#mando fluff

[guess-my-next-obsession]

Not sure if you’d be into this butttt with the little cabin that Din just received - could we get like a glimpse of domestic life with din, reader, grogu, annndd maybe another kid or a kid on the way? Smut is welcome! But also it doesn’t have to have it

Ok hope you like the idea love you bye 😂

The Cabin

pairing: din djarin x f!reader

rating: F (one mildly steamy line of dialogue but besides that just some domestic fluff)

wc: <1k

din masterlist

The days of sneaking glimpses of The Mandalorian when he’d come to the school you taught at to drop off and pick his son up were long gone by now, but standing on the porch of Din’s cabin that he insisted was now your cabin, you couldn’t help but stare.

Din was in the yard, sparring with Grogu to keep his apprentice’s skills sharp.

There wasn’t even a sliver of skin exposed, and yet he still looked like the sexiest man you’d ever seen. It was in the way he moved, the way he taught, the way he spoke to his child like every child wanted to be spoken to. He was just so…competent. A competent fighter, though he preferred to keep that side of himself far from you. A competent father, his devotion to Grogu running as deeply as his devotion to his Creed, perhaps even deeper. And Maker knows you can’t forget his competency as a lover—his skillful hands, his neediness, his attentiveness, his desire to make you feel good, it all made you feel drunk with adoration and lust.

“That’s enough for the day,” he announced through labored breathing, the child’s use of the force making the fight nearly fair. “You did good, kid.”

“You both did well,” you added from the porch, watching as Grogu leapt across the lawn towards you until you were bending down to pick him up. “Especially you.”

“He’s getting good,” Din said, meeting the two of you on the porch. “He’s a better fighter than most adults.”

“Well, he’s your son, after all,” you replied, looking into the black of Din’s visor. Din tilted his helmet at you, something you’d slowly learned to read as a smile, and reached to pinch your chin with his gloved hand. “Lunch is ready. You must be starving, little guy.” Grogu chirped and cooed in confirmation, his wide eyed look of excitement never failing to bring a smile to your face. Looking to Din, you lifted your hand to scratch his chin from beneath his helmet. “You hungry?”

“Starving,” he replied, low and husky.

“I’m talking about food,” you laughed and turned around to walk into the house with Grogu on your hip. Din let out the slightest of chuckles and followed you inside, the door closing behind him.

“Food sounds nice too, cyar’ika.”

Later on in the evening, you found yourself sitting beside Din on the bench in front of the cabin, the lid of his helmet lifted as he sipped on a drink. Your head rested on his shoulder, his armor off, and watched Grogu chase a frog around the yard.

“How’s the little one treating you today?” Din asked, his voice unmodulated and clearer than normal. You smiled down at your just-now swelling stomach and ran a hand over it.

“Treating me okay,” you answered. “Likes to kick when you talk.”

“Really?” he huffed a chuckle. “I’m not sure that’s a good thing.”

“I think it is,” you looked at him with a smile. “They’re just excited to meet their dad.”

“I’m excited to meet them, too,” he replied, soft and sincere, as though he were on the verge of tears. Turning back to face his child as he used the force to freeze the frog he’d been playing with and hover it back into his waiting hands, Din let out another chuckle.

“What’s so funny?” you asked, smiling.

“I just never…” He paused, looking back to you before closing the lid of his helmet, his voice becoming modulated again. “Just never thought I’d have all this.”

•

•

•

•

•

•

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal fluff #din djarin fluff #din djarin fic #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din dijarin fanfiction #din dijarin x reader #mando #mando fanfiction #mando x reader #mando fluff #mando x you #mando fic #the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandolorian x reader

[deakyjoe]

Stormy Skies

Pairing: Din Djarin x Reader (no pronouns used I think)

Category: friends to lovers

Summary: Din breaks you out of an Imperial prison (loosely based on chapter 15).

Warnings: angst, fluff, touched-starved Din, helmet is off, prison, nasty guards, restraints, bad men, talks of death, separation, loose implication of what bad men can do, pet names (cyar’ika), canon-divergence (I guess??), when I say loosely based I mean very loosely based

Word count: 5.5k

A/N: Sad, brown-eyed, pathetic love of my life. (He's not pathetic but I’ll make him pathetic.) Din is slightly out of character but only because he's head over heels in love and feeling all soft and squishy inside about it. He's also a little insecure. Poor guy. It's purposefully ambiguous about how long reader has been imprisoned, so guess however long you'd like.

Consider buying me a coffee :)

It took three weeks, four days, sixteen hours and twenty two minutes before you realised that the inside of this Imperial prison would be the only thing you saw for the foreseeable future. The three walls and one row of bars now being your home. After that you resigned yourself to the idea that you'd be there forever so you stopped counting the days, the weeks, the... months? You didn't know how long you'd been there and you didn't want to know how long either.

All you knew is that you wanted to leave. Not because you were scared of death or scared of never seeing the outside world again. But because you missed two very important people in your life. The big, scary Mandalorian who had hired you just under a year ago as his mechanic and his strange green son who had weird superpowers who you sometimes babysat. The both of them meant the world to you and the idea of never seeing them again hurt you. You feared for the child's life as he had also been taken at the same time as you but had been imprisoned elsewhere, probably to be experimented on. And you feared for the state of your Mandalorian who would be lost without his kid.

"Food."

The announcement made your stomach lurch as it knocked you out of your thoughts. A small plate, with a pile of something in the middle, was pushed into your cell - probably the most unappealing thing in the galaxy but your only source of nutrition. Your mind strayed to nicer things as you desperately tried to ignore the revolting taste.

You thought of days spent in the Razor Crest, your Mandalorian's ship, as the three of you travelled from planet to planet in order for bounties to be collected. The memories of attempting to teach the child to speak some words in Basic but only getting baby babbling in response, it didn't matter as his eyes always shone as if he knew what you were saying to him.

You ached for your clan of three to be reunited, but realistically you knew that was unlikely. If anything, you just wanted Grogu to be safe. Back with Din and safe. And there was no place safer for him than under the care of Din Djarin.

A guard walking into your cell had you scrambling back against the wall as he took your plate from you and laughed, slightly muffled by his helmet. He kicked at the chain bound around your feet and walked out again, locking the bars behind him.

He was your least favourite of everyone who served in your section of the prison. He didn't seem to like you very much, and wasn't afraid to show it. You feared that one day he'd use the power he had over you to do something awful. So, for now, you tried to play as nice as possible with him.

The sound of low chattering caught your attention, the unmistakable noise of Stormtrooper armour bashing against itself making its way down the corridor. Plastic against plastic made an unbearable racket. You looked up to peek through the bars of your cell and crawled towards the sound, hoping that they weren't coming for you. If you could guess from the sound of them alone, you'd say there were about three or four of them. Definitely more than two and probably less than five.

Your assumption was proven correct when three Troopers turned the corner at the end of the hallway. One was clearly in charge, leading the other two. You thought his name was... you didn't know actually. And you didn't care either. But he was their superior. But the other two... They were low ranking officers, obvious by their uniform and the way they looked around as if they'd never seen the inside of a prison before. Maybe it was their first day on the job? Boy, were they in for a surprise.

The bald one seemed vaguely familiar, although he looked like pretty much any other guy in the galaxy so you didn't dwell on it too much. The other one, however, held no resemblance to anyone you'd ever seen before. He had sad eyes.  That was the first thing you noticed about him. Sad, brown eyes. Along with a strong nose that matched his face. Golden skin. And messy hair along with unkempt facial hair. Very un-Trooperish. You wondered how he managed to get away with it. He was rather beautiful to look at. You pushed the thought away with a reminder of what he was - Empire.

As they got closer, you began to overhear their conversation. They were talking about some battle that had been fought a while ago, lots of soldiers lost. Baldy appeared mildly upset as he disclosed that some of his friends had died. Brown eyes wasn't listening and clearly searching for something. And he seemed to find it when his eyes landed on you.

He paused for the smallest fraction of a second before he carried on walking with the other two. He stared at you but you didn't back down, staring right back through the cell bars. You wouldn't let a Trooper intimidate you, especially not a new one. A sense of achievement hit you when he finally looked away, swallowing thickly and averting his gaze as far away from you as possible. He nudged the bald guy next to him with his elbow and tilted his head in your direction.

What the fuck did these guys want with you? You shivered at the thought, a million horrifying ideas running through your brain. You relaxed slightly when they disappeared around the next corner.

The rest of the day passed slowly, as they all did, and soon enough the lights were going out and all prisoners were warned to stay silent for the next few hours. You shifted to get your body in the most comfortable position possible, pretty difficult when you had chains restraining your limbs, and laid down, resting your head in the crook of your elbow.

You drifted off easily, the low drone of the power running through the walls and the floor lulling you to sleep. With nothing to do all day, zero access to natural light and limited portions of food you were tired all of the time. And the little energy you had was reserved for keeping your defences up when guards entered your cell on rare occasions.

Your dreams were full of Din and Grogu, as usual, and you often wondered during your conscious moments whether your brain was reminding you of happy moments to keep you sane or telling you what you'd had and what you'd lost as a way of punishing you.

What you didn't expect was to be awoken a short time later by your cell door being unlocked, the clanging of the metal shocking you out of your dreams. You sat up instantly, freezing when two looming figures walked in, whispering to each other in hushed tones.

The two Troopers from earlier.

You felt sick.

They were both wearing their helmets now and their heads snapped towards you when your chain scraped across the floor painfully. The broader one, who seemed to be leading the team of two, stalked towards you slowly.

"No, no, no, no!" You kicked at him as he went for your ankles trying, and failing, to fight him off. The breath spilling from your lungs was panicked as you failed to notice the other guy groaning and sticking his arms out to tell you to be quiet.

Your name came through the Trooper helmet in a familiar, reassuring voice. It was Din. Your Mandalorian. You'd never felt such a sense of relief race through your body as you relaxed underneath his touch.

"Mando?" You avoided using his real name around other people, as you'd agreed when he first told you. It was a small price for such a wonderful gift. His name. "You're here. You came for me?"

"Yes." He fumbled with your restraints, managing to get the ones off your ankles and moving to the ones on your wrists.

You looked at the other guy who had slipped his helmet off at some point. The bald guy. "Hang on. I saw you earlier. You walked through here with that guy in charge and-" Your eyes snapped back to Din. "That was you."

He was looking at you through the helmet, you could tell. "Come on, we don't have much time."

"B-but... you... your face." Your voice was weak, mind scrambling back to the memory of him. Brown eyes. Sad eyes. Messy hair. Unkempt facial hair. Strong nose. Golden skin. Beautiful.

He faltered. "I know. I did what had to be done."

"You broke your creed." You were almost crying. "To save me."

Hesitation. "Yes, of course. Come on."

The shackles finally fell from your wrists and you launched yourself at him, embracing him even if you were in a life or death situation.

"Thank you."

He seemed uncertain at the gesture as his arms slowly wrapped around your waist. "You don't have to thank me."

You pulled away quickly, not wanting to push it and make him uncomfortable. "Yes, I do." Looking back at the bald guy as you stood up, you squinted at him. "You're familiar."

"Mayfeld." He had a smirk on his face as he watched the interaction between you and Din, sticking out his hand in greeting but you ignored it. "You're welcome for this, by the way. I'm the main reason we're here right now saving you."

His name reminded you of who he was, a scowl settling over your face. "I appreciate it. But we're not out yet. They have people guarding everywhere. And I mean everywhere."

"It won't be a problem." Din's voice was low as he straightened up.

"How do you know so much about this place, hm?" Mayfeld asked you, stepping slightly closer.

"I may have attempted an escape... once or twice." You shrugged and kicked your restraints away from your feet. "That's why I was chained to the wall."

The two men were silent as they stared at you, Mayfeld looking surprised and Din's gaze burning into you despite being obscured by the helmet.

"I know their rotation schedules, how long of a gap there is between shift changes and which Troopers like me best so will leave the handcuffs a little looser." You looked between the two of them. "What? I had time to plan."

"And what have we got now?" Din questioned, glancing back at the open bars. "Anything scheduled to happen?"

You thought it over for a moment, glancing at the clock just outside of your cell. "Shift change in about six minutes. There will be a thirty-three second gap where the doors are unmanned."

"We can work with that." The Mandalorian replied, producing a pair of handcuffs from his back pocket.

A sick feeling settled in your stomach at the sight of them. "Ah, so I'm fake prisoner. Right?"

"In case we come across anyone." Mayfeld explained, a smug grin on his face. "Need to make it believable that we're moving you to a new cell."

With a nod, you looked back up to Din. "Be gentle, okay?"

"Of course, cyar'ika."

You sighed, storing away the nickname to ask about it later. "Where's Grogu?"

His fists clenched by his sides, the leather of his gloves squeaking. "They still have him."

Bile rose in your throat. "What?"

Why was he here if the child was still missing?

"Maker, why are you here?" You asked him, pushing at his shoulder. "You need to save him!"

"I'm here to save you." He was already bored with you again, you could tell by the lack of emotion in his voice. Maybe he was regretting saving you.

"I could have waited! Grogu's a baby!" You cried, worry settling in your stomach at the thought of your poor, poor Grogu possibly being tortured and experimented on whilst you were swooning over Din rescuing you.

"They had information on the kid's location here as well." The Mandalorian offered.

That made more sense. "Ah, so it wasn't just to save me."

"I would've come for you even if they had nothing on him." He sounded annoyed now, frustrated at your questioning.

"Grogu's priority." You turned to Mayfeld. "Why did you let him come here when the child is still missing?"

His hands raised in surrender. "Hey! Don't turn this on me!"

"Be more grateful." Din stated as he walked towards you and turned you around, pulling your hands behind your back to secure them in place with the cuffs. "I could have left you here forever."

You didn't want to admit out loud that what he had just suggested was your worst fear and something you truly believed until he'd showed up. A part of you thought you'd be there for the rest of your life. But you couldn't tell him that. So you offered a weak joke.

"You know what they say... third time's the charm. I'm sure my next attempt at an escape would have worked." The cuffs clicked into place and you tried not to focus on the feeling of being restrained again. You'd spent too long like this, and here you were about to escape and you were back in the same position. It was almost funny.

Din could sense your unease and placed a gloved hand on the small of your back in reassurance.

"Let's go." Mayfeld chimed and marched out of the cell in front of the two of you.

You swallowed the lump in your throat and followed behind, Din's hands locked around yours to make sure the restraints didn't pull too harshly. Weaving in and out of corridors was dangerous, especially with the guards constantly patrolling. Unfortunately, it didn't take long before you bumped into a couple of them.

"Halt!" They shouted, raising their weapons to the three of you. "What are you doing with prisoner five six one?"

There was probably too long of a pause between the question and the answer that was finally given, setting off the initial seed of suspicion.

Mayfeld stepped in with his sly smile. "We were instructed to move the prisoner to a new cell."

The two guards bowed their heads together, mumbling a quick debate. Your hands twitched with nerves behind your back and you felt the Mandalorian trace a thumb over them in comfort. It somewhat worked.

"We'll need you to come with us to confirm." One of them said, straightening up and re-aiming his blaster right at you.

"I'm sorry, cyar'ika." Din grumbled with a sigh behind you before there was a slight squeeze on the side of your neck and you were out.

When you awoke you were surrounded by the sounds of a humming engine and the whirring of the inside of a ship. You jolted up and almost hit your head on the top of the bunk you'd been placed in.

Wait. A bunk?

You looked around you rapidly to suddenly realise that you weren’t just in any bed. You were in Din’s bed. On the Razor Crest.

You jumped out of it and stumbled once you landed on your feet, leaning on the wall for support.

“Woah, woah! Slow down, take it easy.” A modulated voice appeared behind you as strong arms wrapped around your torso to keep you steady.

“I’m fine, I’m fine.” You slurred, still slightly groggy from being unconscious. “How long was I out?”

“A few hours.” Din replied, letting you turn to look at him. He was back in his Beskar armour, looking as shiny as ever. The sight of him made you smile.

“You knocked me out!” You cried but there wasn’t an ounce of real anguish in your voice. In fact, it was rather playful.

He didn’t seem to pick up on that. “It was necessary.”

You waved your hand at him, showing you weren’t really bothered by that. So you approached the subject you were really affected by. “You saved me.”

“Yes.” His voice was a gentle rasp as he spoke the singular word. He was never much of a talker. But you hung on to every word.

“Why?”

“What do you mean why?”

“You removed your helmet to save me.” You frowned at him, like you were annoyed at him for breaking his creed.

Another rasp. “Yes.”

“But-“

“But what?”

You laughed like it was obvious. "I don't understand why. I'm just me."

"And it's just a creed."

Your head reared back. "Just a creed?"

"Just you?" He answered back, imitating your tone and inflection.

"That's- Din, it's your life. Being a Mandalorian is everything to you.” You cried, hands waving in emphasis. “Why would you risk that? For me?"

His head tilted to the side in his usual expression of emotion. Or lack of. "This is the Way."

"No.” You snapped. “The Way is not showing your face under any circumstances. And you- you showed your face!"

"To save you."

"Yes!"

The helmet tilted even further. "What part do you not understand?"

"I'm not worth it." You said, hands wringing together in front of you. And you truly believed what you were saying.

"What?"

"Why would you do that for me?"

"I'd do anything for you."

Your mouth snapped shut, the protest you had prepared dying in your throat.

"You and the kid. I'd tear apart this galaxy for the both of you. You're... you're part of my clan."

A part of you wished he'd left you in that prison. If he'd done that then your head wouldn't be spinning and you wouldn't be overwhelmed with emotions at what he was throwing at you in that moment. His clan. You were a member of his clan.

"Din..."

His name was soft from your lips and he sighed slowly at the sound.

"The only way to explain is-" He cut himself off and inhaled, taking a step closer to you. Placing his hand under your chin, he tilted your head up to face him and lowered his helmet so your foreheads rested together. The cold of his armour sent shivers down your spine. Although it might have also been caused by the action of what he was doing, what he was saying.

Din had explained this to you before when you'd asked about affection between the people of Mandalore. It was a way for Mandalorians to kiss without having to show their faces. It was... intimate, to say the least.

Your eyes fluttered shut when the reality of what he was telling you dawned. "Din..."

Another soft whisper of his name had him sighing again.

Unfortunately, he took it the wrong way and pulled back. "You don't have to- The kid and you are important to me. That's... that's what you need to know. About why- why I did this."

You shook your head and smiled at him, hooking your hand around the back of his neck and tugging him down towards you again so your foreheads touched. "And I was willing to die in that prison to keep you and the child safe."

"They... they were planning to kill you?"

"I kept refusing to teach them how to get the kid to use his wizard baby powers. And I wouldn't tell them where you were either. Or how to contact you."

"What did they need me for?"

"See you as a threat. Or to use me as bait. I'm not sure which. Maybe both."

"It would've worked. You as bait. If I didn't already know where you were, of course."

"Of course." You grinned at him and hoped he was smiling back. You tended to guess what his facial expressions were, normally hoping that he was returning whatever you gave him but usually settling on the fact that he was probably bored and his face would show it. "I missed you."

"I missed you too, cyar'ika."

Your stomach flipped at the Mando'a. "What does that mean?"

"It's Mando'a."

"I guessed that. I'm asking for a translation." You rolled your eyes, finally pulling back from the Mandalorian kiss to look at him properly again. "I hope it's something nice."

You could tell he was smiling when he said his next words. They were hesitant, but tender. "It means darling or sweetheart. A term of endearment."

"Oh... that's- that is nice." Mentally berating yourself, you bit on your lower lip to hold back an excited giggle. Nice? There were so many words that were better than nice. "I don't have anything like that where I'm from. If I did I'd-"

He cut you off with a hand cupping your cheek. "I know, cyar'ika. I know."

There was a moment of silence as the two of you just looked at each other. It was broken when Din sighed suddenly and dropped his hand from your cheek.

"I never wanted you to see my face that way."

Oh.

"Din, I-" You cut yourself off to contemplate your words. "I'm sorry that you had to reveal your face. And that I saw. If I'd known... I wouldn't have stared at you."

"No, I didn't mean it like that." He exhaled loudly. "Do you remember? What I look like?"

The memory of his face flashed in your mind. Of course you remembered. Every single detail. And you'd probably secretly treasure it for the rest of your life.

"Yes..."

His head dropped for a second, helmet aimed at the floor, before it suddenly shot back up to meet your gaze. "And?"

"And what?" Having no idea what he was asking of you, your brows scrunched together.

He was so close now that you were sure you'd be able to hear his breathing even without the modulator. "Was I- was I a disappointment?"

"What?" Disbelief ran through you. How could this wonderful, gorgeous man ever be a disappointment? With or without the helmet obscuring his face he had always been and would always be perfect to you.

"Well, you must have had some... some image of what I'd look like in your head."

You immediately disagreed with him. "No, never."

"Don't lie. It's okay. You can tell me."

"I'm not lying. And I am telling you."

"Cyar'ika..."

Your heart did somersaults in your chest. "No, I never conjured up some fantasy of what you'd look like. Because this here-" You gestured at the whole of him, hand waving up and down his body. "-is my Din. This is you to me. Why would I ever warp who you truly are for some made up version?"

"You must've been curious."

You shrugged. "Maybe at the beginning. But who you are on the inside is all that has ever mattered to me."

"So what did you think when you saw my face?"

Your eyes snapped away from his on instinct, embarrassment crawling through you as you recalled your immediate thoughts of him. Thoughts you'd pushed away at the time because you thought he was a Trooper. Thoughts that had resurfaced when you found out that it was really him.

"Oh, no thoughts." Your voice was weak, barely coming out as more than a squeak. It was clear you were lying. "Just that you were a man..."

"Cyar'ika..."

A flush racked through you at the use of the term of endearment. He knew how to make you weak in the knees, how to make you break, you were sure of it.

"Calling me that isn't fair."

"Don't avoid the question." His head tilted to the side. "Tell me. What did you think?"

