Din Djarin/Mando/The Mandalorian: One Shots, Imagines, etc.

Like That

A/N: wow one day i'll stop being so frickin h0rny for jealous/protective mando but today is not that day (idk why i chose that gif but it's kinda funny)

Warnings: thigh touching/fingering depending on how you see it, possessive!Mando, alcohol, swearing, violence, blood

Word count: 1008

You're surprised by it. Mando just doesn't show affection in public, let alone anything as tender or showy as slinging his arm around your shoulder, resting it half on your shoulders, half on the booth. Fingers absently circling the rim of your glass of spotchka, you stare past Greef Karga as he rattles on about bounties, showing Mando a few pucks. You stifle a yawn and hide a smile. Gingerly, you lean your head on Mando's shoulder. The beskar of his pauldron is cold against your warm cheek, but the way his arm tightens around you makes up for it by far. Your head rises and falls slightly with Mando's breaths, and you feel yourself lulled into a warm state of comfort, your eyelids drooping shut.

And then his hand snakes onto your thigh.

You jolt, your head almost lifting off his shoulder, but his arm tightens around your shoulders and you're forced to relax into him again. The thumb of his leather glove strokes soothingly against the cloth of your trousers where it's stretched over your knee, and you sigh contentedly, assuming he's just doing it absently.

He stretches his large palm across the width of your thigh, squeezing, and you tense a little, but he lets go and smooths - no, drags - his fingers down your leg, towards your knee, in a somewhat soothing kind of gesture. You loosen up, scooting yourself a little closer to him across the booth, melding your side into his, the ridge of his beskar breastplate poking into you until he shifts so you're pressed against the smooth part, his ribs against yours. His fingers start massaging your thighs again, inching upwards, towards your hips and other regions, and, well...

You can't lie, you're enjoying it.

Enjoying it a bit too much.

Pulling back a little, noticing he allows this of you this time, you lift your head and look critically into his visor, narrowing your eyes quizically at him. His helmet is angled so that to Greef, he's got his full attention on the pucks, but from the way he minutely cocks his head when you turn towards him, you know his eyes are fixed on you. You can practically detect the smug smirk that's aimed at you from beneath the beskar.

Maybe, if he was anyone, anyone else, you'd assume he was just looking at you with a completely innocent motive, if that's possible of someone who's got a hand on your thigh. But from the sheer intensity of his gaze, you know exactly what he's doing. He's watching you to see exactly what movement of his fingers on your thigh makes you squirm. He's watching you to drink up every last twist of your face, to see the way your nose scrunches up in pleasure.

A slight, almost nice pain shoots through your thigh. You glance down sharply to see your flesh pinched between his index finger and thumb. He repeats the action, this time slightly harder, and your toes curl in your boots, your legs clamping around his hand of their own accord. And then, as if that wasn't embarassing enough, they decide to spring back open, just as fast.

He hums in approval, then dips his head towards you. 'Like that, mesh'la?'

You flush. You almost give up then, at the sound of that voice. You almost give up and just beg him to fuck you, right then and there, because, Maker help you, he just used the deadly mix of his touch and his voice on you, and if it isn't that, it's the terrible promise that they gift you that sends an ice cold shiver down your spine.

However, instead of spreading your legs further open, instead of letting him see the unashamed way your eyes roll back in your skull as his hands start moving again, inching higher with every second, you clench your jaw shut around any stray whines that might make their way out. Desperately, you scrabble at his forearm, eyes pleading as you gaze up at him, but his hand is already withdrawing as he scoops the pucks off the table with the other.

Greef bids you goodbye, and you nod curtly at him, far too aware how breathy and high your voice will be if you dare speak. Pushing yourself up onto your feet, you edge out of the booth, hoping your legs aren't shaking too visibly. You head to the door as Greef exchanges a few words more with Mando, eager to just get out and into the fresh air. A few guys perk up as you pass.

'Oy, pretty!' One calls, louder than necessary, making a grab at you. You skitter out of his reach, throwing him an icy glare.

'Not interested.'

'Aww, come on, I'm sure I'll make you happier than that  hunk of metal!'

Fingers wrap possessively around your shoulder, and you turn around to face Mando as he takes a single, threatening step forward, not even bothering to drop his hand onto his blaster, instead curling his hands into fists.

'Sorry?' He asks. 'What did you say?'

The man blanches, but holds his ground. 'I said, I'd make your girl here a lot happier than you - '

Mando's fists collides solidly with the man's nose. He reels away, clutching his face, blood sluicing from between his fingers. Your partner is quiet as he lifts a hand to the small of your back and leads you outside. The pieces click together in your head - he was aware of the men at the bar ogling at you, and he'd decided to let them know that you're his, so he did it in the only way he could think of - making it clear that he's the only one allowed to touch you.

'I could have done that myself,' you say, glancing up at him. 'But, it's okay. It was kind of hot.'

'What?' He asks with a quiet, blood warming chuckle. 'Me bashing his face in and breaking his nose?'

'Something like that,' you reply, flashing him a grin.