Gif by me, as I was so excited to see him.
Din Djarin x perimenopausal reader.
WC: 2K
Warnings: Smut. My husband is back and I am feral for him. Dry humping. Mentions of a hand job.
Summary: You and Din have learned to take care of each others needs. Of course he is the one you turn to when another one arises.
What Do You Need?
Din was raised on drills and studying. The use of the weapons of his religion was forged into his muscle memory over the years. The importance of studying, to know his enemy, to know the environment and how it can be used to his advantage, to know skills to be self-reliant in even the harshest of environments, it was all woven into the very fabric of his being.
Then Grogu came along, and you, and you both became another part of his being. A part he feared he couldn't live without. Your presence became essential to protecting his life as his weapons, his skill, his knowledge, his cunning, as breathing.
Din applied the same techniques he'd been taught as a child to the both of you. He watched, he studied, he learned. He learned to anticipate your needs. He kept cookies hidden in the Crest for when Grogu was particularly thorny. A small bribe for his tiny child with a big attitude. He bought a blanket to leave in the cockpit when you sat next to him in hyperspace, knowing the steady glow of the stars, and the hypnotic rhythm of them streaming past always lulled you into a peaceful doze. Which you only awoke from when you were too cold. Catering to both of your rhythms and idiosyncrasies became a reflex as deep as the one that tugged his hand to his hip at the hint of danger.
This is why Din found your behaviour strange of late. You would sit with a heat pack to your lower stomach, favour sweeter treats while visiting the market on whatever planet you found yourselves on. Your usual patience for him and the child would wear thin easier. Din may have been sheltered in many ways but he knew all about periods. All the symptoms, absorption pads, suppression shots. He always figured you were on the latter as he had never seen you buy pads. Many women in your line of work used them, one less thing to worry about on long hunts. It bothered him to see you uncomfortable, he made sure to keep a healthy stock of pain killers and natural teas though to ease the symptoms on board. Something you undoubtedly noticed but never mentioned to him aside from thanking him for buying supplies.
Din arrives back to a darkened Crest. A quick check of his bunk reveals a sleeping Grogu. Din's next check is your bunk. It's a small space, barely partitioned off from the cargo hold, but you manage to fit a cot big enough for two in there as you like to stretch out. Nets above you and boxes below hold your personal items so the set up works. As Din stands quietly in the dark, he listens to you shifting and rolling on both sides of the cot. You huff indignantly and groan with each shift. He has no idea what to say to you, but as always, he is compelled to help and protect you. He gets water, painkillers and breaks into Grogu's cookie stash before tentatively approaching your bunk.
A call of your name is met with a breathy call of his own. When he opens the curtains to find you his own breath hitches at the sight. You are wearing little more than underwear, shorts which have ridden up and a short vest. Your skin is sheened in sweat, your hair wild, your eyes blow. Even in the low light of the control panel above you he sees how feral they look and it breaks something in him. Some primal stirs the ripples out to his cock as it half hardens in an instant. He manages to hide it as he comes to kneel on your bunk.
“What do you need?” It's a question and a plea.
Din needs to know how to help you. Seeing you like this tears at the fibre of his being.
When you don't answer, Din grasps at anything to make it okay. “Water? Food? Pain relief?”
All three fall from his grasp when you move to your knees in front of him. Looking smaller than he has ever known you to, you bury your head against his chest and wrap your arms around him. His arms encase you, keeping you as close as possible in the position you are in.
“I'm sorry.” You mutter and try to pull away only for Din to hold you still.
“You have nothing to be sorry for. What do you need?” He repeats his question more as a statement this time.
Din needs you to know he will do anything in this moment to help you.
“You're cold. Will you lay with me?” There's a hesitation and vulnerability in your voice that he never thought he would hear. It makes him ashamed that he is almost fully hard when he lays next to you, allowing you to press your fevered flesh to his armour.
“Thank you. I…I don't know how to handle this.” You practically whisper to his chest plate.
“Handle what?” Din had been laying ramrod straight to allow you control in this intimate position but he softened towards you, hoping to reassure you that you were safe with him.
“My cycles. They are starting to end. I'm hot, angry, can't sleep, can't settle, I'm always so worked up…” The last one seems to have slipped out but Din can't ignore that it passed your lips.
Din can relate. It had been years since he let anyone else touch him. To his shame, it had been for credits in a back alley dive bar. The way you moved competently and confidently to take down anyone who stood in the way of your bounty replayed behind his eyelids as the young man jerked him roughly. The praise of how big and thick he was fell on deaf ears as Din only thought about every grunt and groan you gave as your punches landed and you threw men twice your size to the ground. Din came embarrassingly quick, his cum splashing so far as to hit the chin of the younger man, who seemed delighted, before tucking himself and handing him extra credits.
