The Man Behind the Beskar
Pairing: Joel Miller x Female Reader
Summary: Game Joel Miller cosplay's the Mandalorian giving you a birthday surprise you'll never forget.
Warnings: 18+ MDNI The Mandalorian TV Spoilers, Established Relationship, Pure Smut, Thigh Riding, Mask/Costume Kink, Praise Kink, Inappropriate Use of Beskar, Mirror Sex, Dirty Talk, Light Choking, Pedro Pascal & Din Djarin Referenced by Game Joel.
Author's Notes: To celebrate the new Mandalorian movie coming out, I present you with this. As you may know, I adore game Joel and the thought of him doing this sends me, so I wrote about. Enjoy! <3
Joel never meant for it to become a routine, but he certainly looked forward to it every night now — tucking Sarah in, turning off the hallway light, then finding you waiting for him in the bed you shared together, with that soft blanket you love and that even softer smile. The part of the day where it was just for you and him. Picking a tv show or movie to watch and wind down with.
A couple weeks back, he’d suggested The Mandalorian. He hadn’t seen it before but knew you loved it, and was really pleased with himself for picking it, because you’d lit up the moment he asked if you wanted to watch it together.
Tonight, the two of you were curled up in bed watching the last episode of season two –you were tucked into his side, legs wrapped up like you were trying to fuse yourself to him. Your arm banded around the thick column of his torso, cheek pressed to his warm, hairy chest. Hands down one of your favorite pillows on earth– when Din took his helmet off for Grogu.
Joel felt you start to tremble before he heard a small, soft sniffle. You were crying. He didn’t tease you or even look down. He knew exactly what you were like — a sweet sensitive soul, who was easily moved by things, emotional in a way that made him want to wrap himself around you and keep the entire world from hurting you.
But what he really couldn't stop thinking about was the episode just before this one –the one where Din removes his helmet for the face scan– and the way you reacted.
The way your breathing picked up as you stared at Din’s face being bared to you on the screen. How you shifted against Joel without even realizing you were doing it, hips nudging forward with a tiny rut on him. How your hand slid from the center of his chest, down along his ribs and back again. A restless petting you didn’t seem conscious of. Joel was actually surprised to find how much it turned him on, watching you get worked up by this fictional man.
He wasn’t jealous. Hell, he wasn’t blind either, or afraid to admit that Din was a good-looking gent. Helmet on or off. And if he had to guess who your hall pass would be, it’d no doubt be that punk Pascal who plays the Mandalorian. But it didn’t bother him, Joel was a confident and secure man. He knew what he gave you, knew the way you looked at him, knew you were completely, hopelessly, heels-over-head gone for him.
Another thing he noticed was that you reacted like that sometimes even when the helmet stayed on. Maybe she’s got herself a mask kink, he thought, amused, and more than a little turned on by the idea. Whatever your thing was, he was never going to shame you for what got your pretty little body sparking, and with your birthday comin’ up, he wanted to give you something you’d never see coming in a million years.
The next day at work, Joel sat in his office, opened his laptop, and typed, full Mandalorian cosplay outfit. He wanted all high quality, none of that cheap plastic shit. And he had it all shipped straight to his business so you wouldn’t accidentally stumble on it at home.
A few days before your birthday, all the boxes finally arrived. That evening, after being on the work site all day, Joel drove to his office building –the few employees he had working there already had left for the day– he closed the door to his personal office, unpacked box after box, and started gearing up.
Flight suit first. Then piece by piece of shiny, convincing Beskar going onto his body.
It took him a little longer than he expected, but eventually he stood in front of the mirror, holding the final piece — the helmet. He hesitated for a second, sure he was about to feel ridiculous, but when he slid the helmet on and lifted his head, looking at his reflection, Joel actually felt like a badass. A dangerous, armored, motherfucker.
He even gave himself a little nod and said, “This is the way.” Hearing his Texan twang travel though the modulator, he immediately shook his head at himself, a little embarrassed.
Joel himself couldn’t believe how much he looked like The Mandalorian, practically identical. He knew you were gonna lose it, because he didn’t just plan on showing you the suit – oh no. He planned on fucking the ever-loving hell out of you wearing it — or at least the helmet — whatever you wanted. For you, he’d do it.
The day before your birthday party, Joel brought the whole outfit home and stored it in his workshop, tucked away safely until the moment he’d surprise you with it. He could already imagine your face. Imagine your thighs and tight little pussy clenching around him.
This was gonna be the best damn birthday gift you ever got.
