#din djarin sickfic

[chaotic-iguana]

♡ - fluff | ✿ - smut/18+ | ☾ - angst | generic masterlist

one shots:

acting out (✿) - soft dom! din smut - mando x f! reader

bored, bratty reader acts out while din’s on a bounty. he fixes her attitude.

bodyguard (♡) - pure fluff - mando x gn! reader

reader isn’t doing too well, and mando checks in. pre-relationship. request.

enough (♡, ☾) - angst and fluff - grumpy mando x sunshine! f!reader

din grapples with his feelings, and hurts reader in the process. unable to see her upset, he confesses. request.

[floral-force]

The Cure - one shot

Din Djarin x Sick!Reader

summary: after you fall ill, the mandalorian is there to take care of you.

warnings: none, I got covid and wanted some self-indulgent sickfic, so here we are...enjoy <3

word count: 1.7k+

read on ao3 | masterlist

It started with just a few sniffles after a quick trip to Pagodon. It had only been a few days of hunting a bail jumper—nothing you or Mando couldn’t handle. You had figured it was just some residual chills from the icy planet and its bone-chilling climate, but when the sniffles persisted, your copilot demanded answers about your condition.

“It’s really nothing,” you said, sniffing and engaging auto-nav controls on the Crest. 

“If it was nothing, you’d be better by now,” the Mandalorian said. His helmet was focused on you, analyzing your every move.

“Everybody is different, Mando.” You rose from your seat, quickly moving to the ladder that led from the cockpit to the cargo hold. “You just have to trust me.”

You barely heard him grumble in response as you descended, stumbling a bit upon hopping off the rung a meter off the floor. Come to think of it, your coordination the past couple days had been off, and motor tasks that you normally completed without a second thought had suddenly required more cognitive effort than they had before. Even flying the Crest was an unusual challenge—you were leaning more on Mando for affirmation and guidance, and you were less sure of the maneuvers you executed. Maybe you really were sick, or maybe the bucket head was just making you paranoid.

After recovering from your unsteady landing, you walked to the right and through a mess of rags and fabric that divided your makeshift rack from the rest of the cargo hold. You rolled your eyes at the thought of him muttering a snarky “I told you so” if you admitted that you were suspicious about being sicker than you originally believed. You couldn’t afford to give him the satisfaction, you thought as you gathered your sleeping clothes from your makeshift shelving unit next to your cot. One of the drawers got jammed and you cursed as you attempted to shove it back into place, eventually growing frustrated and giving up, storming out and into the ‘fresher to wash up before taking your rack break. Looking in the mirror, your eyes did look a little more bloodshot than normal, but again, you brushed it off, quickly freshening up and heading back to your rack, quickly falling asleep.

You woke to the sound of your name being called urgently, and all you had the energy to do was open your eyes and mumble a “Yes?” and sit up on your elbows.

“Are you alright?”

It was the Mandalorian—was something wrong? His tone worried you, but your brain was too foggy to register anything beyond that. 

“I’m fine,” you mumbled. “Is it my turn?”

“Your turn? What do you—Never mind,” he sighed. “Can I come in?”

“Sure,” you said, laying back down and rubbing your eyes. Your head felt heavy, and your bones felt like lead; fatigue was waging war on your body, a harbinger of something far worse. 

“You look like shit.”

You scoffed. “Thanks, metal man.”

The Mandalorian knelt at your side, his chest entirely too close to your head, his helmet focused on you. It made your heart race and heat rush to your face, and you were suddenly embarrassed about your current state. You watched him gently set one of his gloves on the floor and then press the back of his bare hand to your forehead. The touch felt gentle, almost intimate; it was something you never would have imagined he could be capable of executing. It lit a fire in your chest and soothed you for some reason, but it was over as quick as it had happened.

“You’re burning up,” he said, resting his hand on your shoulder. 

“Really? I feel cold.”

He sighed and gently tugged your cot’s blankets up to your neck, and it took all your strength to remain composed and not comment on your companion’s sudden gentleness. 

“I think you have more than just a cold,” he said. “But I think I could have told you that yesterday.”

“Ha, ha.” You laughed dryly, rolling your eyes. “I haven’t even been that sick.”

“You think I haven’t noticed the little changes?” He sounded shy, but you couldn’t be sure in your current state. “You’re always around me, I notice when you have a change in demeanor or behavior.”

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you have a liking towards me, Mandalorian.” You smirked, feeling a quick burst of energy spring forward. 

Hearing him admit to watching you, caring for you, even if you didn’t notice it, made your heart sing. You did the same for him, and not just because you were copilots—you had developed feelings for him over the past few months. His broodiness, incredible skills, and surprising honesty drew you in, and you had learned through conversation how interesting he was as a person beyond his impressive Guild rates. The Mandalorian was a man of devotion, honor, and few words, and whenever he spoke to you, whether it be about the Crest, a hunt, or his life, your heart sang and you had to fight a smile from creeping across your face. It would be entirely unprofessional for you to admit that you had been watching him, too. 

His lack of response to your comment told you that you had been accurate in your assumption, which was both a relief and a shock. It was a little too much for your foggy head to comprehend, though, so all you could do was smile up at him. You didn’t know if you were dreaming when you reached out and placed a shaking hand on his helmet, and you certainly didn’t know if his gentle lean into your hand was a mirage as well. 

When you opened your eyes again, you saw a pile of beskar slumped against your shelves, facing you. The Mandalorian was keeping watch over you, and when he noticed you shift and stretch, he rose and then sat at the end of your cot. 

“You fell asleep again.”

“Really?” You scrunched your eyes closed, tensing and relaxing your muscles from your toes to your fingers. 

“Your body obviously needs the rest,” he said, and you felt him gingerly place a hand on your leg. “I think you should rest until you’re well again. Luckily, we’re in hyperspace right now, so you have some time.”

The weight of his hand caused your eyes to snap open and take in the sight of the deadly Mandalorian. He was nervously perched on the edge of your cot, his bare hand on your leg, visor trained on you. His body language gave away his desire to do more for you; his shoulders were relaxed and forced open to angle his chest toward you, his legs spread and head tilted in concern. You wanted—no, ached—for him to do more, and you didn’t want to fight that feeling. If he rejected you, you’d blame it on your sickness and the mental fogginess it gave you.

“How much longer are we going to be in hyperspace for?”

“Longer than normal, maybe twice the time it usually takes us.” He paused, turning his body toward you. “Why?”

“C-Could you rest with me?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. 

You felt like a child under his gaze, your blankets pulled up to your chin and your eyes wide as you waited for his response. The Mandalorian withdrew his hand from your leg and stood, placing his hands on his hips.

Then, he sighed and shrugged. “Fuck it.” He murmured under his breath, bending down to detach one of his beskar tassets off his thigh. “I don’t see why not.”

You were so prepared for rejection that you hadn’t considered his agreement. Due to this, you stuttered a word of thanks and watched him strip off his beskar piece by piece. He was incredibly neat about it; everything was placed gently in a pile at the foot of your cot and although you couldn’t see how he placed every piece, you could tell it was deliberate and exact. You expected nothing less from this methodical hunter, and it brought a nervous heat to your face and neck as you considered how intimate it was to see him literally strip away his defenses. Knowing it was all for you made it even sweeter, and it made you question how platonic your relationship truly was.

Finally, he was down to his flight suit and helmet, staring down at you where he stood. Without him asking, you shifted yourself to the right of the cot, making room at your right side for him to lay. Understanding your movement, he walked to that side and cleared his throat.

“If I dim the lights, you have to promise not to open your eyes.”

You smiled and rolled onto your left side, closing your eyes. “Of course. I’ll even turn around.”

You heard him chuckle and then the hiss of his helmet as he took it off. There was a click and a hum, and you barely noticed the environment in front of your closed eyes grow darker. Then, the cot shifted with the addition of the Mandalorian, and you jumped when you felt his arm slowly wrap around you, his hand running down your arm and resting atop yours. You were trapped in his warm embrace, and it immediately made your heart race.

“Is this okay?”

You nodded vigorously. “This is perfect, Mando.” You exhaled deeply, nestling into his chest. “I could fall asleep right now.”

“That’s the idea,” he said, and you clung onto every syllable.

His warm voice hit your ears and sunk into your bones like honey, intoxicating you with intimacy and sweetness. You didn’t think that this deadly man was capable of such softness and domesticity, but here it was for you to experience and hold in your memory forever. Though your heart was racing, you were more relaxed than you had been in a long time, and you were positive that this alone would be a prime ingredient in the recipe that would cure your sickness.

He squeezed you, holding you tight against his warm body. It eased the occasional chill that ran through your bones, and you relaxed in his embrace even more. He planted a gentle kiss on the back of your head, and you smiled, hoping he could tell from your gentle hum of contentment that the gesture didn’t go unappreciated. 

“I’ve got you, sweet one,” he whispered, kissing you again. “I’ll make sure you get well soon.”

taglist: @andiesturgss @theamuz @jellybeanstacey0519 @elinedjarin @maddiedrmr @kaqua @tortor-mcgee

[roughdaysandart]

Rough Day Comic Masterpost

= Yes I'm making a comic based on Rough Day by @no-droids

= Yes I'm editing the smut out ("Abridged for Christian Roomates")

=Yes I'm adding filler content/altering the intimacy timeline to make up for editing out the smut (consider this BASED on RD rather than a direct translation)

=Yes it will be just as clever and soft, just less Ooga Booga

= YES THERE IS A PINTEREST BOARD (behind the scenes etc)

= YES YOU CAN CHECK OUT THE 'SOUNDTRACK" I IMAGINE WHEN WRITING

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Book/Season 1: THE EXCEPTIONS

CH 0: PREFACE

 PT 1: Other Talents (5/10/24)

 PT 2: Rules and Habits

CH 1: ROUGH DAY

Prolouge: Part 1

CH 2: HEARTENED IN HYPERSPACE

PT 1: Ow, ow, ow, OW-OW-OW

PT 2: All Action/No longer.

Prolouge: Part 2

CH 3: NEGOTIATION SKILLS

PT 1: Useful.

