Din Djarin Fluff - Tumblr Posts

First and Last

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Prompts -  'Home is not where you are from, it is where you belong. Some of us travel the whole world to find it. Others find it in a person.’

Though it was tempting to steal a glance you kept your eyes locked ahead of you, watching as the jedi and his droid walked away, watching as Grogu’s eyes never left Din as he was carried away before he finally disappeared from view. You stepped forward silently, taking Din’s hand in yours and giving it a gentle squeeze, resting your head on his shoulder and feeling how it shook with silent tears. 

It was tempting to turn to him, to look into his eyes, to cup his cheeks and wipe his tears away but you didn’t. You let your head rest on the beskar covered shoulder, let your eyes fall shut and tried to suppress your own tears. 

It would have been easy to sneak a glance at the man you had fallen hard for but you didn’t. It wasn’t the time and no part of you wanted the memory of you finally seeing Din’s face, should such a day ever come, to be spoiled by the memory of losing Grogu, the child both you and Din had come to love.

You don’t know how long the two of you stood there, staring at the empty space in front of you but eventually it was time to move on.

Din had shoved his helmet back on and hadn’t taken it off again since. The two of you travelled the galaxy together, Din took bounties and you went along with him. The man almost seemed shocked when you said you were staying with him, like he had already prepared himself to lose you too.

The thought of leaving Din, especially after he had just lost his child, didn’t even occur in your mind. Sure the main reason you had joined the Clan of Two to begin with was to help Din reunite Grogu with his own kind but after spending so much time in close quarters with the man it wasn’t surprising when you started to fall for him. It took a long time before Din finally opened up to you, trusting you more and more as each day passed.

Din had never known such a feeling in his life, the way his entire body seemed to warm as he watched you with Grogu, whether it be the three of you in the cockpit of the Razor Crest, Grogu on your lap and you telling him stories so animatedly, eyes as bright as the stars passing by through the windows or listening to you as you spoke clear Basic in an attempt to pull some words from the child, watching as Grogu beamed up at you but ultimately only let out cheerful coos. The way you were with his child definitely helped him warm up to you quicker but there was no doubting Din had started to develop feelings for you and it had terrified him.

He had always been on his own, never getting this close to another person before. If someone had told Din before he met Grogu that he’d have a child and fall for someone like you he would have laughed, never once believing he could have something like this, never once wanting or thinking he needed it. Of course it was easy to think you didn’t need something until you had it and now the thought of losing you pained Din so deeply, a hole already in his heart from losing Grogu…he was really glad you had shot him an unimpressed look the day he asked you whether you wanted to leave.

Time passed and the pain of missing Grogu never seemed to dull but the two of you found a way to live with it. At first Din had drawn in on himself. The man was never particularly vocal but as he became more comfortable around you, he initiated conversations, he asked questions and looked forward to learning any of your story but after Grogu he hardly spoke unless you did first and even then, at least in the first month or two, the only response you received was grunts and huffs.

You let the man mourn though, never rushed him or forced him to be anything he couldn’t. You stood by and watched as he took bounty after bounty, seemingly becoming more and more reckless like he didn’t care what happened to him. You’d lost track at this point of how many times you’d had to patch up avoidable injuries and eventually started going with him and fighting alongside him.

You were the one to find a new ship for the two of you, whilst you were willing to let Din heal however he needed to, you couldn’t deal with travelling with the general public. Din had hated the new ship at first, shaking his head and muttering how you didn’t need it. You knew nothing would ever replace the Razor Crest and Din knew you were only trying to help so reluctantly began to pilot it.

It took time but eventually Din began speaking first, starting with a quiet ‘good morning’ that was just about picked up by the modulator. The smile that spread across your face had his lips twitching into the ghost of a smile though he didn’t quite let it take form. 

He sat in the pilot's seat one morning and let his thoughts wander, he knew he wasn’t being fair to you, knew that shutting you out wouldn’t make the pain he felt better. In fact you were probably one of the few people in the galaxy that he felt like he could talk to, one of the few people that would sit there for as long as it took for him to work through his thoughts and find the words that summed up how he was feeling.

He knew why he was ignoring you, of course he did. He had gotten so attached to Grogu, came to love him like he was his own child and he had always known that Grogu was never his to keep, Grogu’s own future far more important than anything Din could offer. Still, losing him felt like he had been torn in two, it left him feeling empty and it was hard to remember a time before Grogu where he thrived in his isolation, where he didn’t notice how truly lonely he was.

It wasn’t only Grogu he had gotten attached to though. Just like how the child had wormed his way past the beskar armour and into his heart, you had too. You had come along one day and stolen Din’s heart and it terrified the man, terrified him so much that he had done what he was doing now, shut you out entirely. For weeks he barely spoke to you and if he did it was only short one word answers or grunts but it didn’t stop him watching you, gaze hidden by the helmet. His eyes followed every move you made, memorised every feature on your face. 

Without noticing it he had learned to live with his feelings for you, slowly returning to normal, if not more willing to be open with you, to answer your questions about Mandalorian culture, to tell you stories about his life, to let you in in a way no other person had ever been. It was terrifying to Din but it was also easy once he stopped fighting his feelings, it was easy to fall for you.

But now, now he had lost Grogu and his thoughts ran wild, convincing himself that eventually he would lose you too. Sure you had told him you were staying with him, swore you weren’t leaving but it was only a matter of time and Din was only running on half a heart as it was, he wasn’t sure he’d survive you leaving with the other half.

And so instead of talking about it with you, instead of confessing all his fears and secrets, he pushed you away, kept you at arm’s length even though it killed him, even though he knew you were hurting too. 

Without realising it he had pulled the silver ball out of his pocket and had begun to fiddle with it, so lost in thought he didn’t hear the door to the cockpit open or you sit down in the seat next to him until you cleared your throat. 

“Sorry,” He mumbled, shaking his head as he clenched the ball in his fist and turned to face you. 

Despite the fact that Din could tell you hadn’t been sleeping properly he still thought you looked more beautiful each time he saw you and longed for something more between the two of you, longed to cup your face in his hands, to trace every feature and memorise every inch of you. He wanted to feel your lips against his and sometimes got the overwhelming urge to say rangir (to hell with it) and lift the helmet up enough to bring your lips together, to be done with the helmet all together.

Even though things had gotten better between the two of you there was still a tension in the air as though you were constantly tip-toeing around each other, never sure what the right thing to say was. Din hated it, he hated that his own isolation, his own actions, had caused you to drift apart. 

He knew he had to right things between you, wanted to more than anything but he wasn’t very good with words, he never needed to be when he could talk with a blaster and his fists. Unfortunately this wasn’t a situation he could punch his way out of and the only option was to push past his own unease and talk to you.

He couldn’t live the rest of his life regretting not telling you how much you meant to him, how much he needed you…how much he loved you. 

“You okay?” You asked him, voice soft as to not disturb his thoughts. 

He couldn’t help but plead with you from behind the helmet, eyes wide and swimming with too many emotions, begging for you to read his thoughts, to know what he wanted to say but couldn’t get out but he knew it wasn’t possible, knew he needed to say something.

“Yooba solus mesh’la.” Din told you, voice just as quiet as yours had been but the words didn’t sound as soft as they had leaving his lips through the modulator and yet Din watched as your entire face seemed to light up, a beaming smile spreading across your lips at the use of Mando’a.

Before the Jedi had taken Grogu and it was just the three of you travelling together in the Razor Crest, you had convinced Din to speak Mando’a, both you and Grogu taking great delight in hearing the language neither of you could understand come from Din. You had always tried to speak the language along with him, repeating his words though you had yet to not butcher a single one of them much to Din’s delight, hiding soft smiles behind the helmet, feeling himself fall a little more in love with you as you stumbled over the words. 

Hearing Din speak Mando’a, after what felt like an entire lifetime ago now, almost took your breath away and you couldn’t have stopped the smile that spread across your face if you tried, eyes meeting his despite the helmet covering them.

“Youba soleus meshla?” You repeated and the sound of Din’s chuckle caused your smile to widen even more, verging on almost painful but you didn’t care.

It had been so long since things felt this light between the two of you, you planned on savouring every second of it.

“Not quite,” He said and you didn’t need to see his face to know he was smiling, you could hear it clear as day in his voice even despite the modulator. 

“What does it mean?” You asked, tilting your head questioningly and Din’s heart felt like it was about to beat right through his chest and the beskar covering it.

A beat or two of silence passed between the two of you as you waited patiently for Din to translate Mando’a into Basic but the wait was worth it when he finally did.

“You are beautiful.” He told you, voice soft and hesitant and his eyes watching your face closely, waiting for a reaction.

He didn’t have to wait long though, your reaction was instantaneous, eyes widening as you looked over at him with such open warmth and, dare he say, love. The grin that was spread across your face softened into a smile and your own heart began beating loudly enough that you thought Din could hear it from where he sat.

“Din,” You said softly but the man cut you off, needing to continue before he lost all nerve and retreated from you again.

“So beautiful,” he murmured, a million things he’d like to say to you ran through his head but getting them out of his mouth was easier said than done. “I don’t want another day to pass where you don’t know that, where I don’t tell you. I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you, I’m sorry I pushed you away because I couldn’t deal with my own pain. Yooba solus ner aliit and I can’t lose you too.” 

If Din’s eyes became teary under the helmet, nobody had to know.

He watched you closely, watched as your face seemed to soften even more so than it already was, watched as you reached over and took his clenched fist in your hand, the ball falling onto his lap as he let his fingers curl around yours.

“Yooba solus nair alit?” You asked softly, voice filled with more emotions than Din could make out, hopeful and overwhelmed being the main two he picked up on.

“You are my family.” He told you, his own voice thick with slight fear and hope.

You let out a small huff of laughter as your own eyes filled with tears, not having the luxury of the helmet to hide them from the man in front of you. Din didn’t take it as a bad sign, instead he lifted his free hand up and placed it against your face, cupping your cheek in the palm of his hand and brushing away a single stray tear that slipped out of your eye.

He hesitated for only a moment, half a moment really, before he leaned across, coming closer to you and let his helmet-covered forehead connect with yours, watching as you looked up at him from under your eyelashes. 

“Is this a Mandalorian thing?” You asked in a soft whisper after several moments of silence had passed, feeling like something significant was happening right now despite not knowing exactly what it was.

“Elek,” he murmured, causing you to laugh softly and Din to fall a little bit more in love, “Because Mandalorian don't take their helmets off, this is how they kiss.”

You didn’t move for a moment but when you did Din almost melted as you lifted your free hand to cup the helmet, letting your thumb brush just below the visor. Din couldn’t recall a time where he had wanted to take the helmet off so much, to feel your hand on his cheek, to be able to press a kiss to your palm before placing one against your lips. 

It was almost overwhelming to see the warmth, the happiness, the love in your eyes. Din could have looked away, you would never have known if he did but despite how breathless your gaze was leaving him, he couldn’t bring himself to look anywhere else. 

He let his hand wander down until it rested against your jaw, his thumb brushing against your lower lip and the final straw for him seemed to be feeling you smile against him, feeling the way your lips shifted into a soft smile as you continued to look at him like he was the only person in the world.

“Close your eyes.” He commanded softly, watching as your eyebrows knitted together but you didn’t question him. 

He watched as your eyes fell shut, lifting his hand again to brush his thumb against one of your closed lids before he pulled away completely, taking the hand that was still holding yours away too.

Taking the helmet off felt easier than he thought, there was a swell of guilt in his chest but it was drowned by the absolute love and adoration he felt for you. He knew even with the guilt that he wouldn’t regret his decision, not when it meant he could finally feel your lips against his.

