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sirowsky · 3 years

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The Stories We Tell Ourselves (One-Shot)

Author's Note: So, this was an ask sent to me by my darling wife, @lucrezia-thoughts a while back, that I for some reason never actually added to my collection of works. Which seemed like a shame, since I'm kinda proud of it (it was my very first ask), so I thought I'd re-post it and give it a proper spotlight. Description: Mando's injured and Grogu's bored, so fem!reader tells him a bedtime story.

Rating: Everyone (all fluff all the way on this one, though blood is mentioned) Word Count: 1872

It had been one of those days when one thing had just bled into another, and everything had gone wrong. It was a miracle all three of you had survived, but the Mandalorian had been injured, trying to protect you from a very unpleasant trader, who had knives concealed everywhere in his clothing. Mando had been cut along his side, and while the injury would heal on its own, it had bled a lot before you’d been able to get back to the Crest and properly dress it. He’d insisted on getting the ship off the planets surface before he’d allowed you to help him, and as a result, there was blood everywhere. He hadn’t actually hired you, he had just sort of… realised that the kid liked you and decided that if you were brave enough to stick with them despite the danger of their situation, without even asking for payment, then he wouldn’t stop you.

You weren’t sure if he actually liked you. It was hard to tell with him, even after months of being couped up with the man. You could quite easily read him around others, as you’d become familiar with his body language and mannerisms, so you knew how he should behave if he liked you. But for some reason, he behaved differently with you. His body language was always much more still and maybe even careful, around you, as though he was afraid you’d break if he accidentally bumped into you. It was more than a little annoying, sometimes, since it made it difficult to define what your relationship actually was. But it was mostly just annoying because you wanted him to bump into you. He was a mystery, but that wasn’t what drew you to him. He was kind and respectful, quiet but strong, in both body and conviction. He wasn’t too proud or too self-assured, but he was loyal and protective and gentle. It was quite amazing to you that he was so proficient at using those hands for violence, when he was also so tender with the baby. It had brought tears to your eyes on more than one occasion.

When you’d finally cleaned the last remnants of blood from the controls in the cock-pit, you headed back down to check on Mando. But your eyes fell on the empty pram sitting on the floor of the cargo-bay.

“Oh, no. Kid… where’d you go?”

You searched quietly, not wanting to wake Mando after you’d finally gotten him to lay down in his bunk to rest, before going to scrub the blood away. But then you heard a muffled giggle, and of course it came from the damned bunk. You’d left the door open so that you could easily hear it if he stirred or seemed to worsen in any way.

“No, no, no… Come on, get out of there, let the man rest.”

You reached in and snatched the kid off of Mando’s chest and then stood there for a minute, rocking him quietly against your hip, while you listened for any sign that your… companion… had woken up. You eventually sighed and sat down on a crate, directly behind the bunk, cradling the kid in your arms.

“You’re supposed to be sleeping, you know.”

He just cooed and looked at you with bright eyes.

“Okay. How about a bedtime story?”

He just blinked and angled his head a bit more towards you.

“Hm, let’s see. When I was young, my mother would tell me stories about love to get me to sleep. She said that a child that feels loved, will always have the comfort to sleep soundly. So, this story begins with a King. A good, and kind man who rules his land with open arms and a warm heart, but also protects it with ferocity and conviction. Because that land holds everything that he loves, and without it – he’d be broken. One day, when the King is travelling, he finds an orphan outside of his dominion, and being the good man that he is, he brings the child home, to raise as his own. He has no idea how to do that, and it’s chaotic most of the time, especially since his duties can’t be put on hold while he cares for a baby. He still has to rule the land. But he loves that baby so much, that no matter how hard it gets, he endures. He doesn’t care that he hasn’t slept in days, or that he’s always terrified that something’s gonna happen to his boy. None of it matters, as long as the child is safe.”

Mando woke up the moment the kid climbed onto his chest. It was reflexive at this point. Even though he knew that you were there, and would care for the boy without his asking, he was already conditioned to react to whatever the little one needed. But he was wounded and tired, and he heard you coming down from the cock-pit, probably having cleaned up his mess – yet again, so he ignored the kid, and made no effort to let you know that he was awake, when you came to pick the child up. He was in some pain, the wound throbbing a little with each beat of his pulse, which made falling back asleep a little harder, even though he was exhausted. And it was surprisingly nice, just listening to you talk quietly to the kid, not knowing he could hear you. It wasn’t surprising that he found it nice; he found everything about you nice. It was surprising that he enjoyed the eavesdropping aspect so much. That he liked the intimacy of listening to you when your guard was down, and you were just being a woman caring for a child. He listened closely to your story, not missing the clear similarities to your actual life and the way you two had met.

“So, when the King has to travel again, he decides to bring his son along, and they go on a long and adventurous journey together. But on their way back, they come across a woman, wounded and in need of help. And because the King is a good man, he brings the woman to his castle, and helps her heal. And while she heals, she repays the King his kindness, by looking after his son while he cares for his kingdom. And as the woman watches her rescuer, and sees the true warmth of his heart as he cares for his land as closely, and tenderly, as he cares for his son, she falls in love with him.”