PT 2: Convincing

Prolouge: Part 3

CH 4: REST

PT 1: Unrelenting Interruptions

PT2: Quiet Murmurs in the Dark

Prolouge: Part 4

CH 5: OF METAL AND MEN

Prolouge: Part 5

CH 6: A SHOW OF GOOD FAITH

PT 1: Forget about it. Forget about it.

PT 2: The Deal

Prolouge: Part 6

CH 7: RUSHED

PT 1: Honor

PT 2: Something

PT 3: Natural, Not Normal

Prolouge: Part 7

CH 8: THE FLOOR IS BETTER

PT1: In Memoriam

PT2 : Oil and Water

PT3: Stepping Stones

Prolouge: Part 8

Book/Season 2: THE UNSTOPPABLE, THE IMMOVABLE (Or "torn" idk yet)

CH 9: BROWN EYES

Pt 1: Listen and Learn 

Pt 2: Unintended, overheard.

Prolouge: Part 9

CH 10: JUST THE TRANSLATOR

PT 1: TBD ("devastatingly, upper-hand”?)

PT 2: TBD (“Fireside Chat?”)

Prolouge: Part 10

CH 11: CHAPTER 11

PT 1: Promise Me

PT 2: It’s Yours

Pt 3: If You Close Your Eyes

Prolouge: Part 11

CH 12: BEGINNER’S LUCK

PT 1: TBD: (“Lucked out/”?)

PT 2: Shot to the Heart

Prolouge: Part 12

CH 13: KAR’TAYLIR

PT 1: …and to lose.

PT 2: Is to love...

Prolouge: Finale

CH 14: WHENEVER YOU WANT

PT 1: TBD

PT 2: Everything, and then Everything Again (Confessions of a Middle-Age Trauma Queen)

Book/Season 3: THE CHASE

CH 15: OUT OF TRILLION  (Parts TBD)

CH 16: ASK ME AGAIN TOMORROW(Parts TBD)

CH 17: WHISPERS OF YOU(Parts TBD)

CH 18: HOME(Parts TBD)

SEASON 4: BE NOT AFRAID (TBD)

CH 19: BE BRAVE

CH 20: ANOTHER ROUGH DAY

CH 21 - End

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

[ORIGINAL POST BEGINS HERE] (FEB 2024)

"Fuck it I'll try making a Rough Day Comic" 🤦

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

I just loved the process of creating that Cantina comic so much, and I really really have been a imagining how cool a comic could look for the entire fic (its just writted so well) and I really wanna make it super clean so...I think imma break out the tablet and get this going. Also I just love this work so much that it would really being mw so much joy (especially as my fiest comic) and thats what's important in the end.

No idea if it'll stick or if it'll be just a few or how soon but...I really am excited to try

Also kinda have to get used to drawing starvwars environments/backgrounds/people in general, as I'm not used to that at all so here's to learning ALOT of new things ahead!

Probs will start out with the backstory drabble from @no-droids masterlist just for chronological sake and then do the chapters in order.

About the smut...🙃

*sigh* I live with my very christian siblings in a one bedroom so.....just no soft or hardcore smut (idk if i can even get away with any spicy gestures at all lol), and will probs have to clean some of the language up or leave bubbles blank until I live alone and can edit them later then re-upload 🤣

At least for now lol

So yeah I hope anyone who also enjoys this fic has as much fun observing this process as I will have making it!

[theredumbrellatheory]

need more dincobb sickfic where din is the one that's sick and needs to be taken care of (add in some touch-starved and/or trans!din and i'll give you a little kiss on the lips if you'd like)

[kaijuscientists]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: The Mandalorian (TV) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Din Djarin/Cobb Vanth Characters: Din Djarin, Cobb Vanth Additional Tags: Sickfic, Fever, Fainting Summary:

He was never allowed to be sick. It’s ingrained in him. Just, don’t show it, and pretend you're fine until you are.

A habit he has just never been able to break.

[what-am-i-even-doing-tho]

October Drabble Challenge 2023

Day 4- Temperature

"'I'm fine, Corin,' Din insisted with a bright smile that was equally charming and irritating."

[softpascalito]

⋆ Softpascalitos Masterlist ⋆

This is a regularly updated masterlist of all my works, posted on tumblr + ao3! They're sorted by character with warnings/tags, please still read the full descriptions before reading! My entire blog is 18+ / MDNI.

⭐ - my personal favorites ⛓️ - smut 🍂 - hurt/comfort 💌 - fluff

i write for: javier peña, pedro pascal, agent ortega, joel miller, oberyn martell, dieter bravo, silva, frankie morales, din djarin, agent whiskey, javi g, tim rockford

last update: 6th march 2024 If you have requests/questions/feedback or just want to say hi, feel free to pop into my asks! ✮

I do not give permission to have my work copied, translated, rewritten, put into any AI programs, or reposted without my direct agreement.

Specials Kinktober 2023 31 pieces of (mostly smut) - read on AO3 / Tumblr Advent Calendar 2023 25 Pieces including moodboards, hcs and fics - read on AO3 / Tumblr

✮⋆˙ Javier Peña ˙⋆✮

We got your back - Tumblr / AO3 ⭐🍂

Summary: You work as a new DEA agent alongside Peña and Murphy. A not-so-kind colleague reveals more about you than you would like. Peña takes you under his wing. Tags/Warnings: Main fic, Hurt/Comfort, Slow Burn WC: 6700+

Pregnancy Sex with Javier Peña - Tumblr / AO3 ⭐⛓️

Summary: You're pregnant, Javier is overprotective. The problem: You're also really fucking horny. Tags/Warnings: Smut, Explicit, Aftercare, Pregnancy, Established Relationship, PWP WC: 2600

Beyond Saving - Tumblr / AO3 ⭐🍂

Summary: Javier is on office duty when he learns that someone close to you has passed, causing both of you to spiral. Tags/Warnings: ❗ Dead Dove: Do not Eat ❗, Mention of Suicide, Grief, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Minor Character Death, Trauma, Crying, Mental Breakdowns WC: 1300

Kinktober Day Three - Hate Sex - Tumblr / AO3 ⛓️

Summary: When a raid goes wrong, Javier Peña gets pissed. You expect him to take it out on you. You dont expect him to fuck you so good. Aka a steamy office romance with a side of hate sex. Tags/Warnings: Smut, Explicit, Hate Sex, Unsafe Sex, Rough Sex, Spanking WC: 2300

Kinktober Day Eleven - Humiliation - Tumblr / AO3 ⛓️

Summary: Javier takes you home after a night out. You worry about waking Steve who lives upstairs- until Javier notices the way you are staring at his gun. (Thats not code for his dick, Im talking about his actual gun). Aka Agent Peña fucks you on his couch using something other than his dick. Tags/Warnings: Smut, Explicit, Gun Kink, Rough Sex, Praise Kink, Spanking, Dirty Talk WC: 2200

Kinktober Day Twentysix - Tying a tie - Tumblr / AO3 🍂

Summary: Javier resigns from the DEA. You both reflect on your life in Colombia while you help him get ready. You also discuss what is about to follow. Tags/Warnings: Hurt/Comfort, Trauma, Anxiety, Established Relationship, Crying, Sad Javier Peña WC: 1600

Peluda - Tumblr / AO3 ⭐💌

Summary: A snowstorm hits Bogotá and you bring back a surprise visitor. Javi is not amused. But, it leads to a realization about himself- and about you. Tags/Warnings: Fluff, Nicknames, Soft Javi, Snow, Established Relationship WC: 1700

✮⋆˙ Pedro Pascal ˙⋆✮

Here with me - Tumblr / AO3 🍂💌

Summary: During his time in Morrocco, Pedro finds himself in need of reassurance. You are happy to help. Tags/Warnings: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Insecurities, Age Difference WC: 1200

I'll look after you - Tumblr / AO3 ⭐🍂💌

Summary: Pedro is sick (but of course he doesn't admit it). You look after him. Hurt/Comfort (but the twist is that you're the one doing the comforting). Tags/Warnings: Hurt/Comfort, Sickfic, Emotional, Established Relationship WC: 2000

✮⋆˙ Agent Ortega ˙⋆✮

Agents don't have favorites - Tumblr / AO3 ⛓️🍂

Summary: Agent Ortega visits the Emerald Palace, but finds the woman tending to the horses more interesting than those tending to the men. After he leaves for a while, he comes back to an unwanted surprise. Aka its emotional but also they fuck. Tags/Warnings: Explicit, Referenced Non-Con Elements, Hurt/Comfort, Smut WC: 2600

Kinktober Day Ten - Shoe Shining + NTR (Cheating) - Tumblr / AO3 ⭐⛓️🍂

Summary: Ortega returns to Brimstone. When he gets a shoe shine from a past flame, who is now married, things get complicated. Tags/Warnings: Explicit, Hurt/Comfort, Smut, Cheating, Rough Sex, Spanking, Aftercare, Creampie, Dirty Talk WC: 2200

✮⋆˙ Joel Miller ˙⋆✮

Kinktober Day One - Pegging - Tumblr / AO3 ⭐⛓️

Summary: You and Joel run into a sex store on patrol. They have everything one needs to give their older, grumpy partner a good pregging. Aka Joel Miller gets his ass fucked for the first time in his life. Tags/Warnings: Explicit, Smut, Pegging, First Time, Aftercare WC: 3000

Kinktober Day Four - Nonsexual Ageplay - Tumblr / AO3 🍂💌

Summary: When Joel brings back a book on trauma from patrol, something catches your eye. Having had too much of your childhood taken away by the outbreak, you find a way to get some of it back. Aka a soft Joel Miller making his partner feel safe enough to try nonsexual ageplay. Tags/Warnings: SFW, Past Trauma, Age Difference, Nonsexual Ageplay WC: 2000

Kinktober Day Seven - Wax Play - Tumblr / AO3 ⛓️🍂

Summary: Joel and you are paired up for patrol. There are a lot of things unsaid, a snowstorm rolling in and some candles. Go figure (or go read i guess). Tags/Warnings: Smut, Explicit, Hurt/Comfort, Snowed in WC: 1900

