The Mandalorian X Reader - Blog Posts

Beskar Hearts

hiii!! i'm so sorry for taking so long to write this request :(

Din Djarin x fem!Reader

She/her pronouns used!

Anon request :)

Summary: After a long and grueling bounty hunt, the reader tries to engage Din Djarin in conversation, only to be met with coldness. Frustrated and hurt, the reader demands to be dropped off at the next destination. Din, realizing the gravity of his actions, begins to reveal his true feelings for her. Meanwhile, Grogu plays a pivotal role in bringing them closer together.

Beskar Hearts

The Razor Crest was a sanctuary of silence and shadows, the only sound being the hum of the ship's engines. You sat in the cockpit, eyes glancing out into the abyss of space. Din was seated beside you, his helmet obscuring his face as usual. The mission had been taxing, physically and mentally, and you had hoped for some comfort, some connection, but Din had been distant.

You took a deep breath, deciding to try once more. “It was a tough mission, huh? That last target almost got the jump on us.”

Din grunted in response, his fingers tapping away at the console. You frowned, the ache of isolation settling deeper into your bones. “Din, talk to me. We’ve been through so much together. Why are you shutting me out?”

He didn’t even turn his head. “I’m busy.”

Frustration bubbled up within you. “Busy? Busy ignoring me? We’re partners, Din. Or at least, I thought we were.”

His shoulders tensed, but he said nothing. The silence was deafening, a chasm opening between you. You stood, unable to contain your anger and hurt any longer. “If this is how it’s going to be, just drop me off at the next planet. I can’t keep doing this.”

Din’s head snapped towards you, surprise evident even through the helmet. “What?”

“You heard me,” you said, voice trembling. “I’m done.”

You stormed out of the cockpit, retreating to your quarters. Tears stung your eyes as you collapsed onto the small bed, emotions swirling. You had given so much, endured so much, and now it felt like you were nothing more than an unwanted burden.

Din sat frozen in the cockpit, your words echoing in his mind. He hadn’t meant to be cold, hadn’t realized how deeply his silence had cut you. The weight of his armor felt heavier, the confines of his helmet suffocating. He stared at the closed door you had walked through, heart pounding.

He had always been careful, always kept people at a distance. It was safer that way. But you had slipped through his defenses, had become someone he couldn’t imagine being without. The thought of you leaving was like a punch to the gut.

A soft cooing sound drew his attention. Grogu, the small green child who had become a part of their unconventional family, toddled into the cockpit, looking up at Din with wide, curious eyes. Grogu reached out with his tiny hand, patting Din’s leg as if sensing his turmoil.

Din knelt down, placing a gentle hand on Grogu’s head. “She’s upset,” he murmured. Grogu tilted his head, his large eyes seeming to understand more than a child should.

“I have to make this right,” Din said, more to himself than to Grogu. He stood, determination coursing through him. He made his way to your quarters, Grogu following close behind. Hesitating only for a moment, Din knocked. “Can I come in?”

There was no response. He took a deep breath and entered, finding you sitting on the edge of the bed, eyes red-rimmed. Grogu waddled over to you, climbing onto the bed and curling up beside you, his presence a small comfort.

“I’m sorry,” Din said, the words awkward and heavy. “I didn’t realize how much I was hurting you.”

You looked up at him, pain and anger in your gaze. “Sorry isn’t enough, Din. I can’t keep being treated like I don’t matter.”

“You do matter,” he said, voice softer. “More than you know.”

He stepped closer, though he kept his helmet on, the visor hiding his eyes. “I’m not good at this,” he admitted. “At talking, at… feelings. But you’re important to me. More important than anyone else has been.”

You blinked, surprised at the vulnerability in his voice. “Then why push me away?”

“Because I’m scared,” he said simply. “I’m scared of losing you, of getting too close and then losing everything. It’s easier to push you away than to face that fear.”

Tears welled up again, but this time they were different. You stood, closing the distance between you. “You won’t lose me, Din. But you have to let me in. We’re a team, remember?”

He nodded, reaching out to cup your cheek with his gloved hand. “I’m sorry,” he repeated. “I’ll try to be better. I don’t want you to leave.”

You leaned into his touch, the warmth of his hand grounding you. “I don’t want to leave. I just want to know that I matter to you.”

“You do,” he whispered, pulling you into a tender embrace. “You matter more than anything.”

Grogu cooed softly, nuzzling against you, his innocent presence a balm to both your wounded hearts. In that moment, the walls between you crumbled, and you found solace in each other’s arms. The journey ahead would still be fraught with challenges, but now, you knew you wouldn’t face them alone. Together, with Grogu by your side, you were stronger, and together, you would find your way.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

again, i apologize for having this so late!! thank you so much for the request as well, it really helps getting the creative juices flowing lol. i hope you love this as much as i did writing it!

when he’s sick headcanons

note — can you tell i was in a francisco morales mood when i wrote this? also, i’m incredibly soft. i just wanna hold them :’( also also send me your  own headcanons!! i wanna hear ‘em!! big love <3 - nat

MANDO

- he doesn’t know how he survived all those bouts of sickness alone when you step in to help him for the first time

- his body aches, and not the usual after-bounty-capture either

- his head is foggy, he can feel the sweat in his helmet, and his breathing is hard

- he can’t tell if it’s coming through the modulator, but when you bring soup up to the cockpit for him, he knows you know

- he takes it gratefully, knowing that if there was nobody else here he would have just gone to bed to sleep it off, dinner vetoed for the night

- your cold fingers wrap around the back of his neck, moving his cape as you do so, and he melts into you

- he doesn’t know that he lets out the smallest whimper when you do this, and it makes you want to tear off his helmet, pull him into your arms, and hold him until he’s better

- but you can’t, so you settle for a hand on his neck, and the tilt of a helmet when he drinks the soup in front of you, as requested

- he definitely has a fever, and maker knows what else

- so you tell him to get some rest, that you’d watch the ship and get him if anything went wrong

- you supervise him down the ladder, just in case, which he finds funny and sweet

- you wish you could squish into his bunk with him, but you don’t want to invade on his personal space, especially while he’s hot and sick

- you you settle into the cockpit, the ship on cruise control, and you check on him every once in a while, keeping grogu occupied and quiet while he gets some well deserved rest

EZRA

- you knew he would get it

- right after you recovered from your illness, he started displaying symptoms of the same one you had just gotten over

- shortness of breath, fever, aches, lethargy

- he had taken such good care of you, so it was only fair that you’d do the same in return

- resources were sparse and quarters were cramped on the green, but you did what you could to make him as comfortable as possible

- his feverish back was pressed up against your chest in a cot designed for one after he’d stripped down to his underwear to avoid overheating

- he really enjoyed you being the big spoon sometimes, and now was one of those times

- when he got too hot from your shared body heat though, you would sit on the floor next to the cot and stroke right behind his ear to get him to fall asleep

- you made sure he ate as much as he could keep down, and you gave him all the fluids you could spare for his speedy recovery

- it broke your heart to see your usually verbose boy so quiet and in pain

- he muttered fever nonsense to no one and whimpered in his sleep

- you moved your cot directly next to his in order to keep a close eye on him

- but you knew that with time he would heal, and that as soon as he started talking to you again he was getting better

FRANKIE

- he sweats through the sheets next to you in the early hours of the night

- you’re the one who wakes up first, and you honestly thought one of you had wet the bed because of how much liquid there was

- but you realize that it’s frankie, back drenched and sweating out whatever flu he had acquired from whoever he had gotten it from

- you wake him from what seemed to be a not great dream anyway, and when he realizes what happened, he apologizes, groggy from sleep and illness

- “no, no! i’m not mad, frankie, you just can’t sleep in this sweetheart. you’ll get more sick. how are you feeling?”

- he curls up deeper under the covers and you get out of bed to kneel next to him

- your hands card through his matted, sweat soaked hair, and you wipe the drops from his jaw

- “do you want a cool shower, baby? you’re soaked.” you suggest, but frankie is so out of it

- he was fine last night, you remember

- sure he didn’t eat dinner, and went to bed early, but you thought maybe he had a late lunch and a long day

- now, helping him out of bed to the shower, you understand that it was early onset symptoms of whatever he was battling

- he pressed heavily to your side and you’re nervous as you strip him down and get him into the tub

- he sways, and you’re not sure what you’ll do if he passes out, or hits his head, so you sit him down, take off the shower head, make sure the water coming out is room temperature, and you run she showerhead over his overheating body

- you’re careful not to get any water in his face and ears, and you don’t wash his hair, just his body with a gentle soap

- you figure this is one of the only times frankie will let you take care of him like this, so you milk it for all it’s worth

- you blow dry his hair on a low setting, just in case he has a headache, you change the sheets of your bed, you lay him down on his side and you bring him close to your chest

- which is how he falls asleep for the next few nights until his illness eventually subsides

WHISKEY

- he curls up in your lap on the couch as soon as he gets home from work, which is how you know something’s wrong

- but you ask him anyway

- “i don’t feel so great, sugar,”

- which scares you, because did he get drugged? is this just a regular illness? is this like a biowarfare mission gone wrong?

