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supernaturalgirl20 · 2 years

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Only You

Pairings: Din Djarin x f!reader

Warnings: Smut 18+, explicit, unprotected sex, PinV sex, breeding kink, oral (female receiving), daddy kink, slightly rough Din, cursing.

Summary: second req from my dear @scorpio-marionette, “trust me, you don’t want to know what I’ve been thinking.” For our boy Din.

A/N: I’m gonna be slow to post, after 2.5 years covid has finally got me and I’m not well so I will post when I can but I’m not putting pressure on myself. I’ll try my best because I know I have a lot of requests to get through (from like Xmas 🙊) and my Javi series needs an update but we will see. 🥰🥰

Comments and reblogs really appreciated 🥰

Din was on another planet seeking alliance - one of the many he had been on previously as a bounty Hunter. Now, he was accompanied by members of the Mandalorian council. He hated this. All the formalities of being Mand’alor. The constant negotiations and protocols, it was just too much. All he wanted was to get into the crest and get back to how it used to be. Just him, Grogu and you.

Din had zoned out of the conversation - they were all the same at this point - his mind drifting to you again. His lips curved slightly as he thought of your beautiful smile, and how it always made your eyes sparkle. He’d left you in Mandalore - not that he had much choice - and you ruled in his place while he was away. Something that required a lot of begging on his part.

He loved you and wanted to make you his wife, his queen. He succeeded with the first but you still refused to be called a queen. I don’t like titles Din, they make people think they're above everyone else when they're not. He had argued that you would make a great queen, a compassionate one but it did not deter you from your choice.

While Din was lost in his thoughts of you, Grogu had snuck away and when he realised his son was no longer with him, he panicked. Standing abruptly, he leaves the meeting to his adviser and searches for his son. He finds him in the local market, face glued to a tank of frogs and he can’t help but chuckle. He uses the force to lift one out and towards his mouth when a man shouts, startling him. “Hey, get away from them you little Hutt spawn.”

Din could feel his blood boil, his fists clenching at his side as he stormed over towards his son. Picking him up he grabbed a blade from his hip and brought it to the man’s throat. “Say that again.” The man quivered in fear and began apologising, handing a frog to Grogu. “I didn’t mean it, no harm done.” Placing the blade back in its place, Din turned to leave when a woman appeared out of nowhere.

Her hands caressed Grogu’s ears as her gaze landed on the visor of Din’s helmet. “He is just adorable, is he yours?” Din nodded, unable to speak. Her hands began to roam and landed on his arms as she squeezed his muscles. “You are such a good dad, if you want to have another - I’m happy to help.” Was she flirting with him?

Din swallowed thickly before he came to his senses and pushed her away gently. He didn’t speak. He couldn’t. Walking away he was stopped again by another woman. What in the maker? “That was amazing, what you did back there, protecting your son. Interested in having more?” Din didn’t stop this time as he barrelled back to the ship.

Boarding the crest he removed his helmet and ran his fingers through his hair - Grogu cooing happily as he sat watching his father. This had been happening a lot lately, women throwing themselves at him, wanting to mother his children. It’s not something he ever thought about. Sure he had Grogu but having children of his own - wasn’t something he ever thought he’d have. Now, it’s all he can think about.

He thinks about it every day and at night when he sleeps and now all he wants to do is get home and breed you. You are the only one he wants to be the mother of his children. He just hopes you want that too. Hitting on his com-link he summons his council back to the ship, sitting in the pilot chair and setting the coordinates for Mandalore. His body hummed with desire and his cock ached.

He needed to get home, now.

***

As soon as Din landed he went in search of you, ignoring the pleas of his council to discuss urgent matters. He didn’t care. This was far more urgent.

He knew where you’d be and when he stood outside the door to the library, he could hear you humming inside. A smile spreads over his face and he opens the doors startling you. “Dank farrik, Din you scared me.” The book falls from your hands as he grabs you around the waist tight, pulling you close. “What’s gotten into you? Did the negotiations not go well?”

He loves how you are always concerned about these things but right now his mind is on other things. He growls and you shriek a little as your hands rest on his chest plates. The beskar cooling your flushed skin. “Need you now, mesh’la.” He pushes his hips against yours and you can feel his desire for you, hard and throbbing against his cargo pants.

What’s got him so riled up? “What’s going on in that head of yours?” His grip tightens and he closes his eyes, “trust me, you don’t want to know what I’ve been thinking.”

“I do, so tell me.” He releases a deep breath and his eyes find yours. “Want to…want to breed you… wanna see you round with my baby.” You freeze, eyes focused on his visor. “What?!” He grabs your hands and places them on either side of his helmet, before helping you lift it off him. It falls to the floor with a loud clunk and his brown eyes stare at your beautiful face, a mixture of love and lust swirling behind them.

“I want to…I….” He becomes nervous suddenly and you place your hand along his cheek. “It’s ok, tell me.” His eyes fall to your lips quickly before meeting your gaze again. “I’ve been thinking…what if we had a baby…a brother or sister for Grogu?” His grip on your waist tightens a little and your lips curve into a smile. “You want us to have a baby?” He nodded, his eyes full of hope.

“Ok!” He smiles brightly before his lips crash onto yours. “You're sure?” You nod before pulling him into you again. “But you’ll have to work for it,” you whisper into his ear. “What?” Pulling away you create a little distance. “I want you to chase me, hunt me, and if you catch me - then you can breed me.”

His eyebrows quirk as an amused smile spreads across his face. “What if I lose?” You move back towards the door, “you won’t.” With that, you ran. He removed his gloves and flexed his fingers. This was going to be fun.

***

You moved as fast as your legs could carry you as you run through the palace, knowing full well he would catch you. He always did. You thought about hiding but then you entered the throne room. An idea is formed and you rid yourself of your clothes before ascending the throne and taking a seat.

The beskar was cold against your skin and a shiver ran through you. Your exposed breasts are pushed forward as you sit straighter, waiting for your king. The doors are pushed open and Din stalks towards you, faltering in his step when he sees you upon his throne. His eyes seem to darken and his lips curve into a seductive smile. Din was ravenous, and his desire permeated the air. He stands before you, “My Queen.”

“Kneel.” You command and he quirks his eyebrow at you, the hint of a smile on his face. You know he doesn’t want to play these games but he will if he wants you. “For someone who doesn’t like titles, you sure are bossy.” He drops to his knees and looks up at you with a tsunami of emotions behind his eyes. Sitting forward slightly you beckon him towards you with your finger. He crawls towards you slowly and your heart swells, knowing you are the only one he’d do that for.

His soft plush lips kiss your bare feet as his hand wraps around your leg. “What does my Queen desire?”

“You want to breed me?” Din nods his head as he inches closer to you. “Then strip and fuck me here, on your throne.” A growl emanates from his chest and he sheds his armour and clothes quickly, standing bare before you - chest heaving. He drops to his knees again, his hands tracing up your legs as his lips skim the inside of your thighs before his mouth finds your core.

Your back arched off the throne and your breath hitched as he worked his tongue into you. His stubble and moustache created delicious friction. “Oh fuck…Din..” He adds two fingers and you mewl below him as you come hard, cunt fluttering around his thick fingers. He pulls away and stands, grabbing his cock as he pumps himself. “Up!” He commands and you stand on shaky legs.

“Want you to ride me on my throne. Use me, my Queen.” You straddle his waist and his big hands grip your hips tight as you slowly sink down on him. A groan escapes his lips as he fills you. “So kriffing tight…gonna fill you up mesh’la…watch it take root and…oh fuck…” His head falls back as pleasure courses through him, your hips moving above him. His hand moves towards your breast grabbing it and squeezing tight before he captures your nipple with his mouth.

“Din..oh maker…I’m gonna come…” He helps you move above him, his eyes focused on where you are both joined, watching his cock move in and out of you. “Come mesh’la, come for your king.” You clench around him as you cry out in ecstasy, “oh fuck…yes daddy…”

Din is still below you and his nostrils flare as he asks you what you said. Your cheeks flush in embarrassment, “daddy.” He stands, his grip on you tight as he flips you onto your back. You're bent a little and the position is a little awkward but you don’t care. He pounds into you grunting loudly in your ear. “Say it again.”

“Fuck me, daddy.” Oh, fuck you were doing this again. His hips begin to falter and he moves his hand to your clit, rubbing circles over your swollen bud. “Want you to come again…then I’m gonna fill you up, breed you.”

“Yes…please fill me up Din, make me yours.” He thrusts twice more before spilling inside you, coating your womb with his seed. You’re both panting and sweaty as you come down from your high. “Are you ok, mesh’la? I wasn’t too rough?” You smile up at him as your hand rests on his cheek, “never. I want you to do that again.”

He chuckles as he pulls away slowly and helps you up. You can feel his come dripping down your thighs. “I love you.” His lips meet yours in a soft kiss before the doors burst open and his council stand mouths agape as they take in your naked forms. “Oh, your majesty, we are so sorry, we didn’t know…”

Din pushes you behind him in an attempt to hide you. “Out! Now - and keep your eyes off my wife.” You bury your head into his shoulder in embarrassment as they all shuffle out of the throne room. “I’m never gonna be able to face them again.”

“If any of them say anything I’ll kill them.” He bends a little, grabbing you and lifting you into his arms. “Now, I’m gonna take you back to our room and keep you full of me all night, make sure I have you bred before morning. Would you like that, my Queen?”

“Yes, my king.”

Part 2 / Lactation / Somnophilia

Everything: @maievdenoir @amneris21 @hnt-escape @elegantduckturtle @harriedandharassed @ayrusss @hayley-the-comet @sherala007 @alexxavicry @scorpio-marionette @donnaa @practicalghost @tanzthompson @beskarprincessjenny @littlemisspascal @icanbeyourjedi @thatpinkshirt @maryfanson @sunnshineeexoxo @misspearly1 @misspearlssideblog @athalien @its--fandom--darling @sara-alonso @doommommy @trickstersp8

Din djarin: @paulalikestuff @anaaaispunk @hb8301 @djarinslove @browneyes-issac @dins-cyare @agingerindenial @afootnoteinyourhappiness @stevie75 @almaeunice @readsalot73

#pedro pascal #din djarin x fem!reader #pedro pascal x reader #din djarin x reader #pedro pascal x female reader #pedro pascal fanfiction #din djarin imagine

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ghoulishsleep · 1 year

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The Doctor | Part 2 | The Mandalorian

< Part 1 | Part 3 >

summary: You learn more about the Child and prescribe a remedy; another answer is received.

pairing: eventual Din Djarin x OC afab!reader (no physical descriptions; reader has relatives, a surname, and backstory/personality)

word count: +1.4k

a/n: I wonder if this is overly descriptive and boring, but I'm hoping for the best. I would love feedback regarding Mando! Also, please take this as me sending out an SOS for someone to beta read lmao, because I am so uncertain.

I have Plans™ for this, so do stay tuned. And! I have an idea for a prequel fic to explain exactly how Mando knows the reader and dad. Not sure if I should make a separate work in the same universe, or include it under "The Doctor." Pls share your thoughts.

A huuuge thanks for the love so far, and also to local-fanfic-addict for the name idea on the first installment. Happy reading!

warnings: rated T, descriptions of illness, medical inaccuracies (probably), referenced character death, no y/n

You can’t help the way your eyes bug when the Mandalorian tells you his foundling’s age.

“He’s fifty?”

You regard the dollop of a creature with an air of incredulity, who now sits in a heap of brown robes on your exam table, looking to be a toss-up of misery and curiosity. Tiny, clawed fingers rest atop the bunched fabric while big, dark eyes absorb the new surroundings.

“According to his chain code, yes.”

“Huh. Can’t argue with that, ” you nod, logging the sparse information the Mandalorian proffered into your datapad along with symptoms, height, and weight.

“Any idea what species he is?” you query next, which prompts the helmet to simply shake “no.”

“Mm. So you don’t know whether he has any allergies or intolerances?”

Another shake of the helmet, “No.”

After entering a few further notes, you set your datapad aside and don a pair of exam gloves.

The Mandalorian continues to stand uncomfortably off to one side, seemingly trying to act preoccupied with taupe-hued walls and generic artwork. Part of you wishes he would just sit down and quit hovering – though you’d already offered him such once, to no avail.

You roll your stool over to the exam table, adjusting, so you’re as close to eye level with the Child as possible. Gloved hands extend in an offer for his tiny ones, which wrap around your index and middle fingers. “Hello, sweet baby. What seems to be going on with you?” you murmur, knowing well that he can’t actually tell you. However, the way he meets your eyes makes you believe he wants to.

An elongated coo that ends in another wet cough, like the one you heard earlier from within the bag, has you nodding deeply again, “Mmm, I understand. You must have had a terrible last few days.”

You can feel the Mandalorian watching as you maneuver your side of the room, retrieving items from a few drawers that slide quietly shut behind you. In truth, you feel out of place yourself without 2-1B present. He was the doctor by qualification – always there, your security blanket, your brother-droid – while you were more the shadow of one, indoctrinated by experience rather than schooling or hard-written code.

Returning to the table, you beckon the Child to open his mouth with an exaggerated “ahh” to swab the inside, which you deposit into a small machine integrated into the counter. Then you delicately prod the Child, eliciting a giggle as you listen to his heart and breathing, which pops wetly inside little lungs.

“Good job, ” you praise gently, brushing the Child’s chubby cheek with the backs of your fingers, then step away to peel off your gloves and enter your findings. Results from the machine import with a trill, populating more of the profile, and the Mandalorian shifts his weight in your periphery while you read over it, arms crossed over a broad chest.

“Although I’m sure you already figured as much, ” your hands fold briefly upon your lap. “The Child has significant lung inflammation, most commonly a result of bacterial infection. In addition to an antibiotic, I believe an antihistamine would be ideal, just in case he’s sensitive to it. Does that sound fine with you?”

Perhaps he expected you to simply tell him what he needed rather than ask because the helmet swivels the tiniest bit toward the Child, then back to you. “Yes, that’s fine.”

With a nod and the squeak of new gloves, you adjust your seat back to full height and roll between two mounted cupboards. A clear glass mortar and pestle clink together when you set them down, as do three labeled containers. All the while, the Mandalorian finally seems to relax the tiniest bit: with the Child now in the crux of one arm, he leans against the exam table.

Chalky off-white pills clatter against the glass, and you begin to gradually grind them into a fine dust, enough to eventually incorporate another viscous substance into a cohesive, opaque fluid.

Near the end, the Mandalorian breaks the relative silence, “What are you doing?”

“Compounding an oral suspension.” The pestle moves in one final pass around the bowl before you set them aside to retrieve a glass dropper bottle and funnel the liquid in. “Have you ever tried to get a child to take a pill?” Your eyes flit up to his visor briefly, imploringly. It shakes, and you smile. “It doesn’t really go over well.”

“I see, ” comes a flat reply. When you glance at the Child again, it seems he’s falling asleep resting against the Mandalorian’s cuirass. Big eyes droop shut, peeking open each time one of you speaks.

“You’ll need to give him one dropper full of the antibiotic with food twice a day for seven days, ” you explain, more softly now, then gesture to another pre-dosed bottle of tablets. “These are chewable antihistamines, which can be given once daily.”

“Seems simple enough, ” agrees the Mandalorian, standing fully as you circle the table and toggle the door open.

Your lips part soundlessly at first, shutting as a new wave of trepidation washes over you. The Mandalorian breezes past and you catch the soft green of one pointy ear beyond his arm. It feels like a risky offer, but your curiosity gets the better of you, watching his cape shift as he walks back the way you came.

“You’re more than welcome to stay here while he recovers, ” you offer quickly, closing the door and following behind. “I’ve got a guest room with an en-suite refresher, so you don’t need to pay for lodging. If everything’s right, it should be maybe a week, if that.”

You’d hate to be on the business side of that ambiguous visor – when it turns back at you, your stomach drops. Fortunately, he only seems to deliberate for a moment before you receive your next answer:

“That would be nice. Thank you.”

The Mandalorian had left you for the remainder of the afternoon – perhaps to gather items from his ship or peruse the market lining the downtown corridor – returning just as the sun began its slow descent. A short walk beyond the edge of town brought you to your home, largely unchanged by time. With some prodding, you learned the Child preferred bone broth, and anything would do for the Mandalorian.

The Child had been reluctant to take the fruit-flavored antihistamine, so you worried he would too reject a broth laden with bitter medicine. Much to your relief, however, he sucked down the nourishment – deservedly – seeming not to notice anything amiss thanks to the peppery, sweet root you’d grated in.

The Mandalorian lounges in your den, some rigidity seeming to have melted from his frame. An empty porringer sits on the caf table across from him, and the Child dozes in the sling of his arms, full of broth and medicine, button eyes narrowed to slits as he fights a losing battle against his slumber once more.

The near soundless shuffle of heavy boots upon the floor causes you to look up in time to see the Mandalorian stalking down the guest hall. You plate the food and set it on the bar counter, turning to retrieve flatware.

“I didn’t think you were going to school to be a doctor.”

The voice surprises you, its owner’s soundless return causing your hands to jostle the lip of the drawer you were in. Lips press thin to stifle a curse. You grab what you need and turn.

Then, you process what has been said.

Oh.

He remembers you, too.

You aren’t sure whether you flush, but it feels like you do, the notion softening your features somewhat, “I didn’t. I didn’t even finish the degree I was in for.”

“You seem capable enough without it.” It’s spoken matter of factly. “What happened?”