Unsure at how he'd turned from insecure, sweet Din to a version of Din that had you swooning, you shook your head at him. "I told you. No thoughts."

"And I can tell you're lying. Look at me." He placed his fingers under your chin to angle you to face him. "Tell me."

You started with a small truth. "Your eyes were sadder than I thought they'd be."

He seemed slightly taken aback by that but didn't hesitate too much in answering. "I was scared I'd lost you."

"But I thought you said you didn't know they were planning on killing me?"

"It was always a possibility." He shrugged. "We were getting towards the end of the cells when I saw you. I was... getting nervous. Thought maybe they'd transferred you somewhere else and I'd never find you. Couldn't live with that idea."

If it were possible, you softened even more under his touch. "But you did find me. And I'm here. Safe. Because of you."

"Hmm." He just hummed in agreement, shifting his hand so it moved to cup your jaw instead. "What else?"

You huffed, hoping you'd got out of the line of questioning about your opinions on his appearance. Whilst having openly admitted a whole spout of feelings for each other, you weren't quite ready to declare how absolutely breathtaking he was.

"Don't make me say it."

"Say what, cyar'ika? Hm? I'm just asking."

You leaned into his touch, the warmth from his palm along with the sound of the Mando'a pet name set off a spark within you. When his gloved thumb swooped over your cheek gently you were sure that your brain short circuited.

"You're beautiful, Din."

The statement was breathless but held certainty in it. The Mandalorian didn't reply, too shocked by your confession. He honestly hadn't been expecting you to be so open. And to say that of all things.

So you kept going. "It was never going to matter to me what you looked like underneath the Beskar. Because who you are as a person is the only important thing. But I have to admit that I thought you were gorgeous when you walked past my cell. And then I immediately felt guilty because I thought you were a Trooper." Your head dipped in shame for a moment. "You are beautiful, Din Djarin. Inside and out."

He still said nothing, hands just lifting to the bottom of his helmet.

When you heard the hiss of the seal, your hands slapped across your eyes. "Ah! What are you doing?"

"Taking off my helmet. What are you doing?" He sounded amused.

"Covering my eyes so I don't see obviously." You scoffed and scrunched your eyes beneath your palms.

"Cyar'ika, you've already seen my face."

"So? I might have remembered details wrong."

"Thought you said I was beautiful?"

You huffed, not liking how he was turning that against you. "I did but revealing your identity is a big no-no, Din! That's what the Way says, right?"

"Right." He was holding back laughter.

"Exactly! Doesn't matter if I've seen you before. Might not remember you completely correctly." You remembered him completely correctly. "So we cannot risk you revealing yourself a whole other time."

The way you were so respectful of his creed, no matter how ridiculous you were being at that moment with your hands pressed tightly over your eyes, had Din tingling inside.

"I don't think it's a risk if you've seen me before and you're a part of my clan, hm?"

You grumbled something underneath your breath. "I can't argue with you on Mandalorian culture because you're the expert. But I feel as if you're finding loopholes here."

"Perhaps. Just look."

The sound of his helmet hissing and the dull clang of it hitting the floor had you hesitating before slowly peeling your hands away from your face.

He was exactly how you remembered.

Every line, every scar, every eyelash, every inch of skin, the deep brown of his eyes, the angle of his nose, the unruly tufts of curls atop his head and the uneven patches of facial hair peppered across his jaw and down his neck. This was your Din Djarin. Stood in front of you, everything exposed and exactly how you remembered him. Exactly how you wanted him. Perfect. The whole of him was perfect.

With a stifled sigh of relief, you reached out your hands to cup his face, hesitating for a moment when you realised he might hate that. "Can I?"

He nodded, his eyes looking sad yet hopeful - an improvement from the last time you saw them.

Your palms settled on his cheeks, thumbs swiping over his cheeks and across his bristly stubble. A smile broke across your face when his eyelids closed and he leaned in your touch.

"Oh, Din..." Tears sprang to your eyes yet you couldn't exactly explain why, the flood of emotions was overwhelming.

"Cyar'ika..." He breathed against the skin of your wrist, turning slightly in your grasp to plant his lips against your palm.

You took a step closer to him, encouraging him to duck down and rest his forehead against yours. A Mandalorian kiss, stripped of the barrier between the two of you. He let out a shaky sigh as you made contact, his hair tickling your brow.

"When was the last time someone touched you? Skin on skin?" You needed to know, he was acting like he'd never felt the warmth of physical contact before.

He hummed lowly in his chest as he thought about it, eyes shut tight in contemplation. "My parents, I think."

Your heart ached for him. It had been decades. You wanted more, to give him more, but worried that it might be too much too fast. But you yearned to touch him, to show him how good it could be.

Broken out of your thoughts by a rustling noise between the two of you, you glanced down without breaking away from him to see that he was removing his leather gloves and throwing them to the floor beside you.

You stared at his hands, scars littering both the palms and the backs. You'd never wanted someone to touch you with their hands more.

Din appeared to have the same thought as he hovered them over your sides, fists clenching open and closed. "Can I?"

"Can you what, hm?" You wanted- no needed him to say it, to be as clear as possible between you.

"Touch you. Can I touch you please?" His eyes were still closed but you could see he was restless behind his lids, almost worried even.

"Of course you can."

You expected him to just place his hands on your hips or waist, which he did technically. What you didn't expect was for him to slide his hands underneath the hem of your shirt and place them directly onto your skin, squeezing slightly when he made contact.

You hummed contently in acknowledgement to tell him that it was okay and stepped closer to him, your chest pressing up against the Beskar now.

“Can I kiss you?” The question was sudden, hushed, almost unsure.

You didn’t hesitate in tilting your head upwards and reassuring him of how much you wanted exactly that. “I’m so glad you asked.”

Then his lips were on yours, a relieved sigh exiting him and a content one leaving you.

You moved together in time, like you knew how the other worked and what they wanted. And maybe you did. Maybe you knew each so well, or knew that the other wanted the same thing you did. Din’s thumbs stroked gently at the skin of your waist and yours swiped over his cheeks, brushing away a stray tear that had fallen from his eyes. His sad, brown eyes. You hoped they’d be less sad in the future.

He broke away for a moment to mumble against your lips. "I was so scared I'd lost you."

You shook your head and kissed him again. "I thought I'd never see you again."

“I wouldn’t have left you there.” He promised, hands gripping you impossibly tighter. “There isn’t a single thing I wouldn’t have done to get you back.”

You just nodded at him, believing every word he was saying, and pulled him closer to kiss you again. The way his lips melded against yours and the way your tongues curled together had you convinced that this was meant to be. It was so utterly perfect that it felt as if the stars had written it centuries ago, always destined to happen.

“Cyar’ika…” He hummed to you when you both broke away again for some air.

As much as you wanted this moment to last forever, a thought suddenly re-entered your mind. “Grogu!”

“It’s okay. We know where he is and we’re on our way to get him back.” He smiled at your concern for the child, understanding it completely. He felt the same after all.

You nodded gently, relieved that the child would be back and safe soon enough. Then things really would be back to how they should be again. The three of you - you, your Mandalorian and your green child. Perfect.

A/N: this has been under works for agessss… hope you enjoyed!

#din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin #din djarin my beloved #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian #mando x reader #mando x you #mando #the mandalorian fanfiction #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin fluff #mando fanfiction #the mandalorian fluff #mando fluff #pedro pascal #ej’s writing #deakyjoe’s writing #ej’s fics #deakyjoe’s fics

[thepascalofus]

Supply Run - Return (part two)

AO3

PART ONE

Supply Run - Exchange (part three)

Pairing: Mando/Din Djarin x afab!Reader

Word Count: 8.0k

Summary: You’ve been Mando’s crew partner for a year now. Throughout that year Mando has warmed up to you and given you signs that your heart throbbing crush on him is reciprocated. There’s one thing making you hesitate. The condoms he bought on the most recent supply run.

Chapter Summary: While Mando takes a trip to the market and gets what he needs, he ponders your relationship and what it means to him.

Content Warnings: MDNI, 18+ only! Switching POVs, post season 2, the Crest lives, strangers to friends to lovers, mentions of Grogu, soft!Mando, insecure!Mando (a smidge), helmet loopholes, pining, idiots in love, jealous!reader, sad!reader for a little, mentions of sex work (sex work is work!), eventual SMUT (making out, grinding, f!receiving fingering, f!receiving oral sex, p in v, PRAISE kink, dirty talk), FLUFF, cuddling, happy ending guaranteed!

A/N: Thank you all so much for the responses on the first part! This is my first fic that I've ever shared and it makes me so happy that other people enjoy my writing! Enjoy!

Mando handed his scope off to you in the worn down store. Wallpaper peeled from the ancient wooden planks of the walls. Cobwebs littered the untouched areas of the store. The work stations in the back, visible from the pick up counter at the front, were in complete disarray. Several projects started, but not finished. Several projects finished, but not retrieved.

You took the scope in your hand and twisted it in your hands until your gaze landed on the name of the manufacturer and the serial number. Your eyebrows shot up once the brand of the scope was revealed, it twisted in your hands once more. Hands raising the metal tube so it was level with your eyes, you looked into the scope. 

“Ah! I know what it is!”

Mando watched in confusion as you ran to a workstation and grabbed a singular tool. How did you know what was wrong so quickly? He sat in the hull of the Crest for hours attempting to fix the scope. The motions of taking the scope apart and putting it back together were etched into his brain from the number of times he did so. 

You returned to the front of the store with the tool in hand. “This manufacturer has been having these issues lately. They built their magnification system like no one else, but they didn’t seem to account for the need to recalibrate the scope every once in a while. Recalibrating too often causes the lenses to misalign.” 

Mando calibrated his every day. He had to. It was part of his job. A miscalibration could be the difference between a two hour hunt and a twelve hour hunt.

Your face twisted in concentration as you inserted the tool into the side of the scope. Jostling the metal, it popped open and allowed access to the inside. “For some reason they put these weird pins in…” You trailed off while you removed a total of three thin metal pins. Once the pins were removed, you clicked the top of the scope back into place and handed it to Mando.

Mando previously took the scope apart countless times. He never noticed any pins.

“Twenty credits, please.” You said with a smile. Your gaze met his–you somehow found it through his black visor–and you maintained eye contact.

The display on the inside of Mando’s helmet only progressed seven minutes after he entered the store. Inside of his helmet his eyebrows shot up. He was impressed. Not only with your efficiency, but with the reasonable price as well.

“I’m impressed.” He stated. Nodding at you, he retrieved a few credits from his utility belt and set them on the paint chipped counter. He turned and walked a few paces and then stopped in front of the door.

He’s been looking for a crew mate for weeks. The potential candidates he’s stumbled across were either annoying, rude, or incompetent. Throughout his time as a bounty hunter he’s been to countless repair shops. The service was always lack-luster, prices were too high, repair time much too long. 

Sure, he just met you eight minutes ago, but you had potential. He turned on his heel and faced you. Armor glinted in the low lighting of the run down shop. 

“Are you in the market for a new job?”

–

Walking to the market, he’d been reflecting on his decision to bring you onto the Crest as a crew partner.

It was the best decision he ever made, besides saving Grogu from the Empire.

You were intelligent. Friendly. Resourceful. Efficient. Brave.

You stared a Mandalorian straight in the eyes–well, visor–and didn’t even flinch. You didn’t even break eye contact, unlike everyone else. People would turn to whoever they’re with to avoid his gaze. They spoke like he wasn’t a meter or two away–and like he couldn’t amplify their voices with his helmet.

His tall, broad stance usually set everyone on edge. The heavy weight of beskar armor, a reminder of his skillset, didn’t aid in calming the nerves of anyone either. He was typically soft spoken around others, as he noticed people’s reactions when he spoke–eyes wide, speech stuttering, shaking hands–scared. 

Everyone was afraid of him.

Except you.

When you first boarded the Razor Crest, Mando was extremely careful in making sure you were comfortable. The majority of his days not hunting were spent in the cockpit or in his bunk. Whenever you crossed paths in the hull you offered him a small smile and quickly looked away. Did your bravery fade away?

He came back from a hunt one day, quarry in tow, and he was relieved to hear, “How was your day?” Fall from your lips once the bounty was in carbonite.

Still cautious–mindful of how the modulator made his voice sound–he kept his answers short and to the point.

“Fine.”

“Busy.”

“Awful.”

Hearing the four words you said after each return from a hunt, and being able to give you a response without you slinking away, made the hunts worth it.

One night always stood out in his mind. It was just like any other return from one of his hunts. Mando dragged the quarry up the Crest’s ramp by a cord tied around their ankles. He lifted the man to stand up, doing so effortlessly with a few grunts to spare. 

Your living space was in the hull, so he always tried to make the ends of his hunts fast. You didn’t have any choice but to watch. Mando didn’t want to make you watch for too long. Maker, he didn’t want you to watch at all.

His fist slammed the button to begin the freezing process. Breathing heavily, he stood and watched the bounty as they froze into the carbonite cell. A blanket of silence covered the hull once the hissing of the freezing mechanisms came to a stop.

“How was your day?”

There it is. His favorite part after the hunt. Knowing you were there, safe within the hull, and that you wanted to be friendly with him–even after witnessing him freeze a person he tracked down for several hours.

“Nothing you want to hear about,” he replied, his voice tinged with tiredness. The helmet’s modulator most likely didn’t register the sleep in his voice. Truly, he didn’t think that you would want to hear about it. The Mandalorian was afraid that hearing about his hunts would put you on edge. You already extended a branch of friendliness to him twice a day. He didn’t want to give that up by talking about the bounties he tracks down.

“Try me.”

Those words.

Those words have only ever been spoken to him by enemies. It always caused annoyance to wash over him, head to toe. He’s a Mandalorian. Confident of his skills in combat. No matter the odds, Mando knew he would like them.

But when those words tumbled from your lips, it was different. When his enemies weren’t scared of him, it was annoying. When you weren’t scared of him, adoration filled his body. And not adoration in a patronizing way, but adoration as a form of respect. 

It made him want you that much more.

Snapping out of his thoughts, Mando realized the crotch of his pants were tight. Nonchalantly, he clasped his hands together and rested them below his belt.

“Quarry tried to escape and they ran. Would have been back four hours ago,” the modulator gritted out. Again, he was conscious of how the modulator warped his voice. “Not too fun,” he added in an attempt to make the conversation more casual.

You were silent. He whispered a curse to himself under his helmet, one that he was certain wouldn’t be picked up by his modulator. Was his answer too much? Mando quickly became nervous and started to shift his weight from one foot to the other. The silence you left in the air made him a bit anxious.

The T shape of his visor peered over to you. You stood still in shock, reminiscent of the people that saw him in public. Before his thoughts could spiral too much, you replied, “Oh, I’m sorry.”

Dank farrik. He didn’t want you to feel like you had to comfort him. “You don’t have to be sorry,” his chest brushed against your shoulder as he swiftly hopped onto the first rung of the ladder up to the cockpit. “It’s my job.”

“That doesn’t mean it sucks any less,” you said. He smiled underneath his helmet at your consideration. Your eyes widened and your mouth opened and closed as you realized what you said, “sorry, I probably shouldn’t have said that your job sucks.”

You weren’t wrong. Making his way through tough terrain, relying on a blinking red light on a piece of metal to guide him. Finding them was a task in itself, but dragging them back to the Crest was the other half of his job that sucked. Mando looked over his shoulder at you and replied matter-of-factly, “My job does suck.”

A giggle bubbled out from your chest. Every once in a while you would be reading a funny article on your Holopad and your laughs would echo through the hull of the Crest, making their way up into the cockpit. He needed more of them. His silver helmet shook slightly from side to side and he turned back to climb the ladder. But not before he also let out a small chuckle.

If you were comfortable enough to stand up to him, and laugh at his awful attempts at jokes–after he just hauled a bounty onto the ship–Mando realized he was safe.

Not only were you safe with him. He felt safe with you, in more ways than one.

Kriff it. You extended a friendly attitude towards him–a faceless warrior covered in impenetrable armor–then he could extend a friendly attitude towards you as well.

You asked him about this day, both in the mornings and the evenings. He learned about what you like and didn’t like. One item stood out to him. Caf. He always entered into a cloud of caf scent when he sauntered into the hull in the mornings. Mando was usually up before you, so he figured he would start making you a cup every morning. Confident enough in knowing which kinds of caf you preferred, he would stock up on caf every supply run.

The Mandalorian got closer to you, both physically and emotionally. Sometimes he would catch his hands landing on your waist or your lower back when he passed you on the ship. You’d shoot him a small smile in response. The distance he kept from you only decreased. He wanted to see your smile more and more. 

One thing he didn’t see coming was your interest in Mando’a. He would mumble to himself in the ship while completing various tasks.

“What’s that word mean?” You’d occasionally ask. The Mandalorian would explain their meanings, sometimes struggling to translate the word to Basic.

He must have taught you at least two dozen words in Mando’a by now. Each time you asked you would give him your full attention. 

At night, if he amplified the sound with his helmet enough, he could hear you practicing the words and recalling their meanings. It motivated him to share more words with you.

–

All of these experiences have led to this day. He’s been planning it for a month or two now. 

He wants to ask you on a date. Nerves bubbled up from his stomach and throughout his body. They suddenly came to a halt. 

Not now. First, he needs to collect information on a quarry.

Lost in his thoughts, he looked up and the market filled his vision with you in his peripheral. It wasn’t too busy, part of the reason why he was comfortable enough for you to shop on your own. He clarified the meet up point to you and watched as you took off. You had a bounce in your step, probably due to your excitement at shopping alone. 

Once he meandered further into the market he began to collect information. This market was the bounty’s last location. Mando’s guess was that he either simply wanted to be in a small city, gambled their life savings away, or they paid for visit after visit with the workers at the brothel until they ran out of credits.

Only one way to find out. The gambling and brothels didn’t start up until later in the afternoon. To kill the time, and to possibly find the quarry, Mando wandered throughout the different sections of the market. 

He asked a few vendors about the bounty. Mando described the man to many market sellers and only got a slight lead from one woman donned in patterned fabrics. 

“I think he went that way,” the woman gestured with one of her hands towards an intersection, “Take the left path. I don’t know anything else beyond that.”

Mando dropped a few credits into her hand and gave her a polite nod, “Thank you.” He continued on and curved his gait to take the left path. From the signs and general merchandise displayed on each stall, he knew he was entering the clothing section of the market.

The helmet covering his head swiveled from left to right and right to left. No one matched the description of his quarry. Repeating his previous process, he made his way down the stall-lined alley and asked a couple different vendors.

Once the last vendor finished talking, and provided him with another lead, he dug his hand into his pocket and slid the credits on the stall’s counter towards them. Turning his back towards the vendor, his feet carried him two steps back into the market.

Then he saw you.

You stood hunched over a table of colorful bracelets. Tapping his fingers to the temple of his helmet, Mando zoomed in and the helmet displayed your face to him, deep in thought. Looking down, you were hovering your hands over a grid of various green bracelets. 

You stopped on one. Mostly brown, almost too much to be in the green section, Mando thought. Nonetheless, the green and silver streaks peeked in and out of the thick threads of brown that made up the bracelet. Your fingers sorted through the sizes of the bracelet and selected one that looked close to your size. 

Clutching it in one hand, the other hand searched for another of the same bracelet. It was larger than the previous size. You set the smaller bracelet down and tested the strings. The bracelet was adjustable, and you smiled at the discovery.

You transferred the bracelets onto the table of the stall and used one hand to dig into your pockets. Palm held out flat, Mando guessed that about twenty credits sat in your palm. He followed your gaze to the sign listing the prices.

PRICES

1 bracelet = 15 credits

2 = 30 credits

3 = 45 credits

4 = 60 credits

Shoulders falling, you dropped the credits back into your pocket and returned the bracelets to their original spot in the grid of green. Ground crunched beneath your shoes as you turned and continued wandering through the market.

Mando noted it was the third stall to the left of the bright green stall on the left side of the alley.

Not wanting you to realize he saw you, the Mandalorian walked in the opposite direction you took. After twenty minutes he noticed that the stalls became much more strange than the stalls in the clothing section of the market. Peering at the different products for sale, he saw a potions shop offering “super strength elixir” and a vendor selling various pet-like creatures. A few more vendors passed his peripheral vision as he continued his strides. They came to a stop once a building larger than the surrounding stalls came into view.

His helmet tilted upwards to read the sign displayed front and center on the large building: BROTHEL.

Tapping the side of his helmet, the time on the helmet’s display indicated that the brothel and gambling scenes had just begun. Mando tapped the temple of his helmet once again and the warm bodies within the building lit up, like he had x-ray vision. He counted a dozen in total. One body stood in the same spot inside near an entryway–the bouncer, Mando thought.

The bouncer was the individual that allowed access in and out of the building. If their memory was decent, they would be like a living guest book. Mando figured he could bribe them to reveal information, which was his usual plan with most of the beings he spoke with.

He sauntered over to the side of the building the bouncer was standing at. A singular light flickered over the side door, the sun was still out, so Mando was confused why it was on. The beskar helmet observed the side door.

Metal. Double deadbolts. Keypad on the left side. Small slit at eye level–neck level for the Mandalorian.

As soon as he crouched down to look near the slit, it slid open and revealed a thick pair of black eyebrows. Black eyes bore into the brow of Mando’s helmet, as the bouncer couldn’t seem to find his eyes. 

“Do you have an appointment?” The bouncer asked. The voice behind the door was gruff, as if the words had to crawl from the depths of his throat. 

“No,” Mando responded.

Black eyes blinked and then disappeared when the bouncer closed the metal slit. 

Mando was taken aback and furrowed his brow. His fist pounded on the door. He just wanted this hunt to be over with. He wanted to get back to you.

The slit in the door revealed two black eyes once more.

“I have credits and will pay you if you give me information on a client your establishment may have served.” Mando’s modulator gritted out loudly. Straight and to the point. All business. 

