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brown-eyes-and-beskar · 12 days

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This may be my new favorite Din fic 😮 The dialogue is so on point, the tenderness is so palpable, and the chemistry is positively sizzling!!! Hurt and comfort is one of my favorite genres, and this is simply perfect. You have absolutely outdone yourself this time, Snips 💕💕💕

tear in my heart [din djarin]

summary: after a rough encounter with a bounty leaves him worse for wear, din needs your help to patch himself up. little do you know he's struggling with more than just external injuries.

warnings: mentions of blood, injury, needles, scars. din struggling w his creed.

extra tags: apostate era!din, force sensitive/jedi!reader, din has tattoos & piercings for funzies, no reader body descriptors, no y/n.

word count: 1.9k.

a/n: this took me a VERY long time to write, & finally having finished it makes me so happy!! this is my longest fic yet & probably my favorite so far. i'm so excited to get to share it now, i hope u enjoy!! 🩷

my masterlist!!

The hour grew late. What once was a warm evening sky melted into the deep blues of midnight, stars illuminating the darkness. As enchanting as it is, watching the stunning display reminds you of your missing Mandalorian.

While Din had gone out hunting his current bounty, you stayed on the Crest, waiting for his return. Though Din was well aware you could handle yourself, armed with the force and lightsaber, he had grown more protective as of late. Ever since Grogu left, you noticed the shift in him. There were times, like now, where he even tried to limit your help on certain jobs. Deep down you assume it's his fear of losing someone else that's getting to him.

Today you indulged him after hearing the desperation seep through his modulator. So you remain behind, as much as it kills you to stay here helpless and waiting. There was just something about the way Din asked, that you simply couldn't deny.

Looking out of the viewport at the unfamiliar woodland planet before you, a sound coming from up the ramp grabs your attention. The thudding continues as you cautiously make your way down from the cockpit.

Barely more than a shadow in the waning moonlight, is Din, legs scarcely keeping him upright and moving. Without a second thought you rush to him, helping him sit atop a storage crate before he collapses. It's now in the dim light of the ship you get a better look at the state of his body. Blaster burns and blood stain the perfectly crafted beskar with the flight suit beneath it in tatters.

"Karabast, Din," you breathe, looking over him. A wave of frustration and pain washes over you, but it's not your own emotions you're experiencing, it's Din's. "What happened?"

"Bounty put up a fight," he grumbles.

You attempt to collect yourself long enough to retrieve your med kit as Din lets out another strained sound. After pulling out all the necessary supplies, you go to work at what looks to be the worst of the wounds. His side seems to have the only real damage thanks to his armor.

Gently, the surface blood is wiped away with a spare rag kept in the kit. Silently you cursed yourself for not sharing Grogu’s talent for healing, if that were the case this would go much easier. The fact that you weren't able to see the injuries properly isn't helping either, with them still mostly shielded by Din’s battered suit. Normally you would never pressure him to show himself, but in this situation the circumstances require it.

“Din, I really need to get a better look at you, if I'm really going to be able to help,” you say firmly, eyes brimming with worry.

A discontented grunt escapes him as you continue pressing the bloodied rag to his side. You begin to wonder if he was even able to catch your words, but then slowly he moves to peel away his armor and top half of his flight suit. In a careful urgency, you attempt to aid him in any way possible.

With the outer clothing and beskar carefully stripped away, you are able to get a proper look at him now. The bleeding has thankfully begun to ease up, and seemingly only one cut on his side required stitches. These fresh wounds are not alone though. A cascade of scars ranging from vibrant to faded litter his skin, along with a collection of various tattoos. A mythosaur marks his shoulder paired with words in a language you don't recognize, along with an array of other intricate designs scattered about. It's like his own little galaxy, and its gravity is pulling you in.

Quickly you mentally readjust, preparing to stitch up his side. After a light spray of bacta, you ready the needle, hoping it takes the edge off.

“Okay, let's get this over with,” you breathe before beginning to mend him back together.

A ragged groan strains through Din’s modulator, his body struggling not to flinch. It was a rarity to see him this physically vulnerable, and never had it been this severe. Not enough for him to ever have to bare himself to you. It makes you ache, seeing him like this now. Continuing with the stitching as carefully as possibly, you center yourself once more, attempting to put all concentration on the task at hand. Right now Din needs you focused and calm.

“Come on, you're a Mandalorian, you got this,” you tease lightly, endeavoring to put him at ease as you finish up.

Din’s entire body stiffens. Waves of frustration radiate from him so strongly, they feel like a punch to the stomach. He pulls himself up to sit upright on the crate, knuckles whitening under his death grip. The sudden movement startles you, and drops you to your knees. Thankfully, you're done stitching.

“Din, be-” you start, but he cuts you off.

“Don’t. Don’t call me that,” he snaps, holding his helmet in his hands.

Before you can respond to his outburst, another shockwave of emotions hits you as he roughly removes his most critical piece of beskar. He tosses the helmet aside with a reckless abandon. Instinctively you avert your eyes, only glimpsing a brown blur before doing so.

“Din, what are you doing?!” you ask in shock, eyes wide and heart racing.

“I'm not a Mandalorian, not anymore,” he answers in a tone so forlorn it cuts you to the core.

Desperately you want to see him, to look in his eyes as you comfort him, but even still you can't. Despite Din’s current state that may not be something he’s ready for, and you don’t dare add to his conflict. No matter how deeply you crave it. Even when he removed his helmet to say his goodbyes to Grogu you couldn't bring yourself to truly take him in.

“Cyar’ika…” Din says, voice softer, but still pained. “You can look at me now, it's safe. My Creed…I have forsaken it.”

He awkwardly maneuvers his injured body down to the floor next to you with a grunt. Heat rises in your cheeks as he takes your face in his hands, gently impelling you to meet his gaze. Staring back at you are irises painted such a glistening, deep brown it's as if the sun itself has melted to forge them. Beneath them lie a captivating aquiline nose and lush lips, lined by a defined mustache and thin scruff. Your breath hitches in your throat at the sight of him; to say he’s handsome would be a disservice.

The moment is so overwhelming you feel on the verge of trembling. In an attempt to steady yourself you hold Din’s hands in your own, placing them on your heart. Oh his hands. How you wish to never be parted from them; you never want to be parted from him.

“It's really you,” you finally breathe. Gingerly you run a hand through his dark curls, your thumb brushing one of the smaller pieces of beskar that adorn his eyebrow, the other lying in the tip of his ear. Though his hair is damp with perspiration it fails to deter you.

“Yeah, it's me,” he whispers, leaning into your touch. The way he melts into the motion warms your heart.

“Din, you didn't have to show me your face just because of what happened,” you murmur, pulling away.

“I know, but I wanted to,” he confesses. “It's something I've been thinking about since I was cast out. If anything this situation has given me a chance to show myself to you with no repercussions.”

You're taken aback at his revelation. Even in his time of personal crisis this man was thinking of you. Din was excommunicated from his people, from his way of life, and still a part of him worries about you. Guilt makes a home inside your gut at the thought. If you were stronger, Din wouldn't have had to put himself in the compromising situation he did.

“I’m sorry, Din. If I had any proper training, and really knew what I was doing…Grogu wouldn't have had to go with Luke. You wouldn't have had to remove your helmet, and be in this mess. I'm so sorry.”

As a wave of tears fight for release, you divert your gaze in shame. You feel so unworthy of accepting his greatest secret. Seeing the face of your friend, your partner, the man you've fallen for has been a dream for so long. Now though under these circumstances it only feels wrong.