- you leave him to get the thermometer, and when you come back, he’s got sad eyes looking up at you that just break your heart

- turns out, it’s not biowarfare. just a fever of 100.4

- you slip your hands up the back of his shirt and it’s so warm, along with his forehead

- he moans weakly at your touch, worn and tired from his extensive mission that day

- he’s definitely been overexerting himself

- as you settle back onto the couch, he settles into your lap again

- you let him rest for a while, but not after long, you realize he’s fallen asleep, and you’re stuck there for god knows how long

- you turn the volume down on the tv just in case, and you stroke behind his ears and you play with his fingers

- it’s best to just let him sleep it off, and you're not opposed to letting him do it on your lap

- you imagine there are statesman resources you can use to help him, but if he’s feeling better after he’s slept it off, then maybe you won’t need to misuse them

JAVIER PEÑA

- you scared the shit out of him, knocking on his door like that

- in your blinding rage, filled with thoughts like “how dare he take the day off to bang hookers, to recover from his hangover, to generally be a hindrance to the fucking DEA,” you had not pondered the possibility that THE javier peña, was sick

- he’s pulling on a t-shirt just as he opens the door, wearing pajama pants, and it startles you to see him so disarmed and casual

- his eyes and nose are red, his hair is disheveled, and he looks... exhausted

- “wow, you look like shit."

- “i feel like shit,” he says, walking away from the door, sniffling

- you take this as an invitation in, and close the door behind you

- he collapses back onto his couch, where you assume he’s been all day, and wraps himself up in a thick afghan blanket

- his hands shake the slightest bit as he opens his lighter to ignite his cigarette

- you take a seat next to him and help him with his lighter, and he nods his thanks to you

- “you’re gonna be late,” he mutters, taking the cigarette from his mouth and blowing out smoke into his apartment, coughing it out halfway

- “i’ll call out,” you offer, eyes wandering up his blanket clad body

- he closes his eyes and lets his head rest on the back of the couch

- “go in. i’m just gonna sleep it off anyway,”

- you lean in close to him and press your hand against his forehead and he freezes, staring at you

- you run your hand down his neck and feel his warmth, and he melts into your touch just a little bit

- you offer to only call out for a few hours to get him settled and make sure he doesn’t die or something, and he lets you, simply because he knows his illness will only get worse

- when your time is up and you have to go back to work, javi’s eaten, gotten some fluids in him, and taken some pain meds

- you let him know that he can call you if he needs anything, and before you even walk out the door is sleeping contently on the couch

MARCUS MORENO

- you find out he’s sick when he calls you, and asks for a favor

- “hey, can you do me the biggest favor ever?”

- he’s super congested. at first you think it might not be him because of how grainy his voice is

- “i hate to do this to you on such short notice, but would you be able to pick up missy? i’m not feeling too hot right now.”

- when you make it back to their home, it's very clear why he thought he wouldn't be able to make it

- he's curled up in bed, tissues piled on his nightstand, trying to get some sleep, but clearly failing

- he notices the two of you come in, and you quietly usher missy away to her own room to entertain herself while her dad tries to get some rest

- he thanks you for picking up missy, and you tell him you'd be there for him whenever he needed you to be

- you make a special phone call as you care for marcus, keeping his curtains closed and running your cool hands up and down his back and shoulders until he felt like he could fall asleep

- you let him know that you'll be right back, that you were going to pick up a few things for him and that if he needed anything at all, just call

- knowing your chicken noodle soup skills were rusty, your special phone call had been to marcus' mother's house, where she had tupperware containers full of soup waiting for you to pick up for him

- when you get back to his house with pain meds, gatorade, and the soup, marcus is passed out in bed

- you don't want to wake him up, but you have a hunch that he hasn't eaten all day, so you whisper his name softly and lightly shake him awake

- he's so grateful and only eats a portion of what he normally does, but anything is better than nothing

- and you don't want him feeling even more sick as a result

- you end up eating the incredibly nostalgic and rich soup with missy at the table and talk to her about your day while marcus gets some sleep

MARCUS PIKE

- it's only when you get home from work that you realize something's wrong with marcus

- he's asleep on the couch

- which would have been fine, if you had worked overtime, or had gotten out late, but it was only four thirty

- plus, you two had planned on going to see a movie you he was excited about tonight in theatres and maybe grab dinner after

- the tv plays lowly in the background, and he hasn’t changed out of his work clothes yet

- he startles when you close and lock the door, and rubs his temples, eyes squeezed shut in pain

- "marcus, are you okay?"

- "yeah, i'm fine." he tells you, and when you mention the date, he looks shocked that he forgot about it

- "oh my god, you're right. i can’t believe i forgot, i’m so sorry babe, i'll get ready right now."

- you tell him it's no biggie, but he insists

- after you've taken off your work clothes and showered quickly for your date, you realize the two of you are most definitely staying in

- he's promptly fallen back asleep on the couch, and he looks adorable

- you put on your pajamas and he does too, and you settle into the couch behind marcus, flipping through channels with him

- he says he doesn't care what you watch, as long as it's not too bright or loud

- so you choose some old black and white movie with the subtitles on

- normally you're the one between his legs, as he rubs your shoulders and plays with your hair

- but this time, he's curled up into you, his back pressed up against your chest, his head tucked into your shoulder using it as a pillow

- you figure you didn't really want to see the new movie anyway, and decide takeout and casablanca was a better way to spend your time with your sick boyfriend

MAX PHILLIPS

- a big baby

- but he IS a vampire and DOES NOT get sick, which slips your mind completely when you come home after some overtime and find him paler than usual on the couch, his head in his hands

- you try to get him to tell you what’s wrong, and he refuses, but he caves when you sit down next to him and start stroking his head, and playing with the hair at the base of his neck

- he tells you that after the whole vampire fiasco with the company, he was set for a while, and has been feeling great, but he hasn’t had human blood in so long that it’s made him weak

- he gives you a sad puppy dog look, and you know he’s being an asshole about it, but you hate to see the dark circles under his eyes or the color his skin turns when he’s like this

- so you oblige, but you give him STRICT instructions to follow, otherwise you won’t do it again

- don’t take more than a pint, don’t leave unnecessary bruises, if you use your safe word he has to stop immediately, and he has to make it as quick and painless as he possibly can

- he nods enthusiastically, and pulls you into his lap

- he nuzzles into your neck, and grabs your chin, anchoring himself to you

- he blows softly on your skin, and presses hard kisses to the area to get your blood flowing and disarm you

- which isn’t fair because he knows your neck is so sensitive

- it’s a sharp prick when he ejects his fangs into your body and you stop moving completely, your hand fisting at his shirt, just listening to your breathing and his soft moans echoed against your skin

- out of habit your rub soothing circles into his back, more to sooth yourself then anything

- minutes pass, and you start to feel light headed and are about to tell him to stop when he pulls away, grinning ear to ear at you

- he’s back on your neck in seconds though, licking and sucking the leaking blood from the small holes he’s left in your skin

- now that, that feels much better than the bloodsucking that was going on originally

- you jump when he presses soft kisses to the sensitive area along your throat and dives a hand between your legs

- looks like someone’s feeling better already

MAX LORD

- tries to power through it as much as he can with pain killers and cough syrups, but after he almost passes out at dinner after a week of symptoms, you beg him to take at least a day off to recover

- that morning, his hair is a mess, he missed a button on his shirt, and his tie was uneven

- he was about to put on two different colored socks when he begrudgingly obliges

- you unbutton his shirt and help him take off his tie

- it’s easy to bring him back to bed after that, and you let him hold you from behind like a teddy bear, no matter how uncomfortable his arm is shoved under your neck

- usually he likes to be held, but he can feel his own back burning up, so he decides to hold you instead

- he whimpers in his sleep, plagued by fever dreams and his traumatic past

- so when he wakes you up in the middle of the night, something he so very rarely does, you’re concerned

- “i’m sorry, for waking you, i just... i just need... you... i want—“

- it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out he needs a hug

- you hold him and rub his back until he falls back asleep again, in your arms

- when he wakes up with a killer headache, you fight to keep him in bed again, rubbing his temples and pressing kisses to his forehead

- he falls back asleep in less than five minutes

- needless to say, one more day off couldn’t hurt

OBERYN MARTELL

- it’s not often than he gets sick, surprisingly, considering how close he gets to so many different people

- when you arrive at his chambers that morning, the guards seem keen on not letting you in

- you argue with them, but they insist oberyn didn’t want anyone in there

- you call them out, obviously upset and visibly frustrated when his doors creak open and you see him, in a robe, hair messy and pressed down to his forehead

- he quietly tells the guard to let you in, and you’re a little confused

- he sits down on his bed and looks up at you with guilty eyes

- “apologies, my love, but I don't want you to see me like this”

- you scoff and roll your eyes at him, moving in front of him

- you take his head in your hands, and he stares up at you

- “apology accepted, but i’m offended, my prince.”

- he scrunches his eyebrows and presses his chin to your stomach

- you run your hands through his hair and he brings his hands to your waist

- “you think mere illness could keep me away? keep me away from you?”

- his confusion melts into a small smile, and he lets his head rest against your belly as you pull him into you

- “can i get you anything, oberyn? wine, medicine?”

- “no, my love. just you is enough for me.”

