𝔪𝔲𝔩𝔱𝔦𝔣𝔞𝔫𝔡𝔬𝔪 𝔦𝔪𝔞𝔤𝔦𝔫𝔢𝔰

10) Din Djarin (NSFW)

Summary: after din opens up to you about his feelings, you find yourself taking care of him in more ways than one.

Warnings: smut, unprotected sex, a bit of dirty talking, praise, sex with the helmet on, pure desperation, some definite soft mando

A/N: this author's note isn't really necessary i just wanted to clarify that mando isn't a virgin in this fic, he's just touch-starved because he hasn't gotten any since his early bounty hunting days. also i know the description of his bunk is inaccurate, i wrote this before i watched the first episode of season 2 so this bunk folds out of the wall and is horizontal to the floor like a bed rather than being a cubby. i know this is a bit late but hey, it's finally finished. okay. that's all. continue.

Translations:
aliit - family
cyar'ika - sweetheart
mesh'la - beautiful
riduur - spouse

     Looking down at you, he felt a familiar and overwhelming sensation sweep through his chest and stomach. It was the same thing he felt each time he looked at The Child, the foundling he was to raise as his own. The urge to protect.
     Lying in his bunk, wrapped in his cloak to keep warm, you were a picture of innocence. Your hair was a mess and he could've sworn you were drooling slightly, but it didn't matter. All he could truly take notice of was the sheer vulnerability of you at that moment. Though you had never explicitly said so, it was small moments like this that made the Mandalorian realize that you trusted him with your life. He wasn't quite sure why. Perhaps it was his surprising willingness to employ you on the Razor Crest.
     You had been with Kuiil when Mando first arrived on Arvala-7. Although you'd stayed behind when the Ugnaught showed him the way to The Child, you assisted in repairing his ship after it had been stripped by the Jawas. He'd noticed that you also got along well with The Child and he used that as an excuse to bring you along, giving a somewhat convincing explanation by stating that he didn't need the distraction of caring for a child until they reached Nevarro. In all honesty, you were one of the multiple reasons he'd gone back for him.
     Since then, you'd traveled with him. You spent the majority of your time on the Razor Crest caring for The Child, but also doing small things to indirectly care for Mando. You never mentioned it, but the hull of the ship was always clean. Wanting to respect him and his privacy, you refrained from entering the cockpit when he was gone. You felt inconvenient enough having taken over his bunk most nights, though he insisted that it was no trouble seeing as he didn't sleep nearly as often as he should.
     The two of you, as well as The Child, had become a crew of sorts. He refrained from thinking of a more fitting title, the title he wished the three of you would have someday. Aliit. And although he would never admit it, he still frequently worried about you leaving. In all truth, there was nothing to hold you there besides The Child.
     And him. But he certainly didn't believe that you chose to stick around for his company. You had never seen his face, never heard his unmodulated voice. Every now and then, he'd receive an injury he couldn't reach himself, leading to you catching a glimpse of the tanned skin beneath the beskar as you fixed him up. In those moments, he silently appreciated the feeling of your soft hands on his warm skin. He enjoyed the way you would brace a comforting palm against his side to distract him from the pain of having a wound cauterized. He relished the way your fingertips never failed to hesitate on his back before readjusting the thick material worn beneath his armor. It made him think that perhaps you enjoyed it just as much as he did.
     Again, however, he would never say any of this aloud. The conversations between the two of you would most-likely remain nothing more than courteous and friendly. He would remain nothing more than a stoic Mandalorian and you would hopefully continue as his partner and acquaintance. It was sad but true.
     When you started to wake, he automatically turned away, busying himself with checking on The Child who was still asleep in his pram. You rubbed your eyes groggily, sitting up and looking over at him. "Oh, you're back," You say through a yawn. "Is he still asleep? I figured I'd wake up if he started crying, I was just exhausted after dealing with his little tantrum the other night. I'm sorry-"
     He shook his head at your rambling. "He's asleep. Relax." As he turned to look at you, he found his gaze lingering on his cloak, still wrapped securely around your body.
     Taking notice of the tilt of his helmet, you recognized what he must have been staring at. "Oh, I'm sorry! The ship had gotten cold, so I gave my blanket to The Child and-"
     Your name fell softly from his lips, stopping you mid-sentence once again. "You apologize too much." Your mouth opened to speak and, as though he sensed your next apology coming, he gave you a pointed look that you seemed to feel through the jet black visor.
     Standing up, you shrugged the cloak from your shoulders, holding it out for him. This left you in the spare threadbare undershirt he'd allowed you to borrow. He shook his head fractionally, "Keep it."
     "Mando, I don't want to inconvenience you."
     "You need to stay warm," He said quietly. "Keep it. Go back to sleep, we'll be leaving soon anyway. I can keep an eye on everything once we're in hyperspace."
