blackmarketmummy - Tumblr blog

blackmarketmummy · 1 year ago

Text

And All the Stars Align

chapter one: across the room, your silhouette

din djarin x princess!reader

word count: 1.2k

series rating: E (18+ mdni)

warnings: no use of y/n, slow burn, slight enemies to lovers, helmetless din, no physical descriptions of reader, not really that many warnings yet :)

summary: your mother seeks out the well known mandalorian, din djarin, to help your planet by fighting in a duel. what starts as a strong distaste for the armored man grows into something more.

notes: this is the first thing i’ve ever written, i’ve just been really nervous to post it but here it is!!! this will be multiple chapters, not sure how many yet but know that it will be quite a few lol. thank you to my loves @shatteredbaby & @javiscigarette for beta reading and brainstorming with me mwah. also @pr0ximamidnight for listening to me ramble about this fic and also encouraging me to keep writing ily

He’s sitting in the cantina on Nevarro minding his business, when he suddenly feels a presence behind him.

“Can I help you?” His deep voice booms through the modulator on his helmet. He doesn’t bother to turn around.

The man standing close behind him clears his throat before speaking. “I’m visiting from the planet Xeron. I was sent by the queen in search of a Mandalorian named Din Djarin.” He pauses, hesitating for a moment. “I was told he could be found here.”

Din turns around in his seat and props his elbow up to lean back on the counter nonchalantly. “You’ve found him.” He says in a flat tone. Although his face is covered with a beskar helmet, his voice is enough to make anyone intimidated. “You have one minute to explain what you’re here for.”

The advisor swallows hard and clears his throat. “I- uh,”

“Fifty-six seconds.” the Mandalorian says, his voice coming out deep and monotone.

“Our planet, Xeron, is having a quarrel of sorts with our sister planet, Arkam, and we need help. We need your help.” He hesitated for a quick moment, a bit flustered. “Word around the inner rim is that you’re a great fighter, you’ve taken down a mudhorn, a kryat dragon, the list goes on and on. We’re desperately in need of someone to fight. Someone who will win.”

“What’s in it for me?”

•••

A week later the Mandalorian is on his way to Xeron. Your mother, the queen, insisted that he come a week early to settle in before the duel. She had said we should lend him our hospitality for what he’s agreed to do for our planet, so there’s going to be a welcome dinner hosted tonight when he arrives.

You’re currently in your room getting ready to leave when there’s a knock on your door. “Come in.” The door opens a crack and you see Jem poke her head in.

Jem is your closest friend, though she’s more of an assistant of sorts. You don’t like to think of her that way, she’s just your friend that also happens to keep watch over you and help you out with anything you might need.

“Are you almost ready? Your mother is already in the grand hall awaiting your arrival.” She raises her brow at you, knowing that you always tend to be late.

“Yes just- give me a second. I’ll be right out.” You smile before she shuts the door behind her.

You turn towards your mirror and take a deep breath. Why are you so nervous? It’s not like you haven’t attended banquets for visitors in the past. You tousle your hair quickly and run your gloved hands over your dark blue, floor length dress. You take one last look in the mirror and turn to leave.

When you open the door Jem is waiting there for you, also wearing a long elegant dress for the occasion. She turns to walk down the hall and you quickly follow.

“Are you curious to see what he’s like?” She asks as you make your way towards the grand hall.

You look at her slightly confused “….who?”

She blinks at you, waiting for you to say something else. “The Mandalorian, you know, the one your mother hired to fight in the duel?” She gives you an odd look before the two of you step into the elevator. “I’ve heard he’s quiet, a little mysterious. I guess we’ll see for ourselves.” A smirk grows on her face as she says the words.

When the elevator doors open again, you quickly round the corner to see that the doors to the great hall are wide open and the room is flooded with people. Some are gathered standing in large groups, others are sitting at the large tables spread around the room. You look around the room and see your mother through the crowd, sitting in her usual spot. You walk towards her smiling here and there at guests as you pass by.