You didn’t think too hard about Joel disappearing after everybody sang Happy Birthday to you and the cake being passed around. Everyone was laughing, talking, drinking, and you were having a good time catching up with friends you hadn’t seen in ages. Sarah was with her friends for a sleepover, the backyard was glowing with string lights, and your birthday playlist was drifting through the air.
Your friend Caitlyn came up to you. “Hey, go sit there,” she said, pointing to a random chair placed in the middle of the backyard.
“Why?” you asked, eyes squinting with suspension.
“Just do it.” she said, smiling.
You laughed, confused, but went to the chair anyway. Everyone hovered around in a loose circle, like you were about to get roasted, or God forbid sacrificed. That’s when you heard the squeak of the side gate, you turned your head and nearly squealed when someone in a full, head-to-toe Mandalorian outfit stepped through the fence.
You instantly brightened, grinning like an idiot. “NO WAY—”
He walked right up to you, took your hand gently and brought the back of it to the helmet like he was kissing it.
You heard some of your friends start to go, Oooooo, one even saying, think he likes you, birthday girl!
The Mando shifted, straddling your legs slightly, taking both your wrists and placing your palms on the Beskar chest plate. Then he glides your hands down his torso as he rolls his hips like a fuckin’ stripper in space armor.
Your friends were now hooting, cheering, & howling out oww owwwww!
Your cheeks flamed hot with a tinge of embarrassment. Then your eyes started darting around, looking, searching for Joel. You twisted in your chair, suddenly anxious, wondering if he was watching, hoping he wouldn’t be too upset with the Mandalorians actions, you certainly didn’t know this was going to happen.
“Wait—where’s Joel? You asked.
One of your friends shrugged. “I think he just left… said he was going to the store to grab more beer.”
A little tipsy, a lot relaxed, you didn’t overthink it. You just nodded. “Oh... Okay.”
Luckily, the guy in the suit could tell you were a bit uncomfortable with the stripper moves and he backed off.
Then just like that, the fun of it all came back around you. You got up and took pictures with the Mando —who stayed silent the whole time— solo pics, group shots, even one with you pretending to faint in his arms. Everyone was cackling, having a great time.
“Who did this?” you asked everyone, still floating.
Caitlyn lifted her hand, thinking about the conversation she had with Joel earlier in the week to help him set this up. “Me. You’re welcome.”
The Mando stayed maybe 30 minutes before slipping back through the side gate.
Your friends kept you distracted & entertained after he left. Eventually Joel got back, a grocery sack in hand. You threw your arms around him, tipsy and happy. “Caitlyn hired a Mando for me! Look!” You showed him the pictures, laughing. You told him you wished he’d been here so the two of you could’ve gotten one together.
Joel winced sympathetically. “Sorry, baby. Wouldn’t’ve left if I’d known.”
You assured him it was quite alright, giving him a quick kiss and the evening festivities continued.
Closer to the end of the night Joel came up to you, rubbing his forehead and said quietly, “Gettin’ a migraine, think I’m gonna go lie down. But you stay out here with your friends. Enjoy the rest of your night. I’m sorry, sweetheart. I love you.”
Your heart softened. You knew how bad his migraines get, how the throbbing pushed behind his eyes, how it could flatten him for hours.
“It’s okay, Joel. Go rest. The parties gonna wrap up soon anyway. I love you, too.”
He nodded, pressed a soft kiss to your cheek, and slipped inside.
You stayed out for around another hour, chatting with friends, and said your goodbyes as people trickled out. When the last friend left, you tidied up a little bit, then headed into the house.
Finally, you walked down the hall toward the bedroom, smiling at the thought of snuggling up next to Joel, hoping he was feeling better.
You pushed open the bedroom door and standing in the center of the room was the Mandalorian — not moving, just facing you.
“Uhh… hi?” you managed. your tipsy brain stuttering.
Instinct kicked in, you scanned the room for Joel, for any sign of him. Nothing. Your stomach dropped, anxiety starting to form. The Mando took one slow step toward you. You instinctively backed up a step. “H-hold on—where’s Joel?” you asked, then calling out louder. “Joel?!”
He reached out, lifting a gloved hand, palm open, and then through the modulator, came a familiar, warm-timbered voice.
You stared at him in disbelief. “JOEL?!”
He nodded his head once, an unmistakably Mando gesture.
You covered your mouth with both hands. “How—? You—? You were—”
You walked toward him slowly, heart in your throat, and he reached for you, fingers brushing your waist with the gloves, pulling you closer, until you were pressed against the cold Beskar and the warmth of the man underneath.