Eyes disappeared again, but were then accompanied with the sounds of the deadbolts unlocking. The metal door swung open to reveal a man dressed in all black with a silver name tag. Black hair matched the rest of his ensemble. 

Still holding the door, the bouncer asked, “What’s the bounty look like?”

An eyebrow raised inside Mando’s helmet, but he figured the bouncer knew the drill by now. Even other bounty hunters knew that brothels were what many bounties visited. A gloved hand unbuttoned a pocket on his belt and retrieved a bounty puck. Clicking the side of it, the puck displayed the quarry. 

The man stepped out of the doorway and onto the pavement, pulling the door closed behind him. His black eyes slightly squinted when his gaze trailed up and down the hologram.

“Ah yeah, I’ve seen this guy. He has a type, always goes for the blondes.” 

“Does he have any upcoming appointments?” Mando questioned.

The bouncer sighed in thought and pulled a small notepad from his pocket. Mando mirrored the man’s motion and produced a pen and notepad from his pocket. 

“The guy has an appointment in two days. He just asked to see a blonde. Figures.” The man shrugged and opened his notepad. Mando noticed it was a planner, and the bouncer flipped to the pages for the appointments two days from today.

“Which workers would take him as a client?” Mando’s modulator churned the words. His pen clicked as he readied himself to write.

The man donned in black made a fist with one hand and raised a finger with each name, “Ari. Taima. And Nomi. They would be in rooms one, five, or seven.”

Wow, Mando thought, this guy really knew the drill. He quickly finished up writing down the names and room numbers of each worker. The pen scratched feverishly against the cream colored paper, leaving behind black strokes to form letters and numbers. Notepad folding closed and the pen clicking, signifying the end of his notes, Mando returned the pen and paper to their place in his pocket. His opposing hand reached into a different pocket and produced a sizable amount of credits. Feeling generous, thankful that this hunt was going to be quick, he compensated the bouncer handsomely.

First task done. Second task on the horizon.

Creaking produced from the hinges of the metal door as the bouncer disappeared behind it once more. Flickering light gleamed off the beskar armor that protected the Mandalorian in combat. Although he wasn’t going into combat, because he wouldn’t be nervous if he was. 

Mando trained most of his life with the greatest warriors in the galaxy. Combat flowed through his blood easily. It was a part of him. 

But he was never trained on how to ask people out on dates.

On top of that, he was never trained on how to ask you out on a date.

He didn’t want to misread the situation. You could just be friendly. Who would want to date a man and not know what he looks like? Who would want to constantly live on a ship, without a permanent home? 

Being Mando, he prepared for the worst. If you said no, he figured that you would be uncomfortable living with the man who asked you out on a date. Knowing that he’s attracted to you. He would fly wherever you wanted and give you some credits to get started. Kriff, he’d send credits for however long it takes for you to get on your feet. Then he’d leave you alone. 

Admittedly, the Mandalorian would probably keep an eye on you to make sure you were safe. You just wouldn’t know he’s there.

But if you said yes.

Mando’s chest bloomed with anticipation. Firework-like tingles trailed up and down his limbs at the thought. He bit his lip within the confines of his helmet when he realized his pants had gotten tighter. Thankfully he was a Mandalorian, because heat washed over his face, half due to arousal and the other half in embarrassment.

The brown eyes underneath the helmet widened. If he wanted to do more with you and you agreed, he didn’t have protection.

Turning on his heel, cape whipping behind him, he made a quick pace back to the brothel.

Once he arrived at the gray building, the light at the side of the building having more of a purpose, Mando glided towards the same door as before. Bringing a fist up to the metal, he knocked three times.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Clink. Shhhkt.

“Do you sell condoms?” the modulator quickly blurted.

All business.

—

He arrived at the meet up point before you. Leaning against a nearby tree, Mando checked the time constantly, as if he was devoted to the action more than his Creed. If you were late, he always went looking. 

Thankfully, you trudged up to the food stall on time with a hefty bag full of purchases. Fine, brown gravel grinded against the soles of Mando’s shoes as he made his way over to you. His gloved hand slipped the bag from your grasp and the pair of you began walking back to the Crest.

Both of you carried on with your normal post-supply run routines. You and Mando, but this time just Mando, piled the purchases from the market onto the hull’s floor. From there, the items could be sorted through and put in their respective places around the Crest.

As Mando finished unloading the large bag of purchases, he quickly dug around for the receipts. He knew how much you liked to review the shopping haul each time a supply run was completed. Mando enjoyed seeing the satisfaction wash over your face after you read over the receipts.

But this time was different. You froze once you got to the last receipt.

Mando’s helmet tilted in confusion. He took a few steps closer towards you, “What’s wrong? Did we forget something?”

You remained still while your eyes darted over the lines on the receipt. With your back turned to him, Mando found the opportunity to zoom in on the ink printed on the flimsy paper.

ITEMS PURCHASED (1)

CONDOM - 12 PACK

Oh. Fuck. FUCK.

He hasn’t even asked you on a date yet and now you probably already think he’s a perv. Nerves took over his body as you continued to stand still.

Your hand quickly crushed the receipts and threw them in the trash, “Nope! The last receipt didn’t look familiar but,” you trailed off slightly but recovered, “I remembered what I bought from the place.” A nervous laugh–obviously fake, Mando knew what your real one sounded like–escaped from your lips.

He fucked it up. You knew he was interested in you like that. And you didn’t feel the same. He hasn’t even asked you on the date yet. It’s all screwed up now.

But he also felt like he didn’t have enough evidence. What if you did like him but the idea of…needing to use the condoms…made you nervous.

Mando had to at least try. The least he had to do was ask you.

He cleared his throat and grabbed the bag off of the floor. You stood away from him, biting the inside of your cheek, nervously watching his movements. 

“I’m going to go to the night market,” he informed you, “I have some business with a bounty I need to take care of.” 

The bounty wouldn’t be captured until two days from now. In reality, he was really going to go and purchase snacks, takeout, and a pair of those bracelets you admired. It would have been suspicious if he met you back at the meet up point with bags full of snacks. The beskar man figured it would be best to hold off on buying them until later, and tell you he was getting a bounty, so you wouldn’t catch on.

He should’ve waited for this second trip to buy the condoms, he thought.

–

Mando left to, “Go to the night market,” he said. You saw the condom listed on the market receipts, you knew where he went tonight. What he’s going to do. 

The brothels.

Yeah, sure, he’s paying a worker to give him a service. No feelings attached. But you didn’t want him to be with anyone else. Was Mando necessarily yours? No. Have you ever had sex with him? Also no.

That didn’t stop you from getting jealous.

And it wasn’t just jealousy. It was fear. What if he fell in love with one of them? Or what if he was going on dates? He could have a romantic interest you don’t even know about. Next thing you know, they’re going steady and you’re kicked off the ship. Or worse, you have to watch him love someone that isn’t you.

No more silence with him in the cockpit, watching as the hyperspace lights soar past the windshield. Feet tapping down the ladder as you both began your nighttime routines. He’d wait in the hull near the door of the fresher in just his helmet, undershirt, sleep pants, and socks. As he lifted off the wall from his leaning stance he’d ask you, “Are you done?” Holding his own hands in front of him, trying to seem relaxed, as if he was trying to look less intimidating. “Yeah,” you’d quickly respond, leaving the fresher and brushing past him. Sometimes his hand found your waist as he passed, or the small of your back. “Thank you,” he’d grunt gently as he closed the fresher door. 

No more of Mando letting out a small, “Good night,” before lingering on your closing eyes and watching as your lips smiled, forming your response, “Good night.” 

Falling asleep, you knew you’d wake up to him. He would be up before you on most days, leaving you a fresh cup of caf and your favorite ration pack (when he had them). The short chatter between you two, going over the logistics of the next hunt, telling stories from your past, or just thinking out loud to each other. Gone.

You would be banished from home.

The fear struck your chest. Heat searing through your ribcage and meeting your spine, the visions repeated over and over in your head. Tears fell like waterfalls from your eyes. Most streams connected underneath your chin and trailed down your neck. Your back met the hull’s wall as you sank down onto the floor. Deep breaths. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Your head was heavy and numb.

Just breathe. You knew you weren’t going to die. Go through some heartbreak? Maybe, but you knew you’d be alive. It helped. Your breath slowed and the fear dissipated into the air around you. That didn’t stop the flow of tears down your cheeks as your eyes were fixed on the closed ramp.

–

Mando’s footsteps set a steady pace back to the market.

Crunch. Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.

He displayed a map of the marketplace as an overlay on the display of his helmet. Mando usually reserved this practice for combat to aid in determining exit strategies and the best plan of attack.

But now he was using it to calculate the most efficient route throughout the marketplace in order to see you again sooner. 

Closing the overlay from the helmet’s display, he was met with the sight of the market. Long strings of lights decorated the different stalls. Many vendors took advantage of the dark and used different, bright combinations to reel in customers. Some lights were multicolored. Some flashing. Some huge and some small. He thought of the “ooh”s, and, “ahh”s that you would let out at the brilliant display.

The Mandalorian started in the food section of the market. Carefully examining which vendors carried your favorite snacks, he made purchase after purchase in quick succession. His helmet remained on a swivel, scanning the stalls from right to left and left to right. 

A stall offering your favorite kind of takeout came into view.

Once Mando arrived at the stall he ordered two takeout meals. The vendor looked startled and confused as he ordered. They shakily accepted the credits for the two meals. Gazes drifted away from Mando and quickly returned as he stood waiting for the meals to be prepared. A bell rang and he retrieved two warm containers, placing them in his bag alongside the snacks.

One last stop. The bracelets.

Marching through the food district, he came upon an intersection at which the left path led him to the clothing district. Yet again, his helmet pivoted on his neck from one side to another. 

The third stall to the left of the bright green stall on the left side of the alley.

Mando continued his steady pace until the bright green stall came into view. The brightness of the exterior paint was exaggerated by the warm light emitted by lanterns, which decorated the outside of the shop. He didn’t notice before but the store sold children’s clothes. Onesies. Small shoes. Tiny hats.

A small tunic. Small enough for a human child younger than one year old. The tunic reminded him of Grogu’s. Mando’s bare hands brushed against the material countless times as he cradled The Child in his arms.

The last time he spoke about Grogu was with you. You listened and offered support. He’s never had anyone do that for him.

His visor turned to his left. The soft fairy lights of the stall reflected off of the beskar helmet on his head. As if the beskar reflected a dark sky decorated with bright stars. Various fabrics hung from the side of the vendor’s stall to cover the old wooden planks. Little accessories were placed throughout the shop on different tables and displays. 

Mando wasn’t focused on those items, he was focused on the long table of bracelets organized by color. His feet carried him to the green section. The helmet turned downwards to allow him to observe the selection. 

Shit.

There were so many bracelets similar to the pair you held, just all in different combinations of green, silver, and brown. Was it the bracelet with the large green cord and the small silver and brown threads? Or the one with the large silver cord and green and brown threads? Or thick brown cord with streaks of green and silver? His hands hovered over the options, doing his best to recall the details from earlier in the day.

“It’s this one,” a woman’s voice said.

A bit startled, the Mandalorian looked up and found a woman standing on the other side of the table. She wore long robes with intricate patterns. Jewelry decorated every limb and part of her body, like jewels were dripping down from her skin from a storm of gemstones. Hair cascaded around her shoulders and down her back. Her smile was kind and her gaze met Mando at his eyebrow.

A good try, he thought.

“I’m sorry?” He replies. She couldn’t possibly know which bracelet he was trying to find.

“You were watching them earlier. From across the street,” she let out faint exhales as she let out a short laugh, “Maybe you should hide a little better next time.” 

She reached out and picked two bracelets out of the display grid. “I remember the sizes too,” she said, “The person you watched held onto them for so long, they seemed pretty attached to them. I kept track of which bracelets they were just in case.” The robed woman shot him a friendly wink.

“In case of what?” Mando questioned. He was still in shock that the woman noticed him staring at you from across the street. 

The woman glanced up at him like that was a dumb question, “In case you came back to get them, Mandalorian. This isn’t my first day on the job.”

It saved him the time and stress of trying to remember which one it was, so he shrugged and watched the woman’s jewelry dangle as she typed onto the register. 

Beep. Beep. Beep beep. Ching.

“Okay sir, twenty credits please!” The woman extended her hand out and waited for Mando to place credits into her palm. She was met with the tilting of the black T shape on Mando’s beskar helmet. 

“I thought the price was thirty,” he stated as he began to reach into his pockets to retrieve his credits.

The woman let out another small laugh, “Oh, I suppose I should have made the sign larger,” her decorated fingers pointed to a small sign above the one that displays the bracelet prices.

$10 OFF WHEN YOU BUY TWO OR MORE

Mando’s shoulders dip in realization that you could’ve bought the bracelets in the first place. A sigh escapes his modulator and he hands the credits over to the intricately robed vendor. The credits clink into her palm, and then into the register.

He waits silently for her to package them up in a small bag. 

“They like you, you know,” the woman mentions, “No one like them would be deciding on which bracelets to buy for that long if they didn’t.” She paused as she was about to place the larger of the two into the small bag, “And look at the size of this one! It’s definitely for you.” 

The Mandalorian nods, “I appreciate that,” he pauses before turning away, “let’s hope they do.”

–

Mando sets a faster pace back to the Crest than the one he took from the Crest to the market. He’s impatient, he can’t wait to walk up the ramp and see your body curled up, comfortable and safe, while you sleep soundly in your bed–if you can even call it that, he thought. You usually went to bed early when he went on hunts, otherwise you would be awake talking to him.

Slipping the bag from his shoulder, an ungloved hand rummaged through the contents searching for a small bag. His fingers found the familiar texture and he pulled it out from between the snacks and the takeout. 

Mando slung the bag back over his shoulder, pulled the larger of the two bracelets out of the small bag, and slipped his hand through the ring of brown, silver, and green. Grabbing one of the ends with his fingers and pinning it to his palm, the other hand tightened the bracelet to a comfortable size around his wrist.

Once the small bag was returned to its place inside of the larger one, Mando peered around him to get a good look of his surroundings. 

The sun was about to set, leaving only a sliver of light available to provide dim light to the landscape. Rocks littered the ground. Shadows from each one making them appear larger in the light of the impending dusk. He reached up and tapped a finger to the temple of his helmet. No living thing was around him.

He paused and set the bag on the ground. Doing one last scan of the area, one of his hands gripped the chin of his helmet and lifted the beskar from his head. The hand held the helmet at his side while he marveled at his wrist.

He caught a good patch of remaining light and watched as the green and silver threads gleamed against the thick brown ones. The bracelet was beautiful. Not only because of the design, but because you picked it out. And it was for him.

Becoming paranoid, the Mandalorian quickly slipped his helmet back onto his head. He waited for the seal of the helmet to engage before continuing back towards the Crest. This time, at an even faster pace.

–

You sat there until you heard heavy footsteps approaching from outside, the hydraulics of the ramp coming to life. Thinking fast, you stood up and made your way towards the fresher to start your nighttime routine.

“Why are you still awake?” Mando’s voice was confused. He stood in front at the top of the ramp with his helmet tilted, hands resting on his hips, but his shoulders were slumped, a bag slung around one. He looked…worried.

Mando was right. Usually when he went on hunts you went to bed early. Nowadays the only thing that kept you awake was him. Talking with him was how you spent most evenings on the Crest, your voices echoed and bounced back to each other in the hull.

He’s used to seeing you curled up on the sleeping pad covered in blankets. Soft breaths came from your body and radiated throughout the Crest. Just like a minute ago, his footsteps would come up the ramp with his bounty in tow. Soft grunts could be heard kitty-corner from your spot in the hull. A hiss of mechanisms as they froze the bounty in carbonite. Then a bit of silence. 

The absence of the carbonite freezing stood out in your mind. No bounty, even when he said he was going to go and find one. Your eyes teared up slightly again as the realization truly set in. Mando really did go to the brothel.

You just wanted this night to be like any other night he came back to the Crest with a bounty.

After the bounty was frozen, heavy footsteps made their way across the floor of the hull. But they always stopped a few paces away from your bed, halting for a moment. Mando would complete his nightly routine. Setting the Crest’s coordinates for the next planet and showering in the fresher if he needed to–he usually did.

No matter what the events of his nightly routine were, it always ended with him standing in the doorway of his bunk–the sound of his footsteps always stopped partially inside.

“Good night, cyar'ika.”

You didn’t know what the Mando’a meant, since Mando never used that word around you, but you knew that the, “good night,” was all you needed to finally fall asleep.

You always waited up for him, only until reasonable hours of the night, of course, but he didn’t know it.

The sound of his footsteps in the present snapped you out of your hazy state. Crying really does a number on your brain.

“Just…couldn’t fall asleep,” you offered him a small smile as you pulled some products out of the tiny fresher cabinet. You wet your face and applied a small amount onto your fingertips, tapping them together for both hands to have the product. As you lifted your face and your hands to the mirror to begin washing your face, you were met with swollen lips, puffy eyes, and slight tear trails dried onto your face, despite the water you just splashed onto it. You froze.

There goes any of your chances to get away with how you spent your night. Staying up late staring at the Crest’s ramp. Waiting for Mando to come home. At least what you thought was home.

“What’s wrong?” Mando’s voice got clearer as he approached the fresher door. His strides long, footsteps clunking, as he removed his leather gloves and tucked the pair into his utility belt.

You went to turn away from him but he got there faster than you could. His ungloved hand rested on your shoulder, grip slow yet firm as he turned you to face him. He rubbed tiny circles onto your skin with his thumb once his eyes beneath the helmet noticed yours.

Your reflection on the silver beskar of his helmet stared back at you. Could you even get away with a lie at this point? What else would have made you cry? It’s not exactly like you could have said the truth either.

Oh yeah, I was sitting here having a panic attack as you participated in a perfectly normal service that is offered on this planet. Then I spiraled and thought about how you might not even want me to be here, that you’ll find another partner to be on this ship with you, and toss me away like none of this meant anything to you.

Mando’s hand waved in front of your face and it brought you back into the present moment. “Did someone come onto the ship while I was gone?” His voice gritted out from the helmet’s modulator. 

“Maker, no,” you huffed and tried to look less suspicious, hoping he’ll just drop the topic.

“Then what is it?” He murmured, his modulator barely picking up his syllables. His wide shoulders took up most of the fresher’s door frame. The grip on your shoulder tightened slightly.

“It’s…I don’t think you’ll want to hear it.” You shrugged and repressed the heat of anxiety creeping down the back of your head. Turning to wash and dry your hands, you let out a sigh and started to walk towards the main open space of the hull. Your shoulder gently bumped him as you slid past his large frame in the doorway. 

Suddenly your hips were being snapped backwards and dragged back towards the fresher. His damn finger was in your belt loop again. 

He pulled you close to him, feeling the heat from his knuckle dig into your hip and spread throughout the rest of your body. His helmet leaned down to look you in the eye and tilted once again.

“Try me,” he paused. He brought his hand up to grip onto the valley where your neck meets your shoulder, slowly enough so you could back away if you so desired. His large palm and thick fingers were calloused and warm. The grip he had on you was still gentle, slightly squeezing. “You know you can tell me, right?”

You let a deep inhale permeate through your lungs. The words flowed through your individual cells. Thoughts of lying escaped your body with each breath. The debate inside your head would end. Whether he had those feelings for you or not.

“I got upset because you went to the brothel.” You told him. Lips trembling and eyes squinted open in an attempt to meet his gaze.

“The brothel?” He held both of your shoulders and brought his visor closer to your face. Thumbs rubbed your shoulders yet again. He sighed as your name left his lips and traveled through his helmet, “I didn’t go to a brothel tonight.” A titled T-shaped gaze met yours. You knew he was looking you in the eyes, and yours into his.

Brows furrowed, you sniffled slightly, “I-, I saw that condoms were on the market receipts.” The thumbs on your shoulders stopped, his chest didn’t rise and fall. He froze. You made Mando freeze. 

“Look I know I’m just being dramatic and paying for that kind of thing is completely normal. I just,” you trailed off and thought of a quick replacement for your worry, “I was worried you would get hurt there.”

Mando’s shoulders fell and his helmet cocked to the side. “What?” He questioned. “How would I get hurt? None of the workers there had weapons.”

“How would you know that if you didn’t go?” You whispered to him. Your gaze left his and it dropped to the shape in the center of his chestplate. The crystal shape rose up and down slowly.

“I got information on a bounty there earlier,” he sounded like he was talking to a hurt animal. Gentle. Slow. Calm. “What's the actual reason you’re upset?” 

Kriff it.

“I had a panic attack because I thought you went to the brothel. Maybe you would like the worker there more than you like me, I spiraled and thought about how you might not even want me to be here, that you’ll find another partner to be on this ship with you,” your chest heaved and as you listed off your previous thoughts of worry. Your hands shook as they landed on top of Mando’s, and you took a deep breath, eyes meeting his gaze like before, “and toss me away like none of this meant anything to you.”

Mando is quick. He flipped his hands to grab one of yours and tugged you into the hull. Kneeling, he opened a cloth bag, one from the market, and dug into it to search for something. 

He actually went to the night market. You thought, now you look so clingy. So needy. He was just going to show you what he got to prove he went.

He turned and held his hand out. Sitting on top of the golden skin on his palm was a bracelet.

The bracelet from the market.

“I saw you looking at these, you looked for a long time and then put them down,” He stood up and set his gait to slow steps as he made his way over to you.

You laughed nervously, accompanied by a small sniffle, “Sorry yeah, I know I just should have been getting the stuff we needed. You didn’t have to go back and get it for-.” Mando raised a finger to halt your speech and continued what he was saying previously, “you put them down. You had two bracelets.”

“They had lots of them that I liked…I had two that were a tie and I just decided to get neither-.” Mando cut you off again.

“You were holding one bracelet consistently and then picked another in a bigger size,” you froze at his words. Dank farrik. Now he was going to think you’re super clingy. 