PERO TOVAR

- wants to be left alone for the most part

- grumpy in general, and it doesn't get better when he's sick

- he'll let you wipe a cool cloth over his forehead and neck, and doesn't complain

- he says he doesn’t want you there because he doesn’t want you to catch what he has

- you know, survival rates are low for things like this at this point in history

- but really, like oberyn, he doesn’t want you to see him weak

- he’s afraid it’ll ruin your image of him in your mind

- william asks you to get some rest, as they can’t afford to risk more days at the campsite with sick travelers

- so you oblige, keeping your distance from pero, but you stay vigilant

- you stand guard for him for most of the night, listening to him breathe, watching his chest rise and fall, until you eventually fall asleep too

- but you’re up early, with the rest of the men, except pero, who sleeps well into daylight

- the rest of them take off, desperate to find something for dinner, but you stay back with him, stroking his forehead, a gentleness that’s rarely ever been afforded to him, listening to him ramble half in english, half in spanish, but he has your full attention

- it would be a rough few days until he recovered, but his muttered thanks and appreciation for you was more than enough for you to do it all over again if he ever needed you to

Hello, thank you so much for wanting to read my stories! Here is a list of what I've written so far for you to navigate.

STAR WARS:

I'm on the run (with you) | Din Djarin x f!reader [series]

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3

We could be together, if you wanted to | Din Djarin x f!reader [oneshot]

Crawlin back to you | Poe Dameron x f!reader [one shot]

I'd wanna hold you (just for the night) | Poe Dameron x f!reader [series]- (part 1) (part 2)

WORKS IN PROGRESS:

Divider by @/saradika

We could be together, if you wanted to

A Jedi. A Mandalorian. A choice.

din djarin x f!reader

Rated M - 6.2k

Tags: Jedi!Reader, alluded past attempted SA , eventual smut, inappropriate use of the force, unprotected PIV, fingering, yearning Din, like really pining, very noncanon timeline, no beta read we go down with this ship

Divider by @/saradika

My first time writing a longer story, sorry if the POV switches are confusing, but I hope you enjoy it!

It wasn't supposed to have been like this. You groan as the cantina music pounds ruthlessly against your skull, the hot air sticking to your skin like a second layer. Your arm moves across the table, fumbling for who knows what against the scattered bottles of alcohol you threw back only hours ago. 

Hours? 

It was a pitying scene, your Jedi robes removed and scattered on the ground, leaving you in only a thin long sleeve and pants. Your lightsaber, the thing you worked so hard for, forgotten somewhere on a betting table. This was your reality now.

A fallen Jedi they called you.

Another groaned turned sob escapes your lips, your hands shakily rising to cover your face as if you could simply hide away from this life. Lost in your wallowing, you almost didn't hear the cantina bands music dull down to a few notes. The subtle stall of conversation in the cantina. The icy feeling of being watched from somewhere, or, everywhere at once. The force, plucking gently at your instincts through the layers of grief and drinks.

Run.

Your body moves on instinct, throwing up the large wooden table as a gloved hand reaches for you. Your feet sludge through your clothes and you let out a curse, your gaze swaying as you try to steady yourself. A flash of metal, and you move once more, the other cantina patrons shoving past you to escape out the few available exits. Your head whips around, trying to catch a glance of your assailant, but somehow they melt into the darkened corners surrounding you. Your eyes flutter shut, reaching out to that warm feeling surrounding you, that gentle pull that's been with you all your life. The Force thrums to life, spiking with intensity behind you within seconds. You gasp, flipping around just in time to face him.

He was huge, his frame surrounding all points of your vision as he stalks towards you. The beskar armor reflects the few light sources above, making him practically invisible. You move towards your belt but your hand is only met with open air. Your curse as your eyes see your lightsaber only a few tables away, gleaming in the dark. 

“I don't want any trouble,” you manage to say, your voice rough and scratchy from the hours of wailing your heart out before. He stands only a few inches in front of you, causing you to tilt your head fully back to look at the small visor on his helmet. He tilts his head as if he were actually regarding your plea. You should have known better.

His hand quickly grabs for your arm and waist, practically holding you to the spot with minimal struggle. You hear the clink of bracers from his belt as his other hand smoothly brings them towards you. You struggle in his grip trying to push away from him. Even the Force seemed to slip away from you causing a bitter laugh to rise in your throat.

“I don't regret it, making him hurt.” You whisper, the thought leaving your lips before you could catch it. It was an admission of what you did and yet the Mandalorian paused.. Your heart continued to pound in your chest as you waited for him to continue with his mission, to feel those cold pieces of armor clamp around your wrists. Your eyes glance to his hand still frozen at his side and your ears could pick up the soft squeak of leather from his grip as he tightens his hold on you and the metal cuffs. Your gasp draws his attention back to you as he lowers his hand on your waist, letting it fall to his side. 

“Was told a Jedi went rogue, attacked a Senator in his home.” His modulated voice was softer than you would have imagined, and you blink up at him as you register his words. You nod, your throat drying as the events flood back to your mind. 

“The Senator has been known to disregard the protection of male Jedis. I was sent instead, exactly as he requested.” You state, the practiced cool of your voice barely wavering as you take in another breath. 

“I merely protected the other Jedi they would have sent after me. He needed to understand that that would never happen to anyone again.” His screams still lingered in your ears; his petrified face locked onto yours as you unsheathed your lightsaber. It wasn't a killing blow, but it left a big enough scar so that he would never forget who gave it to him. The Mandalorian seemed to nod, and you glanced around nervously as the last remnant of alcohol burned from your system. 

“So, are you taking me back?” You whisper softly, trying to peer into the darkened T of the helmet and imagine just who was underneath. His hands move quickly and your body jerks back in surprise. His movement halts to a complete stop, before continuing slowly, placing the cuffs back onto his belt. 

“I am meant to complete my mission.”

Your stomach drops at his words, yet you nod firmly, accepting what was to wait for you back with the senate. They already claimed you betrayed the Jedi order, they already set a bounty on you. A once honorable Jedi knight now turned enemy.

“But the bounty escaped.”

Your eyes jerk back up to his, your breath hitching in your throat as you take in his words. The Mandalorian turns silently, moving to one of the nearby exits. He turns back to look at you, tilting his head as a sign to follow. You scrabble to gather your discarded clothes in the wreckage of the bar as you shuffle to follow him out. Your eyes land on that piece of metal that seemed to call out to you, pleading for you to bring it along. What was a Jedi without their lightsaber? You sniffle as you trace a loving finger over the hilt you had grown up with. The cantina wasn't a complete mess, but enough debris remained that you could spot a broken slat of wooden floor near the table you had thrown. Deep enough to hide something and inconspicuous enough to not be examined in detail. Carefully, you place the saber into the hole, sliding it until it was out of view and lost somewhere under the wooden flooring. The roar of a ship interrupted your thoughts, reminding you that he was waiting, and you were to join him.

That was months ago. Now, you sit lazily in the copilot chair on the razor crest, watching the coordinates Mando punched in with ease. 

“Ti’yar again? Really?” You ask excitedly, turning to face the bounty hunter. He just nods, placing the ship into autopilot for the foreseeable future.

“A lead recommended Ti’yar for information on a bounty.” Is all he says, standing up to make his way back to the shared living space outside of the cockpit. You watch him leave with a fond smile. It took some time before you grew accustomed to his curt words but now you found yourself understanding the Mandalorian better. He was kind, in his own way. Most people projected their kindness with loud actions, but Mando preferred his to go unnoticed if he couldn't help it. It started back when you first boarded the ship. How he scavenged up some clothes for you to change into. Or how he made a small storage room into your own personal space. When you tried to thank him he simply waved you off.

“It's nothing. Besides, you have your own work cut out for you.”

He wasn't wrong. You began helping him locate his bounties as a way to “pay” him back. The Force didn't leave you as you once thought it would, instead, it moved differently than you were used to. Your relationship worked and you wouldn't trade it for anything. 

But that's all it was. Business.

Sometimes you wondered if it could be more. 

You follow him deeper into the ship as excitement pours out of you. Ti’yar was a coastal city nestled in thick green forests. The first time you visited you wondered if the place was even real. With delicious food and festivals, you made it known this was your favorite stop on your journey so far. A part of you wondered about his reason for the sudden voyage. 

‘The bounty doesn't have any known ties to Ti’yar, so why stop..’ 

Your feet continued to propel you forward as you tried to understand, causing you to smack into the solid back of the bounty hunter. Mando quickly turns around as his hands gently land on your shoulders to steady you. 

“You ‘kay?” He grumbles, his hands quickly retreating to his sides so quick you almost missed that subtle flex of his leather clad hands after they touched you. 

“Mhhm.” You couldn't help the smile spreading across your face at his gentle actions. 

“Be ready in three hours.” Is all he says before turning back around and heading to his room farther down the hall. The feeling of his hands still warmed your shoulders, and you couldn't help gently running your hand along the spots he had touched, as if you could feel some sort of remnant of him there. 

The Jedi code didn't care when it came to physical relationships.

The Jedi code warned against attachments. 

Attachments led to fear and jealousy.

You were no longer Jedi.

The thought still churned your stomach, but the concept of freedom melted across your tongue like honey. You had choices now. This was something that could be yours, by your decision. Your mind began to form an idea. One that made your heart race with desire. Did you even know what desire was? Passion? You wondered how it would feel to choose someone for more than just the reason of being there. Would he even want that?

Three hours didn't seem long enough to quell your hurricane of a mind before the ship began its descent, your future only a few hundred feet below you.

The Mandalorian emerged from his room, moving back to the cockpit to steady the Razor Crests landing. He found himself looking for you. His gaze automatically sweeping the ship before they landed on you, your body tucked carefully into the copilot chair. You were wearing a flowing tunic, the material so thin and light he imagined he could tear it with a touch. You turned, wearing that maker damned smile you always wore when you looked at him. The smile that made his chest clench with some unknown feeling. 