He raised his hand to cup your cheek again, unable to stop the smile that pulled at his lips as you leaned into the touch. He only hesitated for a moment, removing the helmet in front of someone wasn’t something he did lightly meaning he had never kissed anyone and he had never been more glad in that moment, his first kiss would be with you and he knew he would never have another first kiss again.

You were it for him, his first and last.

You gasped when you felt lips against yours, just about managing to keep your eyes closed. Din moved in a way that told you he had little to no experience though it didn’t shock you, you couldn’t help but smile into the kiss before moving your lips together, feeling every cliché you had ever read or heard about.

The kiss wasn’t rushed, the two of you took the time to memorise the way your lips moved against each other, your hands cupping the other’s face, one of yours moving into Din’s hair and you had to stop yourself from pulling back, from opening your eyes and savouring every detail of the man in front of you.

It was tempting but you didn’t open them, you kept them shut as he pulled away. You kept them shut as he rested his forehead on yours, as he took in every piece of you, smiling as you followed his lips to peck them once, twice more. 

“Youba soleus meshla.” You told him, feeling his smile widen as you repeated the words from earlier, messing up each of them but he loved the sound of Mando’a leaving your lips all the same.

Never had the language sounded more lovely.

“Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum.” He told you, unable to stop the words from coming out of his mouth and finding he didn’t regret them. “Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum.” He repeated and he swore to himself he’d repeat those words every day for the rest of his life if he was lucky enough to have you for that long.

“What does that mean?” You asked him, fingers still tracing the features of his face and Din felt them stop as he translated the words for you. 

“I love you.” He whispered, he whispered them so softly that if you weren’t this close to him you would have missed them entirely but you heard them and couldn’t help but freeze for a moment. For so long you’d known you were in love with Din, knew that you were completely gone for him months into knowing him but you never once dared to think he could feel the same way about you.

Despite the kiss, despite the fact he was in front of you, your hands on his helmetless face, hearing him say those words seemed to overwhelm you the most and you couldn’t stop yourself from pressing another kiss to his lips, this one more hurried, more desperate as if you were trying to convey every feeling you felt into that one kiss.

“I love you too,” You whispered as you pulled away, only to lean back in for another kiss as soon as the words were spoken, “Nee kartay gar darsum.” You whispered again, the words like a prayer falling from your lips and Din’s smile grew even wider, too wide to kiss you again and instead he opted to bump your foreheads together softly.

“Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum, cyar’ika.” He told you, meaning the words with his entire being, never being more sure of anything in his life and promising himself he would show you every day just how much he meant it.

____________

Din Djarin Taglist -

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Glimpses

Glimpses

Title: Glimpses

Pairing: NONE!

Word Count: 1100

Summary: After a broken hyperdrive sends Din briefly forward in time he meets up with someone he has only just lost… fluff and angst and feelings and parenting. Bring your tissues.

A/N: Shit got excited forgot… part of the 800 Follower Celebration! A request of “Mando” and “Time Travel” sorry forgot to tag the love @inspiringmelodrama​

SEQUEL NOW UP: GLIMPSED

Nursemaid Masterlist/ Mandalorian Masterlist (same list)

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Hyperdrive units were complex machines.

A hyperdrive, in its most basic form, made you successfully travel through space really fast. Without it primitive cultures were left spending years going between planets much less systems. Forget it. He hadn’t even studied cultures that old, they were just ridiculous stories that nobody really took seriously. Until you had to repair a hyperdrive.

Hyperdrives actually folded space in order to create a shortcut through it and thus permit you to travel faster through a given space.

Now… the funny thing about traveling through hyperspace was knowing what would be on the other side.

On the other side you had to know not just what was expected to be in the space but what would be there in the time that you would be plopping out of your wormhole.

Space and time had to be in balance for you to not get scrambled.

And, frankly, the Slave I was older than the Crest and when he had gotten Boba’s blessing to borrow it he hadn’t been told nearly enough about the slapdash state of repairs on the hyperdrive.

Din Djarin might have been a king but he was not a taxi driver, mechanic…

Keep reading

Strong Girl

Part Two: the night after

[read part one HERE]

Pairing: Din Djarin x reader

Words: 4,239

Rating: Teen and Up

Warnings: Mando has feelings, hurt/comfort, soft singing, (slight?)confessions, cuddling, mucho fluff with the promise of more...

Summary: After you patch up the Mandalorian, you settle in for the night, trying to fall back into your routine to bring back some normalcy after a very not-normal day. You'd done exactly what he needed you to, to your credit. But you still felt a range of emotions: worry, tenderness, feelings that were all about to burst out of your chest for him already.

"Do you remember the night.. -when he wouldn't go to sleep?"

Your cheeks tightened with your budding joy, unable to keep a happy sound from leaving your lips at the memory. He’s rambling. Never thought you’d see the day where the big, bad bounty hunter –who’s nearly trademarked the silent treatment– would be caught rambling. His wound was wrapped up snug and perfect now, you thanked the Maker that much. There’s definitely been a good change in his mood. The meds must be working.

Then again– he'd… refused the meds.

That means.. every word of this– it’s not a byproduct of loose lips:

"I wanted to kiss you so badly that night…"

Read on AO3

"Do you remember the night– when he wouldn't go to sleep?"

You peeked an eye open a skosh. To your left, you checked where the kiddo sleeps perfectly sound on the pile of clean laundry next to you. Whatever he’d done to your Mandalorian (and you), it wiped him out for a bit. 

Trying to remember anything at this hour was fuzzy at best. It was getting pretty late; even your nightly tea made its appearance and left your cup empty. Confused, you looked for clarity at the black of his visor again, a slight furrow on your brow because you really couldn’t say you knew what he was talking about. After the kind of day you’d both had, the question came out of nowhere.

"He wouldn't stop moving around,” Mando answered for you, “Not comfortable, I guess; after all the rain…” 

The helmet in your lap gave no echo as he spoke in the near empty hull. His voice was so quiet, it barely carried up to your ears, let alone to be heard by anyone else.

Docked in a sheltered fuel station overnight, you bought yourself a quick respite to stock up the Razor Crest- inside and out. Outside, the fuel (of course) needed to be filled; and inside, so was the medkit which had been raided more times than you’d care to count– today’s usage, decidedly not helping.

And yet, here the man carried on reminiscing. From the moment he left the fresher to where you lounged now by the wall, the two of you sat just chatting from the slight incline of your lap you’d recommended he stay here rather than the flat of his already crammed cot. 

Just for as long as the swelling goes down– definitely not because you wanted to keep him close while he was lax enough to let you dote on him…

“He pulled at your fingers,” Mando flexed his to mimic the motion, “like he was asking you to sing. You must have sung for hours.."

A smile started growing as he spoke~

You remembered that night now: a month ago, after a storm kept you all grounded for a while.

"You finished one– then you'd ask him what you should sing next. I know I acted like I was asleep, but I couldn't stop listening. You sat on the floor, just singing to him. Make it look so easy… easy as breathing."

Your cheeks tightened with your budding joy, unable to keep a happy sound from leaving your lips at the memory. He’s rambling. Never thought you’d see the day where the big, bad bounty hunter –who’s nearly trademarked the silent treatment– would be caught rambling. His wound was wrapped up snug and perfect now, you thanked the Maker that much. There’s definitely been a good change in his mood. The meds must be working. 

Then again– he'd… refused the meds. If you’re not mistaken, he threw the bottle at Mayfeld’s head to shut him up. Didn’t like how they made him feel, he said.

That means every word of this– it’s not a byproduct of loose lips:

His head lolled to the side, more towards your stomach,

"I wanted to kiss you so badly that night."

Deep inside, every nerve ending woke, enough to lift your head off the wall. He what?

Your head tipped fully down to him– new, adoring light in your eyes as you hung on his words. Weak as it was, the Mandalorian’s reach sought your hand lying over his midsection. You met it easily, and squeezed the show of skin,

“A real one?”

A thumb’s brush was your answer,

“I've thought about it.” His helmet shook a little, sounded so careful, as if he was worried the words would scare you, "How easy it would have been... to take it off, so I could hear you better. I didn't. Wasn’t like you were in the next room,  coulda chanced it… but a part of me wanted to. Wish I had. It was beautiful." 

Beautiful. Mesh’la, he’d say among his people.

You often wondered this: if he ever wanted to remove it, even though you knew his resolve and pact to never do so. Wouldn’t he want to? Beyond just eating and washing off, to shed it for something more? Would he want to for anyone else’s sake, for any number of reasons under the sun…

To feel, to watch… even that, to taste another’s heartsong on their tongue?…

Your Mando’s thumb worked the top of your hand– stiff, but wanting to make the gesture anyway. Forget the fatigue, he wanted this. 

Any and every touch from him left you breathless. Always did, with him. Mostly because you know what it meant to him. If he wanted to, he would. Nothing would stop him, that hunter’s focus. That’s just his Way. It took you both weeks to break the touch barrier after all, and even longer for him to initiate a hug. Whether he meant it or not –breaking his Oath to be able to kiss you… 

..the idea passed you by in favor of the moment. Surely this was different.

 It was a fantasy, and by all means you were likely the last person to know how to make it reality. 

Your only response came out as a whisper,

"So,” you chuckled, “Think I sound a bit better than the radio, huh."

"--'v been a lot of places." Through a drawl, he shook his head a little. "I've never heard anyone as lovely as you."

A question bashed against your chest after  thinking of it too long. 

“You like my voice?”

The Mandalorian hummed his ‘yes.’

“And not just because of what I said about yours…”

‘You could call me your frikkin’ pet goldfish, and I’d turn into a pile of mush, honey.’

But the Mandalorian answered all the same:

“I do. Wish I heard it more.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

That dangerous thought crossed your mind as you studied your own reflection. In shadows, mostly, none of the viewports caught any moonlight on the sheeny surface of the wall in front of you. Biting your smile like an idiot. You shy away when you know he’s looking at you. Best keep your sights above the man cuddled in your lap, before you go gushing to him. 

Of course, you would kiss him back. If he’d only ask. 

But back to what started all this– 

"...You remember what song you liked, then? That night with us?"

The helm lolled back to think. It centered to you again. 

"It was about…--those white flowers. They had a name; I forget."

You grinned, and it came out as a little giddy laugh– "Edelweiss."

That's the one. You imagined he was smiling as he said the words; each syllable cut the air brighter even within the metal casing between you.

The Child still dozes away on his pile in perfect contentment. Your allies -though helpful in a pinch- were temporary, and went on their way, so business aboard the Crest was back to its usual capacity. 

This moment felt perfect. 

In the bubble of intimacy you created, you studied and smoothed each crease of the blanket bunched around his neck, and sang that same song. Singing to him, for him, came as easy as breathing, too. The galaxy may be hard and bloody and gives you impossible odds, but this was an easy choice. 

Just as soft as with the Child, the melody flowed from you as light as you could muster given the proximity to your audience. You knew he was listening now, and if that thought didn't warm you through… The Mandalorian's head in your lap, a blanket loosely wrapped around his bare shoulders, the whole mess of a wounded warrior lay completely pliable under your hands. It was an honor in its own way.

The song was short. After the last bit, he let out a little hum when you'd finished. On the edge of sleep, you figured.

The wind picked up against the metal of the ship outside: must be the night gales. That brush of tree limbs beating on the hangar’s awnings inspired something in you as your eyes wandered to the part of his chest that lay uncovered: exposed so the bandaged wound could breathe. The skin surrounding it wasn't as angry at this point of the night, having benefited chiefly from a shower, the bacta, and the Child’s healing. 