Joel’s gloved hands slid down from your waist to the backs of your thighs, grip tightening with purpose. Then without warning he lifted you. A little squeal fell from your mouth as your legs wrapped around his waist. He moved and you felt your body being pushed firmly against the wall. His hands stayed locked under your thighs, keeping you suspended, caged between him and the wall.
Your hands rose slowly, disbelieving of what was in front of you, and they settled on either side of the helmet. Your palms cradle it, thumbs brush the cool metal.
“You thought I missed it?” he rumbled, with a little laugh through the modulator. “Thought I’d let some other man take my place, havin’ you touchin’ ‘em like that?”
And that’s when your eyes started to burn, vision blurring. The emotion of the night, the surprise, the relief — it overwhelmed you all at once, tears spilling down your cheeks.
Joel immediately reacted, even behind the mask you felt the shift in him.
“Baby… baby, no, don’t cry.”
You sniffed, trying to laugh it off, but your lip wobbled. “I just—” You shook your head helplessly. “I can’t believe you’d do something like this for me.”
His grip on your thighs tightened with loving affection. He leaned his helmeted forehead against yours and spoke with a depth that thundered right through you. “I’d walk through fire to make you happy.”
Another tear fell. Joel lifted one hand, gloved thumb brushing it away. “Sweetheart, it’s my honor to bring you joy. To give you everything your heart reaches for, and I’ll spend every breath I have placing it at your feet.”
You leaned into him as tears slipped freely now, hugging him and holding him close. “Joel…” Your voice broke around his name. “No one’s ever… loved me like this.” Your fingers curled at the back of his armor, clinging to him. “I don’t deserve you,” you whispered, shaking your head.
“Oh baby, don’t say that,” he pleaded. “You’re one of the best things that’s ever touched my life.”
You hugged Joel even tighter for a moment, feeling like the luckiest girl in the world. And as you held onto him you thought about how you could repay him.
“Then let me make you happy too.” You said, unhooking your legs from around his waist. He immediately lowered you to your feet. The moment he sat you down, you grabbed his arms and turned him, guiding him backward, the armor clanging as his back met the wall.
He exhaled sharply, surprised. “Baby—”
But you had already dropped to your knees in front of him. “Let me give you back even just a fraction of what you give me, please…” you whispered, fingers finding the opening of flight suit pants.
Joel didn’t protest, he stood there, chest rising and falling behind the Beskar plate. Then his hand lifted, one finger hooking under your chin, tilting your face up to meet the visor.
“Look at me,” he commanded.
Your gaze rose to him, guided by his hand. He towered above you, armored and impossibly broad. And even though you couldn’t see his eyes, you felt them staring into yours.
He brought his hands down, removing yours from him, to finish freeing himself from the confines of his pants. Joel stroked his cock a few times, then strangled the base of it, as he watched you from behind the helmet. The modulator deepened his voice as he spoke. “Open your mouth for me.”
Your lips parted instantly.
He huffed a dark, pleased sound, as he guided his cock forward, thick and heavy, leaking from just watching you kneel for him like this.
“That’s it, baby.” He rested the head against your lower lip and slowly pulled down. “Good girl…”
You felt a rush of arousal run though you, clit throbbing with want from his praise and from looking at him as the Mandalorian above you. Your tongue slipped out, licking the pre-jack from his tip, savoring it as it coated your taste buds.
“Fuck,” he gritted out through the modulator.
You wrapped your lips around the head, sucking gently at first, hands sliding up his thighs, fingers gripping at the edge where armor met cloth. The Beskar was cold under your palms, a stark contrast to the hot, pulsing length filling your mouth.
You took him deeper, inch by inch, your jaw stretched to accommodate his girth. Saliva built quickly, dripping down your chin as you bobbed your head, hollowing your cheeks to increase the suction. His gloved hand fisted in your hair — holding you firmly, guiding your movements. The helmet loomed above, staring down impassively, but his hips twitched forward, betraying his need.
"Fuck, that feels so good," he raspped. "Keep going, baby."
You obeyed, swirling your tongue along the underside of his shaft, tracing the thick vein that throbbed against it. Your throat relaxed as you pushed forward, gagging slightly when he hit the back, you bobbed back and forth faster now.