“I wasn't completely sure who you wanted to wear the bracelet, but I took a guess.” He pulled his long sleeve past his elbow and revealed his bare forearm. Strong. Capable. Solid. And a matching bracelet was donned on his wrist.

Your cheeks radiated with heat as he took your wrist and put your bracelet on you. His warm fingertips brushed the soft skin of your wrist, sending chills throughout your body at the meticulous skin-on-skin contact. 

Once the bracelet was secure around your wrist, Mando dipped his head and looked down at the floor. One of his hands gripped the underside of his helmet, and the other held onto your wrist. Your breath caught in your throat at the gesture. He quickly lifted his helmet to release his mouth, and he pressed three kisses on your wrist where the bracelet was. Mando’s lips were soft and timid, his hand caressing the skin on yours. Silver from his beskar helmet blocked your view, but Mando sealed his helmet and brought his eyes underneath the visor to look into yours.

“This means everything to me.”

Supply Run - Exchange (part three)

#pedro pascal #mando #the mandalorian #mando fic #din djarin #din djarin x f!reader #din djarin fluff #din djarin smut #din djarin fanfic #the mandalorian smut #the mandalorian fanfic #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #mando x reader #mando x you #supply run #thepascalofus #thepascalofus fic #mando fluff #mando smut #the mandalorian fanfiction

[angelltheninth]

Touch Starved Din Djarin Headcanons

Pairing: Din Djarin x Reader

Tags: fluff, developing relationship, cuddles, trust issues, kissing, injuries, soothing kisses

A/N: Best space dad is so bad at feelings and expressing what he needs.

Wants your touches, he wants them so bad but he just doesn't know how to ask for them, he's never been good at that

Sure there have been people that he's allowed to touch him, of course

But craving it? Needing it? Needing, no, wanting you close to him, for him to hold you, nuzzle against you, fall asleep with his head on your chest and your fingers running through his hair... that's all a novelty

His whole life he thought he would never be scared of anything, until he is confronted with these new feelings

When you touch his hand he tangles your fingers together

When you're walking he will walk very close to you, wrap his arm around your lower back if it's a new or a more shady area

Perks up when you walk up and wrap your arms around his shoulders while he's in the pilot seat

Studies your hand in comparison to his and how much rougher his is from the way he was raised and how he had lives, how much rougher... he is compared to you

Isn't ticklish but has a few weak spots that make his stomach fill with butterflies, most notably the nape of his neck and his jaw

Always leans into you, or backs up against you when you touch or kiss those spots, silently expressing his desires

Never asks for kisses from you, when things get heated they're heated, but otherwise he always waits for you to initate

Hates getting hurt in front of you, it hurts more to see that sad, scared, worried look in your eyes then it does to actually sustain the injury

Somehow your touch and kisses are even gentler when now, not those are almost ticklish, maybe if he wasn't in pain

It's harder to cuddle with you when he's injured, and do anything more of course, so if nothing else those are extra reasons for him to be more careful

That being said he kind of likes someone taking care of him, making him feel cared for

Loves to kiss your hands, neck and the tip of your nose

Whenever he can he will have you in his lap, or in some way have your body fully pressed against his

This is especially true in the morning when he walks up to you all sleepy and drapes his hands loosely on your hips, his front pressed to your back and his mouth seeking the marked area of your neck

#din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin fluff #din djarin imagine #star wars x reader #star wars x you #star wars fluff #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian fluff #the mandalorian imagine #star wars imagine #mando x reader #mando x you #mando fluff #mando imagine

[loquaciousferret]

Riduurok

Pairing: Din Djarin/ The Mandalorian x f!reader

Warnings: Descriptions of blood, injury, anxiety, mentions of death. No explicit content. Maybe more so please read at your own risk.

Word Count: 2.1K

Authors Note: Part 2 is already confirmed. Thank you to @lovers-liability and @tightjeansjavi for their help and encouragement with this. I hope you love it.

Thank you for reading! - LF

You knew something was wrong when the sun began to set. He had assured you he would have an easy hunt today and return long before dark. Your anxiety grew as each star made itself known in the night sky, each passing minute telling you he was in more and more danger.

After what felt like a lifetime of worry, the perimeter alarm sounded to announce someone’s approach to the ship. You hurried to check the cameras and your stomach dropped at the sight before you, Din, clearly very injured, limping towards the ship on shaky legs, clutching his neck.

You rush to open the doors and lower the ramp to take in the scene in more detail. His upper body is a painting of crimson on a hard beskar canvas. Smears of blood of a variety of shades littering his chest and shoulders.

You gasp, reaching out for him. “Din-“

Before you can continue or he can respond, he takes one more wobbly step towards you, and collapses.

You freeze in panic. Grogu cries out from the corner of the room, having leaped from his crib at the sight of his dad returning.

A strangled moan is emitted from Din's helmet. He's not unconscious, yet. But if you don't get to treat him or at least see the condition of his injury, it wouldn't be long before he was.

“Din?" You ask, adrenaline taking over, replacing your fear with an ability to take action. "Din, are you shot?"

“Jus' grazed my neck." He responds, his voice shaky and pained.

"You- Your-" You stutter. "Din, I- You have to remove your helmet. I w-"

"No." He growls.

"Din, I won't touch you. You can lift it yourself, I need to see the wound. I will treat it quickly and you can put it right back on to recover."

"I said, no. Leave me. Bring me a med pack and get out."

You consider his request for a brief moment. He seems in no condition to treat himself. He has already collapsed to the floor, and he lays against the cool metal, hardly able to support his weight on his forearms. You are sure he won't be able to treat himself without passing out. A cocktail of tortured moans and grunts spills from under his helmet.

"Din, you must let me do this. There is no other way."

Grogu continues to cry. He can see his dad is in pain. He can see you are too, pleading with him.

"Take him out of here," Din gasps, "Bring me a med pack, and leave me. That is not a request."

You whimper, terrified with both options, not sure whether to do as he asks or to defy him. After a moment, you give in, rushing to sweep Grogu into your arms and hurrying to Din's quarters to put the baby in the bed. You know you don't have long. You practically toss him onto the bed, "I'm sorry baby, your daddy will be fine, stay here."

You rip a med pack from the wall on the way back to where Din lies. What you see makes your heart stop. A pool of blood is growing around his helmet. He is no longer supporting his weight on his arms, instead he is completely collapsed to the floor, his helmet twisted at what looks to be a painful angle. Laboured, raspy, breaths sound from his helmet.

"Oh, Din." You gasp, dropping to your knees beside him.

He stretches out a hand to reach for the medpack, and you give him a syringe loaded with bacta. He drops it instantly when you place it in his outstretched palm, his hands shaking and weak.

You realise there is no way he will be able to administer his own treatment.

You plead with him again, "Din, please. Please, just let me do this. I will never tell a soul. I w-"

"Stop." He snaps. "I will not let you do this."

"Please, no." You are sobbing now, and he flexes his fingers, stroking your knee.

"Yes, and I am sorry. I am sorry. I really am. Tell me you will look after him."

"N-No, Din. I don't have to look after him. You aren't going anywhere." You argue, in disbelief at what he is suggesting.

"Tell me you will do it." He says, his voice barely above a whisper but somehow still commanding in its tone. "Give me your word, and it's the last thing I will ask of you."

"No." You cry, "Just let me take it off, Din, he needs you. I need you."

He breathes. "I am sorry, truly. But you must not touch my helmet. This is my fate, mesh'la. It is my duty to fulfil it. This is the way."

You start to panic, sobbing, you are confused, devastated, and more than anything, angry at him. You are downright furious that he thinks he can leave Grogu, that he thinks you two can go on without him. And next, you are angry at yourself, for begging him to abandon his beliefs for your own somewhat selfish desire of being with him.

Din has never told you much about his religion other than the basics. But you have picked up bits and pieces. You have heard stories from others, shared around crackling campfires, whispered under night skies from people who suspected what you and Din had, reassuring you that one day you would look into your lover's eyes. And you will, you remind yourself, as long as you can get him through this. Suddenly, you have the answer, and the words escape you before you can fully process the thought.

"Marry me."

"What?" You can't place his tone. If it is shock, then you don't blame him. You are shocked too. The intensity of your feelings towards Din have hit you like a ton-weight tonight. What you had thought was attraction was suddenly proving itself to be profound, ardent, undeniable love.

But perhaps it is a plain rejection of the idea.

"Th- They told me, if we were to be married that I- That-" You splutter, his breathing becoming more and more shallow with each passing second.

"Mhi solus tome." He murmurs.

"What?" You say, unable to hear him clearly or understand his words.

"Repeat it." He instructs.

"Mhi solus tome." He says again, his voice slightly quieter.

You try your best to copy the unfamiliar language. "Mhi solus tome."

"Mhi solus dar'tome." His voice is faint, as if it is coming from the other side of the room.

"Mhi solus dar'tome."

"Mhi me'dinui an."

"Mhi me'dinui an."

"Mhi ba'ju-" His voice trails off, his last syllable turning into a strained exhale.

"Din?" You say. He is completely unresponsive.

You place your hands on his shoulders and shake him lightly, desperate to bring him back to you but scared to cause him more pain or injure him further.

"Din, please-"

He whispers your name.

"Din, please, Din keep going, you have to-"

He whimpers. The sound makes you feel as though his pain is going right through you, too, and you cry harder.

"Din, plea-"

"Mhi ba'juri verde."

You can barely hear his words but you repeat what you could make out.

"Mhi ba'juri verde."

He lets out another hopelessly painful breath.

"Din? What next, Din, keep going for me."

He doesn't respond. Your hands are covered in the blood seeping from his helmet.

"Din?"

"We-" He coughs and you can see that the motion wracks his body with pain.

"Yes, Din? what is it? What next, Din, please, ple-"

"It is done." He chokes out.

You brace yourself to remove his helmet, terrified to discover the severity of the injury beneath. You grip the bottom of the beskar armour and carefully pull.

He cries out in agony.

You sob as you keep going, slowly removing it to expose his skin centimetre by centimetre. His neck is soaked with blood to the extent that you can't even discern his skin tone. As it reaches past his jaw, you see scruffy dark stubble. Then, flushed cheeks and an angled nose. Eyes, of which you don't know the colour as they are screwed shut in pain, but covered with a layer of thick dark eyelashes. A strong brow bone and a few lines of age. Thick, dark hair, plastered across his forehead with sweat, but you can make out scruffy curls.

You can't waste any time looking at him, though, moving on swiftly to frantically wipe blood from his neck and find the source of his injury.

A graze, he had told you. But the sight before you told you something entirely different.

You pick up the bacta syringe from where he had dropped it to the floor and carefully inject it as close to the wound as possible. He doesn't so much as wince, and you are terrified that you may already have lost him. With the thick liquid fully released, you retract the syringe. You spray the wound next, enough so that it closes, and dress it in a thick padded bandage.

Soft breaths still escape his lips but this can only ease your anxieties slightly. Until he wakes up, you are balanced on a precipice, unable to ascertain if you were too late to save him.

You must have collapsed from exhaustion, spending the longest night of your life, curled into the side of Din, your-

Your husband, Din Djarin.

You remain in a blissful sleep-like state for a mere moment, wondering if it is also a custom of his religion that you will take his last name. You hope it is.

But then you shoot upright, the events and circumstances rushing back of how exactly you went from... well, whatever you were, to spouses, in such a short period of time.

You yearn to feel his warmth, but you are met with cold steel against you.

You yearn to hear his voice, but you are met with silence in the wide-open heart of his ship.

You force yourself to look at him. The lines that were drawn between his brow and across his forehead last night have disappeared, he looks peaceful. He looks beautiful. You take your time analysing his features. You never want to look at anything else now that you have seen him.

A feeling of calm and contentedness washes over you. You don't know why, but you know he is going to be okay. You know he is going to come back to you.

And just like that, he does.

Your name falls from his lips.

His eyelashes flutter and you see him slowly opening his eyes. This seems as though it takes exertion, as he breathes heavily whilst doing so.

For a moment, you panic internally. What if he has forgotten? What if he regrets it? What if he thinks you did this without his consent?

"Din-" You gasp, as he looks up at you and takes you in.

His features flash in a strange expression and you feel as though your suspicions are confirmed.

"Din, I promise, I didn't d- We- I-"

His lips turn up ever so slightly into a reassuring smile.

"I haven't forgotten any of it, my love. I just can't believe you could possibly have looked more beautiful than I already thought you were through my visor."

You throw yourself at him and he grunts but then laughs.

"I-" The tears start again. You are overwhelmed with emotion. Relief and elation numb the hurt, but you don't know how you will ever get over the night you nearly lost him. You know you will never be able to put this feeling into words.

Somehow, you don't need to. It is as though he can read your mind.

"Shh," He says, rubbing your back. "I know, cyare. I know."

You stay like this for a moment until you pull back from him. He removes a glove and strokes a tear from your cheek.

"I'm here now, my love. I will never let you hurt for me like this again."

You nod and sniffle. You believe him.

"Where's the baby?" He asks softly.

"Oh," You say, and you laugh a little, surprised and embarrassed. He was the reason you were here after all, your job was as his caretaker. But for a moment, you had forgotten him. "I put him in your bed last night. I didn't hear him all night . I hope that means he slept through."

"Alright. Go and tend to him. I will get us the hell off this planet. I need to take you to my people."

MASTERLIST

Taglist: @silkiers @tightjeansjavi @chaotic-mystery @lovers-liability

Tag because I think you might like this: @deceiver-of-gods

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian fanfiction #din djarin #din djarin fanfiction #the mandalorian fanfic #the mandalorian fic #din djarin fic #din djarin fanfic #din djarin angst #din djarin fluff #din djarin x reader #din djarin x f!reader #star wars fluff #star wars fanfiction #star wars fanfic #din djarin smut #din djarin x reader smut #the mandalorian fluff #mando x reader #mando fluff

[celartzee]

Mando lifting his helmet to give his son a kiss before going on a mission.

#just some fluff here #i miss them every day #mando going on a mission but grogu won't let him #🥹 #mando and the child #mando fluff #mando #the mandolorian fanart #groguart #mando and grogu #din and grogu #din djaren #din djarin #pedro pascal art #pedro pascal #star wars #illustration #fanart #art #digital art #artwork #baby yoda #style #my art #drawdrawdraw #fan art #sketch #doodle #yodito #more content

[januaryembrs]

DEEP ARE THE SCARS | Din Djarin x Mandalorian!reader

Request: Hello! Congratulations on 1k my friend! You deserve it <3 I am wondering if you are comfortable with writing a din djarin x insecure/depressed reader. Thank you!!

description: Din and you have a conversation after one of his past lovers shows up, beauty and all.

Word count: 1.5k

trigger warnings: insecure feelings, scarring on face, established relationship, kissing, parental death mentioned, crime ridden planet mentioned?

main masterlist

Author’s note: it comes as no surprise to anyone this is another part of the KISS THE SCARS universe since I am now apparently very attached to these two and their love but this can be read separately if you like. READ KISS THE SCARS AND TOUCH THE SCARS here!

The world had always been cruel; you had learnt that at a young age. Your planet back was riddled with crime, and when it wasn’t, it was riddled with Empire sympathisers creating just as much chaos and tension between the people, resulting in your parents’ death and your Mando caburs [protector/guardian] to take you to their guild on Nevarro as their own. 

Where you met him.

Din Djarin. The man who you had laid your life on the line for hundreds of times, who had shown you the furthest reaches of the galaxy that you never thought you would see in this lifetime or the next. Who understood you like no one else did, like no one ever had. Din, the one you knew you were going to marry when the time was right, though he had already proposed months before and neither of you had the money spare to settle down let alone afford a ceremony. 

Who had seen you for exactly who you are, perhaps the first to ever do so with such love and unbridled adoration in his golden brown eyes. 

It didn’t bother you so much; him seeing your face, your scars. It was ugly; you had always been aware of it, but since the day he had seen you without your helmet on, he had made you feel nothing but beautiful even with the unsightly tissue marring your face. 

That is until you ran into her. 

You had been collecting credits from a bounty at a nearby tavern, the buyer particularly pleased with your reputation and efficiency. Din was standing barely a few feet behind you waiting for you to finish with the man, when your ears pricked at a feminine voice. 

“Mando!” You immediately turned around, seeing as people used the name for both of you. A tall, incredibly toned Togruta sauntered up to your fiance. The buyer seemed to fade into white noise, mumbling something about needing your service some time in the future, as you watched her throw her arms around Din’s neck. He straightened up awkwardly, but gently returned the hug with a large arm around her waist.

“Kuri,” He choked out, as if someone had punched him in his throat.

Do not act out, You barked at yourself, but your heart willed you to move towards the two like a panic alarm. 

“It’s been years since I saw you! The moon solstice on Kashyyyk, wasn’t it?” The lady, her skin a blossom pink colour reached out with a small laugh and held his wrist dearly, “Oh, I suppose it was the morning after, wasn’t it?”

Do NOT act out. 

But you were there. Stood behind her with your hands lingering on your dagger sheathed at your side, freshly sharpened this morning and ready to cut down any foe that challenged you. Especially the ones that tried to take what was yours. 

Din’s helmet flicked over Kuri’s shoulder, and you could practically see his face begging you to not behave rashly over this. He hadn’t reciprocated one flirtatious advance in the few seconds she had arrived, so he held no blame. Even so, you supposed he didn’t want to deal with the consequences of uncontrolled jealousy. 

The two of them went quiet for a second, and this Kuri woman seemed to notice his eyes were no longer on her. She turned to face his gaze and instead was confronted with you. A female Mandalorian decked out in pristine armour from many very successful bounties, guns and large blades at your hips. She didn’t need to see your face to know you did not look pleased.

And yet all you saw was perhaps the most gorgeous woman you’ve ever met. Her lekku were long and draped over her perk breasts, covered in white stripes and tiny, brown feathers. Her eyes were siren-like, mouth full and a naturally dark pink as if to attract your attention there first. Her red eyes flicked up and down your figure, faintly attempting to hide the fear that was clear as day in her face. 

“Kuri, this is my riduur, Y/N,” Din said as you advanced on the woman slowly. She gulped dryly, stepping back though her face tried to seem poised.

“Is there a problem here?” You asked coldly, taking another step towards her before Din put his arm on your shoulder to halt you. 

“No, j-just catching up with an old friend is all,” Kuri choked out, her eyes flicking to the door as if begging the Maker to send someone to save her. 

“Charming,” You bit out, your voice lowering as you stared daggers at the woman who looked beautiful even when she was cowering in fear, “Though I suggest you leave now. You’d hate to find out what’ll happen if I catch up to you,” 

And with that the woman fled the tavern without a single utterance of goodbye to her ‘old friend’. But you didn’t feel accomplished. In fact, you had never felt so low. 

—

It was three days before he brought it up. You seemed sluggish, quiet at times when he was waiting for you to chime in with your own thoughts, granting him nothing but hums of agreement when prompted with a question. He knew you weren’t sleeping either. He heard the way you tossed around your bunk, even the blanket grating on your nerves for one reason or the next. You’d wake up the following morning, eyes heavy and face dull of life. 

“Are you hungry?” Din tried to offer, as he had been trying for the past three days to get you to respond at all, but you simply shook your head.

“No thankyou,” Your voice was empty, your gaze zoned out as if you were miles away from him despite standing in front of him. And you were. He had never seen you so dead. It shook his resolve, and he couldn’t help himself from stroking a hair away from your face as an excuse to cup your cheek in his large, warm hand.

“What are you thinking about?” He whispered, the voice coming out deep and rugged. But the tenderness was still there. It was always there when Din spoke to you. 

“Nothing,” You murmured, though his hand caressing your cheek seemed to thaw away the cold you felt inside. Sighing, you nuzzled into his palm and shut your eyes gently, liking the way he pet you too much for your own good. 

“Tell me, pretty girl,” Din whispered, bringing his thumb up to trace over where your scar lay at your lip like he always did when the two of you were this close. Yet you flinched as if his fingertips scolded you, as though him touching that part was as sensitive as the day it came to grace your face.

It had been years, but the pain of it cut just as deep. 

“Do you ever wish things were different?” You asked, watching him frown and shrink back. Obviously, he had interpreted your question in the worst possible way, as you having second thoughts on this marriage that had not yet come. “That I was different?” You clarified.

He stared at you aghast. “No, never,” Din replied with such earnestness that it hurt your chest to hear him so disappointed, “What ever have I done to make you feel like that?”

“No, it's not you, it's just-” You huffed, getting frustrated with the words that seemed too difficult to produce, “Kuri is pretty,” 

“Pretty terrified of you, you mean,” Din tried to joke but it fell flat when you glared at him. He chuckled at your mean face, bringing you in close and kissing you on the nose, “And what does that matter?”

“You were together weren’t you?” Your voice was hostile, something you couldn’t help. The Mandalorians never really taught you emotional regulation growing up, it was all fighting as a means to end a dispute.

He sighed, looking down at you with such love despite the fact you knew you were being selfish, “Not the way me and you are, no.”

“So? It doesn’t matter, it still proves you could be with any and every woman much prettier than me. Someone not tainted by a Tusken hound, someone with a perfect face, someone-”

“My sweet wife,” Din cut you off, his hand slipping into your hair to cradle the back of your head. His lips pressed to your brow this time, “I do not want anyone else,” You opened your mouth to interrupt him again, but he shut you up with a kiss there too, “You are strong, and beautiful, and powerful. I loved you just as you are even before you took off that helmet, and I’d love you even if the stars burnt out and the world went dark.” He kissed you once more on your lips, “You are the only one I see,”

You pouted, knowing he was being too kind to a scornful woman like you but melted into his embrace nonetheless. He petted your head kindly, kissing your hairline as you hugged him back, “Thankyou,” You said into his chest though he deciphered what you meant.