Kinktober Day Twelve - Somnophilia - Tumblr / AO3 ⛓️

Summary: In 2003, Joel Miller is busy with dishes, paperwork and raising a child, leaving little time for his relationship. When he gets restless and sneaks over to her house, finding his girl asleep, he remembers a conversation they had about consent. Tags/Warnings: Smut, Explicit, Explicit Consent, Age Difference, Established Relationship, Secret Relationship, Aftercare, Crempie, Pre-Outbreak WC: 2000

Kinktober Day Thirteen - Playing with hair - Tumblr / AO3 ⭐🍂 💌

Summary: Joel works in construction in Jackson. During his lunch breaks, he always comes home to you. When you notice a talent of his you hadn't known about, he opens up about the past. Tags/Warnings: Jackson Era, Established Relationship, Bathing/Washing, Domestic Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Joel play guitar, Good Parent Joel WC: 1000

Kinktober Day Fifteen - Massaging - Tumblr / AO3 🍂

Summary: When Joel comes home after a long day of work, you crave nothing more than him. Until you're both reminded of his age. Tags/Warnings: Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Age difference, Massage, Kissing, Healthy relationships WC: 2200

Kinktober Day Sixteen - Familiar Scents - Tumblr / AO3 ⛓️

Summary: Over the span of many years, Joel Millers scent always stays the same. It starts when he takes you for a hike before the Outbreak- and continues for long after. Tags/Warnings: Friends to lovers, Age difference, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Fingering, P in V Sex WC: 2400+

Kinktober Day Nineteen - Tooth Brushing - Tumblr / AO3 ⭐🍂

Summary: Grief is cruel and just because you and Joel live in the safe haven that is the Jackson community it does not mean you're immune to it. Possibly the saddest (but also kinda best) thing I have written so far. Tags/Warnings: Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Character Death, Established Relationship, Grief/Mourning, Protective Joel, Survivors Guilt WC: 2400

Kinktober Day Twentyfour - Crossdressing - Tumblr / AO3 ⛓️💌

Summary: Joel Miller has been wanting to try a different piece of clothing for a long time. It's not until you that he feels supported enough to do so. Turns out, you both really fucking like it. Tags/Warnings: Smut, Fluff, Insecurity, Soft Joel, Slight Mommy Kink, Jackson Era, Sub Joel Miller WC: 2000

Kinktober Day Twentyseven - (Public) Help with button - Tumblr / AO3 ⛓️

Summary: What happens in a dimly lit corner on the lap of Joel Miller at the town dance, stays at the town dance. Almost. Tags/Warnings: Smut, Explicit, Dirty Talk, Vaginal Fingering, Public Sex, Teasing, Established Relationship, Age difference, Jackson Era WC: 2400

Kinktober Day Twentyeight - Daddy - Tumblr / AO3 ⛓️🍂

Summary: Joel has been noticing a few things about your relationship that make him wonder about your feelings regarding your father. As you open up about your issues, he's sweet, supportive and makes you feel better in the way only he can. Tags/Warnings: 2003!Joel Miller, Pre-Outbreak, Smut, Explicit, Hurt/Comfort, Daddy Kink, Daddy Issues, Crying, Fingering, Cock Warming, P in V Sex, Secret Relationship WC: 2600

Kinktober Day Thirty - Free Use - Tumblr / AO3 ⛓️

Summary: Joel comes home urgently needing some relief. Its a good thing youre there- and the first time Joel makes use of an ... interesting agreement. Tags/Warnings: Smut, Explicit, Free Use, Rough Sex, Light Dom/Sub, Dirty Talk, Andry Sex, Shower Sex, Baking, Female Reader, Established relationship WC: 1900

Snowy Surprise - Tumblr / AO3 ⛓️💌

Summary: Joel takes advantage of your lunch break on patrol for ... other activities. Afterwards, a promise he made about christmas decorations comes back to haunt him. Tags/Warnings: Smut, Explicit, Fluff, Soft Joel, Established Relationship, Fingering, Dirty Talk, Semi-Public Sex WC: 2200

Here cums Santa Claus - Tumblr / AO3 ⛓️💌

Summary: Jackson needs a Santa Claus - and Joel is the perfect fit. Getting to have you on his lap is just a bonus. Aka the one where Joel is dressed up as Santa Claus and you get to ride him. Tags/Warnings: Smut, Explicit, Fluff, Soft Joel, Established Relationship, Fingering, Dirty Talk, P in V Sex, Costume Kink, Riding, Creampie WC: 1800

✮⋆˙ Oberyn Martell ˙⋆✮

Kinktober Day Five - Collaring - Tumblr / AO3 ⛓️🍂

Summary: Oberyn gets you a special present, one that both of you will enjoy. But things dont always go as planned. Tags/Warnings: Explicit, Smut, Established Relationship, Safeword Use, Hurt/Comfort WC: 2050

Kinktober Day Eight - Breeding - Tumblr / AO3 ⭐⛓️🍂

Summary: Oberyn and her have been trying for a baby to no avail. Ever the loving viper, he comes up with an idea. Tags/Warnings: Explicit, Smut, Established Relationship, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Breeding, Dirty Talk, Praise Kink WC: 2050

Kinktober Day Seventeen - Threesome - Tumblr / AO3 ⛓️

Summary: You are in charge of serving wine to the dornish folk at the kings wedding. A couple catches your eye and it may not be as one-sided as you thought at first. Aka the steaming hot threesome with Oberyn and Ellaria we all need. Tags/Warnings: Smut, Explicit, Creampie, Threesome (FFM), Servant Reader, Aftercare, Porn with Plot WC: 4400

Kinktober Day Twentytwo - Washing hair - Tumblr / AO3 🍂

Summary: A few weeks after you and Oberyn begin to try conceiving and days before he leaves for Kings Landing, he finds you cooling down in the baths during a hot day. Tags/Warnings: Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Mild Smut, Bathing/Washing, Pregnancy, Established Relationship WC: 1700

Kinktober Day Thirtyone - Pregnancy - Tumblr / AO3 ⛓️🍂

Summary: Oberyn has been more cautious around her now that the due date is near. He has to realize it's not what she wants. And who can deny the wishes of a pregnant woman? Tags/Warnings: Smut, Pregnancy Sex, P in V Sex, Oral Sex, Romance, Fluff, Domestic, Established Relationship, Female Reader WC: 1400

✮⋆˙ Dieter Bravo ˙⋆✮

Kinktober Day Two - Titfucking - Tumblr / AO3 ⛓️🍂

Summary: Dieter is alone in quarantine and begs you to come join him. Even with a few obstacles, you treat him the way he deserves. Tags/Warnings: Explicit, Smut, Titfucking, Emotional Hurt/Comfort WC: 1700

Kinktober Day Twenty - Watersports - Tumblr / AO3 ⛓️

Summary: Dieter is on edge because of an upcoming premiere and as his personal assistant, you try to keep him calm as well as sober. There is one thing that may help. Tags/Warnings: Smut, Explicit, Established Relationship, Semi-Public, Assistant Reader, Alcohol, Watersports, Dom/Sub Undertones WC: 1700

✮⋆˙ Silva ˙⋆✮

Kinktober Day Fourteen - Armpit + Orgasm Denial - Tumblr / AO3 ⛓️

Summary: When Silva comes home after a long day on the ranch, he smells amazing. He also distracts you from cooking in a quite special way. Tags/Warnings: Explicit, Smut, Sweat, Praise Kink, Established Relationship, Oral Sex, P in V Sex WC: 1600

Kinktober Day Twentyfive - Dancing together - Tumblr / AO3 ⭐🍂

Summary: When a particularly hard rain hits your little ranch, so does the sadness. Luckily Silva is there to make it better.(This fills a few gaps in Silvas life in a way that ties in with the movie.) Tags/Warnings: Established Relationship, Domestic, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Parent Silva, Romance, Kissing in the rain, Slow dancing WC: 1400

✮⋆˙ Frankie Morales ˙⋆✮

Kinktober Day Six - Frottage - Tumblr / AO3 ⛓️

Summary: After a flying lesson, you find yourself drawn to the man in the pilot seat. Luckily for you, Frankie knows exactly what you need. Tags/Warnings: Smut, Explicit, Dirty Talk, Established Relationship WC: 1400

✮⋆˙ Din Djarin ˙⋆✮

Kinktober Day Nine - Gloryhole - Tumblr / AO3 ⛓️

Summary: Din just wants some quick pleasure. You just want to enjoy your job for once. Both of you get more than you bargained for. Tags/Warnings: Smut, Explicit, Prostitution, Oral Sex, Strangers, Semi-Public WC: 1600

✮⋆˙ Jack Daniels ˙⋆✮

Kinktober Day Eighteen - Spanking + Whipping - Tumblr / AO3 ⭐⛓️

Summary: When you mess up during a mission, Jack doesn't want to have to report his own girlfriend. Since he is your higher-up, you work out an agreement- a punishment by Whiskey himself. Tags/Warnings: Smut, Explicit, Spanking, Whipping, Dirty Talk, Praise Kink, Crying, Established Relationship, Rough Sex, Dom/Sub Undertones WC: 2200

Kinktober Day Twentythree - Deepthroating + Facesitting - Tumblr / AO3 ⛓️

Summary: You've never deepthroated anyone in your life- but you're eager to make your man feel as good as possible. You receive a proper thank you as well. Tags/Warnings: Smut, Explicit, Dirty Talk, Praise Kink, Deepthroating, Facesitting, Rough Sex, Oral Sex, Aftercare, Established Relationship WC: 1900

✮⋆˙ Javi Gutierrez ˙⋆✮

Kinktober Day Twentyone - Lingerie - Tumblr / AO3 ⛓️💌

Summary: Javi usually gets the movie memorabilia he loves so much for his birthday. This year, he gets something infinitely better. Tags/Warnings: Smut, Explicit, Established Relationship, Birthday Sex, Lingerie, Kissing, Fluff, Praise Kink, Dirty Talk, Vaginal Fingering, P in V Sex WC: 2100

✮⋆˙ Tim Rockford ˙⋆✮

Kinktober Day Twentynine - Breathplay - Tumblr / AO3 ⛓️

Summary: After a successful case, everyone goes out to celebrate. Everyone except your boss, Tim Rockford. But, with an empty office to make use of, you both find your own way to celebrate. Tags/Warnings: Smut, Explicit, Established Relationship, Choking, Coworker Reader, Female Reader, Office Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Secret Relationship WC: 2100

[hyperactively-me]

Since requests are open I am sick af. Fever, Sore throat, cough, and ear infection that won’t let me sleep, and it keeps getting worseee. Can u do a sickfic w either Simon or din where reader is super sick and they take care of her 🥹.

hope you don’t mind me doing din 🥹 it was hard to choose between them. also, i hope you feel better! being sick actually SUCKS, especially having a sore throat…that’s my #1 opp

sick -- din djarin

You’ve been sick as a dog recently, and the cold of the Razor Crest has not helped one bit. 