“Ready to catch a bounty?” You grinned as he sat himself into his seat, fighting the urge to adjust his body under your stare. 

“Just information.” He reminded you, his voice stuck in his throat for whatever reason. He could tell from the heat of your gaze you wanted to say more to him and he thanked the maker the ship began its landing protocol before you could. Something felt different. The air felt heated more than it ever had. He always made sure you were comfortable. He kept his touches gentle and when he was capable, always with warning. That day still haunted him. Receiving the bounty for some Jedi the Senate proclaimed as dangerous, only to find you alone in some dingy bar crying by yourself. He had moved without thought as he approached you. His hand reaching out for what? He barely had time to react as you flipped that table. In any other case he would have been proud and when you told him what you did to that Senator, he knew he wasn't turning you in. 

You were the most fierce and beautiful thing he had ever seen. 

You didn't need him to protect you but he would be damned if he didnt keep you as safe as he could. 

“Mando? Mando-”

He was torn from his thoughts as he glanced back at you. Your eyes, so wide and trusting. His hand tightened into a fist as he stood up and moved towards the docking bay of the ship. Your footsteps chased after him quickly as he exited the ship and stepped onto the soft ground of Ti’yar. 

“You are ignoring me!” You huff as you finally make it back to his side and he only felt a small twinge of displeasure at making you feel ignored. 

“We have things to do.” Is all he says when really, that's all he can manage. He can feel your shock and frustration as he begins to walk the trail leading down into the town.

“Mando!” You call after him and he swears just one order from you would bring him to his knees.

Then you speak.

His body stops. His heart pounds in his chest. He turns towards you slowly to keep his instincts at bay.

“What did you say?” The gravelly tone of his voice seems to surprise you. You let out a groan as you cross your arms over your chest.

“If you tried to catch me like a bounty, how long would it take you?” The words leave your voice with a false air of confidence despite the slight shake in your body. You move down the trail carefully while keeping your eyes locked onto where you imagined his were staring right back at you. 

“I've always wondered since that day, if you had seriously tried to catch me, and I tried to run, how long would it take you to get me?” You say again. Despite his face being hidden you could feel the air begin to change with sharp spikes of electricity. The Force, tugging at your heels.

Run.

Run.

Run.

“If I wanted to catch you, it wouldn't take long at all.” The Mandalorians' voice rasped out and hearing it sent a thrill down your spine.

“I’m a little hurt you think so little of me-”

“I could never think little of you.”

His interruption caused your eyes to widen as you stared at one another. That unknown heat began to rise in your body, demanding to be felt for once in your life. This was it. Your decision. Your desire.

“I want to try then.”

He waited for you to explain.

“I want to run from you, and I want you to chase me. Or at least, I want you to want to chase me." You couldn't stop the words from pouring out of your mouth. "I want to make this choice, and I want you to have one as well." Those inner dreams and desires finally see the light of day in your new life. The silence rings loudly in your ears as you wait for him to do anything. You begin to feel the panic rise in your chest. “You can choose to follow me or not, Mando, but I am going, and if I have to prove to you I am serious about this I will-" Your words cause him to step towards you once more.

‘Oh maker, I’ve messed this all up,this is too much for him, I’m too much-’

“I’ll give you thirty minutes to get to town.” His modulated voice cuts through the air, sending chills down your spine. Mando huffs and adjusts his stance before you, "And I know you're serious about this, it's just-" You can hear him sigh as he shakes his head, opening his bracer to set a time limit before snapping it back shut. “We will use these comms to communicate when needed.” He moves forward once more, placing a small comms link into your hand.

“Once I am hunting you, I won't stop, and once I catch you, you will have another choice to make." He says simply, his hand lingering over yours. You stare up at him, the beating of your heart filling the air. "Once I catch you, I'll let you go, if that's what you want. You can keep running." 

Your face is so flushed and beautiful he has to fight the urge to groan at the sight.

 "And if I decide to not run?" You ask softly, looking up to his masked face.

The Mandalorian takes another breath, finally pulling his hand back. "If you decide to stay, you're mine." 

There it was, his choice, the desire for you palpable in his words. You wanted to know what he wanted and there it was.

It would always be you.

Excitement ran through your body as you two stood closely together.  “I guess you'll have to catch me to know my answer.” You whisper up to him, laced with that teasing tone he had grown so used to.

All he does is nod. It's all he can do.

The game was afoot. 

Ti’yar was just as breathtaking as you remembered. The streets were full of merchants and shops with smiling faces calling out to you. It only took you a few minutes to get into the center of town, and you felt confident about your good timing. You glance around the tall buildings before spotting a small lodging near the water's edge.

“A beautiful establishment, very romantic.” A small voice speaks from beside you, your eyes looking down to the small framed grandmother sweeping the ground next to your feet.

“Do they have any openings?” You ask politely while you will the Force to gently push the pile of dust together for her with ease. The elder laughs with glee but says nothing about the act.

“Tell them Inana sentcha’, they’ll give you the best suite for you and your partner up there.” 

Inana gestures towards the Razor Crest only a few miles away, just a small glint of metal on the skyline. You grow flustered quickly opening your mouth to oppose her words before she moves away from you, humming happily. The lodge catches your eye once more, glowing against the ocean in a hypnotizing way. You bite your lip, weighing the options. You had enough to pay for a great room, but would Mando realize that you weren't hiding in the actual town too quickly? Inana passes in front of you once more and you smile as an idea enters your head. You quickly take out a handful of credits and approach Inana, taking her hand and placing them into her frail hand. Inana lets out a gasp as she sees the amount now in her possession.

“Whatever is this for?” She asks, her eyes wide and curious. 

“If a Mandalorian comes this way, please let him know you saw me enter that building over there.” You explain, pointing to a building a few streets up from the plaza. Inana shakes her head, her face contorted in confusion. 

“I guess I can, that Mandalorian was always trouble, but, whatever for dear?” She asks, and from the care and kindness in her voice you have half a mind to just stay here with her. 

“I care about that person a lot. I want to prove to him I am not as delicate as he thinks I am.”

Inana clucks her tongue at you, causing a bashful flush to rise to your cheeks. 

“I’m sure he knows that young lady, but your secret is safe with me.” She smiles, patting your hand gently. 

The sun was already beginning to set, warm rays of reds and yellows painting the scenery around you. You take a deep breath as you stretch and take in the salty air. Your thirty minutes was almost up. Careful to walk along the busiest parts of the roads you slip in between groups of people, hoping they would hide your footprints as much as possible. The lodge wasn't too far from town, but the sun was already sunk behind the sea by the time you approached the front doors. The Twi’lek at the front desk happily accepted your credit and recommendation from Inana and tugged you along to a room facing the water. It wasn't too high of a floor nor too low, so if Mando was to even come this far out it would give you ample time to form a plan before he found you. 

The room was beautiful. Calm colors painted the room and you could spot a large bathtub with copious amounts of soaps. The bed centered against the wall took your breath away by the amount of blankets and pillows alone. Your fingers roamed over the fine silk of a robe the staff left out for you on the mattress and you knew you would be dreaming of this place forever. A grin practically splits your face as you slip into it only to be interrupted by the sharp hiss of the device in your ear.

“It was smart to send me in the wrong direction.” His voice was low and husky, even more modulated by the crackle of the device. 

“Don't tell me you badgered an old woman into giving you directions, Mando?” You smiled despite the surprise of his realizing your game already. You carefully moved up onto the soft sheets, noticing how easily two people could fit on the bed.  

“She gave me an earful about, what did she say, how much you liked me?” 

You gasped and flew up on the bed, heat rising to your face with ferocity. 

“I said care! How much I cared-” You slapped a hand over your mouth, inwardly groaning as a chuckle crackled from his end of the connection. 

“Good to know, sweet girl.”

Any comeback you had for him sizzled out on your tongue. 

“Now, where are you?” 

You roll your eyes, stretching out on the silken comforter while a groan escapes your lips. You could swear you heard a small hitch in his breath at your noise and you couldn't help the boost to your ego.

“Miss me that much already?”

“If I say yes will you just come home already?”

Home.

You weren't sure if he even realized what he said by the constant grumbling coming from his end of the call. “I’m a strong fallen Jedi, it would take more than some flirting to bring me back.” You tease, waiting to hear some sly remark back. You are met with static.

“Did I make you feel like you weren't?” He asks. His voice was soft and almost, you realized with curiosity, vulnerable. 

“No, you didn't, just-”

“Just what?”

“I like that you take care of me.” You state, almost impressed by the confidence in your voice. You take in a small breath before continuing, “I like it, but I needed to know it was what you wanted. The Jedi live devoted lives, it's how I was raised but now, I can choose too.” You can hear him exhale on the other end, and you could practically see his head nodding along to your words. “I want you to have that choice too, I mean you're already coming for me, unless you changed your mind, which I would still support-”

He chuckles once more at your ramblings, and the sound goes straight to your heart to tuck away for later. 

“Noted, but I’m not leaving you.” Is all he says, the warmth in his voice seeping into your mind with ease.

Your eyes begin to feel heavy despite the racing of your heart. This was nice. It was rare you and him got a chance to speak so freely. You yawn as you stretch out and nestle into the mountain of pillows arranged on the bed, a content and happy smile on your lips. 

“You tired, sweet girl?” He asks softly, and you could almost swear there's a crackling sound of ocean waves from his end. 

