crazy.”
Darkness.
After a few more tries, the Mandalorian had done it. Struggling within the tightly clasped leather of his palms was our secret keeping friend. He soon sees the light again after being forcefully expelled out of the hatch and into the Nevarro air.
Quite perturbed, our friend vows to return tomorrow. After all, the evening had just started to get interesting. A frustrated Mandalorian, low lighting, and one too many a stolen glance between him and his companion.
Or maybe he’d be able to find a crack in the metal work and worm his way back in through the panelling.
It was fucking freezing out here.
A/N: Honestly, only I would manage to gradually snowball into some wierd cuckold voyeur fly character that I’m now emotionally attached to. Istg.
Everyone had seen it from the moment he’d led you across the threshold of the covert and introduced you as an ally to his tribe; asked them if you could both lay low in the protected tunnels beneath Nevaro’s streets, whilst the heat from your last bounty died down. Din’s affections towards you had never been overt or expressed out loud but his fellow warriors could see the quiet and brooding feelings he kept locked away at a safe distance. Their first clue being that he brought you here at all; that he chose to work with you.
He’d always been a lone wolf.
If any of them could see him now they’d surely hear the sound of his heart breaking.
Everyone had seen it from the moment he’d led you across the threshold of the covert and introduced you as an ally to his tribe; asked them if you could both lay low in the protected tunnels beneath Nevaro’s streets, whilst the heat from your last bounty died down. Din’s affections towards you had never been overt or expressed out loud but his fellow warriors could see the quiet and brooding feelings he kept locked away at a safe distance. Their first clue being that he brought you here at all; that he chose to work with you.
He’d always been a lone wolf.
If any of them could see him now they’d surely hear the sound of his heart breaking.
He shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t still be watching. He shouldn’t have rushed up the stairs in the first place, but at the sound of your cries he thought you were in trouble.
Only upon seeing the scene before him did he realise they weren’t cries of pain - but pleasure.
He’s full of shame and guilt, he knows he should have turned away the moment he laid eyes on you, yet a sordid curiosity keeps him rooted to the spot.
He’s reminded of a time at home - his real home. His mother and father were arguing about something he didn’t quite understand, and a young Din was crouched at the top of the stairs listening in. The way the tone of his mother’s voice lashed at his father, and his father’s cut back in return, made him sick. His brows furrowed so hard that they ached, and his fingers grew tired from gripping harshly at the blanket around his shoulders as he eavesdropped.
Yet no matter how sickly the scene made him feel; two people that before he’d only ever seen happy and very much in love, suddenly shouting out and berating each other with harsh words; he couldn’t bear to turn around and run back to bed like he wanted to. He urged his legs to move; begged them to carry him to the safety of his sheets and shut out the noise with his pillow, but they wouldn’t. The shock and confusion held him as though they were trying to suffocate him, and this kept him seated in place until the argument had long dissipated.
That same feeling sank within him now, as he stumbled upon you riding his vod.
A sickness. A heaviness on his shoulders, as though if he dared to try to move he would be thrown to the ground by an unknown force attempting to pin him to the dirt.
Your back is arched away from the large torso you’re clinging to, neck thrown back, and heaving chest exposed. Even from how far away Din is standing, he can see the hard peaks of your nipples, one firmly locked in the hands of the warrior beneath you as you bounce against his body. The warriors hands move, both coming to cup firmly at the full cheeks rippling against his hips. His hands are so large they seem to engulf them entirely as they force your movement harder against his cock. You place your palms face down on the broad expanse of his chest to give yourself an anchor to move more freely with the guidance of his grip.
The sound of your whimpers still rings in the air, a song that kindles a burning fire at Din’s core now that he knows pleasure is the source of them. Yet a deep sadness sets in to douse the flames as Din reminds himself he’s not the cause of them.
Sat on the head of the enormous man beneath you, is an unmistakable blue helmet.
Paz Vizsla.
Somehow this made Din feel even sicker.
Not that seeing you on top of any of his brothers would have been a relieving sight, but to see you with Viszla of all people hit a distant nerve Din thought he’d forgotten.
Paz Viszla had always had everything. The respect, the power, the strength; the pure-blood Mandalorian heritage. At just a few years older than Din, their Alor would often pair them together for training and hunts, a fact that Din grew to resent.
During their younger years Din had idolised him. He was just that bit older that Din began to look up to him as an older brother, one of such genuine Mandalorian blood that he would be able to teach him the true ways of Mandalore. As a young boy Din had a desperate need to prove himself; to ensure that his rescuers knew that he was worth the life they had saved and the effort they would go to, to teach him.