Perhaps you should sing through it again… but another set of lines entered your mind from a song somewhere tucked away from your younger days, songs from your younger years that didn’t resonate with you until just this moment:

 Hapans -even half-Hapans like you- were unused to the sun's rays, as it warmed your body to the point of burning. Your glow came from within, which was prized above all else, to your people. It was always funny to think that way, though. The more you traveled, the more you saw the galaxy and its people, all its shades… The colors, the textures, the rough and soft alike.

But you compared the lighter skin of your hand to the olive tone he bore.

Talk about beauty; you're a golden masterpiece, Din Djarin.

You reclaimed your palm, inching out of his weak grasp. Though you thought him asleep at this point, his head followed where your hand fell away to pass up along the edge of the blanket, the skin of his chest prickling at your touch. You pressed the backs of your fingers against it, the top ridge of his collarbone. You wanted to spread whatever warmth you could against the chill of the room. If only by your warmed fingers, it gave you enough peace… to take the sleepy hour’s low light in the hull to explore what little stretch of skin the Mandalorian allowed you to see.

"I'm jealous of the rain... That falls upon your skin... It's closer than my hands have been... Oh I'm jealous of the rain..."

His bare hand covered yours to stop you in your tracks. Stole it: only to bring it up to his exposed neck. As much as he could beneath his helmet’s seal, he leaned into the palm and its comfort.

That move, shifting your touch to that one vulnerable spot, wasn’t lost on you. He trusts me. 

You cupped where his hand led, and his reach trailed back down your wrist to hold onto your arm. Every inch of him exuded ‘ease’, which you were sure was a rare luxury for someone like him to ever feel. You’d give it freely.

"I'm jealous of the wind… that ripples through your clothes... It's closer than your shadow... Oh I'm jealous of the wind..."

You feined the mantle of an artist with the words- trying to paint something lovely in your nightbound surroundings. Surely he’s half listening, you could tell by his breathing. You finished the song with hums. Just holding him, sparing glances to the Child and even catching a small grin appear on his face, too. 

But the moment’s calm clashed when the rush of the cooling systems overhead turned on and swept you back to reality. It was like you were suddenly aware of light, of dread, of cold, of all the sensations that made you feel utterly alone in the universe, striking you in the pit of your stomach. 

It was one of those jarring thoughts, out of nowhere, that took your anxious mind to darker places. Places where you doubted, where you spoke the most unkind things that would never leave your mouth: to your own inner self, no less… It wasn’t fair, that. Inside that little spiral of your self-criticism is where you second guessed the words of everyone around you, even. Were you over your head, out of your means, staying here, staying with him?

The end of the day was finally catching up to you. Things had been so busy with the early morning to get everyone in place and then waiting them out, you hadn't fully slept in a good day and a half. The space behind your eyes felt the pulsing of it. Surely all those factors weren’t helping your train of thought. But still, you couldn’t really shake it. 

It’s part of the job– you should know this by now. He does… but you weren’t built like him.

In the release of your breath, studying the salve staining Mandalorian’s bandages and the ripples of muscles in his forearm -even as it held onto you in a rare show of domesticity- it all felt undeserving.

Even his touch, the way he let you in, felt undeserving. 

“N’mot brave like you think I am.”

“Yes you are.” he answered back steadily.

“I’m really not, Din.”

“I disagree.”

An honest streak to a fault. You can’t chance looking down; can’t bear to see if the visor is watching you.

“You couldn’t,” you pressed, “Not when I blubbered away like that today. You’re… used to things like this. I barely rose to the occasion. Not exactly my finest moment.”

“Why would I ever fault you facing your fears head on.” 

A tap to your wrist proved his point, 

“There is a fighter in you.” he said it like a promise, “We don’t have to be the same to get the job done. If you had to make a jump but did it scared, that’s no failure. I don’t care if you scream the whole way down. You did it. Doesn’t matter how in the end.”

That– reason wasn’t totally unfounded.

“You didn’t run when I needed you. You fought it and won. You helped me. And,” he pressed in, so you finally centered on your reflection: and his gaze beneath it- “It– was nice to know you cared.”

You melted on the spot. 

“It hurt, hearing you cry. Always does. But… even then. I had you right next to me. -ts’all I needed.”

God this man and his words… he’s one line short of embarrassing you. So, you threw deflection smothered in softness–

“I still think Cara would have been a better bedside manner.”

“She’s been in your shoes before, on Nevarro.”

 You quirked your brow– hadn’t heard of that planet before. “Bet she was more to the chase…”

Mando carried a tired decision already. “Exactly her problem. Long story short, your manner’s better.”

You chuffed a laugh, “Says who?”

“Says me. N’everyone else in the lava pits who watched her yank me around like a sack of jogans.” 

That’s an image. You’re so aware of how silly your anxieties seem now. Your Mandalorian cocked his helmet, to see your newly sported smirk. 

“I really got to see you shine today…”

You retreated to the wall, head up and laughing through your embarrassment, “Shouldn’t this pep talk be geared the other way around?”

Then, his hand lifted, cupped your cheek, outlining the edge of your jaw with a finger’s careful trace to bring you back to him– a gentle thing– 

“You’re my strong girl.” he let his tongue loose, “It’s hard not to root for you.”

“I should say the same for you. You’re the one literally bleeding all over the floor.”

“Not anymore, thanks to you.”

A little jerk to the kiddo, “And him.”

“And him.”

At his word, you gave up the fight. When a Mandalorian’s mind is set, there’s no moving it. And anyway– maybe there’s something to those well-meant kindnesses. Din doesn’t say what he doesn’t mean.

“Well…If I’m going to be this strong girl, how about I prove it? Get you up into bed?”

Mando leaned up at your insistence, only to– cave back onto the floor.

“I think I like the ground.”

“It’s gonna be murder on your back; no.”

“It usually kinda fixes it.”

You chortled, “Up and at ‘em, pretty boy.”

The helmet sighed.

“Where’s this flatterer that was ‘praising the ground I walk on’ just a second ago?” you poked at his expense.

“He’s tired.” Mando got himself to his elbows, bare on the metal grooves of the floor. “And now he’s cold.”

You’re sure he might be. He’s shirtless and even in this low light, you caught his chill breaking over his skin- the tremble and flutter of that top layer of muscle across his chest, the beads of his shower still lingering on the surface, and– decided to not dwell on those too long. Better stay focused, missy.

“Yeah, well,” You just gave a knowing look to counter his excuses. “I can fix that with some fresh sheets for you, so c'mon. Let’s get both of you set.”

Another roll and grunt of his protest, but you hefted Mando to his feet, rousing the Child with your commotion. He caught you by the elbow when you got hold of the kiddo, and pressed his helm to you. Your eyes fluttered shut at the cold of it, both at its firm delivery from the giver’s end, and at the steady feeling it gave you without ever needing to speak its meaning.

Despite his injury, your Mandalorian moved around well now. He checked the aux systems, made sure lift gates were shut tight and locked up, and double checked that the sec systems synced to his vambrace, so he could feel alright about leaving the cockpit unattended. It’s all part of his routine. Taking on those chores, and leaving others to you: saving energy outputs by setting things to low power that could be spared overnight, docking your comm devices back to charge, straightened up the goods you’d brought in and– yeah, even changing the sheets on the beds. To his credit, Mando usually changed his own, to perfect inspection. Once he’s made his rounds, he paused at the threshold to his bunkhead giving you space while you zhuzhed things to your liking- or what you perceived he liked best.

“I appreciate that.”

Looking back, you gave it no mind. You’d caught him rubbing at his side enough in passing to want to take this job off of him. Watching him lean and bend and stretch something so tender was a disaster waiting to happen. No trouble at all, for you. It was sweet;  he thanked you every time you did something for him, unasked.

The moment you’d righted yourself, he took the break in your task to come to your side– more than ready to share his goodnight with you. Upon reaching you, your head fell into place at his shoulder when you went to hug him. The subtle lull of your head made you blink. Were you seriously going to sleep on him? 

You rasped a bit embarrassed for too short a moment when a small, garbled jumble of sleepy words came from the closed eyes of the Child, putting both your gazes to the floor. He was seriously so cute, but noisy!

"What on earth??" You stifled a giggle. The Child jabber-jawed at your feet, 

"--He's singing."

"You think so?"

"Like I told you," His helmet turned back to you. "He's copying you more and more.”

Gotta be on good behavior, then. You thought, Can’t be a bad influence.

It made you preen at the thought, lying in the cook of Mando’s neck bashfully, just admiring how the kid’s little expressions shift with his ‘lyrical brilliance’.

A light nudge along your side prodded you awake.

"Go ahead, lay down." his voice hushed. He switched off the overhead lights with the rap of his knuckles, and grabbed a shirt from the foot of his bed.

He wanted you… with him. That’s new.

"Here?" You begged for confirmation. 

One then the other, before unlatching the thigh plate, his leftover armor pieces joined the top half of his set.

"It's late. You’re too tired to climb back up there; can’t have two of us hobbling around."

He really did sound winded. May not be a bad idea, to be in earshot if he needs you…

You had to take pity, taking a seat on one side of the cot, then scooting back, allowing plenty of room for him to settle. You know, he hadn't ever removed this many bits of his armor around you, certainly not the helmet... With the chestplate, neck and shoulder pieces off, he must be more comfortable lying down without it cutting off circulation. On any other day, you’d watched him practically collapse into bed, fully garbed. That had to be heavy. But– surely he wasn’t making this a habit for your sake, was he?

 But without any clarification and not brave enough to voice that question,  you laid back down anyway, pulling a pillow up and placing it on his side, if he needed it. 

When he came back from the fresher, the sight of him brought out something new in you. He’d just been in your lap all evening long… but he stood so much bigger than you now. Even without an ounce of armor on him, he was all Mandalorian. The unbidden strength he’s earned is even more evident in his stance; every curve of his too-worn shirt clung to him just a little too well.  A brief thought of how easily he could overpower you (if he wanted) crossed your mind.

You focused instead on the Child above you. He'd been squirming about, but his little sounds were dying down after his sleep-induced concert of one. Listening to him took up the time before the Mandalorian came sliding in beside you, crawling on an arm up until he reached his spot,

"Roll over." The man motioned with his hand, tucking one arm under his head, the bunched pillow crushed by the weight.

You obeyed and slid back onto your side, collecting your hair above the pillow and trying to balance where your legs were to give him enough room. You figured he'd want the helmet off knowing you were facing the wall, but from the sounds of his struggle to get situated, it remained on his head for now. 

Warmth filled you from the stomach up when– instead of away, you felt him pull you in around your waist– back into him. You settled; much better, not facing him, and with that comforting weight of his arm over you it wasn’t difficult to be at home here. As for yours, you settled atop his to find his gloved hand, much like you did when he'd kept you company in the kitchenette the day you met Mayfeld and his little band. With his band of questionable moral greyness, it was a little unnerving, especially when they took all too great of a liking to you…  

It was your secret sign– even when he didn’t speak, touch still spoke volumes. He’d stayed right at your side, and in a bold show, kept you there, himself. It was so natural, you never questioned it. Though after tonight… you had a feeling there was more to his partiality to you than that of just found family– something far more dear between you was growing by the minute…

You hummed contentedly, the lightness of the moment setting your limbs loose like antigrav. Your mind slowed and listened to the quiet of this crawl space: registering his breaths behind your chest, the kiddo’s gurgles above you, the three of you on your way to sleep by way of the thrum of the sonic systems, cycling power through the walls in a low drone. The child cooed for a second and rolled over, stilling once he got comfortable again. The most glorious white noise you'd ever heard– and it was all yours...

 Somewhere right on the edge of nodding off, you heard Mando’s light rasp come out the receiver– a sigh.

"This is nice."

Your chest swooned. Taking good care of the heart on his sleeve, you tugged him to your chest.