“Not at all…” You whisper as your voice trails off, confirming his suspicions. 

“Do you want to know why we stopped on Ti’yar?” He asks suddenly. You nod, not even thinking that he couldn't see your response. “I remembered how much you loved it when we came last time. Your eyes just, glowed, seeing the ocean and town. I wanted to make that happen again.You deserve this, you deserve more than what I can give you cyar’ika.” 

You want to protest, to tell him he is everything you deserve and more, but sleep overtakes you, only allowing a small whisper of acknowledgement to Din. He doesn't mind, rather, hearing your small huffs of sleep makes him feel better. Knowing you were in this lodge safe, proving you could run from him. It took him longer to find you than he anticipated. That old woman certainly tricked him, but he couldn't help the pride in him when he realized how smart you had been. His gaze travels up to take in the waterfront lodge. It was beautiful. Exactly the kind of place he hoped you'd find. He enters the front door, briefly talking with that same Twi'lek as before. He mutters some lies along the lines of wife and husband before they tell him what room you were in. He carefully stalks towards your room, his bounty hunter instincts urging him to move faster and faster. He finds your door, pushing it open gently. There you were, nestled so peacefully on the bed it almost made him want to leave you.

Almost.

He approaches you gently, taking in your form swathed in some silken robe that made his jaw clench. The lights flickered on to a dull glow, just enough light to see your form before him. His hand reaches out, gently brushing the soft skin of your cheek against the cool leather of his glove. You groan softly, and he has to stifle a similar noise leaving his lips. 

“Cyar’ika.” He says softly, watching with bated breath as your eyes flutter open. You roll over, unsurprised to see him before you. 

“How did I do, bounty hunter?” You ask with a sleepy smile despite the hot sensation of his hand on your cheek. 

“You did wonderful.” He says quickly, his tone so sure and confident. You sigh as you sit up and Din isn't sure if he should remove his hand or not. He decides on the latter, and gently lowers his hand before you snatch it up in your grip tightly. You pull him closer and you can feel the tautness of his body. He found his bounty and was ready to strike.

“You caught me.” You whisper softly, sitting up on the sheets to look up at him. The bed was high enough that as you sat on your knees you easily were at eye level with him. 

You already knew your choice.

You both knew.

You carefully pulled his hand to your waist, like he had all those months ago. Instead of that gruff hold he once used now he barely grips you. His hand shakes as if he is fighting himself to stay there. 

“I trust you.” Is all you say, giving him a soft smile as your hands move forward towards his armored chest. You hiss at the cold sensation of the beskar on your palms but continue roaming over his body. Your movements seem to calm him enough that you feel his hand finally rest fully on your waist, his thumb rubbing a rhythmic pattern on the silk robe.

You hum as you examine his body even further, your hands trailing up to his pauldrons and resting easily along the fabric of his cloak secured around his neck. His breath hitched only slightly and you wished you could see it for yourself. 

“You touch me as if I’ll vanish.” You muse gently. Your head tilts back to gaze up to his visored face. His head tilts to the side, exposing the smallest sliver of tanned skin underneath. 

“Sometimes I’m afraid you will.” Was his response. Mando’s tone is surprisingly soft despite the edge of his modulator. His hand tightens only slightly, barely inching up towards your ribcage. “I’m afraid you will realize you could do so much better than be stuck with me.”

His words strike you. Your eyes glance up to him with concern, “The only place I want to be is with you.” Your whispered confession floats up to him.

You are not sure who moves first.

Your body is crushed against his, those gloved hands roaming across your body as his cold metal helmet pushes itself into your neck. He’s mumbling, low and intelligible and it makes you giggle as your hands scrape against the rough fabric of his flight suit. You gasp as you're suddenly pushed down onto the plush bed. Mando’s hand still splayed on your lower back, pulling you up and against him. You gasp at the sudden friction as he moves himself between your thighs.

“Tell me what you want, cyar’ika.” He says in a low tone while trailing his hand from your back down to your thigh. Your thoughts were frazzled. A deep heat rising to your cheeks as you try to stammer out your desires. 

“I want-I want to feel you.” Your plea is met with quick movements from him, his hands quickly tearing off the leather gloves to reveal tan skin underneath. You reach for him slowly, shocked to feel just how warm he was. His hands were rough and calloused but they felt so right. You pull his hand to your face, pressing a soft kiss to his palm. The Mandalorian groans, his body jerking against yours. You grin at his reaction. 

“All that for a kiss, Mando?” You tease, pulling his hand down your neck and leaving him to the skin revealed under your robe. There's a modulated gasp and maker you think you just discovered your favorite sound. 

“Can I?” Mando asks through gritted teeth, fisting the silken robe on your body. All it takes is a whispered yes from you before your body is revealed to the cool night air. He lets out a hiss as he takes in your naked form, glowing under the soft lights within the room. You begin to worry, maybe it was too forward, but any thoughts were squashed as his hands began to roam over your skin, leaving no spot untouched. 

His thumb brushes against one of your hardened nipples and you have to bite down on a moan from how sensitive you felt below him. You had dalliances with other Jedi, all quick and to the point. But none held you like this. None touched your body with so much reverence.

“So fucking beautiful, cyar’ika.” He moans out, his hips grinding down against yours. Your legs part, making room for him as his hands struggle to decide where to go and another groan of frustration leaves his lips.

“Mando-please-” 

“It’s Din.”

In your fevered state, you still manage to glance at him with confusion.

“My name is Din.” He emphasizes before his hand trails down your stomach and to the slick pool growing between your legs, gently coaxing small moans from your lips. His fingers move deftly across your folds, rubbing that spot so perfectly before stopping completely. You let out a frustrated groan, trying to grind against him for any kind of friction to relieve yourself. Din chuckles as he shakes his head. 

“Say it, sweet girl. Say my name.”

You squeeze your eyes shut as your body aches from the lack of contact. “Please, Din, I need you-” You barely could finish your begging before his fingers plunged into you, arching your body off the bed. Din moved with expert precision, finding that sweet spot with a simple curl of his fingers that made you see stars. Then you felt it, that warm pull at the edge of your senses. You tried to focus, but every thrust of his fingers made you gasp, and you were losing control quickly.

“Din, I want to, if you'd like-”

“You can do whatever you want with me.” He interrupts, the words ringing so true between you two. You spent so much time wanting to be his so badly, it almost surprised you to hear just how badly he wanted to belong to you. 

You moved the Force like syrup, rolling lazily towards Din until it reached lower, and lower-

Din made a startled gasp as his hips stuttered, grinding into the space between you..

“Cyar’ika-” He chokes out, but continues his rhythmic movement with his fingers. You moan encouragingly, willing the sensation surrounding his clothes bulge to grow stronger, rubbing teasingly along his length. 

It almost made you blush at realizing just how much of him was hidden away.

“Fuck, sweet girl, youre so perfect-” He gasps, his fingers speeding up within you. You gasp and writhe underneath him, that tension rising within you and so ready to snap. He was close, you could tell, and you gently drew the Force back from him, his body shaking with pleasure. “Din, I need you inside me-” You plead, grinding your hips up to his. Din nods, pulling his fingers out of you with a wet sound as he fumbles with his armor and belts. 

You smile, sitting up carefully to assist him. Your hands bump against each other as you both laugh softly, trying to remove the beskar quickly. Eventually, he is in his flightsuit, and you can spy the small zipper over his lower half. You scoot forward, gently bringing your hand to the zipper and pulling until his thick length bobbed out for you to see. Your mouth watered at the sight of him, your body leaning down to him before Din chuckled, gently grasping your chin as he shakes his head. 

“Next time, cyar'ika, I don't think I will last.” He growls, pushing you back onto the bed gently, “And I want this to last.” His chest plate brushes against your breasts, causing you to gasp as his weight consumes you. He breathes heavily above you, lacing your hands with his beside your head.

“You want this?” He asks, his tone now soft and gentle. His body stays above yours, so close to bringing you that pleasure you desired. “Even though I can’t remove my helmet, you want this?”

You could practically hear the other question he wanted to ask.

Do you want me?

A shaky breath escapes your lips, your eyes peering up to his face. You nod, squeezing his hand. “I want you Din. I always will.” You tell him softly, leaning up to place a kiss on his helmet. Din chuckles before carefully guiding himself into you, hissing at the tightness surrounding him.

“Maker, you feel more perfect than I imagined,” He gasps, sinking all the way into you. You let out a shaky breath, nodding at how perfectly full you were. 

“You were made for me, cyar’ika, now I’ll never let you go.” He growls, slapping his hips against yours, a sharp moan leaving your lips as he drives into you. 

“Shit, Din, please-” You weren't sure what you were begging for, but with each thrust you were losing more and more logic. You turn your head, biting down onto the fabric on his forearm as he hits that sweet spot repeatedly. The bed was creaking across the floor, but neither of you cared, pleasure blinding you both from any consequences or care.

“I’m close, sweet girl, where do you want me to-”

“Inside me Din, please, I want to feel you inside me.”

Din wasn't sure what he had done to deserve you. He thrust into you, faster and faster, your moans turning into a scream of pleasure as his hand touches you once more, bringing you to deafening pleasure. Din was not far behind you, thrusting only a few more times until you could feel his warmth coating your insides, filling you up even more than you thought possible. He groans, sinking down on top of you, his weight adding an extra sense of security as he stays inside of you. You both stay silent, aside from the short gasps between the both of you as you try to regain control over your hearts.