“I attended the University of Alderaan at a satellite campus for botany, and … you know. Halfway through my third year, I came home and started working with my dad, shadowing while doing side work.”

Silence draws out between you – and you’re torn about whether it’s comfortable. The Child’s soft, congested snore traveling down the hall is the only thing to disrupt it.

“My condolences, ” comes his even, modulated reply, and at first, you’re not sure what for.

“It’s fine. It was … a relief.” Your shoulder rolls in a shrug, and you smile. “All things considered, he lived a long life. This was a fun, easy retirement.”

A hum comes in reply.

“You should go eat. Rest, ” you press after another beat. “You can leave your dishes out here; I’ll take care of them tomorrow.”

“Thank you, ” the Mandalorian reiterates. You watch him retreat down the hall, food in tow.

You retire to the opposite hall, ducking your head into 2-1B’s room.

“It is the Mandalorian, ” he says decisively, as though reading your mind.

“I know.”

< Part 1 | Part 3 >

@fatima-marisa @3zae-zae3

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#still figuring out how to tag #and still slightly embarrassed to share my writing #yeeHAW #the mandalorian #din djarin x reader #mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x reader #star wars x reader #mando x reader #din djarin #mando

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paz-djarin · 1 year

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Paz Headcanons (Part 2)

Note: Most of these are fan made.

Paz as a kid:

Don’t feed him sweets. Or you’ll be chasing him all day.

Pre Vizsla learn this the hard way.

He had a stuffed bear plush, he named it Mr. Bear Bear.

He use to put on his father’s helmet, before he got his own helmet.

He would randomly eat flowers.

“Oh Paz you found a flower. Your mother is—” Paz eats it. “PAZ!!!”

His mom taught him a few things about fighting.

She also taught Paz, sized and strength isn’t always the answer.

His dad taught him, he had to be strong to rule Mandalore.

He has one time heard his parents arguing.

Paz Older:

Poor man can’t hold his liquor.

When he did drink, he would completely change.

Instead of this angry man, you would get this giggle and cuddly giant.

“DIIIN~” the man would run up to him and just hold him. Din wouldn’t dare to move a muscle. He would just talk so sweetly to Din and honestly Din liked it.

He hated when people talked badly about his father.

He gets jealous rather easily.

Paz is close with Din and The Armorer.

Paz just wants the saber back, so he can finally make his father proud and it could live on in the Vizsla name.

Paz cries on the anniversary of his father’s and mother’s death.

Despite him being intimidating he’s a big softie.

He loves his small broken family. He will treasure them forever.

He hoped one day to return home and tell his future kids how beautiful the planet use to be.

He told Ragnar all adventures he had when he was a kid and how much a nut he was.

When he was slipping away he could see his parents right next to him.

“You did a good job, sweetie. Now you can finally rest. We’ll be here…” his mother said to him.

#star wars #paz vizsla #the mandalorian #paz vizsla headcanons #fan made heacanons #headcanons

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burnwater13 · 5 months

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DataWorks calendar for The Mandalorian. Peli Motto holds Grogu. Caption reads: Not so fast! You can't just leave a child all alone like that. You know... you've got an awful lot to learn about raisin' a young one. - Peli Motto. The Mandalorian, Season 1, Episode 5, The Gunslinger.

Grogu didn’t know how to ask the question and he wasn’t sure that Peli would understand him, even if he figured out which words to use. He thought about asking his dad, but that seemed like a mistake. The Mandalorian wasn’t a diplomat in any sense of the term. He’d made that mistake with the people on Sorgan and Grogu wasn’t one to forget something like that. “You can’t live here anymore.” Wow. Only a Mandalorian would say something that bluntly.

After all was there a good way to ask anyone if they were a mom? Particularly when they weren’t surrounded by children calling them ‘Mom’? Because Grogu was pretty sure that Peli Motto either had grown children wondering around the galaxy or she had raised someone’s children, even if they hadn’t been hers. How would she know how to treat Grogu when none of them even knew what species he was?

Grogu had been reliably assured that moms were the people who knew how to do stuff like that. Dads too. And other family members who took on those roles. For a long time Grogu had considered Master Beq to be his ‘dad’. He was the person who cared about him. Made sure he got dressed, ate his meals and went to his lessons. When something bad or scary happened Kelleran Beq had been there and Grogu had been very grateful for his presence.

Now… well, now, Peli Motto was saying all the same things that Grogu recalled Master Beq saying. She must have once been someone’s parental unit. That’s what Ian called the droids around the Jedi Temple that were responsible for helping to manage the youngest of the younglings. Parental units. It was fitting and kind of funny. Grogu had liked it and thought it fit Peli Motto pretty well.

But he couldn’t just ask her how she learned to be a parental unit. What if her children had grown up and left Tatooine for a better future filled with opportunity and never bothered to visit or send a vid? Or worse… what if they had ended up being taken by the Empire to be their next ‘loyal support troopers’? Uff. Or just as awful in some ways, what if they had joined the Rebels and had something horrible happen? The Rebellion hadn’t been all blowing up Imperial ships and getting medals. People had been hurt or worse. What if that had happened to Peli’s children? That was just too horrible to contemplate.

He knew what it was like to suffer a loss like that. All his masters, friends, acquaintances were gone and for what? So some guy to call himself a funny name? And of course so he could boss people around. That had been a pretty big feature of the Empire. It was absurd. If you really wanted to boss people around all you needed was a business and a bunch of droids and mechs. Like a starship repair garage.

Yes, there were people who would argue that droids and mechs weren’t people technically, but did that really matter if all you wanted was the satisfaction of yelling at folks and telling them what to do? Just look at how Peli managed her shop. Those pit droids did everything she told them to do, when she told them to do it. Wouldn’t that satisfy anyone’s need to be bossy and shouty?

Of course Peli wasn’t like the Emperor at all. She may not have been afraid of a Mandalorian in full armor with a side arm and all those other weapons, but that was just due to her parental unit settings. She had seen Grogu and knew instantly that he needed to be cared for. Fed. Held. Cared for. Not abandoned in a ship hungry and alone, that’s for certain. She had certainly been able to communicate her demands to Din Djarin without hesitation and prettier, more diplomatic words.

That’s why he hesitated to ask her his question. She might just laugh and tell him how she once adopted a scurrier and that’s how she’d learned to do all these parental unit things. Or, she might just break down and weep uncontrollably and he and the pit droids would be desperately trying to cheer her up. That would probably involve agreeing to play sabacc with her and then deliberately losing so she would be happier. Grogu was willing to do a lot for Peli, but losing at sabacc on purpose just wasn’t one of them.

First, she would never forget it and he’d be hearing her tell everyone and anyone the story of how she had beat him the game without even cheating. Next, she would offer to teach him how to play, reminding him how he’d lost to her that one time. Finally, she would be telling the Mandalorian not to let him play the game at all because he was so bad at it, they’d both lose their shirts, or in Grogu’s case, his coverall. Uff.

Then he reflected on something that Master Beq had told him so many years before, when they were watching the Jedi Council discuss a matter with then Chancellor Palpatine. Grogu had wanted to ask the Chancellor a question. Master Beq asked him what question he had. Grogu had said he wondered if the human from Naboo had fallen to the dark side. Master Beq had advised him that you didn’t need to ask questions that you already knew the answer to… or words to that affect.

Whether or not Peli Motto had been a mom on a technical basis or not, she was most certainly a great parental unit who kept her programming up to date and Grogu was glad that he fit into her parameters of a child requiring care and feeding. Especially feeding. Bone broth was delicious, particularly when it contained extra bones.

Peli Motto scolding Din Djarin. Caption reads: You can't just leave a child all alone like that. The Mandalorian, Season 1, Episode 5, The Gunslinger.

#calendar prompt a day #the mandalorian #grogu #din djarin #Peli Motto #Parental Units

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dindooku · 3 years

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why din is a good dad: a thread - part one

1) he makes sure grogu is good before beatin the shiz outta someone (plus he looks at him like that)

2) he always carries grogu in his left arm so his right arm is free to whip out his big iron from his hip like the cowboy he is so he can protect his son grogu

3) he teaches grogu essential skills like flying and electronics from an early age

4) cuddles grogu with both arms at every opportunity:

example a:

example b:

5) prioritises his sons education over everything

6) he’s a multitasking god, too

7) takes grogu to watch the pretty fireworks

8) oh and did i already say cuddles him at every opportunity? yes. and i’ll say it again.

9) this.

din treats grogu as his own, no questions asked and without hesitation; din is a good dad and no one can tell me otherwise.

thread masterlist

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221bshrlocked · 3 years

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unfold me

Pairing: Din Djarin x Fem!Reader

Words: 2061

Warnings: Hypothermia. Naked “cuddling.” Confessions. And just an overall emotional bucket of feels.

A/N: It’s my dad’s annual remembrance in two days and I am feeling a lot of things, mostly shock at the fact that it doesn’t feel like he’s been dead for three years now. So I decided to write something that’s comforting and sweet after I saw a tiktok that made the brain juices get going. This is not beta’d! Enjoy :D

Din tries his best to get a grip on himself, knowing that if he were to fall too deep into his thoughts, he wouldn’t be able to get you to safety. He should have known about this. He should have inspected the ice before either of you made your way over the frozen lake. But more importantly, he should have been watching you, or better yet, he should have tried to argue a little more about you going after the quarry with him.

“Pfassk,” he swears to himself when he looks down and sees your skin look more and more faded with every passing second. His legs are beginning to hurt from how fast he’s running. Fucking hell, did he really have to land the ship so far away from the lake? He looks down again and his heart clenches tightly inside his chest. He wouldn’t be able to forgive himself if he stopped to rest even for a minute, so he tries to run faster, not caring that he’s been making his way through the frozen land for a good while now.

“Stay with me mesh’la,” Din orders you as he shakes you in his hand, breathing a momentary sigh of relief when you force your eyes to open and look at him. There’s a ghost of a smile etched on your beautiful features as your hands try to hold onto the clothes beneath the beskar and it occurs to Din that he was probably making things worse because of his armor. But he can’t care about something like this right now. All he needs to focus on is returning to the ship and putting some heat back into your system.

“I- I’m...s-s-sorry,” your lips are quivering and Din kicks himself at how helpless you feel in his arms, how small and fragile your body seems to be.

“Shhhh, sweet girl. None of that,” his voice breaks when he looks down and sees your tears almost stand still on your bluing skin. His grip on you tightens when he sees his ship in the distance and he somehow manages to sprint even faster now that he was close to saving you.

He tells himself he’s almost there and as he looks down to his vambrace to lower the ramp, he sees your eyes shut slowly before your hold on his clothes loosens. You looked so peaceful like this but he’s reminded quickly that this was quickly becoming the kind of peace that he wouldn’t want, couldn’t forgive himself if you reached. This peace was eternal, and he would be damned if he allowed it to grow closer to you.

“Please cyare, stay with me,” Din begs as he lowers the ramp and stands aside until he can walk through. He steps onto the ship as soon as he can and quickly shuts it behind him, not caring to lock it as he walks through the small hallways until he’s in his room. He thanked the maker for this new ship, knowing that if he had the Razor Crest, it would have been much more difficult to navigate through without bumping your head. As carefully as possible, he lays you on his bed before he runs to the cockpit, immediately turning on the heating system and not caring for how hot it will become within the hour.

He’s back in his room a minute later and before he can think twice of it, he throws his gloves aside and begins to strip you of your wet clothes. Din hisses as he struggles to get the frozen fabric off of you and when it becomes too difficult, he takes out his vibroblade and forces it across your clothes until they literally break off of your skin. He has no time to dwell on the exposed skin his hands are skimming across and when you are as naked as the day you were born, he begins to take his own armor off, depositing the beskar on the floor before he begins to cover it with his flight suit.

Din hesitates for a moment on whether he should remove all of his clothes as he’s done with you but one quick look across your fading skin and he realizes that none of this mattered now. You were the only thing that was important. He lowers his trunks before he removes his helmet and slithers into his bed with you.

He is thankful that you’ve seen him without the helmet before because he’s sure he would have had some sensory overload had he been naked and without his helmet in such a position. Shaking the thought aside, he rests his back across the wall of the ship before he slowly pulls you into his arms. You’re limp underneath his touch and he clenches his jaws at how much smaller you feel now that the two of you weren’t wearing anything. You make a soft noise when Din finally seats you in his lap and he hisses in return when he begins to feel your skin pull the heat from his body.

Din softly moves you into his space, allowing you to nuzzle into his neck as he bends your legs so he’s touching as much of you as possible. When he’s sure this is the closest you can get, he takes hold of the flimsy sheets around his bed and pulls them across to offer you some decency. The last thing he wants is to make you feel uncomfortable when you wake up and even though he was beyond the point of discomfort, he reminds himself that you needed this.

“Please,” Din whispers down to you as he pushes his cheeks against your forehead to try and get you to warm up more quickly and with each moment you don’t respond or move in his arms, his heart sinks even further and he blames himself for not being more careful with you. He moves his arms up and down your thighs and back, trying to force your body to regulate more rapidly.

He thinks back to the past few months you’ve been with him and as he throws his head back against the wall harshly. If only he’d told you how he feels before today. He’s wasted so much time not wanting to grow closer to anyone, afraid of opening up again only to be hurt when you eventually walk away from him.

“I can’t lose you cyar’ika,” Din confesses into the warm air and he shuts his eyes as he feels tears rolling down his cheeks. It’s hard for him to stop once he lets his bottled-up emotions run for him and he can’t find it in himself to care because he’s not sure what he would do if he loses you.

It feels like an eternity later when you begin to shake in his arms and his eyes snap down at your whimpering form when your skin crawls with goosebumps and you try to burrow yourself more into his skin. Never in his life did he think that the sound of your chattering teeth would be sweet music to his ears but he smiles and lets out a pathetic huff when you begin to grab for him and fold yourself even more around his limbs.

“D-Din…” your voice is barely audible but Din thanks the maker that you’re finally awake, and he frantically rubs his large hands across your body to get you to stop shivering. He’s beginning to feel sweaty from how hot the ship is, furrowing his eyebrows when he looks towards the digital numbers displayed on the wall and realizes that the two of you have been wrapped up around each other for almost an hour now.

“I’m here ner ka’rta, I’m here.” He soothes your anxious nerves when he notices you looking around to see where you are. When you finally look into his eyes and gasp, Din has to remind himself that he shouldn’t blame you for whatever reaction you’re having to the proximity. The two of you never really spoke of the obvious, always ignoring the bantha in the room whenever he took off his helmet to eat or lounge around.

But now that you were widening your eyes at him and forcing him to keep your gaze, he feels a little out of place and he prays that you shut your eyes again if only to focus on warming up.

“Ma-maker...you- you’re p-pretty...reall-ly pretty…” Din gulps at the intimate exclamation and he doesn’t know what to say in response so he blinks down at you in confusion. But then you’re reaching up and swiping your thumb across his lips and he feels his heart threaten to jump out of his chest and run away. “I’ve a-always th-thought of yo-your lips...s-so soft, so kis-ssable.” He thinks you’re delirious and he’s about to brush aside the comments but you take your hands away and rest them on his chest as you nuzzle closer into the crook of his neck. Din is hypersensitive and he thinks that there might be a place between heaven and hell, and that it is this moment. You’re in his arms, touching him so intimately and whispering your darkest secrets to him, but he can’t do anything about, can’t respond in likeness, and can’t try to ask you if you truly mean your words. When you shut your eyes, Din panics and unintentionally squeezes your thighs to get your attention. You jump at the sudden touch and look up at him immediately.

“Don’t close your eyes mesh’la, please.” His request tugs at your slowly warming heart and you nod at him as you throat your head back against his shoulder and focus on his brown orbs. It takes you a few more moments to recognize how red they are and you frown when you see the streaks of tears across his scruffy cheeks.

“W-why are you c-crying?” You ask as you reach up and wipe at his cheeks before you lower your hands down his throat and rest it against his chest again.

“I almost lost you ner ka’rta.” It’s perhaps the simplest response you’ll ever receive from him and yet it’s the most complicated due to the intimacy of the moment. You want to ask him why your mistake would make him feel so sad but you feel a shiver run down his spine from where you’re digging your nails into his skin and you finally register the odd feeling that woke you moments ago.

Maker, this was not how you imagined it would be.

If Din notices the sudden shift in your demeanor, he says nothing of it and chooses to lean down and touch his forehead against your own before he shuts his eyes.

“What...w-what does th-that mean?” You ask as you try to shift in his arms so you can return the affection and Din smiles down at you once as his soulful eyes flutter open and hold your gaze.

“My heart.”

You’re not sure what to make of such a declaration, mostly because you never thought your own feelings would ever be reciprocated. So much makes sense in that moment, the way he’s often behaved around you, how comfortable he felt in taking his helmet off when it was only the two of you, how trusting he was in telling you about Grogu and everything that took place before he met you, how thoughtful he was whenever you needed something but were too reluctant to say it. But mostly, it makes sense why he was crying.

“Din.”

“Yes sweet girl?” Din shivers when you whisper his name at him and his eyebrows furrow when you part your lips as your eyes shift to focus on his lips.

“You are...ner k-k’arta.”

It feels like a weight has been lifted off of his soul and he allows the tears to flow more easily as he leans down and softly molds his lips with your own. When you part them to deepen the touch, Din thinks back to moments before, his mind dismissing the previous thoughts the more you seek him out, not just for physical warmth but for a deeper, more emotional one.

No, this moment wasn’t a place between heaven and hell. This was very much heaven for him.

You were heaven for him.