“No, cyar’ika, it wasn't your fault,” he says, anguish etched onto his face. “I made my choice, and now I have to deal with it.”

“Din,” you start, tentatively trailing fingers along his cheek. “You did what you had to do to save Grogu. I don’t know if it's any consolation now, but I don't think there's anything more honorable than that. If it matters, in my eyes you're still a Mandalorian.”

There’s a flash of emotion in his golden irises that's difficult to decipher before he responds.

“What you think always matters,” he says, voice tender and low. “You could've chosen to go with Luke, to train with him, but instead you stayed…with me.”

That look is back in his eyes, one you finally identify as yearning. The affectionate longing emanating from his gaze grips you in a chokehold. Once again, you find yourself struggling to take a breath.

“Of course I stayed,” you whisper. “There's nowhere else I'd rather be.”

Heat returns to your face at this newfound intimacy. Heart feeling like it's going to burst from your chest, you avert your eyes from Din’s, returning to exploring his menagerie of scars. Without thinking, your fingers move to caress his marked skin, unable to resist the temptation.

Din tenses at the sudden contact, the sensation still so foreign and new.

“I’m not ashamed of them,” he admits. “You’re just the first person to really see me like this. I guess it'll take some getting used to…”

“You are beautiful Din,” you breathe. “All of you.”

Feeling emboldened by a surge of adrenaline and fervor, you replace your hand with your lips. Delicately you press careful kisses to the scars that decorate his chest; you fear he may shatter from your touch. Din’s breath catches in his throat and you freeze, apprehension taking root.

The notion evaporates altogether as he takes your chin in his hands, and guides you to his own mouth. You thought you were breathless before, now it feels as if every drop of air has vanished from your lungs. Din kisses you with such a devotion it feels as if you've entered another galaxy. It's all you can do to keep your lips moving in tandem with his.

Tangled together, your hands threaded through his curls, you both finally concede to the need for oxygen. Ragged twin sighs escape you, followed by matching hazy smiles. No words feel grand enough to adequately express your feelings.

“I don’t know what to say,” you blush, laughing lightly.

“I do,” says Din warmly, pressing his head to yours. “Thank you, cyar'ika.”

Your smile widens even further.

“Always. We’re gonna be okay,” you assure him. “Now go get yourself cleaned up, and I'll cover you in bacta patches.”

“Okay,” he chuckles. “As you wish.”

He graces you with one more quick but tender kiss, before complying. Everything else could wait for now. You’ll figure out the rest later, together.

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#seriously this is just beautiful #i can already tell this is one i’ll be coming back to a lot #thank you for taking the time to write this!!!#din djarin #the mandalorian #star wars #din djarin x reader #fanfiction #reblog

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brown-eyes-and-beskar · 17 days

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sky full of stars [din djarin]

summary: din whisks you away to aldhani for a surprise wedding gift.

warnings: none.

word count: 667.

a/n: i actually wrote all this in one day, so proud of myself!! wrote half of it in a migraine haze after being inspired by the northern lights. 🩷

my masterlist!

It felt like a dream. One moment you were becoming his riduur, and the next he was whisking you away to a secret planet for a special surprise. Life with Din was a whirlwind, and you loved every second.

He hid you away in the hull of the Crest as you sped through the stars, wanting to keep up the mystery. There was no denying his request after the dizzying kiss he left you with before heading up to the cockpit. The taste of his lips, and the wonder of what was to come left you brimming with excitement. Dull moments were seemingly impossible with Din, that was for certain.

Upon landing some time later, he reunited with you in the hull, a piece of cloth in hand. Confused, you offered him a quizzical look in return.

“It's only a short distance from here,” he said, a hint of shyness in his tone. “But I want to keep it a surprise still, if you'll let me. I'll be your guide, riduur.”

Nothing could suppress the smile spreading across your face as you nodded in agreement. Din thoughtfully tied the blindfold around you, leaving you in the dark. Years ago, you never would have thought you would have grown to trust this Mandalorian so much. There was no one you trusted with your life more.

So you let him lead you out of the ship, and across the grassy terrain. From the lower air pressure to rolling hills, it's apparent you're up fairly high. Not being able to see your path made the journey more challenging. Thankfully, when you stumble over a stray rock or unsteady feet, Din’s strong arm is there to keep you secure.

Absent-mindedly you began to rub a finger along your wedding band. The silver ring that Din had forged for you from a sliver of his own armor, signifying your union that had taken place barely a cycle ago. With the sensation of the ring, and your arm linked through Din’s, you remained relaxed enough to finish the journey.

“Alright, we’re here,” Din announced, finally stopping before going to remove your blindfold. “Open your eyes.”

Slowly, you blinked open your eyes, surveying your new surroundings. You’re standing atop a grassy hillside, the evening sky stretching on forever above, stars illuminating the darkness. From a distance you could see a group of local people surrounding a fire, enjoying the night.

“Where are we?” you asked, curiosity too much to bear.

“Aldhani,” Din replied, laying a blanket from his satchel on the ground. Every three years there’s this event called the Eye Of Aldhani, and it's- there really isn't a word for it. But of all the years, it's happening right after we’ve been married. I thought it would be special to experience together, especially given the circumstances.”

You looked at Din, beaming. Although you had no idea what to expect, you couldn't imagine anything more perfect. Sharing anything with him was all you could ask for.

“How did you find out about this?” you wondered, still grinning.

“A few years back a job brought me here when it was happening,” he said, going to sit on the blanket and helping you down with him. “The people were kind to me.”

Before you could say anything besides offer a thoughtful look, you see a vibrant streak of green blur across the sky.

“It's starting!” exclaimed Din.

He pulled you closer to him, and you curled into his side as you quickly turned to look above. Sure enough, that singular meteor was followed by thousands more. Suddenly, the sky danced with light and color in such a mesmerizing way it left you breathless. It was like a painting in motion, the most marvelous one you had ever seen.

Never had you witnessed anything so truly spectacular; the luminous viridian shower left you awestruck. You were so grateful Din had stolen you away for this secret excursion. It would be a moment that would never be forgotten.

✨ ask to be on my din fic tag list!! ✨

#this is so short and sweet and precious!!!!#your love for him is so obvious in the way you write him <3 #thanks so much for this!#din djarin #din djarin x reader #the mandalorian #star wars #fanfiction

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brown-eyes-and-beskar · 19 days

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It’s… it’s so soft… I can’t…….

Downpour

Din Djarin x GN!Reader

Summary: Leading a solitary, nomadic existence for much of his life means that Din Djarin has never cuddled up to someone he loves during a rainstorm. Until one night in his cabin on Nevarro, when unseasonably poor weather introduces him to one of life’s simple pleasures.

Word Count: 1k ✯ Rating: General ✯ Content Warnings: One suggestive line, Din having nightmares mentioned ✯ Author's Note: I miss the Razor Crest but daydreaming about domestic fluff in the cabin on Nevarro scratches an itch in my brain in all the best ways. I really want to cuddle with Din Djarin during a rainstorm. Is it too much to ask?! Thanks to @decembermidnight for betaing this one for me!! 🩷

✯ My Masterlist ✯ Read on AO3 ✯

The roof of the cabin on Nevarro has never felt like the most sturdy part of the modest-sized dwelling you share with your riduur. Especially not in the middle of an unseasonably fierce rainstorm, the severity of which has you groggily blinking awake in the pitch blackness.

Your immediate concern is for the mischievous child you tucked in just across the hallway shortly after sunset. You hope that the rain has not disturbed him and that he remains bundled in blankets, surrounded in his crib by the mountain of plushies which have been either bought for him by you and Din or gifted to him by the various people throughout the galaxy who cannot resist how charming he is.