"Good. You deserve nice things." You kissed below his heavy gloved thumb. Your voice was light with sleep, too.

That seemed to resonate; he curled closer around you.

All this talk, it did inspire you to think as he did. Strength could be found in different forms, you decided. Yours would look differently than a Mandalorian’s and a little whiz kid’s, and maybe that was alright. Alright by him, from the looks of it. And by the look of where you ended up tonight– all but cuddling the night away– well, you’d made your way in this funny little dynamic already, keeping true to who you were. 

Nothing wrong with stretching your wings, which you trusted you’d still do in your own time. Yknow… when the leftovers of the Empire quit hounding you in your criss-cross Outer Rim adventuring. 

But your Mando– Din– liked you enough as you were. There’s no hiding it now.

You'd said it before; in the rush of emotions after he'd been pulled in safe, but you had it on your mind and the edge of your lips… words so true you'd think it would be a sin not to say them. 

Someone so important to you deserved the reminder. It came out in the quiet,

"You're really amazing."

The Mandalorian’s head shifted somewhere behind yours, until you felt a little budge at the back of your skull. His thumb answered on your wrist- its own language of care and connection, paired with the best way he knew how to kiss you- for now,

"Go to sleep, sweet thing."

Heyyy would you please do prompt 2 and (or) 9 with din? <3

Twisted Vows (Din Djarin x reader) 

Masterlist | Spotify Playlist | Wanna be Tagged?

Prompt: head or shoulder massages, lover’s sick habit ie being too stubborn to let someone else help

A/N: Thanks for the ask lovely!!! DIN SICK FIC!! Please, this tin can is so stubborn, I bet he’s a real hard headed dummy when he is sick. But, ofc we love our Din &lt;3

Warnings: Allusions to sex, Din taking off the helmet, the creed being a real bitch to real life things like sickness, vomiting. 

Word count: 1.6 k

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Your eyes sparkled as you looked at the fruits before you, smiling at the shopkeeper. Your Din loved fruits but he never asked for them, he never asked for anything. Before he met you, he would often go days without eating, hopping around from planet to planet in a wild nomadic frenzy. Things only got worse when Grogu made his appearance, Din ate sparingly and gave most of his food to his baby. You loved cooking food, and you loved it when you had someone to feed. 

When you appeared, you gave Din the chance to love food again, to slowly grow into the shell he hunched in after becoming a Mandalorian. He always had shown you his grumpy exterior but you clearly knew about his soft interior. You’d only see his soft side whenever he would take care of his son and more recently, when he would take care of you.

Once you were happy with your groceries you made your slow walk back to your hut, picking some flowers along the way for your flower vase. You opened the ramp to the Crest and were about to slip your shoes off and placed them beside Din’s chunky boots when a peculiar sight caught your eyes.

Your partner’s helmet somehow had grown a pair of green arms and was waddling towards your direction, a spoon in one green claw. You smiled down at your little green monster, wondering where Din might be if his helmet was walking around the house. 

Your answer came almost immediately when you heard loud footsteps followed by a gruff “COVER YOUR EYES!”

You squeezed your eyes shut and heard Grogu giggling as he ran away from his dad. 

“Hey Din! Catch!” you unfurled your scarf and threw it blindly. 

“You can open your eyes now.” you opened one eye to see the big burly man in lounge clothes with your scarf around his face. 

You set your groceries aside and scooped up the thieving babbling toddler, pulling Din’s helmet off to reveal Grogu’s cute face, a loud sigh coming from the man before you . 

“Baby, what did we say about taking your Papa’s helmet?” you gently chastise, kissing his forehead gently as Din stomped towards you, stretching his arms out for his helmet. As Din got closer, you realised something was wrong. He was breathing weirdly, not his usual controlled breathing and his back was hunched slightly. He turned and gagged into his elbow, followed by a weak cough.

“Oh Din, are you okay?” you worriedly questioned, stretching your free arm out to feel his exposed neck but Din stepped back.

You narrowed your eyes at him and Din’s eyes widened under the scarf. 

You whispered “do the thing” into Grogu’s ear and he immediately raised his hand, causing Din to lurch forward and collide with you. 

“Not fair.” Din mumbled in defeat as you touched his neck.

“Din, you’re running a fever, that's it, back to bed or I’m hiding your helmet.” you say sternly.

“Fine, can I have my helmet back first?” he mumbled under the scarf and you nodded, shutting your eyes again as he removed the scarf from his face, dropping it onto his son’s face.

You opened your eyes as soon as you heard the hiss of his helmet and Grogu squealing under the scarf. You tutted angrily at the both of them as Din hung his head.

“Stop having beef with your own child, tin can.” you scolded the overgrown child in front of you, pulling the scarf off Grogu’s head. “Go to your room, I’ll come back with some stuff for you.”

You stared into his visor as you kissed the top of Grogu’s head again. The Mandalorian sauntered off, not before mumbling something under his breath. You smiled as you caught the last bit of his sentence.

“I’m the one who is sick but he gets all the kisses.”

You shook your head and bent down to place Grogu in his bassinet before taking your groceries to the tiny kitchen. 

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Din tried to lay back and forget how his body was hurting all over. He groaned as he clutched his tummy, quickly slipping his helmet on before running out of his room. You watch worriedly as Din dashes past you and makes a beeline to the refresher.

You hear him emptying the contents of his stomach and your heart ached at the small whimper that accompanied the retching when there was nothing left for him to throw up. 

“Din, sweetheart?” you called as you stood outside the refresher. “You have your helmet on?” 

A small grunt of confirmation makes you throw the door open and you drop to your knees beside the Mandalorian who was now curled against the metal wall. Behind all of his pain, Din’s heart swelled with your respect towards his creed. He wanted to tell you what plagued his head and heart but all he could do was gag.

“Oh Din, maybe I should just leave, I-i don’t know what to do, I can’t help you if you don’t have your helmet off.” you say, your eyes brimming with tears. 

“I don’t know what to do either.” he whispered.

You laid down on the cold floor and curled up, facing Din, taking his hand in yours, an idea sparking in your mind. 

“Shall I suggest something really stupid then?” you say as Din’s mind calmed slightly at your touch. 

He grunted and you took a deep breath. 

“Marry me.” you whisper and through the fog of pure sickness, Din Djarin stares at you as if you were the craziest woman in the galaxy. 

“What?”

“You heard me. Marry me, then I can take care of you.” you say, placing a hand on his helmet, where his cheek would be. 

“You’re crazy.”

“And you’re sick.”

“Fuck.” Din had so much to argue about marrying him. 

He definitely was not a match for you, no matter how much his heart yearned for you, no matter how badly he wanted all of you to be his. 

“Din, I swear on my name and the names of the Ancestors, that I should walk the way of our love and the words that my heart sings shall be forever forged between us.” you say clearly, twisting the words of the creed that Din had used before dipping himself in the Living Waters. “You better agree before you throw up in that helmet, Djarin.”

Din slowly sits up and takes your hands, placing it under his helmet and letting you push it off to reveal his face. You stared in shock, not realising that he would be this pretty, despite being sick as a dog.

“Heya, husband.” you whisper as you run a finger down his nose, watching as his eyes flutter close. 

Din swallows and blinks, focusing on your face. Your fingers trace his lips, the ones you’ve had on you before in frantic times when you and Din’s desperations tipped over and the both of you lost control. 

“Your husband is gonna throw up all over you if you don’t move.” he croaked out and you shifted as Din bent over the bowl and retched. 

You rubbed the small of his back and whispered softly to him as he coaxed his stomach to relax. It took you a while to get the dizzy Din to get up from the refresher floor and lead him to his room. You pushed him down and handed him a pill that would calm his tummy, before slowly feeding him fruit that you had cut up for him.

Din could not express anything he was feeling, and he just accepted your unrequited love that you shoved at him. His eyes were downcasted after a while and you realised that he might not be used to someone seeing his face this long.

“Just yell for me if you need anything.” you said before standing to get up, but Din yanked you down despite being the weakest you’ve ever seen him.

“C-could you stay a while?” he whispered, his thumb gently tracing your wrist. 

You smiled and pushed his curls away from his forehead, making his eyes flutter close. 

“Of course.” you assured with a smile.

Din twitched awkwardly and you eyed him, trying to figure out what was wrong.

“Is something hurting?” 

“Nah.” he croaked out after a long pause.

“You can’t lie to me, I’m your-”

“Wife, yea got it.” he huffed  and scowled, making you giggle. “My head and neck are a little uncomfortable.”

You nod knowingly. 

“Can you turn over?” you ask and Din hesitated before shaking his head.

You thought his stomach was still making him uncomfortable but in reality, Din just wanted to look at your face. 

You sat on the bed and crossed your legs, laying his head onto your legs. He looked up at you with big eyes, and you skimmed your knuckles across his warm skin. 

You begin with his temples slowly kneading them with your fingers until a soft sigh escapes his lips. 

“A little h-higher?” 

“Of course, love.” 

Din loved it when you called him that. He was your love, your only love, maybe second to Grogu, but he was yours. That reminded him…

“When I get better, I’ll tell you the proper vows.” he whispered, and you blink down at him before realising what he was talking about.

“Oh-”

“Yea, we’re definitely breaking the creed here, but I don’t care. I-i’ve been meaning to tell you for a long time…” he said before taking a deep breath.

“Shh, I know.” you whispered, placing a finger on his lips. 

Din couldn’t help but smile. Despite knowing that you knew, he wanted to hear himself say it.

“I love you, my riduur.” he says as his eyes became heavier by the way you were gently pushing all of his pain away.

“I love you too, Din Djarin.” you whispered as he drifted off to sleep, placing a lingering kiss onto his forehead and smiling down at him. 

Reblogs are appreciated~~~~

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Things you said when we were drunk with Din x Reader

Meve your brain is massive

I give you: the smaller gathering Din saved his fancy champagne for

Warnings: none, allllllll fluff, so much fluff

WC: 475

The oddly shaped bottle of amber liquid Karga had gifted Din sat half empty between your outstretched legs. Grogu was long asleep, tucked into a bassinet next to Din’s bed. The two of you were slumped in the kitchen floor, candlelight dancing off of the steel appliances, falling flat on the adobe tile work of the floor. Din’s armor was caught in the same orange glow. Veins heavy with alcohol, hearts light from the feeling of winning a years long fight.

You were giggling at Din’s dramatic retelling of Moff Gideon disappearing behind a wall of flames. The part of the story where he almost died in the same fire irrelevant for the time being

He tipped his helmet back and took another swig of the unnamed liquid. It was certainly the fanciest thing either of you had ever drank. All sweetness and no burn going down. You didn’t think it was strong at all until you were both doubled over in laughter at absolutely nothing.

You clasped a hand to his knee and squeezed it. “Man, what a day. You killed your arch nemesis, adopted your son, and became a homeowner before the sun set. All you’ve got left is to get married and you’d complete your bingo card,” you laughed.

He set the bottle down between the two of you, head tilted back against a cabinet door. He turned just slightly so you could tell he was gazing at you from under his visor.

“We could get married. Right now,” he said smoothly.

You laughed again. “Yeah, okay.”

He didn’t waver. Not a single muscle moved.

“Din, you can’t be serious,” instantly sobering up.

He still said nothing.

“Din, are you serious?”

He gave a simple, “Yes.”

“Din,” you said softly, your heart tugging under the weight of this moment, “You’re drunk.”

“I am drunk, but that doesn’t change how I feel about you.”

You were quiet for a long time. Sure, there had been moments you wondered if he could ever see a future with you. He had always steadfastly taken care of you, offering you the largest portion of food, offering you his bed, his blankets. When your boots or jacket wore through, he replaced them without being asked. He would just show up with a replacement in hand.