“You’re here! We can get started finally.” She gestures something to one of the royal guards, seconds later you hear a loud noise signaling that dinner will be served shortly. In the next couple of minutes everyone is finally seated, Jem sitting next to you. You glance around noticing that someone’s missing, the guest of honor. Great first impression, you think to yourself. If he can’t even arrive on time, how’s he going to win this fight?

You can see your mother glancing around the room frantically. “Where is he?” She mumbles to herself. The guests are chatting at a low volume, probably wondering what’s going on as well.

All of a sudden one of the doors to the royal hall opens, everyone’s head snaps towards that direction to get a look. As you look around the room, everyone’s quiet and still. It’s like the world has stopped. You hear heavy steps growing closer and what sounds like something clanking. Finally you look towards the door and your eyes land on him. The Mandalorian.

He’s covered head to toe in beskar armor, and the visor on his helmet creates a t shape. There’s a sway in his step, he walks with confidence and you can feel the air in the room has changed just from his presence. Your mother stands from her chair as he gets closer, and everyone else in the room follows. You’re so mesmerized by him and the confidence in each step he takes that you end up being the last to stand, eyes never leaving his captivating form. When he gets to you and your mother he bows his head, leaving your mother ecstatic.

“Ladies and gentlemen, our guest of honor, Din Djarin.” She gestures towards him. “The Mandalorian.” the room applauds.

He nods and takes a seat next to your mother, everyone following her lead to sit. Your mother looks at one of the royal guards and droids start coming from the kitchen with plates full of food, placing them at every table.

Your mother turns her head to Din “Thank you so much for being here tonight, I’m glad you could make it a week early. We want to show our thanks, and how greatly appreciative we are.” she smiles at him.

Din turns his head towards her and nods. “Thank you for your hospitality.” His voice is deep coming through his modulator, it sends a chill down your spine. You’re still staring at him when your mother starts to speak.

“This is my daughter.” Your mother fully sits back in her chair so he can look past her and see you properly.

He turns his head towards you. “Princess.” He nods his head again. What Jem heard is true. He really doesn’t say much, but you feel squeamish under his gaze.

“We really are more grateful than you could ever imagine.” Your mother smiles again. “Please! Help yourself!” Your mother gestures to the table full of food.

Jem nudges your shoulder and you turn to her, finally breaking your gaze away from Din. She’s smirking “I told you” she whispers before reaching to fill her plate.

You’re trying not to stare at this point, just looking out the corner of your eye. You pile a few things onto your plate and before you can take a bite you see his hand lift up to his helmet. You hear a hissing sound as he lifts it off his head.

You snap your head to look over at him and you’re absolutely stunned, almost breathless as his profile comes into view. The strong outline of his nose and plush pink lips immediately catch your attention. You don’t think you’ve ever laid your eyes on someone as beautiful as him. Still taking in his features, your mouth slightly opens in awe. His large brown eyes, the crease between his brows, the way his curls fall perfectly over his forehead even after having a helmet on.

He turns his head towards you, almost like he could feel your gaze. A blush creeps onto your cheeks as you quickly turn back to look at your plate in embarrassment. You can still feel his gaze burning through you, your body starting to heat up. Through the corner of your eye you can see him staring now, you lift your head and turn to look at him again. This time he turns away, quickly glancing back at you for only a split second before focusing on his plate. It’s almost… shy. Cute, you think.

“I didn’t know Mandalorians could remove their helmets?” Your mother asks him.

Din clears his throat as he glances at your mother. “The rules aren’t… as strict as they once were.” He states.

His voice sounds even more heavenly without being filtered through the modulator. It makes your skin tingle.

The rest of the dinner you don’t dare to look at him. Your mother dismisses everyone and people get up to gather and chat again. Everyone wants to speak to Din, he’s never not crowded by guests. He put his helmet back on at this point after dinner.

Jem pops up beside you. “Wow, I knew he’d be popular tonight, being the guest of honor and all but… he really can’t catch a break”

“Yeah.” you’re trying to seem nonchalant as you stare him down from across the room.

“Have you gotten a chance to speak with him?” She looks over at you.

“No!” Your head snaps towards her and Jem’s brow raises at your tone. “I mean, no. He’s been occupied basically all night.” You’re looking back towards where he stands.