Mercifully, your sensitive ears do not detect any wails. So, with Grogu seemingly still sleeping soundly, you turn your attention to his father. When you do not hear Din’s soft snores beside you, you vocalise your concern.

“Din, are you awake?” you mumble without turning around to face him.

Din shuffles towards you and wraps his arms around your waist. With a wordless response, he squeezes you tightly. You realise that Din is drawing comfort from your presence. Your heart grows heavy as you realise he must be alarmed by the rainstorm.

“Are you scared of the rain, my big scary Mandalorian?” you question. It is an attempt to lighten the mood, without fussing over him too much. You know how much such playful teasing gets underneath his skin.

“I’m not scared,” Din huffs.

You turn over, raising your eyebrows at him questioningly.

In the darkness, you can barely make out his handsome features. There is a soft light from the hallway, and you can faintly see his brown eyes sparkling slightly, even in the low light.

The lack of light is not an issue. You have mapped every inch of Din's face with your fingers and lips well enough to know that he will be furrowing his brow at you, exposing the wrinkle above the bridge of his nose that you love to gently trace with your fingertips whenever it becomes pronounced in times of stress.

You reach up to touch the lines of his face, as though you can ease all of his worries with just your touch, “What would all those bounties you once collected think if they could see you now?” you muse.

Din guffaws.

“Imagine if everyone you struck fear into the hearts of with merely your presence could see you now? Maybe they would feel silly for ever being so scared of a man who is scared of a little rainstorm…”

“Riduur…” Din warns, voice deep and firm.

He can excuse the teasing about the past. You have held him through enough bouts of sobbing in this very bunk after the visions which haunt him in slumber have torn him from sleep to earn the privilege of lightly teasing him. When nightmarish sights of his past sins overwhelmed him, you were always there, dutifully picking up his pieces.

But Din Djarin will never accept a charge of cowardice.

You know he is not seriously scared. Din is no coward. And he knows that you would never seriously lay such a charge at his door.

“You know I’m only teasing you, handsome,” you say with a wink you hope he can see.

You realise that Din has never lived somewhere for long enough to hear the rain pattering on the roof. His covert cloistered in the caves of Concordia. The Razor Crest was home but never docked in one place long enough for it to truly function as such.

The fact that until now, Din has been denied the simple pleasure of listening to a rainstorm in the arms of one you love is yet another detail of his life which brings you anguish.

“I think it’s very sweet, actually," you whisper, hoping he knows you meant no malice, "It's our first proper rainstorm in this cabin," you add, ensuring that he knows you understand this is new for him.

Despite how much Din's past makes your heart ache, you will not wallow in pity for him. Instead, it strengthens your resolve to make sure Din is loved every moment of the eternity he has vowed to spend with you.

You lean in for a gentle kiss, “Roll over and let me hold you, my love,” you whisper against his plush lips.

Din sighs and then leans in to kiss you again before he complies. A touch so slow and sweet, so different to the frenzied way his lips claimed yours hours before. Satisfied, he agrees to your proposal, flipping over with a grunt.

You position yourself so your chest is flush with his firm back, placing a kiss on the centre of his back, between his broad shoulders. Din sighs in contentment. You smile, relieved you can comfort him like this. It is a privilege unique to you out of everyone in the galaxy.

You slip your hands underneath the soft cotton shirt he wears to bed and absentmindedly trace circles onto the warm expanse of his stomach. His body is firm beneath your fingers thanks to his muscular physique; but there is a hint of softness there, which increases each year as he ages.

You do not mind one bit. It only makes his body better suited to cuddles.

This warrior who once terrified everyone is now a little softer at the edges, his toughness gradually eroded by the love he feels for his son and you, his riduur.

"Thank you," Din sleepily mumbles before he drifts off again, no longer disturbed by the thudding of the rain against the roof.

Fierce independence borne out of trauma had meant that Din had never previously known the simple pleasure of listening to rainfall pattering against the roof. It was a new reverberation, one initially alien and alarming to his highly attuned senses.

Fortunately, Din was not afraid for long. Now, he has you to hold him through the storm. There is no more fear or anxiety as he cuddles with you, his riduur, while the sound continues outside.

You whisper, "I love you, Din," before sleep's comforting embrace takes you too and you join Din somewhere peaceful. Far away from the downpour.

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#the sweetness and domesticity is TOO MUCH #another masterpiece by the master writer 💕💕💕#din djarin #din djarin x reader #the mandalorian #star wars

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brown-eyes-and-beskar · 24 days

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Going feral over this tiny crumb whY DID THEY HAVE TO SIT LIKE THAT???

#i will be unwell about this for the next few months #check back in later #the way he takes up space is just so AHWHDIFIEJWBDLCOF #din djarin #the mandalorian #star wars

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brown-eyes-and-beskar · 26 days

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Pedro in the Mando suspenders (#for science)

#sometimes i see pedro and i’m like “my boy!! that’s our guy out there!”#and sometimes i see him and I’m like “oooooooh pedro is looking foine”#and then sometimes like this i see him and i’m like “TAKE ME NOW”#the suspenders are my weakness and din knows this #imagine him walking around the house in this outfit #i would do ANYTHING #ANYTHING #din djarin #the mandalorian #star wars #pedro pascal

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brown-eyes-and-beskar · 29 days

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The tin can man but he’s actually made out of metal 😍

#i love him SO MUCH #he watches over my desk and brings me good luck <3 #actual love of my life until the real din djarin comes for me #hehehehehe #din djarin #jane talks #the mandalorian #pedro pascal #star wars

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brown-eyes-and-beskar · 1 month

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POV: you just told Din Djarin that you think droids are cool

#i am physically unwell about this #his EYES #his big brown beautiful EYES #din djarin #the mandalorian #star wars #pedro pascal

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brown-eyes-and-beskar · 1 month

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Deft and capable hands thread themselves into the seams of you, weaving you together like an ornate tapestry. The gentle strength in which Din effortlessly holds you is enough to make you dizzy. How his lips dance across yours in such a hypnotic rhythm however, is what makes you see stars. No, with him you could see whole galaxies.

Those hands, those magnetic hands, draw you closer. Tender touches of fingertips rub circles into your hips, the skin beneath now set aflame. You ache for him to never let you go. The moment is so intoxicating, it leaves you drunk on the feeling of it all.

Din moves a hand to cup your jaw, further deepening the kiss, sending shivers down your spine. Not only are you seeing stars, you feel like one too. There is a lifetime in this stolen moment, and you wish you could remain in it forever. Becoming stars through a kiss, linked together like a constellation, what a perfect way to be.

#SCREECHING

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brown-eyes-and-beskar · 1 month

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#I am completely normal about this #EEEAAAUGHHHHH #anyway #din djarin #the mandalorian #star wars #din djarin x reader #fanfiction #drabbles

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brown-eyes-and-beskar · 1 month

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This is rocket-launching me back to the “repressed Victorian maiden” days when we caught a glimpse of Din’s wrist and collectively lost our minds

My Pain Fits In The Palm Of Your Freezing Hand

Din Djarin x GN!Reader

Summary: When you and your Mandalorian companion are ambushed by a group of bandits, you hope that his stubborn nature will not make the task of treating his wounds any more difficult than it needs to be. But that is not the only obstacle. You also hope that the depth of your unrequited feelings for Din will not impact on your ability to care for him...

