Summary- Follows directly from where An Act of Grace left off. You decide to step into the shower with Din Djarin. Revelations and explorations lead you into the bedroom.
Warnings- 18+ smutty. Unprotected PiV, vaginal fingering, blink and you might miss it nipple play, oral sex- F receiving, cum eating, dash of praise kink, overstimulation, I think that's all?
A/N- Still heavily influenced by a Leonard Cohen song. In this sequel I give you a hint of angst, some existential stuff, a tad bit of jealousy. You get more talk of scars, more tattoos and most importantly and I'm most nervous about this...hopefully a satisfying union. I live for comments and reblogs because I'm a needy girl. Thank you 🖤💋 (Masterlist)
The steam from the fresher begins to pour and twist through the doorway where you now lean. You casually start undoing your pants. You let out a small laugh and shake your head. You feel Din's gaze surveying you. He's now taken the liberty to use your nail brush. You recall the state of his hands when you had slipped his gloves off.
"Maybe I should let you finish bathing yourself and go clean up the mess in the kitchen…"you say through a grin, looking at the aftermath of his drastic haircut on your floor. "You seem…resurrected." Your pants fall to your ankles and you step out.
His silhouette quickly becomes obscured by fog forming on the shower door. He's under the water scrubbing at his legs now, and in-between, "Laugh all you want, but you underestimate the Cin Vhetin, it's a very powerful thing Mesh'la, and I don't think it's done."
Your shirt is over your head and face, blocking your vision when you hear the click of the shower door. Wet, hot hands are on your waist pulling you forward. The water tickles as it drips down your dry skin. You struggle to get your shirt over your head, flicking your arm free from the fabric. You find yourself fumbling as your vision is filled with his wet form. Din's broad chest. He holds your neck and your waist as his lips envelop yours. You're blinded by his desire and your willingness. Din uses his newest skill almost masterfully as his tongue begs entrance to your mouth. You thought you knew him but it's becoming clearer he's deprived a part of himself from you. His base desire. He's hungrier than you. You held back earlier unsure if he was ready. Your judgment is poor. Perhaps it's you that wasn't ready.
Water drips off him, making puddles on the floor as he turns you around kissing you anywhere he pleases now. His hands and body have you trapped. Your body sways against him. You feel the edge of the shower with your heel. Din guides you and you step back into it, for a brief moment you are immersed in the warm falling water. Still in your underpants, you reach back and unclip your bra. Din puts his arms on either side of the tiled wall pinning you, peppering you with kisses as the water bounces off his backside. You breathe in the steamy air, unable to tell where his warm breath begins and the steam ends. The undergarment crumples at your feet. He kisses your pulse points. You exhale, "Din," You watch his face. He pauses to peer into your eyes, an animalistic intensity brews behind his. You push your face towards Din for a desperate kiss, he pulls back. He stops before he reaches your lips. He breathes onto your throat, his nose drags slowly along your jaw.
He pants, "Let me just look…maker, do you know how many times I imagined you?" His voice out of the helmet stirs you.
Images flash in your mind of all the times you imagined his strong arms laying you down in your bed. You shuffle through all the different faces you created, settling on his, imagining him kissing the length of your torso, nuzzling your breasts. You replay the scenario of Din finally getting to feel and taste you. You swallow, adjusting your hips as your panties are soaked through, "Imagined me how Din?"
"Bent over your workshop counter, ass up and moaning my name," He leans his forehead on yours and smirks. Water runs off his shaved head, dripping down his face. He lingers before he speaks again, "But I couldn't bring myself…you're so gentle and good and I'm–" he drags his rough knuckles down your neck spreading his hand across your chest, with enough pressure to keep you still. His mouth is on the shell of your ear "–I'm not."
"Is that so? What about your Cin Vhetin Din? Weren't you just asking for my grace? I think you should at least try," You grab his now pristine hand from your chest and guide his fingers to your mouth where you wrap your lips around the index, sliding it in and out. "This isn't a Twi'lek healing bath. You're in my house." Your mind floods with thoughts of all the nasty things Din Djarin has done across the galaxy to people who aren't you. "What's a God going to do for you that I can't, or did you forget that line already?"You sass. "And what a line it was."
He breathes deep, and gives you a look of skepticism. Water droplets jump and dance off his broad shoulders. You look him up and down, he's still partially erect. "I…" He squints, "It seems to have worked, you're in here with me." You're just noticing the other tattoos, an intricate geometric design wrapped around his entire left calf and shin. And something in a language you can't read in white ink on his chest, near his heart, barely noticeable. It almost resembles scars. Time is suspended as you continue to unveil the man beneath the beskar, however, your foolish heart beats slower now. The fire that was building inside you is contained for the moment.
He handles his emotions in a complicated way, that's how he ended up at your door tonight. But a dominating man in bed, a man who's had many partners, this, you should have expected but your delicate fantasy prevented. "I had this…I thought…" You bite your lip trying to find the words, your hands hover over him, somewhere between touch and reservation. "I've only ever had a few sexual partners and it's just become clear you've probably had more opportunities than me…but, am I wrong?" His silence confirms your already fractured delusion about Din, that his credence meant he was something akin to a virgin. A small laugh crawls up your throat and comes out a huff. It's not jealousy, but it might be. Embarrassment, likely. The tense, thick air shifts.
He says nothing. One of his hands absentmindedly comforts the large colorful bruise he has on his side, the other goes to run through hair that he forgets isn't there anymore. The dimple on his right cheek is about to reveal itself as he stifles a grin. The sort of grin he gave his nanny when she caught him in a lie as a young boy on Aq Vetina. Of course, he walked you right into that one, the number of times his hand lingered at your lower back without ever touching you. The few times he ever let you even see his skin. His palm tingles with the recollection.
"Is this jealousy?" His eyes crinkle as he tilts his head. Demonstrating to you, all of the expressiveness he hides under that helmet.
You shrug and roll your eyes, "No." He owes you nothing, you choke down your insecurities. He came and found you. Din returns to you. He's asked for your grace. He looks at your bare chest while he runs a finger across your clavicle, as if he's pondering where to touch next.
You pull his other hand away from his injury and gently lay yours over it. He hisses through his teeth and twitches at the touch. You run the back of your hand over his stomach as you look up into his eyes. Softly, "You said you weren't injured."
