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#đŸŽ« // din djarin
fabricated-misslieness · 2 years
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pairing: Din Djarin x gn reader
req: no | wc: 939
summary: Din is curious about that ring you always seem to be wearing.
warnings: mention of death, lightly touched upon
a/n: Don't ask me why it's only been about rings with Din so far.
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Din thinks, in these moments where you get to lay in bed without a worry in the world, that everything is right. He thinks, as he absentmindedly fiddles with your fingers, that nothing will trouble him. Nothing will trouble him, so long as you're here. You're safe here, in his arms; unarmored as they may be.
It wasn't morning, nor was it night, yet you laid in bed together. The midday sun of this planet did not allow safe travel during the afternoon. If he were to leave at this time, he would burn alive in his beskar, obstructive armor.
Although, the conditions did give him an excuse to relax. Your offer for an afternoon energy nap was agreed upon instantly.
"What is it with you and rings?" Din asks rather brashly. It was just a thought, one that came out of his lips in an impulsive tumble.
"What ever do you mean?" You reply, feigning offense.
"Sorry." He mutters, registering his previous tone. "Just
 I was thinking about it—your ring. You used to wear it a lot before I met you, and you continued on until we officially started traveling together. After that, you suddenly stopped. Your hands were bare. And then, when we had our first kiss, you–"
"When we started dating." You correct.
"Yes. You started wearing it again. Only this time, differently." He continues, spinning the ring around your finger as he talks, "You wear it on your right hand. The first time, the heart was pointed towards the fingertips; the second time, towards the wrist."
Din was an observant man, you knew that. But to be this observant? Especially of you? It was a little flattering. He had noticed your ring even early on.
That posed a question. "How do you suppose I should wear it?"
"Hmm." The Mandalorian hums as he thinks. Then, almost gingerly, he slips the ring off your right hand's index finger and switches to your left hand. He splays the hand atop his own, and continues to debate himself internally.
"Struggling?"
"No." He says immediately.
As if you kickstarted him, he finally makes a decision. He pushes the ring down your left ring finger, with the heart's point toward the fingertips.
You grin rosily, which confuses him. "Did you just propose to me, Din Djarin?"
His head snaps down to you, his visor fixing in a way that you know he's staring into your eyes. "What?" He blurts out, a tinge of shock in his tone.
He was never one to share the knowledge that he was surprised; that information was valuable to morally gray bystanders.
You laugh, knowing that you'd set him up. A ring with a crown atop a heart (and hands holding them both) was most fitting on a ring finger.
Din huffs in return to your laugh, wanting to know exactly what was going on. Otherwise, he wouldn't know how to handle your accusation of proposal. The idea wasn't too far-fetched to begin with.
"This is a Claddagh ring, Din." You say, but he is still puzzled. "It has different meanings depending on which hand it is on and where the tip of the heart is pointing."
He nods, slowly, finally comprehending; so you continue. "The way I wore it before I met you–"
"Right hand pointed outward?" He recalls.
"Oh." So you liked him that early on. "Me too. I mean that—that I liked you too, then. I was interested."
"Precisely." You reply, "It means that I'm single and looking for a partner. So when I moved in with you, and took it off, it meant that
 that I wasn't looking anymore."
His heart speeds up, and you can hear it, having your ear to his chest. "Mm," You hum and press a kiss to the back of his gloved hand. He hums too, pleased, despite it not being exposed skin. "that's good to know."
"Then, once we knew of our feelings for each other, and we started dating," You repeat the words that Din is somehow, still to this day, afraid to say sometimes. "I wore it on the right hand, pointing in. That meant I was in a relationship."
"And now on my left hand?" You prod.
Din answers, "Ring finger, heart pointed outwards. Engaged."
"Yes." You affirm, but you leave it at that. You glance up at him to find that he stares, now, at the ceiling. He's thinking. You can almost see the gears turning in his head through the helmet.
He doesn't speak for a while, still thinking. You're sure his perception of time in that brain storm of his isn't active, but if it was, he'd notice that it's been well over five minutes.
You give him that time, tracing your finger along his clothed arm, from his shoulder to his wrist. Then, when you run out of that, you move to his stomach and run circles along it. Din shudders in a way that lets you know he's still here, conscious.
"Then it's correct."
It had been a fifty-fifty. Fifty precent chance that he'd accept the idea, the idea of your engagement, and then another fifty that he'd rather stay comfortable in a relationship and not marriage. You had prepared yourself for both outcomes.
But, even so, you find yourself shocked. "Truly?" You ask breathlessly.
He stares down, you stare up. Then, he gives you the smallest yet most reassuring of nods.
With a grin, you prop yourself up on your elbows and lean down to his helmet. Din meets you half-way, pressing his forehead to yours.
"Will you marry me?" He finally asks.
"Yes."