Word Count: 2.2k ✯ Rating: General ✯ Content Warnings: Canon typical violence briefly described, reader provides first-aid to minor, bloody injuries. ✯ Author's Note: A daydream about holding the stubborn tin can man's hand turned into whatever this is!! I've never written unrequited feelings for Din before but it made my heart ache in the best possible way. Hope you enjoyed!

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Once the adrenaline of your latest brush with death subsides, your focus immediately pivots to caring for your Mandalorian companion. Although the heightened emotions leaving your body render you a trembling, shaky mess, your priority is to ensure his well-being. Maker knows he will never take care of himself.

As you approach the Razor Crest, you mentally scan yourself for painful areas. Casting your mind back towards the encounter as you try to recall anywhere you could have been hurt. After all, you will struggle to assist him if you are not healthy.

You recall that you had taken a couple of painful blows to the side during the skirmish, but your clumsy assailants had fortunately missed all of your vital organs. Aside from a pounding heart and dry mouth, you have mercifully made it through the ambush unscathed.

Satisfied that there are no immediate areas of concern to treat, you turn your attention towards Din. You cast your mind back over the altercation, towards any wounds he may have sustained. It is easier said than done, considering how many of them leapt out of nowhere and caught the two of you off-guard as you walked through the thick forest towards the ship.

You remember how many of them Din fought off with his bare hands. Well, through his gloves. Still, you know they will have provided scant protection, so you are keen to check them for injuries.

You momentarily struggle to remember what happened after Din had seen most of them off as you crouched behind a bush, hiding.

Then, you recall how one of your assailants had slashed at Din’s hands when he grabbed the remaining pair of them around the throat. It had been a frenzied attack, which momentarily worked as his grip loosened. Just when you had feared that all hope was lost and they were going to escape, Din brought his boot up to deliver a swift kick in the stomach to the slower of the duo, which sent them careening into each other.

Din had used many parts of his body, as well as all of his wits and expertise as a warrior to see your attackers off. He had done a formidable job, considering how much they had taken you by surprise.

Still, the state of his hands concern you.

You are pretty sure they sustained the most severe damage. Plus, as they are vitally important for everyday function, treating them takes priority.

It is settled... Din’s hands are the first area you will treat.

If he will let you, that is.

Your Mandalorian companion does not possess a reputation for being the easiest man in the galaxy to take care of... a willing patient, Din Djarin is not.

As the two of you ascend the ramp up to his beloved ship, you hope for both of your sakes that he makes this process as painless as possible.

“Din, sit down and let me get the medkit,” you order when you finally enter the familiar old ship's hull.

“Let me initiate the launch sequence first,” Din stubbornly responds.

“No,” you reply, shaking your head as you fold your arms, glaring at him.

“Fine,” Din mutters in annoyance.

It seems your sternness has done the trick.

Din perches atop a crate as you grab the medkit in preparation to treat his wounds. You hope he does not make it harder for you than necessary. Din has never made any secret that he is comfortable being fussed over. You are no stranger to the fact that he hates being taken care of like this, but if you do not tend to his wounds, you know he will never do so himself.

“Your gloves,” you nod towards the two-toned leather which covers his hands, “Take them off, Din.”

Din sighs and lifts his gloves beneath his helmet, seemingly biting at each finger to loosen them before repeating the process with his other hand. You feel like a voyeur and wonder whether you should turn your head and look away, as though his gloved hand disappearing beneath his helmet is somehow sacrilegious. Despite your inner turmoil, you cannot help but watch, unable to tear your gaze away until finally, he slides the gloves off and bares his flesh to you.

It is not the first time Din has removed his gloves in your presence, yet you still feel a thrill travelling across your body at the faintest sight of his skin.

For Din Djarin’s bare hands provide you with the tiniest peek at the man that lies beneath the cold, hard beskar. To catch a glimpse of the human side of the formidable warrior, the side of him you yearn to know entirely.

You remember how stunned you had been the first time he had removed his gloves in your presence while he was repairing a blaster several months ago.

You had been sitting elsewhere in the hull as he worked at the bench, tools spread out as he dutifully performed much-needed maintenance on one of his many beloved weapons.

A grunt of frustration indicated that the parts had been far too intricate to repair with his cumbersome gloves. So, he had pulled on each finger one by one, tugging them off. Seemingly uncaring about baring himself, even ever so slightly, in your presence.

You had tried your best not to look, but you had been unable to resist sneaking a glance at who he was underneath his armour. Although for the most part, you kept to yourselves, there was no lingering frostiness in your dynamic. You and Din were amicable, possibly even friends... if he could even have such a thing.

That day, you watched as his hands meticulously repaired his blaster. You noticed the smattering of dark hairs across the back of his hand, the surprisingly tanned skin and the calluses and scars which littered the back of his hand. It was a fascinating glimpse into the man who hid so much of himself from you, yet you still felt you knew enough about him to believe he was, deep down, a good man.

Your mind ran wild with so many questions. Was his skin a similar colour elsewhere on his body, or was it tanned because his hands were the only parts of him that saw the sun? Did the dark hairs on the back of his hand mean that the hair on his head–if he had any–was a similar colour?

They were questions you knew you would likely never get answers to. Nor did you expect to.

When Din had hired you to care for The Child and attend to maintenance on his ship, he had informed you of the rules regarding his armour and helmet. He would remove neither his helmet nor armour in your presence. You were never to question the reasons why or attempt to subvert this stipulation in any way.

That was why glimpsing a sliver of his skin had thrilled you. It had exposed the man you had been yearning to see in a way that was not a violation of his Creed.

Yet, when you see his hands this time the circumstances could not be more different. Neither could the emotions Din’s bare hands provoke in you.

Rather than feeling a thrill at the sight of his skin, now you cringe when you see the wounds that litter his flesh. His knuckles are split and bloodied, contusions that will surely colour shades of blue and black before eventually healing. There are also angry red gashes in all directions, a result of the bandit’s vibroblade making contact with his hands.

You steady yourself, mentally preparing for the gargantuan task of providing first aid to a stubborn Mandalorian. Din values all you do for him. You are certain of that fact, even if he does not often vocalise it. Still, having someone take care of him is an uncomfortable prospect for a man who has spent so long leading a solitary, nomadic existence.

When you finally take his calloused, yet soft, skin in your hand, Din sucks in a harsh breath at the sensation. The sound is amplified and crackles slightly through the vocoder. A reminder that, although he has bared some of himself, he is still mostly hidden from you. He feels like more machine than man sometimes.

You take a bacta wipe from your medkit, and the antiseptic’s sour smell lingers unpleasantly in the air. You hold Din’s hand still, as you carefully bring the wipe towards his skin, your brow furrowed in concentration.

“This is going to sting,” you murmur apologetically.

Din nods. You hear him inhale deeply as he braces for the first contact with the remedy. You prepare yourself to be as gentle as possible, not wanting to make the process needlessly painful for him.

At the first touch of the bacta wipe against his bronze skin, he jerks away from your touch, groaning slightly in pain at what you are sure is an uncomfortable, stinging sensation against his cuts.

“Hold still,” you sigh, flashing a disapproving glance in what you hope is the direction of Din’s eyes, hidden by his helmet.

“Sorry,” he huffs.

You cannot help how your lips curl upwards at the sight of him sulking. This hulking man, all broad shoulders and gleaming beskar, reduced to a wounded child. You wonder if he is pouting beneath his helmet.

Din flinches again when you resume your task, but this time, you do not chastise him. Instead, you are thankful that he is not making this any more difficult than it needs to be.

At least he has not told you he can look after himself.