His voice is so low you almost can't hear him, "It's nothing." He swallows as the shower continues to beat down.
"You're going to be gentle with me." You wrap your arms around his long middle and kiss his chest. "Can you? Be gentle with me Din? Take me soft and slow?" You feel all of him against you. Your fingers trace a scar on his lower back.
His chest rises and falls, "Of course Cyar'ika." He props his long arms back up on the wall behind you while you hug him.
Din looks at you with a longing in his eyes, you read it more like a debt. You look at the bruise under his arm and see the deep purple flesh, swollen and severe. You look back at his eyes, back and forth between the two.
He moves carefully to hold your face. You cradle his hand in yours as you kiss his palm. "Cin Vhetin, you make it sound like some sort of holy rite."
"It can be." He murmurs, his fingers gently touch your hip.
You slip your wet underwear off, tossing it over and out onto the floor with a slap. "Then let's see it through." You look at the splotch of grease on his shoulder and something dried that might be blood that's not his, above his hip. You continue to marvel at the disaster even as it wanes.
Din straightens and rubs his freshly shaven face with both hands, "Am I dreaming? Is this real?" He says watching you reach for the soap and rag on the shower shelf.
"If you're asleep then so am I." He leans one hand flat against the tile. You scrub the rag over his broad back, noticing more bruises. You admire all of his backside as he hums at the touch. The mythosaur tattoo is a little faded. "How old were you when you got the mythosaur?"
"19."
"The Mudhorn?"
"It's new."
"The one on your leg," You continue to wipe away the evidence of whatever violence he committed before arriving at your door.
"It was a gift from a tribe I helped on a scughole a couple years back. Felt wrong to refuse the honor," He shrugs.
You trace your finger over the mythosaur. You watch his shoulder give a slight spasm at your touch. Then you take the rag to the back of his neck. The prismatic bubbles run down his skin, pooling at your feet. The remaining tension mixes with it and runs down the drain. The soap feels silky and its scent understated with a hint of floral and citrus.
"Maker that smells nice…I've missed that."
"You like my soap? You can smell through the helmet?"
"Yes, but not like this, this is…incredible," You can't see the way his eyes glint at the memory of you.
You stop scrubbing. You set the rag down and touch the crosshatch of old scars at the nape of his neck that his haircut reveals, "How did you get these ones?"
He turns to look at you over his shoulder, "Someone tried to remove my helmet, with a blade. A long time ago."
"Ouch. Did they do it?"
"No Mesh'la, hence the word tried. I forgot those scars were there." You love the way his voice echoes in the shower chamber. The timbre of it fills you.
"Right." Your hands grace the muscles of his back again and then touch the bruise on his side, it feels warmer than the rest of him. "I won't ask how you got this, does it hurt?"
He weighs your question in his mind against everything else the evening has brought him, "Yes, a little." He lays his hand over yours before you slide yours out from under it. Din can't pull his eyes from you.
You shut the water off. Opening the door you hand him a towel.
He says before he takes it, "Mesh'la, If I made you feel…unimportant…those other people…were temporary–" he sighs "–you're all I have, I'm sorry."
Your heart flutters at that confession and if he had his helmet on he maybe could have heard it skip a beat. "I made assumptions about your creed. You've nothing to apologize for."
He takes the towel from you. You could watch his face all night, exploring every eye movement, mapping his expressions. You pat yourself dry and watch him do the same.
He runs the towel over his head, "Maker that feels weird." He wipes his hand over the large mirror above the sink to clear the fog and wraps the towel around his waist. It hangs taught. His gaze is fixed on himself as he turns his head side to side. Moving in close he looks at his eye, the red spot in the white of it still apparent. He rubs his head and touches his face, taking his time, it's been ages since he's taken one of those long, hard looks in the mirror. The kind of look where if you stare too long it stops being your face and you start seeing what everybody else sees. Or what you think everyone sees. And in Din's case, what only a handful of people have seen.
You leave him for a moment and grab the bacta gel off your kitchen table. Your wet feet tip toe around the mess, returning to Din continuing his existential exploration. It's a dangerous game to play with the mirror. So you interrupt him. "Have you ever had your hair this short?" You stand behind him.
His lips curve into a crooked smile as he rubs, "Short yes. But this is beyond." He lets out a breathy laugh as he tries to connect the reflection in the mirror with the persona inside. "I look…mean."
You put your hand over your mouth, stifling your thoughts. His eyes flick over to you.
"What? I know that look, say it," He says, looking from himself to you.
You shrug. "Honestly, I didn't mean for it to be that close of a cut, I got the settings wrong on the thingy and I went with it. You said 'different' and your hair was a wreck. So…" you shrug again and flip your palm up.
Din crosses his arms in front of himself with a small wince. "You think it makes me look mean. You do." You can't help but notice the way his biceps bulge with the action. "It's okay, it's what I wanted," He says dismissively.
You don't answer, instead you open the bacta and take Din's arm guiding him to hold it up. He watches you closely, silently, as you rub the ointment over his injury. You make careful, soothing circles on his side. Din hisses and then clears his throat. He doesn't press you for a response. You circle until the medicine is absorbed. Despite the hot shower Din's body breaks out in a chill. His hair stands on end. You both fall silent, simply and naturally, it's always been that way. You never felt the need to fill his silence in your shop and now this hushed moment feels like a meditation.
"I think this ritual is complete." You lay a small quick kiss on his shoulder as he drops his arm. Every moment you've ever had wishing you could see him like this and touch him is brewing a storm inside you.
He tilts his head, "You didn't answer my question."
You take his hand, he weaves his fingers in yours. He follows behind you towards your bedroom. The shades are drawn and the bedside lamp glows amber. You take his other hand as you face each other. Wrapped in your towels. You kiss Din's fingers lightly before letting them go. He doesn't touch you. He rests his hands on his hips, watching you. Your fingertips crawl up his soft stomach to his chest where you reach up and hold either side of his jaw. Your thumb grazes his mouth. He is still. You take in his details. You peer into his brown eyes, falling into them. You hold his eye contact. He blinks slowly and breaks first, looking towards the door.
You practically whisper, "Look at me." His eyes creep back to meet yours. "You look-" you bite your lip "-very…desirable." He raises one eyebrow as you pull him towards you. His body is loose, he shows you his dimple again. "I know you're not mean. You're a good man Din. Do you think you're mean?"