“I enjoy seeing you jealous. You had that poor woman running like a scared sand rabbit,” You pinched his ribs in retaliation though you felt him shaking with laughter. “Don’t worry, meshla. I’d show any man just the same manners if they tried to take away my sweet almost-wife,”

#din djarin x reader #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin imagine #star wars fanfiction #star wars imagine #din djarin #pedro pascal x reader #star wars #mando x female!reader #mando fluff #mandalorian!reader #star wars x reader #pedro pascal x female!reader #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal imagine #the mandalorian x reader #mando imagine #mando x reader #din Djarin x mandalorian!reader

[gloomwitchwrites]

Gold Chain

Din Djarin x Female Mandalorian Armorer Reader

Content & Trigger Warnings: fluff, light angst, slightly jealous / possessive Din, Mandalorian culture, canon-typical swearing, reclaimed Mandalore, Din’s POV

Word Count: 4.3k

Din intended to take Grogu with him back to Nevarro after Mandalore was reclaimed. Duty kept him in the ruins of Sundari, helping Bo-Katan and the other Mandalorians in their efforts to rebuild. Over time, an Armorer from another tribe caught his eye. Din is drawn to you, visiting repeatedly. Seeing everyone else around him find happiness, Din finally decides to seek it for himself.

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // fluffuary 2024 masterlist

Mando’a Translations: cyar’ika – darling / sweetheart ka’rta beskar – iron heart Ni kar'tayli gar darasuum – I love you Ori'haat – It’s the truth riduur – spouse / partner Vor entye – thank you

The Great Forge of Mandalore is not a singular forge but several.

The large, tree-like monoliths are connected to each other like the collective beating heart of the Mandalorian people. Only three of them are in use as the rest sustained damaged during Imperial aerial bombardment. Like the people they represent, the dead forges are undergoing repairs.

Soon, they will burn and build again.

It requires more than a lone Mandalorian Armorer to keep the fires lit, to shape and bend the beskar, to smelt and refine the metal, to dig into the earth and excavate the ore. For a small covert on a distant planet, one armorer is enough. The forge used is special but tiny. A drab replica of the real thing.

That is no longer the case.

Mandalore belongs to the Mandalorians again. Its people flourish. They thrive, and the urge to rebuild—not just the cities but to grow as a people—is an innate, desperate need felt by all. It is a pounding, driving force like the beat of ceremonial drums.

The air should ring with the sound of a hundred hammers. Foundlings and younglings should be roaming freely, their shouts of joy floating in the breeze. The clans, while different in the ways they adhere to the Way, should be a united front.

All of this deserves to be true, but that is not the reality.

The air does not ring with the sound of a hundred hammers. It only rings with a few.

Foundlings and younglings are not free to roam. There are too many dangers lurking in the dark.

The clans are not a united front. There are plenty who are stuck in their ways and refuse to budge for the sake of the whole.

Some Mandalorians perceive this as a failure.

Din Djarin does not see it that way.

For him, he remembers a time when his ideas about what it meant to be Mandalorian consumed his reality. His covert and their principles were the only thing that mattered to him. The urge to adhere to that life was severe to the point that Din pushed other Mandalorians away.

He no longer holds to those strict ideals. Every Mandalorian here and elsewhere are important to him. Every foundling. Every youngling. Every clan and tribe. All of it.

They deserve to be protected.

They deserve to live on.

They deserve to endure.

That is why Din skulks in the shadow of the Great Forge like a kriffing idiot. He is looking for someone—a woman. Behind the visor in his helmet, Din observes the massive room. The Mandalorian Armorer from his tribe stands near one of the forges. Several helmeted younglings surround her in a short half-moon. They hang on her every word while in her hands is a raw piece of beskar that she turns end over end.

Din is not here for her. He is searching for you, and you are always here. You, who has been on his mind these last few months.

His gaze rolls past the Armorer, finding you near a mountainous pile of beskar. Like the Armorer of his tribe, you are also a Mandalorian Armorer, but there are no younglings or foundlings at your feet.

Picking up a piece from the pile, you examine it, turning it over between your hands before depositing it into one of three nearby bins. Some of it is raw and untreated but there are also helmets, pauldrons, and other pieces mixed in. All of it pulled from the Mines below.

Din has never seen your face, nor does he care. He only knows what his heart wants. It is an insistently nauseating need to be close to you. Solitude and clan are comforts to Din, but they are not enough. Not like they used to be. Every day, Din watches other Mandalorians find happiness and contentment. Their peacefulness is like spice to him, causing him to wonder about what his life could be.

This idea plagues him, and it is why he comes to the Great Forge every day. To see you.

But what is today’s excuse? It’s almost always Grogu.

Din will bring him along and casually mention the importance of watching the Mandalorian Armorers work their craft. At some point, Grogu will be handed off to someone, and then Din lingers near your workstation while he attempts to make conversation.

Attempt is the important word here. Small talk is a genuine failure of his. He doesn’t understand. What comes out of him is fragmented bits of conversation that don’t entirely make sense. Din is awkward, stumbles over his words, and is genuinely flustered by your presence.

Moving out of the shadows, Din ascends the stairs up to the Great Forge. The Armorer briefly glances in Din’s direction before returning her attention to the younglings. You haven’t noticed Din yet, and he takes this moment to admire you.

The armor you wear is unique and unlike anything Din has seen before. The beskar is painted black, the mid-day light reflecting off its shiny surface as you pick up another chunk of untreated ore. Around the t-shaped visor and the ka’rta beskar, is golden paint. But the focal point are the horns on the helmet.

The Armorer of Din’s tribe has horns as well, but they are small and only five in total. Yours curl out and around like Bantha horns. From the base of the bottom-most curl, thin gold chains hang down from small puncture holes in the metal. The ends rest against the fur that lines your shoulders. One of the holes is empty, clearly absent a chain.

At first, Din thought the choice odd, but it’s a nod to your people and how they revere the title of Armorer. It’s ceremonial. Not functional.

Din strides toward you, and when you finally notice his approach, you immediately place whatever you’re holding down, turning toward him. Warmth instantly blooms everywhere, rushing through Din’s limbs like the heat of Tatooine.

“Din Djarin,” you breathe, and it is a gentle sigh.

He loves the way you say his name, as if it’s a secret between the two of you.

“Armorer,” he replies, just as softly.

You laugh and Din flushes behind the helmet. He wants to hear your happiness all the time. “You can call me by my name. We know each other well enough.”

Din inclines his head but does not use your given name. It feels too personal. Too forward. This is new territory for him. He longs to draw you close but fears accidentally pushing you away.

He’s taking things slow. He’s taking things carefully. You are important to him and he doesn’t want to mess it up.

“Where is Grogu?” you ask.

“School,” Din replies instantly, knowing he cannot use the foundling as an excuse.

“That’s wonderful. Lady Kryze mentioned they were trying to put one together.”

Din shrugs. “It keeps him busy.”

“First day?”

Din nods.

“You’re nervous,” you observe.

You’re good at reading him which is startling to Din since he never removes his helmet. Your clan allows it with immediate family and one’s riduur, a fact Din is highly aware of.

“That’s normal,” you continue. “You love him. Want what’s best.”

“We’ve rarely been apart,” replies Din quietly.

“He’s safe.”

“I know.”

The two of you fall into silence and Din doesn’t know where to go from here. He almost always starts these conversations by asking if you’re in need of anything like beskar. Kriffing hell, he’ll even run errands for you. Fetch whatever you ask.

As long as it keeps him in your proximity.

“I—” he begins, cutting off quickly to try and formulate the next thing he wants to say.

“Yes?” You step closer, your arms nearly brushing.

Din is losing his nerve. You’re so close, and Din leans in a bit, pretending that this is more than what it is.

He clears his throat. “Did you need anything? Can I be of service in some way?”

You pause, helmet glancing toward the overflowing piles of beskar. “More of it comes from the Mines every day. I’ve been taking inventory as it arrives.” You sigh heavily. “I worry about the groups that descend into the Mines. I shouldn’t but it’s dangerous, and us Mandalorians are already so few.”

“Your clan helped with that,” says Din, because it’s true.

Bo-Katan had to explain it to him, that your tribe left Mandalore almost a thousand years ago. Disagreement ran rampant, and they headed for a distant planet far in the Outer Rim, nearly into the Unknown Regions. Flourishing where they landed, your people left the galaxy to its own troubles.

“I suppose we did,” you answer.

But they heard the call to return, and Bo-Katan only knew about your clan’s existence because of the Night of a Thousand Tears. They were too late to help, but they went on to save as many Mandalorians as they could, even going so far as to raid Imperial vessels and storage facilities that held beskar.

“You could help with that.”

“Yes,” he says slowly. “Anything.”

“Anything?” you ask, and Din hears the tease in it. The soft way it drops from your lips.

Yes. Anything.

“Command me at your pleasure,” purrs Din.

You clasp your gloved hands in front of you. “Your help pleases me, Din Djarin.”

He melts into the floor. Becomes a puddle. “What would you like me to do?”

You glance at the massive pile behind you. “It all needs to be sorted. Unrefined beskar goes here.” You point to the barrel on the far left. “Helmets, vambraces, or anything with wiring needs to go in that bin.” You turn toward the final bin. “Everything else goes in there.”

Din might not forge armor, but the structure and functions of it are as natural to him as breathing. He approaches the pile, begins sorting. The two of you work in tandem, and anything he’s not completely sure about, he brings to you.

The best part of this is your presence. The worst is that Din wants to talk to you but isn’t sure how. His tribe is not one for small talk, and this is excruciating to him. Din desires to hear your voice, to keep your focus on him, even if it’s a fleeting moment.

Din picks up a dented chest plate and deposits it into the correct bin. “Do you have everything you need?”

You glance up from inspecting a vambrace, looking around the area directly in your vicinity. “Yes?”

“I meant outside this.” Din extends one hand outward, indicating the Great Forge.

Slowly, you drop the vambrace into the bin next to you. “Am I missing something?”

Me, thinks Din. You’re missing me.

“Adequate food? Shelter?”

“My basic needs are met.”

Din picks up a helmet and places it into the correct bin without looking. “And beyond that?” He strides toward you, wanting to find something in your life that he could insert himself in to. Even the smallest thing is enough.

“What do you mean?”

There are so many ways to answer that. What Din truly wants to know is if there is anyone else in your life. If there is anyone else he might have to compete with for your affection. It’s not like he hasn’t subtly asked around or kept a careful eye on the other Mandalorians you speak with on a daily basis. But that doesn’t mean he hasn’t missed something.

“Are you happy, cyar’ika?” The word of affection slips out without thought. Din cannot take it back.

There is a gentle shift in the way you draw back. It’s not from revulsion, disgust, or even anger. It’s only surprise. He has startled you, and Din is unsure if this will derail everything he’s tried to build.

“Yes,” you respond after a short stretch of silence. “But I could always be happier.”

Hope blooms in Din’s chest, slithering out like vines to wrap around his ribcage. He moves closer, one gloved hand reaching out, itching to touch.

“Din Djarin.”

You and Din turn abruptly.

Bo-Katan Kryze lingers near the edge of the stairs, her helmet tucked under arm. “I need to speak with you.”

Din turns back to you and your nod. Placing your hand over your heart, you bow your head. Din knows this greeting and goodbye. It’s normal for your clan to use it with people they’re close to. But then you extend your hand outward, gloved fingers lightly brushing the side of Din’s helmet before dropping away.

“Vor entye.”

Din inclines his head, stepping away from you and toward Bo-Katan. His heart pounds in his chest, the sound rattling in his ears, making the helmet seem small and claustrophobic for the first time in his life.

Din’s gloved thumb rubs up and down the small gold chain in his hand.

It’s thin enough to be a necklace, but that is not its purpose. The gold chain is a replacement piece for the one you’re missing. He discreetly asked the Armorer to make it, and she did so without question, taking great care to create an exact match to the ones you already have.

He holds it in one hand, absently stroking the material as he walks toward the Great Forge. There is no plan to hide in the shadows this time. With the gold chain clenched in his fist, Din strides forward with purpose with the intent to give it to you just like all the other gifts he’s given.

As the enters the large room, Din’s gaze first knocks the Armorer, but when he finds you, and time comes to a grinding halt.

You are not alone.

Another Mandalorian, a man that Din has seen around but doesn’t know, talks with you near one of the working forges. The armor he wears is red and faded. He stands entirely too close for Din’s liking but that isn’t what truly irritates him.

This man keeps touching you. He’s not grabbing for you or forcefully entering your space. Every movement is light and delicate. Sometimes he briefly rests his hand on your arm, waist, or shoulder. He leans in like he can kiss you through his helmet. And Din cannot tell if you’re receptive or not.

You’re not reacting. That much he can see. You do not touch back or lean in. Not like you do with Din. While that comforts him, all he knows is that someone else is pushing in and making a move into his space.

Din quickly ascends the stairs, his strides long and poundingl. The male Mandalorian shifts slightly as you glance over his shoulder before fully turning in Din’s direction. The moment he notices Din, he steps in front of you as if you need protecting.

Cold fury flares within him, igniting a path from his stomach to his head. You step around the stranger, brushing past him to reach Din.

“Din,” and your greeting is just like yesterday, breathy and soft. All that anger starts to melt away because you’re in front of him, and that is all that matters.

You come to a stop just shy of Din’s right shoulder. Gently, you rest your hand on his bicep, the part that isn’t covered by his pauldron.

Turning back to the Mandalorian in red armor, you dismiss him. “Thank you for coming by, Rhuk.”

Rhuk’s t-shaped visor is angled toward Din as he inclines his head in goodbye. “Be well, Armorer.” Din watches him go, tracking his every step until he’s down the stairs and moving away from the Great Forge.

So focused on Rhuk, it takes you three firm squeezes of Din’s arm to draw his attention away.

“Did you bring me something?” you ask, glancing down at his hand.

Din opens it, presenting the small gold chain. You glance up quickly.

“It’s a replacement,” says Din, nodding toward the side of your helmet with the missing link.

You’re hand automatically reaches up, fingertips lightly brushing against the empty spot. It hovers there briefly before falling to Din’s open palm. With gentleness, you slip your fingers under the gold chain.

“Would you like to attach it?” you ask, your helmet tipping upward. Even with it on, Din feels your eyes on him, assessing.

“Is that okay?”

You turn toward a collection of tools. Heading toward it, you select a tiny torch and bring it back to Din.

“Use this,” you offer the torch to him and he takes it. “Slide the chain through and weld it like the others.”

Turning to your left, you present the side of your helmet. Din tucks the base of the torch into his belt. With both hands, he hooks the end of the chain into the hole, pushing it through, guiding it until it sits equal on both sides. Removing the torch, he starts it, turning it to the lowest setting. Din switches, changing the angle of the torch from one side to the other, slowly fusing the two pieces together. Satisfied, Din turns off the torch and admires his work.

“I’m not an armorer,” says Din.

“It’s perfect.”

“You haven’t checked it.”

You shrug. “I don’t need to.” Pride swells in Din’s chest but he remains silent. “Are you staying?” The question hangs in the air, and that quick flood of pride fades a bit. You sound so hopeful.

“No. I can’t stay,” answers Din.

“Well. Thank you.” You lift your hand and tap one finger against the new gold chain. “Tomorrow?”

Tomorrow. You want to see him…tomorrow.

Din nods. “Tomorrow.”

Din begins slowly backing away from you. Turning at the last second, Din nearly misses the top step. He recovers quickly, but hears your soft, stifled laugh from behind him.

Heat flaring in his cheeks, Din descends, heading for the hall that will take him toward Bo-Katan’s council room.

“You should be honest with her.” The Armorer appears at Din’s side like a golden shadow. His head swivels in her direction. The Armorer continues looking forward. “Their tribe is different. You must follow their lead and do as they do.”

Din frowns. Why is the Armorer involving herself?

“How do I do that?” he asks slowly.

“The one that was here pursued her in the way that is custom. You must be as aggressive, Din Djarin.”

She’s giving him advice.

“That is not our way.”

It’s true. Din’s tribe is restrictive when it comes to personal attachments. There is the attachment to tribe, and there is attachment to one’s foundling. Everything is and has always been in service to the whole, never the individual.

“No,” agrees the Armorer. “But it is hers. And she is still Mandalorian.”

The Armorer made an exception with Bo-Katan. Now that all of the clans are together, are the lines somehow blurred? To Din, her words sound like encouragement.

“Then it is permitted?” he asks.

“You seek a happiness that will only strengthen us as a people. It is a noble act. A welcome one.” She pauses. “Do not fear it.”

Din opens his mouth, words forming on his tongue, but the Armorer is already walking away, disappearing as quickly as she appeared.

Bo-Katan’s council room is a blur. It is monotone voices and forgotten ideas. They fuse and dissolve into background noise that is a dull droll in the recesses of his consciousness. You consume his thoughts, occupying his mind, pushing everything else out. The Armorer’s words repeat in his head.

Din stands in the very back of the room, leaning against the wall. The council room is packed full of Mandalorians. There are representatives of multiple tribes and clans. There are updates on the mining operations, discussions about farming and food cultivation, and debates on how to design and start a working energy grid.

While Din keeps one ear trained on the room, the rest of him is elsewhere. Din has always considered himself a man of action. He takes initiative, he faces countless dangers even with the potential for failure, and he never gives up. But with you, Din is as cautious and unsteady as a Rancor’s temper. He only wishes to make you happy, for you to choose him over everyone else.

Aggressive. The Armorer said to be aggressive, to pursue you in the way of your tribe.

Din cannot wait until tomorrow.

The moment Bo-Katan dismisses everyone, Din is off like a blaster bolt, heading back toward the Great Forge. It is late, and there are long shadows across the massive room as he enters. The Armorer is not there, but you are. With your back to him, you have not noticed him yet, and Din takes these solitary seconds to calm his racing heart.

Nervousness seeps in like water finding the openings beneath his armor. The tips of his fingers buzz with anticipation, and all of Din’s senses are heightened and alert like he’s facing down a Mudhorn and not simply about to tell you how he feels.

Swallowing down the trepidation and solidifying his resolve, Din heads for the stairs, taking them two at a time.

“May I speak with you?” he calls out, voice ringing loudly in the empty hall.

You start, turn, shoulders immediately softening when you realize who it is that is speaking. Already, you’re moving toward him and Din’s heart hammers with how quickly you respond. He strides forward, meeting you halfway.

“You came back,” and there is such joy in your voice that Din cannot help himself.

One hand reaches out to rest against the lower-half of your waist just above your hip. Instinct rushes in, and Din’s gloved hand tightens, drawing you closer against him. Your own hand rises, stopping at his chest plate, finding respite just shy of the ka’rta beskar in his armor.

“I needed to see you,” replies Din. Absently, his other hand brushes through the gold chains, finding the new one, only for his fingers to lightly twine around it.

You press in a bit closer, and Din relaxes into the embrace. There is a naturalness to it, the way the two of you stand together. It is its own thrumming drum, something that sits within Din’s chest, beating beside his heart. It moves and twists, the feeling snaking outward to slither between rib bones and around his lungs. Everything comes together, and Din knows that this is right.

This is how it should always be.

“To talk?” you ask.

“To talk.” Din’s fingers release the newly added gold chain. That hand falls, coming to a stop at your elbow. “Come with me.”

You turn with him, the two of you heading deeper into the shadows of the Great Forge. There is no one else in the room but Din wants no interruptions.

“Is there something wrong? Is it Grogu?”

“No,” says Din quickly. “He’s fine.” Reaching out again, Din draws you back to him. You go without resistance, the two of you nearly fused together.

Din needs to just say it. Why have any doubt? You’re hanging on his every word and literally hanging on to him. Every day, Din comes to you. Every day for months. Every day you greet him with tiny touches or gentle greetings. You are always so open, always so warm, and Din misses it—misses you whenever you’re apart.

So, he says it, plainly and without hesitation.

“I missed you.” Your fingers tighten on his arm, chest rising slight, and Din catches the small inhalation. “I miss you all the time,” he continues. “The moments I’m not with you are lonely ones.”

“But you see me every day.” Your voice is a whisper, one so soft that the voice receiver in your helmet hardly picks it up.

“And it is not enough.”

“Din—”

“I wanted to leave after. To take Grogu and return to Nevarro. But I stayed, not just from duty, but because I was drawn to you.” Din shakes his head absently. “I didn’t understand at first. I didn’t want to. But as I spent more time with you, I never wished to leave your presence. I needed to be near you all the time.”

Your arms start to slide around him and Din melts into the touch, the two of you coming together in the shadows.

“I wake and my first thoughts begin with you. Before I rest, my last thoughts end with you. My happiness and future are tied with your own.” Din lowers his voice. “I only make an offer and hope you’ll accept.”

Din’s next inhale is a shudder. “Ni kar'tayli gar darasuum.”

“Din,” you sigh, and he has no idea if you sound happy or sad.

“Ori'haat. I say these words from my heart.”

You place one hand on his chest, this time right over the ka’rta beskar. It slides upward, and gently cups the side of Din’s helmet. He leans into the touch, sighing with contentment.

“You’re an honorable man, Din Djarin. To hear you say this brings me joy.”

Din immediately tightens his hold, every nerve in his body telling him to take you away, to exchange the words and be done with it.

“I am happiest when you’re with me,” you continue. “I am always at ease. At peace. Ni kar'tayli gar darasuum, Din. I wish to never be apart.”

Din lowers his head, his helmeted forehead pressing lightly to your own.

The instinct to kiss you flames within him, but Din does not remove his helmet. It remains in place. In time, it will happen. In time, he will gaze upon your face and find peace within your eyes. All of that will happen.

He has gone without you for this long.

