Din Djarin/Mando/The Mandalorian: One Shots, Imagines, etc.

Cyar'ika pt. 1

A/N: My sister just told me this joke and idk why im laughing: what happens when you punch Dwayne Johnson's butt? You hit rock bottom

Warnings: blood, injuries, fever, 

Word Count: 1108

You've known Mando - Din, since you two were children, playing at the ankles of the other, older, Mandalorians. You two grew up together, trained with each other, told each other your names at hardly a blink of an eye, swore yourselves to the Creed on the same day. After that, you two did go your separate ways, him joining the Guild as a bounty hunter, you deciding to do the same job, except you didn't work for the Guild. Because of this, you two didn't see each other often, but that's fine because you made time for each other. Din's probably the only person you trust. And him, well, he definitely trusts you. If he didn't, you two wouldn't be friends. You're the only person he goes out of his way to meet up with for company, and nothing else.

So hopefully he won't mind that you just managed to break into his ship so you could get somewhere where the beskar won't be ripped off your body by people taking advantage of your current state. Or that despite both your hands pressed into the wound, you're bleeding all over the floor from the wound that you recieved after being a little bit too lazy on a hunt. Or that smear of gore left behind you when you dragged yourself up the cargo ramp. Or the fact that you could very well steal the child from where he's sleeping peacefully in the cot to your right.

You know he'll see the scuff marks and prints in the dust around his ship, so you aren't surprised when he climbs up the ramp with his blaster raised and ready.

'Hands up,' he says in that cool, measured voice that you love, despite the crackle of static that masks it almost fully. Your heart aches, because it reminds you that you'll never see him with his helmet off, unless he... No, he'd never. To Din, you're a friend. Nothing else.

'I - I don't think I c - can put my hands up,' you gasp out. 'Unless y - you want my g - guts on your floor.'

'Stars, Y/N,' he mutters, and you grin weakly under your helmet, which turns to a grimace as he scoops you up, careful not to jar your gloved hands where they're pressed against your side.

'G - guess I should h - have listened to you when we were y - ounger and you t - told me I had to be more careful,' you grit out.

'Shut up,' he mutters, setting you down carefully on his cot and moving lightning fast from crate to crate, rummaging through them, cursing under his breath, the closest to panic you've ever seen. Eventually, he growls a long string of Outer Rim expletives since all he has is a needle and thread. Your eyes droop, and somehow he must know, because he practically slaps you across the helmet, the jolt making your eyes snap back open, a whimper falling from your lips, your hands weakening as they press into your wound, keeping the blood in.

'Stay awake,' he pleads. 'I'm sorry, I don't have any - any bacta. I've got to stitch you up before I leave to get any. I'm going to have to t - take this off, okay?'

'Don't - don't let me die, Din,' you pant, and you could swear you hear a choked sob as he yanks his gloves off, his warm, steady hands start ripping away your breastplate, then your undershirt, and you can't help but notice the way his calluses scrape against the scar marred skin of your stomach. You focus on the feel of it, jaw clenched, trying to blot out the pain.

'Oh Maker,' he gulps, surveying your wound, and you don't dare look, just fix your eyes on his visor, right where you know his eyes are. He threads the needle, cursing his clumsiness, and suddenly 

Blinding pain. Throbbing through your stomach, bright shafts of agony, and you swallow your scream, hands fisting in Din's sheets. You hear yourself gasping his name, but he doesn't, won't stop, apologizing again and again as he sews you back up, and dimly, your voice begs him to distract you, and then there's that soft baritone, masked by the vocoder, yet still there, still human, and you fall silent, focusing on his voice, anything but the pain, and he's whispering things you hear but don't understand, his voice engulfing you - and then it stops. The pain reduces, and the muscles you unknowingly tensed relax.

'What?' You slur.

'I'm finished. Go to sleep, cyar'ika.'

Your brain registers the last word more than the others. Sweetheart, in Mando'a. He just - Din just called you... The rest of your brain deciphers the former part of his sentence, and your eyelids slam shut.

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

You wake up shivering. Din's crouched by the cot, one hand on the skin of your neck since he can't exactly touch your forehead. You giggle deliriously at the thought of taking off your helmet in front of him, and he cocks his head.

'Y/N?' He asks softly, and you become aware that the shirt on you is far too big and definitely smells like him. Underneath is some gauze over your stitches, and you can tell that he's already applied the bacta.

'This your shirt?' You slur, even though it's pretty obvious. Din turns his helmet away, and you feel his gaze move off you.

'I got the bacta too late,' he says, voice heavy with worry. 'You've got a fever.'

'Cold,' you mumble, and suddenly, he looks so warm, so inviting, and some weird part of your memory remembers Din's basically a furnace. You wrap your fingers around his wrist, yanking him towards you. No way he's caught by surprise, Din doesn't do surprised, so he must let you drag him closer so you can bury your face into the fabric of his cape, feeling the heat of his body radiating through the cloth. Happily, you sigh, one hand crawling over his shoulder to start undoing his breastplate.

'Y/N,' he chokes out as you chuck it over his shoulder and meld yourself into his chest, absorbing his warmth.

'Why are you calling me my name now? You called me cyar'ika before,' you whine, not really aware that you're speaking out loud. He freezes, then his hand cups the back of your neck and  pulls you close, stroking your hair.

'Go to sleep,' he soothes, but his voice shakes a little.

'But - '

'I'll - I'll explain to you later,' he mutters, and touches his forehead to yours.

'Keldabe kiss,' you mumble, and he nods.

'Yeah. Sleep now.' He pauses. 'Cyar'ika.'

AIGHT SO WHO WANTS PART TWO