“What’s there for me to say anyway?” You glance over at her “Am I supposed to thank him? However much my mother’s paying him won’t be worth anything if he doesn’t make it out.” You look back out into the crowd of people and you’re unable to spot him.

“Yeah, I guess.” She pauses for a moment. “Well I need to go find your mother, I told her I’d help her with something. See you later?”

You nod and watch her disappear into the pool of people laughing and talking loudly.

You hear someone say your name in a deep voice from behind you.

“Princess.”

———

thank you for reading lmk what you think & my asks are open to chat :) xo

np tagging some moots: @ilovepedro @isitmeulookin4 @joelsversion @nostalxgic @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @jenispunk @beskarandblasters @javiscigarette @gracieheartspedro @cannolighost @eliza-8 @hearteyesforjoel @tieronecrush @daydreamingmiller @angel-in-beskar @pamasaur

270 notes · View notes

blackmarketmummy · 1 year ago

Text

😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍

fever

“Wh- what,” he questions breathlessly. “Mesh’la.” “Huh? Mando, please listen to me right now—” “Mesh’la,” he repeats again, his hands trying to grab your face but they miss. “Mesh’la—” You grimace slightly, heart racing as his gloved hands graze your cheeks weakly.

din is completely out of it due to blood loss from an injury. you try to heal him, but he's just totally unaware and feverish...ooooo

(this is for you, 🪬 <3)

warnings: canon-typical violence, descriptions of injuries

The crimson sun is setting over a desolate planet as Mando trudges wearily back to the Razor Crest. A fierce battle against a band of pirates had left him injured, his armor damaged, and his thoughts scattered. All he wanted was to get back home to you. It was the thought of you that kept him going, forcing himself to stay awake as he battled with the searing pain radiating from his thigh now that the adrenaline was wearing off. He had been stabbed in the thigh, the wound deep and long. Blood was seeping through his pants. He knew that he was losing blood, but he had underestimated just how much blood was exuding from the nasty wound. His mind started to get foggy, his vision blurring through his visor.

He pressed his commlink, alerting you to open the ship. You noted he sounded a little out of it, his voice not really matching his usual demeanor. This time, it sounded more…loose. Unrefined. Messy. You had complied, opening the gangplank to the Crest when you saw him stumbling, shoulders drooped and head hung low as he swayed.

“Mando!”

You immediately jump into action, running down the gangplank towards him. Your hands hover over him for a moment, heart racing. You’re not really sure what to do, so you just grab his arm, hoisting it over your shoulder, allowing him to lean on you as you lead him towards the Crest.

“A– ah, blood,” is all he says, voice slurring.

“Okay, okay,” you nod frantically, pulling him up the gangplank and into the ship. The heat signature registers, closing the plank behind you both. You can’t support his weight any longer, so you slowly lower him to the floor. He hunches over, grasping his side as his visor is aimed straight at his thigh. His head bobs forward, breathing labored. You immediately start to push him backwards to lay down, placing a hand under his back to lower him down gently.

He groans as the skin is stretched taut from laying down.

“I know, I know, I know,” you stutter as he groans. Mando reaches up to grasp your hand tightly, nearly crushing your hand in his death grip.

“Mando, I need to take your pants off.”

Your eyes bore into his thigh, the blood soaked pants making your stomach queasy. His helmet is angled towards your face, hands fluttering at his sides helplessly.

“Wh- what,” he questions breathlessly. “Mesh’la.”

“Huh? Mando, please listen to me right now—”

“Mesh’la,” he repeats again, his hands trying to grab your face but they miss. “Mesh’la—”

You grimace slightly, heart racing as his gloved hands graze your cheeks weakly.

“Mando, I don’t know what you’re saying, but I need you to listen to me as best you can, let me slide your pants off,” you say forcibly, shaking his shoulders slightly. He stops moving for a moment, like he hears you for the first time, and you can’t tell if he lost consciousness or not.

“Mando?”

You cast a frantic glance around the dimly lit room, trying to find something to cut away the blood-soaked fabric. The air is thick with tension as you fumble through the pouches on his chest, trying to find a knife. You start to brush over his belt as more blood starts to seep from his thigh. Immediately he pulls your hands away, gasping in pain from the pressure of his grip.