Until it is official, Din can wait a little longer.

taglist:

@padawancat97 @foxxy-126 @glassgulls @km-ffluv @sweetbutpsychobutsweet @singleteapot @garfunklevibes2012 @tiredmetalenthusiast @childofyuggoth @coffeecaketornado @kayden666 @cherryofdeath @enfppuff @cinnabeanz @ninman82 @no-oneelsebutnsu @marispunk @ferns-fics @beebeechaos @thepetitemandalorian

#din djarin fanfiction #din djarin fluff #din djarin fanfic #din djarin fic #din djarin x reader #din djarin x f!reader #din djarin x fem!reader #din djarin x female reader #din djarin x you #din djarin #the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian fic #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian #the mandalorian fluff #the mandalorian fanfic #the mandalorian x f!reader #the mandalorian x female reader #mando fluff #mando fic #mando x reader #mando fanfiction #mando x you #mando fanfic #star wars fluff #star wars fanfiction #star wars fic #mando #mandalorian culture

[thatredheadwriter]

Softer

din djarin x female reader

Your aloof Mandalorian employer, and dare you say friend, is surprisingly considerate when it comes to your monthly cycle.

I just started The Mandalorian and I’m already obsessed. I also just happened to be on my period, and I needed to work through some writers block. So please enjoy fluffy, awkward Din.

This is a SFW oneshot for female reader with Din Djarin of The Mandalorian. This work does not contain smut, however, it may contain mature language or themes, and as a rule, my blog is only for those over the age of 18. As a writer, I will attempt to make accurate warnings for each of my fics, however, I cannot guarantee that I will identify each and every sensitive topic. My works regularly contain swearing, allusions to/mentions of sex, and canon-level violence.

Warnings Include (but are not limited to):

Swearing (English and Star Wars canon languages)

Menstruation (this shouldn’t have to be a warning)

The expectation for men to be dicks about menstruation

Din is the sweetest

Din is kinda stupid and walks in on someone changing

helmetless!Din (just a little)

Mutual pining

Please read at your own discretion and consume your fanfiction responsibly.

You woke up feeling sticky.

The gentle hum of the ship around you was nearly enough to lull you back to sleep, but the stickiness between your thighs and the cold sweat on your skin left you far too uncomfortable to even think about going back to sleep, despite the fact that your watch told you it was far too early for any living thing to be awake.

“Dank farrick,” you cursed, sitting up carefully, sure to duck your head and avoid the shelf above you. With a groan, you slid out of your ‘den’, as Mando referred to it, gathered the blankets you’d been sleeping on, and stalked off towards the laundering unit.

You knew your cycle was due soon, but ever since joining the small crew of the Razor Crest, it was harder to track time. It was the inky blackness of space, the way days would run together. It had nothing to do with your distracting companion, your boss, who stalked around the ship as a brooding pile of armor. The companion you were starting to become strangely attached to.

The laundering unit was empty, thank the Maker. You were just finished shoving the soiled bedding into the chamber and digging around the storage area for the right soap to add, but then a gloved hand clamped down on your shoulder and you yelped.

“Shit, Mando,” you clamped a hand down on your chest to steady your breathing, “How is someone covered in so much beskar so quiet?”

He didn’t answer you, of course, only tilting his helmet at you as he leaned against the wall of the ship. “What are you doing up so early?”

Your stomach churned, only partially from the cramps. There wasn’t much you knew about the mysterious Mandalorian who hired you–hell, you called him Mando, you didn’t even know his name. But you had deciphered he was human, based on his hands. They were the only part of him you’d ever seen without the armor, once when he was tending to a particularly nasty burn you’d picked up trying to fix the main cooling unit. His touch had been surprisingly soft, and you’re loathe to admit you’ve dreamed about it every night since.

But you also knew he was a man. And most men you’d met, even if they belonged to a mammalian species, were distinctly uncomfortable with the idea of menstruation.

“Uh, no particular reason,” you shrugged half-heartedly, finally finding the laundry powder you needed and pouring some into the appropriate compartment of the machine. The bright green bottle of fabric softener was easier to find.

You’d mentioned once how you missed using it, the smell in particular, and on the next supply run, there it was amongst the rations and parts. You hadn’t asked for it, but he’d remembered anyways.

“Why are you doing laundry?” he nodded at the machine. Dammit, he was suspicious.

“Well, it’s just been a while since I washed my bedding. Don’t want to be gross,” you made a face at the last bit. Not only was the conversation making you uncomfortable, but also the growing wetness between your legs. You were grateful for your black leggings and tunic, disguising the mess.

“You washed it eight days ago.”

Shit, why did he have to be so observant?

“Look, maybe I was eating in bed–which, I know, I know, crumbs lead to pests–and I might have spilled a little something is all,” you tried, putting on your best sheepish face. It was working, it seemed, he pushed off from the wall and headed behind you towards the galley. But before you could start the unit, he had slid in between you and it, popping open the door, and pulling out your blanket.

“Blood?” he inspected the fabric.

Suddenly you were pressed against the wall of the ship, gloved hands flying over your body. But not in the way you’d dreamed about that one time. This was clinical, urgent.

“Where are you injured?” he knelt in front of you, searching for any obvious wounds, any signs of pain. The visor of his helmet was tilted up at you, and you had to remind yourself to breathe.

“I’m not injured,” you pushed his hands away from your arms. “Please Mando, I’m fine.”

He stood up to his full height but didn’t let you go. “You’re bleeding, you’re not fine. Tell me what’s wrong now, or I’m taking us to the nearest starport to get you checked by a medic.”

Your face burned. Why did you have to work for the one person in the galaxy as stubborn as you?

“I’m not injured,” you reiterated. “I’m-I’m menstruating,” you mumbled out, staring at the grated floor below you.

“What?”

“Dank farrick! I’m menstruating,” you practically yelled at the shiny surface you’d come to consider as his face.

He immediately took a step back. Great, now he’s disgusted and wants nothing to do with you.

“Look, I’m sorry if you’re uncomfortable, but you’re so kriffing nosey…” you trailed off, crossing your arms across your chest and trying to seem aloof. Not like your damn hormones were making you want to cry and scream and eat all the cold rations all at once.

“I’m not uncomfortable. I’m sorry for prying,” he spoke softly.

“It’s okay,” you chewed on your bottom lip.

“You should go clean up.”

“Yeah,” you nodded, slipping away towards the fresher and made it inside before you broke, the tears streaming down your face. You weren’t sure why. Mando wasn’t mad at you, he wasn’t shunning you. He almost seemed to care.

Stepping into the spray of hot water, you allowed your tensions and emotions to diffuse into the steam around you. As red swirled around your feet and down the drain, you couldn’t help but think about what softness might lay under all that beskar.

Eventually, you cut off the water and dried yourself with one of the threadbare towels hanging by the door. It wasn’t until you were ready to step out that you realized you’d forgotten to get clean clothes to change into. So you wrapped the towel around you and hoped you could get back to your makeshift bunk before you started bleeding everywhere.

But when you opened the fresher door, there was a stack of neatly folded clothes settled right where it would be impossible to miss. And on top, an absorption pad. Your face heated at the thought of your big scary boss going through your quarters to find you clean clothes–clean panties, you realized–and a pad. As horrifying as it was, it was an overwhelmingly sweet gesture, like the fabric softener.

He’d chosen well for you: a pair of soft, loose-fitting pants that tapered at the ankles and an old but soft t-shirt you’d had for ages. You were also grateful he hadn’t brought anything frilly or lacy from your underwear collection, not that there were a lot of options like that, but rather a simple pair you’d chosen to match your skin tone. He hadn’t brought you a chest cover, but you didn’t mind so much. The t-shirt was large enough that you felt modest even without one.

Running a hand through your damp hair, you checked that your blankets were still cycling through the laundry unit before slipping into the galley, making sure to step heavily in your bare feet to announce your arrival. Once you’d almost snuck up on Mando when he’d been eating, sans helmet, and you weren’t anxious to repeat it.

But he wasn’t sitting around the table. No, he was standing in the small kitchen. And something smelled really good.

“Are you cooking?” you asked incredulously, sliding into the bench by the table.

It was easier to read him–at least from behind–when he wasn’t wearing his cowl. You could see his shoulders stiffen before he turned around and fixed you in the icy crosshairs of his visor.

“Yes. It’s an old recipe, the warriors in my covert who have cycles say it helps.”

“Oh,” was all you could say. It was inarguably the nicest thing anyone had ever done for you.

“Here,” he grabbed a steaming cup of something from a nearby workbench and set it in front of you. It smelled of cinnamon and herbs, and reminded you of Mando himself. “Behot shig. It’ll help.”

You took the container in your hands, allowing the warmth radiating from it to seep deep into your bones. It tasted similar to the tea of the last planet you’d been on, but without the sickly sweet aftertaste. A heady buzz settled into your veins and you sighed.

“Thank you.” You finally managed the words you’d wanted to say for the last hour, staring deep into the amber liquid.

He was quiet for a moment, save for the breathing of his respirator and the crackling of whatever was on the stove.

“You’re welcome.”

While you waited for him to finish the meal, you pulled the holopad from its place in the wall and began running your daily diagnostic check.

“The main cooling unit is down again,” you groaned, leaning your head against the wall in frustration. If the cooling unit wasn’t working, the hyperdrive would suffer a catastrophic failure, and you’d be in deep shit. “I could have sworn it was the condenser coil, but I replaced it last week. At this rate, it’s gonna be cheaper to replace the whole unit.”

Mando grunted as he set a plate full of food down in front of you. It looked good, you could smell the spices and the colors were far more vibrant than what you were used to in ration foods.

“I’ll take care of it.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “Mando, please. I may not be some hardcore Mandalorian warrior lady, but I can still do my job.”

He was silent for a minute. You imagined you were looking right into his eyes, although there was no way to tell. This was a stare-down. And maybe he was stubborn, but so were you.

“Ok,” he agreed quietly, “But take it easy. Let me know if you need anything.”

You didn’t see much of Mando for the day, which wasn’t necessarily odd. But usually, he’d check in on you once or twice throughout the day just to make sure you weren’t ruining his ship or dead. Aside from passing him in the hallway once, you didn’t see him all day. He seemed to be busying himself with a project in the bunkroom, his personal quarters. You’d only been inside a few times, and never more than a few minutes at a time.

It wasn’t until you went to get your blankets from the laundry unit and found it empty that you thought anything of it. Okay, maybe Mando was being nice and put them back in your makeshift bunk. But they weren’t there either. In fact, all of your belongings were missing and the little space between crates that you’d transformed into your own personal nest was closed up.

If ever you were going to lose your cool on Mando, it was now. You’d woken up early, spent damn near three hours shoved in the tiny, unbearably hot compartment next to the broken cooling unit. Your back and stomach were killing you despite the painkillers you’d taken earlier in the day. All you wanted to do was crawl into bed and go to sleep.

That’s how you found yourself close to angry-crying as you pounded on the door to Mando’s quarters. You wanted your stuff, you wanted your blankets, and most of all you wanted to sleep.

“Mando!” you hit the door with the side of your fist as hard as you could, producing a satisfying banging sound. “Where’s my shit, dammit?”

Suddenly the panel slid open and you were able to catch yourself before hitting him square in the chest plate. Not that it would have hurt him, just embarrassed you.

“Come here,” he ordered, stepping aside for you to enter his personal quarters. You eyed him warily, like a mouse entering a lion’s den.

You followed his gaze–well, what you assumed he was looking at–to the wall opposite his bunk. Where before there was just empty space, a blank wall, was a new cot.

Now, new may have been an understatement. It was semi embedded in the wall, like Mando’s own bed, and you could see where he’d cobbled it together from spare parts. The mattress wasn’t anything spectacularly luxurious, but it had been made up with your favorite blankets. Your favorite feature was perhaps the privacy screen.

“This morning reminded me of my promise, when you first joined my crew, that I would get you a proper bunk,” he spoke behind you, watching you admire his work. Behind the modulator, you could almost detect a hint of nervousness.

You turned to face him, biting down on your lower lip to keep from crying. “It’s wonderful, Mando. Thank you,” you whispered. It was truly the nicest thing anyone had ever done for you. He was literally making room for you in his life.

“If you feel you don’t have enough privacy, we can figure something else out. I’ve been-”

“Really, it’s perfect,” you grinned, earlier anger forgotten. “You’re sure you have enough privacy? I don’t want you sleeping with the bucket on just because of me.”

“When it’s dark…” he moved to the control panel by the door, hitting a blue button and plunging the room into darkness. The only source of light was the same blue button on the wall and a green button on the door to the fresher. “You can’t see me.”

“Perfect,’ you nodded, not sure if he could see you.

He hit the button again and you winced as the lights came back on. You stared at each other in silence for a few moments, neither one of you with much to say.

“I, uh, I think I’m going to turn in for the night,” you said awkwardly, wrapping your arms around your middle and trying not to wince as another cramp rolled through you.

“Your things are in your trunk tucked away there,” he gestured to a small compartment where you could see he’d placed your belongings.

“Thanks,” you smiled once more and knelt to gather some sleep clothes.

“You can use the fresher in here if you’d like,” he said almost awkwardly. “I’ll leave you alone now.”

Before he could get out the door, you were on your feet again, grabbing his arm. He was unfamiliar with this kind of contact with you, and you felt like he might snarl at you like a wild animal. But he simply fixed you with his visor’s gaze.

“Thank you. For everything,” you said sincerely, offering a small smile. He grumbled something under his breath and left you standing by your new bed.

Alone again, and finally close to the peaceful oblivion of sleep, you began preparing for bed. First, you went to the fresher to relieve yourself and change your absorption pad before pulling a favorite pair of sleep shorts from your collection. Stripping down to your underwear, you shimmied them up over your hips and began rummaging for a tank top you knew was in there somewhere.

You’d just found the elusive garment and stood up to put it on when the door slid open. A yelp of surprise escaped your lips and you heard Mando say something unfamiliar in Mando’a before quickly shutting the panel back.

“I’m sorry,” he called through the comms unit on the other side of the door. “I brought you something.”

You tugged the shirt over your head and tried to slow your heart rate as you made your way to the wall panel, opening the door to let him in.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated. You could tell from the tilt of his helmet that he was not looking at you. Not even as he handed you a water bottle, a painkiller, and some strange pillow-like thing. It was almost tacky on one side, and the other was metallic, and yet the whole thing was soft and flexible.

“It’s alright,” you set the items on your bed. “I’m sure there’s going to be an adjustment period for…this.”

He nodded, turning to survey the room. It made you giggle, to think that the big bad Mando couldn’t even look at you now. You’d imagined his face a million times, but now you imagined him blushing.

“I’ll leave you alone now,” he grunted, leaving you with your thoughts.

You took the painkiller and drank most of the water. The bed was surprisingly comfortable, and you could feel your eyelids drooping as soon as you slipped in. As you lay on your back, staring up at the rough metal seams and fastenings above you, you wondered what the hell this thing was that Mando had brought you.

Then you remembered. The second bounty he took after hiring you. The locator was taking him towards Hoth and he’d picked up some extra supplies to deal with the extreme climate, including a personal warmer.

You lifted your shirt at the bottom and pushed your shorts down slightly so you could lay the tacky side of the warmer against your skin. It was only a moment later that you found the controls, and you sighed in relief as warmth spread through your lower abdomen.

You hated to move once you finally got comfortable, but you still needed to turn the lights off, so you hauled yourself over to the panel and hit the button before fumbling your way back in the dark. It wasn’t long before you fell asleep. It was so fast that you forgot to draw the privacy screen.

When Din finally returned to his quarters, now your quarters too, he reminded himself, he was careful to listen for movement. He certainly didn’t want a repeat of the evening’s earlier incident.

He’d never been so kriffing embarrassed in his life. Except for maybe later when he caught himself thinking about your tits as he ate his dinner. They were just so perfect and soft-looking. He’d only seen them for half a second, but he knew they’d haunt his dreams for years.

He felt dirty for thinking of you that way. You were his employee, his coworker,  his friend. But Din liked caring for you. He wanted to do so much more than he did, than he could, but he knew you wouldn’t allow it. It would be inappropriate for a superior to look after his subordinate like that. 

Sometimes he wondered if you harbored anything for him other than friendly cooperation. Like the time he’d come back from his hunt on Hoth half frost-bitten and you’d insisted on staying awake with him until his vitals returned to normal. Or the one time you made him dinner, a secret family recipe you’d called it, and sat blindfolded across from him as he ate, just so you could share a meal with him.

But then he reminds himself that you don’t even know his name. And he doesn’t know much about you other than your name.

So Din resigns himself to maintaining a professional relationship with you as he opens the door to the living quarters. All that’s thrown out the window the minute he sees your sleeping face tucked softly into your pillow, legs curled up in front of you. Soft breaths leave your mouth and he can see the lights of the warmer from under the blanket.

As the door shut behind him, plunging him into darkness, he removed his helmet. He’d been living aboard for so long, that it was easy to find his way to your side even in the pitch black.

He leaned in, placing a kiss to your temple. “Good night, mesh’la,” he murmurs into your skin.

#the mandalorian #din djarin #din djarin fluff #mando fluff #din djarin x reader #din djarin x reader fluff #mando x reader #mando x reader fluff #star wars #the mandalorian fluff #the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian fanfic

[sweetercalypso]

elaine! i am requesting a lil drabble 😘

🎬 - my favorite movie is pride and prejudice (the keira knightley version obvs) and I would love to see how our beloved DIN would fit into this universe 🌚

cw: mentions of drinking; the hand-flex moment is so Din-coded and I’m glad we’re finally talking about it!! (0.5k)

Spending your night in a dimly-lit cantina wasn’t something you’d planned, but the atmosphere of the Mos Eisley had been unexpectedly pleasant – much like the sight of the infamous steely-gazed bounty hunter sitting across the room.

His distinctive beskar had been the thing to catch your eye, his usual polished appearance now reflecting the tavern lights with an uncharacteristic ease. It was hard to tell if he was enjoying himself as much as the other patrons, but you thought you’d spotted his foot tapping along to the music once or twice in a moment of repose.  

It was nearing midnight when the band finally abandoned the stage and the crowd began to grow restless, signaling to you that it was time to leave.

You’re halfway through the room when the Mandalorian in the corner rises from his seat to follow you outside.

Most would’ve dreaded his company, some might’ve even ran before he’d had the chance to slide out of his booth. But something about him put you at ease, even if others couldn’t see past his armor.

The night air was colder than expected, causing you to wrap your arms around yourself with a shudder. Just as you reach the top of the stairs, the clink of beskar echoes from behind you.

“Please, let me.”

His voice is deep, grainy from the modulator inside his helmet. When he speaks, his head dips in a slight bow, like he’s addressing a person of distinction. He holds his hand out to you, palm open for you to place your hand in his.

The small staircase leading down to the street seems much more treacherous with an evening’s worth of fruity drinks dulling your senses, and you silently thank your maker that someone had been there to steady your descent.

Din doesn’t say much as he leads you down the stairs. He takes slow, calculated steps that match your pace just right, standing by your side as you pause at the bottom, slipping your hand from his grasp.

His fingers curl in on themselves, chasing the fleeting spark of your embrace. Even separated by layers of beskar and thick leather gloves, he feels the need to touch you, to be as close as he can without breaking his creed.

The flex of his hand goes unnoticed, much to his relief. He tries to find something to say, something to keep you there with him, but you’re gone before he can string together anything worth your time.

You murmur a small “thank you” before turning in the direction of your hostel with a last glance over your shoulder at the odd bounty hunter at the bottom of the stairs, still standing in the same spot you’d left him in.  

Din breaths a heavy sigh once you’re out of sight. He stretches his hands reflexively in his gloves and thinks about you at the cantina bar, wondering if he can delay his departure from Tatooine long enough to find you again.

#din djarin #the mandalorian #the mandalorian drabble #din djarin drabble #din djarin x reader #din djarin fluff #the mandalorian fluff #the mandalorian x reader #ppcu #din djarin x y/n #din x reader #mando x reader #mando x y/n #mando fluff

[peppermint-toads]

synopsis: silly little mando nightmare hurt/comfort trope

cw: nightmares, mando almost dies, blood

You were covered in sweat, hair sticking to your neck and thin pillow. You thrashed and twitched against your cot.

“No,” you mumbled over and over and over.

In your dream, he was dancing between consciousness and complete cessation. You could hear him sputtering through what you assumed to be blood underneath his helmet.

He wouldn’t take it off. He wouldn’t let you help him. Using his last bits of energy, he held your wrists firmly, preventing you from taking his helmet off.

“Mando, you can’t- I have to take it off! You’re going to die!”

Your brain replayed how frantic you sounded. You felt his grip loosen with his last words.

“This is the way.”

The words made your ears ring. You were screaming. Your throat was burning and constricting, but your body wouldn’t wake. You were stuck in this limbo of reliving your worst nightmare, paralyzed in the darkness of the hull.

Warm hands wrapped around your biceps and shook you softly.

Your eyes widened as you tried to make anything out in the pitch black. You grabbed onto anything you could find, clutching onto cotton sleeves.

“Ma-Mando?” You asked breathlessly.

“Yes.” Came his modulated response.

“The doors,” you heaved. “They were-”

“You were screaming. I broke it.”

“Broke it?” You repeated back to him. Your hazy mind didn’t process his words right away. It took smelling the blaster smoke that was coming off of the control panel outside of your door to understand.

The cot dipped and creaked under the weight of his knees. He was careful with his hands, not sure where to place them.

“It-it felt so real.” You told him.

“How long?”

“Long. Since-”

“Okay.” He didn’t need you to finish. He knew when.

“They’ve been getting worse.” You admitted softly.

He knew you thought about it a lot, when you almost lost him. You hadn’t been the same since. He’d tried his best to comfort you, told you it was okay, that he wasn’t going anywhere.

But it seemed like words weren’t going to be enough this time. He’d never heard you scream like that.

He moved his hand down your arm to your wrist, unfurling your pointer and middle fingers from your tight fist. He guided them to his neck, right above his pulse that was still beating from the adrenaline.

He’d been knocked out before he’d heard you through the wall. His helmet was placed neatly on the floor next to his boots. He nearly tripped on it before pulling it over his messy hair.

He punched in code, after code, after code. Met with an error message each time. You screamed his name, screamed for him. Growing frustrated, he ran back to his hatch for his blaster, using it to disarm the locking mechanism permanently.