     Gently grabbing his arm, you stopped him from approaching the ladder to the cockpit. "How long has it been since you've slept, Mando? Really?
     The small sigh he let out was projected through his modulator. For some reason, he was hesitant to give you his honest answer. Like a child preparing to be chastised for staying up past his bedtime. "Nearly two days."
     "Go set a course, but once we're in hyperspace, you're coming back down here. You need to rest."
     He let out another one of his trademark sighs and turned towards the ladder again. Though he didn't say anything, you knew he'd decide to do as you said. After he'd come back, he sat reluctantly on the edge of the bunk. He looked up to where you were standing. Yet again, without being able to see his eyes, you could tell exactly what he was thinking. He was questioning you.
     "Do you- Do you need anything?" When he didn't say anything, you jabbed a thumb over your shoulder towards the ladder to the cockpit. "I'll uh- I'll just go then."
     Just as you put your hand on one of the ladder rungs, he spoke again. "Stay."
     You looked at him in confusion. "You want me to stay? What did you- Do you need me to do something?"
     He murmured your name lower than you'd ever heard it, "Just come here."
     Slow and confused, you made your way back to his bedside.
     "I want you to help me out of my armor."
     "You-" You blinked at him before shaking your head, mystified. "I didn't know that you needed help getting out of it. Why... Why haven't you asked me before?"
     "I don't need help," He explained slowly, "this is an act of trust. You've shown vulnerability in my presence countless times. I think I owe you the same courtesy."
     "Oh, Mando, you don't-"
     "I want you to take it off. If you come here, I will show you how."
     It took you a long moment to coax your legs into action, then you were moving to stand before him. "Okay... What do I need to do?"
     After a moment's hesitation, he was guiding your hands to his pauldrons. His cuirass came next, then his cuisses, and, when he nodded towards his gloves, you looked up at him with uncertainty. You had never seen an inch of his skin before without absolute necessity, but he seemed all too willing to take this step. To anyone else, it may seem simple, but you'd grown used to his discomfort towards any slight form of closeness or intimacy. He waited another moment before verbally responding to your stillness. "Take them off."
     Nodding slowly, you gingerly tugged the leather from one hand then the other.
     Once again you noticed how surprisingly tan his skin was considering the way he was always covered. Unsurprisingly, his knuckles were a bit scarred, his palms were rough, and his fingers were slightly calloused. Not wanting to cross any boundaries, you clasped your hands together and waited for him to say something. He didn't, simply looking up at you as if waiting for you to make the next move.
     Hesitantly, you took one of his hands between yours and traced your finger from the base of his palm to the tip of his middle finger. "How long has it been since you've-" You tipped your head towards your joined hands.
     "Had human contact?" He finished for you. You nod. "Not since my early days in the Guild. I haven't- I haven't felt someone else's skin in so long. I forgot how warm it is." He gently grasped your hand. "It's... Nice."
     "It's been a while for me, too," You hum. "Not quite as long as you, of course, but still. A few years."
     "Why so long?" He asked, looking up at you again. "It's not for lack of options. I've seen men approach you in cantinas, you always turn them down."
     Looking down sheepishly, you continue to toy with his fingers. "Believe it or not, traveling with a Mandalorian doesn't tend to entice other men. Besides, they aren't what I want. I'm not looking for a hook-up with some skeezy bar patron."
     "Then what are you looking for, cyar'ika?"
     You frowned at the unfamiliar term before brushing it off. "I don't know, I just- I'm lonely, I guess. Not that I had much interaction on Arvala-7, but being on the move constantly... I feel so distant from everything."
     "I know how you feel," He murmured. His hand slowly lifted to cup your cheek, his warm palm pressing against your skin in a way that made your stomach flip. "Maybe we don't have to feel that way."
     "What're you suggesting?" You asked apprehensively.
     "I'm suggesting," He began, guiding your hand to the neckline of his shirt, "that you take off this duraweave next." His hand urged yours beneath the fabric, your fingers brushing the warm skin above his collarbone. "Is that what you want to do, cyar'ika?"
     You dodged the question, continuing to draw invisible patterns along his shoulder as you thought about your answer. "What does cyar'ika mean? Is it Mando'a?"
     "Yes," He confirmed huskily. "Sweetheart."
     Your hand stilled and you looked into the T-shaped visor, hoping you were meeting his eyes. "What?"
     He gave a quiet, hummed clarification. "It means sweetheart." He lightly grasped the back of your thigh just above your knee, making you stumble as he tugged you slightly closer. "Now answer my question. Do you want to take the rest of this off for me?"