You were sectioned off into Din's bed, and he erased any doubt you had about staying in his bed. Din had bought you thick blankets on a planet you had recently touched down on, and the softness of the material provided a stark contrast to the cold, metallic surroundings of the ship.

The ship’s hum and occasional creaks became a quiet lullaby as you drift in and out of a restless sleep.

The dim light of the ship’s interior barely illuminated the room, creating a cozy haven from the harshness of the galaxy outside. Din, clad in his beskar armor, moves silently around the room, tending to your needs with a quiet determination.

Din, ever watchful, had set up a small makeshift bedside table with a bowl of hot soup, a water flask, and a few other essentials. He sat nearby, his helmet carefully placed on the table, revealing his furrowed brow and concerned expression. The warmth from the blankets couldn't quite chase away the chills that racked your body, but Din’s presence was enough to keep you cozy. 

He looked up attentively as you stirred, a string of coughs pouring into the ship. “How are you feeling?” he asks, shucking off the glove on his right hand. The ungloved hand reaches for your forehead to check your temperature. He brushes some stray strands of hair away from your forehead with the pads of his fingertips.

“Better with you around,” you replied hoarsely, attempting a smile. A small smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. 

He hums, standing from his position in search of something for you to eat. A few minutes later, he reappears with a steaming cup of broth. With one good look at his face, you know he’s trying his best to conceal any signs of worry. 

“Here, you need to keep your strength up,” he says gently, his voice comforting despite its lack of emotion. You muster a smile, grateful for his care, and sip the warm liquid, feeling its soothing warmth slip down your throat. He watches you intently, ensuring that you don’t choke or spill on the broth. After a while, he starts to spoon-feed you the broth. 

The rhythmic clinking of the spoon against the bowl and the warmth of the broth bring a comforting routine to the small, dimly lit bed. 

Din, still at the edge of the bed, brushes his hand against your forehead once again. “You're burning up,” he remarks, his concern evident.

As you finish the last sip, he sets the empty bowl aside and retrieves a small datapad from his belt. 

“I found some information about the planet we’re headed to next,” he says, his tone shifting into a more business-like demeanor. “There’s a settlement known for its herbal remedies. I thought we might find something to help you recover faster.”

Gratitude swells within you. Despite his gruff exterior, Din is going above and beyond to take care of you. You shift onto your side, reaching out to place your hand on top of his. The warmth of the palm of your hand momentarily distracts him from the datapad.

“Thank you, Din. I really appreciate everything you’re doing for me,” you say, your voice still raspy but filled with sincerity. He nods, his gaze softening as he covers your hand with his. The corners of his mouth quirk up in a half-smile. It’s a rare sight, and you realize just how much he cares, even if he struggles to express it in words sometimes. 

“You need to rest, mesh’la,” he replies, his voice a gentle command. “We touch down in two hours.” 

You nod somberly, taking a deep breath before shutting your eyes to try to sleep in the meantime. He doesn’t let go of your hand, squeezing it a few times before you fall asleep. 

Din resumes his post by your side, monitoring your condition with a watchful eye. As you drift in and out of sleep, you can feel the gentle vibrations of the ship signal its descent onto the next planet, where the hope of finding herbal remedies awaits.

Din stands, carefully releasing your hand. “We're here, cyar’ika,” he says, his tone a mix of determination and reassurance. You nod, grateful for his initiative in taking care of you. As the ship touches down, the familiar hiss of the hatch opening echoes through the small room.

Din helps you sit up, ensuring you’re as comfortable as possible. He fluffs the pillows behind your back, ensuring they’re supportive. The warm blankets still cling to you, keeping you as warm as possible. You watch as he secures his helmet back in place, the distinctive T-shaped visor concealing his face once more.

“I’ll get you what you need,” he promises, his voice now modulated by the helmet. With a brief touch to your shoulder, he heads toward the exit, leaving you to rest while he explores the settlement for remedies.

Alone in the dimly lit room, you close your eyes, feeling the effects of the broth and the gradual improvement in your condition. Time seems to blur as you wait, the gentle hum of the ship’s engines becoming a soothing melody. Eventually, the hatch opens again, and Din returns with a small bag containing various herbs and medicines.

“I found these,” he says, his gloved hands carefully holding the bag of remedies. You can sense a quiet determination in his actions, a silent promise to do whatever it takes to make sure you recover. He removes his helmet and sits down next to you, setting the bag on the makeshift bedside table.

“A local healer recommended these,” he explains, sorting through the bag. “They’re supposed to help with your symptoms and speed up the recovery process.” 

Your heart flutters in your chest as he carefully lays out the herbs, steady hands making sure he has everything in order. He explained how the herbs are going to be used in a drink. Every swallow makes your throat feel as though there’s knives under your skin. You nod, appreciating his attentiveness. 

As you prepare to take the herbs, Din sets up a small area in the corner of the room where he can brew a concoction using some of the herbs. The aromatic steam fills the air, and you can't fight off the heat arising in your cheeks at the effort he’s putting into making you feel better. 

Din glances over at you, noticing the subtle change in your expression. He meets your eyes with a reassuring nod, knowing how much you want to convey your gratitude. It’s in these moments, stripped of his helmet, that you see the man behind the armor—the one who cares deeply for your well-being. It’s in his nature to be protective of who he cares for. 

The air in the room becomes infused with the herbal aroma as he brews the concoction. Din moves with a quiet efficiency, his movements deliberate and purposeful.

When the drink is ready, he returns to your side with a steaming cup of the herbal infusion. The warmth emanating from the cup is inviting, and you take it from him with a grateful smile. Din settles down beside you, and you can see a softness in his eyes that contrasts with his usual intensity.

“Drink it slowly,” he advises, his voice gentle. You nod, sipping the herbal mixture. It’s earthy, and slightly bitter. It’s not the most pleasant taste, but you can sense its potency, and the soothing warmth it brings to your throat is undeniable. You sigh happily, settling further into your pillows and blankets as you let the warmth seep into your hands. 

Din watches you closely, his gaze never leaving your face. “Try finishing the whole thing, mesh’la,” he says, resting his hand on your knee over the blankets. 

As you finish the herbal drink, Din takes the empty cup from your hands and sets it aside. “How are you feeling?” he asks, his gaze hopeful.

“A little better, actually,” you reply, a genuine smile breaking through your tired features. “Thank you for going out there and getting all this for me, Din.”

He shrugs, a small smile playing on his lips. “It’s my job to take care of you,” he admits, his voice soft. “And I want to do it well.”

You grab his free hand, squeezing it tightly in your grip. “You’re doing more than your job, you know,” you say, rubbing your thumb over the back of his calloused hand. “You’re being really sweet.”

Din shifts in his seat, still not entirely accustomed to being on the receiving end of such compliments. “Well, you’re too pretty to be sick like this,” he mutters, a hint of embarrassment in his tone. His cheeks are turning flushed, and you know you’ve made him fall into that rare moment of vulnerability. 

You chuckle softly, the sound turning into a cough. Din's concern flares up again.

He reaches for the water flask on the bedside table, offering it to you. You take a few sips, and he watches with a slight relief. “But, I want you to know that I appreciate it. A lot,” you reassure him.

He nods, accepting your words with a quiet gratitude. Din leans in and plants a feather light kiss on your forehead. “Rest for now, cyar’ika. We’ve got a bit of a journey ahead of us, and I need you back on your feet.”

You settle back into the pillows, fatigue tugging at your consciousness. Din remains by your side, a silent guardian watching over you. He kisses the back of your hand before you drift off to sleep.

[okdeedee]

lay down your head

a very small din djarin x gn! reader sickfic . reader,,, works with mando? is hired by him? live-in employee. idk. the razor crest still exists. handwavey in terms of chronology.

__

an: because i have a shitty cold / fever / idk right now. so i daydream about how din djarin would take care of someone. me. us. whatever.

warnings: fluff. the mortifying ideal of being vulnerable with your colleagues/friends/crushes. no use of pronouns other than "you/your" and no y/n.

feat. trying to debunk the theory that being in the rain/being in somewhat cold weather will make you sick, one fic at a time. (hypothermia is real, catching a cold/the flu from being in the cold is not.)

wc: 1.3k words of 11pm feverish delirium.

__

It starts as a funny feeling behind your nose. As the day goes on, it spreads down to the back of your throat. Then there's the melancholy dawn of a dull headache and your joints start to hurt more than they usually do.

You're helping Mando carry a bounty back to the Crest at around three in the morning, Coruscant time, and suddenly it's ridiculously difficult.

The bounty is a fairly waiflike Twi'lek, so you're not sure why you're struggling. He could carry her on his own, sure, but you've watched him move enough that you can tell he's got back problems, so you try to help him carry heavy or awkwardly shaped things.

This Twi'lek in her hoop-skirted Opera-Concert-Goer finery definitely counts as the latter.

You watch him a lot.

The way he moves, how he interacts with his child, his prowess in combat. His proficiency with weapons gets you hot under the collar, sometimes.

But he's gruff and quite reserved, and you've taught yourself not to expect anything from this arrangement the two of you have. You haven't touched him before - not even to shake his hand.