Joel's breathing quickened, ragged exhales filtering through the helmet. His free hand braced against the wall. You felt him swell thicker in your mouth, the telltale sign of impending release. You pulled back to tease the slit with flicks of your tongue, denying the full deep throating you knew he craved. He growled low, thrusting shallowly, but you controlled the pace now, sucking the head with wet, slurping sounds while your hand stroked the base in tight twists.
"Close... shit, so close," he muttered out, his grip tightening in your hair. His cock jerked, precum flooding your mouth. You hummed around him, the vibration making his thighs tense under the armor, but you didn’t let him tip over yet. Instead, you eased off him, your fist pumping slowly now, keeping him on the razor's edge.
You looked up at him, lips swollen and slick, and smiled. His cock twitched in your fist at the sight.
"Bed," he ordered. "Now."
You lifted slowly, deliberately, dragging your palms up the armor as you stood — thighs, hip plates, the belt, the broad chest piece — mapping every cold surface until you were face-to-helmet with him again.
"Make me," you whispered.
A sound rumbled through the modulator, while his hands seized your hips, walking you backward across the room. He turned around and sat on the edge of the bed, looking up at you, and patted his armored thigh twice.
You stared at his plated leg, then back at the helmet.
He patted it again, slower this time. Patient. Commanding without raising his voice. "Sit."
You stepped between his spread knees, hiking your dress up just enough to swing your leg over his thigh. Just as you started to lower yourself, his hand pressed flat against your hip, stopping you.
You froze, hovering above him. His hand slid from your hip, drifted beneath the hem of your dress, and found the thin strip of your panties. He hooked two fingers under the fabric and pulled it to the side, holding it there — gloved knuckles brushing against you just enough to pull a barely audible moan from you.
The second your bare core met the cold metal of his thigh plate, you couldn’t help but gasp. The icy shock somehow made every nerve ending blaze hotter.
Joel's hands settled on your hips again. "There you go," he said. "Now move."
You rolled your hips, slowly a few times before your hand drifted down. Your fingers wrapped around his cock, and you stroked him in time with the roll of your hips. He sucked in a breath – it crackled through the modulator and his grip dug harder into you.
You found a rhythm, and heard the faint creak of armor shifting under your weight. His helmet tilted down, watching your hand work him, watching your hips grind.
"Yes" he muttered, his cock throbbing in your fist. "Just like that, baby."
"Ohhh Mando…" It slipped out of your mouth, breathy and unfiltered, and for a split second you thought you’d fucked up. Your hips started to slow, an apology already forming on your lips — but before you could get a word out, Joel spoke.
"Say it again." His hands started guiding your movements, grinding your clit harder against the Beskar plating beneath you. "Call me that while you use my armor, baby."
Your body flushed with arousal at his permission to call him by another name, at him wanting you to experience the full fantasy he built for you.
Your thighs trembled around his armored leg, while you grinded forward desperately, your hand still stroking him.
“I—” You swallowed, breath shaking. “Mando… it feels so good.”
Joel's reaction was instant. It seems it turned him on as much as it did you. A rough, bitten-off groan ripped through the modulator and his hips bucked up into your fist. He dragged you forward and back along his thigh, your slick smearing across the polished metal in a way that should embarrass you but only made you gush more.
Your pleasure crested — a breathless cry that melted into a whimper, fell from your mouth. You were cumming on him, on the armor he bought, put on and wore just for you. That thought alone kept your orgasm going.
Once it subsided, your hand now loosely gripping his shaft, your entire body bowed forward, cheek resting against the side of his helmet. Your breath faintly fogging the Beskar.
For a moment, he let you rest there. His hand slid up your spine, holding you against him while your breathing evened out. Then his fingers curl around the back of your neck.
“I’m not done with you yet,” he said quietly, standing, lifting you up with him, he turned and laid you down on the mattress. You fell back willingly with a soft bounce, hair splaying across the sheets.
He stood there, fully armored. Cock hard and jutting from the parted fly of his pants. He looked unreal, like something conjured from the deepest, most depraved corner of your imagination.
"Spread your legs," he commanded.
You didn’t move, because you knew the defiance would earn you something better. You watched him climb onto the bed, knees sinking into the mattress. The weight of him — the sheer mass of man and metal — pressed between your thighs and forced them apart. His hands found the hem of your dress and shoved it up your thighs in one rough gather of fabric. He grabbed the tiny straps of your g-string, pulling them out away from your body — the delicate seams gave under his force. Then he yanked away the soaked little triangle of fabric that still laid over your pussy and threw it into the floor.