Content with his behaviour, you diligently tend to Din’s wounds. You ensure each one is cleaned thoroughly with the bacta patch and then wrapped in a bandage. It will take a few days to heal, but he will have plenty of time as you hurtle through hyperspace towards Nevarro again. Unfortunately, it will mean he likely has to refrain from being the hands-on father you know he loves to be.

When your task is almost complete, you move to sit by his side on the crate. You need to steady your hands by placing your elbows against your thighs as you wrap a particularly nasty wound, which already streaks angry red tendrils across two knuckles.

Din groans again in pain, and you quickly reassure him, “Almost there,” you whisper encouragingly.

With the task finally completed, you cannot resist gently taking his hand in yours. Ostensibly, to check him for any wounds you have missed. In reality, it is borne out of a selfish desire to feel his skin against yours. Precious contact you had been yearning for since you first laid eyes upon his skin all those months ago.

If Din notices the way you subtly lace your fingers with his and hold his hand in your lap for a few moments longer than necessary, he does not say a thing. Only when you disentangle your fingers from his grip does he speak again.

When you move to stand up from the crate, he places his arm across your stomach to stop you. You look at him questioningly, wondering what is going on beneath that bucket of metal.

“Thank you,” Din finally whispers, voice thick with emotion.

You move to open your mouth, to respond. Before you can, Din’s deep voice cuts through the stillness.

“For everything… I…” Din pauses, sighs deeply, then continues, “I appreciate everything you do for me.”

You simply nod, too taken aback to speak. It is unlike Din to be sentimental or emotional, not with anyone other than Grogu. It is part of what makes him such a respected and feared hunter. Yet, here he is, confessing his appreciation for you. It causes hotness to creep up your neck and face, embarrassed by his earnestness. Desperate to respond, but not entirely trusting that you can keep it together.

“You’re worth it, Din,” you smile, daring to believe that this moment will change something for the two of you. You hope he will finally realise the depth of the feelings you hold for him; that you have always held for him.

As you take his hand in yours once again, you sit back on the crate. You take up a more comfortable position and daringly lean your head against his shoulder. The pauldron is bitingly cold beneath your cheek. But with how warm your skin suddenly feels at his words, it is an altogether welcome sensation.

Din noticeably inhales at your gesture, and you momentarily fear you have hurt his tender skin. Until he relaxes once again and squeezes your hand as best as he can considering his injuries, a reassuring gesture that soothes your worries.

As you sit there holding hands in the relative darkness of the hull, you imagine a shooting star passing somewhere far in the skies above.

You wish on it and dare to dream that, one day, Din Djarin will love you, too.

Follow @thefrogdalorianfics for updates on my latest fics!

#this is SO SWEET #holding the tin can man’s hand is an absolute dream but this just takes it to a whole new level #i’m loving the attention to detail in this fic too #you always are an absolute pro at that 💕#din djarin #the mandalorian #star wars #din djarin x reader #fanfiction #reblog

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brown-eyes-and-beskar · 2 months

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The way he’s so vulnerable here… so distraught and hopeless until his lover’s golden light breaks through the darkness…

I am literally SCREAMING over this, Spud!! You have once again blown me away 😭 I’ll be reading this one again before bed and definitely not crying over it

Nowhere Else To Run

Din Djarin x GN!Reader

Summary: Despite the fact that sharing a cabin with you and Grogu on Nevarro has given him the peaceful life he was searching for, Din cannot escape the nightmares of his past which haunt him most nights.

Although he feels unworthy of your love, the only time things make sense is when you take him in your arms and dutifully put his pieces back together. Even on nights when he feels he does not deserve it.

Word Count: 3.4k ✯ Rating: Teen ✯ Content Warnings: ✯ PTSD, nightmares, descriptions of canon-typical violence, survivor's guilt, Din feeling unworthy of love, Din's violent past, reader's hands described as being smaller than Din's. Author's Note: I created my blog six months ago, so here is a little Din drabble to celebrate. Title is taken from 'All These Things That I've Done' by The Killers (which is so Din coded) and I also listened to 2 Rocking Chairs by Jon Bellion a lot recently, so that might have inspired some of this too! Really hope you enjoyed it and here's to many more months of Din Djarin brainrot ☺︎

✯ My Masterlist ✯ Read on AO3 ✯

On the nights he startles awake, haunted by the nightmarish, twisted visions of the worst things he has done, he is certain that he does not deserve you. With all his evil deeds laid bare as his mind plays cruel tricks on him, Din Djarin remains convinced that he could live a thousand lifetimes and never be worthy of your love.

His eyelids fly open as his bare, muscular chest heaves. His golden skin is covered with a sheen of sweat. Din raises a trembling hand to wipe the moisture from his furrowed brow. Disorientated and afraid in the darkness.

His sharpened senses, honed thanks to his previous life as a bounty hunter, begin to function with all the effectiveness which once led to him being deemed the best in the parsec. He cringes as he remembers his narcissism, disgusted by how dishonourable it was to take pride in such an epithet.

First, Din feels your presence at his side. A warm mass of flesh in the dark, coldness of the night. So close that he could reach out and touch you if only he were not petrified that doing so would shatter your beauty. He yearns to draw comfort from you. Yet, he is too afraid to bring you down to his level, to defile your splendour.

Then, Din hears your soft snores. Truthfully, the sweet sounds you make are not quite snores at all. Merely the even, shallow sounds which indicate that you are peacefully resting. He relaxes slightly, relieved that his unwanted awakening has not disturbed you.

Emboldened by your continued slumber, Din sits up and gazes at you. Your stunning features are barely illuminated by the faint moonlight which streams in through an ill-fitting blind, yet even such a simple glimpse leaves him overwhelmed by your beauty.

As he quietly watches you, Din wonders what he could have done to deserve you in a past life. He certainly is not worthy of you in this one.

How could someone as wicked and treacherous as he ever be worthy of the love you envelop him in each day of your lives?

The guilt creeps in, then. It snakes its horrifying tendrils around Din's entire being and suffocates him under the weight of his regret and his pain.

He feels guilty that he has even found himself in a position to receive love like this in the first place. Especially after everything he has done, all the pain he has caused and contributed to.

Din wonders whether it is cruel to keep you around. To have intertwined his life with yours in the way he has. Surely you deserve someone better than him.

Inviting you to move in with him changed so much for Din. It deepened and strengthened his relationship with you while opening him up to experiences he had missed for much of his life. How to share space with someone else, to show affection and receive it in return.

Sharing a bunk with someone for the first time meant Din could not continue outrunning his past. It was a race that had begun decades prior on the day he lost everything on Aq Vetina, a marathon which continued well into adulthood.

The race was almost won when Din took the job that changed his life and led him to Arvala-7 in the hunt for the bounty who eventually became his son.

Yet it wasn’t until Din found you that he had finally crossed the finish line.

He still remembered the horrified look in your eyes when he awoke for the first time in your presence, thrashing and screaming as the night terrors plagued him. Terrified by the haunting visions that made his past as vivid as though it was happening right before him.

The nightmares are indiscriminate when they strike. Extensive in their scope.

In slumber, Din is confronted with the shameful jobs he took from the most reprehensible individuals in the galaxy, reminded of the ego he once possessed.

He relives how readily he hunted people for his gain, collecting bounties without a care for who he hurt. Who was he to be the law? To be judge, jury and, on occasion, executioner? Din is pained at the memory of the life of sin he led.

Din sees the job on Alzoc III in harrowing detail. The unspeakable acts of violence he had a hand in. As much as he tries to downplay his role and blame the atrocities on the disgusting band of crooks he ran with at the time, deep down, Din knows that he was a willing participant in the barbarity.