"Only when I need to be, or want to be." He puts his hand on your hip, his fingers caress the towel. His voice is quiet, he leans in to whisper in your ear, "I'll be gentle…I want to be gentle."
"Am I really all you have?"
"Yes, I'll be gentle."
You undo your towel so it drops to the floor. Din leans down and soon enough you're weightless in his arms. You watch his face as he lays you on the bed. You grin and start to giggle but stop yourself.
Din tilts his head enough, you answer, "It's just…if you only knew how many times I imagined this."
His towel drops as he crawls over you, his broad body hovers, "You're so beautiful and good to me. I was afraid Mesh'la." His hand drifts across you and hovers over your breast.
"Of?"
"Hurting you," He hesitates before he gently kneads your breast, he lays his lips on your clavicle. Feather light kisses. He takes the word gentle and turns it into a poem on your body. Composing without words a declaration of gratitude. His mouth trails down, and settles on your nipple, his lips linger there, savoring you. You hum as he does so with the right amount of force. Din moves to your other breast. You become more weightless with each touch. Your arms rest above your head as you open your body up for Din to explore.
You murmur, "You could never." You gasp and moan as you feel his index finger circle your clit and tease your entrance.
"I've been dying to hear you make that sound for me," He kisses hard in-between your breasts and moves down. You spread your legs further as he lays more thoughtful kisses on your stomach and you laugh when he hits a ticklish spot. He lets out a quick, breathy laugh of his own, flashing his perfect smile. Din was right, maybe this is a dream. You reach down and put your hand on his head, the fuzz is incredibly soft but you wish he still had those curls you could grab. He growls low at the sensation, so you move both hands to the top of his head as he kisses your inner thigh. You swell, aching and wet now.
Din pauses as he looks at your folds. He confesses, "Mesh'la. I've never…"
"Mmm, that's okay. You don't have to D–" but before you can finish his mouth is on you. He drives his tongue into you, the hot muscle lapping at you with a ferocity you weren't ready for. "Yes." You breathe out and moan again. He pushes and sucks at your clit. A high pitch escapes from your throat and Din stops and smiles, he's so clever of course he figured it out immediately. "Don't, don't stop." He drives his mouth into you again, you quiver. Your body tremors as he teases the bundle of nerves. Pulsing and aching, his lips wet and glistening with you he kisses your mound. His fingers at your entrance he circles with the middle and slides it in. You murmur, "Din, I want you so bad, I've wanted you for so long. Oh, maker…" you gasp, he pushes and swirls as his lips are back on your hard nipple. Your eyes closed. "...I imagined you for so…oh Gods." You lay your hands on his back. Your nails dig in as his fingers curve inside you, finding the perfect spot. You can't see the red indentations you leave on his back.
"Now who's not being gentle?" He pulls his finger out, looks up at you, you watch him put it in his mouth and slowly drag it back out in-between his lips. He's stunning and you have no words.
You grab him pulling him closer, you kiss him, your tongue pushing into his, he takes your lead. Your bodies are still warm from the shower, your skin begins to bead with sweat from your heat. Your hand finds his length. It's hard and it's thick. Your thumb makes slow circles at his leaking tip. You let go as Din puts his hands under your ass to pull you in close as you wrap your legs around him. The soft blankets under you start to shift and scrunch. His hard cock grazes your stomach, leaving a trail on your skin as it leaks.
His voice buried in your neck, "I'm going to bury myself so deep in you. But not until you tell me to."
You reach in-between and guide him yourself, you rub him over your wet folds, he growls. You stop at your entrance, "Fuck me." Din pushes, easing his way in. He tangles his fingers in the blanket as he grips.
He moans, and breathes his words into your ear, "Cyar'ika, I always knew your cunt would be as gorgeous as the rest of you."
You can't speak as you squeeze around him. Your breathy vocals climb an octave as he settles inside of you. He pushes as you cling to him, he presses you into the pile of pillows at the head of your bed. His strong arms pinning you.
"I'll be gentle." He pushes again, burying himself further, he reaches for your breast. He kisses your neck. You breathe into his ear as he pulses into you slowly and with perfect rhythm. Just as promised. You're swollen around him and your body hungers. You need him.
"Harder, Maker, show me what you got."
He purrs as he pulls out slowly, "Oh Mesh'la".
You reach up and hold his face as he has one eyebrow cocked, you bite your lip, your chest heaves.
He crawls off you and off the bed that sits high in the air. He stands, hands on his hips, rock hard. He grabs your legs and pulls you across the bed. You slide easily as he holds you under your knees to make you straddle him. You watch him take himself in his palm as he strokes twice before finding your willing entrance again. You gasp as he slides in with ease. You wrap your legs around him, and bury your hands under your ass and grip the side of the mattress. Din thrusts hard, again and again. You watch his performance until you can't. "Maker, yes!" You swell around him, burning, you move one leg, Din takes it and holds it over his shoulder. You moan and your vocals climb as the position makes you tighter. Din moves in you and a part of his sacred, ancient creed has wrought itself upon this union and he's right, it's powerful. Din grunts pushing harder and faster, thrusting you into oblivion. "Din, Din, Din!" Your hands come out from under you and grip at the blankets as your eyes squeeze shut and all the stars in the galaxy explode into view.
He grunts as he pushes his length all the way inside you, one more time, ten more times, you've no idea. He's careful and precise, and intense. The carnal slap and suction of Din's thrusts keep you clinging to this reality. Your breasts bounce and your soft limbs ripple in his wake.
You breathe out his name in a tone you only create when you're overwhelmed with rapture, "Din!"
His hands grip your hips, his fingers leaving impressions on your skin as he pours himself into you, filling you, he shutters and releases a guttural groan. The veins in his neck expand as his muscles seize in the moment of his release. You hear his animal escape leaving the man panting. He shivers as he loosens his hold. He bends over you, kissing the space between your breasts and you reach up and touch his hair. Scratching your fingers along his scalp down to his shoulders, he moans. He kisses your neck as you feel him slide out of you.
He kisses down your stomach, his flushed skin is hot. He breathes heavily.