     Rather than answering verbally, you let your hand fall from the neckline of his shirt. At first, you could've sworn his posture faltered slightly. As if he were disappointed with your reaction, concerned by what he may have caused by behaving the way he did. His back quickly became ramrod straight as you kneeled before him and shakily grasped the hem of his shirt. "Are you sure it's okay for me to take this off?" A single nod of his helmet gave you your answer.
     You guided the material up his stomach slowly. He lifted his arms once it reached his chest and, after a moment's catch on the ridge of his helmet, it was off.
     His tanned skin was warm and soft. It was littered with faded scars, even a few healing bruises from his more recent escapades. Carefully, you skirted your fingers along the edges of the tender purple spots. You could feel his eyes on you, gauging your reactions to him.
     "What do you want me to do now, Mando?" You asked softly, looking up at him from your place between his thighs.
     "Whatever your heart desires, cyar'ika." From anybody else, the words would've sounded mocking, but from him? It sounded as though he truly couldn't care less what you did to him. Like as long as your hands were on him, he was among the stars. Which, in hyperspace, you suppose you both were.
      You looked down sheepishly before dipping your head to press a kiss against one of the bruises just above his belt. It was hardly even a kiss, more of a brushing of lips against heated skin. He didn't seem to show any reaction, but, just low enough that his helmet's modulator didn't pick it up, his breath shook.
     It had been ages since he'd had skin to skin contact with another person, not even for something so simple as to shake hands, and touch as intimate as this? He felt as though he was about to burst. Every nerve in his body was on fire. Every muscle ached and trembled. If your actions continued on their current path, and he certainly hoped they did, how could he stay in one piece? If he felt all of this at just the faintest brush of your lips on his stomach, how could he be expected to contain himself when those soft lips traveled elsewhere?
     After looking up at him briefly, searching for any sign of hesitation, and finding none, you lifted your focus to his next wound. It was just below the place his cuirass would typically come to rest, a spot of marred skin from a neglected blaster shot. Your lips pressed more completely against this one as if you could make it disappear with a moment's worth of affection, kiss it better like a mother would her child's scraped knee.
     The next mark wasn't so close, his cuirass typically protected him from any quarry's weak attacks. This time you heard his breath stutter as you kissed the small scar just below his collarbone where he had been stabbed with a vibroblade. Unconsciously, your hands had wandered to his sides, resting featherlight on his body. "Mando-"
     "Din," He corrected, "My name is Din."
     "Din," You repeated warmly. "What do you want me to do now?"
     Without a word, he slid his hands beneath your arms and lifted you from the floor of the ship. You shivered at the way he picked you up so easily as if you weighed nothing. You shook at how small he made you feel as he situated you in his lap. His hands slipped beneath the hem of your- his- shirt, trailing along your sides and raising goosebumps. "Can I take this off, sweet girl?" After getting a soft nod from you, he lifted the worn shirt over your head. "So beautiful, cyar'ika." His thumbs stroked slowly beneath your breasts. "So soft." When he brushed his fingers over your nipples, you let out a shaky breath and he hummed. "I wish I could get my mouth on you, sweet girl. Any part of you."
     You whimpered, your hands settling briefly on the back of his helmet before moving to his shoulders. You were desperate to lace your fingers through his hair. Momentarily, you wondered what color it was. How long was it? Was it soft?
     He derailed your train of thought by slipping his hand down the front of your pants, brushing against the material of your underwear. "Soaked right through them, mesh'la. I've hardly done anything, is this all for me?"
     "Only you, Din. I only ever think about you," You admit.
     He surprised you by standing up, his hands planted firmly under your thighs to keep you secured against him. He kneeled on the bunk, his thigh pressing between yours as he laid you down. Your palms pressed against the bare skin of his back, holding his chest to yours. "You're so soft, cyar'ika. So pure, but you're still letting me touch you."
     "Only you," You say again. "I wouldn't let anyone else."
     "That why you turn everyone else down?" He sat back on his knees, his hands trailing slowly down your sides. "Did you say no to all those other men because you were waiting for me?"
     You nodded weakly, hooking your legs lightly around his waist. "Please, Din. I've wanted you for so long."
     "How long, sweet girl? How long have you waited for this, waited for me?" His hand lifted to stroke your cheek, you could hear the smirk in his voice.
     "Since Arvala-7," You whimper. "Since we spent all that time working on your ship together. I was so happy when you asked me to come with you."
     You couldn't see it, but beneath his helmet, he smiled.
     "Such a long time ago, cyar'ika. When I invited you to join me, I was worried you would see through my excuses. I said that I needed you to watch the kid, but really?" His hands dragged across your skin again, wishing he could litter it with desperate kisses. "I was thinking of this. Of you on my ship. In my bed."
     "You can have me whenever you want," You utter eagerly, "but I need you now."
     "Don't you worry, mesh'la," He hummed, "you have me."