He replays the moment when, in a cruel, unforgiving tone, the gold-helmeted woman he had always idolised coldly informed him that he was a Mandalorian no more. Din is tormented time and again by the knowledge that he rendered himself an apostate in the eyes of the people who saved him; who taught him how to live. Being a Mandalorian and swearing the Creed were the only things aside from violence Din had truly ever been successful at. Walking The Way of the Mandalore was the only thing which had brought him anywhere close to achieving inner peace.

But most chillingly of all, Din is reminded of the gravest transgression of his life. An act of cruelty he knows that he will never truly forgive himself for committing, for as long as he lives.

Night after night, Din is haunted by how he had given up the child you both adore beyond comparison, who sleeps peacefully next door, to the Empire for the measly sum of a camtono of Beskar.

Was that truly all Grogu’s life was worth?

Of course, Din knows that there is no sum in the entire galaxy which would prove comparable to how Grogu has enriched his life.

Even though Din has seen the error of his ways, as he thinks back across the decades and counts his mistakes, Din Djarin knows that he is not a good man.

Yet, somehow, he has found you.

You are the greatest blessing to happen to him, matched only by his son.

He thinks of the way you still look at him with such love in your eyes, even after knowing the atrocities he committed in a past life; it almost embarrasses him to be loved in such a manner.

Somehow, Din has secured your unconditional love. A fact which proves every now and then, both suns shine on a womp rat’s tail. That even the most undeserving of rodents can occasionally have the greatest of fortunes.

Even when the terrors overcome him, you have never contemplated deserting him. No matter how dark and disgraceful the visions he divulges to you are.

When he wakes up yelling for his parents or screaming for Grogu, whom he is momentarily convinced the Empire have recaptured, you are always there to reassure him and to hold him while he sobs; to kiss his pain away with a touch of your soft lips against his tear-streaked cheeks.

Even knowing all he has done, you still look at him as though he is responsible for hanging all the stars which twinkle in the sky above your cabin on Nevarro.

Din recalls evenings spent on the porch with you outside the unassuming cabin you share by the lava flats of Nevarro. Watching the sun set beneath the horizon as he holds your smaller hand in his, while he admires how your hands fit together as they rest on his lap. He thinks about how smooth your skin is there, how it is so unlike the calloused roughness of his own.

You are softness and humanity in the face of his wickedness.

A wave of nausea overcomes him. Din is stricken by an overwhelming urge to get away from you. To put some distance between himself and you before he corrupts you with his immorality once more.

He ponders that perhaps he will find some relief on the porch in the dead of night. A solitary figure, save for his thoughts and the ghosts that haunt him. Sitting in total silence, apart from the bugs which chirp in the distance, is an appealing prospect.

So Din slowly swings his legs off the edge of the bunk, careful not to disturb you. He cringes at the way the sheets rustle. It is a minor offence compared to the many sins Din has already committed. Still, he does not want to add disturbing your peace to that list.

He sighs in the darkness as he perches on the edge of the bunk, a forceful exhale which causes his shoulders to droop when he realises you are still sleeping soundly. Din is relieved that you are unaware of his distress.

He is tantalisingly close to the door when the moment of solace is cruelly snatched away. His careful steps across the wooden floor were evidently not soft enough.

The gentle sound of your voice cutting through the darkness stops him in his tracks. Din turns to face you.

“Din?” you whisper, voice thick and husky with sleep.

The wave of guilt that washes over him is immediate. It threatens to wash him away, to drown him.

“Go back to sleep, cyare,” Din shakily responds, hoping he sounds convincing to someone so attuned to his every mannerism.

“Did you have another nightmare?” you ask, clearly unconvinced by his display.

Din Djarin may be many things, but he is not a liar.

Even under the merciful cover of darkness, when he would not have to look you in the eye as he skirted around the truth, he cannot bring himself to lie to you.

“Yes,” Din finally responds. His voice cracks as he struggles under the pressure of admitting his weakness.

The light is on before he can protest, and you rise from the bed before he can insist that there is no need. Din blinks rapidly for a few seconds as his retinas adjust to the rude intrusion into the darkness.

When his eyes finally focus, you are standing right before him, already moving to gather him into your arms.

It is strange to him, this notion that he ever needed someone to pick him up and dutifully put his shattered pieces back together. A human needing repairs is an alien concept to Din Djarin. While he has always been adept at finding and fixing faults in his impressive arsenal and starships, he was never able to identify his weaknesses and repair himself. Until he found his Clan.

It wasn't until Din saved the kid that he realised he had been running from something for his entire life. Since that terrible day, when he watched over his father's shoulder as the bodies of his neighbours hit the dusty floor. Crumpled heaps, which used to be people until moments ago, were clad in the same distinctive red robes as him. The terror he felt as his parents ran through the streets, determined to save him, their only son.

On his worst days, Din wonders if their sacrifice was worthwhile. He frets over what they would think if they could see what became of their precious boy. Whether they would be disappointed to see the life he followed. A life of such violence, such mercilessness.

Your warm presence against him, as you take him into your arms, snaps him back to the present. Din willingly melts into your embrace, relishing the human contact.

“Talk to me, Din,” you whisper as you hold him to your chest.

When you run your fingers through his hair, he loses all composure and breaks down into small sobs. Din shudders in your arms as you trail soothing fingers through his hair with one hand and rub your hand in circles on his back with the other.

“I don’t deserve you,” he eventually murmurs, voice quivering.

Din feels the way you shake your head. You gently place your hand underneath his chin and tilt his face up. Din's eyes meet your gaze and he notices how your eyes are full of concern for him. He can hardly look at you, feeling mortified at being studied like this.

Allowing himself to be vulnerable like this is still so fresh to him. To have his soul laid bare like this is uncomfortable and unnatural.

“You are not the worst things you have ever done, Din,” you whisper as you gently wipe the tears he was unable to prevent trailing a hot path down his cheek with your fingertips, “You cannot change the past. I know that you are a good man, Din, and I love you. All of you. You would not be the man that I adore without those parts of you. For better or worse, they shaped you into the man you are today.”

Din trembles under your gaze, under the weight of your words. Unsure whether he can allow himself to accept the unconditional love you offer so readily to him, time and again.

The tears stream steadily down his cheeks, as you continue to soothe his soul:

“In you, I see a caring father. A considerate man who will do anything to protect his Clan. A fearless Mandalorian warrior who has turned his fighting prowess towards a more noble endeavour. To rid the galaxy of any threats, to build a better life for your son. That is an honourable undertaking, Din.”

“I am not an honourable man,” he scoffs, instantly rebutting such a compliment. He is far too undeserving of such praise.

“You are,” you sigh, gently stroking his cheek with your thumb. There is such tenderness in your gaze and in how you touch him that he struggles to keep his emotions at bay. His bottom lip trembles at your next words, “Your life is not defined by your most evil deeds. I wish you could see yourself through my eyes. I adore you, Din. There is so much of you that is loveable.”

Din sighs. In his current mental state, he is unable to believe your words. Unable to let them sink in, to find solace in your reassurances. He looks away from you, shaking his head in a silent response.

When he finally feels able to find your gaze again, he watches as something shifts in your eyes. A tether of patience snaps.

There is a firmness in your tone the next time you address him.

“Do you know how empty our lives would be without you? How much the little boy in the other room adores you?" you plead in an exasperated tone. "He’s asleep right now, surrounded by a mountain of plushies that his father bought for him because even though you intimidate most you come into contact with thanks to your appearance, I have seen firsthand that, beneath your armour, you have a pure heart. And you are wrapped around each one of his little green talons.”