Pedro Pascal (and any of his characters):

@pastel-0-princess @feelmyroarrrr @libbymouse @its--fandom--darling @spideysimpossiblegirl @princess76179 @cheekygeek05 @miraclesoflove @purple-mango @freeshavocadoooo @metalarmsandmanbuns @acthenerd @greeneyedblondie44 @cannedsoupsucks @purplepascal042 @talesfromtheguild @f0rever15elf @vibin-hippie @onesmokinbabe @leaiorganas @words-way-of-life @kideyz @lovesickmadsadpoet @niall7inches @rosiefridayrogersunday @sleep-tight1 @itsfreeekinbats @cybergroupie @marsplsstop @ezrasbirdie @diogodxlot @janebby @juletheghoul @bii-aan-ckaa @nohartandsole-blog @djjarins @giselatropicana @maziken @blackmarketmummy @laviipopii @ew-erin @fan-of-encouragement @melody13522 @clydesducktape @planetariumx @thirddeadlysin @leannawithacapitala @fangirl-316 @thou-creature-of-the-deep @what-iwish-you-knew @nabootycall @pascalsky @pedrostories @anaaaispunk @monocromaticstaircase @severinsnape @elegantduckturtle @gothicxbarbie @revengeisaconfesionofpain @hypnoash @pedritopascalito @eri16 @andiesturgss @kotemorons @christina-loves @tintinn16 @persephones-garden @sequere-mei-callipygian @heykathchuu @hotchlover @kaumalade @mswarriorbabe80 @nakhudanyx @ezras-channel-rat @solemnlyswearss

Din Djarin:

@a--1--1--3 @tanzthompson @mrs-ghuleh @caitlynmarty @smileygirl0815-blog @silverclawz @evyiione @kaumalade

#din djarin x reader #din djarin/reader #din djarin fanfiction #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian/reader #the mandalorian fanfiction #din djarin #the mandalorian #din djarin fluff #din djarin angst #the mandalorian fluff #the mandalorian angst #pedro pascal

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xcertaindarkthingsx · 3 years

Text

make you mine

pairing: jealous!mando x fem!reader

summary: you’ve been traveling with the Mandalorian for a while now as a healer and caretaker for the Child. one day, the Mandalorian needs your specific skills to help him catch a bounty, and needless the say he is NOT happy about it.

warnings: two idiots that don’t know they like each other, some fluff and yearning, a smidge of possessiveness/jealousy, canon-typical violence, swearing in basic and mando’a, brief mentions of unwanted touching, mentions of taking care of injuries/stitching and blood, SMUT 18+ (minors BEGONE), porn w/ plot i guess, thigh riding, finger sucking, grinding, a lil’ dirty talk (if i miss any just please let me know!)

word count: 7.6k (i’m soRRY)

a/n: WHEW OK so i originally wrote this for #dincember but because i suck at deadlines and take forever to write it just turned into something else. reader is a lil insecure but mando makes it all better (self-projection, anyone?) ummm, this is my first time writing for din AND my first time writing smut but i hope you guys like it! comments/likes/reblogs/feedback are completely welcome and much appreciated! i apologize if this is a mess kladjflkd but shoutout to @a-dorin and @princessxkenobi for being wonderful beta readers and helping me when i got stuck. i am planning on making this a two parter, so if you want to be added to my tag list let me know! if you prefer to read on ao3 you can do so here . mando’a translations at the end!

gif credit: @bestintheparsec

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

Soft coos filled the air inside the Razor Crest as you desperately tried to rock the Child back to sleep. You were almost certain he was starting to get hungry, but you were out of snacks and Mando had told you not to leave the ship under any circumstances.

You had been traveling with the Mandalorian for a while now, after being picked up on Arvala-7. You were a healer—a pretty damn good one, if you had anything to say about it—and had patched him up after a bounty hunt gone wrong.

The Mandalorian thought your services would be helpful if things ever got a little dicey again, so he asked you along for the ride (the reality was you had nagged and scolded him so much about how cauterizing was not the answer for every wound, that he eventually caved just to get you to stop). There wasn’t really anything tying you to Arvala-7, so you agreed.

Plus, the Child had taken a real liking to you, and how could you say no to that precious face?

The Mandalorian was an odd man—well, no. Not odd. More like intriguing, and you were drawn to it. It had been quiet and awkward the first few months. He was a rigid man of few words, never speaking more than necessary (unless he thought he was alone with the kid; the way he spoke with him made your heart melt). But after countless late nights together of taking care of the Child and constantly tending to his injuries, you were surprised to find there was a sense of gentleness under all that beskar.

The Mandalorian had been just as surprised as you when he found himself warming up to your presence. It was all the little moments that had snuck up on him, the stolen glances and lingering touches, and now his heartbeat seemed to quicken every time you were together.

Little did he know, yours did too.

At the sound of the hatch door opening, you looked up. You watched as the Mandalorian walked up the platform, admiring his strut. How someone could look so good just walking, you had no idea, but it was maddening.

“No bounty?” you called out, turning the kid in your arms so he would be facing out towards his dad. It was unusual that Mando hadn’t found the target yet, but you were just thankful he was in one piece for now. He shook his head.

“Not yet. I ran into some… complications,” he huffed and even though his voice was laced with frustration, it put you at ease. Being on the ship alone for nearly the whole day, sometimes you just missed hearing that husky baritone filtering through his modulator.

Not to mention you thought it was sexy as hell.

You quirked an eyebrow at him. “Complications?”

He heaved a deep sigh, lifting a hand for the Child to grab, which he took happily. “Hey, kid,” he whispered, and you smiled as the Child babbled back. Mando turned his helmet towards you and continued. “Yes, but I found a contact who should be able to give more information. I came back for you and the kid first. I know you guys must be hungry.”

You nodded at the same time the little green bean gave a resounding coo, earning a soft chuckle from the both of you. “I’ll get the pram ready.”

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

After a quick stop in the marketplace for supplies, Mando had led you two into what seemed to be the only bar in town. It was only late afternoon, leaving it nearly empty, save for a few older patrons lazily sipping on glasses of ale. You ignored the way the Weequay behind the bar seemed to look you up and down.

Mando set you and the kid up with two bowls of soup at a table nearby while he talked business with his contact, who happened to be the bartender. Sipping your soup, you tried not to eavesdrop as the two began to fall into what you would call a heated discussion. On Mando’s end. Apparently, this was a particularly “difficult” target.

“Lucky for you, he’s got an eye for pretty girls,” the bartender drawled, jutting his chin at you. “She’ll do fine.”

Your head snapped up from your task of feeding the child, spoon mid-air. “Excuse me?”

“No. Absolutely not,” resounded Mando’s gruff voice from under the helmet.

“Listen, Mando. This guy is high-profile, practically untouchable, bodyguards with him at all times. And I’m not talkin’ your run of the mill pair of idiots that can’t shoot for a damn, I’m talkin’ highly trained mercenaries.” The Weequay sighed. “I don’t doubt your skills as a Mandalorian, but you’re just one man. You need to get him alone, and she is your only way of doing that,” he insisted.

“I said, no,” Mando gritted out. You were non-negotiable.

The bartender just shrugged. “Then consider this a loss, cause you’re not getting anywhere near him.”

Your heart hammered in your chest listening to the two of them argue. Embarrassment flooded your cheeks, remembering the way the bartender eyed you when you walked in. All you wanted to do at this point was bury yourself in the confines of your room in the Razor Crest.

Mando seemed final in his decision, and you couldn’t help but wonder if it was because he didn’t want you involved or if he thought you simply lacked the skills to do so. He could probably tell you weren’t really the seducing type, and truthfully the thought of trying to do was mortifying.

But Mando needed this, right? You thought of all the things he’s done for you, how he’s protected and provided for you. This was the least you could do for him. You could deal with one night of potential discomfort so he could get his bounty. It was a lot of credits.

“I’ll do it.”

Mando snapped his head around at you so fast, it was a miracle he hadn’t hurt himself. “For the last time, I said you are no—”

“I’m doing it,” you said a little more forcefully, cutting him off. You didn’t need to see his face to know he was staring daggers into you from underneath the helmet, but it was going to take more than a dirty look to get you to change your mind.

“Excellent!” the bartender’s cheery voice cut through the tension in the room. “Come on back, I’ve got an old dress an ex-girlfriend left behind that you could probably use.”

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

The dress in question was a slinky black number that had you freezing your ass off in the cold of the desert night.

The dress was too… everything. Too short, too revealing, too tight; but the only other thing you had to wear were some oversized t-shirts and utility pants, which aren’t exactly sexy, so you were shit out of luck.

Mando nearly choked when you came out of your room, thankful for the helmet for hiding his widened eyes and agape mouth. You looked absolutely ravishing, the black fabric clinging to all the right places on your figure. His eyes roved over the valley of your chest, the curve of your hips, the length of your legs, and his hands balled into fists, just aching to hold you. It’s as if your skin was begging to be touched.

You cleared your throat, feeling incredibly exposed and wondering what in the blazes Mando was looking at because you were certain you looked absolutely ridiculous. The noise shook him out of whatever daze he was in and he quickly shifted his gaze.

“Not a word,” you warned, wobbling down the platform. As bad as the dress was, the heels it came with were somehow worse. “I feel ridiculous.”

“You shouldn’t,” he answered a little too quickly. “You look…” words were lost on him as he tried to find the right one. One that wouldn’t make it obvious that he was losing his kriffing mind in front of you. “Good,” he finally decided on, and mentally kicked himself for it. Good?

You gave him an exasperated look. “I know you’re just being nice.”

He opened his mouth to argue but was interrupted by an ill-timed fit of babbling from the kid. You had bent down as best you could to give him a little pat on the head and he could feel a lump forming in his throat.

Mando couldn’t express how much he didn’t want you to do this. And well, he tried. The whole way back to the ship, in fact. But for some reason you were completely hell-bent on doing this for him, and he didn’t know how to explain that you and your safety meant more to him than a few thousand credits.

The reality was, Mando wanted you. He never thought he’d be so fond for someone besides the Child, but you were the exception. And even though he wanted to make you his, he knew it would be selfish of him to pursue you, to claim you, when he couldn’t give you everything you deserved; his Creed prevented him from doing so.

But Mando was a greedy man, so he took what he could get. He drank up all the kindness you so freely gave him, like a parched soul wandering in the desert, and cherished every little moment the two of you shared. They probably meant nothing to you, but they were everything to him. And he wanted more.

Not only was he a greedy man, but a stingy one as well. The thought of anyone other than him seeing you in that dress was enough to send his thoughts into a jealous frenzy.

“You don’t have to do this,” he tried to reason again.

You placed a gentle hand on the soft spot between his pauldron and neck and offered a small smile. “Don’t worry, Mando. Everything will be fine.”

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

Everything was, in fact, not fine.

The night had started well enough. After all of Mando’s failed attempts at dissuading you again, he had finally resigned to silently stewing in his disapproval rather than voicing it.

You entered the bar while he stayed behind and watched closely from the outside. He had given you a comms device, that, with the push of a button, would let him know you were alone with the bounty and it was time for him to step in.

“Just press it, and I will be right there,” he assured, his gloved fingers pressing the device firmly into your bare palm. Something about the protective tone of his voice stirred something in you. You nodded before looking away, trying to ignore your racing heart.

The bar was rowdy that night, patrons hooting and howling from the booze. The smell of stale spice and death sticks wafted in the air, making you wrinkle your nose. Your newfound bartender friend had waved you over, pointing out the target with a nod of his head.

Your eyes fell on a Pantoran man across the bar with a drink in his hand, dozens of black suits surrounding him. His associates—a Rodian and another Pantoran—seemed to all be talking business. The bartender wasn’t kidding about this guy’s security.

How the hell am I supposed to get this guy’s attention? You desperately racked your head for subtle ideas but came to a halt when his eyes met yours. Kriff, he had caught you staring. So much for subtle. Trying not to panic, you flashed your best coy smile before turning back towards the bar.

Somehow, that was enough to give him the courage to approach you.

Cocky bastard, you thought as he swaggered on up to you, leaning in close, leering. With his chiseled features and striking yellow markings, you would’ve called him handsome— if you didn’t already know what a sleazebag he was. An air of arrogance surrounded him, the type that made him think he could get whatever he wanted with a flash of those pearly whites. Typical douche. You wanted to smack him for being so close.

Instead, you flashed another winning smile. Placing a hand on his shoulder, you leaned in close and with a breathy whisper of, ‘Let’s get out of here’ he was tossing credits to the bartender and signaling to his guards that he was leaving with you.

The Weequay had shot you a knowing look as he watched you leave; a warning. You assured him that everything was fine with a slight nod of your head.

The asshole had his arm snaked around you, hand on your ass, as you made your way to the motel just across the street. You fought back the urge to throttle him, instead fawning about how, ‘I can’t wait to be alone with you, darling.’

Your hands began to clam up as he retrieved the keys from the clerk, and you tried to convince yourself that everything would be fine once you clicked the button on your comm from the inside of the room.

Wrong.

Immediately after the Pantoran locked the door, the unease in your stomach began to grow. Bile rose in your throat at his grinning face, the way he fidgeted and licked his lips as he pressed you into the wall. A hand landed on your bare thigh, trailing dangerously high, where you shuddered in disgust at the feeling.

“We’re gonna have so much fun,” he whispered, and that was your cue to press the comms device you were desperately clutching in your small purse. Your mistake was failing to mask the faint beeping noise it emitted. Your companion stiffened at the sound, pressing you further into the wall.

“What the hell did you just do?” he growled, using the other hand to rip your arm from your purse. He stared at the comms device with contempt, before turning his attention back to me. “You bi—”

He never got to finish, because the next thing you knew your Mandalorian was crashing through the door, blaster in hand.

The scene Mando had walked in on nearly made him sick. That osi’kovid’s hands all over you, and worst of all, the look of pure fear on your face after being made. He’d planned to put a quick end to the whole ordeal, but the bounty had plans of his own.

Mando rushed him, shoving him into the wall and away from you. As expected, the Pantoran went flying before crumpling onto the floor. What Mando hadn’t been expecting was for him to be armed. He didn’t peg him as the type to get his hands dirty.

The Mandalorian was about to release the fibercord whip from his vambrace when the bounty rose from the floor with a sneer, a small combat knife in hand as he lunged at Mando, before wrestling him to the floor and sending his blaster skittering.

You watched in frozen horror as the two fought for the upper hand. At one point, the bounty had tried to charge at you, slashing wildly, but Mando was already there blocking his blows. The knife caught on the cowl above his chest, slicing the skin underneath with a sickening noise. That seemed to kick your brain into overdrive, and you dived for the fallen blaster on the ground.

You took a steadying breath before you aimed and shot once, twice, at the bounty’s leg. He cried out from his place above Mando before clutching his leg and finally falling over.

Mando rose and immediately released the fibercord, imprisoning the bounty. He held his hand out for his blaster, and you watched with wide eyes as he smacked the butt of it into the Pantoran’s face once, twice, three times. The third time ended with an appalling crack, his head lolling forward, and leaving him unconscious.

You stared as Mando stood in front of the bounty, seething. You could have sworn his hands were shaking.

“Stars, Mando, your neck,” you murmured, breathless. The room was dim, but you could see the dark stain of blood that was beginning to drench his cowl. Your hands went to inspect the wound, but he quickly brushed you off.

“We need to go,” he grunted, gathering the rope and heading towards the back entrance of the room. The two of you hadn’t exactly been quiet and the bounty’s guards were bound to notice their boss had been gone for too long. When you had opened your mouth to argue, to insist that you needed to check his injuries, he was already out the door.

Adrenaline still coursed through your veins as you walked back towards the ship. You pulled your arms tight across your body in an attempt to quell your trembling hands; guilt, bubbling up in your stomach as you replayed the events of the night in your head.

You had been the one to volunteer yourself for the mission.

You were the one who had repeatedly insisted that everything would be fine.

And now, your Mandalorian was bleeding profusely from a nasty wound on his neck.

“Mando,” you pleaded, trying to keep up with him in your ridiculous heels. Instead of acknowledging you, your words fell to deaf ears. He was stomping his way back to the ship, the unconscious bounty in tow.

Worry bloomed in your chest. The wound had looked bad back at the motel, but it was as if he couldn’t even feel it. You could hear his ragged breathing from behind; whether it was from the fight, the long walk, or the wound, you weren’t sure.

“Mando,” you tried again, this time raising your voice as you approached the hatch of the ship.

Nothing.

He let out another grunt as he hauled the bounty onto the ship, towards the carbon-freezing machine. You pursed your lips, jaw clenching in his direction. You did not appreciate being ignored, especially after just half-saving his ass just moments before.

Granted, you were the one that had put him in that position, but that was besides the point.

His back was to you and you stepped closer, ready to unleash a piece of your damn mind, when you stopped. You took in his brooding stance and clenched fists. The tremble in his hands. Anger seemed to roll off the Mandalorian in waves, making you falter.

What the hell was his problem?

“Mando, can you kriffing listen to me? I need to treat you, you have no idea if he nicked an important artery or something. I don’t know what you’re so worked up about, but you’ve been bleeding for a few minutes now and I just need to look—” annoyance rose in you as he continued to prep the carbon machine. “Maker, can you even hear me?”

The Mandalorian couldn’t hear you, not clearly anyways. Blood was still rushing in his ears, his vision still tinged red. But with another call of his name, you were finally able to get through and he suddenly whipped around.