You're in the ether of this space. The rest of your being is suspended somewhere in this room and you haven't had a chance to find it when you feel Din's mouth in-between your legs again.
"Oh…oh Din! Mmmm, you really d–on't", your breath is taken away as the man licks at your dripping cunt.
"We taste so good cyar'ika," Din says, his voice muffled into you.
"Gods." You say before you gasp as Din sucks on your swollen sensitive clit. It's too much, you plead, "Din, I, maker I…" he pushes and sucks and you see something divine in your vision as a tear escapes out of the corner of your eye down your temple. Din watches you flutter.
You puff the words out, "Cin Vhetin."
"Now you get it." He says as he comes up from in-between your legs, wiping his mouth.
….
Your whole body tingles with a vibration. You feel the smile on your face as you catch your breath, eyes closed. Din stands watching you come down from euphoria.
You barely hear him leave and you barely feel the warm rag in-between your legs as he cleans you up. You cover your face with both hands as you bite your lip. Fighting back your elation.
"Mesh'la? Are you alright?" Din picks you up and sets you back down on the pillows. Your hand is still covering your eyes, hiding the tears that are escaping. "Did I hurt you? Are you okay?"
You shake your head no and then nod yes. You sniffle before you speak, "I'm fine. Din."
"Then these are happy tears?"
"Yes," You wipe your eyes and finally look at him. He's laying on his side next to you. His skin still flushed from his hard work. "I…It was just…really good."
A slow smile spreads across his face as his thumb catches a stray tear. "Mesh'la," He calls you sweetly.
You roll onto your side and reach up to cup his cheek. "Are you okay? Did it work…the Cin Vhetin." You scoot closer and run your hand over his head, holding the back of his neck, your thumb runs along a scar.
Din leans in and kisses your cheek. His lips on the shell of your ear, "More than you could possibly know." He pulls your hand away and places it over his heart. You feel the slight raise in the skin of the mysterious tattoos on his chest.
Din lies back propping an arm under his head. You look at the markings unsure if you should ask but he volunteers.
"It's Mando'a."
You lay your hand over it.
"I met…now…don't get jealous…" Din grins.
You roll your eyes, "Please."
"I met a man…we got close but knew it couldn't last." Din gives you a glance and a beat. You don't flinch.
"In his tradition, you tattooed the names of your ancestors in white ink on your skin to keep them near, to watch over you. He gave me these as a parting gift. My parents' names."
"That's beautiful. I…I don't have any parting gifts."
"You've given me more than I could ever expect already. I owe you Mesh'la. Besides, who said I'm leaving?" He kisses your forehead.
"Stay as long as you like Din Djarin." You say with sweet smile as you crawl off him.
Din watches you leave the room. You relieve yourself in the fresher and then go to the kitchen. Din hears you moving things around. He gets up to find you, naked, sweeping his hair up off your kitchen floor. Two glasses of water sit on the table. Clearly you got distracted on the way back to the room. He wants to stop you and tell you it can wait until morning. But, a wave of contentment falls over him. He stands in the dark shadow of your bedroom doorway and watches you complete the mundane task. Oh yes, he's staying, as long as you'll have him.
...
Further reading: REVENANT: A look at Din's time away, before he found you again.
Summary: Din is your best friend. He shows you his face before he disappears to rescue his son. He returns a fractured man. He hasn't removed his helmet, not even for himself. You help him. He lets you pull him apart so he can put himself back together. Takes place before chapter 16 then after.
A/N: (Concept inspired by the very weird 2014 film Frank, where Michael Fassender wears a papier mêché mask/helmet and never takes it off.) Very heavily inspired and influenced by Leonard Cohen's song Hallelujah. I listened to the Jeff Buckley version on repeat and I implore you to listen to it.
Warnings: Extremely touch starved Din, not fluffy, I made sad and dirty sensual? Gratuitous descriptions of Pedro Pascals face. A bit of thigh riding but no actual sex until part 2. My Hair kink on blast. Depressed Din, tattooed Din, an alcoholic drink and I might have gone over the top near the end but I don't care.
You've always been patient, and time has always slipped by you unnoticed. Of those two attributes, the first was a virtue, the second was only true until he left. It took time and patience, building your friendship with Din Djarin. Din has come to your small, specialty shop on Nevarro for supplies, mostly ammunition for a long time now. From the first time he walked in you were captivated by his voice, his weaponry, his Mandalorian armor. Din is an intimidating man, but he's never scared you. With enough observation you can tell he's going out of his way to show he's innocuous, unless deserving otherwise.
With enough time you see him, he's tired, maybe bored, maybe even lonely. Because so many are afraid of him, he revels when people don't make a wide girth around him and instead look and offer a friendly gesture. So, you gave him extra attention, showing him your latest gear and even special ordering anything he might need. He'd linger longer and you'd encourage it, offering to oil his leather pieces, like his bandolier or holster. He declined your initial offer, but when you asked if he was sure and stared right into his visor, he slipped his bandolier off and laid it across your counter. You smiled and he thanked you.
Then his armor changed and something about him did too. You noticed him relaxing a bit more after he earned all that beskar. With that, his body language changed as well and it told you he was interested in more than just your shop.
After about half a cycle, you were showing him the intricacies of a new scope and were having trouble unscrewing the lens. He towered over the metal counter, his swagger never wavering. He looked at his dusty gloves and slipped them off. Like it was utterly mundane for him to show you his skin. Skin you had yet to see and had laid in bed imagining. His hands were clean and lightly callused. His skin tone was fair but with a touch of warmth. Just as masculine as you'd imagined they were.
"Here, let me try," He said as he offered his big palm out to you. You struggled, responding wordlessly.
You set the scope in his hand and let your index finger drag along his palm longer than was called for. Your attraction to him was becoming more obvious. His magnetism grew stronger with each visit.
He'd spend an hour in your shop, waiting patiently as you dealt with customers. A new one started to behave in a way that was too aggressive. Pounding on the counter when you refused to negotiate on a rare thermal detonator, calling you a bitch. Din was right there.
Moving his hand slowly to rest on his blaster, he threatened, "Turn around, walk away. And pray I don't catch you here ever again." His tone was dark, heavy and gave no impression of a bluff.