At the mention of his son, Din cannot help the way his lips curve upwards, the ghost of a smile crossing against his features. A welcome respite from the tortured look he has worn since he awoke from his nightmare.

“Grogu adores you, Din. He idolises you. You would do anything to secure his happiness,” you nod, “And mine. How lucky am I to know a love like that?”

“I do love you," Din nods, "And I’m going to spend the rest of my life taking care of both of you,” Din vows, the cracks in his voice replaced with steely determination.

Din notices the way you seem to loosen at his words, knowing that the man you know and love is gradually returning to you. His insecurities and devastation have been replaced by his determination to protect you from anything in the galaxy which could harm you.

“Then, let’s get some more rest, honey,” you whisper as you press a soft kiss onto Din’s stubbly cheek.

Din nods and laces his fingers with yours, allowing you to lead him the few steps back to the bunk you share. He slides underneath the covers, watching you as you round the bunk to join him. Once you have slid beneath the sheets, you turn the light off and plunge the room back into darkness.

Yet, the darkness which permeated every atom of Din Djarin’s being has vanished. He can only see the light now. The way your love illuminates every part of his life. How unrelenting, yet not overbearing, the way you adore him is.

Especially when you gently encourage him to roll over on his side so you can wrap your arms around his tight waist and nuzzle into the centre of his back. Your nose and mouth nestled between his broad shoulders.

Din lets out a sigh of contentment.

In your arms, there is tranquillity. The necessary remedy which soothes his anguished spirit.

✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯

Later, when Grogu is finally sleeping soundly after another long day of being doted on by his parents, Din finally makes it to his intended destination. Although he tried to reach the porch in the middle of the night, he would rather be here now. Especially since you are by his side, sitting next to him. It is a moment of rest after a hectic day spent entertaining a hyperactive Force-sensitive toddler with a voracious appetite.

With your presence in his life, Grogu has only continued to flourish. Din’s chest swells with pride as he thinks of his son's progress and all the milestones he has reached. Din knows that being a good father to Grogu is the most important role he will ever fulfil. He treats it with as much seriousness as such a responsibility warrants.

But Grogu is asleep.

Now, it is just Din and you. He smiles as he looks at your hands together, and appreciates how your fingers are intertwined. Din relishes the comfort he draws from your physical presence. He feels soothed by the knowledge that he has hidden nothing from you, that you can still love him regardless of his past transgressions.

Din looks out across the landscape towards the rolling volcanic hills of Nevarro, dusted a pale pink and orange colour in the fading light of dusk. He thinks about how he will grow old with you here in this little cabin. If fate grants him such an honour.

He cannot help but smile as he thinks about how you will sit out here on this very porch, holding hands with each other. When his patchy facial hair is flecked with grey and even when it is entirely white. When the wrinkles on his face are as lined and drawn as the crevices which scar the surface of Nevarro. Perhaps Grogu will be old enough to run around by then. Maybe he will have gained the gift of speech.

Regardless, even many rotations from now, Din knows with absolute certainty that he will still think you are the most beautiful sight in the galaxy. Even after years of adoring each other, he will still wonder how he was ever so lucky to be worthy of your love.

Din is excited to spend the rest of his life proving to you that he is the good man you repeatedly inform him you still see, even amongst all his flaws. It is a heavy task, yet one he relishes. Love had terrified him for so much of his life. When he discovered its beauty, he was determined to make up for lost time.

It is a heavy thought that he may never exhaust his capacity and reach the depths of all the love he has realised he possesses.

For now, though, Din turns his head to look at you, a soft smile lighting up his face as the sunset illuminates his features. The colour has returned to his cheeks. You return the gesture, gently sweeping your thumb across the back of his hand.

In the fading light, your face glows golden, only accentuating your beauty. Din wonders again how he was ever so lucky to know a love like this.

Except now, he does not doubt that he deserves it.

Now, Din Djarin allows his chest to be flooded with the warmth he feels when he embraces your love.

He accepts it, even after all the things that he’s done.

#the TENDERNESS #the REASSURANCES #the SPOONING #i love it all so much #i want to spoon with din djarin just once before i die #just once and i will be satisfied #din djarin #the mandalorian #din djarin x reader #fanfiction #star wars

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brown-eyes-and-beskar · 3 months

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I am in such a Din-Djarin-writing mood… but I have no time to write… this is my constant dilemma and the ultimate bane of my existence

#i want to shower the tin can man with loving writing but #i am in my busy season #i still love him #and i will return to write for him #if i could just satisfy myself with writing a drabble and not a saga…#maybe i could accomplish something #😑#din djarin #the mandalorian #star wars

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brown-eyes-and-beskar · 3 months

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A MAN OF MULTITUDES I AM SCREAMING

Hold You in My Arms

Din Djarin x GN!Reader

Summary: Even with its outdated interior and the limitations that entails, The Razor Crest is your home. You find there is a certain charm about the old ship even if the bunk is a little uncomfortable. Though, it's even better when there is a Mandalorian to cuddle, armour and all. Word Count: 2k ✯ Rating: General ✯ Content Warnings: None! ✯ Author's Note: This is set pre-series! A little tooth-rottingly sweet fluffy oneshot for this fine Friday. I wanted to make Din a human weighted-blanket and I yearn to run my fingers through his curls. This was the result. Hope you enjoyed! (The title comes from the song Starlight by Muse).

✯ My Masterlist ✯

The sensation of cool metal against your cheek rudely interrupts the warm embrace of sleep, within which you were blissfully enveloped until only moments ago. You recoil at the sudden frigidity, your sleep-addled brain struggling to comprehend the cause for your discomfort. The presence has mercilessly encroached into the peaceful state of slumber you had drifted off into. Which is a miraculous feat, given the cramped surroundings you retire to each night.

Somehow, nestled between the thin sheets that lay atop the firm bunk – which causes your back to ache if you fall asleep in ever so slightly the wrong position – you have been in such a deep, restful state of sleep that being so rudely awakened from it almost makes you want to sob at the injustice. After all, it is a marvel that you ever found yourself so comfortable in the first place. The cramped bunk is tucked away like an afterthought in a corner of the dark hull that forms the main living area of the ship you soar through the stars in.

Yet, the ship has not been racing through the stars for the past few days. Instead, you have found yourself confined to the groaning metallic structure as you await the return of the man who made your new life possible. Din Djarin rescued you from a monotonous, destitute life and whisked you away in the stars, a debt that you are certain you will never adequately repay. It doesn’t stop you from trying your best every day that you are privileged enough to spend at his side though. A feat you at least attempt, by pouring every ounce of yourself into loving him. You know that Din never expects anything in return. Everything he has is yours and he adores providing for you, finally having a purpose for the payments he receives from bounty hunting. Even so, you can’t help but feel as though you owe him. So, you do your best to love him unconditionally.

Before you met Din, he was a solitary figure, cutting a lonely path through the galaxy. You changed everything. Din often compares you to a sunrise after a dark night, one that he did not realise quite how grim and gloomy it had been. You are a vibrant presence that brought light into his life. He never tires of telling you how much you mean to him, how deeply he loves you. With all of that in mind, how could you not put everything into loving a man as incredible as Din Djarin?

At present, though, you almost want to throttle him.

As when your eyelids fly open at the frigid contact, it is the distinctive gleam of beskar that you find next to you. Din’s helmet sparkles even in the dim light of the ship. Until you noticed Din’s dazzling headgear, you were fully prepared to admonish the perpetrator for being so cruel as to wake you up. Yet, when you discover that it is the man whose presence you have been pining for, your anger begins to subside.