“He touched you,” he gritted out, seething and shaking. “That skanah had his hands all over you and I swear if I didn’t need him alive for the bounty, he’d already be dead.” He punctuated the last word with the slam of a button on the machine.

You took a step back, eyes wide and brows furrowed. Something warm tightened in your chest and belly. Wh-why did he care so much? A lump had lodged itself into your throat. “Mando, I—I’m fine. Alright? I’m okay,” you tried to assure. “So, can you please calm down and let me just—"

But the Mandalorian already had his back turned again. You threw your hands up in the air, groaning in frustration as he continued to work. Another minute passed and with a faint whoosh, the bounty was finally set in carbonite.

A shiver ran through your body as the cool night air blew its way into the Razor Crest, raising goosebumps on your exposed skin. Seeing you tremble in the cold seemed to break Mando out of whatever angry stupor he was in.

In all honesty, he hadn’t meant to ignore you, but something in him snapped back at the motel. The image of that skanah touching you had made his blood boil, and his sole goal was to get him back to the ship and be done with it.

“You’re… cold,” he stated, the words coming out slow and soft, like pulling them out of a dream. You must have been freezing in that dress.

Your head snapped up at him. “I—what?”

“Let me get you a blanket or—” He hesitated when he saw you pinch the bridge of your nose, eyes screwed shut.

You couldn’t believe this idiot.

“Mando, seriously?” Your heart and your brain were having a hard time deciding whether you should be flattered about him caring so much or pissed off because he didn’t seem to give a damn about himself.

You chose a mix of the two.

“Mando,” you sighed, looking up at him. “I promise you I’m fine, thank you. Really.” You gave him your most genuine, caring look to show you were thankful for his concern, and then quickly replaced it with a hard one. “But if you don’t get up into that cockpit right now and let me treat you, I’m going to use that damn pulse rifle on you.”

And just like that, you had managed to dissolve the lingering traces of anger in his mind. His lips twitched under the helmet. “That supposed to scare me?”

You glared. “Don’t push it.” You could have sworn he was laughing under there.

The Mandalorian would have laughed if the wound on his neck hadn’t began to ache. Instead, he begrudgingly nodded, throwing his hands up in mock surrender before disappearing into the cockpit.

He began to input the coordinates back to Nevarro into the navicomputer, warmth unfurling in his chest as he listened to you check on the Child. A tiredness had begun to settle in his muscles from the fight earlier, and he grimaced as he reached for a lever on the control panel. The pain on his neck was getting worse, and if he was being honest it burned like all hell, but he was not going to admit that to you.

The door behind him slid open and you stepped in frazzled, medkit in hand. Even with your hair in disarray and scrapes littering your arms and legs, he thought you looked breathtaking.

“Uh, so bad news,” you began, gesturing at the medkit. “They didn’t have any at the market earlier, so we’re out of bacta shots and spray. I’m gonna have to stitch it closed depending on how deep it is.” You shot him an apologetic look.

He nodded, putting in the last of the coordinates before removing his chest plate to give you easier access, and turning his chair to face you. You closed the space between the two of you, quickly going to work. Careful hands began to peel away at the fabric stuck to the wound, a hiss of pain at the tip of his tongue as you ripped off the last of it.

“Sorry,” you whispered, inspecting the fabric before discarding it. “You’re definitely gonna need a new cape.”

He shrugged. “At least now you’ve got a new blanket.” You always had a habit of curling up into all his old stuff.

With a smile, you returned your focus to the task at hand, mentally sighing in relief as you began to clean the wound. It could have been worse, but it was still very deep. An inch to the left and just a smidge higher, and you would have had quite the problem on your hands.

“Idiot,” you muttered.

“What was that?”

“Lucky,” you corrected, biting back a smirk. “You got lucky. Any higher and this would be a lot messier.” You tossed the last of the gauze out and prepared the needle and thread.

Mando took in your awkward stance as you tried to bend down and begin stitching. Standing was fine for when you were cleaning, but for something this intricate it wasn’t the best position. You cursed and tried again, trying to get the angle right, but it was no use. The thought left his mouth before he even had a chance to filter it.

“You can sit on me if that’s easier.”

Heat blazed on your cheeks at his words, nearly dropping the damn needle. “Oh—um—” Coherent thoughts didn’t seem to be forming in your head at the moment.

Panic flooded the Mandalorian’s brain as he took in your shocked expression and realized his mistake. “I—well, not like that—what I meant was—” he spluttered, trying to find the right words, thankful that his helmet hid his mortified expression.

“No, no it’s okay I—I know what you meant,” you managed to choke out after picking your jaw up off the floor. It would have been comical—the certain and capable bounty hunter struggling to regain his composure—but his words had flooded your mind with some less than innocent thoughts and images, ones that left you heated and flustered. You swallowed hard in an attempt to relieve your suddenly very dry throat. “I can, if you’re okay with it?”

He slowly nodded, mentally kicking himself for being so daft. He held his breath as you stepped closer, bracing a hand low on his chest as you perched yourself on his lap. You cursed, trying to your best to maneuver yourself onto him without being inappropriate.

Finally, you were situated, hovering precariously over his thigh. You breathed deep, willing your mind and body to calm down. Being in such close proximity to the Mandalorian was… dizzying, but you had a job to do. And so, you went to work.

A few minutes in, Mando could feel the tension rolling off your body, the tremble of your thighs as you tried to hold yourself above him. “You can sit if you need to.”

The thought had crossed your mind, but truthfully you were afraid of how your body would react if you did. Eventually you gave in, shivering at the cold kiss of beskar on the insides of your thighs as you straddled his leg. A knot was forming in your belly, low and warm.

Maker, help me, you thought.

The change in position had slid your dress higher and Mando’s eyes began to wander again, taking in the exposed skin where your dress had hiked itself up, the material bunching around your hips. His hands felt that pull again, that ache to touch you; to dig his fingers into the soft, plump flesh.

Osik, he cursed, trying to control himself. In his mind he conjured up the image of a blaster, mentally taking it apart and putting it back together as a pitiful attempt at a distraction.

You had fallen into a steady rhythm of stitching and knotting, your hands absentmindedly working. The Mandalorian had fallen into a dull haze in the wake of your delicate touches, despite the sting and pull of the needle. But when your hands brushed the edge of his helmet, he snapped to attention, reflexes kicking in.

A strong hand had immediately encircled your wrist, forcefully locking it in place. Your breath seized at the realization of your colossal fuck-up. How could you be so stupid?

“Shit, shit, I—I’m sorry,” you stammered out. “Mando, I—I promise I wasn’t going to take it off, I just needed to adjust it to get the needle under.” Your heart thundered against your chest, and you swear you could hear it in the empty silence of the cockpit. The iron-clad grip he had on your wrist was starting to hurt, biting into your skin.

Mando saw the flash of fear in your eyes, the way you had flinched at his touch and loosened the grip on your hand. Regret began to bubble up inside him. He opened his mouth to apologize, it had just been his instincts, but you beat him to it. Your next words caught him off guard.

“Do you trust me?”

He swallowed hard. Of course he did. There was no question about it. You were the one constant in his life besides the kid; the one he found he could rely on time and time again for anything. You had never betrayed him, in Creed or otherwise. He took a steadying breath before answering. “Yes.”

You tried to ignore the burst of warmth in your chest at his admission and what it implied. Instead, you nodded, slowly allowing yourself to move again and continue your care. “Lean back,” you whispered and he obliged, fully baring his neck to you. It was a vulnerable position, but the cautious movements of your hands crushed any anxiety that threatened to well up in him.

And maybe it was that cautious, careful touch that had begun to wear down his walls; the tenderness you so freely gave that softened his heart and opened him up. He wanted to make up the last minute to you, to show that he really did trust you. Maybe that’s why he couldn’t stop the next thing that tumbled out of his mouth.

“Din.”

You paused mid-stitch, confusion flickering on your face. “What’d you say?”

His heart felt like it was going to fly out of his ribcage. “My name. It’s Din.”

Confusion slowly morphed to shock at his revelation. He had just shared his name with you; something incredibly personal and dear to him. Knowing it felt… intimate. How many people actually knew his real name? You couldn’t stop that slow smile that had begun to spread on your face.

“Din,” you repeated, hushed as if someone else would hear. His heart skipped at the sound of his name on your lips; the soft way your voice curled around the short syllable. Your eyes peered into his through the visor of his helmet, a question behind them. “Just ‘Din’?”

“Din Djarin,” he corrected.

You repeated it again, delight clear on your face. “I like it.”

I do too, he thought. Especially when you say it. “You can use it whenever, as long as we’re alone or it’s just the kid.”

“Of course,” you nodded, then added a soft, “Thank you.” For trusting me.

The two of you had settled back into a comfortable silence, his hands resting comfortably on your hips, and Din couldn’t fathom why you kept biting back a smile. You were the first to break it.

“I’m sorry, for all this.”

“It’s fine, it’s not that painful.”

You shook your head. “No, I mean—” you gestured at his neck and then to you. “He was aiming for me.”

He scoffed. “You’re out of your mind if you think I’d let anything happen to you.” You could hear the anger beginning to simmer beneath his words again. “No, I… I would protect you every single time. Besides, that osi’yaim got what he deserved in the end.”

Your eyes flicked to his visor again and you tried to ignore the way the knot in your belly tightened at his promise to you and the shiver his low voice sent down your spine. Instead, you tried to change the subject. “Osi’yaim?”

“A useless, despicable person. A waste of space.”

A soft laugh escaped you lips. “You need to teach more Mando’a. Something besides the bad words.”

Din’s heart clenched at your request. Something about you asking to learn his language stirred something deep in him. “Of course,” he managed to reply, but it came out more strangled than he had meant it to.

You continued with your task, getting lost in the repeated movements of your fingers.

Watching you work had always fascinated Din. You granted each injury the same amount of attention, whether it was as small as a papercut or as big as the gash he had now. It was endearing. The meticulous way you ensured every stitch, every bandage, was perfect and in place. The adept movements of your fingers, steady with every touch. The way you bit your lip and furrowed your brow as you concentrated.

He was captivated by it, and you, every time.

His gaze was concealed by his helmet most of the time, but tonight you could feel the weight of his eyes on you. Your cheeks began to burn at the thought of him staring at you so closely and you thanked the maker that he couldn’t see the crimson hue painting your face.

“Are you warm?” he asked, the low rumble of his voice startling you.

“What?”

“You’ve been shivering since you started, but… you’re all flushed,” he explained.

Your eyes widened at his words, heart stopping. “Wait—how can you see my—”

“Heat sensors.” Din couldn’t help but notice the way the heat on your face spread even more, down the soft slopes of your neck and chest.

Of course, heat sensors. You were absolutely mortified, a nervous laugh erupting from your chest. May as well be honest.

“No, not warm, more like embarrassed,” you tried to explain, unable to meet his eyes.

Din tilted his head, trying to understand. “Why?”

You scoffed. “’Cause I just realized I’ve been sticking my ugly mug in your face for the past 20 minutes.”

Din was dumbfounded. Ugly? The mere thought of you seeing yourself in that way made his heart ache. How could you think such a thing when he saw you as the most radiant thing in this galaxy? That, every time he saw you, he had to remind himself to breathe?

He had no idea what the in blazes he was doing, but he knew that he couldn’t let you go on thinking such things about yourself. Din reached out and tilted your chin up towards him, making you meet his eyes.

“Cyar’ika, you are the furthest thing from ugly that someone could be. I—you are absolutely stunning. Do you—do you know what seeing you in that dress tonight did to me?” he confessed, letting out a breathy laugh. The front of his pants tightened in reminder. “I’ll teach you something new in Mando’a right now.” He paused, letting his fingers brush over your chin. “Mesh’la.”

It felt like you were on fire at that point, burning under his gaze, but somehow you found your voice underneath all the flames. “What does it mean?” you breathed, unable to mask the tremble in your voice.

“Beautiful,” he murmured. “You’re beautiful.”

Your body betrayed you, melting into a puddle with just a taste of his touch and the boldness of his words. It was a devastating effect, and there was no denying the dampness that had pooled between your legs now. You managed to stutter out a, ‘thank you’ before trying to finish the last knot of his stitches.

“All done,” you whispered.

Din watched as you admired your handiwork and noticed that you made no move to remove yourself from him. Instead, your hands were softly dragging across the planes of his exposed chest, leaving a trail of fire wherever they went. It was such a foreign feeling, flesh against flesh on such a shielded part of his body. He couldn’t remember the last time anyone had touched him there, let alone so gently.

A strangled sound caught in his throat as you brushed over a particularly sensitive spot, just above the other side of his collarbone. It was almost too much, the shot of electricity that singed his nerves, but it felt good.

His body involuntarily bucked at the sensation and his hands gripped your hips roughly, pressing you flush against him.

You gasped at the sensation, of your clothed core dragging against the beskar plate on his thigh, your knee brushing against the bulge that had tented his pants. Your hands scrabbled to find something, anything, to anchor yourself from the blinding pleasure that fizzled through you.

“Maker,” Din murmured, letting out a shuddering breath. “Osik, cyar’ika, I’m didn’t mean to touch you like that but—”

“But what if I want you to?” your own voice sounding foreign to your ears. You did not miss the way his breath hitched, caught in the modulator of his helmet.

Din’s mind was reeling. “You—you want me to?” he swallowed thickly around the ball of shock that was caught in his throat.

And you’re nodding, eyes dark and body and mind clouded with need, leading his hands up your torso and chest; but Din, he needs to hear you say it. “Use your words, cyar’ika. I need to hear you.”

“Yes, Din. Please,” and that’s enough to dissolve any shred of self-control he thought he had. The sound of you saying his name like that, a plea for him and only him, was maddening.

His hands were on you in an instant; hands that you had seen nearly beat a man to death just for touching you, but on you they were soft, gentle. Desperate, but tender. Rough, but passionate and loving. The contrast was making your head spin.

“Din,” you whimpered. “You have to be careful, your cut—”

“I don’t care,” he rasped. “Do you know how long I’ve wanted to touch you? Make you mine?” He pulled you closer against him, hands grasping at anything he could reach. He wanted to erase any trace of the bounty from your presence.

You tried to answer, but you were a mess, filling the cockpit with soft moans and mewls as you bucked your hips on his thigh.

“I want to watch you make yourself feel good, can you do that? Just like this?” You frantically bobbed your head. “Good,” he answered, stroking your cheek. “You deserve it after tonight, sweet girl.”

The sound of ‘sweet girl’ sent wet heat straight to your core. If anything, you thought he was the one that deserved to be taken care of right now. But you were not about to argue with the Mandalorian who insisted on you using him to get yourself off.

Your hands pawed at his chest again, struggling to find some kind of purchase to anchor yourself. They finally settled for his biceps, nails digging deep. He watched as you grinded down on his thigh, eyes screwed shut. His hands fingered the strap of your dress and you nodded, giving him permission to slide it down.

Din took in the sight of your bare chest, your nipples pebbling in the cold air of the cockpit. He ached to take them into his mouth, hear you whimper and moan against his tongue, but he settled for brushing his gloved fingers over them and watching you arch.

You ground down harder, desperate you get the friction you needed. Din’s hands slipped from your breasts down back to your hips, stilling them. A high whine escaped your throat and it was almost pitiful.

“Up,” he instructed, confusion marring your face as you lifted yourself off his leg. He gripped the thigh plate and dropped it to the ground, promptly setting you back onto his thigh. “Wanna feel you,” he growled, and you could only moan in response.

Soon enough, your arousal had seeped through your panties and onto the fabric of his pants. The heady smell hit his nose and his mouth watered, desperate to know what you tasted like, to know what sounds you would make if he buried his face between your thighs.

You guided his hands back up your chest, up to your neck. His fingers cupped your face again, thumb brushing the bottom of your lip. You held his hand in place, biting the leather tip of his glove and slowly slid it off, letting it drop between you.

The feeling of his bare thumb resting on your lips sent another wave of arousal through you. “Wanna feel you,” you breathed, grinning before taking his thumb into your mouth and sucking hard. Din’s eyes rolled back and he groaned; the sight of your hollowed-out cheeks and the sensation of your tongue on the pad of his thumb nearly sent him over the edge.

One hand trailed to the base of your neck, tangling itself softly in your hair. He took in the way your eyes were screwed shut, the furrow in your brows as you chased your high. You had taken your bottom lip between your teeth, biting hard and almost splitting it from the pressure. It was almost the same concentrated expression you wore as you tended to his injuries, though it was clear you were concentrated on something far more rewarding now.

“Mesh’la,” he commanded. “Look at me.”

You wretched your eyes open, fixing your gaze on him.

Din watched, enraptured, as you continued to pleasure yourself. You were a sight before him; pupils blown, mouth agape, chest heaving as you tried to ease the ache in your belly. He was lost in the way your eyes sparkled, perfectly matching the dark galaxy you were set against just outside the viewport.

Your moans filled the cockpit, desperate sounds and pleads of Din’s name as he sent delicious licks of pleasure throughout your body. You held on for dear life, panting as he brought you closer and closer to the edge.

He feels the tension simmering from your shuddering figure, like a coil just waiting to spring.

“Are you close, mesh’la?” he whispered, his words and the rasp of his voice sending you higher and higher. “Are you going to come for me?”

And you’re a wreck, whimpering and pleading, yes, Din, yes; and all Din can think is he can die happy knowing how you moan his name. He shifts you, pulls you right onto the straining bulge in his pants and you both gasp, the sensation pulling you even closer to your orgasm. A bare hand snakes between where the two of you are pressed against each other and he presses right onto your clit.