He nearly stopped breathing as he heard the words. Could you really mean him? The rest of the story was more or less exactly your story, so you had to be talking about him. He had never allowed himself to consider it. To think that you could ever want to be with a man like him, no matter how much he might want you to. He knew that his efforts to restrain himself around you made him seem stiff and perhaps a bit cold, and it always hurt him to see you try so hard to read him, to understand why he was different towards you than his friends. But if you wanted him too… that changed everything.

“But this wonderful man is a King, and she’s just a woman he found on the side of the road. She has no claim to him, and she’s afraid to tell him how she feels, because if he doesn’t feel the same, it’ll break her heart. So, she cares for the child as best she can, and hopes that he won’t make her leave the castle once she’s healed. And he doesn’t. He let’s her stay, and over time, she finds the courage to tell him the truth, and he reveals that he loves her too. And together they raise the child with love and happiness and adventures, and that’s how this little story ends, my sweet.”

The kid was asleep by the time you finished the tale, and you rocked him gently in your arms after you fell silent, to make sure he wouldn’t stir once you got up to put him back in his pram. You tucked him in snugly, and then closed the little egg up, to keep him warm and safe. Once you were done, you raised your hand up to your neck, rubbing idly at the knots and strained muscles, after such a long day of hardships and stress, and you couldn’t stop the exhausted sigh that escaped you. The movement to your side didn’t register in your brain until Mando was already sitting up at the edge of the bunk, and it startled you. You flinched and then your brain woke up again, and you approached him.

“Hey, what’s the matter, are you okay? Do you need anything?”

Oh, stars above… the number of ways that he could answer that last question.

“I was about to ask you the same thing.”

“No, no, you’re the one that’s wounded, which means I’m the only one that gets to ask that.”

He considered that for a moment.

“I heard your story, mesh’la.”

You froze, and suddenly your heart was frantic in your chest. He heard… all of that? You’d been so certain he was completely passed out! You hadn’t meant to pour so much truth into the story, but it had happened anyway, and now he knew how you felt. He knew. He saw you begin to panic and reached a gloved hand out to you, which you couldn’t bring yourself to take, but before you could back away from him, he reached for your waist instead, and pulled you in closer, until you were standing between his slightly bent knees as he rested against the bunk. You were flustered and shocked to suddenly be so close to him, and you found yourself having trouble figuring out where to put your hands in the small space between you. He’d never given any indication that he liked it whenever you’d touched him, so you settled for resting your palms on the flat and cool beskar on his chest, with your eyes firmly planted on the diamond shaped indentation at the centre of it.

“It was a very good story. I really liked it.”

Your eyes snapped up to stare at his visor, and you wanted to say a thousand things. But nothing came out. You felt him draw in a shaky breath, before his hands tightened on your hips, pulling you even closer. Then he bent his head forwards, leaning his helmet against your forehead, and your arms found their way around his waist, suddenly needing to hold him to you, now that he’d finally given you his silent permission.

“Would you tell me another story?”

His voice was trembling just a bit. Just enough that you could tell through the modulator.

“Okay. What would you like to hear?”

“Tell me how the story continues, after the King declares his love for the woman? Tell me how they live happily ever after… and I promise I’ll try to make the story come true for you.”

THE END

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian oneshot #mando x fem!reader #the mandalorian x fem!reader #mando x reader #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin x female reader #baby grogu #baby yoda #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #sweet fluff

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dindyke · 3 years

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Three Ways A Clan Is Torn Apart : 1301 words, din djarin/luke skywalker, canon compliant, major character death

The attack on Luke Skywalker's Jedi Academy by the newly formed Kylo Ren diverges at three points, three ways in which Din Djarin and Grogu lose and are reunited with the final member of their Clan of Three.

Midnight finds the Mand'alor still in conference, with no clear end in sight. His advisors argue amongst themselves, and Din shifts in his seat, waiting for them to finish. His throat is coated with an acid he cannot seem to swallow down, and he can’t focus on the blabber.

When Grogu pushes the heavy doors open, guards flat on their asses behind his small body, the chatter is forgotten completely. Grogu speaks to them all through the Force.

Buir, we must leave. There is a disturbance on Yavin IV. I cannot sense the Children, he says.

He hears the end of a protest from Bo Katan and leaves the room in a hurry, hoping they will come to understand that if his family is in jeopardy, he must go. That is his Way.

“Your father? Can you sense him?” Din asks as they quickly make their way to their ship.

Faint. He is faint, is all Grogu says in return.

The trip to Yavin IV is silent, spare for their breathing. When they land, amongst the rubble and the smell of death, it suffocates them. Grogu places his small hands on every cold body, pushing energy through the Force until he sways and can no longer stand.

They didn’t find Luke. However, his X-Wing was missing, and neither his robes nor his corpse were anywhere to be found. Hope. That was their hope.