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kkonito · 1 year
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went to barnes and noble yesterday and had the silliest little experience of seeing a sign over a table filled with mandalorian memorabilia that read “everyone’s favorite daddy is back at it again” 10/10 experience would love to see it again
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fabricated-misslieness · 2 years
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pairing: din djarin x gn reader
req: no | wc: 2k | pre-relationship
summary: Din wasn’t very keen on rings, but for you, he might be.
warnings: swearing, mentions of blood and small injury (no description), violence (not the main focus)
a/n: almost misspelled mandalorian each time i wrote it
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“Hold my ring, will you?”
Mando zones back in when you take his hand. His instincts tell him to flinch away, but you hold him steady. “Thanks.” Without waiting for an answer, you slide your ring over his gloved index finger and leave just as fast as you came.
His attention stays on you this time ‘round.
“Hey, dunghead! Ya wanna say that again?” You provoke the Klatooinian, who happens to be substantially larger than you. Mando notices the Klatooinian’s eyes had been on you ever since his trek up to him to deposit your ring. The only thing he hopes, at the moment, is that his friends don’t follow you back to his ship. Then the two of you would have a lot more problems.
The ugly guy’s nose flares and he leaves his spot by his friends. “Which one?” He cracks his knuckles, “The one about your dick or the one about your mom?”
Your response? A punch to the head. “All of the above.”
Mando can only flinch in accordance to the blows you land on the guy (and cover the kid’s eyes). He knows you pack a punch, but damn, the way the Klatooinian is practically thrown half-way across the room with each one is enough to make him feel it himself.
When you come back to him, hands slightly bloodied and knuckles bruised, he offers you his hand again silently.
“Thank you.” You take the ring back the same way you put it on, holding his hand gently with one hand and taking it with the other.
Mentally, Mando thanks the creed for having to wear his helmet, otherwise you would see his flustered look.
On the way back to the ship, Mando grumbles about it. “You could’ve just asked me to hold on to it.”
“Whatever do you mean, Mando?”
“I didn’t have to wear it.”
“Oh,” You chuckle, “It doesn’t much matter, does it? Or perhaps it would bother your aesthetics, hm? Black wool gloves and gold rings?”
Mando rolls his eyes and, for a moment, he wishes you’d be able to see it. “No, that’s not it
” He thinks upon it, thinks for reasons as to why he’s so bothered. “It’s just, well, it’s yours. I guess.”
“Well, sharing is caring.”
Sharing is caring, he knew that.
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He knew he was sharing when he allowed you to stay with him, he was sharing the Crest. He knew he was sharing when he gave you food, he was sharing his rations. He knew he was sharing when the child started looking up to you too
 you were sharing custody.
He also knew he was caring when he had your own little sleeping nook set up. He knew he was caring when he woke you with the smell of breakfast. He knew he was caring when he trusted you in taking care of the child, when you and he played and he didn’t have to worry.
But somehow, for some reason, rings were where he crossed the line.
Mando is startled out of his thinking when the child tugs at his pant leg. “Hey,” He breathes out, “what’s up, buddy?”
The child only quirks his head inquisitively. Mando thinks nothing of it, until he catches only the smallest glint of metal hidden within his kid’s robes. “What’s that?”
He coos, thrusting a metal ring up in the air as if triumphant.
One glance at the engravings, wear and rust and he knows whose it is. It was yours. 
“Where’d you get that from?” He kneels and reaches out to grab it, but is instead met with resistance. The kid holds it away from him, and while it is only a small distance away compared to Mando’s reach, he doesn’t dare take it away from him, not like that. “That’s not yours.” He states plainly. 
The kid frowns in return. “Okay, okay. I’ll give you this in exchange.” Mando takes the metal ball he knows he’s oh so fond of and holds it out. When the child reaches out to grab it, he pulls away. “Hey.” He says sternly, “Exchange.”
The kid grumbles but holds out the ring. Mando does the same. The exchange is quick, and in no time, the child is happily playing around with the ball, forgetting about the ring like it was a mere passing glance.
"Thank you."
As if he called for you, you appear out of nowhere. "Hey, Mando, have you seen my ring?" You see it in his hand before he can answer, "I thought I said sharing was caring, not stealing." 
It's only a playful remark, but he still raises his free hand in defense. "The child had it. Maybe you should keep better track of your things."
He offers it to you. However, just like last time, you slide it down his index finger.
"How about you keep it safe for me?"
Mando could sense something was off. "What, you're not going to fight someone again, are you?"
It's your turn to be on the defense, "What? No, no. I just
 think it looks good on you."
He quirks an eyebrow, except you can't see that, so he inclines his head, "Does it?"
"Yeah." You say innocently.
"Uh-huh." Though, evidently, he doesn't believe you.
"Hey, you! (y/n)! I still haven't paid you back for last time!" The words would've been friendly enough if you hadn't recognized the voice.
You turn on your heel slowly, hoping to the universe on the way around for you to be wrong. You weren't, though, and that was the problem.
Mean guy. Never learned his name. Served him a knuckle sandwich on the house, seems he insisted on paying for it.
"This is totally unrelated, Mando."
"Mmhm."
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When Mando wakes for another day, he smells breakfast in the air, even through the door to his sleeping cubby. The child had probably smelled it before him, ferocious appetite he had, as he was missing from his hammock.