A sob tears from your throat and stars burst behind your eyes as you’re pushed off the edge; and you’re falling, waves of ecstasy washing over you and burning straight to your toes. Din holds you close as your body continues to shudder, a steady hand on your back coaxing you down from your high. He lets out a groan when he feels evidence of your orgasm seep through to his clothed cock.

Fog clouds the bottom of his helmet as you softly pant, the pleasure lulling to a dull thrum in your veins. He’s admiring your sleepy eyes, the flushed cheeks of your afterglow. You give off a shy smile, peering into his visor. “Beautiful,” he murmurs right next to your ear. “Just like I said.”

“Thank you,” you hum, pressing a searing kiss onto his bare neck and sliding a hand over the hardness trapped beneath you.

Din hisses at your touch and you laugh, trying to ease the ache between his own legs. “Mesh’la,” he warns, grunting at the loss of contact as you lift yourself off him and slide between his knees, kneeling.

“Yes?” you respond, sliding your hands up and down his thighs, and pausing at the button of his pants.

“You don’t have to—” he starts, but you quickly cut him off.

“But I want to, Din,” you assured. You rest your head on his knee, peering up at him with wide, innocent eyes, awaiting his permission. “Wanna return the favor, wanna taste you,” and you grin at the strangled sound that leaves his throat. He couldn’t deny you even if he wanted to.

Finally, he nods, spreading his legs wider to accommodate you. Your smile grows and your nimble fingers make quick work of the buttons on his pants. You’re just about to free him from the confines of his boxers when an alarm signal sounds from the ship, startling the both of you.

“Come in, Mando,” Greef Karga’s voice crackled through the small room. “We’ve got a problem. I repeat, we’ve got an emergency, please come in.”

Din groans and you throw an exasperated look towards the comms on the control panel. “Just ignore him, it can’t be that—” and you’re cut off by another sound.

The unmistakable sound of a baby crying.

“Shit,” you muttered under your breath, pressing your forehead into Din’s knee. You loved that little green bean to death, but damn him for his horrific timing. Din softly slid his hand over yours and you looked up.

“It’s alright, cyar’ika,” he hummed. “Go check on him,” and you slowly nodded, shooting him an apologetic look before rising from your spot on the floor.

Din watched in mild amusement as you wobbled to the door, before turning his chair towards the control panel and sighing. His own arousal was almost overwhelming, but he did his best to shove it to the back of his mind.

Whatever Greef needed, it had better be good, he grumbled in his head.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

mando’a translations:

osi’kovid – shithead

skanah – very hated person, fucker

osik – shit

osi’yaim – cowardly, useless person

cyar’ika – darling, beloved

mesh’la – beautiful

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

thank you for reading! let me know what ya think!

#the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian #din djarin #star wars #star wars fanfiction #make you mine #certaindark writing #the mandalorian smut #smut #AHHHH I HOPE Y'ALL LIKE IT #IDK HOW TO TAG LOL #I’M SO NERVOUS ABOUT POSTING THIS BUT IT’S FINE #din djarin x reader

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sofiaaaaaaaa03 · 3 years

Text

Goodbye

Pairing: Dan!Din Djarin x Teen GN reader

Request:

hello ily u and ur writings are so great

uhhh may i request dad!din with a teenage reader (like, 15 idk) after grogu leaves with luke? like maybe comforting each other, and the reader asking what happens next, etc etc

just some good ol' angst fluff :] 💞

Scenario: After Grogu leaves with Luke the Reader and Din comfort one another after having to say goodbye.

Rating: PG

Warnings: none

Word Count: 1,980

A/N: I love you!! Thank you so much for reading and I’m sooo happy you like my writings. And yes! I LOVED that Idea. I hope you don’t mind if I sort of went with my own thing for how the reader and Din argued a bit, it sort of just made sense in the situation??? Anyways, I hope you like what I came up with :))) I haven’t written anything in awhile so I’m a tad rusty.

Saying goodbye to each other was always something you’d always known would happen. You simply chose to not think about it and greedily hoped that Din would not be able to find another Jedi who would take Grogu under their wing. In your world, Clan Mudhorn would never break apart and you’d three live together for a very long time. However, life in its mysterious ways is ever changing and never promises one’s future. It certainly never promised yours.

You thought of this as you watched the Jedi in front of you. It was not just any Jedi, but a Jedi who was offering to take care of your little brother. You felt your face blanch at the thought of Grogu leaving you and Din. The thought of you leaving this ship with only Din and the memories you’d made with Grogu terrified you. It couldn’t be real. It can’t be real. You shut your eyes tight, turning your head toward the ground before anyone could see your expression.

“Y/N.”

Din’s hand rested on your shoulder, when you’d looked up you were surprised to meet flesh instead of metal. He took off his helmet. For a moment there was nothing that mattered but the expression your guardian made. It was… sad. Tears pricked his eyes, something you’d never expected to see from him. Din gave you the tiniest of smiles and told you it was time to say goodbye.

Goodbye?

Din held Grogu out for you to take. Slowly you accepted him close and relished one last time on what it was like to hug him tight.

“Ni kar'tayli gar darasuu, ner vod.” You whispered. During the time the two of you spent with Din he’d taken it upon himself to teach you Mando’a. It’d become a habit to show affection in his native tongue. Grogu cooed, leaning away to take in your face. You gave him a tight lipped smile, taking in his own. He’d grown so much. It was hard to believe that he was once a small little thing. “ I’ll always be your sibling. Don’t forget me.”

You sat Grogu back down on the floor and began to rummage through your bag before pulling out a small, plush frog, making Grogu’s ears perk up.

“Can Grogu take this with him?”

Luke nodded, but Grogu made it clear that he wanted you to keep the plush when he wouldn’t reach out for it like he always did. Instead, he stared at you with his big eyes before gently pushing the frog back to you. You bit back a frown. You wanted to ask him, beg him to take the frog you’d put so much love into just for him. Instead you stood up straight and held the plush close to your chest, glancing again at Din who was holding a stoic expression. You forced a smile onto your face.

The goodbye was harder than you’d imagined. So was the deafening silence when the Jedi, his droid, and Grogu disappeared into the elevator.

The moment the elevator door shut you snapped your head towards Din, but he turned his back to you and walked away. He wandered to the far end of the room and stayed there, quiet as he kept to himself. His hands fiddled with the darksaber that weighed more than you ever imagined it would before this mission began.

It was easy to forget that there were others in the room, though you were quickly reminded of their presence when they surrounded you to provide comforting words, some giving warm embraces and telling you about their own separations from loved ones. They reassured you that you would be fine in the end. You didn’t believe them. Fennec was talking to you, but your focus was on the far side of the room where Din was currently talking to Bo-Katan and Cara. You wondered what they talked about. You wondered what was going to happen now. Now, that the clan lost one member and had no ship to call home.

Din would barely look at you when Bo-Katan and the other women left the cockpit, looking for supplies and scrounging up any valuable information left. That was assuming that there was no emergency delete button someone pushed in a panic amid the raid. You didn’t bother thinking about it long, as you stared at the back of Din’s head. He’d kept his helmet off, making it the longest that you’ve seen him without it. You stared at the helmet from where it sat on top of the mainframe.

“Are you going to rule Mandalore now?” Your voice cut through the barrier between the two of you, making Din shuffle in his steps.

His back remained towards you and his tone was cold. “I don’t want to talk right now.”

You frowned, taken aback by this sudden attitude he’d taken on. “What do you mean by ‘I don’t want to talk right now’?”

“Exactly that.”

“But I want to.” You crossed your arms.

“It can wait.”

His response came off indifferent as though he wanted to move on. For a moment you felt like you’d shut down, sure there were times where Din would behave like this coming home after a long day, too exhausted to deal with two children. But he’d never done this before. No. This was new. You didn’t like new. Not now, not when things were so uncertain for you.

“You can’t just shut me out so quickly!” You walked up so that you spoke to his back. “You’re not the only one who just went through that. I never wanted to say goodbye to Grogu. I didn’t think it’d be this soon, either. I didn’t think that. And now I don’t know what you’re going to do after this, where you’re going to go, if you’re going to let me go with you, if-”

“If I let you go with me?” Din turned to face you, eyebrows furrowed. “Y/N, of course you’re coming with me. You’re my foundling.”

“So was Grogu!” You exclaimed, suddenly realizing that tears were streaming down your face. The stress and grief were suddenly catching up to you and it showed, causing Din to raise his hands up a little. He slowly lowered them, seemingly in thought. He sighed, and gently pulled you to sit down with him on some chairs by the mainframe. You felt ashamed of yourself for crying in front of him, but didn’t say anything. Instead you were wiping your tears with your shirt as you waited for him to finally speak.

“You know Grogu is too strong with his magic to be left without training.” Din scratched his ear, eyes downward so that you couldn’t see the tears pricking his eyes again. “You… you’re only a kid. You remember that, right? You need me to protect you before you’re strong enough to leave the clan.”

You stared at him with big eyes as though you were pretending to process what he was saying. But you understood what he meant. He had the best intentions for Grogu and he has the same intentions for you. You were lucky to have someone like Din. The cloth of your shirt suddenly caught your interest as you stared down at it, playing it in between your fingers.

You sniffed, rubbing your arm across your nose. “I’m sorry for yelling at you…”

“It’s okay, Y/N.” Din wrapped an arm across your shoulder and pulled you close. As you settled into him you rested your head against his shoulder, waiting for him to say something though he never did. Maybe he was thinking about Grogu. It wouldn’t be a surprise. Anyone could see how much he’d grown attached to the little thing, despite his initial response to having to care for him.

“You’re a great dad…” You whispered, playing with the frog in your hands. Din smiled warmly, something you missed as you continued to look down.

“Do you remember how happy Grogu was when you gave him that frog?” Din’s voice made the armor he’d dawned vibrate slightly. It ticked your cheek. You liked how it felt.

“Mhm.” You nodded as you made the frog dance in your hands. It’s chipped, mismatched buttons stared back at the two of you.

“When I was young I used to lose my toys all the time.”

You looked up at him, “But that was before the Mandalorians took you in, right? Weren’t they, I dunno, strict about toys?”

“No.” Din looked off, watching the stars that decorated the space they shared. “If they found a kid that still had their toy with them they didn’t take it away. In my clan, every child had a toy of their own, to help make their transition easier, though I kept losing mine.”

The two of you shared a small laugh. Din shook his head and looked at you fondly. “Grogo went everywhere with that frog. It meant so much to him. Guess it was because of you.”

You didn’t say anything. A warmth began to spread through your sternum at Din’s remarks. You hugged the frog close to your chest. It still smelled like Grogu. The same, earth-like geranium that followed him around. He knew that you needed the plush more than he did now that you had to say goodbye, and you were thankful for that.

“Are you going to miss him?”

“Of course I am.” Din nodded solemnly before he turned towards you and ruffled your hair. “But we’ll see him again.”

A moment of silence falls upon you two, one of the mainframes makes a sound and the security shows the women entering a room on the other side of the ship. They were covering good ground and carried several bags of what was assumed to be supplies for their next mission. Would Din be a part of that mission?

“So, what happens now?” You inquired, glancing up at him. “Are you going to rule Mandalore?”

Din looked up and inhaled deeply as though he was pondering the question. He must have made some sort of plan prior. But his possession of the dark saber meant that plans had now changed. “I never expected to become a… king. Though, there’s not much to be king of.”

Behind closed doors between Din and the adults you’d hear bits and pieces about what the Empire had done to the planet. Though you were heavily uninformed, you had a good grasp that the planet was practically not worth ruling.

“Are you going to go with Bo-Katan? She wants to take back Mandalore. With you as king it’d be fitting.”

You didn’t miss how Din grimaced slightly at her name. “What?”

Din pushed himself up and motioned for you to follow as he grabbed his helmet and began walking out. He draped an arm across your shoulder when you caught up to his pace. “Bo-Katan doesn’t seem to be all too happy with me having the darksaber. I should keep some distance and wait for her to cool off.”

You whispered a small ‘oh’ and looked ahead. Guess he wasn’t going to go with her then. “So we have no plans then, great.”

Din glanced at you, “ What do you think we should do?”

Your mind flashed back several days ago to when you’d barely escaped being destroyed along with the razor crest. “I miss the ship.”

“You and me both.”

“Do you think we can find a new one?”

“You can’t just find a ship, kid. It’s gonna need some credits.”

“Yeah but technically you’re a king now! Use that royalty of yours and get us one.”

“That’s not how it works kid.”

“You don’t know yet! You’ve been king for what, five minutes?”

“Maybe I will leave you here.”

“No you won’t. You love me too much to do that.”

376 notes · View notes

sabraeal · 3 years

Note

Consider: Obi is green-red color blind

A Color by Any Other Name

Written for @aeroplaneblues for a surprise birthday gift! Many months ago she mentioned wanted to see a colorblind Obi, and I said, WELL WHAT A GOOD EXCUSE TO WRITE THIS PROMPT JOANNA GAVE ME. I hope your birthday is a good one, filled with a lot more nice surprises!

“Are you ever going to introduce me to your guard friends?” Suzu asks around a mouthful of dumpling. “Or are you embarrassed?”

To say Obi is unprepared, would be an understatement; there’s a pork bun lodged between his teeth, his gloves not only coated in pig grease but also far less effective against steam than he’d thought they’d be back when he’d just grabbed a plump little blob off the stall. He’d laughed off Suzu’s concerns about protective equipment; after all, if smiths use leather gloves, they’ve got to be just as good as an oven mitt.

They aren’t. Not to mention the roof of his mouth starting to have a real good think about peeling off and having a vacation. Maybe even with someone who doesn’t eat entire dumplings straight from the basket.

“Wha?” he manages eloquently, nearly drooling spicy meat drippings onto the street.

“I know I’m not cool like they are,” Suzu continues, warming to his new thesis. If his sudden flush of confidence is any measure, he’s spent more of time composing his arguments for this than Obi’s ever seen him work on his actual defense. “And I’m no good with a sword. Or fists. Or really any implement that isn’t a scalpel, and any opponent that isn’t already anesthetized. But I am very smart.”

There’s a thoughtful pause before Suzu adds, “Some people do enjoy that, you know.”

What Obi knows is that this kid tried this conversation on for size in front of Yuzuri, and she didn’t even bother to warn him as a courtesy. See if he buys her any more meat-on-sticks when she’s ‘left her purse in the lab’ now.

“That’s not--” he takes a hurried minute to swallow-- “not what’s happening. I didn’t...”

Even know you knew I didn’t work for the pharmacy. His teeth clamp shut around that winner, and its friend, I didn’t think you lot would want to hang out with a bunch of men without degrees. Not only would that encourage Suzu to make a scene right here, right now, but if it got back to Jirou-- well, if he thought Suzu could turn any day into a disaster, the lieutenant would make that seem like a vacation.

“I didn’t think you wanted to,” he settles on instead. Similar enough in feel, if...creatively edited. “You scholar types tend to flock together.”

“Well, sure,” Suzu murmurs, stymied, “but we’re friends too, aren’t we? If all my friends are your friends, then all your friends should be my friends.”

Only an academic could talk about arithmetic with that amount of confidence, especially the kind that involved transitive properties and letters, and all sorts of things that made Obi’s head spin.

“Well,” he hums, one boot scratching his calf. “You would know.”

Suzu whirls on him, staring down his long fox-snout of a nose. “You mean it? You’ll really...?”

“Sure. If that’s what you want.” He twitches his shoulders, more casual than he feels. “It’s fine if it’s you.”

There’s always been a lazy lilt to Suzu’s eyes, but it disappears now, all the sleepiness gone to surprise. “Me? You wouldn’t want to bring anyone else?”

“Well, definitely not Kazaha.” The glares he’d get bringing that twiggy pedant into the guardhouse might be enough to drop him dead on the spot. “And Yuzuri would be too popular.”

Suzu grimaces. “The number of admirers she’d get from a wink alone...she’d be unlivable.”

He can see it now, her ponytail bobbing with a buoyant glee, giggling through every painstaking penned line from her fan club-- “Think of all the bad poetry.”

“Honestly, that might make it worth it. At least I’ll feel better about not knowing the difference between a quartet and a quatrain.” Suzu takes a thoughtful bite of him bun. “And you couldn’t bring Shirayuki, of course.”

“Right.” Not a one of them could be trusted to keep their lips sealed; she’d hardly have to take a breath and someone would call her Obi’s lady, or ask how they met, or whether she’s still Mistress behind closed doors--

But Suzu wouldn’t know any of that. “Wait, why?”

“Well...” He has the grace to look chagrined about it, whatever it is. “You know. Her hair...?”

“Oh.” Obi shrugs. “Sure, I guess.”

“You guess?” Suzu stares. “Shirayuki has a non-zero amount of stories about being kidnapped for looking like a candied apple, and you guess there might be a fuss about bringing her ‘round to the guardhouse?”

“Well, none of you acted weird about it,” he snips, hiding his annoyance behind a bite of dumpling. “There’s no reason they will.”

“Of course no one at Lilias acted weird, Obi!” he squawks, arms flailing as he talks. “You couldn’t pay them to look at anything but their own project. But when a bunch of normal men with eyes and, uh, other working appendages see a cute girl with red hair and a soft voice, they’re gonna go crazy!”

His palm hooks around his shoulder, thumb digging into the hard knot at his collarbone. “Aw, come on. It’s not that special.”

“Not that--?” Suzu whips around, eyes round as dumplings. “Obi, she’s the only person I’ve ever seen with red hair.”