“Was that good?” You finally ask, trailing a hand along his back. 

He chuckles, shaking his head at your tone. “I think you've destroyed me cyar’ika.” He mumbles, causing you to laugh softly. The lights in the room began to dull as the sun rose over the ocean, filling the walls with those same streaks of red and gold like you saw last night. You can feel Dins breathing slow as your hand strokes his back, sleep consuming him quickly. 

Maker, when was the last time you felt like this? So safe and happy? Your eyes began to flutter closed as well, even as Dins arms tightened around your body and secured you to him. 

“You’re mine, cyar’ika.” He grumbles, and you nod in agreement at his words.

“I'm yours, always yours.”

The Jedi and Mandalorian lay with one another under the soft rays of sunrise, their breathing matching one another's even as the town awakens, a new day beginning.

Hello friends! I am friendscall-me-mom!

I know most of, if not all of you won't care! Quite frankly I'm okay with that to be honest.

However, thanks to @pedrosasscal for all the support given. I decided to make this post!

To start I used to write all the time. I really want to start writing again. I hadn't cared if it was soley for me or for someone else. To be honest I really miss writing! I am wanting to start again. granted it is a bit scary after seeing so many amazing people writing absolutely incredible things!

However, I will pull my boot straps up and post some things that I would love nothing more than to share with all of you.

Also I am someone who wants everyone to feel included. It would devastate me if someone didn't feel included. I will be honest I am not very good at alot of things, I will try my damnedest though.

( I'm apparently good at acting like a mom.)

I have so many ideas I feel the need to share!

If by chance you do see this. I do write for a lot of fandoms. If I do not know a character or show I will research the hell out of a character, show, movie, etc.

However, I will try to write various versions of fics. And by that I mean that I'll write a female reader, male reader, and gender neutral reader. I know it will be difficult but I am willing to try. I don't want one story that came from my own cranium to be set to one type of reader.

Granted I will try to mostly lean more towards gender neutral.

If you are interested, I am very happy that you are! If not, that's okay you do your thing honey! I will still support you in anyway I can!

Please let me know if you would like to see what I have to offer! I would be more than happy to share!

Thank you for reading! If you got this far that is!

Edit: I added more tags!

ain't you my baby?

word count: 4k ish pairing: din djarin x reader a/n: [old timey radio voice] interrupting your regular schedule of bat boy to bring you [does jazz hands] yet another man that could kill u! i will apologise for not updating wtssf and instead giving this but i do not control the brain worms <3 hopefully this is still tasty for sum of y'all ! title from NFWMB by hozier

synopsis: Din gives you an unexpected gift. A dagger crafted with beskar, a fine weapon, a courting gift. You misunderstand. It doesn't take long for you to catch back on. inspired by a convo with my beloved @djarinova

By now, the constant hum and rattle of the Razor Crest around you was nearly unnoticeable.

You travel enough light-years with one stubborn screw in your cot, almost always returning to the spacecraft with one injury or another, and eventually the low lull becomes something more familiar.

Almost, if you'd let yourself admit it, a comfort.

Sleep is funny on the Crest. You'd been a light sleeper for most your life and it had saved your skin more time than you cared to count. Yet, it was the simple knowledge that a Mandalorian roamed in the cockpit above that allowed sleep to drag you deeper than usual.

It had taken months to let your guard down, to realise there wasn't going to be blade buried in your gut as you slumbered defencelessly. In the safety of his company, for the first time in decades, you dream when you sleep.

He hates having to wake you, only doing so if it's absolutely necessary. It's always with the lightest of touches, the leather of his gloves pressing softly against your shoulder, your name murmured and diluted through the modulator of his helmet.

Despite his gentleness, it never stops you from jarring awake.

You shudder awake with a violent twitch, pressing up on your elbow in a split second, prepared to move. You're stopped from moving further by Din's hand on your shoulder. He's knelt beside your cot, visor fixed on you.

You're on a new planet. The foreign atmosphere gives that away in an instant, the chalky taste in your mouth and the swarming heat on your skin. Your jack-rabbiting heart calms a bit.

"Din?"

You know he's only waking you because he must. The momentary calm banishes again as you push yourself up again. Din lets you this time, his gloved hand retreating to his side.

"It's not an emergency." He says, knowing your train of thought already. He tilts his head slightly, gesturing towards the ramp door. "I need to leave the ship. I didn't want you to wake and..."

Your trailing gaze darts back to his visor quickly, swallowing as you fill in the end of his sentence. Din doesn't finish it, but his shoulders readjust in a minuscule motion.

"I'm getting supplies. Watch the kid. Please."

You're nodding before he's finished his sentence. The sleep in your system is already dissipated and you push up, shifting onto your feet and trapping your pained hiss behind gritted teeth as Din rises to his full height.

There's a beep from his valance as he punches a button then a soft hiss as the pressure changes, the ramp door beginning to lower.

It's habit to watch the sliver of the outside grow, the new terrain stretching out before you as the mouth of the ship opens. As expected, a seemingly endless spread of sand greets you. You wrinkle your nose.

Din hadn't indulged the reason or destination of this particular trip. You hadn't asked. A deep slice in your thigh courtesy of a vibroblade and a mouthy Twi'lek had kept you off your feet and eager to rest.

The slice had been by pure luck—or so you thought.

But Din's silence following the patch up in the ship, his quietness suddenly uncanny, left you beginning to wonder if he was questioning your ability to fight. Weighing up your ability to defend.

And if those things were up for debate, certainly so was your position on his ship.

It had just been passed 3 years, almost six cycles if you counted how time passed on your home planet, since you had joined his crusade. Your job had one very simple, very crucial objective.

An objective that was now babbling at your feet, tiny claws reaching out for you.

"Hey, you," You say, reaching down to scoop Grogu up into your arms. He reaches his arms up as he does, making a happy gurgle as you tuck him against your hip.

His round, dark eyes peer up at you, his big ears twitching mischievously and you couldn't help but smile. You turn so he could see the stretch of desert and are surprised to find Din still in the mouth of the ship. He's turned back, his dark visor giving away nothing of his expression.

It's then you get the feeling once more; you're being evaluated. Your usefulness being weighed up. You shift beneath the weight of his gaze, unmoving but still not speaking.

"Did you forget something?" You ask, just to break the silence.

Din finally shifts, his helmet giving a small shake in answer. He doesn't speak, just stares another moment, before he's turning, his cape catching the wind as he strolls down the ramp.

You watch him go, heart in your throat, pondering with an ache of melancholy if your time on the Crest was coming to a close.

Another burbling noise from the little green monster in your arm tugs your attention away. You look down, smile already pulling at your mouth at his clawed hand reaching for you.

"At least I know you still like me," You murmur, letting his cling to one of your fingers. "You wouldn't fire me, would you?"

Grogu makes a noise of agreement, gripping your finger tight. Then he opens his little mouth and tries to direct your finger into it, the clearest declaration of his hunger he can give.

You huff a quiet laugh, turning back to the ship, mentally tallying up your list of things to do.

—

By the time of Din's return, the sun has dipped low in the sky and the dunes glow a scorching orange in its rays.

You see him coming in the horizon, the only figure out on the desolate landscape. You wonder, for not the first time, if he's burning up beneath all his armour. He never seems to use the fresher to cool off like you do.

It's as he reaches the ship, his footsteps heavier than usual and betraying his tiredness, do you realise he's returned with a bag. Your eyes glue to in instinctively but you bite your tongue and swallow the burning question of what the contents of the bag is.

"Get what you need?" You ask instead, hands laying flat on your knees, avoiding the bandage on your thigh.

You're knelt besides the ship wall, sitting on your feet, one of the panels hanging haphazardly by a single screw and a box of tools beside you.

There's a function for cooler air on the Crest but it's been busted since a gnarly shoot up leaving the atmosphere of Coruscant months ago. You've been trying to fix it for weeks, each time with no avail.

Today is no different.

“You haven’t fixed it.” Din says candidly, instead of answering your question.

That suddenly familiar worry of your usefulness shirks up within you.

“Yet.” you counter, aiming for optimistic. It’s impossible to tell what the immovable expression of Din’s helmet means. “It’s not the same problem as I started with, at least.”

After a moment, he gives a short nod as if he understands — which is mean because there isn’t a single thing you can think of that Din Djarin is bad at. Besides talking to Jawas, of course.

He passes you and you force yourself to keep facing forward, even as you long to trail his broad figure. You squint at the tangle of wires within the panel and sigh. It’s feeling pretty fruitless. You were hardly a mechanic to begin with and—

A loud clatter beside you makes you startle, something heavy dropping into your toolbox.

You jump back and after a quick second, realise that it’s Din who had dropped something purposefully. Trying to calm your racing pulse, you lean forward and peer in.

“This might help.” He says.

You blink down at the new tool he’s given you. It’s the one spanner size that’s missing from your toolbox.

The last one had been lost when you lobbed it at an intruder’s head in a blind panic. Not your proudest moment— even if it did distract the guy enough for Din to put him down.

You swallow your heart in your throat. “Thank you.”

You don’t hear him retreat but the part of you that fizzles like a freshly born star when he’s near dims, a giveaway to his movements. You curl your fingers the new tool and try to tell if this a good sign or not.

Behind you, Din clears his throat.

You peer over your shoulder, your brows knitting together — it’s not often he calls your attention so forwardly, much preferring to stand and wait, staring long enough til you notice and flush.