“‘ve wanted you—” he groans, grabbing your hand and pressing it against his stomach. “Please, mesh’la—”

Your face heats up at his insinuation, but you shake your head. He’s lost so much blood, there’s no way he’s thinking clearly.

“Mando, focus!” you exclaim, your mind racing to comprehend his words. His helmeted gaze meets yours, and in that moment, you see vulnerability beneath the cold exterior. But there’s no time to dwell on that now.

You finally yank your hand from his steel grip and move down his uninjured leg, hands finding a concealed knife on the hilt of his belt. Without waiting for any more distractions, you retrieve it with trembling hands and cut away the blood-soaked fabric around the wound. The gash is deep, trailing from the middle of his thigh to the top of his knee, and you wince at the sight of it.

You immediately spring into action, getting up to run into the ‘fresher to grab a clean towel. Next, you barrel into some drawers, throwing them open with urgency in search of the first aid kit. With a triumphant grunt, you grab the medkit and rush back to Mando’s side.

His head lolls to the side when you reenter the space, hands coming up to reach for your ankle.

“Mando, stay with me,” you insist, carefully pushing his hands away from your ankle. You can sense his struggle to stay conscious, his limbs sluggish and heavy. You drop down to your knees again, setting the supplies to the side quickly.

The ‘fresher’s sterile lighting reveals the severity of the injury. Blood continues to seep from the wound, and you know you need to work quickly.

“Got the supplies, ‘m gonna need you to hold still,” you murmur, rummaging through the medkit trying to find cleaning supplies and a needle and stitches.

With a steady hand, you begin to clean the area, applying antiseptic from the medkit. Mando winces, but he doesn't vocalize his pain. Next, you start to gently wipe away blood using the towel you found in the ‘fresher, soaking up the blood surrounding the wound. He groans as you apply a slight pressure, and he grabs your hand again, this time dragging it to his inner thigh.

“Mesh'la,” he mutters again, the word haunting the small space. “Need you, now,” he slurs, his other hand reaching to your face again.

Oh my Maker.

“Y- you’re not thinking clearly,” you say, pushing his hand away. You wrench your hand from his grip again, trying to push down your own unholy thoughts.

“I am, cyar’ika.”

You huff, confused at what he’s saying, still cleaning the area.

“Y- you’ve lost a lot of blood.”

As you finish cleaning the area, you take out a bacta shot. You eye him wearily as you prep the needle.

“This should only hurt for a couple of seconds,” you say, and his hand comes up to your hip, squeezing the flesh of your hip with a certain weakness.

“Easy there,” you murmur, glancing down at his gloved hand on your hip. The pressure is surprisingly gentle, considering the strength he possesses.

The bacta shot pierces through his skin, and you inject it into the wound. Mando winces, his grip on your hip tightening for a moment before relaxing. The silence hangs thick between you, broken only by his shallow breathing.

“Ok, now I’m gonna stitch you up, ok?” you say, pulling out the needle and stitches.

He nods his head once. “‘M tired,” he states simply, voice gruff.

A panic surges through you.

“No, you cannot fall asleep,” you say urgently, taking his helmet between your hands. You shake him gently, urging him to stay awake. His hands sluggishly reach up to grip yours, pressing your hands into his helmet.

“Wish you were touching my face.”

You retract your hands in a flash, breath picking up. You turn back to the needle and stitches, trying to fit off the heat creeping up your face. You decide it's better to keep your mouth shut before you say something you can’t take back.

“I promise you can go to sleep after I’m done,” you say firmly, threading the stitches, trying to steady your hands as much as you can.

With a steadiness born from necessity, you begin the process of stitching the wound. The silence hangs thick between you, broken only by the sounds of him wincing. Each meticulous movement is met with groans of pain from Mando. It pains you to hear him in pain, but you persevere, each stitch closing up his wound. You steal glances at Mando's helmeted face, still unable to shake the vulnerability he let slip earlier.

“All finished,” you let out a deep breath, tying the end of the stitch.

You take out a bandage from the medkit and begin wrapping it carefully around the now stitched up wound.