“You would really marry me?” you whispered.

“If you would have me,” he said softly, placing a gloved hand over yours.

A smile played on your lips, “Ask me again in the morning.”

“I’ll ask every day,” he said plainly drawing his other arm behind his head and crossing his ankles.

He was quiet for a long time.

“Are you going to sleep?”

“The sooner I go to sleep, the sooner I can ask again.”

You smacked his arm and laughed softly into the night.

“You’re an idiot, Din Djarin.”

Best Medicine

Pairing: Din Djarin x reader (AFAB | fem pronouns, but fairly neutral)

Words: 7.7k

Rating: Teen/Mature, 18+ (spicy first half) (K'oyacyi, sweet minors)

Warnings: Implied sensual release, grinding, cuddling, love confessions, carbonite sickness, language, memory loss, emotional hurt/comfort, survivor’s guilt, sleep intimacy, talks of consent/taking advantage, FEELINGS, the helmet comes off, Mandalorian marriages, Din deserves everything wonderful, Fluff/Hurt/Comfort roller coaster ride, angst with a happy(ish?) ending~

//set in pre and post- Season Two | The Mandalorian and the Book of Boba Fett (time jump)...// Translations included at end of work//

A/N & credits: Honorable mentions to @writerlyhabits for helping my mind run wild with carbonite sickness headcanons, and for inspiring me to write out this emotional ride of comfort-HURT-comfort for you all. It’s not often I make any form of whump, my Tumblr lovelies, so be kind and apologies in advance for this… It was both a challenge and an adventure to write~ I promised there’s a lovely silver lining in all my works, and I hope this one is enjoyable!

✨May the 4th be with y'all✨

Need more Star Wars fics? Get your fix w/my masterlist HERE!

Read on AO3

Summary: These are the soft moments you live for: each caress and light word of banter chisel the dark heaviness of life away, chip by chip. Tonight’s no different– you are swept up into the arms of Mando who’s taken your bait, and loving every minute of it. You’re overdue for a break and some quality time.

The quiet cabin of the Razor Crest gave you the space for cozy confessions, to learn more of his mother tongue, and give in to your tendency to get carried away like teenagers, if just for a spell.

Laughter is the best medicine: from the dead of hyperspace, to whatever bed you've landed on while on the run. Yet will that be the case– as the cruelty of time and circumstance test it?

"Ho-okay, c'mere you."

Relishing in your giggles as you wedged your hand in between his newly exposed ribcage, the Mandalorian let out the catch in his throat and quickly picked you up by your thighs– the perfect way to toss you up on one shoulder. You squealed and couldn't stop laughing even as he groused about your ‘cheeky hands where I can see them’, and walked you over to his quarters. 

He swung you back down so that you plopped with a bounce on the recently laundered bunk. It’s tidy – well, was, before you fell onto it– and still smells fresh and windblown from your last stop. Pliant under his shadow, he towered over you with a hand on each side of your head. It didn’t matter that he wasn’t wearing armor; he’s still impressive.

"Do I have to teach you to mind your manners, too?" The rasp came out as annoyed, but you knew better.

He chides the kiddo all the time. 'Quit picking at things', 'don't give her that attitude'; all the magic words have to be instilled in him, as well as just keeping to himself and not being a nuisance. Munchkin has to be taught such things; they're juvenile. 

That's not what he means with you. He's talking about the glances, the bounce of your foot taunting him when your legs cross, the playing with your belt which then tugs your neckline… when you line up your scope just right, just as he taught you, and you give him all the credit. 

You really don't have to try hard at all to get Mando’s attention– it's the game of keeping a step away that leads into a chase that gets under his skin. Especially when he just knows you're up to it. 

You have a few hours to kill until the next leg of your adventure begins. It’s bound to be a restless one when you touchdown planetside, so spoil him, you shall.

You couldn't stop smiling when he caught you.

"C'mon, you can't blame me, space cowboy. You're fun to tease." 

Since you were taken down, you brushed your hair back, let your arms hang above your head, toying with him through your eye’s bat.

The visor transfixed on you told you everything you needed to know: you were practically gift-wrapped under him, and he’s obsessed with the view. That was by design.

Your laughter died down to little hums as you watched him glance to the wall, back to you, then again toward the shelf. He finally decided to palm the panel brusquely to shut the door behind him: encasing you both in automatic darkness. 

You heard the click of the underside of his helmet. A relaxed, hollowed chuckle transitioned to a bright one to fill the silence. 

Jackpot.

Strong arms came slowly down to the bed to hold you, with a warm, -now ungloved- hand brushing more hair back that had framed your face every which way.

The Mandalorian cooed down at you with a saccharine smile you knew had to be there,

"I love hearing you laugh…"

Hearing and touch senses honed in, you reached tentatively to where his shoulder would be, pulling him in and inviting him to lay in his newly claimed spot between your legs. The Mandalorian followed so, gingerly.

You murmured an affirmation as a questioning reply, coupled with a breathy string of chuckles to confirm his desires. Truly your eyes couldn't know the difference between open and closed in total blackness, anyway.

"--and I love listening to you sing," he praised you again. “I can hear you better this way.”

You hummed sweetly, 

"Aww, so you do enjoy being serenaded huh? Big, scary bounty hunter brought to his knees by a wannabe wordsmith with a funny accent?"

Eager lips laid their caring touch to your forehead. 

“Every time." He pressed little cheek kisses to you, too, explaining his untold, priceless comforts in between, "The minute you put the kid to bed is my favorite part of the day."

He feels your fingers trail up to his hair, nails taking through the crimped mess of curls there. He froze his affections the moment you did that. You ease moans out of him at one, singular touch.

He doesn't care how small he sounds, you think. All he knows is ‘I’m safe.’

"And this, is mine:" you said with a softness reserved for him. All teasing is set aside when you do choose to be serious. You shifted so he can let down more weight onto you in the newly shared room, "Taking care of the one man who puts everything and everyone else before himself. It's quite the honor, for me."

Sighs fall from him so easily. You'd imagine his eyes shut at that. 

“It’s you who honors me,” Mando countered.

You wanted these moments to count: taking any chance you could to affirm and provide whatever comfort you can with the little downtime you had.

You know he won't show you, but it doesn't keep you from wondering… when he's so close, you wonder what he looks like under the helm. What kind of hair, how long. What breaks in the skin have cut into him after wearing it for so long, or did he have any prior to swearing on the names of his Ancestors. 

What of his eyes alone? There's the usual gemlike hues, earthy tones; or there's always the artificial overlays people use to disguise themselves or the retinal scans– it's just a special effect they use in those holovids you watch on the weekends. Just the kind he mocked when he caught you watching them. 'Silly and pointless and ridiculously scripted.' And yet while he sassed about the waste of time, you often corralled him enough so that he'd at least sit with you while he cleaned off the carbon scoring of his rifles, to watch them passively by your side… he'd caved to your whims if you so much as touched him. That's what got you here.

With him at his most docile, you felt brave enough to ask what has always mystified you,

"What color are your eyes, hon?"

You heard Mando’s head tilt up with its sleepy intake of breath. A flash of worry that you overstepped hit you, feeling his form rise from its concave state under your touch… but he didn't go away. Fingers wound their way to cup the back of your neck instead– 

–to prepare to taste yours in just a few moments.

"Purple," he answered.

You snorted at the lie. It's just a little bluff, but you'll entertain it… you both are teetering in the realm of what's permitted within his Creed anyway. 

His lips are a breath from yours. You played along; like you'd won the guessing game,

"I knew it."

Your winner’s kiss was the touch of warmth he'd needed all day. 

Eh, maybe he'd tell you the truth one day, maybe not– besides, you don't have any brainpower left to wonder when he's kissing you. 

One turned into two and more, with the Mandalorian’s hands roaming your features until they reached low enough to switch spots and roll you over onto his chest instead. His palm’s exploration over your shoulder gave you the chance to pull away for a breath, leaving you to process the shivers he's causing and taking the time to relish his touch.

"I really do have to thank you," Mando confessed between deep breaths. Deep, like he was really breathing for the first time today. "I've– never felt so.. safe. Ever -in all my life- than when I'm with you."

You melted, until he said more.

"Feels like I’ve cheated the Fates to even be left standing, much less lie down without needing to keep an eye open. I never-- really thought I.. deserve this."

You wondered why. Your browline tensed with worry, why he would be so self-deprecating even after a career like his… littered with wins and paygrades and beskar trophies?

"Ill-deserving of what?" You asked plainly. "--having someone care about you?"

Your Mandalorian fell quiet, simply running a hand up and down your back with complete tenderness. Where his blunted nails caught your skin on the backstrokes, the pads of his glove-worn hands soothed the loving scratches’ path. 

This silent confirmation wouldn’t cut your questions: it’s still a force of habit, Mando using actions to show what he means. 

"You give me kindness. Kindness that," Mando spoke of the wonder of this feeling, "I had to convince my heart to accept. Who'd dare refuse a gift from you… But I can't help feeling it's wasted on someone like me."

Someone like him: a hunter? Or a Mandalorian? Folks frowned upon both mantles. You knew the biases, but you treated him fairly, made him feel valid– even before your feelings for him grew into something much sweeter than a working coexistence. Thank the Stars, you were so happy to find your chemistry was a feeling Mando shared after a late night with a too-close call. A feeling he was apparently still getting used to- hence the apparent guilt of what ‘gift’ he'd been given by having someone so generous like you for a partner.  

This broke your heart every time. Not just hearing his affirmations and words of appreciation when they catch you off guard– but how he’d thank you for the most basic needs of his own.

"Honey," you leaned down your forehead to his, "You matter. Whether you believe it or not, you're loved and not alone in this galaxy. Your words, feelings, they matter to me. It's not wasted, any of it, baby. I'm honored to be the one who gets to love you on the day-to-day basis, yeah, but... even if I wasn't in the picture, I should hope you’d still seek out getting your needs met. That's all anyone wants, I think." 

You caressed his stubbled jaw line with your thumb as it slid and traced down the seams to his chest. Something inspiring bumbled around in your head, so you tried working it out.

"You know as well as I do... these days can blur together so fast when we're moving too fast. We– get in the way of our own thoughts, and that can make our minds a messy place. It’s easy then, we forget how needed our wants are, sometimes.”

The hands caressing you stilled; reverent to every word you said.

“Keep your word, settle your debts, all that’s still true,” you shook your head, “But please don't forget this part, hon... You matter, and that includes the softer things you want. The nice things. What the amazing, kind- hearted man underneath needs."

No person has ever respected him so much. To honor his creed and what it entails, to support what he did, the lifestyle he chose-especially one as taxing as this. He wouldn't call himself a kind man; he was a killer, detached and for the longest time, keen to remain that way.. But if this woman so dear to him said so, maybe he was learning to be gentle after all.

You wished more than ever that you could stare him in the eyes so you'd know he heard you– but you swung for the next best thing: you held your hand right on top of his heart. Its beat was faint under his padded underarmour, but there.

His breath faltered at the touch. 

Mando reached his to find the digits caressing him and dancing his along each one: skin to skin. Has no one really ever told him that? A little huff of air escaped him; you felt his head shake from the motion rustling the pillow beneath him.

"Hell, you're sweet," Mando brought your fingers off and laced them to his lips. "You mean that."

"Of course I do. I don't say it to prove I'm being right. I want you to know the truth."

He was quiet again. Only this time, a purposeful finger ran along your side to coax you out. Tickle, more like.

"Ok, sometimes I like being right!!" you rushed out to make him stop.

"I have a running list of wagers a mile long that says otherwise, cyar'ika. You fool no one, let alone me." 

