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theidiotwhowritesthings · 1 year

Note

just some random prompts (up to you how you'll use it or not lol):

Din Djarin x forcesensitive/jedi!reader

Reader actually understands Mando'a, got flustered when Din calls her cyarika, mesh'la (maybe have the reader respond in Mando'a too and let's see how it goes from there)

Reader is some masked vigilante of some sort and has a bounty on her head, Din Djarin unmasked her during a fight and turns out she was also reported missing few years ago by her family (maybe make reader a noble-blood to sprinkle some drama)

I recommend the song Close to You by Neon Trees, maybe it's just me but it reminds me of your Din Djarin x Reader drabbles hehe

also, I love your writing so muuuuch. xx

Din Djarin x Female!Reader

Warnings: mild start to something smutty if you squint lol

Word Count: 1,049 (damn it i was so close to under 1k)

LANGUAGE BARRIER

a/n: i have din djarin brain rot smh. also, ngl, i did not proof read this with the intensity i usually try to so🤷🏻‍♀️ OH AND HEY IF YOU HAVEN'T VOTED IN MY POLL YET GO DO SO, IT'S ON MY MASTERLIST.

Mando’a was an interesting language. It was different. That’s what initially drew you to it. Unlike the other languages you studied, Mando’a texts were hard to find. For a while, you had to make do with just scraps of information. That almost made learning it so much more satisfying though. Then, while at University, you met an elder who had grown up adopted by Mandalorians. He had never taken the Creed, drifted away from the culture, but not without becoming fluent in Mando’a. He was the reason the holes in your education were filled, and that meant he was also the reason you could enjoy Din Djarin’s mumbling.

Over the year you traveled with him, he became more and more comfortable with your presence⏤ at least, that’s what you assumed the reasoning was for him becoming more vocal. They were little statements at first. Din would be clearing out his weapon locker, run into a problem, and spit out a string of curses. Peli had once told him that the Razor Crest would be grounded for at least a week and you hung onto every word of Mando’a of the rant he spiraled into about the last quarry who had caused the damage. You had planned on telling him you knew Mando’a⏤ you were going to casually mention it.

Then, he called you mesh’la.

A nickname you hadn’t expected.

Din had a habit of using a lot of nicknames that you’d never expect from him. Cyar’ika. Ner sarad. Cyare. Senaar’ika. Each new, adoring nickname would bring warmth to your face, but you had missed the normal window of opportunity to mention to him that you spoke his language. Especially when, in a panic, he had referred to you as ‘cyar’ika’ for the first time and you asked him what it meant. Din had answered in a simple way, giving you the definition without missing a beat, as if it were a casual thing. For a while, you thought that meant there was no significant weight behind those words.

Your theory of the nicknames just being for fun was shot in the face when you nearly got shot yourself. While out in a city, you had gotten caught in the crossfire. The quarry himself had spotted you and with a sickening grin turned to put you down. Luckily, he had missed⏤ it only clipped you in the arm⏤ but the rampage that Din had gone into was shocking. Not nearly as shocking as when you heard him speak to the quarry after pummeling his face beyond recognition: ‘I’ll bring you in cold for that, bastard. I don’t show mercy to those who target what’s mine’. For the rest of the night, you convinced yourself that it wasn’t what you thought. Sure, the two of you shared lingering touches and the tension had grown since you came aboard, but it had to be something else.

Weeks later, while waiting in a cantina for Din to return from obtaining new pucks, a Twi’lek man had saddled up beside you. Despite making it clear you had no interest, the man continued to invade your space. That is, until Din stepped up to your other side and pulled you into his side. The Twi’lek had abandoned his goal very quickly and the words that left Din’s lips stayed with you for weeks on end. ‘Should've known better than to leave someone as beautiful as you alone at the bar’. Still, no matter how badly you wanted to just jump him, you convinced yourself he didn’t want you. He was a friend. That was all.

Until seconds ago. You sat on one of the crates in the Razor Crest’s cargo hold as Din applied a bacta patch to the claw marks across your calf. A run in with a Trandoshan gone wrong. He had pulled off his gloves to provide the care, not something out of the ordinary, but the feel of his fingertips against your skin was not a sensation you’d ever get used to. Din set his entire hand against the upper half of your calf and his thumb caressed the skin there. Without looking up, he murmured, “I will know you forever.”

You fully understood the weight of his words. Din rose to stand and began to walk away to put away the first aid kit. The words fell out of your mouth before you could consider any of the consequences, “I can speak Mando’a, and I am so sorry I didn’t tell you earlier but I panicked.” In the most uncharacteristic move you had seen from him, Din tripped over some of the gear he had been passing in the rush to spin and look back at you. The Mandalorian caught himself before he could do more than stumble. You offered him a sheepish smile, “Sorry. Again.”

“You speak Mando’a?” Din asked in his language.

“A little.” You nodded then shook your head. “Actually, a lot. I’m⏤ I’m fluent.”