Paz always had a talent for fighting, his sheer size gave him an unnatural advantage over Din, one that would force Din to learn to fight with speed and intelligence rather than braun. He soon began looking to Paz to teach him more than just fighting. The older boy had a way with girls even as a teen, was popular with all of the other foundlings as well as the adult and high ranking members of the tribe, and he never failed to impress his elders.
It seemed to Din though, as time went on, that all of that childhood success would light small fires of pride inside Paz’s mind, slowly filling his head with air. He began to turn into a brute. Cocky, headstrong, inheriting a wild temper against anyone who dared disagree with him, and worst of all - becoming a bully.
Pazliked being better. He liked being stronger. He liked being of pure blood. He liked that there was no one else in the tribe that had the balls to look him in the eyes and tell him that he was being an asshole.
Din couldn’t stand him anymore.
By eighteen Din had learned to stay out of Paz’s way; nod his head when appropriate, or keep quiet when he disagreed. Din was focused on his own achievements, his own training and skills, and was now doing well - reallywell.
Paz couldn’t stand it.
So much so that on one of their last hunts together Paz stole the kill and claimed it all for himself, having not lifted a finger to kill the beast. He also began to play dirty and without honour during their training time, ensuring that he would win against Din everytime, and taking the extra effort to boast about it to the entire tribe as often as he could. From then on there was nothing Din could achieve, or have, that Paz wouldn’t attempt to take away from him for the sake of his own image and glory.
And here he was now - with you.
Paz grips you harder and flips you onto your back. He begins to pound against your hips relentlessly with a light grip on your throat muffling your screams.
Despite how thoroughly you seem to be enjoying yourself, resentment swells within Din and turns to anger. He hates the sight of Paz with his hands around your throat; how unceremoniously the warrior is fucking you into the mattresses; even the filthy Mando'a (which you can’t even understand) that drips from his tongue as he fucks you. Din thinks you deserve more ceremony than being thrown around so that the Mandalorian can fuck you in the way he wishes. He thinks you deserve more intimacy.
He has to admit, he sees glimmers of softness in Paz as he approaches his peak and readies himself to spill all over your stomach, but Din’s legs finally release him from his torture and allow him to move. He rushes out of the corridor as quietly and as quickly as he approached.
He can’t stand to watch anymore.
The next day Din enters a meeting chamber, looking for the Armourer.
Instead he finds Paz, stood around idly in a tight circle with the other Alor'ads, boasting about his nights escapades with you.
He tells his fellow warriors about the whole evening, leaves no detail out. How soft you are. How hot and wet. How you sounded. How tightly you squeezed around him. How at first you could barely fit him. Gives them details about your body a-
Din snaps.
“She’snot a piece of meat.”
The group of helmets turned slowly at the sound of Din’s voice, each one with a certain air of authority that begged not to be challenged.
Paz lets out a short laugh on his breath.
“I didn’t say she was?”
“You didn’t have to.”
Din leaves the room before the conversation can escalate any further.
Summary: You tell Din about your past relationships; Din takes you sex toy shopping.
Pairing: Din Djarin x ADHD!fem reader
Word Count: 4.2k
Rating: E
Warnings: SMUT and feelings! 18+ only!! Language, unprotected PiV (inadvisable, plz wrap it before you tap it), mentions of sex toy use, mentions of masturbation, discussion of sex toys, light angst (in the form of abusive/controlling past partners), insecurities, anxiety; Reader has an unusually high libido (hypersexuality), and feels bad about it. I think that’s it, but please don’t hesitate to message me if I missed anything!
A/N: in honor of all the new Mando/Pedro content, and in honor of @chaoticgeminate ‘s birthday- here’s Vibes part 5
Another note: Am I working through some pretty heavy relationship and sexual trauma with this series? Absolutely. Thank you for tagging along for the ride.
One more note: thank you to @doin-stuff for the amazing Mando gif, and thank you @firefly-graphics for the amazing sex toy dividers (perfect right?)
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You hadn’t expected this, hadn’t thought for a moment that Din was serious when he’d said he would help you shop for a less noisy vibrator. When you had landed on the ring-shaped, city-station (Glavis, Din had called it), he’d grabbed hold of your hand and practically dragged you out of the Crest and into the city in his excitement.
I would like you to know I had to go back and re-read all of Vibes in preparation for this because I was too excited! And now I’m going to dive in with gusto!