Your eyes fluttered closed as you felt the steady thumping of his heart. Eventually, your pulses synced and you took a deep breath.

You felt him move again. He rested his back against the cool durasteel of the ship, knees bending over the metal bar of your cot.

He didn’t ask, and he didn’t have to. He pulled you to straddle his thighs, and you curled into him. Your inner thighs pressed into the scratchy fabric of his boxers.

He held the back of your head with his palm, entire hand covering all of your hair. He cradled you close to his chest.

All of the tension and fear melted from your muscles and you cried into his undershirt. You didn’t know how long had passed, but you cried until you had a pulsing headache.

“It’s the kid’s birthday. The day we found him.” You sniffed.

“What?” He asked quietly, pulling your head away from his chest as if he could see you.

“The code. The code to my door.”

“Oh.”

“Can you stay?”

He didn’t think he’d be able to leave you ever again.

#mandalorian x reader #mandalorian fluff #mandalorian hurt/comfort #mandalorian fanfiction #mando x reader #mando fluff #din djarin x reader #din djarin fluff #din djarin hurt/comfort #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin angst #mandalorian angst

[deakyjoe]

In Sickness & In Health

Pairing: Din Djarin x Reader (no pronouns used but Din does call Reader “cyar’ika”)

Category: sick fic, fluff

Summary: Din cares for you when you're sick.

Warnings: sickness/illness, Grogu being a menace, Din being awkward, cuddling, hurt/comfort, fluff basically

Word count: 1.2k

A/N: I am recovering from a cold.

Consider buying me a coffee :)

You'd woken up sick, quite possibly in the worst condition of your life. Your limbs ached, your head was pounding, your stomach turned at every tremor of the Crest, your throat was sore and you could barely breathe through your nose. Death felt like it was approaching you at any second.

Din insisted that you were being dramatic.

He was sure that you'd just picked up a minor illness from the last planet you'd stopped on for supplies and would recover in a couple of days. He told you to rest and to stay away from Grogu as much as possible, unsure of the strength of the child's immune system.

Which would have been easy considering all you wanted to do was curl up into a tiny ball in the dark and sleep. Unfortunately, the kid was just a little too curious in nature and wanted to see what was wrong with you. And he wouldn't take no for an answer. This caused Din to lock him away in the cockpit with a shiny ball to occupy him for the majority of the time while you recovered. 

"I feel bad." You told your travelling companion after Grogu had been shut away.

"You'll feel worse if you give him this disease and he dies." The Mandalorian replied, handing you an extra blanket after assuring you that it was fine that you used his bunk to sleep in.

Your eyes widened in fear, heart beating rapidly in your chest suddenly. "I thought you said this was a common illness!"

"Yes, but he is only a child." He sighed, gesturing for you to lie down. "You will be fine. Now go to sleep."

You mumbled to yourself lowly but did as he said anyway, drifting into a dreamless sleep once Din had closed the door.

You awoke some time later, sweat pouring out of you in floods as you burned as hot as a supernova. In your delirious fevered state you got out of the bunk, laid down on the floor of the hull and fell asleep again.

When you woke up again, a few hours later you assumed, you could feel something touching you.

As your eyes cleared, you realised that Din was sat beside you on a crate patting your head.

Your brows raised in surprise. "What are you doing?"

"Soothing you." He mumbled through the modulator.

"By doing this?" You croaked, glancing up to where his wrist hovered above your eyes.

He paused. "Do you... do you not like it?"

"Don't dislike it." You said. "It's just a little strange."

"The kid likes it."

"Do I look like a green baby with large ears to you?"

He hesitated.

"Don't answer that." You grumbled, turning to bury your face in the thin blanket you'd dragged to the floor with you.

"You were talking in your sleep. I thought it might help."

"Oh." You whispered, embarrassed about what you might have said.

"It was mostly incoherent mumbling."

"Oh." Thank the stars.

"Mostly." There was a hint of teasing amusement to his voice which you were terrified to question.

But you did anyway. "What does that mean? What did I say?"

He ignored your questions. "You should get back into bed."

"Too hot."

"Get back into bed, cyar'ika." He insisted, holding a gloved hand out to help you up.

You did as he said, too tired to argue anymore.

"I'll come back to check on you in a while." Din told you before disappearing to the cockpit again.

You faded in and out of sleep before the Mandalorian came back with a bowl of soup and a restless Grogu at his side a little later.

Worry plagued your mind momentarily as you cautiously eyed the kid. "I don't want to get him sick."

"He missed you." Din replied with a small shrug, handing you the bowl and a spoon.

You smiled down at the kid weakly, glad to see him. He was a nice presence to have around, almost always happy about something. The Mandalorian was the opposite in that regard - always unhappy about something, apart from the child, but was still a nice presence to have around. Overall, the combination of the both of them was making you feel better. A lot better. There was no one else you'd rather spend your sick days with.

The three of you ate in silence, just the occassional babble of nonsense from Grogu as he slurped down his dinner. The warm food made your throat hurt less but despite its temperature, you started to get cold.

You wrapped the blanket more tightly around yourself in the hope that it would help but had little success. So you distracted yourself by watching Din and Grogu interact instead. Maybe the warm feeling they created in your heart would extend to the rest of your body.

The dull hum of the ship combined with the quiet mumbled, very much one-sided, conversation between the two other members of the clan caused you to grow sleepy again. Which Din quickly noticed when your eyelids started drooping and your head lolled to the side a couple of times. So he swiftly put the child to bed and sent him back to the cockpit before returning to you.

"You should go back to bed." He stated, noticing your intense grip on the blanket as he sat you down on the end of his bunk. "What's wrong?"

"I'm cold." You confessed, even though it was pretty obvious by your violent shivering and chattering teeth. "Freezing actually."

Din did nothing for a moment, just stared at you and seemingly contemplated something if the way his fingers twitched at his sides was any indication, before hitting a switch and plunging the hull into darkness.

"What are you doing?" You blinked, suddenly feeling more awake as you tried to adjust to the lack of light.

"Sshh." He replied, the clang of metal on metal punctuating the word for him.

Was he... was he undressing?

"Din, stop."

"I said sshh." His voice was clear, no muffling from a modulator or helmet. His face was out in the open.

You stayed silent until you felt hands land on your shoulders, letting out a small gasp at the contact.

"Lie down on your side." Din mumbled, gently pushing you back.

The protest you had prepared died on your tongue as you felt him crawl into the bunk beside you and settle down at your back as the two of you laid down. He got as close to you as possible, arms wrapping around you and legs tangling with yours.

"What're you doing?" You whispered despite relaxing back against him and embracing the heat he was radiating.

"Warming you up." He mumbled into the back of your neck, lips grazing your skin.

"No!" You whined, wriggling a little to attempt getting out of his grasp. "I don't want you to get sick."

"Don't breathe on me then." He answered simply, arms locking around you to hold you in place. "Now go to sleep."

You would've fought more, concerned with his health, if it wasn't for the fact that this position felt good. So good. He was warm and soft and you felt so safe and secure in his hold. Maybe just cuddling for a little while wouldn't be too risky. At least, that's what you told yourself as you fell into a deep slumber.

It only took a couple of days before rattling, shaky coughs could be heard echoing around the ship from a certain bounty hunter's modulator.

#din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin #din djarin fluff #din djarin my beloved #din djarin fanfiction #the mandalorian #the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #mando #mando x reader #mando x you #the mandalorian fluff #mando fluff #mando fanfiction #ej’s writing #ej’s fics #deakyjoe’s writing #deakyjoe’s fics

[thepascalofus]

Supply Run - Receipt (part one)

AO3

PART TWO

Pairing: Mando/Din Djarin x afab!Reader

Word Count: 4.6k

Summary: You’ve been Mando’s crew partner for a year now. Throughout that year Mando has warmed up to you and given you signs that your heart throbbing crush on him is reciprocated. There’s one thing making you hesitate. The condoms he bought on the most recent supply run.

Content Warnings: MDNI, 18+ only! Post season 2, the Crest lives, strangers to friends to lovers, soft!Mando, helmet loopholes, pining, idiots in love, jealous!reader, mentions of sex work (sex work is work!), eventual SMUT (making out, grinding, f!receiving fingering, f!receiving oral sex, p in v, PRAISE kink, dirty talk), FLUFF, cuddling, happy ending guaranteed!

The ramp of the Crest lowered, revealing the bright sun and arid atmosphere of the random planet Mando chose for a pitstop. In the distance were jagged mountains, the colors of orange, red, and brown coming together to paint streaks across the rocky range. Sparse populations of trees littered the distant landscape. Large–but tiny from a distance–birds flew from tree top to tree top, wings fanned outwards to catch the air currents beneath their wings.

To your left was Mando. His silver beskar armor glinted in the light as he shifted his weight from one foot to another. Broad shoulders blocked a sizable proportion of your peripheral vision. Observing the new planet, he stood like a statue.

Tall. Solid. Strong. Capable. Protective.

Biting your lip, your gaze traveled up and down Mando, head to toe. He certainly had an idea of how intimidating he looked. Yet, he had no idea how that intimidation made him look so good.

People always snuck glances at you and Mando when the pair of you were in public. Whispers could be picked up on as well. Rumors about his Creed. The state of the planet of Mandalore. How dangerous Mando was.

The danger he possessed only made your feelings for him deepen. You knew what he was capable of, but you also knew he would never use his capabilities on you. Not that you didn’t want him to…

Maybe he could lift you up. Carry you across the hull. Place you on the bed in his bunk. His large, gloveless hands smoothing up and down your sides. 

Mando could pin both of your hands above your head while he–.

Ok. Stop. That’s enough.

You cleared your throat, hoping to snap Mando out of his observational state, and you out of yours. “Alright, so we need five things: bacta, medkits, rations, a new flight suit, andddd soap?” You listed as you turned to him. Feet shifting, he turned his helmet to look at you. Shoulders that donned beskar pauldrons followed suit. The classic Mandalorian T shape of the visor burned into your pupils.

He paused, as if he was looking over his own checklist. “That should be it,” he confirmed with a nod. You returned his nod and added a small smile.

“Ok see ya!” You threw over your shoulder as you quickly bounded down the ramp of the Crest.

“Dank farrik, hold on, hold on,” Mando’s modulator gritted out as he clicked a button on his vambrace to close the Crest, running to get caught up to you. He rarely let you stray too far, especially when on new planets like this one. But, the Mandalorian read about the planet–and the quarry on it–before landing. 

“This planet is under the jurisdiction of the New Republic, so crime rates are low,” his modulated voice filled your ears once he caught up to you, “You’ll be on your own for this supply run.”

Stopping dead in your tracks, your shoes crunched against the brown substrate underneath them as you turned to face the man, “Really?” You asked, eyebrows shooting towards your hairline.

Mando responded with a hesitant nod. “I have some business to take care of, business that your presence isn’t required for,” the beskar pauldrons lifted and lowered in a shrug, “I figured you would enjoy having free range over the market.”

“Are you sure?” You replied.

He crossed his arms, the muscles in them appearing larger when pressed together. Mando’s helmet cocked to the side and his hip jutted out. The chin of his helmet lifted slightly as it motioned towards the market. “Go before I change my mind.”

Smile spread across your face, you did a hop of excitement in place and continued towards the market.

Trudging along to explore the unfamiliar marketplace, you recalled the previous supply run at a more populated planet.

—

Mando’s finger was perpetually hooked through one of your belt loops as he dragged you from stall to stall with him.

“Mando, I’m not a child,” you told him. Your eyes rolled as he tugged you along, your hips jerking along with the movement of his arm. Sometimes your hands wound up on Mando’s arm to maintain your balance. The muscles underneath your hands hardened and flexed as he maneuvered through the crowd.

“I never said you were,” he stated as his gaze remained focused on the crowd. His eyes constantly scanned the marketplace. Beings of different cultures and origins milled through the alleyway lined with stalls. The crowd of the market was average sized–no hustle and bustle but also no empty stalls. The occasional sound of credits clinking rang throughout the dry air as someone dug into their pocket to pay for their purchase.

You scanned the market just as Mando did, following his metal gaze to try and catch a glimpse at what he was seeing. “Are we in danger?” Your voice dropped to a whisper, uncertain about what’s going on inside that beskar helmet. 

Deadpanning you once again, he responded, “Not that I am aware of.” The T-shape constantly spun on an axis, and the grip of his finger tightened on the fabric of your belt loop.

Brows furrowing, you finally turned your head fully towards him, “Then why are you doing all this?” You gestured with one of your hands up and down his body. His hand jerked to tug you along, your hip following in response.

A large inhale and exhale made his beskar-plated chest rise and fall, “I want to make sure yo-,” he paused, then quickly continued, “Just want to make sure we’re safe.” He nods. The one he gives you when he's confirming something you said. Like his approval of the items you listed to get on a supply run.

Which brings you back to now. Receiving that same nod made a series of connections go off in you. For the past week you’ve been thinking about what he said. His finger tugged your hips with him, his verbal slip-up found its way onto the center stage of your thoughts every night cycle on the Crest.

“I want to make sure yo-.”

It felt like a confirmation.

—

You started as an assistant, helping Mando with whatever he needed. Marketplace runs? Check. Bounty information? Check. Small ship repairs? Check. But, calling someone an assistant sounded…weird to Mando. He didn’t enjoy the air of subordinacy the word possessed. The Mandalorian thought back to his days with his fellow Mandalorians. The covert worked as a team, with no hierarchy. Sure, some people were assigned roles, but no one was above anyone else. Everyone was part of one unit.

You worked on a small, galactically insignificant planet at a small-items repair shop. Mando entered one day with a scope for one of his blasters. Impressed with your knowledge and efficiency–the scope being repaired in less than ten minutes–the Mandalorian inquired about the chances of hiring you. “Partner,” he said with a nod, when he offered you the job, “You’ll be my partner.”

You both met at a cantina after your shift. Mando explained job responsibilities, pay, and the lifestyle that the job required. Sitting across from the man covered in beskar was intimidating. But near the end of your conversation you realized he was just soft spoken. He was also all business. Any conversation was focused on logistics of the job. He didn’t ask you weird personal questions. He respected your skills and your opinions. There were definitely worse bosses to have, you figured. Eager to explore the galaxy and leave behind the little planet, you loaded the Crest with your personal belongings the following week. 

Living in the Razor Crest with Mando was awkward at first. Mando would keep his interactions with you to a minimum. You noticed that he only left the cockpit when he knew you were occupied, asleep, or off of the ship. If he had to be in the same space as you, he would leave at least a meter of distance between your bodies. Like you were two magnets of the same polarity, refusing to go closer to the other.

All business.

But that didn’t stop you from being friendly. Whenever you did see Mando you would offer him a, “How are you?” Or a, “How was your day?” His responses were consistently short and to the point. 

“Fine.”

“Busy.”

“Awful.”

Dinner was when you typically saw him. He would come down to grab a ration pack and scurry back into the cockpit. You also saw him when he returned from hunts, dragging the bounty behind his beskar frame. His grunts echoed throughout the Crest’s hull as he pulled the quarry up and froze him into carbonite. You claimed a small section of the hull as your living quarters, so you had no choice but to watch.

Trying to break the tension, you asked, “How was your day?”

Mando huffed, his broad shoulders covered in beskar lifted and fell, “Nothing you want to hear about,” he deadpanned to you. If he did offer any emotion, it was cut out of his voice by his helmet’s modulator.

“Try me,” you crossed your arms and raised your eyebrows. Leaning back on the cold wall of the hull, your chest thrummed with nervous energy as you waited for his response. Was that too much? Were you just going to push him away?

“Quarry tried to escape and they ran. Would have been back four hours ago,” the modulator gritted out, “Not too fun.” His helmet tilted to the side and he squeezed his hands together that were clasped in front of him.

The Mandalorian’s wide frame took up the majority of the door frame that separates the carbonite room from the hull. Large gloved hands remained clasped together while he shifted in place, eventually settling on leaning against the frame.

You stood still in shock for a couple seconds. If you listened closely you could have heard the hearts beating in the hull. That was the most that Mando has ever said to you at once. “Oh, I’m sorry,” you started.

“You don’t have to be sorry,” he brushed past you towards the ladder going up to the cockpit, “It’s my job.”

You turned towards him, which halted his ascent, “That doesn’t mean it sucks any less,” your eyes widened and you tried to backtrack, “sorry, I probably shouldn’t have said that your job sucks,” you blurted out in an attempt to save face.

Mando met your gaze with the T of his visor and replied, “My job does suck.”

Did he just try to be funny? A giggle bubbled out from your chest. His silver helmet shook slightly from side to side and he turned back to climb the ladder. But not before he also let out a small chuckle.

His attitude slowly and steadily transformed after that night. 

Mando lingered in the hull longer in the mornings and in the evenings. The mornings were when you asked, “What’re the plans for today?” And the evenings came with your, “How was your day?”

At one point he started making you a cup of caf every morning when he was awake first, and he usually was. He knew you favored the drink in the mornings so he began to regularly purchase it, and he built up a sizable stash in the Crest.

His preferred distance from you shrunk and shrunk. The broad Mandalorian opted to stand next to you in the mornings, helping you make breakfast as well as he could. Ever-so-subtle brushes as you passed each other on the Crest became more frequent. Sometimes he would touch a hand to your waist as he passed, or on the small of your back if you weren’t facing him.

The beskar warrior spoke more too. He taught you a few words in Mando’a, which consisted of a couple basic words and some insults. 

“Di’kutla,” he spat out as he struggled to repair a part on one of his blasters.

“What’s that one mean?” You asked over your shoulder, looking up from the article you were reading on your Holopad.

Mando huffed in frustration and gritted out, “worthless…stupid,” as he continued to try and force the part off of the blaster.

Chuckling, you repeated the word in your mind and watched as Mando continued to struggle. You stored all of the words he shared with you deep in your brain, not wanting to forget this special part of himself that Mando shared with you.

One of your evening chats came to an end and the broad beskar man was drifting back to this bunk. For the first time, he paused and looked at you. You knew his gaze underneath the helmet met yours. No proof, but you knew.

“Goodnight,” the word gently flowed through his helmet’s modulator. 

He’s said it every night he’s been on the ship since then. Sometimes his gaze lingered on yours too long. A couple times you swore you saw the center of his chest rise, as if he was about to say something, but it stopped mid-exhale and Mando retreated into his bunk.

You found yourself to be increasingly longing for the sound of the ramp descending, signaling his return from a hunt. He trudged up the ramp, quarry in tow. Freezing the person in carbonite was always fast. Usually small pleasantries were exchanged before he used the fresher to clean off. 

If your mind were to venture towards more perverse thoughts, your favorite part was after he used the fresher.

He always emerged in a pair of black pants, a black t-shirt, and of course, his helmet.

No armor. No gloves. Not even the usual long-sleeved layer underneath his t-shirt.

When he turned to toss his clothes into a small hamper, you swore small tufts of dark brown hair peaked out from beneath his helmet. Nevertheless, a combination of factors had you in awe. Watching as Mando hauled the quarry into carbonite like it was nothing. You saw the toned muscles in his arms, developed from decades of finely tuned combat. The broad expanse of his back, rippling underneath his t-shirt. His calloused, capable hands are composed of thick fingers. You were in awe at his physique, his presence, the things he did to provide for the both of you.

And it hit you like a cold, ocean wave just how unafraid of him you were.

As if your fondness towards the Mandalorian couldn’t grow any more, he started returning from supply runs with gifts for you. Although he rarely let you go on runs alone, he did have the decency to give you space during pit stops. You would wander near him while looking at all of the different crafts the stalls had to offer.

One day you were peering at a set of comfortable lounge pants. You managed to whittle your wardrobe down to one set after damaging pair after pair when repairing the Razor Crest. Shoulders slumped, you thought about how comfy the pants would be when sleeping in your makeshift bed on the floor of the Crest. You knew you didn’t have enough credits, so you moved along to purchase the items the pair of you actually needed.

Milling about the market weren’t many people, which was most likely why you were alone on this shopping trip. The brown sands of the marketplace intruded upon the surroundings, leaving dunes of sand curving up and into the stalls. Sun rays blared down from the cloudless sky. Heat already seeped through your airy shirt and throughout your skin, conjuring up a layer of sweat. After visiting four stalls you purchased all of the necessary items. 

Bacta. Soap. Rations. Spare parts. You confirmed each purchase on the receipts from the market. A step you always took to make sure nothing was forgotten.

You met Mando back at the Razor Crest and started unloading your bags. Item after item piled on the center of the ship's floor. Rations. Bacta. Medkits. Sweatpants. Ammo. Ra-.

Sweatpants?

The sweatpants were identical to the ones you stopped and looked at while shopping. Your hands reached for the sweatpants and marveled in their softness. Pausing, your gaze lifted to meet Mando’s T-shaped visor. “Did you buy sweatpants?” Confusion oozed from your voice.

His gaze remained on yours and he replied with a slight nod of his head, “Yes. They’re for you.” 

“Mando, you didn’t ha-”

“Take it. Please. I feel bad enough making you sleep on the floor,” he insisted. His gloved hand gestured to the sleeping pad, pillow, and blanket neatly stored in a corner of the hull. 

“Honestly it hasn’t been that bad. The sleeping pad you got is pretty comfy.” You shrugged and told him the truth. Sleeping on that plush pad was infinitely better than the hull’s cold, metal floor.

“You have to set it up every night. You at least deserve a permanent bed,” his modulator made his words sound like churning gravel.

You stared into the black T covering his face. His shoulders drooped, like he gave up on trying to convince you. The gesture was a silent plea to just accept the gift.

“Thank you,” you said to him softly, “it means a lot.” 

It was his turn to shrug, “That’s why I do it.”

—

Today marks a year since the two of you became “partners”.

For you, that marked a year since you’ve met the man you had a heart throbbing crush on. 

You knew Mando wasn’t much of the sentimental type. Everything he kept was for a purpose. Any sentimental things had extreme meaning to him. If you were reading the situation correctly, you had a burning suspicion that the beskar covered man liked you back. So suggesting you two get matching bracelets at the market wouldn’t be completely farfetched. Even if he didn’t like you back you could just play it off as a gag gift…right?