“This entire time?” Din slowly crept back towards you. You nodded. He continued on until he stood between your legs. Din’s hands settled on his hip and you were forced to lean back a bit to keep your nose from being pressed against his chest.

You scrunched your nose in concern, “Are you mad?”

“No. Of course not, my love.” Din replied, his voice low. Din’s bare hand lifted to cup the side of your face. His thumb caressing the side of it. Din pressed in closer again so you were forced to tilt your head up to meet his hidden gaze as he stared down at you. His touch trailed away from your cheek, and he let the pad of his thumb ghost over the outline of your lips⏤ your breath hitched in your throat, heart beating wildly in your chest. Din pressed his thumb against your already parted lips more firmly, the tip of it brushing against your tongue, before he dragged it down further to open your mouth even wider. “But you are in trouble. Are you going to accept your punishment with grace?” Your lips twitched up in a smile as an ache of desire ran down your spine and straight to your core. You leaned in just enough to fully wrap your lips around his thumb. Din chuckled. “Good girl.”

#the mandalorian #din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #mando #mando x you #mando x reader #mandalorian x you #mandalorian x reader #mandalorian fanfic

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oliviajdjarin · 1 year

Text

Din Djarin: Watchdog

Pairing: Din Djarin x fem!reader (afab; she/her)

Excerpt: Mando had him by his neck, squeezing hard enough for the man to lose his breath and scratch Mando’s hands out of distress. Mando never faltered, even when the male scratched his nails into the leather of his gloves. The male whined and screeched for air, whispering “please, I’m sorry, please,” but Mando just...held him there. Staring into his eyes, squeezing his throat so tight his hand nearly became a fist.

Your stomach sank and your brain went blank. You were so frozen your voice had completely escaped you. You could only watch.

Finally, Mando said huskily, “That is enough.”

Warnings: Din gets a bit ✨violent✨, reader gets harassed, terribly written sexism, references to past sexual harassment, descriptions of bruises, swearing, reader self-deprecates and is scared of love (relatable much?)

A/N: Happy final days of Dincember everyone, especially to those that updated nearly every day for every prompt (@dindjarindiaries I’m looking at you you’re incredible). I cannot wait for new content in the new year. I love you all <3

If you’d like to leave a like, comment, ask, or reblog, it would be much appreciated <3

Pedro Masterlist

(GIF from Pinterest)

The last thing you needed from your partner—or whatever the hell he was to you—was the image of him nearly snapping a bounty’s neck.

What made it worse was that it was out of defense. For you.

You, of all people. A woman who had killed and tortured and maimed for a few lousy credits. You had killed in front of him, so many times you couldn’t keep count, and you barely felt remorse. You even went as far as to gloat.

You were a bounty hunter with a heart long-since hardened; at least, until you had teamed up with him. The infamous Mandalorian, wrapped in a reputation more ominous and intimidating than the impenetrable beskar he donned, yet the kindest being you had ever known.

The two of you didn’t talk much—if ever—but he still found a way to read you like a book. If you were squirmy, he offered you food. If you were achy, he offered you a quick stop at a hot spring. If you were anxious, he would press you gently with his words, curious as to what was bothering you. It was these little things, these seemingly insignificant actions, that made you begin to…care about him.

The worst, however, was when, once in a blue moon, you were filled with emotion so harsh that you revealed it in your body language. You had learned the hard way that emotion was weakness in your line of work, so you never showed it in front of him, but sometimes the heat of it burned you so badly it was impossible not to show it.

This was when the Mandalorian tended to lash out on whatever had caused you such pain or remorse. He would get…angry. Vengeful. These moments were so rare you would latch onto them, clutching them to your chest and using them to drift you off into sleep; however, in the moment, you would lash out as well. Usually at him. Pushing his…thoughtfulness away like it was a ticking time bomb.

The longer you remained partners, the worse he would lash out, and it all came to a head because of a fucking Twi’lek.

~*~

Mando dragged the creature across the sand dunes of Tatooine, grunting and panting in the hot sun. You tried to get him to let you drag the male for at least half the walk, but he refused. It wasn’t like you were complaining. His infrequent grunts gave you a new set of audios for your mental soundbox. You were already eager to press the keys later that night as sleep carried you away.

It was then that the dark green male remembered he had a voice box.

“Well would you look at that,” the male breathed, likely still aching from the blow you had politely bestowed upon his rib cage, “the only thing strong enough to drag me across the sandy hills of Tatooine is a man. Figures.”

You let it roll off you but could not help but let out a scoff. He sounded ridiculous, like a droid reading off of an old stormtrooper-recruitment brochure.

“You find that funny, lass?” the male asked, turning to look at you while still being dragged. “I agree. Truth always seems to reveal itself even in the most subtle of ways.”

You didn’t laugh at that. You just kept one foot in front of the other. He was trying to piss you off on purpose, likely a last-ditch effort to regain his dignity. You were used to it; hell, you enjoyed it. It was bounties’ last grabs to their decency that always seemed to give you the most pleasure.