The man backed out, without a word. And after that incident, work has been pleasant. Word spread that you were good friends with The Mando, some of that turned to crude rumors that you let roll off you. Din eventually opened up to you more, especially when he started showing up with the kid. You invited him to sit for a moment in the back room with you–as you've done many times now–so you could hold the baby. You held the child and got the kid to giggle. Din laughed. A gentle laugh with a slight wheeze.
"Mando. I love that sound."
"What sound?" He tilted his helmet
"Just…you."
He said nothing as he looked to the floor and for a moment you wondered if you embarrassed him.
"Din. My name is Din Djarin."
You put your hand on top of his as you sat at your back table, "I like your laugh Din."
Over his visits you shared pieces of your life story with him and he listened to each tale with occasional excerpts of his own. He related his own experiences to yours even though his life had been much harder. You got to know him well enough, but he has secrets, a side you haven't seen. You still trust him and after he left you alone with the kid and the especially interesting day he showed you how much of his armor is attached. You had no doubt he trusted you. He's one of your best friends. But, he's more to you than that and you don't know how or if you should confess that to him.
Din shows up with more friends, no kid, no ship, no Amban Phase-Pulse Blaster. He explains their mission and why they are restocking. You feel sick. You offer to join the mission to get the kid back. Din pulls you into the back.
"No," He shakes his head.
"Why!?"
"Because…" Din puts his hands on either side of his helmet and lifts.
"DIN! Stop…"
He cuts you off, "It's already done," He says softly.
You take all the mental pictures you can and file them away. His pretty, soft, brown hair is messy and curls. His eyes are deep brown, earnest and kind. His stubbled jaw is stronger than you have pictured and his nose is a perfection you never imagined. He reaches his hand out and holds your cheek briefly before letting go. His face, this is his face, you're in shock. You stare at him, holding your hands over your mouth. His eyes flick nervously to the door. You reach out quickly to touch him but he flinches almost violently and pulls back.
You throw your hand down, "I'm sorry."
His frown turns into a sweet crooked smile. He's boyish when he smiles and you're melting. "Don't be. I just…" his voice is soft and smooth out of the helmet, "...I'm not used to…that."
"It's okay," You nod as your face fills with understanding. "It's probably overwhelming for you." You want to throw yourself at him and run away simultaneously. Your legs are weak and your heart races. Maker, if you could just touch him, kiss him. You flex your hands, your palms sweat.
"I can't let you come, it's too risky," Din says, his hand hovers over your shoulder, before he drags his knuckles down your arm. "I can't lose both of you." You watch his eyes looking at your mouth. You wonder if he's always done that, if his face always looked at you this gently under the helmet.
"Din. I care about you, deeply. I need you to know. I mean…deeply," You reach up but stop yourself. If you touched him now, you'd never let go, so you don't. "Go, save the kid. I'll be here."
He nods, "Thank you Mesh'la, for everything." He looks at you with a sort of regret for a moment before he pushes his helmet back on. That's when you can't help it, you hug him. His armor has a sweet metallic scent, it's always been uniquely divine. He wraps his arms around you and squeezes. He touches the cold metal of his helmet to your forehead before he lets go and turns to leave. You hear him sigh. You hold back the lump in your throat.
Watching them all go, not knowing when or if they'd succeed was painfully difficult. You closed your shop for two days because you only imagined the worst. Moving forward was nearly impossible after finally seeing his face and knowing the feelings were mutual. You've always believed people come into your life for a reason. But this made no sense, what was the point of this? You met just to keep each other company for a short time and then it's over. No, you have more faith in what you felt than to believe that.
You know he's out there but Cara Dune and Greef Karga say he's a ghost, he doesn't want to be found. He barely spoke to anyone and left for Coruscant after the kid went away. There is always off the books work on Coruscant. Months pass. You notice the rotations in a way you hadn't done before. Nothing. No word. Until one day. You hear a knock, after dark, the shop is closed. There is a hesitant knock and then another.
"We're closed. Come back tomorrow." You stand by the solid durasteel door for a moment waiting for a response. Then faintly you hear a modulated voice.
"Mesh'la?"
You smack the keypad and the door flies open, creating a breeze that hits your face. "It's really you," You throw your arms around the armored man and squeeze, slowly he brings a hand up and rests it at your lower back. His weight pushes on you, as though whatever had been holding him up fell away and you were the one to catch him. You breathe in. You're not met with his usual handsome scent. He smells sweaty, musty, and odorous. His normally polished armor looks dingy. His shoulders are slumped. You back away and look him over, "Are you injured? Din?" You take his hand and bring him into the dark shop.
He hesitates and you swear you hear him choke before he speaks, "No. I'm not injured."
You stand looking at the man you were falling for. He's not well. Something is very wrong. "Come. Let's go upstairs," You take his rough, leather gloved hand in yours, dragging him through your shop to the back room to the narrow stairs. His footfalls are heavy as you climb up to your apartment above.
When you step in, Din looks around the humble one bedroom, he's been here once, when you watched the kid for him. You motion to your sitting area and Din removes his jetpack and then falls back into a black, tufted chair. It's quiet and the streets outside are lit up for the night. Your apartment glows dimly. The beam from the streetlight through your window hits his armor and disappears. It doesn't gleam or shimmer. A black hole sits in your chair, not a man, a vortex.
"Tell me everything," You say gently. You try not to be pulled in by his gravity because if you were, you might disappear too.
He tells you about the fight with the Moff. The beating by the dark troopers. He motions to the lightsaber on his belt. He tells you about the kid going away with the Jedi. More details than you got from Marshall Dune. He tells you he doesn't want to rule Mandalore. He tells you he needs to find his tribe. He then tells you that it's been awhile since he's taken his helmet off.
"You mean, just not in front of anyone? Like for me or Grogu?"
"At all, basically."
"But you have to eat and drink," The statement sounds obvious and stupid.
"I lift it up, for that."
You lean in and scoot to the edge of your seat, your fingers laced together. "Ok. So you lift it to eat. What about your hygiene, your teeth?" You look into his visor that is angled in a way you can tell he's having a hard time looking at you. Asking your dumb questions.
"I brush my teeth," He says, insulted. He shrugs. "It's been awhile since I showered," He shifts, his beskar on the leather chair squeaks, "When the kid left, he looked so sad, I made a mistake, it was all a mistake," He huffs, folding his arms over himself.