After trudging across the brown landscape for twenty minutes, Mando at your tail, you arrived at the market. 

“We meet at that stall,” you heard from over your shoulder. Your eyes followed Mando’s finger to a bright red food vendor stall, “in 2 hours. Understood?”

A smile plastered itself onto your face and you gave him a sarcastic salute, “Understood.”

A breathy chuckle passed through Mando’s modulator. He shook his head softly and motioned for you to get a move on. You turned on your heel and walked to your first destination.

—

Bacta? Check. Rations? Check. Soap? Check. Medkits? Check.

The only thing left was a new flight suit for Mando.

As you walked towards the clothing section of the market you stopped at a men’s clothing stall to purchase an extra large black flight suit. Once your transaction was completed you walked further into the alleyway lined with stalls selling dresses, flight gear, loungewear, jewelry, bracelets. Bracelets. 

Your eyes landed on a stall with various fabrics on display. The front tables of the vendor were packed with different colored bracelets. Bracelet materials ranged from metal, leather, twine, thick cord, beads, and some materials you’ve never seen before.

The stall became even more enchanting as you got closer. Signs displayed prices, sizes, and ongoing sales. Immediately your eyes landed on a vast array of multicolored bracelets. You were thinking of getting something green since Mando told you that Grogu is green. 

A couple months ago he told you about how he had to give Grogu to a Jedi to train, since Grogu could use the force. Your heart sank. Mando often turned the metal knob of the thruster–a silver ball–over and over in his hand. He only told you recently that it was Grogu’s favorite thing to steal from him.

Your eyes danced over the section of green bracelets. Some were too dark, some too vibrant, others were just ugly. Finally, your gaze landed on the bracelet.

A fine, light green thread, you assumed somewhat close to Grogu’s color, was intertwined with thicker silver and brown threads. Light green and silver streaked across the rough brown surface of the bracelet. It reminded you of light streaking across the windshield of the Crest while in hyperspace.

This was the one.

Sifting through the different sizes you picked out one in your size and one you guessed would fit Mando. The bracelets were adjustable and hopefully that would help if you got Mando the wrong size. Setting the bracelets down to sift through your pockets for credits, you looked up at a weathered sign displaying the prices.

PRICES

1 bracelet = 15 credits

2 = 30 credits

3 = 45 credits

4 = 60 credits

As you reached into your pockets and retrieved your last credits you realized you didn’t have enough. Only twenty five credits sat in your palm. Not in the mood to haggle with the vendor about the price, your shoulders dropped and you returned the bracelets to their original places.

You checked your watch. One hour left until you met back up with Mando. Making it from one end of the market to the other took forty five minutes, so you figured you could take the scenic route back to the meet up point. Getting to see the new sights could cheer you up after not being able to afford the gift you wanted to get for Mando.

Walking up on a familiar intersection, you opted to take a right this time instead of a left. The path on the right was much more…interesting…than the path on the left. One vendor sold exotic pets. The next sold potions that promised to give the consumer various effects. The next stall was not a stall, it was a large establishment.

The establishment stood tall amongst the surrounding stalls. Solid brick walls were painted a dull gray. A sign with old, faded letters was centered on the front wall between two windows. The tall windows of the building were heavily tinted. Shadows of different figures danced across the glass. Some bodies were indistinguishable from the ones they were next to. Music blared from inside, but it barely covered the sounds of moans and the slapping of skin on skin.

Looking up, front and center on the building reads: BROTHEL

Brothels weren’t a common occurrence on the supply runs you’ve been on, but you suppose the service was in demand. You shrugged and walked past the gray building. The moving bodies in the windows almost allowed your vision to gloss over him.

Tall. Broad. Covered in beskar. A black T shaped visor gazing down at a man.

At first you froze in shock. Was this the business Mando had to attend to? The one that, “didn’t require your presence”? You never pictured the Mandalorian to be a man that required services like these, but he is a man nonetheless.

A soft breeze sent goosebumps down your arms towards your fingertips. Realizing you’re out in the open, you ducked into an empty market stall. A gap in the wood planks making up the stall’s sides gave you a clear view of Mando’s encounter with the mystery man.

The man was in all black with a silver name tag on his chest. By Mando’s serious demeanor you could tell that the conversation was strictly business. The Mandalorian’s helmet tilted in question at the man and Mando pulled out a pen and pad to write on. From the man’s stance and close position to the building you could tell he was the bouncer, plus the presence of a name tag. 

The bouncer pulled out an identical pad and began to speak. You couldn’t hear a word they exchanged, but you could tell Mando was writing down a list. A finger on the bouncer’s hand came up everytime he stated something else from his list. Mando jotted down a few things, closed his pad, and returned it to a pocket in his suit.

Then he reached into a different pocket, pulled out a sizable amount of credits, and handed them to the bouncer.

Did he just buy a night at the brothel?

Your heart dropped to your stomach. Blood rushed towards your head and your vision slightly blurred. You felt stupid. You fell for a guy, pretty much your boss, you don’t even know what he looks like, and he didn’t like you back. You were even going to buy you and him matching bracelets. Breaths exited your mouth in stutters. The realization of how naive you were radiated throughout your being. Mando was just being nice to you. He managed to warm up to you. That’s it. 

But you were also so confused. What were the fleeting touches in the Crest? The gifts he gave you after trips to the market? The early morning and late evening conversations? Feelings bubbled up from your stomach and started to seep out of your body in the form of tears. 

You spent a year getting to know this man. Kriff, it took you a couple months before he started replying to you in full sentences. No one else has experienced Mando like this. You didn’t want anyone else to see his ungloved hands, the rolling muscles of his back in just a t-shirt, the way the helmet softly shook from side to side when he heard a bad joke. Those small, “Goodnight”s, are yours. The modulated chuckles are yours. The way he makes a cup of caf for you on most mornings. That’s yours.

Of course Mando wasn’t yours, but jealousy managed to seep into your bones regardless. 

Zoning back into the situation, you realized Mando started walking back in the direction towards the meet up point. Scrambling to get to your feet, you jumped over the wall of the empty stall and made your way back

—

Upon seeing the size of the bag you carried, Mando slipped it from your grasp and into his. He stuffed a small piece of paper, a receipt, into the bag before swinging it onto his shoulder. 

The walk back to the Razor Crest lacked conversation. Sounds of crunching ground underneath your shoes echoed in your ears. Mando followed your lead and kept the trek speechless.

The Razor Crest steadily became larger and larger on the horizon. Once orange, brown, and red mountain ranges were now painted in hues of pink and purple. Colors of the rocky formations reflected off of the Razor Crest.

You bounded up the ramp as soon as it was lowered. Mando followed suit and began to empty the bag of its contents. Each item fell onto the middle of the hull’s floor.

Bacta. Medkits. Flight suit. Soap. Rations.

The beskar man dug around in the bag for a second more and retrieved a handful of receipts. 

“Here,” he said as he handed them to you, “I know you like to look them over.”

Your stomach flipped at the thoughtfulness. Reaching your hand out, his gloveless fingers brushed yours in the handing off of the receipts. After they were straightened out you began to look through them.

First receipt, bacta and medkits.

Second receipt, rations and soap.

Third receipt, flight suit.

Fourth receipt.

Wait. Fourth receipt?

Your eyes scanned the lines of the flimsy paper. The date was from today, so it wasn’t old. But you didn’t visit the vendor listed on the receipt. Pupils skipping a few lines, you read the items purchased.

ITEMS PURCHASED (1)

CONDOM - 12 PACK

For the second time today you froze. Blood rushed up towards your head as your vision blurred. 

He really just bought a night with a worker at the brothel.

From the little details you had, you tried to make sense of the scene you stumbled across earlier in the night. Mando talked to the bouncer, probably asked who was working that night, wrote down the workers he was interested in, and paid for a night with one of them. I mean, what else could you possibly be talking with a brothel bouncer about? The weather?

Good thing you didn’t buy those bracelets.

PART TWO

#pedro pascal #din djarin fanfic #din djarin #din djarin fic #din djarin fluff #din djarin smut #din djarin x f!reader #din djarin x you #din x reader #mando fanfic #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian fanfiction #mando x reader #mando smut #mando fluff #supply run #thepascalofus #thepascalofus fic

[angelltheninth]

Things Din Does When He's Jealous

Pairing: Din Djarin x Fem!Reader

Tags: fluff, established relationship, flirting, hugging, protectiveness, jealousy, grunting, silent threats, clingy!Din Djarin

A/N: He is the silent, jealous type and he's cute for it.

Jealous!Din who tries his best to keep his jealousy to himself. His armor is for more then protecting his body, it also helps him hide his emotions from the outside world when he needs to. He's a man of few words except to those he deems worthy, you being one of those people, the others, well he likes to keep them guessing a little.

Jealous!Din who does get jealous often actually, and very territorial when he does. Not with words but with actions more then anything. A few grunts, a tap on his blaster, his fingers twitching towards it and a slow turning of his head is enough to make someone back off.

Jealous!Din who can't help but think you can do better then him so when he sees someone hitting on you a part of him feels like he should let it happen. It hurts him of course, to think like this especially when he has so few things he can think of as his own.

Jealous!Din who goes to you almost without thinking about it, his legs leading him to where he's supposed to be, by your side. His hand will find yours, squeezing once, twice, tense, then relaxing when you squeeze back and tap on his helmet. Its a specific series of taps know to only the two of you that you do to calm his nerves down.

Jealous!Din who clings to you when he sleeps. Its one of the only times when he can relax out of his armor so you bet he's gonna take the chance to be as close to you as he can. And someone was around you, flirting with you before this he will get especially close, almost all the way on top of you, trying to breathe in your scent, absorb your warmth and give you all of his in return.

Jealous!Din who hogs all your attention when you're alone, but only when you're alone because you already know him so well. He kisses your cheek, strokes your thigh with his hand and casually bumps into you when you're passing by in the ship, making sure he's the only person on your mind.

Jealous!Din who gets a little shy when you take his helmet off and go in for a reassuring kiss. He can barely hold himself back from kissing you senseless, letting his feelings of jealousy and protectiveness and need overcome him and let everything out.

Jealous!Din who nuzzles his head against yours while he's wearing his helmet as a way of showing affection. Knows that this will also show others that you're someone important to you because usually he doesn't let anyone get anywhere close to his helmet, let alone initiate it himself.

Jealous!Din who is ready to fight someone when they don't back away from you when he gets there. Just him being there should have been enough but it seems like the other person has a bit of a death wish. Who knows they might actually be a dangerous criminal that he can get an award for. It would be nice, that way you never have to see their face again.

Jealous!Din who will take you away into a dark corner, pin you to the wall and lift his helmet for a lightning fast kiss. Sometimes he just can't wait to taste your lips, especially when they've been eyed by someone who isn't him. He needs to mark what's his.

#din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin fluff #din djarin imagine #star wars x reader #star wars x you #star wars fluff #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian fluff #the mandalorian imagine #star wars imagine #mando x reader #mando x you #mando fluff #mando imagine #din djarin x female reader #din x female reader #star wars x female reader #x reader #x female reader

[moon-sang]

ᴋʟᴜᴛᴢ ~ 𝔻𝕚𝕟 𝔻𝕛𝕒𝕣𝕚𝕟 𝕩 ℝ𝕖𝕒𝕕𝕖𝕣

(gif does not belong to me)

REQUEST: Reader goes to grab food and essentials with grogu while mando is out. Reader accidentally trips and scraped her knees (deep wound of some sort) and in the midst breaks grogu’s fall. Reader is hesitant to tell mando what happened but quickly realizes soon after (reader probably showing signs of hurt, limping etc). Fluff and comfort.

SUMMARY: You had always been a klutz... but this one fall may just change the relationship you have with Din.

WARNINGS: Fluff, angst, Soft!Din, fem!reader, description of wound, mature language, pls tell me if I miss anything!

~~~~~~~~~~~~

It’s not your fault.

It’s not your fault you were born such a klutz.

It’s not your fault you ran out of food on the Crest.

It’s not your fault you had to go out and get more supplies, whilst Din was on a hunt.

It’s not your fault a stone got caught in between your feet.

It’s not your fault you fell, and took most of the impact to protect Grogu. 

......Except... it was.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The burning hot air of Nevarro attacked the new scrape on your knee, pulling a hiss out of you. Kriffing rock, getting in the way of your walking! The child cooed in your arms as you limped your way over to the Crest. You didn’t even want to look at it. You could just feel how deep the wound was, you knew you would probably faint if you actually looked at it. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After what seemed to be forever, you finally made it to the Crest. The familiar ship practically called you to it. 

“Now listen buddy.” You start. “I don’t want a peep out of you, we keep this a secret from Mando, yeah?!” All you get as a reply is a bunch of gurgles. A sigh makes it’s way to your face as you continue to hobble over to the hatch of the Crest. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The inviting cool air of the Crest relieved some of the stinging on your knee, but not nearly enough. You groan in pain, and ghost your fingers over the sensitive skin. You should probably patch it up before Din get’s back. 

Your fingers curl around the handle to a drawer, and pull it open. Finally something to patch your wou-.... Where are the medkits? FUCK! You had to buy some of those as well! You forgot them when you tripped! You bang your head on the cold chrome coloured wall of the Crest. “This is just great” You practically yell. With a frustrated groan you flop onto your ‘bed.’ 

“Hey kid, you wouldn’t mind going to the markets for me would ya?” you joke, looking at the confused gremlin. A chuckle leaves your lips when he frantically shakes his head. “Didn’t think so.” you whisper. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A few hours later Din arrived. The bounty was knocked out cold and most likely going to be put in carbonite. “Hey.” You greet, attempting to hide your wince and the pain in your voice. You get a nod in return, from the tin can. “How was the kid, cause any trouble?” You shake your head gently. “No, he was good for once.” he nods and turns to the kid, gurgling on the floor. “And what about Y/n? Did she hit her head, stub her toe, or trip anywhere?” He asks him. “Ha.Ha. Very funny.” You mock. Din was very familiar with your clumsiness by now. He’s seen it day after day, and the worst part about it is.... he finds it amusing. He chuckles at his own joke and makes his way to the cockpit. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It wasn’t until much later Din called you to the cockpit. It was easy to say ‘one sec’ or ‘yea! I’m coming’ but it was easier said than done. Every step to the ladder felt like you were pulling weights tied to your feet. 

When you finally managed to get a hold of the ladder, it was like staring up at mount Everest. It looked so tall, how were you gonna make it up there, with your bad knee? “Y/n? You coming?” Din yells from the cockpit. “Yeah!” You yell back. You could do this. With a huff you step on one of the rungs of the ladder. The pressure on your bad leg pulled a hiss out of you, but you kept going. Step, and pull up, repeat, step and pull up, repeat. That’s all you needed to do. Why did it feel so hard? Finally, after what seemed to be forever, you made it to the cockpit. And why were you panting from climbing a kriffing ladder? 

“What’s up?” you grit out. “The kids been stressing out and crying, I don’t know what’s wrong with him, could you take h-” Din cuts himself off when he turns his seat to look at you. You cock your head at him in confusion. “You want me to take him?” You finish for him. “No.” he replies bluntly, placing the kid on the floor and standing up. “Din...what’s.. going on? What’s wrong?” You hesitantly ask. “You tell me.” came his modulated reply. “What?” You practically whisper. “Do you know how pale you look? Kriffing hell you’re even sweating!” He stresses. Your breath hitches. Was the.. wound.. infected? Kriff it did take a few hours for Din to get back, you were bleeding out for quite some time. Tears well in your eyes but you hold them back. Things were getting overwhelming for you, and..... was Din talking? Whatever he was saying, you couldn’t hear, things were muffled. Your head pounded and a searing hot pain went through your leg before your vision went completely black.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

When you opened your eyes next, you were nested in Din’s bunk. You knew straight away because everything in there smelt like him. Beautiful. “Din?” You slur out, eyes closing again. “Shh, I’m here.” He hushes soothingly. You attempt to sit up, but you find Din gently, but firmly, pushing you back down. “No. Lay down. You need rest.” He orders. You groan in response. “My knee, woun-” You’re cut of by Din. “I dealt with it.” he whispers. You nod and a tense silence spills over the two of you. Finally, he talks. “Why didn’t you tell me?” He questions, a tiny amount of anger laced in his voice. “Didn’t want to.. distract you from the...kid. You respond, voice coaxed in sleepiness. Din sighs and slumps next to you on the bed, cradling your cheek in his bare hot hand. “How.. did you stitch...wound? We have.... no...medkits.” You slur yet again. “I had some spare in my drawer, you should’ve told me mesh’la.” He soothingly whispers, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “Mm sorry” you whisper. He places a gentle kiss of your forehead, and quickly pulls his helmet back down. “Just tell me next time ok, You scared the kriffing shit out of me.” He chuckles. You giggle with him. “Ok.” 

Din pulls you closer to him and wraps and arm around you. You nuzzled into his warm chest... and just stayed like that for a moment, because... it was a strange routine the two of you had. Then there’s something crawling onto you. At first you think it’s a giant spider... but then.. an all too familiar cooing sound rings through the cot. You chuckle along with Din. “No buddy, we didn’t forget you, come on in.” You whisper as you and Din make a small space for him in between the two of you. Gleefully he jumps in, and you all snuggle in with each other. 

~ I hope you liked it!

#Din Djarin x reader #Mando x reader #Din x reader #Fluff #Din Djarin fluff #Mando fluff #The Mandalorian #The Mandalorian x reader #Mando x you #Din x you #Din Djarin x you #Mandalorian x you #Grogu #baby yoda #Mando x y/n #Din x y/n #Din Djarin x y/n #Mandalorian x y/n

[lokischocolatefountain]

Daddy Issues

Other fic(s) in this series: Guess

Fandom: The Mandalorian

Pairing: Din Djarin x Reader

Rating: PG13 for some smutty talk

Word count: 768 words

Summary: You and Din have Daddy issues— your dad hates him— but you both get past it for now.

A/N: Characters co-created with my friend @lokislittlevalkyrie. Check out their amazing Din fic. 💜

You kissed the top of his helmet, the cold beskar familiar to your lips. You shrieked as larger hands pulled you into bed and held you tight like you were one of Grogu’s soft squishy toys. You giggled at his enthusiasm and placed the box of food you’d brought him on your side table before settling into your mandalorian’s warm embrace.

“I brought breakfast,” you said, looking up at him from his chest. “Dad made a mixed vegetable fry.” From your vantage point, you saw a patch of the beard that still made your skin burn from how he kissed you. The bulge in his neck that wobbled when he spoke. His skin… Oh his skin that was soft and rough at the same time. All things he allowed you to see despite his strict adherence to The Way.

“He cooked for me? It’s definitely poisoned,” he said, his voice deep and gravelly from sleep.

“Oh, not you too!” You chastised, slapping his beskar clad chest lightly so as to not hurt yourself. Your dad had made it clear that he did not like the man you brought home. He was charmed by Grogu, as was your mom and little brother. But on the Din front, he was strongly opposed.

“What? He’s made it clear that he hates me,” he said, shrugging it off. You sighed and agreed with him, knowing he was right. The first thing your dad had heard about him was you sobbing into his chest over your break up. Things had gotten better and the two of you were back together. But your dad’s rage only continued to grow.

“Eat, okay? I’ll be back when you're done.”

“Don’t go…please,” he said softly, his vulnerability melting you.

“You need to eat, Din,” you attempted to reason even though you knew you would eventually give in to his request. Your separation had not been easy on either of you and now that you’d found each other again, you were determined to make the best use of every minute you had together.

“I’ll eat you,” he said, hand crawling up your thigh and sending shivers all over your body that made every hair on your arm stand up. “Your dad made you too and you’re definitely my favorite out of his creations.”

“Din!” You squealed, somehow shocked by his brazenness though all he had been throughout your relationship was brazen. A giggle escape you unconsciously but turned into an unattractive snort, making you bury your face in his chest.

“I need to have you, sweet girl,” he said as he explored your body. “I’m starving.”

“You had me last night, you sex fiend!”

“So?” He asked, head tilted. “Want you everyday. Twice. At the very least.”

“You won't have time for anything else,” you said, reasoning him out of his sweet delusions.

“That’s alright by me…” he trailed before removing his hands from you abruptly. You whined at the loss of contact even though you’d been the one who was trying to get him to eat so he would leave you to go eat with your family.

“Close your eyes,” he said, and you followed, eyes shutting out the world at his command as they’d become accustomed to do. It was a familiar one. You knew what came after. Shuffling, heavy metal against a surface— wood, your side table.

“Blindfold me,” You said, elated that he trusted you this way, yet doubting yourself. What if your curiosity got the better of you and you looked? What if you opened your eyes accidentally? You were never in control of your senses when you were drowning in his passion.

He returned with a piece of cloth, presumably from your wardrobe if you had to guess from his footsteps. He wrapped it around you, covering your eyes, and tied a knot in the back.

His lips found you and you kissed him back eagerly, searching his lips for your love, for the soft heart behind the hard beskar. He did not disappoint, pouring his passion into you, electrifying a part of you that you’d never felt before with anyone else. With the kiss, the insecurities of the past few hours melted away. It did not matter that you’d separated once. You found each other again. It did not matter that your dad did not like him. He would come to like him soon. It did not matter that he would be off-world to rebuild Mandalore and you would be right here, on your planet, far away from him.

Nothing mattered except the present. And at present, you were in bliss.

.

.

.

Advent Calendar Masterlist

Main Masterlist

#din djarin #the mandalorian #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin x female reader #din djarin x y/n #din djarin x ofc #din djarin x original female character #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin fic #din djarin fluff #din dijarin x reader #din djaren #din dijarn #mando x reader #mando fic #mando fluff #mando x y/n #advent calendar #pedro pascal #pedro pascal character fanfic #all that i've inflicted on the world