DIN IN A SEX TOY SHOP DIN EXCITED TO BE IN A SEX TOY SHOP DIN INSPECTING THE SEX TOYS I AM LOSING IT ASH! This is exactly the content I love, seeing Mando be not only positive but enthusiastically so. Reader’s past anxieties about buying a sex toy are so common, I felt the same way buying my first one too! Like can we calm down just a bit, I’ve been conditioned to not prioritize my orgasm, I’m having A Time right now.
The sex toy dividers are *chef’s kiss* too!
Oh honey, her experience with her past boyfriends makes me want to give her a hug. On top of figuring herself out, having to stroke these guys’ egos just to not feel rejected by them? Those were boys, and Mando is a MAN, and one who I’m sure will be a lot more understanding of her needs.
Using gentleness to keep you here with him instead of pain.
Din Djarin to a fuckin T. Yes yes yes, I love the way you characterize him here. Giving her the time to say what she needs to say and to reassure her. Telling her he doesn’t feel like it’s a responsibility to pleasure her. God, he’s just excellent.
Also as a side note, his physicality in this is off-the-charts hot. He’s exceptionally sensual not just in the way they have sex, but in the intimacy he gives her as well. Like I’m swooning over here as he laces their hands together and grips the back of her neck. Gah!
“How could I ever get tired of how much you want me?”
The PLEASE! Ash you’re going to kill me with this man. I am so in love with him. I’m going to catch on fire. How is he so HOT and RESPECTFUL!
The intensity with which he’s focused on it is reminiscent of how he uses his imposing presence to get information on bounties, and you’re about to ask him if he’s trying to intimidate the box into giving up the location of a quarry when he asks in a quiet, slightly-strained voice—
“…. why is it shaped like a flower?”
And then like that you have me laughing like a loon at this exchange. God, the duality of your writing gets me every time. I’m losing it and horny and it’s YOUR FAULT!
And then Din READING THE DESCRIPTIONS? I can hear it in my head and now will never be able to unhear it. I’m ruined forever.
Din Djarin also having preferences in what toys he likes makes me absolutely feral. I’ve seen writing where he’s tolerant of toys, uses them and has no problem with them, but I love the uniqueness of him actually showing interest and desires in what you pick.
leaning down so he can husk in your ear.
Ohhh you just reminded me of this phrasing and I love it.
“I changed my mind. I don’t care if it’s loud- if you’reloud.”
He reaches out and takes your hand in his, the supple leather creaking softly as he tightens his hold on you.
“I just want you to feel good.”
Fuck.
SAME GIRL SAME.
And he’s such a little sneaky sneak! I love how cute he’s being as well, picking out things he doesn’t show her. Also to be the shopkeep who rings up a Mandalorian’s sex toys would be the highlight of my life.
Every line he says is going to yeet me into horny space, Ash. I’m going to break an intergalactic speed limit with how turned on I am. I loved every second of this (as you can probably tell) and now I feel like I need to go shopping (BOB might be getting to retirement age. I’ll throw him a going-away party). I am DYING to see what comes of the next few installments and what surprises Mando has in store!
Summary: Mando offers a lesson in restraint. And blasters.
Word Count: 4000
Warnings:Explicit, 18+ MINORS DNI, grinding, descriptions of male and female bodies, allusions to sexual acts, female masturbation, descriptions of PiV sex, we’re fantasizing about one (1) sexy space dad in this house.
Notes: Don’t we all just love some weapons training? Someone explain to me why it is so attractive when Mando does it, because I have never found it sexy in real life. I’m also dedicating this installment to my Star Wars sister @amywritesthings because we just keep yelling at each other about how much this trope worms into our brains and I feel like she’s owed this as a treat.
Takes place directly after A Sweet Response to Tragedy. Like literally the next day.
The blaster in your hand is warm, sweaty along the grip and sticking to your palm. Your wrists are tired, your trigger finger stiff, but you raise the barrel to aim again before firing a bolt.
Zzzst!
“Miss,” Mando says, and you sigh comically, dropping the blaster from its durasteel target and tilting your head up to the sky.
“I don’t think this is a ‘practice makes perfect’ situation, Mando,” you huff, looking over at him. He’s sitting on a fallen tree, one elbow on his knee as the child stomps around in the dirt.
Glorious. Utterly glorious! This has redeemed my shitty day. Thank you.
Thank you for the lovely comment! I’m so glad that Mando’s competency kink made your day! This was a super fun one to write, and I’m so glad you enjoyed it!