His gloved hand slid between your thighs. Two fingers dragged through the slick your body created for him, parting you with slow thoroughness. The leather was smooth, slightly cool and so foreign against the most sensitive part of you. You loved him touching you while armored head-to-toe. Your eyes took him in as he did.
You felt so wanted by Joel. He was offering you a fantasy you didn’t even have to ask him for. He just knew you well enough to know you would love it. You felt like your heart could barely hold everything he made you feel all at once.
Then he pressed two leather covered fingers inside you. The stretch was different — the glove added width, texture, and firm unyielding pressure that had you clenching around him immediately. He curled them forward, finding the spot he's mapped a hundred times before, and stroked. Your hand flew up and grabbed the edge of his chest plate, while he worked you open.
“I want your cock, please,” you begged, after quickly and easily cumming on his fingers.
He withdrew them slowly and brought them up to the helmet — right where his mouth would be — and held them there, the damp leather now darker in color.
"Wish I could taste you right now," Joel said. "Got half a mind to take this helmet off just to put my mouth on you."
"Don't you dare take it off,” you said before thinking.
A low, rumbling laugh filtered through the modulator. "Yes ma'am."
He moved over you, settling his weight between your spread thighs again.
You felt the head of his cock nudge against you, dragging through your slick in a slow, teasing slide from clit to entrance and back.
You did. You stared up at the visor, at the T-shaped slit that revealed nothing. You loved the anonymity of it, even though you knew it was Joel, knew the exact shade of hazel eyes that laid beneath, and yet he was hidden from you.
He pushed himself inside you.
Suddenly his gloved hand covered your mouth. "Shh," he murmured, sinking deeper into you.
There was no reason to be quiet, but it turned you on, him silencing you like this. You whined against the leather of his palm. Joel's cock was so thick that you felt every fraction of movement. When he bottomed out, hips flush to yours, he held himself inside you, and the bastard waited.
"Move," you begged against his glove. "Please, move—"
"Tell me what you want, sweetheart," he asked, lifting his hand over your mouth slightly, allowing you to speak clearly.
“Fuck me,” you breathed. “I want you fuck me with your big cock, Mando.”
He pulled back and drove into you with a thrust that shunted you up the bed. The armor clanked against itself punctuating every push of his hips. This is what he planned. What he spent weeks imagining. You, underneath him while he railed fuck outta you.
Your legs wrapped around his waist and the sensation was insane — the rigid edges of the armor digging into your inner thighs just shy of pain. Each thrust pushed out a moan from your chest. The bed frame knocked repeatedly against the wall.
His gloved hand left your mouth and gripped the headboard. The other hooked under your knee, pushing your leg up and back, opening you wider. The angle changed everything and suddenly he was so deep, you’d swear you could feel him in your stomach. You sobbed from how good it felt.
The helmet stayed trained on your face. Watching every expression shatter across it. Watching your mouth fall open, your brows knit, your eyes staring back at him.
"So fuckin' pretty like this," he said through the modulator. "Cryin' and takin' everything I give you."
"Only for you," you choked out. "Only ever for you."
He pulled out, his hands gripped your hips and flipped you over onto your stomach. “All fours. Now.”
You pushed your body up, residing on your hands and knees. His hands gripped your dress and brought it down your legs, where you shimmed out of it with his help.
“Good girl.” His palm pressed between your shoulder blades, pushing your chest flat to the mattress, ass raised in the air.
You felt the chest plate settle cold against your spine as he draped himself over your back, while he slid back inside from behind. A ragged cry came from your throat that muffled into the pillow. He bottomed out and held, hips flush against your ass. Then he started to move with long, slow strokes that had you fisting the sheets with every drag.
But he didn't stay there long.
His arm hooked around you, just beneath your tits, and hauled you upright. Your back slammed against the chest plate and he continued to drive himself into you. His other hand came up and wrapped around the front of your neck. Squeezing lightly. Holding you there. His gloved fingers resting against your pulse like he was counting every frantic beat.
Your head fell against the side of his helmet, eyes fluttering — and that's when you saw it.
The full-length mirror across the room.
The two of you, reflected back. You — completely naked, skin flushed, mouth parted. And behind you, the Mandalorian — fully dressed, armored and broad. Completely in control, one arm banded beneath your tits, the other gripping your neck, while his hips rolled up into you from behind in slow, deep grinds that you could now see as much as you could feel.
You made a sound you'd never heard come out of your own mouth.
Joel saw where you were looking. His helmet tilted toward the mirror, then back to you. The modulator crackled when he spoke.