When you trip over your own feet and the bounty goes lurching toward the floor, the Mandalorian pauses and glances at you with what you think might be annoyance.

But you can't see his face, obviously, and you sort of can't see full-stop in this dark alley, so it's anyone's guess.

By the time you get back to the Crest, your eyes burn with the effort of keeping them open. You don't want to be a liability, so you keep your head straight and you don't show any sign of weakness.

Once the bounty is frozen in carbonite, Mando climbs up the ladder, Grogu gurgling happily in his satchel. He doesn't seem to have noticed anything's really wrong with you, which is a relief. As soon as his boots disappear into the cockpit, you slump down to the floor.

Mando doesn't need a co-pilot - you're often down here during take-off anyway, tidying or putting your weapons away.

You value your alone time as much as he does, which is nice. He never pries when you need some time away from him and his little green kid.

You ache all over and you're shivering, but at least he can't see you. You're so tired that you fall asleep with your head resting against the weapon cupboard's door.

.

After he gets the Crest out of Coruscant's atmosphere and into hyperspace, Din lets Grogu play with a very small selection of the control panel that will not have drastic effects on the ship.

It takes a while, but the child's movements grow lethargic, and soon enough, he's asleep in Din's arms.

Din places him gently into his mobile cot so as to not wake him by taking him down the ladder, and realises he hasn't heard you move in over an hour.

Which is somewhat alarming - you take turns in the cot in the hull, and since Din can sleep in the pilot's chair, he figured you'd sleep there.

But he never heard the cot door depressurize and slam open, nor did he hear you pottering around like he usually does.

So he makes his way down the ladder, and he's bewildered by what he sees.

You're slumped on the ground, neck bent at an uncomfortable angle against the cupboard. You're breathing through your mouth a little raggedly, so fast you're almost panting, and there is a trickle of mucus coming out of your nose. Your hands twitch where they're draped across your torso, and your skin looks dull.

His heartrate skyrockets - he's a seasoned warrior and you're just his employee, so it probably shouldn't - and he moves over to you instantly.

Before he can think, he turns on the thermal view on his helmet, and sees that your head is hotter than the human head usually appears. So is your whole body.

He flicks it back to normal as he crouches next to you.

"Hey, wake up," he mutters.

He reaches out a hand to touch your shoulder, but he stops. He hasn't touched you before. Not intentionally. He wonders if you'd mind.

He thinks about it more and more each day.

Touching you.

Holding your hand, standing shoulder to shoulder, stroking your face.

Pressing your foreheads together in the way of his people, even if it's through his helmet.

But this is to make sure you're okay; it's different, so he reaches out and gently shakes you by one shoulder.

"Hey, you need to wake up," he murmurs.

You grunt, and your voice sounds like the rumble of footsteps over gravel.

"Can you open your eyes for me?"

Your eyelashes are a little crusted together, but you manage to open them. Your stare is vacant.

Din starts to panic.

"Did someone poison you? Did you eat something bad? Are you alright?"

You give him a sleepy chuckle, and your eyes close again, which is not helpful.

"Hey." He says with the sort of no-nonsense tone he uses with the child.

You blink. "What?"

"Did you get poisoned? Or spiked?"

"'M fine, Mando."

"You're not."

You huff, which sets you into a fit of coughing.

"What's wrong?" He asks.

You look at him with those bright, bloodshot eyes. You sniff and blink a few more times, blearily. It's silly, because he's really worried there's something wrong with you, but the open, sleepy expression on your face fills him with affection.

"Sweetheart, please."

You smile just barely. "Really, 'm fine. Just'a cold," you mumble.

"How would you have gotten a cold? The rain yesterday?" Din starts to spiral; he's supposed to protect you, whether he's ever expressed that to you or not, and now you're sick-

"Prob'ly that club a few days ago. Lots'a people. Confined space. No ventilation. Wonder why you didn't get sick."

"My helmet filters out most toxins and germs." He says.

You reach out and fiddle with the edge of one of the pouches strapped around his calf. "Lucky boy," you say, grinning dazedly.

You look incredibly unwell, but you're touching him, joking around with him. His heart pounds.

Then you groan and put your hand to your head, and he's whirled into action again.

.

The next half hour is hard to remember in full detail. You're so tired.

These are the glimpses you're conscious enough for:

Mando lifts you up, even with his bad back, and sits you up properly. He gets painkillers from the 'fresher, which you try to refuse, but he practically force-feeds them to you. He gives you his water canteen and tells you to take twenty sips of it.

He holds a cloth to your nose and tells you to blow your nose into his hand, which is mortifying, but you're too dazed to do otherwise.

He uses a cold, damp cloth to wipe your face and neck down, which makes your skin erupt in goosebumps.

"Too cold," you grumble.

"Almost done, baby."

The heat that rushes through you at the sound of his gruff, modulated voice calling you 'baby' almost cures your chills for a second.

"Can I hold you?" the Mandalorian asks softly.

If you were awake, you'd freak out about this ridiculously attractive and emotionally distant man making an offer like that, but being held just sounds nice right now, so you whisper, "Yeah."

Next thing you know, the battle-hardened, ruthless Mandalorian bounty hunter is sitting behind you, one arm around your torso, the other stroking your forehead.

You're in between his legs, your back against his chest.

This is not how you thought your recovery from illness would go.

You find you don't have any reason to complain.

His armour's a little cold, and it shocks you at first, but once your feverish body heat warms it up, it's soothing. He smells good - beskar doesn't have that tangy scent so many metals have; it's cleaner, earthier. He smells warm, inviting, human.

You like this Mandalorian. Quite a lot, as Mandalorians go. And just as a person in general.

He chuckles; a deep, comforting rumble that you feel in your back ribcage before you hear it.

"What're you laughin' at?" you mumble, burrowing the side of your head into his chest

Another shorter, breathy chuckle. "What you just said."

Oops. "Didn't mean t' say that. Out loud, I mean."

"I'll forget I heard it."

"No you won't. You remember everything."

The chin of his helmet rests gently against the crown of your head, and he takes a deep breath in.

"Sleep, cyare. I've got you."

[dinluke-ao3feed]

Bantha Broth for the Soul

Read it on https://archiveofourown.org/works/55642300 by InanimateEyes After catching Grogu's bug, Din finds himself bedridden. Din decides to keep his husband out of the loop. Luke finds out anyway. Words: 1568, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English Fandoms: Star Wars - All Media Types Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Categories: M/M Characters: Din Djarin, Luke Skywalker, Grogu | Baby Yoda Relationships: Din Djarin/Luke Skywalker Additional Tags: Sickfic, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, but super low stakes, Space Flu

[chaotic-iguana]

can I have din hurt/comfort fic recs pls and thank u

edit; stop LIKING THE POST HELP ME PLS REC.

[veradragonjedi]

Hi there!

My names are Vee/Aloe/Vera, and I go by all pronouns.

~ ♡ Masterlist ♡ ~

VeraDragonJedi — Ao3

Main work:

Blood, Blindfolds and Butterflies — Din Djarin/Vampire!Luke Skywalker, GFFA (Canon Universe), Teen And Upward / No Archive Warnings Apply, 25/? Chapters -> 128k words

Multi-Chaptered Fics:

Ink On My Faultless Frame — Trans!Din Djarin/Luke Skywalker, General Audiences / No Archice Warnings Apply, 5+1, 2/6 chapters written and posted (uncompleted) 12.4k words

~ DinLuke, one-shots

Relax, Take It Easy — G, 5.4k words, Fluff (Sickfic/Hurtfic) No Archive Warnings

A Small Galaxy — G, 2.5k Words, Pre-ANH meetup, Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

The Day I Fell For You — G, 1.5k words, pun is in the name, No Archive Warnings

Skin To Skin — G, 600 words, Non-Verbal!Din Djarin, No Archive Warnings

[beecastle]

Never Letting You Go

When you get sick, Din does everything he can to make you feel better

Din Djarin x F!Reader

Word count: 900

Warnings: sickfic, hurt/comfort but more comfort than hurt, fluff, illness is not specified but it’s a pain around the belly/lower part of the body, Din carries reader in his arms, Din takes of his helmet, Peli shows up, wrote this kind of quickly so there might be mistakes

A/N: @littlemisspascal​ as I can’t physically be there to help you feel better, this is the equivalent of me showing up at your house with warm soup, a fuzzy blanket and ready to binge watch the first season of Teen Wolf or whatever you want until you feel better ❤️ 

MASTERLIST

The day had started off well, checking the items on your to-do list left and right. One of the broken panels in the Razor Crest was now fixed, Din's collection of weapons was placed in order, and you had sent a hologram message to your friends telling them of the adventures you had experienced the last couple of months. You were unstoppable, that is until the pain comes in the late afternoon. It appears out of nowhere and makes you drop the crate you are carrying, a loud bang echoing in all the ship as you grab onto the nearest wall for support. Din flies down the ladder and is next to you in a matter of seconds, his hands on your arms steadying you and guiding you to a crate so you can sit. 

"What's wrong cyar'ika?” Worry seeps through his usually controlled voice. “What's going on?"

You’re focusing on breathing and trying to keep the pain at bay. At your silence, he takes off one of his gloves and touches your forehead. "You're burning up, I'm landing the ship."

"No, the bounty is getting away." The protest is weak even to your ears. 

"I'll find them later, you're my priority." He helps you to the floor above and straps you to the chair being as careful as he can to not make whatever’s hurting you worse. He checks in one of the cabinets and hands you a pill for the pain, one that you’ve seen him take after fights. "Just hold on cyar'ika, I’ll get you help."

The pain in your belly and lower body seems to worsen by the minute so, by the time you land on Tatooine, Din has to scoop you into his arms and brings you out of the ship and into Peli's hangar. 

"What are you doing back here so soon?" Your friend asks while coming out of the building. "Is my old friend giving you trouble?" She asks referring to the ship, but the moment she notices you in Din’s arms she stops cold in her tracks, and there’s no trace of humor in her voice. "What's going on?"

"She needs a doctor,” Din answers.