He’s still standing in the hull, one hand curled around and holding the bag he returned with. You twist fully, letting him know he’s got your attention.

For a long moment, he doesn’t move. You stare, waiting patiently and try not to let your eyes roam—especially after the last comment he made when he absolutely caught you staring at the broadness of his shoulders, eyes drinking in the cut of his figure.

You’d be a terrible criminal, cyra’rika.

What’s that supposed to mean? You had retorted, flustering just a bit.

He had turned and fixed you with a tilt of his helmet that meant he was likely smirking underneath it.

You have shifty eyes.

Your face had glowed fiercely at the reminder that just because you couldn’t see his eyes, that didn’t mean he couldn’t see yours.

Across from you in the Crest now, Din coughs awkwardly.

“I,” He starts. One of his hands clenches, the leather crinkling as he does. “I have something. For you.”

Surprise piques up inside you, fiery and delighted. It warms your stomach and there’s no fighting the smile that pulls at your mouth even if you wanted to.

Gifts from a bounty hunter are few and far between and he’d already replaced the spanner. Your bounty hunter in particular doesn't like to spend his credits unwisely.

Even less commonly does he acknowledge that something is a gift—but you've learned to love the quiet hum he gives you when you thank him for something.

"Oh?"

He shifts his weight ever so slightly, the most obvious indication that he's nervous.

You sit up a little straighter. The anxiety from earlier pools in quickly.

He gives a tiny, almost inaudible huff and then, instead of reaching into the bag, he pushes back his cape and reaches back. His skilled hand unclips something sheathed at his waist. He drops the bag and steps forward, his hand outstretched.

You hold your breath without realising.

It's... a dagger, you realise.

A very beautiful blade by all standards. As you press up to your knees, rising to get a closer look, the details of its intricacy begin to call out to you.

The hilt is twined in a delicate, leathery fabric, not yet moulded to any hand. The pommel holds a promise of a shimmer as though it's embedded with a mineral. And the blade itself... A darker metal curls through the lighter one that encases it, like smoke on a sunlit sky.

It's expert craftsmanship, with a precise balance of two metals — and if you stare a moment too long, you swear the darker one matches the hue of Din's armour. His beskar armour.

"Will you accept it?"

It's with the gravel of Din's voice do you realise you haven't moved. You haven't reached out for it, haven't even blinked since he offered it out to you. You exhale, suddenly feeling a little lightheaded.

It's elegant beyond words. It's too much.

Too much for you, too much as a... a... What was it?

A gift? A reminder of your sole duty on the Crest? Of what you nearly failed at during your last mission together? The wound on your thigh seems to throb painfully as if in response.

He's never got you a gift that's anything less than helpful.

"I," You breath, finally tearing your eyes off the dagger and looking up at the visor fixed on you. "Din, I—"

Your gaze drops back to the blade in his hands. This time, you're certain it's beskar twined within the steel.

"It's very beautiful but..." I'm not worthy of beskar. "I couldn't, it's— it's too much. I can't accept it, Din."

The words come out clumsily and you wonder if in your attempt at being polite, you've gone too far in the other direction and offended him. You wring your hand against your thigh, pressing your knuckles into your wound. The pain dances along your nerves, a welcome distraction as you force yourself to meet his gaze.

The hum of the ship fills the space between you and like almost always, you have no idea how to read his silence.

"I understand."

And then he's stepping back, resheathing the blade into its holster in one fluid motion. He does it so quickly you don't see the tremble in his wrist, his hand just a touch unsteady. Above you both, there's a beep in the cockpit.

This time, you do manage to clock his body language, well aware of the way his guard has suddenly been wrenched up and the anxiety in your veins quickens with a sinister twist. Oh stars. You've definitely made it worse. You should've just accepted the dagger.

He turns and wordlessly heads towards the ladder to the cockpit and you watch him desperately, a dozen words caught in your mouth and none of them the right ones to say aloud.

"I—"

Din pauses, one gloved hand on the rung of the ladder, facing forward. He gives you a moment to speak. Your mouth dries.

When it's clear you aren't going to, you catch the slight sigh he gives, his shoulders dropping an inch.

"Grogu will miss you."

What?

You don't even get a moment to consider what he’s said or to digest the implications before he’s climbing the ladder, deft and quick. By the time you’re on your feet, the swish of his cape is disappearing into the hatch on the ceiling.

You stare at it a moment, all your unsaid words suddenly transforming into confusion. Your mouth opens then closes, your hands held out in front of you in evident bewilderment.

“What—” You begin as you take the rungs twice as fast, following Din’s path up to the cockpit. “—is that supposed to mean?”

You’re halfway up when The Crest suddenly lurches to the side with a rumble, the powering of engines thrumming beneath your feet and you stumble to catch your balance. Below you, you hear the familiar hiss of the ramp closing.

Stars, what is he doing? He hasn’t been this eager to leave a planet since a bounty back on Hoth.

“Where are we going?” You ask, forgoing your unanswered question. You shift forward as the Crest continues to rise with a powerful whirling sound.

Casting an eye at the passenger seat, you’re relieved to find it already occupied by your favourite green friend. Grogu coos in your direction at the sight of you and despite the situation, you can’t help but smile.

“I can take you wherever you wish to go.” Din’s flat response has your smile fading, your head whipping around to face him.

But he doesn’t take his focus off the control in front of him for a moment, stoic and silent as he continues to initiate takeoff. The Crest rises higher, the sandy ground of the planet out the window growing smaller and smaller.

Wherever you wish to go?

Does he— does he think you want to leave?

Your head spins in a tizzy as you try to clue together how the hell he had come to that conclusion. The Crest rocks as it breaks through the atmosphere and you stumble again, struggling to keep your balance.

For whatever reason he’s thinking it, he’s wrong.

Action finally possesses you. You surge forward and slam your hand onto the console, killing the power to the thrusters.

The ship stalls with a loud droning noise, coming to a shuddering stop before it begins to float in the darkness of space. The only light is the glowing orange of the planet and stars beyond the glass.

“Why do you think I want to leave all of a sudden?” You demand hotly.

For a moment, you think Din will continue the silent treatment that he’s all but mastered. His helmet, visor gazing out through the windshield, doesn’t move — until he tilts his head toward you slightly. He sighs quietly.

“I don’t imagine after…” He waves a hand idly and you scan his figure intensely, searching for what he could possibly be referring to.

After…?

It suddenly seems quite obvious.

Even if you had no idea what it had meant to Din, clearly this has to do to you turning down his gift.

“Din,” you say very quietly.

His helmet turns another inch, his chin tilted up to show he’s listening.

You swallow and it feels like your heart in is your throat, burning and bursting all at once. But you have to ask.

“What did the dagger mean?”

Now he averts his gaze, his helmet dipping as he mumbles something, nothing, his voice almost too low for his modulator pick up, a gift, but in the gravel of his murmuring, you hear one unmissable word: courting.

Oh.

Oh.

It was a… courting gift.

A dagger blended with beskar, given as a courting gift from a Mandalorian. It meant you- and him — the hope you had been harvesting, the hope of something more blooming between you two, it had not been unrequited.

Your mind casts back to the exact phrasing as you turned what you believed to simply be a gift too prized for you— it’s too much, I can’t accept.

Maker. No wonder he thought you wanted to leave.

Whatever is crossing your face must be the opposite of subtle because as you grapple to find a response to that, Din’s head tilts back up.

“You didn’t know.”

There's a tiny wobble of relief in his voice.

“No,” You breathe. Blinking hard, suddenly you feel a bit wild because Din all but proposes to you but doesn’t even think to check if you knew the depth of what he was offering? Of the real question behind his gift?

You shake your head. “No, I didn’t know, Din.”

Silence lulls between you, charged and heavy. Even without seeing his face, you know Din must be squirming beneath his helmet — his intentions, his feelings, out in the open and you still staring at him speechless.

You manage to find your voice.

“May I see it once more?”

The request comes out softer than you intend, your courage suddenly quivering in your chest. You will it to rise, to embolden you. Din had been brave — now it's your turn.

Without a word, he shifts and reaches back to release it from its sheathe on his waist. For a split second you see it, the hesitation in his hand.

Then he's holding it out, balancing in his open and trusting palm, held out for you. The thickness in your throat grows.

You swallow tightly and grip your courage, searching within you for that warm, safe feeling that beats like a drum, Din, Din, Din. You seize it tightly.

Eyes fixed on the blade, you ask quietly, "Would you... offer it to me again?"

It's impossible to draw your eyes up, too nervous to see yourself reflected in the darkness of his visor.

"Yes."

Your heart becomes a supernova.

"Will you?" You whisper, finally daring to look up at him.

Your protector, your partner, the man who showed you the softness of his heart and asked for nothing in return. "Will you offer it to me again?"

The subtle motions of Din are something you've come to learn with the years you've spent at his side. Now, staring up at you, the inclination of his armour gives away his surprise.

Then he's rising to his feet only to step before you and sink down, brought to his knees before you. His hand remains steady, the offering held out, and this time the meaning of it cannot be misconstrued in any way.

"Cyare," He murmurs — and it's beloved, it's please, it's don't part from my side for as long as you'll have me.

Something within you trembles and your bottom lip quivers in emotion and then you're moving without thinking, sagging until you're on your knees too.

Equal heights, each of you in a position of devotion, facing toward each other.