You're his first sight that morning when he opens the door, and by the creed, you were a good one.
The sight of the child on your hip alone was enough to make him melt, but to see you enjoying your food and feeding bits of it to the child every time he cooed (which was frequent) was something else.
He was so stuck in his stare that you spoke before him, "Morning, Mando."
"...morning."
"Saved you some breakfast if you wanted to eat upstairs."
He nods slightly, still recovering from the view, "Thank you."
He avoids your eyes from then on, else he slips up and forgets all about the Mandalorian way. So he keeps them, instead, on different things. His focus ends up on the plate when he grabs it, and that's when he notices it. Your ring.
"Did you slip this on me while I was sleeping?"
"Hm?" You follow his gaze, "Oh, no. Maybe you forgot to give it to me."
Forget? How could he forget? It was yours.
But sharing was caring, and you cared a lot about him.
When he lands on a planet you'd asked him to, for a random reason he didn't much mind, he didn't plan to stay on the ship. The Razor Crest was his ship, and she was his home, but he wasn't one to be holed up in there everyday.
With the child in a bag slung around his shoulder, he sets out on a mindless adventure.
The planet you'd asked him to bring you to was covered in a well established city. High buildings went up as far as the eye could see, along with smaller quainter ones. It's one of these that catches his eye; a jeweler.
The whole interaction becomes a blur. One moment he's looking at the window display, the next he's right outside the entrance wearing not one, but two rings.
What was he thinking?
One of them was yours, the other
 the other was his; a silver that resembled his beskar. It was a plain thing compared to your detailed one, and even more aghast with the color contrast of gold and silver, but he couldn't help but think it looked nice.
Maybe like the two of you together, although he wasn't so sure of that.
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He arrived at the Crest before you did, pretending like it was the same as any other old, simple arrival. It felt far from it.
He was nervous. Why was he so nervous?
He knew why, but he pretended he didn't, too. Otherwise it would make him far more nervous. He was miserably failing, though.
Which is why you arrived to a pacing Mandalorian.
"You alright, Din?"
"Yeah, yeah." He shakes his head disappointedly at himself. "I'm good."
He moves to you quickly. Needless to say, you're confused at his quick proximity to you. "You're sure?"
He grabs your hand, "Yeah." and slips your ring on your finger. Then–subtly, he hopes–he slips on his own silver one.
Either he wasn't subtle enough or you were watching the whole time. "What's this?"
He gulps and hopes it's not audible, "My ring."
"I didn't know you owned one."
"I didn't
" You raise a brow. He covers it up quickly, hoping you didn't think that he stole it off a dead guy and put it on your finger like it was romantic. "Not until today."
"Well, that's sweet." You remark with a chuckle.
"Sharing is caring." He reminds you.
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You had a proclivity for fights, and more often than not, Mando was wearing both your rings. As an excuse, you claimed that, while it would deal more damage wearing rings to an opponent as if it were like a pair of brass knuckles, it would also press back against your finger with every punch. In the long run, it would cause more bruising to your fingers. Or so you said. 
One day, as he watched you lead another bar fight, the bar owner sat beside him in his cushioned booth.
"I can't decide whether this is bad for business or," They take a puff of their smoke, "good."
Mando shrugs in a silent response. 
He keeps his eye on the fight. The bar owner, on the other hand
 "Never seen a married Mandalorian before."
His eyes quickly snap to his hand, which was previously rapping boredly against the booth table. Lo and behold, there was your ring, sitting prettily around his left ring finger. Oh, you.
Did you even see which finger you were putting it on before you lugged a chair at a random guy?
"I
 I'm not–I," He clears his throat. "I'm-"
You pull up a chair for yourself at the booth, the backing of it facing the table. "Hey Mando." You lean your arms above the back as you pant to regain your breath. "Who's this?"
The bar owner smirks and raises their arms, "Nobody important." They stand from the booth, not wanting to interrupt the lovers.
"Weird." You shrug. "Phew, that was a good one."
"A good fight?"
"Yeah."
Mando takes your hand while you're distracted taking several good gulps from your pint glass. He takes a moment to consider where to put the ring, though in his heart, there is only one spot.
He leaves your gold ring around his own hand and places his silver one on your left ring finger. 
You're still drinking away when what he's done actually sets in. He blushes hard and, once again, thanks the creed for his helmet.
He can imagine, just for a moment, that he's more than just your chaperone; more than a travel partner and more than a friend.
He continues to stare, as if mesmerized, until he is forced to snap out of it as shattered glass rains over the booth. First, he covers the child. Second, he figures out what happened.
A bar fighter, who had previously been knocked to the ground (he can tell from the forming bruises and blood), had stood back up for another round. Maybe he missed your face by a mere, drunken inches; or maybe he'd aimed correctly.
"Oh, goodie. Now you've given me a reason" You stand, for once not immediately caring for the ring on your finger, and take a swing.
All at once, the bar fight roars again.
It's not long until you'll turn back to him to give him back the ring. You won't notice where it was placed.
But he doesn't care for that. Sharing was caring, and he cared for you. There'd be time for it later.
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