"You heard the man,” Peli says turning to her droids, “go fetch a doctor." At the droid’s confusion, she exhales frustrated. "Why am I keeping you here for? I'll do it myself. And you, bring her to my room." Din wastes no time in finding the room and putting you on the bed, with a cold compress on your forehead. 

He sits next to you on the bed, but as soon as the cold beskar makes contact with your skin you move away shivering violently. “Sorry.” He stands up and starts taking it off and setting it to the side until the only thing remaining is the helmet, at which point he sits down again. "Come here."

Your curl against him and he wraps his arms around you, while he mutters loving words in your ear. You must have fallen asleep at some point as Din gently shakes you awake when the Peli and the doctor arrive. As he moves from your side, you start complaining but he doesn’t sit back down, taking your hand in his instead. “It’s alright cyar'ika I’m here.” If the doctor notices the lack of armor on Din, she says nothing, shifting all her focus to you. 

When the doctor touches an extra sensitive spot you squeeze Din’s hand so hard you’re afraid you’re hurting him but he takes it without making so much as a noise. When the doctor is done checking you she gives you the diagnosis, alongside some medicine. “Take these antibiotics and you'll feel better in a couple of days, and avoid any heavy physical activity for a week or two, give your body the time to heal."

There’s an exchange of medicine and coins between Din and the doctor before Peli shows her the way out. The woman comes back a minute later, with a sympathetic smile as you are gulping down the medicine and hoping for a quick effect. "You'll be fine my girl, especially with a man like that taking care of you." She goes to her closet to retrieve a small bag. "Do me a favor and stay here for the night, get some rest in a real bed."

"Where are you going?" Din asks before you can.

"To the tavern, they have rooms with jacuzzis upstairs, it’s going to be like a vacation. I'll open the tab under your name." She smiles at Din, and you know the woman will spare no expense. "Whatever you need, the droids will get it for you."

"Thank you, Peli." The medicine is already making you sleepy, your words a little slurred. 

"Of course, my friend, just focus on getting better."

As the woman leaves, she closes the door, leaving only the two of you in the room. After locking the door, not wanting a droid to burst in, Din takes off his helmet and gets in the bed next to you. He hugs you as close as he can while making sure you’re still comfortable, and he plants a soft kiss on your forehead. “Go to sleep my love, I’ll be here when you wake up.”

[weepylucifer]

Tosses another dinluke at you. This one’s about caring for each other

Luke awakens from uneasy sleep filled with nightmares, and immediately can tell that today is going to be terrible.

The occasional phantom pain in his wrist, that he can take. The old, flaring ache, the strange feeling that the hand is still there, which somehow makes both wearing and not wearing the prosthetic feel uncomfortable - well, it’s a drag, but it’s only one part of his body. With meditation to aid him, he finds he can usually sequester it off, away from the rest of him, and go through his day more or less like normal. But sometimes, each and every scar caused by the Force lightning clamors in pain, especially when he’s been dreaming about how he got them. This is the worst, because he hasn’t found a good way to cope with it yet. He can’t make the pain stop, and it’s driving him up the walls.

There’s no way he can teach his padawan like this.

Fortunately, Grogu’s father is visiting, and will probably be more than happy to entertain the kid for a day.

Luke hasn’t gotten the measure of the Mandalorian yet. He talks little, projects an aura of intimidation, being covered in armor all over like that, but he seems very attached to his child, so attached that Luke reckoned upon getting Grogu that breaking their bond would do a lot more harm than good. He’s come over for a few visits to far, and he practically curls over Grogu like a loth-cat over its young. But Luke doesn’t exactly know anything about him besides that.

Also, it’s dawned on Luke that he knows nothing about Mandalorians. He knows Boba Fett is one, but that’s pretty much it.

So he’s not exactly comfortable admitting his plight to the man. What if he perceives it as weakness? So when he emerges from his bedroom to greet him, he is brief, almost curt, making himself speak through the pain.

“I’m sorry, but there’ll be no lesson today. Can you just watch Grogu for me? I’m... something else has come up.”

The Mandalorian looks... like an expressionless helmet on a suit of armor. But his voice betrays some surprise when he says, “Um, yeah. Sure. Not a problem.”

He’s justified in his surprise; Luke has never cancelled Grogu’s lessons before. “Thanks,” Luke says and repeats, “Sorry this is on such short notice.”

The last thing he sees before beating his retreat back to his room is Grogu cooing and reaching a little hand out towards him in concern, doubtlessly feeling in the Force that something is amiss with Luke. He closes the door but can still hear the Mandalorian reassuring the kid to the best of his ability, “Sorry, buddy, your bajuri seems to be busy. No floating stuff today.”

Grogu emits the sad coo again.

“Hey, it’s okay. Wanna go to the pond and look for frogs?”

...

“We can take the Phoenix over there.”

A happy squeak tells Luke that the plan has met approval.

“You like flying with the jetpack, huh? Yeah, me too.”

Their voices recede, Grogu babbling happily and his father talking back pretending to understand him, and then the temple is silent. It dawns on Luke that the Mandalorian is attractive, the juxtaposition between the gleaming armored fighter and the father so gentle with his kid intriguing. The thought is brutally cut short by another sharp flash of searing pain.

He whines and flings himself onto his bed, curling up and tugging at his hair with both hands, hoping beyond reason that the pain in his scalp will distract him from the pain in his everywhere else.

--

Luke has been trying on and off to meditate or at least nap for several hours, when he hears a knock at the door. It can only be Mando.

“Um. Master Jedi?”

The Mandalorian has never asked Luke’s name, maybe he reckons Luke goes by his self-assumed title, just like he seems perfectly comfortable going by Mando. Yes?, Luke wants to ask, but he’s scared it’ll come out an undignified whimper.

“I made some dinner for the kid,” the Mandalorian continues. Is it dinner already? “I thought maybe you’d want some, so I’ll leave it out here.”

Luke blinks at the door. He wasn’t expecting this.

“I don’t know if you’ll like it, it’s, ah. Aruetiise usually find our cooking too spicy. So I made some bread to go with it, it. Helps. With the spice. I used some stuff from your storage for it, hope that’s okay.”

The silence persists.

“Putting it down now. Okay. Good luck with your... Jedi business.”

There’s a sound of, indeed, something being placed on the floor, then footsteps walking away.

Luke opens the door. There is a tray of food waiting for him. An amazingly delicious smell wafts from it and his stomach growls loudly, reminding him that he hasn’t eaten today.

So this man can cook. This man baked bread for him. Luke tries to imagine him, in the kitchen, doing that. Maybe he put Luke’s apron on over the armor. The thought makes him giggle for the first time today. Truly Grogu’s father is full of surprises.

--

It’s already getting dark out when Luke carries his empty plate back to the temple’s little kitchen. He finds Mando there with Grogu on his lap, as always in complete armor, simply watching as Grogu plays with a small silver ball.

Luke clears his throat. “Hi,” he says eloquently and carries his plate to the sink.

The Mandalorian nods in greeting. “All done in there?”

“Not exactly.” Somehow, Luke can feel Mando refocus on him, even through the helmet. He knows he must look rumpled, his hair mussed, his face drawn, and using one of his robes as a shawl. He wishes he had the ability to suffer more attractively, or at least the energy to make himself up a bit.

He sighs and sits down at the table with them. Somehow he feels like, as fair payment for the meal, the Mandalorian deserves his honesty in return. “Full disclosure, I wasn’t doing... Jedi stuff in my room. I just... I’m unwell.”

“Oh.” For some reason, Mando’s head tilts towards Grogu. It becomes apparent why when he asks, “Anything catching?”

“No. No, Grogu will be fine.” Luke folds his hands on the tabletop. Well, he’s already at it being honest. “Do you ever get the feeling of... old scars, hurting again? Like they’re new?”

“Your hand?” the Mandalorian asks. Ah, of course, he’s perceptive, he’s noticed the fake hand.

“Not just the hand. Everywhere. All over.” Luke grits his teeth as his nerves alight again along the lightning patterns. Maker, he hates this. It’s like the shrivelled old prune continues to torture him from beyond the grave.

“All over?” Mando repeats. The helmet’s modulator dulls emotion, but Luke guesses it’s concern he hears.

“Yeah. Look.” Following a sudden impulse, he gets up and shucks his robe, unbuttons his shirt and slips that off too. “Here, see?” He turns himself this way and that, catching the warm lamplight. “And yes, they go all the way down.”

Helmet or no, he can hear the Mandalorian’s breath catch. His hand, the one that’s not keeping Grogu from tumbling off his lap, twitches... rises... reaches out... Luke keeps himself very still. For a breath or two, he thinks that if the Mandalorian were to touch him, trace the lightning bolts on his torso with his gloved hand, then he might feel better. Might be soothed.

The hand is lowered to the table again as if embarrassed. Luke lets out his breath and tries not to slump in disappointment. “I’ve never seen scarring like that before,” the Mandalorian says. “And I’ve seen my fair share.”

“Force lightning,” Luke explains, before remembering that his companion knows nothing about the Force. “A Sith torture technique.”

“You were tortured?” Mando asks, then amends, “You don’t have to tell me.”

Luke sits back down, hugging his knees to his chest. “Pffft. It’s not like I’m not already thinking about it.” He rubs his hands down his arms at another shiver of pain. “The Emperor did this. When I went to confront him on the second Death Star.”

“It was you on the Death Star?” the Mandalorian asks.

“Yeah. The Emperor wanted me to join the dark side. I refused. I had no idea he’d just start frying me with lightning. I had no idea this was something the Force could even do.”

“But then you... killed the Emperor?” The Mandalorian is clearly guessing, and Luke finds himself astonished that there’s someone out there still who doesn’t know the whole Luke Skywalker Saga.

“I did not,” he says. “My father killed the Emperor. All I did was lie on the ground and be tortured.” He picks at his wrist where the synthetic skin joins the organic. “I’m not even bitter about that. It ended up saving my father’s soul. But sometimes, I have nightmares about it, you know? And in those dreams, my father... doesn’t help me. He just stands and stares at me and that’s worse than the pain. Because, when it actually happened, there was... a moment when I thought he wouldn’t do anything. He wouldn’t care and he’d watch me die. For a moment there, I lost hope, and that’s the worst of it really, knowing that about myself.”