You shake your head. What do you ask? What do you say? The child has become his world and now that world is gone. "Din. How long have you been like this? Hiding from yourself?"
He speaks bluntly, "97 standard rotations."
Your eyes well and disbelief coats your words. "You haven't taken your helmet off for almost a hundred days? That's impossible."
"I've gone without it a few hours a few times but, Mesh'la, I, I need to take it off…"
You stand and position yourself in front of him while he is sunk in the chair. It's too late, his gravity is pulling you in. You need to see what lies at the center of this void so you can bring it back into the light. He doesn't move, your presence has him pinned.
"Where have you been?" You move your hands to his shoulders and begin to unhook his pauldrons.
He watches, "Nowhere, everywhere."
You unhook his cape and see his hair poking out from under the helmet. "Trying to find your tribe?" You push the fabric to drape behind him on the seat.
"Only part of the time." His voice cracks through the modulator.
"Why didn't you come back here sooner?"
He inhales. "I wish I had. I didn't want you to see me–" His fingers curve as he motions to himself, "– like this. I can't even look in a mirror much less…at you." He's collapsing in on himself dragging you in further.
You bend down and remove his shin guards.
"Mesh'la please. You don't have to do this," He whispers as he lifts a hand to you before dropping it. Guilt settles in around Din.
You're on your knees as you take his hand, jerking on each finger, the leather gloves gliding off. His hands are chapped, his nails are dirty. You knead his palms and massage them. Din shifts and sighs before you speak again, "You're not immune from feeling Din. You can't hide forever." You can see where he looks thinner, his padding looks loser and his belt has moved a notch.
Din, through broken breath, "Why?"
"Why?" You repeat him as you remove his boots, ignoring the grime and odor.
"I don't deserve you."
"Give me some credit Din. If I thought you weren't worth the time I would have given up long ago, kept you from lingering and walked you to the door."
Din gives a slight chuckle from his helmet.
"Uh huh, you've seen me do it," You give him a mischievous grin.
"I have," He says. You can almost hear a smile. Then he breathes in deep and looks at the dirt and scuff marks he left on your floor, "I'm sorry."
"It's okay," You say simply and delicately as you stand. You slowly put your hands carefully on each side of his helmet. He reaches up, laying his hand over yours and pushes where his release is. It hisses.
He then holds your wrist. "Wait." He let's go and you take your hands away.
Softly, "Whenever you're ready Din."
He nods. He puts his hands at each side and slowly pulls up, revealing his chapped lips. His beard is long and a little grizzled, you're surprised it didn't stick out from the helmet. He keeps going, you stifle your gasp when he lifts it higher over his eyes. You see bruising and raw skin below them, where it fits tight on his cheekbones. His hair in knots and mats as it flops out, greasy and flat to his head. The skin of his forehead is raw and irritated. You know the functions of his helmet and while they can be worn for long periods, a few days, never ever this long. It's too heavy, seals too tightly and needs maintenance. He sets it in his lap.
Tears are silently falling down your cheeks, you taste one on your lip as you gaze into his sad eyes. The capillaries on the left are broken, red surrounds his beautiful brown iris.
You reach out and hover your fingers over it, "What happened to your eye?" Din recoils. You pull away.
"I don't know, I haven't seen it," His voice is quiet and tinged with embarrassment. "You're crying. It must be bad," He huffs a nervous laugh. Giving you a hint of his smile.
You hastily wipe your tears, not realizing how many you had shed, "No…nah, it's, well. It's not good. It looks painful. Are you in physical pain?"
"No.".
You don't believe him. "I have some good quality bacta gel and spray."
You leave him and grab a chair from your kitchen and place it at the sink. You hear Din standing, removing the rest of his armor. In the fresher you open your cabinets and get out your first aid kit and wire basket of grooming supplies. Your shaving foam, razor, good scissors and even hair clippers an ex left behind years ago. You walk back and lay everything on the table. You pour two tumblers of brown liquor laying them next to the supplies.
Din's armor, jetpack and cape are now in a pile on your living room floor. He remains in nothing but his musty flight suit. You reach out.
"What are you doing?" He looks at your hand confused.
"An act of grace, come on," You stretch your fingers and beckon. "Stop me if it gets to be too much."
He takes it and nods hesitantly. You feel the connection all this time later. You want to shiver from his touch. His hands are rough and warm. You have him here, finally. In the kitchen, with the lightest touch you press his shoulder and he sits. Again you guide him, he tilts his head back over your sink and you rest a towel under his neck. He shifts his shoulders, he's uncomfortable but you continue.
You wet a cloth with warm water and gently wipe his face. His eyes are closed as you wipe over his long lashes, resting it on his forehead and then his cheeks. You rinse and press the cloth over again, even paying attention to his ears. You carefully apply the bacta to his bruised chapped face and lips. You turn on the faucet and use a cup to rinse his hair. He hisses in pain when your hand is at the back of his head. You move his hair and see a red, raw patch beneath it from the friction of his helmet for days and days on end.
The long mats and tangles loosen but don't come out. Gently, you scrub him clean. You rinse and do it again. Din's eyes are closed and while you massage the suds in you see a series of tears escape the corner of his eye. His face is relaxed, except when you see a twitch of discomfort. It takes time, and ultimately, he needs to shower as well but this is a start. He is still rigid and reluctant.
You rinse and squeeze the moisture out with a towel. You sigh, he opens his eyes and darts them away when you give him a caring smile. You pay it no mind. Your voice stalls, and a whisper comes out, "Up."
You shift the chair so you can stand behind him now. He sits back down. You find the patch of raw skin at the back of his head and soothe it with a bacta spray. You're both silent, and while the room is absent of words, there is still an exchange happening. Every touch tells Din he's safe and every wince from him tells you he's in existential agony. You want nothing more than to stop his entropy and stand still with him as long as it takes.
You stand in front of him and dab on more bacta before holding a small hand mirror in front of his face. He freezes, transfixed on the man reflected, he doesn't recognize him. Din pulls at his eye, looking at the broken capillaries. The bacta is working quickly, his skin already calmer. His fingers fold over yours as he pushes the mirror away. He's seen enough. He looks at the tools on the table and the drinks. He reaches over and takes one. You follow and take the other, clinking your cup against his before you sip, it burns a little going down. He throws his back without flinching. You take his glass and set them both on the table, exchanging them for the scissors.