“That should help with the healing,” you assure him, your fingers deftly checking the bandage.

His breathing is steady now, and you assume he’s asleep. You sigh in relief, pushing your hair out of your face. You look him over once, twice more before standing up to grab some pillows and a blanket. You ever so gently lift his helmeted head and place the pillow under it, hoping it provides some relief from laying on the floor. He was way too heavy to try to carry, and you didn’t want to risk reopening his wound. Next, you take the blanket and drape it over his form, pulling it right up under his chin. You stand there and inspect him once again, making sure there’s no stone left unturned. He lets out a soft snore, the sound coming through the vocoder a little funky.

“Hmm.”

You settle on the floor a few feet away from him, turning to face him as you lay on your side.

You let yourself succumb to sleep.

. . .

You wake up to a loud crashing sound, jumping awake with a start from your spot on the floor. Mando is clutching onto a drawer in an attempt to stand, most likely not realizing the severity of his condition.

“Hey– hey! Sit down!” you gasp, grabbing him by his arm to drag him back to a seated position. He tries to resist at first, but you shoot him a glare that makes him obey.

“What happened?” he questions as soon as he’s seated on the floor, leaning up against the wall. You pull his ankle so that he straightens out his injured leg.

“I had to fix you up,” you respond, trying to keep your voice even. You point to his injured thigh, watching him look down at his torn open pant leg. He’s silent, just staring at his bandaged thigh.

“I never took your helmet off.”

“I never thought you did.”

You nod at words, then take a deep breath.

“You lost a lot of blood, I think. You were saying all kinds of things. I gave you a bacta shot, stitched up the gash, and bandaged it,” you explain, brushing his pant leg open more to let him see it more clearly. He tenses under your touch, but stays silent.

You look up at him expectantly, waiting for him to say something, anything.

“What did I say?” is all he asks, his tone of voice dangerously low.

You tense for a moment, unsure of his sudden change in demeanor. You clear your throat uncomfortably, face already heating up in embarrassment.

“Um, for starters, what does ‘mesh’la’ mean?” you ask quietly, voice meek.

He immediately freezes. You sense you made a mistake. Fumbling over your words, you quickly try to explain yourself.

“It’s just, when I was fixing you up, you kept saying ‘mesh’la’ over and over again, and I was just wondering what it meant—”

He holds his hand up, motioning for you to stop speaking. You shut your mouth, feeling dejected. Before you can move, his voice crackles over the modulator.

“It…it means beautiful in Mando’a.”

Your face feels as though it’s on fire. The revelation catches you off guard, and the intensity of his confession leaves an echo of vulnerability in the silence that follows.

You stare at him. “So…you think I’m beautiful?” you ask gently, twisting your hands in your grip.

He takes a beat.

“Yes.”

You duck your head, feeling vulnerable under his gaze. Your heart quickens at his response, a blend of surprise and a hint of something more.

His acknowledgment leaves you momentarily speechless. The rugged Mandalorian, a warrior molded by the harshness of the galaxy, has just confessed a truth that goes past his beskar armor. The vulnerability in his admission resounds within you.

“Thank you,” you say softly, your voice barely above a whisper. It’s a simple phrase, but the weight it carries is undeniable.

“I feel like I should also mention another thing or two…” you trail off.

He looks at you expectantly.

“You also said things along the lines of…wanting…me,” you grimace, not knowing any way else around this conversation. You felt like you owed it to him to let him know what he was saying while he was…incapacitated. “And, I should also mention that you…admitted you wished I could…hold your face.” You say the last part quickly, blurting it out in one go to rip the band aid off.

You can’t even bear to look at him. Suddenly, you feel his hand touching your knee. You look up with a furious blush, pursing your lips together.

“I meant it.”

You sit there, mouth agape.

“I meant it,” he repeats, more confident this time.

Your head is spinning at his revelation, your desire for his affection crashing over you like a tsunami. You lean over, crowding your face right in front of his helmet. Your breath fogs up his visor, and you cup the sides of his helmet in your hands. You take a long, hard stare straight into his visor where you assume his eyes are, and then you press a gentle kiss on the beskar.

235 notes · View notes