Without realising it, Din had gripped your waist. You hiss at the contact. For a long while neither one of you move. The air hangs heavier than Din's large, gloved hand on your bare skin. Eventually, you grasp his hand. Din holds his breath to save it from distracting him from memorising the feel of you before you undoubtedly remove his hand from your body. The breath leaves him in a shudder as you drag his hand up your body and rest it firmly over your breast.
“Please. I know we're never spoken about us, but I need you.” Not want, need. The rawness of your words hits Din hard.
Even fully clothed in Baskar, Din feels naked as the carefully curated version of himself that he gives you shatters. The primal, aching version of him sheds the shards of its shell as he squeezes your breast firmly in his grasp. The moan that he pulls from you is ungodly. It's pure sin and desire. It sings out like a siren's call, clouding Din's judgement. There's no worry of destroying the relationship he has with you, of harming his clan, there's just unashamed lust settling over his vision.
The hands which caress his child and tenderly care for injuries are now just tools to satisfy him. He wants them on his body, teasing, groping, pleasuring him. The eyes that look at him with such trust and understanding, he wants them rolled back in bliss as fucks you hard, ramming his cock impossibly deep so he can feel you on every inch of him. The lips that spill words of encouragement and can cure all his ills with a simple smile. Maker, the things he wants them to do. He wants them to drag against his bare skin, to become glossy with his seed, and probably the most dirty, unseemly thing he can think of, he wants them to taste his own, creed be damned. He wants to taste you on his tongue as he drives it against your own, trying in his own way to consume you. To claim you in any way that he can. The thoughts alone have him engorged, twitching and leaking pre-cum.
“You have me.” Three simple words with so many meanings. “Now, what do you need?”
The simple act of letting you peel off his gloves seems obscene. He allows it, as well as you returning his hand to your breast. This time you shove it under the fabric. Your nipple is hard and prone. You gasp as he rolls in between his fingers. The simple action seems to reverberate around your body. Only letting him repeat the action once, you drag his hand down your body and forcefully cup your cunt over your shorts. Din can feel the warmth and wetness through the material. He imagines the heat engulfing the blunt head of his cock as your slick welcomes him. Then each muscle pulling him deeper and sealing around him as his inches inside of you. His cock bobs so hard you feel it against your guiding hand.
Din's world almost comes crashing down around him as you suddenly move away and down the bunk. Before he can gather his wits to chase you, you are back, urging him to lay flat and swinging you leg over his thighs. Then his world implodes. Your bare, hot, weeping slit frames his throbbing length through his flight suit. The drag of it as you move your hips back and forth experimentally tugs at his foreskin exposing his sensitive head. It's Din's turn to groan, deep and primal. It echoes in his helmet and the small space and seems to serve to spur you on. Your movements become more precise. The fat head of his cock is nestled against your frazzled bundle of nerves. The rocking of your hips is ragged and uncoordinated but it serves to circle the slit of his cock on your clit as well as jerk him off. It's barely only moments before Din feels your thighs tense. He knows you are close to coming. You begin to sob as your much needed release nears. Din is torn. He wants to see you fall apart. He wants to know what your face looks like in your most intimate moment. He wants all of you. It's that though that holds back his own rapidly approaching release. Will you let him have all of you after this? Or is this just another necessity that has become part of your life together. Like patching each other up or letting the other take the slack on rough days. Is this just another way of keeping each other on the job? Do you just need his cock to clear your hormones and soothe your body?
“Din!” His name is said with such elation, he doesn't care if that is all this is.
He would commit to being spread naked and chained to the bunk, purely there for you to use in any way you saw fit if it meant he heard his name from your lips like that again. The rapid clenching of your pussy triggers his own release. After years of quietly fucking his fist in the refresh his instinct is to bite back his moans. Even in his near silence there is no mistaking what is happening. His back arches off the bunk and his hips chase your warmth as he pumps rope after rope of cum in the material of his suit. When he is spent, he drops back down with you following.
Din has faced immense battles, his bravery has become the stuff of myth and legends in the Outer Rim. In this moment he feels his bravest as he lifts his helmet, just enough to expose his chin and lips, and places a kiss on your temple. Considering what you just did and all the thoughts it has unlocked in his brain that he hides away in the darkest recesses of his mind, it is completely chaste. It is pure adoration and if Din can admit it to himself, love. Without looking you reach up to cup his chin.
“I know.” you reassure him as your thumb smoothes back and forth against his stubble. “I know.”