"Yeah… look at that, baby." He thrust up into you, hard enough to jolt your whole body, and watched the way your reflection jerked in the glass. "Watch the Mandalorian fuck you."
Your eyes locked onto the mirror and you couldn't look away. Every thrust was visible — his armored hips snapping up, your body bouncing against the Beskar, your tits moving with each impact beneath his forearm. The visual was so obscene, so surreal, that it didn't feel like your own life. It felt like something you'd read about and touch yourself to in the dark, not something happening to your actual body. But you could see it and feel it, and fuck it felt so good.
"Eyes on the mirror," he ordered when your lids shut from pleasure. His fingers tightened fractionally on your throat. "Don't you look away. I want you to see what I see."
You forced your eyes open. In the reflection, the visor stared back at you — dark and impassive while the body beneath kept pounding into you.
His gloved hand slid from beneath your tits down to your stomach, pressing flat, and you realized he could feel himself moving inside you from the outside. That realization made you clench around him and he groaned.
"You see how good you look, takin' me?" he rasped against the side of your head, the helmet nudging your temple. "See how pretty you are when you're about to fall apart on my cock?"
You nodded, shaking, tears building again — all from the sheer overwhelming volume of sensation and emotion crashing together. Your hand reached back and grabbed the other side of his helmet, holding on, fingers gripping onto the Beskar.
He rewarded you by fucking you harder. His arm returned under your breasts and tightened, holding you against the armor, while his hips moved upward faster and faster. Your moans turned into high, broken sounds — one for every thrust — that filled the room alongside the wet sound of him moving inside you.
"Mando—" Your voice cracked. "Mando, I'm so close, I–I’m — I'm—"
"Look at us when you cum," he commanded, his hand pressing firmer on your throat. "Watch."
Your eyes found the mirror one last time. You saw your own face and behind you the armored silhouette of the man you love, holding you against him. Finally your orgasm crashed through you so hard, your body arching rigid against the chest plate, a scream tearing out of you that his hand on your throat turned into a strangled, silent cry. You watched yourself cum on his cock in the mirror, watched your body convulse in his arms against the Beskar. Staring at the helmet while you fell apart felt like nothing you'd ever experienced before — like you weren't supposed to be doing this, like you were being ruined by something forbidden — it was one of the most erotic things you'd ever felt in your life.
Joel followed seconds later. His arm crushed you against him, his hips stuttering, burying himself as deep as he could go while his cock pulsed inside you. The groan that came through the modulator made you feel even more satisfied, as the forehead of the helmet dropped against the middle of your back at your spine as he emptied himself with shaking thrusts.
You stayed like that. Upright, pinned to him, both of you trembling. Finally his hand loosened on your throat and drifted down to rest over your heart. You could feel his chest heaving behind the armor, the Beskar rising and falling with every ragged breath filtering through the helmet.
After you both had caught your breath, gently, he lowered you down to the mattress and told you he’d be right back.
You watched him disappear into the bathroom. He took longer in there than you expected. Eventually you got up, went over to the closet, and pulled one of Joel’s shirts off the hanger. You drifted to the full-length mirror, tugging it over your head, the hem falling to the top of your thighs.
The bathroom door opened behind you. Joel’s chest was bare. Black sweatpants hung low on his hips. The only sign of the Mandalorian that remained, the only piece of the fantasy left was the helmet he was still wearing.
You turned to face him as he walked over to you. Your hands found his chest first — sliding into the soft hair there, palms flattening over warm his skin instead of cold Beskar for the first time all night. You tilted your head back and looked up at the helmet looming above you.
"Well," you said, a little chuckle escaping. "I don’t think I could have asked for a better birthday present.”
His chest shook with a silent laugh beneath your hands. His fingers found yours and threaded them together, squeezing once.
"I’m so glad to hear that, Happy birthday, sweetheart," Joel said, voice still filtering through the modulator.
He turned you gently by your joined hands, positioning you to face the mirror, and wrapped his arms around you from behind. Your reflection stared back at you. You in his shirt. Him holding you. The Mandalorian's helmet resting against the side of your head.
"Can I take this damn thing off now?" he asked quietly. "I need to kiss you."
There was a click and you watched in the mirror as he lifted the helmet off and tossed it onto the bed. His hair was a little disheveled and wet with sweat. Then his eyes –those familiar, warm hazel eyes, the ones you knew were hidden behind the helmet the whole time– found yours in the reflection.
His warm bare lips pressed into the curve of your neck, you closed your eyes and melted into him completely.
And that was better than any fantasy.
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