“Why was... your father on the Death Star?” the Mandalorian asks, and huh, apparently he hasn’t heard about the Luke-and-Vader-connection either.

“It’s a long story,” Luke says, because it is, and he’s tired. His scars still hurt, not in these sudden flashes anymore, but as a pulsing, bone-deep, constant ache. But his chest feels a bit lighter for having talked about it.

The Mandalorian now gestures at said chest, instead of asking for the story again. “Can you take painkillers for those?”

Luke shakes his head. “They don’t help much. The pain’s in here.” He taps his temple. “I’ve just been trying to sleep it off, but it hurts too much to get to sleep.”

Mando hisses out a breath, and Luke is by this point fairly certain he’s commiserating. “Phew. Sounds like you need a drink.”

This makes Luke laugh, and he appreciates that. “You know, I’d love a drink, actually.”

After Grogu is put to bed, Luke gets a glass of spotchka and Mando’s company (he tilts the helmet off just far enough to free his mouth in quick, almost furtive gestures and takes tiny sips). His head’s starting to feel pleasantly swimmy when he says, “You know, I’ve just bared all my troubles to you - well, not all, but some, and pretty hefty ones - and yet I know... three facts about you, maybe.”

“Hmm. Yeah, that doesn’t seem fair,” the Mandalorian says amusedly. “What would you like to know?”

“Your name would be a good start,” Luke suggests.

The way the Mandalorian fidgets with his glass, he looks almost flustered. “Ah... Din. Din Djarin.”

“Luke Skywalker.” Luke grins and reaches across the table, ignoring the pinpricks of pain up his arm, to grip Mando’s - Din’s - hand. “It’s nice to have met you, Din Djarin.”

-----

In the following months, these flare-ups return occasionally, but none in such intensity. Luke knows that it’s only a matter of time, though. He’s beginning to suspect that this might stay with him forever. But he’s not as horrified at the prospect as he once was, after talking about it to Din and being neither judged nor pitied. After Din didn’t look at him worried like Leia, or attempted clumsily to walk on eggshells around the topic like Han, and didn’t think less of Luke, and didn’t act like Luke’s admittance to his issues tarnished some sort of larger-than-life image of the glowing Jedi hero. How odd it is to think of a future that has someone in it he can rely on in such an uncomplicated manner. He hasn’t had anyone in his life to rely on - or dared to think of himself as needing this - since... well, since Aunt Beru, probably.

During these months, Grogu has steadily progressed in his studies. Din has visited the temple with some regularity, but Luke has yet to get used to him. How could he, when there’s so much new and exciting to discover about Din still? He finds himself looking forward to these visits, and missing Din when absent, almost as much as Grogu does. Din can only ever stay a few days at once, and Departure Day is a sad one for all two inhabitants of the makeshift Jedi school. (Luke’s not sure what Din does when he’s not here. It can’t be so important, right? Surely not more important than spending time with Grogu? Than talking to Luke?)

This time, though, when Din shows up at the agreed-upon time, it’s weird. He speaks even less than usual, he seems to retreat into his armor even more, he opts to sleep in his ship instead of one of the many empty bedrooms in the temple that Luke has yet to fill with more students. And he barely holds or even touches Grogu, and that tips Luke off. These other observations he could chalk up to paranoia and his own desire to coax Din out of his (figurative!) shell. But that last one tells him that something is off.

Grogu can feel it too, and confusion and worry is seeping off of him into the Force. Luke tries to calm him and get him to sleep, but in the morning, Grogu’s still a bit anxious, and their collective worry mounts when breakfast passes by and Din fails to emerge from his ship. The two of them are reflecting their worry back off each other, and it’s getting aggravating, so Luke gets up and resolves to investigate.

“Okay, Grogu, can you go in the garden and play with Artoo? I’ll go look what’s up with your dad.”

Grogu immediately calms now that he knows the matter is being taken care of, and it warms Luke’s heart to see how much the kid has grown to trust him.

He gains entrance to the ship - it’s not the same one that Grogu has shared memories of with him, but similar enough in layout. The cockpit is empty, so he descends down a narrow ladder into what probably passes for crew quarters here. Peering around a corner, he finds Din hunkered down with his back against the durasteel wall, his threadbare cape wrapped around him as a blanket. He hasn’t noticed Luke come in yet, and that’s wrong in and of itself, and he’s shivering so hard it makes his beskar rattle slightly. As Luke lays eyes on him, he breaks into a horrid wet cough beneath the helmet, the modulator rendering it rasping and metallic.

Okay, something must be done.

“Din?” Luke asks, peeking his head out into open view. “It’s Luke, I’m in here now. You sound like my dad, kriffing-- how long has it been like this?”

Din’s head whips around in Luke’s direction, and he probably only doesn’t flinch because he’s trained to not flinch at things. “I’m fine,” he claims - outrageously lying - and tries to drag himself to his feet, hands bracing against the wall behind him.

Luke is already rushing to his side. “No, no, just stay down. There, that’s right, just sit. Are you wounded? Sick?”

Din tilts his head back against the wall. “Not wounded.”

“Well, that’s... good.” Luke squats next to him, unsure how to proceed. In the Force, he can feel exhaustion and pain radiating off of Din, but that doesn’t tell him what exactly is wrong. He tries to touch his wrist and, of course, meets beskar.

“Din, I realize this might be a... big ask, but can you remove your helmet so I can check your temperature?”

A stuttering sigh comes out through the modulator. “I don’t...”

“I’ll close my eyes,” Luke hurries to add. “It’ll just be for a few seconds. Oh, oh I have a blindfold back at the temple! I can run back and get it.”

Din shakes his head. “It’s okay. You’ve seen it before.” He reaches a shaking hand up and with a hiss, the locks on the helmet disengage. He slides it up and off and Luke takes in his face. It’s flushed, his hair matted and sweaty, his eyes bleary, and yet. It’s as attractive as Luke remembers.

Shaking these thoughts off, because there certainly are more important things now, Luke reaches out and puts his ungloved hand on Din’s forehead.

“You’re burning up,” he hisses. “I’m taking you back to the temple, I have medicine there.”

He’s already in the process of wrapping an arm around Din’s torso to help him up when Din shakes his head. “No. Gotta stay here.” His speech is washed out, his eyes glassy, and Luke’s concerned he’s not talking sense.

“You’ll be more comfortable at the temple.”

Din tries to brush him off with alarmingly feeble hands. “No. The kid.”

Ah. “I don’t think Grogu can catch anything off of you. Different species and all that.”

“You don’t know.”

Well, strictly speaking, Luke doesn’t. Yoda never mentioned anything like that. For a moment, Luke looks around the room, but his old mentor’s ghost is unhelpfully absent. He settles for promising, “I’ll make sure he keeps his distance.”

Din shakes his head again. “Kid’s going to...” He’s interrupted by another coughing fit. “...try to heal me. Don’t want him to overdo it.”

Even miserably sick, Din’s first concern is for the child. It makes something warm swell in Luke’s chest, and he realizes with no small start that Oh, this might be something a lot more than attraction he’s dealing with.

It doesn’t matter now. “I’ll make sure Grogu doesn’t overtax himself then. I’m his teacher, it’s what I’m here for.” Not at home to any more protests, Luke uses the Force to help him lift Din up in his arms. “Try to have a little faith in me, okay?”

“I’m fine here on my own,” Din insists.

“Don’t be an idiot,” Luke says distractedly as he starts off towards the exit ramp, bridal-carrying a whole Mandalorian warrior.

Din is not cooperative, doing his damndest to make himself a dead weight. “I’m Mand’alor,” he mutters, eyes half-closed. “I don’t have to take that tone from you.”

Luke doesn’t know what that word means. Maybe it’s a special type of Mandalorian. He’ll ask later, if he remembers. “Right now, you’re sick, that’s all,” he says, taking them at a brisk pace back to the temple. “You need attention.”

Din’s answer is a displeased groan. “My own damn fault for taking off the helmet.”

In the moment, Luke wonders if he means that in a metaphysical sort of way, like he’s being punished by the ancient Mando gods for his heresy. He’ll later discover that it’s much more prosaic than that: Din has worn the helmet since he was a child, and it’s protected him amiably against any airborne diseases. Now that he’s decided to start taking if off occasionally amongst other people, his immune system is being thrown into a panic by all these new unfiltered things to be breathed in, and he has prompty caught some kind of space flu.

For now, he gets Din into bed, armor and all, and heads for the ‘fresher and the aid kit he stashed there.

--

Din is burning.

Din is glacier-cold.

He sleeps irregularly in this soft bed he doesn’t recognize, and wakes himself with fits of coughing. He gropes for lucidity and gives up on it again in intervals. At some point, someone took his helmet - no, he remembers taking it off, or was that a dream? He has a memory of being carried in somebody’s arms, but who would carry him in full beskar? Who would care to? He’s not on his ship and he’s not alone and this is wrong. He’s been sick before, even with the helmet: from infected wounds or bad food or bad water or being out in harsh weather too long during a job. He’s always ridden it out by himself, if he was too far off to stumble his way back to the covert. But this isn’t the covert - that’s long gone, isn’t it? - and someone is here.

The person, at some point, helps him sit up and removes his armor, and Din would panic - does - but the person’s hands on him are gentle, and there’s some voice telling him that “It’s just to make you more comfortable, I’m putting it right next to the bed, I’m not taking it away, see? It’s right here waiting for you” and he’s too exhausted to put up a fight, and why would they lie? If they wanted the beskar for themselves they would’ve killed him already. But the person doesn’t. The person gives him water when he’s coughed his throat raw. The person drapes a blanket over him, which he shucks off during the hot spells only to grope for it again during the cold ones. The person puts a hand on his forehead and it’s even more cool and soothing than the damp cloth they also provide.

At some point, the person puts something in the bed with him - some alive thing, some small and fussy thing, some important thing with small green claws and wide moon eyes and large ears that are the softest thing that Din’s ever touched. He reaches out for it on instinct, just to pet the downy white hairs on its little head, and the person’s voice says from somewhere far above, “Okay, Grogu, I promised your father to take this slow. We’ll do this gradually, so you don’t tire yourself. You understand? Small healing. Easy.”