It seems that Din has decided to join you on the impossibly small bunk. A fact that would not be such a problem, had Din not clambered onto the bunk without removing a single piece of his armour. Still, at the sight of him next to you, your anger dissipates as quickly as it had begun. The bubbling raging cauldron of fire and fury in the pit of your stomach soon evaporates with a whimper. Your momentary enragement at the intrusion into the serenity you had found in the bunk, despite the uncomfortable odds stacked against you miraculously faded the instant you laid eyes upon the culprit.

While you were sleeping, Din apparently returned from collecting his latest bounty. Clearly, the job has taken its toll, as he has sought rest instantly, still clad in his beskar'gam. Din nestles into your shoulder and you can feel the full heft of his armour, cool and hard against your skin, even through the thin sheet. Even though Din is exhausted and desperately needs sleep, he was so eager to be close to you that he decided to enter the cramped space to lie with you.

Even though you are certain that Din can't possibly be comfortable given the position he has taken up, you still have no desire for him to leave. Somewhat selfishly, you are enjoying the sensation of him and the warmth his presence causes in you, despite the coldness of his beskar.

“Din,” you finally sigh, “There isn’t enough room for both of us.”

“Am I hurting you?” Din asks sleepily.

“No, but—”

“Then, there’s room.”

Din’s tone of voice does not leave room for debate. You can’t help but smirk at his determination to remain cuddled up with you. Collecting his latest bounty has rendered him so exhausted that he cannot even muster the strength to remove his armour. With its inflexibility and heft, it cannot possibly be pleasant to lie in, but Din is apparently so desperate to be in your arms that it seems he has sacrificed his own comfort to be close to you.

“You can’t be comfortable, Din,” you observe, shaking your head at his determination to lie in your arms. “Let me get up and give you the bunk to rest properly, I’ll nap in the cockpit chair.”

Your offer to sleep there is an attempt to repay the debt you feel you owe Din. While he frequently allows you to sleep in the bunk, Din is happy to sit in the chair. It is a position he seems content in, with his arms folded and head slumped to the side. For much of his life, sleeping in a bunk was a luxury seldom afforded to a man who lived such a nomadic life as Din. Even though he is unaccustomed to sleeping in a bunk and probably still prefers the chair, you want to give him the marginally more comfortable option.

Din, however, has other ideas…

“No,” Din murmurs in response to your offer, shaking his head furiously at the suggestion. “Want to be close to you.”

“Okay,” you sigh. You shake your head at the stubbornness of your favourite Mandalorian, but you are content to let him be.

“Can I at least remove your helmet? It feels pretty cold against my cheek, you know…” you ask playfully.

You feel that coldness in motion against your cheek as Din nods slowly, too tired to vocalise his answer. You move instantly, propping yourself up with one elbow while you carefully remove the pesky barrier between you and the brown eyes you adore. Removing Din's helmet is something that you are well accustomed to now, but you still feel your pulse race with excitement each time. There is still a small part of you that can't quite believe you get to see Din in this way, his beauty unencumbered by the armour which usually shields his handsome features from you.

After removing Din's helmet and setting it down on the corner of the bunk, you are finally free to gaze upon the face of the man you have missed so dearly. Instead of joy, however, you feel your heart constricting at the sight of him. Din looks utterly exhausted. Your eyes roam across his features and you notice the tiredness which clouds his brown eyes, dulling their usual spark and vibrancy. There are dark bags lingering under his eyes, too. It seems that Din has scarcely slept since he ventured out from the Razor Crest several days ago.

He looks up at you tiredly, a small bashful smile on his lips. You are captivated by his beauty, even in the low light. Even when he looks so drained. His is the most handsome face you have ever laid eyes upon, you are certain. With his strong nose and jawline, his features are distinctively masculine. Yet there is a certain softness there, too. Either way, you are sure that you will never tire of looking at him.

In response to the feelings his appearance provokes in you, you run your fingers through his surprisingly soft, dark curls. You gently rake your fingernails across his scalp in a soothing motion. Din hums in response, an appreciative sound that goes some way towards calming the anxiety you felt upon first laying eyes upon his exhausted face.

Now that he's lying in your arms, you hope that your careful ministrations go some way to soothing his exhausted soul. Even though he is too drained to vocalise it, you know that there is nothing in the galaxy that could relax him more than your embrace and presence.

Eventually, Din’s shallow, even breaths indicate that he has finally drifted off. You still feel slightly groggy after being awakened so abruptly, but with Din asleep on you, you know there is no chance that you will be able to get back to sleep. For one, there is the considerable heft of a fully-armoured Mandalorian resting on you, who you are keenly aware is somehow managing to sleep while maintaining the position so he is not placing all of his weight on you and inadvertently crushing you. Additionally, you are enjoying the comfort you draw from Din's presence. Knowing he is close to you and not off hunting bounties, putting himself in dangerous situations soothes your soul.

You are unsure how long you lie there for, with Din lying half on top of you, before his eyelids flutter open and those familiar brown eyes meet yours once more. To your relief, they have regained their spark.

Unfortunately, while his eyes have regained their vibrancy, other parts of Din's body have suffered.

“Can't feel my arms or legs,” Din whines, his body numb after contorting himself into such an uncomfortable position.

“I did warn you,” you tease. There is not a single trace of anger or frustration evident in your tone. You merely enjoy the opportunity to playfully admonish the man you adore.

“I know,” Din nods.

You lean down to kiss his forehead softly. As you place your head back on the pillow, Din gazes up at you with a look of pure adoration in his eyes. Then, he winces slightly, clearly deciding that enough is enough. Din grunts in discomfort as he pushes himself up, and you regretfully watch him go. You are disappointed to have lost an initially disconcerting presence which ultimately became a comfortable one in spite of your initial reservations. Din lingers at the edge of the bunk, looking back at the space with a quizzical look across his features, as though he is appraising something about the space.

“After we’ve dropped off the bounties on Nevarro, we’re paying a visit to Peli on Tatooine. I’m getting a more spacious bunk installed,” Din says decisively.

You look at him questioningly, and Din does not hesitate to elaborate:

“I want to make it so that I can cuddle you properly, every night until we’re grey.”

You shake your head and smile to yourself, touched at the sentiment. For a man with such a reputation of violence that precedes his every move, there is a surprisingly soft centre beneath the tough exterior. You are thrilled with Din’s proposition and you know that the kooky Tatooinian mechanic will have you sorted out with a new bunk in no time—even if the price you pay will be well above the going market rate.

Despite Din’s stoic appearance and ruthless efficiency, you wonder if the galaxy would view him in a different light if they knew his weakness. You quietly question whether the Bounty Hunters’ Guild would hold a lesser opinion of him if they only knew the truth.

Namely, that the spoils of one of the many bounties that the man they know as Mando so masterfully collects will go towards upgrading the Razor Crest’s modest bunk. All in order to ensure the formidable bounty hunter can have his scalp rubbed every night until his eyelids grow heavy, and so Din can be cocooned in the tight embrace of the one he loves each time he returns from his latest hunt.

Ultimately, Din Djarin is a man of multitudes. A formidable warrior and a gentle, caring man; who never feels safer or more at peace than when you hold him in your arms.

#this is stingrayextraordinaire btw #i will be holding this fic in my arms and rocking myself to sleep with it #din djarin #the mandalorian #star wars #din djarin x reader #din djarin fanfiction #not my fic #reblog

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