The two of them put out the fires and cleaned the dead as they waited for Leia and the families to arrive. To bury them here would be presumptuous. Many of the students had parents, siblings, who had come to visit frequently as Din had with Grogu in the earliest years.

When nothing was left to busy his hands with, Din sat at the edge of the smoldering temple, weeping into his knees. He couldn’t bear to think of what may have happened should Grogu not have traveled with him to Mandalore.

His exchange with Leia was brief, conveying what he’d seen, what he hadn’t. Her son was missing from the bodies as well… they could understand what this meant. She told him she’d felt it when he turned. She looked more devoid of joy than he had ever seen her.

As he and Grogu sped away to find her brother, he knew she gave a politician’s performance to the arriving families of the victims. Stoic and just warm enough to be inspiring, she could handle this in a way he never could, for his covert nor his citizens.

Tracking down a Jedi Master had been hard enough when Luke was a cocky young man, only barely caring to stay under the radar. A Jedi Master who didn’t want to be found would be even harder.

However, if Luke wanted to go missing, he had married the wrong man. Din was the Mand’alor, but he was a Bounty Hunter first, and he would never forget.

Determination in his heart, he set off, his son at his side, to regain their lost Clan Member.

“We’ll bring you home, cyar’ika.”

II.

Din Djarin wakes to an empty bed, the sheets cold although the air outside is scorching. He smells smoke. He dons his armor as quickly as he may have 30 years ago and rushes from his hut, finding Luke nowhere.

Children are screaming.

He runs through the stone and brick plaza, and when he sees the first body, he chokes on his breath. She’s already dead, a perfectly cauterized slice torn through her abdomen. She was one of their youngest.

He flings open each house, screaming for Luke and losing his hope with every child he sees slaughtered in their beds.

When he feels Grogu call to him through the Force, he nearly collapses. He’s at the temple. Din can’t run fast enough. More of the padawans lay motionless in the road, and he hopes to the Gods that someone better than him will protect them in the next world, as he has failed in this one.

The temple is aflame when he reaches it, two meek figures boldly lit in the dark night. Grogu, posed with his saber, and… and Ben.

It was Ben. Ben did this.

If he cares that Din is there, he doesn’t show it. He makes a move to approach Grogu (the kid must have got him good, he’s got a limp), but Din is there first.

He may no longer be Mand’alor, but Din has always been a fighter, a protector. And he’d damn himself a million times over before he lets a Sith touch his son.

As he had all his life, Din Djarin fights valiantly, with every tool in his arsenal and his family at the forefront of his mind.

When Luke wakes up, disoriented and bruised beneath the ruins of Ben’s hut, he finds everything he worked for gone. His students, his school, his legacy, and his order. In front of the ashes of the Jedi temple, lie his son and his husband. Even if he could have healed them from the brink of death, it was far too late.

III.

There were several points between Bo Katan finally mercy-challenging Din for the title of Mand’alor and the six years he had now spent with Luke in his self-inflicted exile where Din really believed he could change his husband’s mind.

He understands this shame. He’d failed to protect their students too. Some of those padawans had come from Mandalore. And they’d lost most of them. The few who survived were left in the hands of the Republic, now, or with their families.

Luke had called Leia and left immediately, with Din and Grogu hot on his trail. He hadn’t wanted them to come with him. He was undeserving, he was dangerous, he’d said. He had lost himself in his trauma and nearly destroyed one member of his family, what would stop him from destroying them? He’d holed himself away within a mountain, bringing down the cave opening to keep them out.

Din and Grogu sat outside, calling to him every once and a while. Grogu occasionally shifted a rock, but he didn’t open it. They both knew Luke needed to do that on his own. After a few days of punishing himself in the stale darkness, he came back out.

That first week on Ahch-To was hard. Luke didn’t talk much. He mostly paced, up and down the winding dirt pathways of the first Jedi temple. He talked to himself, cursed at the skies, and cried against the Seeing Stone.

By the second week, Luke allowed himself to sleep at his husband’s side. It was fitful and sparse, but it was familiar.

Din respected Luke’s wishes of anonymity. He sent brief messages to the others, keeping his location hidden but assuring them that he would bring Luke home soon.

A year passed, and those messages grew few and far between. By the third, they had stopped completely.

As he had learned from Luke and the ways of the Jedi how to embrace possibility, peace, the Force around all things, he had hoped that Luke learned some things from the Mandalorians too. How to get back up, even after you’ve been kicked. After you’ve failed. How to maintain your honor and your beliefs in spite of intense pain and loss.

Six years later, maybe that was a foolish thought. Luke was more than capable of pulling himself out of his pain, Din knew this. He’d seen him recover time and time again from his traumas and tribulations.

But six years later, Din finally understands that it was not a problem of ability, but a problem of will.

The only one punishing Luke was himself, and until he decides he no longer deserves to be guilty, no one was going to change his mind.

#ive been thinking about this for WEEKS.#star wars fic #dinluke fic #dinluke #grogu #the mandalorian #star wars #baby yoda #skydalorian #luke skywalker #din djarin #fic #fanfiction #txt

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