“You don’t get out much,” Obi deadpans. “No offense.”

“That’s not--” Suzu grunts, throwing up his hands-- “She’s the only person anyone’s ever seen with red hair!”

“Her dad’s is kind of red.” That observation wins him an unimpressed look, one that says you’re missing the point. “And Yuzuri had blue hair when I met her. That’s way more interesting--”

“It was dyed!” Suzu wobbles over to a wall, sitting with his head in his hands. “Shirayuki has a hair color so rare that the birth records in Clarines haven’t noted it in more than fifty years! And you think Yuzuri dying her hair with woad is more impressive.”

“Well, even her natural color is brighter than Miss’s. Not--” he waves a hand between them, quelling-- “that Miss’s hair isn’t nice enough. But I’d think that people would pay more attention to that.”

“...Brighter?” Suzu murmurs after a long moment, stilted. “Obi, could you tell me what color that sign is, right over there?”

“The one for the tea shop?” He wrinkles his nose. “Why--?”

“Just...indulge me for a moment.”

“All right.” He squints up at the moon cresting over a wolf’s head. “Blue.”

“Right, and, um, that coat over there.”

“Yellow.”

“Right.” Suzu’s voice is tight, stressed. “And what I’m wearing?”

Obi squints. This one’s a little harder, but he’s confident when he says, “Green.”

“Ah, right.” Suzu stands, a unsteady on his feet. “That would explain that, then.”

Obi blinks. “Explain what?”

“Obi,” Suzu begins, with all the gravitas of both a grim prognosis and a terrible joke. “You can’t see colors.”

It’s not the first time Obi’s played hound to his prey’s fox, but there’s something distinctly unsettling about it being Suzu that leaves him lagging behind, unsure of himself. Especially with the way he scurries through the concourse, bounding toward the mess hall with this idea caught between his teeth like chicken feathers.

“I can see colors just fine,” Obi informs him with far less confidence than he’d like. “Some of them are just hard to tell apart. Weren’t you and Yuzuri arguing yesterday about whether salmon is orange or pink?”

Suzu waves a hand at him, dismissive. “That’s different. Salmon’s both orange and pink, and what color it looks most like has to do with the composition of your eye-- and it’s pink by the way, with orange undertones--”

Between the two of them, Obi knows who he’d trust to know their colors. “Uh-huh.”

“You can’t make out red and green, which is different entirely, and--” the doors to the mess burst open beneath his hands, a noise lost in the din of a hundred scholars trying to share the same table-- “YOU GUYS WON’T BELIEVE WHAT I JUST FOUND.”

The whole of Shidan’s lab-- minus the man himself-- have taken up right by the door, bags and coats piled to save them their places on the bench. Suzu makes short work of the pile on his seat, haphazardly shoving them to the floor as he sits.

Kazaha peers at him and ventures mildly, “A new way to avoid finishing your thesis?”

“No,” Suzu hums between his grit teeth, “but I have found out--”

“I don’t think we need to do this,” Obi murmurs, handing Miss her muffler. “It’s not--”

“Obi,” he intones with far more gravitas than his name has ever strictly deserved, “can’t see colors.”

“Not at all?” Kazaha turns those sharp eyes to him, like he’s a specimen under glass. “Just black and white?”

“I can see just fine,” Obi huffs, tossing Yuzuri her coat before he slides onto the bench, knee knocking into Miss’s in a way that puts his heart through its paces. “Suzu is just making a mountain out of a molehill.”

“Is that so?” he hums with a grin. “Then what color is Shirayuki’s hair?”

He stifles a sigh. It’s best to put all this to bed now, before he’s stuck playing what’s this color for the next two years. “Red.”

“What’s the point of this?” Yuzuri yawns, already bored. Obi shoots her a grateful look, glad that at least one of them isn’t going to play Suzu’s game.

It’s too bad he’s already puffed up with unearned confidence, like an evolutionist at a botany lecture. “And what’s the color of Ryuu’s cloak?”

He knows it by heart-- how could he not, when the two most important people in this city wear matching ones-- but still Obi glances up, anticipating a trick. Ryuu stares back, confused and guileless. “Blue.”

“Great, good.” Suzu’s grin stretches from ear to ear. “Now what color is your scarf?”

Obi’s fingers knot in the fabric, the weft tickling the pads of his fingers. “Well, it’s...sort of reddish, isn’t it?”

This is the wrong answer.

“It makes so much sense,” Yuzuri murmurs in wonder. “You really don’t know how ugly Suzu’s outfits are. That’s why you still hang out with him.”

“Hey!” Suzu pouts. “That’s not very nice.”

“No, that has nothing to do with color, it’s the cut.” Anxiety spikes through him. “But wait, it is red isn’t it? My scarf?”

“No,” Miss murmurs at his side, cheeks flushes. “Obi, it’s...it’s green.”

He stares down at it, trying to imagine what that might look like. “Green.”

“It looks very nice on you!” Her small fingers wrapping in the fur at his elbow. “It’s your color, really.”

“Oh, sure,” he murmurs, faint. “I guess it matches my eyes.”

“Hey, what do you mean ‘it has nothing to do with the color?’“ Suzu’s hands fly to his hips, brows drawn tight over the long line of his nose. “My clothes are just fine.”

“They aren’t.” Obi leans in next to him, grin feeling thinner than it should. “But I hang out with you anyway, which means you know we’re really friends.”

Kazaha rubs at his chin, where his ode to Shidan’s goatee is failing to thrive. “You know what this also explains?”

Obi blinks. “What?”

“All the black.”

It’s not Kazaha that says it, oh no. That would be too merciful for a mortifying moment out of his life. Instead it’s low and feminine, and when Miss Kiki leans out from the other side of Miss, it’s like a siren emerging from the depths, teeth bared to tear a man to shreds. “What an interesting thing I’ve learned today.”

“Miss Kiki! How--?” He gulps. “Why--?”

“I came to deliver a message from Wirant,” she drawls, too pleased. “And it seems I’ve earned myself a fine tip.”

“No,” he breathes. “You can’t-- you’re not going to tell Master, are you? Or Sir?”

“Oh,” she hums, looking particularly hungry for manflesh. “I certainly will.”

“Oh, there there.” Miss pats his back, the sensation lost among the dozen layers of clothing between them. “I’m sure Kiki won’t tell them, not until you’re ready! You asked her not to.”

“I think that just means,” Obi mutters, voice muffled by his arms and the wall he’s throwing himself over, “that she’ll just enjoy telling them more.”

“Ah...” He doesn’t need to see her to know her grimace. “Yes, that’s...probably right.”

He lets out a heavy, dramatic sigh. It helps a little. So does a bit of flailing.

“They won’t make a big deal out of it,” Miss says, changing tack. “It hardly changes anything! I’m sure they’ll just forget as soon as she tells them.”

He peeps one eye over his elbow. “That’s easy for you to say, you haven’t spent the last half an hour playing What’s That Color.”

“Well,” she wheedles, “they are scholars.”

Obi groans, loud and long, which doesn’t help; but it echoes out over the rooftops, returning back to him, which does.

“How...?”

Miss hesitates, a gloved finger pressed to her lips. He sighs, already braced for the onslaught-- how didn’t you know? how did you go so long without knowing your colors? how do you find people if you can’t even tell what hair color they have--?

“How did you notice?”

Obi lifts his head, unblinking. “What?”

“How did you notice?” Miss repeats, more firmly this time. “You’ve spent your whole life this way, haven’t you? It must have taken something really special to realize there was more than what you see.”

“Uh.” It’s nice that it’s darker here, that it’s cold. He has perfect legitimate reasons to be flushed. “Well, it was Suzu really. He mentioned that--” his teeth clamp down around his words, not letting them out without a hasty edit-- “that people think your hair’s pretty special, and I said I didn’t get why...”

Miss stiffens beside him, a statue that breathes, and he hastily adds, “Not that you aren’t special, Miss. It’s just, the red...”

“Right.” The words comes out stilted, strange. “You can’t see it. You actually...haven’t ever seen it.”

A silence settles on them like a wool blanket; not one of those nice ones at the castle, or the fleecy ones Miss stockpiles like one day the North might run out of sheep, but the itchy, coarse-woven ones of his childhood. Uncomfortable and smelling faintly of animal.

“So,” he coughs, fixing his gaze out over the city. “What did Kiki want?”

“Oh...” Miss shifts, mouth pulling into a guilty grimace. “She came to tell me that the Queen Dowager has invited me to dinner. Tomorrow night.”

His brows raise. “Well, well.”

“Don’t,” she murmurs, head giving the barest shake. “It’s not like that.”

“Are you sure?” He shouldn’t press, but if he doesn’t, no one else will. “After you told Master--”

“I told him a list of reasons why I thought I would be a better ally as a friend, and not as a...” Miss loses steam, letting her words sigh into the air. “I’d like to believe this has to do with my work with Phostyrias.”

He watches her, careful. “But do you?”

“I don’t know,” she says, which is as good as any no.

Obi’s barely stepped into the Protector’s solar when Master asks, “What color is my jacket?”

His head swivels, delivering a glare so flat carpets would be jealous. Miss Kiki only hums, shoulder lifting in a disinterested shrug. “I said I was going to tell them.”

Fair enough.

“It’s blue,” he deadpans, flopping onto the cushiest divan. He’s too long for it, his boots spilling off one arm a idling over the floor. “Apparently I can see that one just fine.”

According to Miss, at least; she’d unearthed a slip of a book from the university’s library, outlining the limits of his sight. Little Ryuu had pored over it for a day before showing up at his door, flushed faced and nervous.

Garrack always told me I had nice eyes, he’d admitted, lingering at the threshold. I was hoping you could see them.

Cross as he is about the whole thing, Obi can’t regret that. He might not have Miss’s hair, or Suzu’s coat-- thankfully-- but Ryuu’s eyes would always look true to him.

“But not red.” Master’s mouth twitches, far too entertained. “Or green.”

“I do see them,” he protests. “They just...don’t look very different to me.”

Just another shade of yellow and brown, if those books are right. Which they are, since he’d always thought so. Subtly different, like the way Suzu and Yuzuri fought over salmon, or Master and Miss Kiki would dither over chartreuse. Just enough that he’d been able to eke by on keeping his mouth shut and a fondness for black.

Still, there’s nothing worse than finding out something new about yourself this late in the game. Especially when--

“What about the curtains?” Master inquires. “Can you see those?”

--Especially when it’s so endlessly entertaining to everyone else. “I can see them,” he grumbles, sinking further into the cushions. “Just because I can’t see some colors doesn’t mean I’m blind.”

“Then what about the note?”

Obi rolls his gaze to where Sir perches at his desk. “Huh?”

“To our red-haired guest.” Sir coughs, a flush working its way up his neck. “It’s just-- you wrote that.”

“Oh, His Grace told me that one.” A lifetime ago, it seemed. “‘The red-haired girl, you’ll know her when you see her, I’m sure.’“

Master winces. Obi can admit his talent doesn’t lie with impressions, especially ones of dour old men.

“Right,” Sir presses, voice oddly tight. “But you don’t see-- I mean, how could you find a girl that looks just like everyone else?”

“Ah...” He grimaces, scrubbing at the top of his head. “Well, I just looked for the girl who didn’t belong. It--” he hesitates, suddenly aware of Master’s eyes on him-- “didn’t take very long.”

Master’s frown belongs above one of those prie-dieu, to remind penitents that forgiveness isn’t absolute. “What is that supposed to--?”

“So what does she look like?” No one could say that after a decade of dedication, Miss Kiki doesn’t know how to do her job; she deflects Master’s brewing sour mood with the ease of a professional. “What does her hair look like to you?”

“Uh.” He clears his throat, tugging at his collar. “I wasn’t lying when I said I bought my scarf to match...”

There is a stillness to the room that is too much, too pitiful. Much as he hated it, Obi would much rather be a joke than a charity case.

“Huh,” Sir grunts, gaze still fixed to his neck. “Now I wonder what we all look like to you.”

“Well, I sort of wonder what you all look like to yourselves.” Obi let a sigh float wistfully through his lips. “At least I know that me and Miss still have the same eyes.”

There’s silence again, but this one buzzes, filled with words no one dares to say.

“What?” he laughs, nervous, pulling himself upright. “Don’t we?”

Sir grimaces. “Ah, Obi...”

Miss is quiet when they walk the walls home that night, the winter stillness making the silence and heavy as any drift. Her mouth is pursed, not with anything like anger, but something closer to consideration. As if there’s words back there she’s sorting through, trying to compose a thought that just won’t come.

Well, she should know: she won’t get anywhere if she doesn’t air a few of them out to look at. “Something wrong, Miss?”

She blinks, shaken out from wherever she gone away. Her mind palace, maybe. Suzu’d told him about those once, with busts and painting and curtained alcoves. What she’d do with a place like that, he couldn’t imagine, but if anyone asked, he’d put his money on hers having apothecary drawers instead, and gardens too. The kind with half crumbled walls, ivies curled around every stone. Cluttered desks piled high with books, and one of them with curtain drawn to let its owner nap the afternoon away.

“Oh,” she breathes, finally. “No, no. Nothing’s, um, wrong. I was just...thinking.”

He lifts a knowing brow. “So something is wrong.”

“That’s not what I said,” she informs him, primly. “I was going over my meeting with Haruto, and...”

Her lips snap shut around the words, distress narrowing her eyes. “And...?”

“She didn’t know about my work,” Miss huffs, arms wrapping tight around her chest. “Or, she did, but only what Zen had told her. Which...”

Was far less than the whole of it. He’d heard that part of her argument that night, try as he might not to. “So she invited you as Zen’s ally?”

“No.” The word is colder than any he’s ever heard fall from her lips. “That I wouldn’t mind-- I’m still trying to be his ally, after all, and if she saw me as an asset...” She shook her head. “No, she wanted to meet his...paramour, even if she didn’t say as much.”

Obi grimaces.

“And even that wouldn’t be so bad if...” Miss took a deep, steeling breath. “When I came in, after all the curtsies and pleasantries, she said, your hair is just as red as he said it was.” Her knuckles are white where they wrap around her elbows. “All those years, all those letters, and the only thing he thinks to tell his mother is that my hair...”

The rest is lost in a sigh, a cloud of mist swirling off the wall.

“It must really be something,” Obi deadpans, gaze following it off the edge. “Since it makes all these people forget how smart you are.”

She’s watching him; he can feel it as she sidles up to where he stands, hands unclenching from her arms and splaying on the crenellations instead. “Obi, you really can’t...?”

Miss hesitates, falls silent. He lets her; she’s put enough words in the air to sort through, and now all she needs is time. Obi’s happy to give it to her.

Especially since there’s a rabbit down there in the dark. A small one, moving slow, hind legs churning like clockwork winding up. It’s nose digs into the snow, snuffling around, searching--

“Can you really see better?” Miss asks, startling him back to the wall. “In the dark, I mean. That book said you could.”

“Well, after the past couple days, I’m a little shaky on what’s normal.” He jerks his chin over the edge. “Can you see the rabbit down there? Right by that sapling?”

She blinks, pressing in close. “The what? It’s just...dark out there.”

“Well,” he says, grin tight on his lips. “There’s your answer.”

Miss settles back on her heels, one hand already cupping her chin. “It makes sense. Without the distraction of color, your movement tracking must be much more acute...”

Obi only half-manages to stifle a laugh. “Seems like it definitely distracts everyone else.”

Miss goes quiet; almost too quiet, enough to make his teeth sit on edge. The seconds tick by, and Obi might play at patience, but it’s not in his nature. He glances down, just from the corners of his eyes, but Miss is already watching him, eyes strangely shuttered.

“Obi,” she says, so clear his name rings in his ears. “You don’t...? My hair, it’s not...” Her mouth works, quiet, before she manages, “It’s not anything to you?”

Anything special, she means. Because that’s what he said so stupidly last night, nothing special.

She’d tied it up tonight, finagling the strange looping knots that were partial to the queen’s court, but already some of it’s worn loose, slipping from its pins. “It is,” he murmurs. “I like it.”

She huffs, unimpressed. “But you can’t see it, not really.”

“Of course I can see it,” he laughs, weary. “Maybe not the color, but that’s fine. I like it because it’s yours.”

She ducks her head, and Obi might not be good at colors, but he can see her cheeks flush in the lamplight.

“Miss.” Her gaze lifts to his, no longer shuttered, just full. “Can I ask you something?”

Her breath catches. “Anything.”

“Be straight with me,” he pleads. “We do have the same eye color right?”

“Obi!” Miss‘s laughter bubbles bright with betrayal as she hops down the stairs after him. “Obi, please--”

“Let me grieve, Miss,” he grumbles, hands shoved in his pockets. “I’ve been a real champ about the rest, but let me have this.”

“Obi!” She catches him round the wrist, mouth twitching as she turns to him. “Is it really so bad that they’re gold?”

“No,” he mutters sullenly, shoulders slumped enough that with two stairs between them, they’re nearly the same height. “It’s just...”

Her eyes flutter wide with curiosity. “Just...?”

“It’s fine enough that they’re unique.” He spits the word with more venom than it deserves. “I just I wanted this one thing in common.”

“In common?” Miss blinks. “You mean, me and...?”

Obi would lay down his life for his mistress, but even she can’t ask him to do this, to lay down his pride for her to walk on.

“Oh!” She flusters, limbs fluttering in the air between them. He’s half-tempted to turn away again, but she grabs his face and holds him steady, her cold, slender fingers caught behind his jaw. “Just-- just one moment...”