Mando amused himself every now and then, a sound you loved like a drug, too. You took control and dove up for another kiss, his deep laugh turning into something stronger, deeper. He always kissed you like he was drowning and you were his source of life and air. As if you'd fly away at any minute.

His hands pulled you tightly to him, demanding closeness with firm, undulating grips on your thigh and on your neck to direct you. Kiss after kiss, you eventually led from your point of leverage to start kissing down his neck as an experiment.  He'd gasped at first, but the good kind. The kind that begged, not stalled for less.

“Loving on me,” Mando rasped, “Is that wha’ you– you’re calling nngthis?”

Your boy needed reassurance, something awful, tonight.

You'd normally tease him as you go, gauging his response to touching these new places, but were kind about it tonight. As touch-starved as your Mandalorian is, you didn't want to overwhelm him.

So you merely paused, gave a sweet “Sir, yes, sir~” and carried on after a quick peck on the cheek.

You couldn’t help but let your giddiness escape again when you reached a soft spot on his neck; one that made him say your name in an awestruck cry. Soft on the clips, long on the vowels. God, you love the sound of it, bobbing under your waiting lips as you worship the space. He's warm, stubbled, and just perfect. 

"The way you say my name,” you beamed, “I'm starting to think you like me or something, honey."

Mando sighed out, moving a hand to the back of your head to get your attention:

"Din."

You still kissed him, asking him to repeat with a little hum.

"m'... m' name."

The loving haze blew away, and you with it. A zing thrummed to life in your chest. He’s never told you his name– ‘anonymity was his strength’ dictating the secrecy, after all. Despite the dark, you leaned up on an elbow. 

Your eyes went wide, looking into nowhere at the wall, breathless at the discovery.

"Your name is Din?" 

He was just as breathless beneath you, equally rendered mute as you were. Made sense, it was the first time he'd said the word to anyone in years; the proof lay in how his chest was heaving, "Yes."

"...Din."

He melted at the sound of it on your tongue. 

"Din Djarin." he offered up his family name.

"Din Djarin." so you honored the clan, just the same.

He shuddered, "Fuck, yes".

In a surge, Din Djarin -no longer just the man you affectionately called ‘hey you’- pulled you back to his lips. Heated minutes passed with his hands all over you and your delighted, soft laughs breaking your kisses from pure happiness. 

You now knew his name. Two words that coded him in a way few knew, and you were one of the select recipients of such intimate knowledge. This would take your bond to new heights tonight, and you could barely stand the euphoria that flooded you.

You'd started shuffling about with your hips instinctively over his once as much as your perch allowed and when they settled as an unintentional roll, Din sighed deeply and with a tighter grip. One hand gathered up your hair in his hand, where he could relish the waves in it and hold you back enough where he could lap at your neck as you'd done to him. Your hips found permission to work their magic and you were met with a carnal side of the Mandalorian you'd anticipated he held back all along. Even though his thick trousers and your leggings separated you two entirely, it was enough to scratch the itch and blind him even more to anything around him in a matter of seconds.

Little phrases passed Din’s lips; sweet nothings you thought, with no idea for their meaning. But with him talking, you didn't care if he was reciting the alphabet, his dinner order, or the damn 'Ode to the Empire’. He was practically praying hotly in your ear, and that was a buzz you'd never try to stop and put a pin in the moment to demand a pocket translator.

"Mesh’la, cyar’ika. Ka'ra jaon'kov, cuy’gar mesh’la. B’d jate... Jatne o'r ner sur'haai…" 

One deep roll sent him gripping you tight so he bucked back. The sensation hit you in a special place too; you cried out a bit louder than you anticipated. Before you could even think to be shy about it, Din sucked hard on your neck– and your surprise jumped an octave.

"That's it, sweetheart." Din swallowed, "Kriff, that's a good girl." 

He set a pace that you had no control of anymore. You'd be losing control yourself soon enough.

A bit helplessly, you whimpered along with the rolls, listening to his begs, 

"Din, I ---nnnguhhh"

"What is it, sweet girl? Rejorhaa'ir ni. Does that feel good, huh?"

"Mhmmm.. it feels good,"

"You sound good. Heavens, you sound amazing. So.. so fucking pretty.." Din sought a sloppy makeout that you happily fell into. 

From the warmth buzzing in your face through your body, you shot away breathless in a tiny whine into his cheek; something was going to burst inside.

"Ohmygodohmygod, Mand– Din, I can't..."

He ground up a bit faster, "Ni ganar’e, cyare, I've got you. Let go. Let me hear you, c'mon."

You'd whined again, shaking your head against your better judgment. 

Sensing the fight in you, Din fisted the hand on your hair into a deliciously tight hold– his loving, seductive mouth speaking into the soft flesh by your jaw while his hand explored its way down to your thigh.

"C'mon, I know you're close. C'mon." The bass in his voice turned it into a growl easily. He was desperate too. "Be my best girl, like I know you are."

Oh God that tempted you. You'd been grinding faster, yourself. Not unlike hearing the pre-flight tells you catch when the engines cycle power in the cockpit: you're racing the lighting inside you while still trying to be conscious of the moment. Staying centered on him. 

On Din. Din Djarin.

And with another suckling, lazy kiss to your neck, you'd cried out. The tremors jolted within you, subsiding into trembling shakes even when you quit thrashing against him.

Din's hand dropped to brace your back after your rush, keeping up his pace while you fought for breath. His voice choked out fast, too, ending his chase in a hard groan and his own hips rutting against you a few times harder than the rest, then fell back altogether. Your highs concluded quickly– with the mellow clang of his head thunking against the bar at the top of his bunk as he fell back.

You didn’t mean to, but you chuckled at his small 'ow', so you cupped your hand up to cradle his head. Massage it, to comfort. Even he, the man who takes vibroblades to the flesh and barely sheds a tear, feels vulnerable enough to give a little whine out to play for sympathy.

 Catching your breath has never felt so good.

 Soon enough though, you felt both his hands slide to your hips and push up a bit.

You lifted gingerly, "Oh, am I hurting you?"

"I.. I uh,... made a mess." Din sounded so winded.

You ran hot at that admission.

"Oh. Heh, sorry ‘bout that."

"Oh hell, don't you apologize for that," You could hear the smile, albeit the awkward stumbling behind it. "Wait- wait here." 

He tipped you on your side and kissed you quick. 

"Eyes closed?”

You nuzzled his forehead pressed onto yours, "Already there."

"Atta girl." Din  leaned into another kiss.

He left and changed quickly. Gave you enough time for you to collect your hair up and over the pillow from where it got mussed, hugging a pillow to yourself in his place, still giddy at making the Mandalorian lose himself.

Making Din lose himself.

By his dulled footsteps and overhead bar of light painting a Mandalorian-shaped shadow onto the door again, you hid in your pillow dramatically. The rumbles of his voice carried to you as the door closed and he crawled back to you as before; bare to the room once more and laughing at your comical eagerness for him to shed the helmet again.

"Ok–" Din’s welcoming hand pulled your arm down; familiar, to when he'd collected your hands at the start.

"Hey you." You cooed shyly.

"Hey you." He purred back.

You lifted up into another kiss, this one much calmer and softer, having been sated in the most tender way with him.

Settling back, breathless you muttered out a quick 'hey' to bring him back to the present. "Teach me how to say something?"

Obeying your pause, he slowed to a stop. "In Mando'a?” he asked.

"Mhm?"

Interest piqued his tone, “What do you want to say?”

What your heart’s been singing for months every moment he has his back turned. What you’ve meant and said a thousand different ways other than the three standard words. Only this time, you want him to be in on the secret, too. You wanted to be able to tell him this in a way that will only resonate with him:

“..I wanna say 'I love you'.”

Din went rigid. Then straightening up, he brushed your hair back soothingly, falling to a whisper- another secret.

"We would say..ni kar'tayl gar darrasuum."

“Ni cart ah-"

He chuckled, "ni kar'tayl,"

"ni kar'tayl,"

"gar,"

"gar?"

"darrasuum."

"darrasuum."

"That's it. All together?" Din guided. 

You tried for all three, and when it did , it slid perfectly off your tongue so that a happy, wet sound left him. Something about it must have stung his eyes you couldn't see. You pressed a couple small kisses to his lips.

Mando’a was a gorgeous, sonorous language– and quite possibly the trickiest to pick up.

Then your tone turned curious, "Haven't… you been saying that to me? All this time?"

"You remembered." He nuzzled your forehead, but shook his head a little to answer, ‘not quite’ teased in his motion. "Kar'tayl means 'to know', or another way... It means to care deeply, to care for. Mandalorians use it for many things, depending who they speak it to. There is no word for 'love', so... "

"To really know someone is to love them." You finished sweetly.

You hit the nail on the head, and speaking that core tenet earned you a loving sweep of Din’s thumb across your cheek.

It’s inevitable; your chest was going to burst.

"That's beautiful, Din." You blissfully sighed. He snuck both arms around you, pulling you forward. “Din Djarin.”

"It means so much," he whispered, "--coming from you..."

In that moment, you hoped his heart could rest…

FIVE MONTHS LATER

Din lays at your back, having nestled up subconsciously overnight. 

His arm -the perfectly still, bracing one he relies on when he scouts- found its place so easily spooned beneath yours. Proof you are part of a matching set: intwined in love and bond and safety, even in sleep– at least to him, who you knew once felt he didn’t deserve such sweetness and warmth.

This would have been nothing out of the ordinary, nothing out of character for Din to do with you in bed. He cuddled you nightly, religiously, from that first evening onward, sharing your bed and souls alike since you spoke your first word of love to him. Normally, you’d welcome it, you always welcome him.

But– not now. Now, it set you on edge. Since his last shift of the blankets when he rolled over, you haven’t been able to fall back asleep. In uneasiness, you lie awake and aware of how a once tender act was wrong. Your conscience nags at your gut: no, no, no.

Not like this. 

He doesn't know what he's doing.

Stop him. 

Tell him to move.

Move him.

You willed yourself awake when Din curled in; you really shouldn’t allow this. But for the sake of his rest as all the docs all say he needs, you let him seek his peace however makes him the most comfortable, content enough to watch the ongoing lanes of traffic of early and late commuters of the Ring out your window’s slats. 

Sleep wasn’t easy for you now anyway– not with this every present knot in your throat. It’s set to burst when your mind wanders too far towards what got you here…

There were two callsigns you memorized since meeting Din– not as a request or favor, but a demand. One of course, was his, and the other belonged to one of the last Mandalorians standing from his former covert as a last resort. One that he quizzed you on over and over about answering, ‘should anything ever happen to me’. 

One day, that callsign just pinged you– and sent a good bit of ice into your stomach when you greet a wide-cut blue helm filling your holo. 

“Master Vizsla.”

“Lady Djarin,” Paz greeted with a warm-enough familiarity. 

Something in the way he chose how he delivered his words around you told you that he’s perhaps making an effort to appear personable over a holomessage, whereas he may put on fewer airs face-to-face.

You were honest, 

“I feel like there’s few reasons someone like you would call me, and none of those reasons strike me well…”

“ I’ve only said two words, little bird. Your intuition is a curious one,” his helmet shook a little, “-though, not misplaced...”

You leveled your face, waiting to hear what he had to say.

“I have news. I recovered your riduur. He is alive, though not in the same state as when he left you.”

Now that is a curious response. 

You outsourced yourself for a job and have taken a good, six-week-long hiatus from your shared space rented on the Glavis Ringworld pursuing your own contracts. Although confident in this share of responsibility, it’s been harder being away from each other than either of you anticipated. You spoke on comms for each other’s voices about every other rotation in your separation, though never nearly as far from each other’s mind. But this was your marriage, one you honored in every way- together or apart. 