The Crest finally came into sight, and if you didn’t know better, you would say that both you and Mando picked up your speed simultaneously, desperation for home present in both of your strides. He lowered the entrance ramp and you exhaled in relief, basking in the scent and feel of the one place in the galaxy you felt comfortable enough to take your shoes off. You started your march up the metal with Mando still hauling the man behind you. Of course, it was then that the bounty decided to perk up again.

“Make that sound again,” the man said breathily. “I’ll say please if I have to. Plus, it sounds better from this view.”

Your jaw immediately clenched and blood flowed to your cheeks from embarrassment. It was one thing to be demeaned and lessened, but it was another to be viewed as a piece of meat.

Despite it all, you took a deep breath, and carried on.

You set your belt and knives on their reserved spot in the cockpit, as well as your jacket and buff. You then made your way down the ladder to the bicarbonate chambers, or as you liked to call it, the trophy room. Mando had had a good scoff at that name once or twice.

Mando already had the bounty leaning his back against the metal wall next to his frozen fate as he prepared the chamber, and you took the opportunity to give the male a small smirk of victory. You wanted him to give you the best he had and, as expected, he began to overcompensate.

“You really are much prettier when you smile,” the man said, looking up at Mando. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

Mando ignored him, facing forward and keeping his focus on preparing the bower, but you noticed the tips of the fingers of his left-hand inch that much closer to his gun holster. Your heart quickened. You didn’t know why.

“I bet you smile nice and pretty for this big guy,” the Twi’lek said with a laugh. “I bet he’s seen your smile in this very room, on this very floor. Describe to me, Mando, in my final moments of consciousness, just how hard she grips you and screams for you when you get a taste of that perfect—”

You felt yourself flinch at his words, cursing yourself internally, but you didn’t hear the rest over the sound of his skull smashing against the tank door.

Mando had him by his neck, squeezing hard enough for the man to lose his breath and scratch Mando’s hands out of distress. Mando never faltered, even when the male scratched his nails into the leather of his gloves. The male whined and screeched for air, whispering “please, I’m sorry, please,” but Mando just...held him there. Staring into his eyes, squeezing his throat so tight his hand nearly became a fist.

Your stomach sank and your brain went blank. You were so frozen your voice had completely escaped you. You could only watch.

Finally, Mando said huskily, “That is enough.”

The male in his palm nodded profusely, still climbing for air, and Mando lowered him torturously slow to the floor as he said, “If you speak about her again, you will not leave this ship with your life, and I will make it agonizing. Understood?”

The Twi’lek was inches away from losing consciousness, making it nearly impossible for him to reply, but Mando knew it was only nearly. He slammed his skull against the tank again, repeating, “Understood?”

The male nodded once and Mando dropped his body to the floor. His green body convulsed as he coughed and sucked in his breaths, but you weren’t watching him. You were staring at your Mandalorian, mouth agape, and stomach coiling with feelings you had obviously not pushed down deep enough. Mando calmly opened the tank and picked up the male on the floor, still gasping and clutching his throat in pain, and practically threw him in the bicarbonate. His body froze over immediately with his hand still pressed against his already bruising throat.

Mando stared at the frozen body, and you stared at him. As you let your mind process what just happened, a wave of anger began to rise in your body. He had defended you before, but never like that, and something about it finally struck down the wall around your feelings for him. You had no other way to cope with that vulnerability than anger. A volcanic fire of rage enveloped you at your own stupidity and weakness when it came to the warrior in front of you, and who better to take it out on than the man himself.

So, you spun him around and slammed him against the tank, hard enough for him to exhale a huff. His hands went up in the air, refusing to go anywhere near you, and his chest heaved against your own. Your foreheads were practically touching as you hissed at him.

“How many times have I told you,” you whispered menacingly, “I don’t need a fucking watchdog.”

Mando replied quickly, quicker than he had ever before and in a tone laced with anger similar to your own. “Do you think I can fucking help it?”

You stared at him, feeling the murder in your face beginning to soften.

“Do you think I don’t try to stop myself Y/N? Have you not realized that I cannot stop it. I cannot fucking stop it.” Your body remained pressed to his but your grip on him softened enough for him to drop his hands lower and lower. He practically dropped his forehead against yours in defeat as he whispered, “I don’t know why, but I just can’t stop myself. Not when it comes to you.”

He was a ruthless bounty hunter, but a terrible liar.

You remained pressed together for a few more moments, breathing hard, waiting for the other to move first. Mando’s hands made it down to his sides, clenched so tense the leather squeaked, before the tiniest brush of his right hand gazed against your hip.

“Not when it comes to you,” he whispered, and slipped out from under your grip.

You didn’t watch him climb the ladder: you didn’t notice him look back for you, waiting for you to follow; you didn’t hear his sigh before he made it to the top of his climb; you didn’t register the ship rocking into hyperspace.

All you could feel was that brush of his leather against your hip, so tender, so...loving. Your body was unable to move and your mind was unable to work. All they could latch onto was the feeling of that adoring touch...

...and how much you fucking loved it.

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