     Taking your chin between his thumb and forefinger, he tilted your head to ensure you were looking directly at his visor. "You need to promise me that you won't try to take off my helmet, though. It needs to stay on the entire time. Are you okay with that?"
     You lift a hand, running your thumb along the divet of the beskar as though it was his cheekbone. "Of course, Din. I would never try to break your creed. I promise."
     With that confirmation, he leaned back, hooking his thumbs into the waistband of his pants. You watched with your lower lip tugged between your teeth as the rest of his clothing was shed. The moment he was within reach, your hands were on him. They ran down his chest, pulled his hips closer to you, guided his hands to your body. Anything to feel his skin against yours.
     At the forefront of your mind, there was a deep, physical ache for him. It was agonizing, taunting, the way he hovered just out of the realm of possibility. Close enough to touch, but not close enough to feel. You wanted him to overwhelm every one of your senses. You wanted him to replace every thought in your head with the feeling of him.
     All at once, he was on his knees between your legs. His hand reached forward to gently stroke at your cheek.
     Every part of your body was aflame like you were hyperaware of everything going on around you. The warmth of his thighs pressing against the backs of yours. His warm, rough palms against your hips. The trail of hair leading down his lower abdomen beneath your fingertips. Each and every slight touch made you shiver.
     "Are you sure you're ready for me, cyar'ika?"
     Looking up at him with wide, albeit dazed, eyes, you nodded. "'M ready, Din. I need you."
     With one slow but smooth movement of his hips, he was sheathed completely inside you. His shuddering breath mingled with your desperate whine, the stretch bordering on the line of pain without quite surpassing it. The groan he let out as he bottomed out made your eyes roll back. "Fuck, sweet girl. So tight."
     "Feels so good, Din," You moan. "You feel so good."
     Your head fell back against the pillow. "That's right," He hummed, "relax. Just take it for me. Let me take care of you." And he did.
     With each movement, you could feel the care behind it.
     As he looked down at you, he refused to think the word. Love. No, Din Djarin travled far too long far too often for love. His creed prevented his lover from ever laying eyes on him. No woman would want that. You wouldn't want that. Sure, you tolerated it for one night of desperation. One night to soothe the urges you both had, to satisfy that need for physical connection.
     Unless you became his riduur.
     Shutting down that train of thought immediately, he gave a particularly hard thrust, one that made your head bump the wall of the bunk. "Taking me so good, mesh'la. Doing so well." He held himself up with one forearm beside your head while the opposite hand lifted to cradle your face. "Such a good girl."
     The cry you let out had the corners of his lips curling upwards. Heat raced along every inch of your skin. Your arms tightened around him, hands clutching desperately at his back. His name fell from your lips in a sinful yet lovely mantra. It was music to his ears.
     As he looked down at you, your eyes closed and your mouth drawn open in a steady stream of moans, the past weeks flew through his mind in a blur. Laughter on the Razor Crest, a sound he never thought he'd grow so used to. The Child blinking tiredly in your arms as you smiled down at him. Meals left in the cockpit for him, a show of respect for his creed while still showing kindess to him. You truly had been taking care of him, worrying about him, though he knew you'd never verbally admit to doing so. He'd never been so happy as when he had you in his life.
     And now here you were, beneath him, calling his name with such pleasure. You looked at him with blatant adoration, it sent a thrill through his heart, one he'd never felt before meeting you.
     "Are you gonna cum for me, sweet girl?" His thumb dragged across your lower lip, tugging it down slightly. Nodding weakly and looking up at him, you took his thumb between your lips, flicking your tongue across the pad of it. "So good. So good for me, cyar'ika."
     Your thighs clenched against his waist. "Din, 'm so close," You let out breathily. As his fist clenched tightly around the cloak you had previously used as a blanket, you could tell he was too. You wished you could feel his lips against your own. It felt as though a soft, intimate gesture such as that would pair so well with the slow, deep rocking of his hips.
     "Let go, sweet girl. I've got you."
     Burrying your head in the crook of his neck, you let out a breathless moan. "Din!"
     "That's it," He grunted out, "good girl."
     Your legs trembled around his waist as his thrusts grew sloppy. The muscles of his back tensed beneath your palms, his biceps and thighs tensing and relaxing repeatedly.
     His movements slowed to a stop, his breaths ragged and uneven. Before he had the opportunity to remove himself from you, you guided his weight down on top of you. "It's okay. Rest for a moment." Hesitantly, he let the front of his helmet rest against your shoulder. "Relax," you hum with a soft smile. "I've got you."
     "You're too good for me, cyar'ika. You always take such good care of me."
     Fingers stroking softly against the skin between his shoulderblades, you shook your head. "You deserve to be taken care of, Din. You just have to let me."
     He sighed your name softly. "You know, I- I care very deeply for you."
     You let out something between a scoff and a snort. "I love you too, Din."