And anything to bring in some extra credits, and… take your mind off the kiddo’s absence… has been a welcome distraction. 

Only now, with Paz’s news, you’re both relieved and far more anxious to learn just why Din hasn’t answered your hails from an unusual, weeklong stretch of radio silence…

“Sorry, not the same– state?” you asked, “what do you mean? What about his state…”

Before your headspace had the chance to spin– running wild with concern over his body, what he could have suffered, could have fought, could have breathed, ingested, poisoned–

“...state of mind, I fear.” was Paz’s cool answer. “He has lost his Path, and you need to help him guide it back where it belongs.”

This, as it would turn out, was not so easy a malady to heal.

You met Paz at his transmitted coordinates to collect your husband and work through what was to become the biggest challenge this -or any relationship in your life- has ever faced:

Fekking carbonite sickness. Or whatever corrupted version of it Din Djarin had quite literally trapped himself into.

While on his own mission, Paz recovered a poorly thrown together carbonite freezer that a petty gang abandoned, with a select few targets within. One of which entombed none other than his own kih’vod. The reason why he described it as ‘a botched job’ was that the alchemical readouts of said carbonite chamber pointed to a tainted solution: not pure in ingredients that typically secure a clean, minimally-invasive freezing process. When you start cutting corners to save costs, you compromise the effectiveness of the flashfreeze. Some sentients did not survive this treatment; though it was a blessing Din clearly did– though not before taking a unique toll. 

Typically, carbonite would blitz your vision, your extremities; make you feel like a ten-ton transport has dragged you across the Dune Sea then set you spinning through a wash cycle, expecting you to walk a few miles blindfolded as a cool down without a single misstep. 

It makes you drowsy– not lose your short-term memory. 

When Din awoke, the questions posed to him concerning what events led him to his present predicament went unanswered. Not from a place of obstinance, but complete confusion. He’s unsatisfied with himself, the frailty he feels. Being stripped of the mind stung equally as bad as if it had his body– which conveniently, was also hurting. 

He got angry, Paz said– furious as to what could have altered his head and made him feel so out-of-body. There were decent chunks of recent days, weeks he claimed he could not recall. That list grew as he couldn’t even say what his last paygrade was, what he’d done with the Guild for the last year, what had become of the covert on Nevarro. When he glanced at a darkly mirrored reflection of himself, he didn’t know how he procured the newer portions of his chromed armor. 

The bad news continued to careen out of control. He didn’t recognize the mudhorn etched on his shoulder; had to ask the Armorer why that creature was added. To her immovable surprise, she sobered at how serious this truly was. He didn’t know his Clan? Of its addition?

He didn’t..--he didn’t know the name Grogu. Never even heard of such a species. 

When shown a holopic of the kid, he simply looked at you and asked if something like that could speak- could maybe answer to what happened to him. That nearly broke you on the spot if the Armorer hadn’t ushered a still-throbbing Din to sit and receive a medical consult and diverted your attention. The whole scene was a heartbreaking one, though Vizsla spared you most of the big questions you wanted to ask by ripping off the emotional bandaids himself.

It was by Paz’s explanation that Din had been told that you were his wife, his riduur. For some strange reason, he accepted that quickly. Explained straight away why you stuck around. But in the hours and days that followed, your partner was far from the cozy and nurturing man you’ve known for so long. Even if he tolerated you, he still appeared to consider you a stranger. You knew why, and therefore didn’t blame him one bit. He was hard enough on himself for his failings on a good day. Getting himself into such a vulnerable situation and having to nurse this blasted headache everyday that barely seemed to let up would naturally only make that self-image worse.  His steps fall heavier, carrying weight unseen. 

It was clear a depression was setting in as the hard first days melted into a week. Into two. The man you loved walked through your shared home as a cold, distant shell of himself, filled to the brim with unspoken anger, confusion, guilt, and lost pain. 

While in your company every day, you led most of the talking- just about practical things. Suggestions when he lost his train of thought, simple choices, graciously avoiding the oliphant in the room by keeping topics in the moment with your usual, helpful nature. It’s your default and, so, hard to break; but for the most part, Din Djarin accepted that too with nods and hums of agreement. He poured himself into some easy reconnaissance missions and errands to try and pull himself out of the dark, but he offered very little depth of dialogue with you, claiming he’s focusing on meditation. Centering himself. 

But you knew better. Centering, introspection– that takes a different form with Din when he’s in a bad headspace. He’s hating himself, punishing: for being a disappointment, to be your problem. 

Though… oddly enough… your nighttime routine had not really changed. That’s the most bittersweet feeling of all of this. 

When it came that first night to talk about your living arrangement, he insisted that nothing change: for you to keep your bed, and he would busy himself elsewhere. But as you both just talked things through about what your next steps should be, sitting side by side against the headboard watching the nightlife stream in through the porthole of your room, your drowsiness took root, and he somehow fell asleep right beside you– as though nothing had changed. 

In the silence of morning, he didn’t speak on it; you carried about your days as before, getting by. But sure enough, when you’d catch up at the end of the day, the same sinking feeling around you would hit at the same hour, you’d lie down, wake with him having never left his side of the bed, and the cycle would repeat. 

A poignant, if painful, reminder of what connection still stood between you– and what little  comfort the universe was offering you in the midst of a horrible situation through your Mandalorian’s touch.

Still, you know it’s not the same. It’s instinctual, not intentional. You don’t cry anymore about it. You’re all sniffled out, though your throat hasn’t gotten the memo. It seizes every time he calls you by name instead of Cyar'ika. 

So here, he sleeps behind you:  seemingly none the wiser about the more amorous nights that bombarded your god-awful, precious memories. These dreams, they keep you awake at all hours of the early morning when even Din’s subconscious cries out to hold you. To allow him to sleep by your side when surely his entire world felt numb and unfamiliar? It was his blessing, and your nightly curse.

A noise, finally. A little catch, high behind your neck- a barely-there attempt to wake up. In trying, he squeezes you in, then settles with a soothed groan. Din’s nuzzling between your shoulders. The scent of your conditioner must be the only thing keeping him in such a drowsy state. On the edge of sleep, he’s still able to make you melt with his rarely-seen gentle nature. 

And despite the circumstances, you laugh at this, softly.

"What are you doing?" you ask of yourself more than him: but he answers…

"Mmmm... y'r warm.."

Now that’s your Din. That’s your Darling talking. 

It’s him… and not. 

"Djar…” you sighed with a catch in your chest, “Honey, wake up."

You’d shown him where he stowed his helmet on the shelf while you slept and that you’d never get up before him, so he didn’t feel exposed. It was torture though– you always woke up before him now and were subject to his snuggly nature: sans the intimacy you once shared by turning into each other. That wouldn’t be fair now, wouldn’t be right, even if it was what you craved the most about mornings with him. For now, you’d face away, until he was ready.

Din stirred again. His limbs gave a quivering squeeze to wakefulness. You knew it the moment he must have opened his eyes, because his breaths seized. He’s aware, then... even more aware.

"Oh,” he broke through his morning voice with a rush, “I'm so sorry-- I was just-"

"It's ok, just relax,” you threw confidence into your voice, “How’s the head?" 

“It um.. It’s ok. Kind of achey.”

“C'mon. Lay down and rest.” You’re selfish and can’t help settling in, "It's not like we have to get up yet. Paz still has the speeder, so we can stick to this side of town until he brings it back."

You held onto his wrist carefully, returning it to its lax spot between your breasts, just where it fits. You just want him lucid; even if he doesn’t hold you as tight as he used to.

After the Grogu holo incident, you couldn’t bear to ask him more about what he does or doesn’t recognize. You couldn’t bear to ask him if he remembered you, and you wouldn’t, even now. How could he, after all? If he didn’t even know the face of his own son, what chance did you have? You’d met him months after taking on his charge. Based on the gap of time Din struggled to remember, you certainly fell within that ocean of nothingness. No, you didn’t bother to ask him things of that nature. You simply accepted his companionship and moved along.

At your word, Din nests back in, presumably to get a few more minutes of sleep. But then, he  breathes in, and you sense it’s not purely therapeutic, the way he’s settled into you. He’s scooted closer, and not to readjust his posture. He’s moved your hair, and not to get it out of his face for his comfort–

He starts– kriff, he’s kissing you. Kissing you like he means it. Little pecks. Your neck, your shoulder, and– you stop him.

"D- babe,- you don't have to,” the warning lights fire off in your brain, holding his wrist firmly now.

Din mumbles more between presses, "I want to.”

"Mando, you-"

"Call me Djarin again."

The way he hushes you, so fekking softly, it sounds like him… dank ferrick. .

Stars, it’s weird. This whole thing is weird. When was this supposed to let up, a vague ‘week or two, come back for a new assessment and we will review the prognosis’? You try to hope he’s feeling more like himself after a good night’s rest, but you can’t really explain this behavior.

Your restraint now is a testament, a promise to protect him as he’s always protected you:

" You’re–” you shoot yourself in the foot and craft the words as they break your heart. “You're not yourself. I can't ignore that. I know it, even if you don't."

You’ll curse this blasted phase in the future, when everything settles and eventually goes back to normal. But this is the one time you’d ever call such tender treatment truly insufferable. He pauses in his affections,

"--No," Din then counters, gentle and curious, "I… I remember this part..."

Remember what? You’ve shown him video still after still when he asks, letting him lead his own recovery journey as he wills. You obviously do your best, but it hurts you– and you’re not so sure he doesn’t notice judging by the sweet ways he apologizes for troubling you. 

You’re sure he’s being kind. "Do you, now."

Facing the wall with empty focus, you kept your sights down, ignoring how he braced himself on one arm and attempted to turn you onto your back. You followed the give of his hand’s press on you, but not much. And of course, you still didn’t look at him. Can’t stomach him revealing himself to you when you assume he’s doing it out of duty; what’s expected of him as an unwilling, ‘newfound’ spouse.

But when he spoke again, the barest of touches skidded along your collarbones, up the neck…

"You were born with these,” Din shares with a reverence. “Here. Little Ones, from the sun. But this: this was an accident. When you were small; your skin was too new."

Your eyes honed on a red traffic light outside– the sight of it mimicked your alarm. He’s brushing a scarline– yes, from a childhood incident you told him about… months ago…

"You really can't see it unless your face turns red. Pretty sure I’ve seen that,” Din trails off, sets to brushing your cheek, “Turns white, against the curve. You get embarrassed, but I remember telling you to quit–”

"--to not worry about it." you finished as a whisper. “Din.”

‘Makes you who you are. Pretty as a picture, meshla. Think of it as a brushstroke, when the Maker was putting on the finishing touches of you.’

He knows. He does know you. He hasn’t forgotten?

Your eyes stung when you tried to blink the memory away. This makes no sense…

"I’m sorry- you remember that…” you shake in awe, “But– not?…"

Grogu?

"I know." His brow furrowed, "or.. rather, I don't."

His hand set atop your bicep– something grounding.

“I want to," he begs of you, "Truly, I want to say I feel like I’m nearly there. If only to convince you to look at me.”

You laid flat the rest of the way. Mostly so you could better hear him and not make him think you’re hiding, but also, you could now reach him more comfortably. 

Bittersweet tenderness braided you two together-- here in an unbelievable turn of events. 

You lifted your eyes to him at last. Din whispers again,

“Angel Eyes…”

The endearment makes you nearly sob. Dammit, he does remember. Relief, grief, it’s all muddy.

"I don't remember my foundling’s name.” you’re crushed at how mournful he sounds, “-which is a sin in its own right…" But he speaks with life-rendering conviction,  "But I know I told you mine. I know where we stood, which light panel on the Crest I turned off, how you- h-how you kissed me back that day.”