“Miss?” he wheezes. This is entirely too close, too much--

“Yes!” He breath flutters over his lips, her own parting in a celebration of teeth. “That’s it. I see it. There’s a little, right there.”

He blinks. “A little what, Miss?”

Her teeth flash around the word, “Green.”

It’s cruel to throw a starving dog a bone, but he snaps it up anyway, heart nearly clogging up his throat with hope. “D’you mean it? You’re not just saying that to make me feel better.”

“Really,” she promises, her nod serious and officious as any she might give Little Ryuu. “There’s a thread, right around the middle. Green. Just like mine.”

“Oh.” His own hands raise, leather muting the feel of her skin, but-- Master always told him about the red thread that bound him and Miss together, that drew them toward their fated meeting, but this-- Obi will take this too. “Thank you, Miss.”

She smiles, eyes shining bright in the lamplight. “No, Obi, it’s my pleasure.”

Not much different between green and red to him, anyway.

#obiyuki #akagami no shirayukihime #snow white with the red hair #my fic #ans #this request has been sitting in my box since 2017 #when i FIRST started joking about this au #and i always meant to get around to it #but obviously my last few years have been filled with some things that have perhaps kept me #from being able to do all the things I meant to 🤣#but once Anne brought this up again #I knew i had a very good excuse to finally get this thing out in the world #AND HERE IT IS #it takes place some amount of time after the current arc

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furiosophie · 3 years

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maybe a little more oh the things we left behind epilogue fluff??? ;u; i know the entire epilogue was fluff but i am insatiable

yes very good thinking anon and sorry for the long wait my brain is just a heap of goo right now but here we go - some ottwlb fluff set between the Mandalorian war and the very last scene of the fic, a small compilation of how Din found the rest of their family:

oh the things we found

small TW for mentions of blood and trauma

Din doesn't in any way plan on becoming a magnet for Force-sensitive children, he really doesn't, but it happens regardless, something about his unique combination of Force-null beskar, Force-conduit darksaber, and Force-bond husband drawing them in like moths to a flame.

He finds Rey first, on a recon mission out to Jakku, casing a distress signal from a lost covert. She can't be any older than Ben, who is seven now and an absolute terror, but in comparison to him, she doesn't listen to Din one bit, her whole life just a series of defying the authority figures around her. She dangles from a rope above him, in the hollowed-out remains of an Imperial Star Destroyer, sticking out her tongue at him. "I'm not coming with you!" she declares while Din tries to position himself in a way that will allow him to catch her if she slips. "I'm waiting for my family. They're coming to get me!"

He doesn't have the heart to tell her no one in their right mind would ever willingly come back to a place like Jakku. He places all his rations, most of his credits, and, just for good measure, some bacta spray on the ground below her like he's making some offering to an ancient feral god and leaves with an ache in his chest.

"She won't come with me," he complains to Luke later, pacing up and down in the living area of the Mudhorn while Luke brews tea. They don't technically live in the Mudhorn anymore, have their own quarters in the ruins of Yavin's temple, but they always end up here regardless, whenever one of them comes back from a mission, whenever they need it to be just the two of them, away from everyone's worries.

Luke hands him a steaming cup and places a soft kiss on his temple. "Don't worry," he says, in that cryptic tone of his, the one he uses to tease Din when he's being daft about something that's impossible for him to know. "She will." And that's that.

Din goes back. Once, twice, three times, until the sparse crowd of locals looks at him with pity in their eyes. She does come with him eventually, after his eighths visit, when he draws the darksaber on a dune beast and turns around to find her looking at him with the type of recognition in her eyes that he's only ever seen in the way Luke looks at Ben and Grogu.

"She's like you," he accuses when Luke greets them at the bottom of the Mudhorn's ramp, Rey perched high on his shoulders, her arms wrapped around his helmet so tight it's hard for him to see. Luke just smiles and reaches out so Rey can tentatively take his hand. The change is instant - as soon as their palms touch her whole body relaxes as if something in her is finally at peace and Din has to reach up to keep her from sliding off his shoulders. And well. That's that.

Finn is next, standing tall in front of a group of terrified kids, in a backroom of the imperial laboratory they just raided, his eyes ablaze and lips turned up into a snarl. "I'll fight you," he snaps even as Din can see his hands shaking around the mop he fished out of the supply closet as a makeshift weapon. "I'm not scared, I'll fight you!" And really all Din can do in response is pull his helmet off and fall to his knees with his hands raised above his head.

It seems to work because he gets all of them into the Mudhorn eventually, Finn curled up on the copilot's seat, staring out in wonder at the endless expanse of space while the rest of the kids are rolled up into every available blanket in the captain's quarter. It's a bit of a rough start - where Rey felt turmoil because of the things swirling inside her without guidance, all Finn has ever known is supervision and people telling him to be something he's not, his connection to the Force tempered down in all the wrong places, too silent and too loud all at the same time, and in the first weeks, Din spends a lot of time hugging him close to the beskar plating of his chest, taking strolls under the quietness of Yavin's trees like he used to do with Ben. Finn quiets eventually, just as Rey did, the two of them getting on like a house on fire.

Shara is the one who brings Paige and Rose Tico, two sisters left stranded and alone by the still raging unrest of the remnants of war, and there is barely a discussion before she decides to take them in herself, the two of them glued to Poe the second they step off Shara's ship.

He finds Armitage last, standing over the dead body of an Imperial officer, blood on his hands and all across his face, just a sliver of yellow in the green of his eyes. Din has bruises on his arms for a week from how hard the kid strains against him as he tries to drag him out of the Star Destroyer before it self-destructs, but he figures, all things considered, they'll be able to handle that too.

He turns out to be a menace, of course, too smart for his own good, and way too stubborn to let Ben get away with his teasing, which always seems to end up Luke and Din having to physically drag them away from each other. Din tries to do for him what he did for everyone else, to hold him close and comfort him, but he only ever succeeds in the quiet of the night when he finds him at the very top of the temple wrapped up tightly in Luke's arms, both of them holding onto each other for dear life, eyes red-rimmed and cheeks tear-stained, darkness hanging around them like rain clouds.

Armitage takes a shine to Bo-Katan though, amidst all of his defiance, a fact that seems to confuse her as much as it does Din, and he knows that that will probably spell disaster in the future given how fast and feral Armitage takes to swinging a lightsaber, but to his relieve the Armorer steps up to pull him to her workshop by the back of his neck and balances the murder in his eyes with ever-evolving engineering challenges.

And so it takes a bit, quite a while in fact, but they find their balance eventually, their weird ever-growing family, all of them slotting into each other in a way that sometimes makes Din wonder if this was their doing too, Luke's and his, if in bending the universe around them, and in becoming one in the Force they somehow became a beacon for all those who are lost.

He wonders about it on the nights when, even after Han settles down on Yavin more or less permanently to be closer to Ben, and even after Paz bashfully asks to officially adopt Rey who's been glued to his shoulders for months, and even after Armitage makes it very clear that he doesn't plan to ever be adopted by anyone, Luke comes back from an excursion to find Din pilled into their bed with a bunch of wayward Foundlings.

"Sorry," Din mumbles sleepily as Luke steps over a snoring Paz who's taken up guard in the hallway, "It just happened."

"Is there room for one more?"

"Unlikely," Din sighs as he always does, but Luke finds a spot anyways, shuffling the kids around until they are just awake enough to demand a story from him.

"It's late," Luke smiles as Din pulls him closer to lean their foreheads together in greeting, Grogu climbing up from where he was tucked beneath Ben's chin to settle in between his dads. "I'll tell you all about it tomorrow."

"Just one!" Rey pleads from her spot at Din's side, Finn's head popping up behind her in a show of support and Luke raises a warning eyebrow as Poe and Rose scoot closer from where they were sprawled over Din's legs. "You always say we need to be curious about the world around us!"

"It will help us sleep," Armitage argues from his spot at the end of the bed, the one he takes to pretend he doesn't care about any of this, and starts scooting close too, shoving at Ben to make space.

"They make a good point," Din interjects gently and pulls Armitage out of the way and between them before Ben can get up enough to headbutt him with Din's helmet, which is a constant on his head on those nights where they all feel pulled towards each other.

"Traitor," Luke laughs, letting Armitage nestle in closer to him, but he'll tell them about his travels anyways until they are all knocked out and snoring peacefully and Din can press a quick kiss to Luke's lips without having to listen to a cascade of "ew" and "gross".

And so, in the end, he always drifts asleep knowing he doesn't fully understand it, not really, how they all manage to fit so perfectly into each other's lives, how he managed to find this, this place that is domestic in a way nothing in his life has ever been, but he figures he doesn't have to understand it, not when he also knows with absolute certainty that they are all exactly where they are supposed to be.

#dinluke #oh the things we left behind #thank you for that lovely question anon #I had this in my head for a long time I'm glad it's out there now #they all deserve some cuddles and happiness #also yes I made most of them the same age to fit my timeline poe and hux are the only ones who are slightly older #imagine all of them as children in the same place pure chaos #I have some more of their shenanigans somewhere down in my notes #maybe I'll get around to writing them out one day #but now I take a nap #soph andswers asks #soph writes

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darkshrimpemotions · 2 years

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Student Housing Chapter 6 is up!

Click above to read Chapter 6 on AO3. Click here to start from Chapter 1.

You can also read Chapter 6 here below the cut.

“So, what’s up with these guys, exactly? I get that Sam and Dean are brothers, and Dean and Cas are together, and Eileen and Sam are together. But they all call Jack their son?”

You shrug, dragging a french fry through the blob of ketchup on your plate. This is the same place you first met the boys for your tenant application interview, and you’ve discovered since that they have literally perfect french fries.

“I never asked. Didn’t seem like it was any of my business, but as far as I can tell Jack is Cas’s, biologically. I mean, they look just alike. And Cas, Dean, and Sam all raised him together. I did notice Jack only calls Cas “dad” but. Like I said, not really my business.”

Missy concedes the point in that she doesn’t argue or push further. Somehow this worries you more than when she’s constantly needling. She’s been quiet since last night, and seemed eager to get out of the bunker for a bit this morning when you suggested checking out all three stoplights in Lebanon. Lucas, to no one’s surprise, stayed behind to nurse the hangover from Hell.

“So are we good?” You ask finally, after a long and increasingly uncomfortable silence. “Are you convinced my landlords aren’t serial killers or brainwashing me into a cult yet?”

It’s Missy’s turn to shrug.

“I’m convinced they’re not serial killers,” she says. “Jury’s still out on the cult thing.”

“Oh come on, Miss. Okay, so their house is kinda old and a little weird. But they’re good guys! And okay, I think Sam is into some kind of pagan religion, but none of the rest of them seem to be into it. And not one of them has ever, ever tried to get me to do something I didn’t want to do, or made me uncomfortable, or even just asked me for anything.”

“And that,” Missy says, punctuating the word with the jab of a fry in your direction, “is exactly what worries me. Nobody’s that nice for no reason. Nothing in the world comes without a cost. So if you don’t see a price tag right off the bat, you should be worried.”

“That’s a pretty cynical view of the world.”

“Funny way to pronounce ‘realistic’ but okay.”

You throw up your hands, exasperated and more than a little defeated, too. You’d hoped meeting the guys would lay any fears your friends had to rest, but that only seems to have worked with Lucas. Missy still finds your whole living situation extremely dubious, and she shows no indication of being quiet about it any time soon. Which means lunches on campus are going to keep being miserable if you can’t nip this in the bud before Monday morning.

“What is it about these guys that makes you so suspicious?” You’re upset, edging on angry even, but you try not to let it come through in your voice. Missy’s been your friend since you started college. You really want to understand. You want her to understand.

“What is it about them that makes you so trusting? Not being suspicious is how you end up a victim,” Missy snaps, then deflates immediately. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. I just…” she turns away, hugging her arms around herself and refusing to meet your eyes.

“It’s...something about Dean,” she says at last. You blink, surprised.

“What about Dean?” You thought Dean would be the one to finally put her at ease. He’s so charming when he wants to be, and he really wanted to be yesterday.

“I...I just can’t shake this feeling,” she continues, voice barely audible over the din of the diner.

“Miss…what feeling?” You have to try hard to keep the frustration out of your voice.

When Missy finally looks up and meets your eyes, hers are big, sad, and haunted.

“Like I’ve seen him somewhere before,” she whispers. “Like before before. When I still lived with my parents.”

---

You’ve never asked any probing questions about Missy’s childhood. You know enough to know it’s a sensitive subject and that it somehow inspired all her research into the psychology of cults and high-control groups. So the fact that she swears she remembers Dean from that time in her life is enough to freak you out. At Missy’s urging, you pay for your fries and head to the public library. You’ve been here a time or two with Sam, but mostly just for the daylight streaming in through the windows. The bunker has better internet and a better catalog than this place.

While Missy hangs back awkwardly you ask the elderly librarian for the internet password to one of the ancient computers in the back corner. As it wheezes to life you cast a sideways glance at Missy, who’s fidgeting and chewing a hole into her bottom lip.

“Are you sure about this?” You ask as you type in Sam’s name. “It feels kinda…invasive to me.”

Missy leaves off chewing her lip to bits to roll her eyes at you.

“Please, like they didn’t do the same thing to you before they agreed to let you move in.” You never actually thought of that. “Newsflash, it’s the screaming twenties. Nobody doesn’t internet stalk people they’re gonna live with, and it’s not even stalking anymore when people are word vomiting on social media for god and everybody to see. Frankly, I’m kinda pissed you didn’t do this before going to meet with them.”

You glare at her, but turn back to the screen and pull up the web browser, typing Sam’s name into the search bar.

The page loads at roughly half the speed of your average snail. When it’s finally done you skim through the results, looking for anything that sounds familiar. The first page includes a swimmer at the University of Texas, a CFO, a banker, and several guys with either PhDs or MDs in fields like government and finance. None of it sounds remotely like the Sam you know, who for all you can tell is a traveling antiques trader who went to Stanford for a few semesters and is maybe a Wiccan.

You click over to the second page and wait for it to load as well, glancing over at Missy every couple of seconds. She’s resumed chewing on her lip, eyes fixed on the computer screen.

When the page finally loads, the first result is accompanied by a familiar smiling face with long, floppy hair. You click and find yourself on Sam’s facebook profile, loading so slowly you want to shake the damn computer.

His profile picture loads fairly quickly, at least. Sized up, you can see it’s a blurry photo from what looks like a birthday party for Jack, everyone gathered around the table with a truly pitiful looking cake on it, grinning for all they’re worth. For some strange reason, the cake has a number three on it.

Below that is his full name—Sam Kline—and his relationship status. You grin at Eileen’s name beside the little heart.

Further down, his newsfeed shares space with a preview of his friends list, several other familiar names and faces popping out at you. There’s Jack, waving at the camera in his profile photo. Cas, wearing a cowboy hat of all things and looking very confused about why his picture is being taken. Eileen is there, of course, and several women with hair in the same bright red shade who otherwise couldn’t look more different from each other. One of the names jumps out at you: Rowena. So that’s the woman that’s always visiting Sam and Eileen in the middle of the night. She looks…

Well. She’s super hot, but also old enough to make you question whether Sam has some latent mommy issues.

Then there’s Dean, arm wrapped around Cas’s neck in his profile pic. It looks like they’re at a beach, and they look happy. Dean is somehow grinning from ear to ear even as he’s also pressing a kiss to Cas’s scrunched-up, smiley face. They’re so sweet it makes your teeth ache to look at them for too long.

The rest of the photos and names are unfamiliar. You scroll through Sam’s posts for a bit—mostly smoothie recipes and daily affirmations, a message from his family here and there—before scrolling back up to click on Dean’s name next.

Missy is silent and still beside you, tension radiating off of her as Dean’s profile loads, seemingly one pixel at a time.

When it’s finally done, it’s…just any 40-something dude’s profile page. His cover photo is of his car, which you’ve only seen once and would possibly sell your soul to drive. You usually find it ridiculous when grown-ass men dote on their cars, but in just this one instance, you get it. She—you’ve heard Dean call her ‘she’ before—is truly a beautiful machine.

Beautiful car for a beautiful man, you think, and tamp down hard on the thought. It’s ridiculous to develop a crush on your middle-aged, happily married landlord who has a kid your age...even if he does look too pretty to be real.

Dean’s page is emptier than Sam’s. He mostly posts pictures of his car, Cas, Jack, Cas and Jack together, or occasionally big group photos filled with people you don’t know, but vaguely recognize from your perusal of Sam’s friends list. Each post is dated several months apart from the ones surrounding it. Clearly Dean isn’t much of a social media user.

He doesn’t post articles or random thoughts or recipes, though you hope his pie recipes are immortalized somewhere. He does belong to a group called Kingdom of Moondor that has an event coming up, but other than that his page is kind of a ghost town.

You hand the mouse over to Missy and watch as she scrolls to the end of the available feed—it stops in 2018—and back up again. Her face is unreadable.

“Satisfied?” You whisper when you can’t take it anymore. “We’ve officially internet-stalked my landlords. Can we go back to being normal people who don’t do that now? Please?”

Missy doesn’t answer you. She’s paused in her scrolling on a picture of Dean, posted on his wall for his 41st birthday by Cas. There are little hearts digitally drawn on the picture, which is too cute for words, but what’s really striking about it is how much younger Dean is in the photo. He can’t be much older than you are now, grinning cockily up at the camera as he bites the end of a pen, green eyes full of mischief.