"Can you make me look different?" He finally speaks, filling every crevice of your being with his deep voice.
"Different how?" You put your hand under his chin and tilt his head so he's looking at you, exhausted and desperate.
He falters as he confesses, "Like a, a different person, not how I am now or how I was before," His eyes fall to the clippers and back to you.
You exhale, pulling one long curl down over his face and wrapping it around your finger. You nod yes in a matter of fact way.
His hair is long, past his nose, it's soft in parts, brittle in others, impossibly tangled where his helmet fits closest. Beautiful, if it wasn't completely ruined by his own self abandonment. His beard is almost patchier than it was before, his mustache covers his top lip. He's currently a marvel, in the way a flood or a fire is.
He's careful and only moves when you touch him. Leaning in front of him, you cut away the long whiskers before you lather his face in a soothing foam. He swallows and keeps his eyes shut tight. You're nervous as you swipe up his neck and over his jaw, worried you're somehow hurting him. Like the sharp blade of your razor is stinging his skin from the contact alone. He's so warm, heat radiates off him and charges the space between you.
"Are you okay? Does it hurt?" You pause looking at him as his gaze still avoids yours.
As if the words are trapped coming out, pushing through his psyche before reaching his lips, he whispers, "Not at all." You notice one hand is gripping the side of his pants while the other is balled into a fist.
He closes his eyes again, letting you finish, revealing the perfect bow of his top lip and the wonderful angle of his jaw. Gently you wipe away the foam and whiskers. You run your hands over his smooth face before he suddenly grabs your wrists as he leans forward. His grip is strong but careful. He rests his forehead on your stomach. You're frozen as he buries his face in you. You feel him break. He releases your wrists and grips the cloth of your shirt on either side of your waist. His weight tugs and stretches the fabric. His body trembles as hot breaths flow through the thin garment. He barely makes a noise, just quiet moans of misery into your body.
You let him shatter the pieces of himself on your kitchen floor. You'll gladly pick them up. You'll measure and catalog each fragment before you put it back in place so you'll remember where they go in case he ever breaks again. His tears soak through your clothing as you hold him to you. You stand amongst his ruins as a pillar. He releases a sigh that comes from somewhere deep, it escapes as a gust. He settles his sobs as you circle your hand on his back. Feeling his sinewy muscles under his flight suit.
"I'm sorry," He sniffles and mutters into you.
Your voice is tender, "Don't be. Please. Don't be."
Reaching over, you grab the scissors from the table. His forehead is still resting against you. You gather the worst tangles at the crown of his head and cut them away, dropping the long matted pieces to the floor. Din watches them fall and picks one up, rolling it in-between his fingers. He lets go of you for a moment, his shoulders have slumped in defeat. You mess with his hair more and see that the bacta spray has already worked on his scalp.
He pulls you into him again, laying his head against you he closes his eyes and sighs. His battered and neglected visage improved quickly by the miracle medicine. The overhead light casts a sort of halo over you both in the quiet room. His weight rests on you, you find your footing so you can help hold him up.
His interlude with his sorrow seems to have broken down a wall. He doesn't even realize how his hand is caressing your curves nor his fingers kneading at your back. His touch is filled with a desperate longing. He doesn't need words to tell you he hasn't been held with any amount of meaningful care in a very long time.
You exchange the scissors for the clippers and turn them on as you pull the hair at the nape of his neck up. Din hears them and combined with the sensation of you holding his hair, fills his body with a shiver you can feel.
It comes in waves and ripples into you, you absorb the turbulence of his reaction like a seawall. He grips you and mumbles into the flesh of your stomach something that sounds like a prayer. He breathes heavily again with trepidation. You lay your hand on his back and feel his lungs expand as he grapples with controlling his breathing. You told him to tell you if it was too much. He answers you before you can ask, "I'm okay, go ahead with it." He mutters into your stomach, his whole body quakes again, in a way that is utterly surreal of the Mandalorian.
Setting the clippers at the base of his neck you drag them up. The cold durasteel blades touch his skin. He gasps loud enough for you to hear and grips you tighter. The long waves at the nape of his neck fall feather light over your hand to the floor, tickling as they do. Virtually nothing left in their wake. Din squeezes his eyes shut and clenches his jaw against you.
You pull away, "Does it hurt? I can stop."
"No. I'm fine. Keep going, please." He says as his face is still buried in you. Din sighs and turns his head. A little less scared, a little less overwhelmed. You card your fingers through his hair until they get stuck in tangles. Holding it back off his face you swipe over his ear and then again over his temple.
You pause to watch his face as more of him is revealed. He looks at the long hair on the floor and reaches up, rubbing the minuscule fuzz. His expression serene, like he's finally found home. He looks up at you as his lips curve into a hint of a tender grin. He glides both hands up your thighs. You sway your body as he holds your hips and pushes you further away to see you better. His panic is replaced with passivity.
His big brown eyes look you up and down, with an affirmation of his desire. His fingers dig into you and you feel your body warm up. You use your leg to push his knees apart. You position yourself on one of his thighs. You clear your throat but say nothing. You don't balance delicately, you sit firmly on his strong thigh muscle. An ache grows. You push the long wavy hair back off his face, so you can see the path you make as you glide the clippers back. With each swipe Din relaxes, his fingertips find themselves dragging slowly up the side of your leg.
The clippers tickle his scalp. He's channeling his sensory overload into controlling his desire for you. But you run your fingers through his hair again and he struggles. Din stares through the hair that's fallen in front of his eyes at your neck, imagining the taste of your skin there. He's never shaved his head. He doesn't really care if it suits him if it means getting to start over and turning his lap into your throne. He wishes he was better with words. Right now he can't muster any that adequately express how much he doesn't deserve your grace or your time or your acceptance. His limbs feel light and cold out of his armor. Your considerate touch feels like a blessing. He breathes in your smell and suddenly his mind is quiet and the only thing he hears is you, the creak of the chair and the hum of a tool that's renewing him. Din bites his lip as he suddenly feels his scar from the explosion at the cantina exposed to the air. He feels naked, raw, yet glorious.
You pause and run your finger along the thick scar tissue. Before continuing. Din drags his hand up and holds your waist high, under your breasts and speaks in a language you don't know.