Your foreheads touch, the invisible string pulls you to do it. The lids of your eyes shut on contact with the ebb of a hurricane behind your eyes.

“Please use it-" Din asks of you, "-until I can remember all of the rest. Until I can remember every time I have ever told you ‘I loved you’-- and revive it, tenfold."

The tsunami's pressure strikes you down. You bury your sob down your windpipe and lunge for him– to kiss sense into him if it's the last thing you do.

And kiss, you do: for the release, for answers, for solace in an unfair time. For whatever reason, your riduur finds the same comfort, though he is desperate at the other end of the spectrum. You, in knowing a shred of him still exists and rejoicing in that; in him, grasping onto that one fact like it’s the only thing he has.

His entire energy is sad beyond belief, but he looks at you like you're his lifeline when you part. Din wets his lips- masking a tremble by how he bites it. 

"This is the only thing that feels normal. Feels right. I don't understand it…"

The shadow of his humility shines, even as he wallows in his present struggle.

"You'll get there,” you swore through tears- not all of them sad anymore. “If this is any proof, you'll get there. Won’t last forever."

You share another kiss for healing. By how his brows seem to even out, you wonder if it’s actually helping to ease the pain after all. It’s firm, longing. It’s all you have to give him.

Din looks you over as he’s in close proximity- refamiliarizing himself with every high point in your face, every contour, and gives a genuine smile. 

“Pretty sure…” he worked through the whirl of ideas behind that dreamy gaze, “... had a dream about that kid. Kept taking that– did he try to take the gear shift off the Crest? Y’know, the ball end? Think it was a toy?”

And finally: you laughed for the first time in weeks. 

“Yes, he did! It’s the one thing that survived the crash!” you burst into happy tears. “Oh my God, I can’t believe it~ see? You’re–”

"You haven't laughed. Not in days," Din interrupts– "I like it when you laugh."

You hear it once more, plain as day:

I love hearing you laugh.

–like it was yesterday…

"I know you do." you calm yourself. "Maybe one of these days, you'll remember how you bring it out of me."

He considers you, and a funny little aire of critique passes across his face.

“Something tells me that’s not hard to do. I’ll try my best,” he scrunches his perfect nose, “M’not a comedian though, fair warning. ”

“That’s ok. It’s your delivery that’s the funniest part. Munchkin thinks so,” you reminded with hope. You worded it like a question, hoping Din would visualize the instance easier if you made it sound casual. 

“Seems to favor testing me, more like– what you've told me so far.” Din trails off on his own. His brow twitches, showing his head may be pulsing, but he’s fighting through it. “Better be one to mind his manners the next time we see him. Wonder if the Jedi teach that, too.”

Understanding just how many times he'd looked your way expressionless under the guise of armor, he'd learned the benefits of using words when you came into his life and makeshift home. It was a change of perspective that was all too necessary; that he could truly speak his mind and that you would listen anytime- day or night. The way he communicated was truly poetic once he felt comfortable to release the matters of his heart through his mouth. 

So now, even when his mind has split and you were left to patiently wait out for his memories to return in full force, you'd simply hold his hand and keep the anchor set so his heartstrings could untangle themselves.

You smile despite the gap in understanding the gravity of what he'd just spoken- that Grogu was with a Jedi without hope of any visitation date that you knew of. It's still so hard without him– another pain you feel that you're shouldering alone…

“Have I said that before?" Din's flare of insecurity flared like the ebb of his headache. "I'm not making things easier by opening my damn mouth, am I…”

You sift the thoughts away, out from the forefront, "No…" you say, to ease his worry. 

You're reminded of how much he is still the same Din. The power of his gentle words and the potency of laughter: the best medicine he could take. With knowing tears lining your eyes, you answered with a massage to his temple,

“It just means more, coming from you."

Translations:

Mesh’la, cyar’ika = Beautiful, sweetheart. Ka'ra jaon'kov, cuy’gar mesh’la = Stars above, you're beautiful. B’d jate = So (good) Jatne o'r ner sur'haai = Perfect (good, superlative) in my eyes. Rejorhaa'ir ni = Tell me Ni ganar’e, cyare = I have you, my sweetheart

Hush

Summary: Din needs sleep, but it’ll take a bit of coaxing.

Content: Just sleepy fluff

He was rolling his shoulders again.

It was the closest thing to a tell Din possessed, and had taken you almost a year with him to decipher. He never yawned. Not that you had seen, anyway. Never complained. But the moment you noticed him straightening his posture, rolling his shoulders back as though it were nothing more than a stretch, you knew Din was exhausted.

All it took was a rut. Normally, he was wise enough to recognize when he needed sleep, and responsible enough to take it. He’d shed his armor, wrap himself around you in the warmth of your shared bunk, and soon be letting out the soft snores that lulled your own eyes into slumber.

Occasionally though, sleep was denied to him for one reason or another. An uncooperative quarry. A necessary but especially long haul through sub light. It didn’t matter what it was, the moment Din was denied his regular dose of rest, suddenly sleep was jettisoned off his priority list, and he was impossible.

Now, his tell was slipping through the cracks, thinly disguised amongst smaller unnecessary movements as he fiddled among the ship, tinkering with circuits that were in perfect working order. You looked up from Grogu’s bed, having finally coaxed him to sleep. Your eye roll went unnoticed by Din.

“Why don’t you get some rest?” You suggested softly.

‘Huh?” He mumbled without looking up from a very important lighting rig, imperative to the function of exactly six green and red buttons.

“I said you need some rest,” you tried again, crossing the hull to touch his pauldron softly. “Come lay down.”

“Oh. That’s alright, I’m not tired.”

You nearly let a laugh slip. You managed to turn it into a sigh, knowing the former would only aggravate him. “Well I’m tired. And you know I sleep better when you’re with me. Won’t you come lay with me, just for a bit?”

That, apparently, was more palatable. His frame drooped and you knew you had him. “Well…I suppose if it’ll help you…”

“It will. Absolutely.”

“Ok then…”

You led him away from the oh-so-vital light circuits and helped him remove his armor. This had always been one of your favorite things about your husband, getting to see his warrior exterior stripped away, leaving you with the soft man you knew and loved underneath. He was fully capable of doing it himself, of course. He had for years. But you loved to be the one to slip it off piece by piece, feeling his muscles relax beneath your touch. He knew this, so he let you.

You left his helmet for last, knowing he preferred to remove it himself. Once the last piece of metal was off his body, you brought him to bed.

Despite his earlier argument, he practically melted into the mattress. Your heart swelled as Din crawled over to you and laid his head on your chest without hesitation. His arm draped over your stomach as one of your hands stroked his back, the other climbing into his hair.

You had marveled at it a million times, and you would no doubt do so a million more, because you would never quite get over the fact that a battle hardened Mandalorian, who everyone saw as a merciless killer, trusted and loved you enough to relax in your arms and go to sleep. You were one of only two beings in the universe who could touch him without consequence.

He began to mumble. Another thing he did when exhaustion got the best of him.

“I love you so much…”

“I know. I love you too. Go to sleep.” You continued to run your fingers through his hair, soft and thick.

“You’re so warm.”

“So are you.”

“And so sweet.”

You chuckled, drawing your hand down to stroke his cheek with two gentle fingers. “Go to sleep my love.”

“M’trying…”

“No you’re not, you’re talking.”

“Mm…”

He slowly fell into silence, his breath deepening. You listened for the onset of snores. Before they came, he spoke again,

“You didn’t kiss me.”

You held a sigh. “What?”

“Kiss me…you didn’t…you always kiss me goodnight…”

You stroked his hair again, fingers digging softly in his scalp. “You’re too tired love, just sleep.”

“Can’t…” his voice was muffled in your chest, “Can’t until you kiss me…”

Your eyes rolled with a gentle smile. “Then come up here and get it I suppose.”

He raised his head, but his eyes stayed closed. He didn’t lean up, apparently lacking the energy. Instead he simply lulled his head to the side and presented his pursed lips. You grinned and craned your neck down to give him a soft peck on the mouth.

Instead of laying back down, he whined. “Another?”

“No,” you breathed through a laugh. “Go to sleep.”

“Mmmmm,” he complained, brow furrowing over still-closed eyes. “Please?”

“Huuuh…Maker…”

You humored him, lingering a little longer in hopes of satisfying him this time. It either worked or he lost the energy to hold his head up, because his face planted back into your chest. Your heart warmed with a mixture of love and mirth as you compared this sleepy eyed boy, begging for kisses, to the blood stained hunter who had shot down a quarry mere hours ago. Sometimes it felt like you were married to two different people.

You continued to work your fingers down his back with smooth, rhythmic strokes, humming softly. Your other hand ran down his hair to the nape of his neck, playing with the soft locks there. Din’s breathing gradually deepened, then slowed. But you knew he wasn’t asleep yet.

“Love you…” he murmured, “So much, darling…love you…love you…”

You tilted your head down to kiss his hair. “Sssh, I love you too. Sleep.”

“So warm…so soft…love you…”

The last syllable faded and you felt his mumbling lips finally come to a stop. Not a moment later, his soft and shallow snores graced your ears. You held him a little tighter, echoing his words of adoration as sleep finally overtook you.

Things you said when we were drunk with Din x Reader

Meve your brain is massive

I give you: the smaller gathering Din saved his fancy champagne for

Warnings: none, allllllll fluff, so much fluff

WC: 475

The oddly shaped bottle of amber liquid Karga had gifted Din sat half empty between your outstretched legs. Grogu was long asleep, tucked into a bassinet next to Din’s bed. The two of you were slumped in the kitchen floor, candlelight dancing off of the steel appliances, falling flat on the adobe tile work of the floor. Din’s armor was caught in the same orange glow. Veins heavy with alcohol, hearts light from the feeling of winning a years long fight.

You were giggling at Din’s dramatic retelling of Moff Gideon disappearing behind a wall of flames. The part of the story where he almost died in the same fire irrelevant for the time being

He tipped his helmet back and took another swig of the unnamed liquid. It was certainly the fanciest thing either of you had ever drank. All sweetness and no burn going down. You didn’t think it was strong at all until you were both doubled over in laughter at absolutely nothing.

You clasped a hand to his knee and squeezed it. “Man, what a day. You killed your arch nemesis, adopted your son, and became a homeowner before the sun set. All you’ve got left is to get married and you’d complete your bingo card,” you laughed.

He set the bottle down between the two of you, head tilted back against a cabinet door. He turned just slightly so you could tell he was gazing at you from under his visor.

“We could get married. Right now,” he said smoothly.

You laughed again. “Yeah, okay.”

He didn’t waver. Not a single muscle moved.

“Din, you can’t be serious,” instantly sobering up.

He still said nothing.

“Din, are you serious?”

He gave a simple, “Yes.”

“Din,” you said softly, your heart tugging under the weight of this moment, “You’re drunk.”

“I am drunk, but that doesn’t change how I feel about you.”

You were quiet for a long time. Sure, there had been moments you wondered if he could ever see a future with you. He had always steadfastly taken care of you, offering you the largest portion of food, offering you his bed, his blankets. When your boots or jacket wore through, he replaced them without being asked. He would just show up with a replacement in hand.

“You would really marry me?” you whispered.

“If you would have me,” he said softly, placing a gloved hand over yours.

A smile played on your lips, “Ask me again in the morning.”

“I’ll ask every day,” he said plainly drawing his other arm behind his head and crossing his ankles.

He was quiet for a long time.

“Are you going to sleep?”

“The sooner I go to sleep, the sooner I can ask again.”

You smacked his arm and laughed softly into the night.

“You’re an idiot, Din Djarin.”