The small and precious thing makes a displeased sound, and Din wants to soothe it again. The voice replies, “I know how you feel, I know you want to fix it all right now, but I promised, okay? Your father will be very disappointed in me if we don’t do this just like he’d have it. And we don’t want that, hm?”

Din hears a coo close to his ear, feels a tiny, three-clawed hand touching him, and then there’s a sudden warmth spreading in his chest, not like the clammy heat of the fever but different, pleasant. Suddenly it seems easier to lie back and get some real, truly restful sleep, and this he does.

This instance repeats several more times, over days, until there is a point at which Din wakes - still sore, shaky, and with his muscles aching from having trembled so much - but with the fever broken and his head clear enough to string a coherent thought together.

He’s vaguely aware of a warbling voice a short distance away that he can’t quite yet discern. The room is dim, with only a singular lamp by his bedside spreading a warm light. There is a window above the bed but no light is coming in. It must be late in the evening - Grogu’s bedtime, is what Din’s inner alarm clock tells him without fail. And indeed, when he raises his head, he spots a small crib across the room that can only be Grogu’s, and Luke is there, rocking it in gentle motions. It is him who’s doing the crooning - singing Grogu to sleep, Din realizes abruptly. As he focuses, the lullaby slowly starts to make some sense: it’s in Bocce, which Din is about as conversant in as Tusken. He’s actually heard the tune before; it’s a nonsensical little ditty that settlers on Tatooine sing to their children.

He stretches out an arm and points a shaky finger at Luke.

“Hick,” he accuses, his voice gritty like he gargled a mouthful of sand.

Luke spins around, his blue eyes widening. “If you’re trying to insinuate that only sand-encrusted, desert-dwelling hicks speak Bocce,” he says, “then you are correct.” He smiles. “It’s good to see you back with us.”

“You’re from Tatooine,” Din says, and wonders why this is so important to him. Maybe it’s because learning things about Luke is like putting a puzzle together. There’s somehow a whole bunch of people that Luke is - he’s fascinating, he’s vexing, he’s confusing, and Din has no idea why he’s this interested in the first place. Well, he does have some clue, but it’s best not dwelled upon. Luke has his Creed and his life, Din has his wholly different Creed and life, and it’s not like the interest can be mutual anyway.

Or can it? Luke seems to have been here for days, watching him heal. Din’s mind veers away from phrases like “nursing” and “caring for” because, well, it implies a needing and a being needed that’s not usually extant for him. He takes care of himself, mostly, that is how it’s been for years. Decades...

Luke nods. “Anchorhead represent. Go Womp Rats.”

Din wrinkles his nose. “Anchorhead? There’s nothing there.”

“You’re telling me! Come talk to me about it when you’ve lived there for nineteen years.” He crosses the room to come perch on the edge of Din’s bed. “Which you won’t, you’re the king of Mandalore.”

Oh, shit. Yeah. He’s probably missing a council meeting right now. Wait. “Who told you?”

“You talked a lot when you were feverish.” Luke passes a hand over Din’s brow. He’s done that before, but it’s very different now that Din is awake for it. “It seems to have broken.”

“You had the kid heal me,” Din surmises. He can’t waste breath right now on wondering what else he said to Luke, when the fever had him. “I told you not to do that.”

“I had him heal you slowly, step by step, so he wouldn’t exhaust himself. Just a little every day,” Luke explains.

“He okay now?”

“He’s-” Luke begins to answer, then stops himself. A truly mischievous smile spreads on his lips. “Prince Grogu is resting, your highness. But yes, your majesty, he’s perfectly fine and healthy.”

“Stop.” Din swats a hand at him. “Not... ‘majesty’. We don’t even do that. It’s just ‘Alor. Actually, it’s just Din.”

Luke dodges his hand and almost falls back onto the bed, laughing. “Oh, dear. Please, your worship, accept this humble Jedi’s apology--”

“I mean it, stop--” He probably sounds petulant. He can’t bring himself to care.

Luke’s smile gentles. So do his eyes, impossibly blue. Huh. He’s beautiful. “I’m just teasing you,” he says, beautifully. “I know this doesn’t change anything here. Just another facet of the man I’ve been getting to know.”

“Ah. So you’ve been.” Din clears his throat. That feels awful, as it is still very dry. “Getting to know me. Huh?”

Does this qualify as flirting? This is probably awful. Din’s not good at this. And anyway, it’s still unclear if Luke is actually--???

The softest pair of lips in the galaxy (the galaxy!!!) is on his forehead. Din’s chest implodes. He can feel Luke’s smile on his skin. He’s never felt anything like it before. How is this happening? He’s most likely still sick, and this is a fever dream.

“I’d like to get to know much more of you,” Luke says, withdrawing, still smiling, his eyes like sun-streaked oceans. Din has no breath in his chest.

He delays his reaction two seconds too long, and Luke’s expression begins to falter. “I’m... sorry, you’ve just recovered, and here I am putting... this on you.” He gestures broadly at himself in his entirety. “I... hold on, I’ll go get you, um, a glass of water or something...”

Din would like a glass of water. He would not like Luke to leave. The latter wins out. “Wait.” He grasps Luke’s wrist before he can get up. “I didn’t mean... I would, um. Like to get to know you also.”

Luke stills, his face a turmoil of emotion. How is this the same man who looked so utterly serene to the point of expressionlessness when they first met?

Din figures it’s way past time he made a move. Luke’s already gone and bared himself so much. It’s only fair that he meet him halfway, Din thinks and kisses him.

[toosicktoocare]

not to totally ignore what you just asked for but is there any possibility we could have some mandalorian sickfic 👀 if not no worries of course! hope you're well :)

I’m a little late to this ask, buuuuuuut:

7,200 seconds. It’s been 7,200 seconds since Din passed the kid over to the...Jedi, and his nerves are frayed around the edges. His mind is a hot, chunky gear of stuttering ‘what ifs’ that he can’t shake. He’s reduced to pacing the small length of floor behind the controls, helmet familairly replaced over his head to hide the very unfamilair aching burn behind his eyes. 

“Settle yourself.” 

Din’s feet stumble to a stop, and he whips around, squinting at the back of Boba’s head. 

“I can’t.” He clears his throat, watching as Boba’s shoulders rise and fall with a low sigh. 

“This was what you’ve set out to do. Was it not? Deliver the child to a Jedi.”

Din’s face where Grogu touched, his bare skin, still tingles, warm, odd, and weirdly comforting. “It was.” He raises his hand up to his helmet, fingers ghosting above it. 

“Then settle yourself.” 

“I can’t.” 

Vulnerable admission feels like dry drowning. Din knows he’s not submerged in water, and yet, his lungs are struggling against a dense weight, and his heart is sinking. He grips the back of a seat to keep his hands from visibly shaking. 

“When have you last slept?”

Din rips his gaze from the floor to see Boba standing beside him, helmet abandoned on an empty seat, and face a portrait of passive emotions. 

“Why does that matter?” Din growls, fingers tightening around the back of the seat. “The kid’s gone, and...” Nothing else matters, he thinks. His drive’s been handed over to someone more suited, and he feels simultaneously too heavy yet alarmingly empty. 

“Your armor is cracking.”

Scoffing, Din brings a hand to his chest plate. “The dark troopers-”

“Not that armor.” 

Din’s breath catches in his throat, a small, tight, gasping inhale that trembles against his lungs, and he stumbles around the chair until he flops down onto it, bracing his elbows against his knees and thumbing the bottom edge of his helmet. 

“My purpose-”

“-Is ever evolving,” Boba finishes, taking the seat beside Din. “Is that not the way?” 

Din sighs, a low exhale that’s been building and swelling in his chest since he first laid eyes on the Jedi. The breath hurts, and he winces, hand moving to his chest place. 

“You are unwell.” 

Din leans back in the chair and drags a low, tired gaze toward Boba. “I just need some rest.” 

“We’ll fly on auto for a few hours. I’ll tell the others to leave you be up here.” 

Din’s silently thankful, feeling more at ease at the helm of a ship, and he slips his helmet off, aware that Boba’s quietly observing his every move but too drained to verbally adress it. 

He keeps his half-lidded eyes cast forward when Boba brushes cold fingers against his cheek, but he can’t supress the small shiver that shoots up his spine, stopping just shy of his too-warm neck. 

“Sleep. I’ll be back in a few hours to check that fever.” 

Din waits until Boba leaves to give into his body’s muted screams of illness and exhaustion. He coughs weakly into his fist, closing with a low groan that grates against his throat like glass. 

He’s not one to ignore his health and well-being, fully understanding the importance a steady, clear mind brings to a mission, but... His eyes fall to a control lever with a small, round ball screwed on the top. 

This time, he thinks, it was worth it. 

[zombified419]

This week’s update is a hurt/comfort DinLuke sickfic dedicated to my darling @numtwleve, who hasn’t been feeling well for the past two weeks. I wanted to do something to help cheer her up!

I’ll be back to the normal update schedule for ‘Naberrie Blooms’ next week.

I hope you all enjoy ‘Lovesick Fool’!

Excerpt:

“Leia,” Luke croaks, cradling his phone between his shoulder and cheek. “Come get me.”

“What? Why?” She asks, dubious; Luke hears her shuffling things around on the other side of the line and sniffles, wondering why she doesn’t sound more concerned that he’s trying to get a ride somewhere before lunchtime sounding like he’s drowning underwater.

“Because I feel like shit,” he replies wryly. A passerby slows to look at him, narrowing their eyes, and Luke offers a thin smile in return before they continue on. “Please?”

“No, that’s what your boyfriend is for,” Leia answers, tone distracted. The shuffling grows louder, pausing before Leia curses. “Is Din busy or something?”

Luke swallows around the scratchy dryness in this throat, further exasperating it before answering. “I - don’t know.”

Leia pauses. “...what do you mean you don’t know? You two live in each other’s pockets, brother mine.”