"Cin Vhetin." He breathes the words out, like a mantra being chanted.
You don't interrupt him as he says the words again. What started as an experiment in mercy and grace towards the fallen warrior has turned into a test for both of you. You rock your body against his as you tilt his head sharply to the other side. You're less gentle now. You move with more urgency, more hair falls and Din's body gets a chill as he can feel the cool air of the space more than before.
He has a mess of long curls left on top of his head. Din tilts his head back and closes his eyes. You hold back the last bit of hair in your fingers, gripping it, you look at his face and his strong, thick neck. You lean in to kiss his throat but stop yourself. Your nose drags along his jaw as you change your mind. Din feels your hot breath on his throat and lifts his foot, pressing his thigh into you. You squeeze tight as you refocus. He lets out a moan as you cut away the rest of his rich brown locks.
Hunks of hair have fallen in-between you both. Piles of it on the floor and pieces hanging off his shoulders. Din rubs the meat of your thighs as you push his head around, dragging the clippers over, making sure it's even and clean. You flick them off and reach over, setting them on the table.
His eye is still red but he's almost healed already. You hold his face as he looks back at you. No long whiskers, his messy, romantic curls are all gone. What's left is a smooth face and hair reduced to light brown fuzz with many flecks of gray. His scalp is visible beneath it, revealing several scars at the nape of his neck and one near the back of his head behind his ear. Despite his big sincere eyes, he could maybe be mistaken now for a cruel man, someone heartless. It's a serious look, hard and lacks imagination. He looks so different from the images of him you filed away before he left.
You sigh as you wipe little hairs from his face. He flinches and crinkles his nose. You rub both your hands over his head as he keeps his eyes closed. It makes your fingers tingle. He no longer backs away from your touch. He now leans into each one.
Din moans, "Does it look as good as that feels?" He asks, relishing your touch.
The dull ache in-between your legs is still there and you worry if you look at him straight on you'll devour him whole. But still, you hold his jaw and pull his face to look at you. His eyes meet yours and you clench. Without a word you practically jump up from his lap. His brows draw together curiously as he tilts his head.
His face is still beautiful. His aquiline nose is perfect, with a faint scar on the bridge. His jaw is chiseled, his cheekbones high, his brow is strong and his eyes are impossibly innocent and deep, with expressive lines etched around them. His bottom lip is pouty, his mouth is perfect for kissing. His hair, although hardly any remains, is still thick on his head. Your intensity grows each second you take him in. You hand him the mirror.
Din looks disappointed, confused even, before he looks in the mirror. He reaches up and rubs his hair and then his face. His expression turns to surprise as he views himself. He's silent.
"Well, you look like someone else," You say, inhaling as you brush off your lap, looking everywhere but at him, lest you turn feral.
He gives a wry smile, showing off the lines you love, it fades quickly into seriousness, "I do. It's perfect." He looks one more time before setting the mirror down and rubbing his head. He watches you avoiding his eye contact. "Mesh'la, if you don't find me…attractive like this, that's–"
With that accusation you move fast to cradle each side of his face, "Din. I liked you before I ever saw this face-" your thumbs rub his cheeks"–or that hair." You nod to the piles of it on the floor. You stand in between his legs, "You happen to be the most handsome man that's ever given me the time of day." He raises his eyebrows as you press your lips to his.
He freezes as you hold your mouth to his. He lets out a breath, you swallow it and feel his lips lock onto yours. He pulls you against him as you balance on his lap now. Exchanging slow small kisses that build deeper as the inexperienced kisser takes your lead. The way his hands move over your body, it's clear kissing is the only lesson he needs and he's a fast learner. It's everything you hoped for, soft, delicate, passionate. You begin to press harder to him.
Din stops kissing you. His forehead resting on yours, "Vor entye par te cin vhetin." He fiddles with the hem of your shirt as he speaks in Mando'a.
"What does that mean, Cin Vhetin?"
"It means you've given me a fresh start." He kisses your cheek tenderly, "Mesh'la?" He raises one eyebrow.
"Yeah?"
"I really could use a shower."
You tilt your head and sigh, scratching your fingers over his head. You crawl off of him but his hands linger on you as you do.
He walks to the fresher, his gait still has his swagger. It wasn't the armor that made him that big, he really is just that broad. Hair and whiskers tumble off him. In the fresher doorway he undoes his flight suit. In full view of you he peels it off and pushes it down, stepping out. His back to you. He's thinner, but still strong. A very large purple bruise can be seen under one arm, lots of old and new scars on his warm skin. The most surprising thing is the tattoos. In the center of his back in black ink, a mythosaur skull, several inches long. On his right shoulder is a large red Mudhorn, the same design as his signet. He looks tough, and with the extreme haircut, he looks dangerous.
The shattered broken man you held in your arms is whole again. He lamented, pulling from your very being the mercy he denied himself for weeks on end.
"Maker, help me," You say out loud, unconsciously.
Din looks over his shoulder back at you, "And what is a God going to help you with that I can't?" He looks away and pulls off his briefs, bare assed heading straight into your shower. You gulp.
He turns it on and you watch him. The water pours and flows over every dip and curve in his body. He closes his eyes and holds his head under the water, it runs off his shorn head quickly. You watch him take your rag and scrub the dirt away. He has one arm lifted, scrubbing his armpit when he finally looks at you, he stares with a smoulder. His perfect member is practically ready for you. His deep voice echoes in the fresher chamber. "Well, are you going to just keep standing there or join me? I could use some more of that grace Mesh'la."
The movie was hella cute and fun, had my gripes with it but enjoyed myself despite them, and these sillies were everything, I love how there were parts with 0 human faces at times xP. Rotta and Grogu were such a fun duo 😭 and of course Din and Grogu are everything.
Grogu will always be his little baby. I cried when little G took care of his Dad 🥹 #themandalorianandgrogu #grogu #dindjarin #fanart #procreate #starwars #themandalorian #mando
I don't have words to say really for how insane I feel right now. If you have been a Mando fan from from the first season, second even...and read the fics, written the fics. You guys, we had like 4 screenshots and then one magazine cover to go off of!
You just had to be there. SEVEN YEARS!
And now he's just out there looking the hottest he's ever possibly looked, wearing the suit FOR FUN!
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