Hand reaching out, you clasp your fingers around the hilt of the dagger and say thickly, "I accept."

There's a ragged exhale through the modulator of Din's helmet. He shifts, moving to strip the gloves from his hands and the sight of so much skin from him is enough to make you falter. But there's barely time to recover your stolen breath before his bare hand curls around yours, far larger, the dagger gripped in both of your hands.

His skin pressed against yours burns like starlight. You stutter out a breath, your smile coming so easily at the sight of your joined hands.

Din's other hand raises up and pauses momentarily, halting as if he's unsure if he's allowed before it settles gently on your cheek. You lean into the warmth of his skin and hear another sharp inhale through the modulator.

"I—" He begins, quickly cutting himself off. His thumb on your cheeks begins to wander, soothing over your skin lightly. He urges you forward and you bow your head, forehead pressing to the cool beskar of his armour.

"Thank you."

"You're thanking me?" You chuckle wetly, emotion clinging to your words. His thumb on your face traces another soft circle and you shudder beneath the loving touch, eyes fluttering closed.

“You could have been clearer." You chastise lightly, though your evident joy means your words don't have any real bite.

“I offered you beskar, cyra’ika,” He murmurs, voice warm and full of love. His thumbs draws another delicate circle. “How much clearer could I be?”

His point makes you laugh, eyes opening and seeing your own reflection in his visor. "I don't know," You say, averting your eyes down to your still intertwined hands. You squeeze your hand and feel him echo the motion. Your heart sings.

"Use your words?" You suggest with a cheeky smile, well aware that words were not a strong suit of your Mandalorian.

Din sighs, a faux long suffering one, and the mere familiarity of it makes your heart ache in the best way.

The worries of earlier bubble up within you, the reminder of why you had been so sure the dagger had some other meaning.

“I,” You begin, pulling back lightly and casting your gaze towards Grogu, who had been suspiciously silent as if knowing the significance of the moment before him. “I wasn’t thinking about the beskar, I was being stupid.”

With your free hand, you cover Din’s hand with yours, hiding your face away, which suddenly feels a little warmer. The nudge of your hand against his does nothing to alleviate the glow.

“I thought it was, like,” You mutter quietly, embarrassed. “You were saying I wasn’t doing my job well enough or— or something and I started worrying you were gonna…”

You can’t even finish the sentence with how foolish you feel.

“You thought I wanted you to leave?” Din asks, his voice dubious and warm. Like the mere thought of that is so far from believable that it’s amusing to him.

“Shut up,” you groan, eyes closing as if it can save your from your further flustering.

“Didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t need to.” You murmur.

His hand in yours tightens, the other on your face coaxing you out of hiding with the gentlest of nudges.

"Never. As long as you want it, I want you with me." He says and in his voice you hear nothing but utter devotion. "Close your eyes."

You follow his command without hesitation, darkness cloaking your vision and you feel his hands retract from yours. The dagger remains in your palm, still cradled in your fingers. Then, there's the tell-tale hiss of his helmet and you inhale sharply.

"Cyare," He says and this time, it's with all the richness and roughness of his natural voice.

The timbre of his voice is like gunpowder sprinkled across your soul and when his hand finds the curve of your cheek once more, it's set alight.

"May I?" He asks. You can feel the soft heat of his breath fan across your lips and feel your heart quiver in response, bursting forward, as if trying to reach him. His thumb soothes across your cheek, full of wanting.

Your nod would be imperceptible if it was anyone other than Din — if his gaze wasn't trained on your face, drinking the details like a starved man, finally with uncloaked eyes.

He moves forward, presses his mouth against yours, and finds home.

I need a Din Djarin in my life, this was so sweet and beautiful!!! 😭😭😭😭😭😭💖💖💖💖💖💖💖

Fix you

summary: you’ve been having a hard time dealing with your own thoughts, but your mandalorian lover never fails to kiss it better.

warnings: hurt/comfort, reader and their bad thoughts, fluff, din being a lovey dovey and lots of kissing

pairing: din djarin x reader

word count: 2534k

a/n: this had been sitting on my notes app for a decade and i decided i might as well drop it here idk what it is i was just depressed and yearning

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Keep reading

𝐑𝐢𝐭𝐞

pairing: Din Djarin x Reader

word count: 1k

warnings: Smuttt. Needy Din- maskless Din is a sub, fight with the wall. Body worship (face… worship?). P in V sex- emphasis more on the P on V sex). Not proof read.

summary: Traditions form after Din removes the mask.

It’s freezing cold to the touch, the sharp edges of his helmet practically slicing your fingers open as you tentatively lift the beskar from his face. You feel his aquiline nose catch on the foam padding on the inside. You utter a sorry.

Din’s palms splay over your hips where you straddle him in the minute cot, leather biting lightly against your bare skin where he digs his fingers in. His eyelashes flutter as the edge of his helmet is pulled up, and he’s exposed to the harsh, untempered lights inside the Razor Crest. Din turns his face to the side, unable to look you in the eye. Even now, after all this time, he’s still momentarily apprehensive about displaying his face to you.

“Hold still for me,” you whisper, so quiet that you’re sure that your own heartbeat muffles your order, drowning your words out with its pulse. It’s thrumming wildly against your sternum, still thrilled by the sight of Din’s eyes on you.

Mercenary, Bounty Hunter, Mandalorian- Mandalore. All of Din’s titles melt away like beskar in an armourer’s kiln when you’re alone. The alloy drips and runs and cools, melding the warrior a far simpler and benign title- yours.

Din’s breath stalls in his lungs as you begin your ritual, his eyes cast to the durasteel hangar ceiling as he feels you press your lips to his with a gentle urgency. One kiss, then another, and another. You barely give him a moment to register your affections, his own lips lagging behind in their response.

“Mhmm~” You hum, but it bleeds into a whine as you settle your bare cunt over the length of Din’s cock. His groan dies behind gritted teeth as you sweep your hips over the length of him, soaking the velvety skin with your slick.

His chestplate is freezing against your breasts as you lean over him, having given him no time to undress when you threw him back against the cot and took what you wanted. Your nipples are hard against the cold Beskar-steel, dragging back and forth slightly as your hips rock against the curve of his dick. It makes you ache for him even more.

Focusing a slow, steady rhythm with your hips, you allow your lips to wander. They trace his jawline, sharp as the spear he carries with him. Din tilts his head back for you, gasping out your name as you bite the skin stretched across the bone. You nip playfully, focusing your attention on the patchy parts of his jaw, where the hair is sparse.

“C-Cyar'ika,” Din groans, his voice pitchy over the wet sounds of his cock sweeping through your folds. The head bumps your clit, and you whine against the curve of his jaw, your chin pressed to his pulse point.

Din Djarin is the prettiest man you’d ever met. His expressions, however, were even more enticing. Hidden behind a mask for his entire adult life, Din never learnt to neutralise his face. It made him emotive, especially in bed.

As you kiss the tip of his nose, you watch as his eyebrows pinch together, then arch up slightly as you let the weeping tip of his cock nudge at your entrance. You settle on it lightly, let the head sink inside before pulling up again quickly, barely allowing him a moment to relish the tight heat. He lets out a groan of frustration, desperation, as you drag your lips over the arch of his aquiline nose.

God, you love his nose. You praise it, its beauty, worship the way it makes you feel when you grind down on it. Humming softly, you can’t help but grin into the kisses you offer as his jaw falls slack, moaning out your name.

“Stars,” he groans out louder, with a sudden urgency that startles you, “Please, I need- I need to feel you.”

Din’s voice without the modulator is impassioned, cracking slightly on a whine as he begs you for mercy. For relief. A vulnerable tone he barely affords you unless you take control. The leather of his gloves digs into the meat of your ass, palms shifting your hips forward to pull your weeping pussy across his length.

Refusing to give into his demands, you continue your affections. You press soft kisses above his eyebrows, then each of his closed eyelids. His eyes- they took your breath away, stealing your attention when he first removed his helmet for you. You’d heard the tales of ‘brown eyes’, but they did little to emphasise their beauty. Deep, rich, laced with Din’s heavily guarded emotions that he’d veiled with beskar.

“You’re impatient,” you finally point out in a breathy whisper, lungs working a little harder as you feel something delicious settle at the base of your spine. Din looks like he could cry, desperation kicking in as he jerks his hips up against yours.

“I am deprived,” he murmurs back, an edge to his tone. The Child had clung to him for days following his last bounty job- he hadn’t had time alone with you for at least a week despite doing everything he could- stolen kisses in the cockpit, even attempting to shut Grogu in his bassinet. Somehow, he always managed to stumble into the room at the most inopportune time, much to his father’s utter dismay.

Sitting up, one of your palms settles on Din’s breastplate, you push strands of his unkempt curls from his damp forehead. Din, as renowned and feared a bounty hunter he is, also keens for you, vulnerable and achy for your affections. He chases your hand, leaning his face into your touch as you care for him.

Rewarding his openness, you reach between your thighs to take his cock in your palm. Din lets out a slight hiss, sucking between his teeth as you work his cock slowly. The drag of your palm against his sensitive flesh has him bucking his hips again, pressing the crown of his head back into the pillow.

“Din,” you whisper his name, watching him squeeze his eyes shut and centre his focus on the swirling arousal that builds quickly.

“Please.”

Pressing a gentle kiss to Din’s lips, swollen from your previous affections, you sink down onto his aching cock.

“Fuuuuck, Cyar'ik-aah-“

END

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