Right next to it is another photo, this one much more recent, and decorated with even more hearts. There are lines around Dean’s eyes, fewer freckles on his face. His hair is shorter. He’s still heartbreakingly pretty to look at, but that’s not what makes this more recent photo so wonderful.

Dean is smiling here, too, but whoever took the picture didn’t capture him in a pose. He’s not even looking at the camera. Instead, he’s staring at an oblivious Cas with the most ridiculously adoring expression you’ve ever seen.

The caption Cas left on the photo is just as sweet. “Still beautiful. Still you.” Followed by a little green heart emoji.

God, they’re so old and married and in love.

You look over at Missy, unable to stifle your grin and wondering if this might finally melt her resolve to be a total jerk about your landlords. But Missy is too busy staring at Dean’s photo—the younger one, you notice—to pay you any mind.

“I...I definitely know him,” she says at last. “And I was right before. It was from when I still lived with my parents.”

---

You and Missy return to the bunker not speaking to each other. You’re still put out with her for talking you into spying on your landlords, and she’s still off in her own little world, trying to remember where exactly she met Dean before. If Lucas notices the tension, he doesn’t comment on it. After several attempts to draw Missy out of her shell, you both leave her to her musings and decide to watch a movie on your laptop. There’s homework to be done, but you’re too keyed up from the weird foray into spying and the general weirdness of having your friends in the bunker to focus. You’ll catch up tonight, you tell yourself, unaware that tonight has other plans for the denizens of Lebanon, Kansas.

---

Dean is in the kitchen working on dinner when Missy approaches him. She moves so quietly most people probably wouldn’t even hear her come in. Dean, with his hunter instincts, knows she’s there before her first footfall even enters the room.

He puts the knife in his hand down and turns, expression mild. She freezes as his gaze lands on her, a deer caught in headlights, but within seconds she tucks that reaction away behind the same stony facade she’s worn since she crossed their threshold. She steps deliberately into the room, heading straight for the table. She sits down on the side closest to the exit, keeping the table itself between her and Dean.

He looks for the feral little girl he found with the Benders over fifteen years ago. There’s something of her in the hunted set of the shoulders, the way her hands curl around each other in front of her on the table, clenched like claws. Her nails are bitten, he notices, jagged and nearly down to the quick in some places. All in all, she paints a very lonely, very scared picture. She reminds him, suddenly and without warning, of another scared little girl who came to him in the middle of the night once, looking for answers he wasn’t sure he had. The resemblance is only passing, but the reminder of Emma aches nonetheless.

He wonders how he looks to her. How he looked to her then, on the day he helped kill her entire family.

She regards him quietly for several uncomfortable minutes, seemingly in no hurry to say her piece. When she does speak, she gets straight to the point.

“I remember you,” she says, and for all that she’s underground, alone, and looking at her father’s killer, her voice doesn’t waver. Her hands clutched on the table in front of her don’t shake.

“I remember you,” he answers honestly. “Didn’t at first, to be honest. You were so little when…”

He stops. It sounds like the kind of thing an uncle you haven’t seen in a long time would say, and that’s not fair. That’s not what he is to this girl.

“Yeah,” she says with a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. “I don’t think it’s the age difference that threw you off.”

He tries very hard not to return that smile. He doesn’t want to say the wrong thing, do the wrong thing. He doesn’t want to scare her any more than he clearly already does.

“Ask me anything,” he says after a long moment of indecision. “Ask me anything, and I’ll tell you the truth.”

“Guess I’ll have to take your word for it,” she says, smile turning wry. But ask she does.

“Why did you kill my father?”

“Because he was going to kill me and my brother.”

“How did you even find us?”

“Your family kidnapped Sam, and I went looking for him.”

“What were they?”

That one brings him up short. He stares at her for a moment, unsure if he should keep his promise to tell her the truth, even if the question suggests she knows more than she should already. But finally…

“They were just people,” he says. A promise is a promise. “I was so sure they were something else, but...at the end of the day, they were just people. Human.”

There is a long pause after that in which Missy just stares at him with wide, wounded eyes. She’d wanted, he realizes, to be told they were monsters. That they were monsters and therefore not really her parents, because she was just a human. He wonders again if he’s doing the right thing, the best thing, by telling her the truth like he promised.

“Why did they do it?” She asks at last, voice barely above a whisper. Her hands are holding each other so tight that her bitten-down nails are digging into the skin. Dean looks away, then takes a deep breath and forces himself to meet her eyes.

“Your dad said...he said it was fun.”

Missy closes her eyes. A sound escapes her, and it might be a sigh or it might be a barely-contained sob.

“I’m so sorry, kid,” he says. It’s small. It means nothing. It’s all he has.

Her eyes fly open and fix on him. She releases her hands.

“My family were monsters,” she says softly. “Maybe not the storybook kind, but. Monsters just the same.”

He can’t disagree, but he’s not sure she’s looking for an affirmation here. He’s not sure what she’s looking for at all, really, what he can possibly give her. He imagines what he would say to someone who killed his parents and then told him it was necessary. He can’t imagine anything they might have done would make that go down easier.

Missy stands. She regards Dean for a long moment.

“I’m guessing that wasn’t a one-time thing for you,” she says. It’s not really a question, but Dean answers it just the same.

“Family business,” he says gruffly, hating the taste of the words in his mouth. “My brother’n I were raised in it. Hunting down monsters. We take a different route now whenever we can, but…”

But sometimes someone wants to kill you and you can either let them or you can kill them first, he doesn’t say. He’s killed a lot of monsters in his lifetime, and some of those—a surprising number—he regrets. If he could do it all over, he thinks he’d try their new method 99% of the time.

The Benders, technically human or not, are not among those regrets. He’s never doubted those kills, never wondered if there was another way. They didn’t have to kill to survive. They did it because they liked it, because it was entertainment. And they would have killed him and Sam both that day without hesitation. Dean doesn’t regret killing them first.

But he does regret the things he sees in the eyes of this girl, things no one her age should have to see or remember or know. Even though he didn’t put them all there, he regrets them just the same.

“I’m guessing this isn’t like, common knowledge,” Missy says at last. It’s once again not a question. Once again, he answers it anyway.

“No, they don’t know,” he says, and he means so many people. But Missy seems to understand that.

“Is it safe here?”

Dean nods. At last, an easy question to answer.

“This is one of the safest places in the world,” he assures her. “And just in case anything goes haywire, we’ve made the rooms we rent out even safer. I won’t lie; my brother and me? We’re dangerous. Cas and Jack? They’re dangerous too. All our friends are. But we’re not out to hurt people. And nothing gets in here that isn’t a friend.”

She nods once, and stands up as if to go.

“Wait,” he says, unable to stop himself. “That’s it?”

She turns back around. Her smile is sad.

“My parents weren’t good people. I’ve always known that much, even if I didn’t know exactly how bad it was. What you did that day...it saved me, whether you meant it to or not. I won’t say thank you, but. I won’t go spreading your secrets, either.”

The unspoken for now hangs in the air long after Missy is gone.

#supernatural #fanfiction #my writing #student housing bunker #bunkerfic #destiel #saileen #found family #crack #reader pov

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thewriterowl · 3 years

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Hi owl, some headcannon about an AU where Luke is actually a slave on Tatooine?

I'm sorry but your dinluke headcannon are incredible

Hello!! Sure! I am so happy you enjoy these fun head-cannons!

So, we'll give Luke more angst in his life, shall we?

So, everything happens as normal up until Luke is around 10. Tatooine is horribly rough and pretty corrupt. So the Lars are in a very rough patch and can't make payments. So here come the collectors. Well, if the Lars can't pay them back they'll just take the blonde kid as compensation. They refuse, of course. Luke is free. He can't just be snatched up like that...only...Luke doesn't have anything to prove that. He has a slave's last name, he has no papers or chain code, there is nothing to say that he is the Lars' actual child (it's known he isn't but there is nothing to prove he's anything of there's) and it's a disaster. The Lars still fight back and they pay with their lives, Luke witnessing it all.

He is brought into town, traumatized, and auctioned off. Well, at this time Luke is just this small, lanky kid who does not look like he'll be worth much of anything so he is not going for much. Peli, who knew the Lars and this kid, finds she can't just let this happen and buys him for her shop. She's pretty jaded and rough, she yells a lot, and demands hard work...but Luke realizes pretty fast that she is a very good person (and it's likely she's not yelling on purpose, she probably has poor hearing from her work...or she has always just been a very, very loud individual) when he realizes he gets extra food from her plate (she complaining he's too small to be useful) and he has a bed with extra blankets for the cold nights, and she actually teaches him everything about engineering, ships, mechanics, and droids. Luke also has good friends with all of her droids so he's not too lonely and he picks up the work really fast and easy.

Issues start when he is about seventeen. People start to notice him. Yeah, he's still small but he has built up a good bulk of muscle and a lean form from his thirteen hour days of hard, mechanic labor. he is still dealing with what he witnessed and went through when he is a child but he has an honest, happy smile and clear eyes and a very friendly, warm personality. All those who have called him ugly and useless and wormie over the past years are starting to eat their words.

Peli is approached a few times a year over the next three years about purchasing him. The price is always astronomical, possibly 10xs more than what she paid for Luke originally. She always turns them down with a nasty tone of, "I've put nearly ten years into this kid! You want me to just take credits for 'im?! Come back to me when you have 20xs the money and a replacement who has 20-years of experience in doing this shitty work or the answer is no!" It always works.

And it keeps Luke safe.

it is around seventeen a new visitor begins to show up regularly. A bounty-hunter with worn armor but a pristine, silver mask. Luke is infatuated instantly. He has never had to see the man, nor the man see him, as he hides whenever he is around. But he always gets to work on his ship as he is out of the shop because he always says no droids. He learns a lot by keeping his head down and practically remaining invisible when the mysterious man is around. Luke learns he is a bounty-hunter who always gets his target (and, given this is Tatooine, a lot of targets come here), a man from a culture called Mandalorians, he is clearly terrifyingly strong (given how he'll sometimes drag his quarry into his ship on his shoulders or them trying to fight--he never seems to flinch), very built (luke can't help but notice it!), a dreamy voice, and is actually a decent man who pays Peli in full (sometimes extra) and rarely argues back unless he appears in to be a decent (or grouchy? it was hard to tell) mood and Peli was extra ornery. He clearly went on adventures and was well-versed in the galaxy and was intelligent and had wit and...Luke was just head over heels with a massive puppy-crush.

It's when Luke turns twenty that he realizes, oh yikes...is this a crush or am I actually in love with a guy who doesn't know I exist and i have never talked to? It is also the year where Jabba the Hutt becomes interested in Luke as well.

So, it finally happens. Luke is dragged out of Peli's shop by some of the Hutt's men, Peli unable to do anything but screech at them. They just toss over credits that are about 40xs what Luke was bought for, despite Peli saying this isn't going to work and that's her apprentice, etc. They still just take Luke away.

Now, I don't see Jabba has being necessarily sexually attracted to Luke (or maybe anyone for that matter) but he loves beautiful things and he loves the power beautiful things bring him. Having a slave as lovely as Luke at his side is something that would just give him that vibe he enjoys. So Luke is safe in that regards for now. But Luke is clearly wanted by the patrons of the palace and if Jabba has a bounty that he knows is impossible, he'll say they can have Luke if it is accomplished in a certain way (it never is). Luke is basically in the Leia garb (see @gabsketch for her version of Luke's slave outfit) and is stuck by this horrible beasts side, being gawked at and touched, and yanked around all the time.

A few months later the Mandalorian is back for a quarry and a repair for his ship when Peli practically tackles him, saying she'll pay 20,000 credits and repair his ship for free for five years if he can rescue her apprentice who was taken by the Hutt's without an agreement. Well, hello pay-day. Din knows it's not great to cross the Hutt, but if he indeed did not follow an agreement with Peli over this mysterious guy then she is in her right to demand him back. So off he goes to the palace.

He gets there and has a reputation so he is allowed in, ready to look all around for this poor kid with gold hair and sky-blue eyes who was probably cleaning up slop or hidden in the back with stolen droids to fix. He was really not expecting to see the man as a trophy for Jabba. Nor expected him to be this gorgeous. How had Peli hidden him all these years? Din never saw this man once. If he had, well, he for sure would be coming back to Tatooine a bit more often and leaving it with some very adult-level fantasies.

Luke is stunned to see the mysterious man there, really unsure what is going on but finds himself hopeful when he demands Luke to be returned. Jabba is all, "nah fam. I run this place. but tell you what...do this impossible task for me and you can have him. Go kill a Kryate dragon and bring me its pearls."

Din is all, "Yeah sure." And just goes and...does it.

He comes back with four pearls and meat and scales and other items to show it was dead and Jabba is all, "oh shit." He really does not want to let this pretty slave go...but if he followed his deal and Din returns, Jabba could for sure get bounties taken care of with him on his side. So, he hands Luke over saying, "welp, he's yours now, lucky SOB". And Din takes Luke.

Well...now Din doesn't really want to hand Luke back over. How was he supposed to? Still, he is honorable and brings him back to Peli but then makes a claim, "I'll be back for him. I own him now but you can borrow him." surprising them both. Well, he goes off and Luke stays on Tatooine until a man named Kenobi (maybe he was off world or couldn't interfere before Luke was sold but saw Peli was taking care of him and saw it was fine) finds him and yanks him off on an adventure where he saves the galaxy and Din finds a gremlin child and then they meet again. and Din is all, "Hey...you're still mine from all that happened a few years back soooooo...you're teaching my kid as you travel with me." and Luke, with a shrug is all, "Welp. There are worse fates than hanging out with the love of my life, so yeah, let's go for it."

It for sure can be darker, lol knowing me, but it playing with the original trilogy is fun too. So Luke lives happily with Din who still, technically, owns him from his deal with Jabba but they're both very, very in love space dads.

#dinluke #the mandalorian #star wars #tw: slavery #luke skywalker

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sulphuryasecretcloset · 3 years

Text

What if... you are what we needed?

Corin keeps in the background when the kids are gathered, as usual, but his clever eyes are locked on Davarax and he’s hanging on his every word. Dulsissia can’t help but to smile at the sight of her son not only listening to what Davarax says, but how he says it, how he’s standing while he’s talking, his facial expressions, the gestures of his hands, everything. It’s like watching a baby bird imprinting in real time and Davarax being adorably oblivious to what is happening.

And Corin is not alone.

Din has begun to roll up the sleeves on his shirts like Davarax does, Barthor has adopted the same rest-head-in-hand-while-reading posture Davarax has, Paz suddenly decided to change his hairstyle into the very one Davarax has and Dulsissia had to send her embarrassed husband a pointed look when Raga had uttered some very salty and familiar curse words only yesterday.

But as cute and funny it is to watch Corin, it is also painful to see him desperately want Davarax’ attention but at the same time not dare to draw any attention to himself to get it. He will hover near him but with a skittish nervousness that Dulsissia knows comes from the years with Macero.

Macero had barely been present in the boy’s life, but whenever he was, Corin quickly learned that his father’s attention landing on him was rarely a good thing. Around Macero, it was best to be invisible. She’d tried to shield her son as best as she could, but it was impossible to block all of the cruel comments and mean remarks.

Today, Din, Raga and Barthor are going to head into town to pick up supplies, while she and Paz are set to do a complete check and cleaning of their weapons collection.

Corin is to accompany Davarax on some minor repairs on the Razor Crest and her soft heart aches with worry.

She’s not worried that Davarax will even think a harsh word in her son’s direction, but Dulsissia knows how anxious Corin will be with no buffer between him and Davarax. So she worries, but she also have faith in Davarax.

Carrying a large bag with equipment, Corin trails after Davarax, who has one in each hand and is leading the way to their ship.

Usually Din would be the first to volunteer when it is something related to the Razor Crest, but it was decided they all needed to learn about the ship and ships in general, so everyone has to take turns whenever some work needs to be done on it. Today is Corin’s turn and he’s more than a little nervous.

Corin knows he doesn’t have the knowledge that Din has about the ship and maybe Davarax thinks he does? There is no way this can end well…

When they arrive at the ship, to his utter relief, Corin is explained what they’re going to do, what the problem is and how to solve it, and in a way that actually makes sense despite him not being as smart as Din. And after getting a couple of easy tasks that he completes without any trouble, Corin starts to think it might not be such a horrible experience after all.

Especially after he’s finished switching a fuse and Davarax gives Corin’s shoulder an approving squeeze after he inspects the job.

The gesture brings a fierce burst of happiness inside his chest, it feels like he grows two inches taller, so Corin eagerly moves on to the next assignment given to him and then awaits Davarax’ verdict with a hammering heart.

Davarax reaches out, tugs gently at where Corin has attached the wire and makes a pleased sound when he finds it securely fastened. “Perfect. Good job. Keep this up and we’ll be done in no time.”

There is that fierce burst of happiness in his chest again. Corin nods.

Davarax absently twirls his welding gun when he looks at the next panel, considering what to do next, so Corin does the same thing with his wrench and feels incredibly cool.

They work together in the cargo hold for a while. Davarax opens panels, points and explains, then often steps back and lets Corin do the actual job, only offering advice or coming in to help when Corin meekly asks for it. It goes so well that Corin actually forgets to be afraid and just has fun.

“I need to head up into the cockpit and check out some data. You okay here? You got this?” Davarax asks while Corin is halfway into an open panel to try to reach some wires.

“Yup.” Corin replies, making a triumphant sound when he gets a hold of his prey. He hears the man walk away but he’s too busy focusing on doing a good job to get anxious over it. He can do this.

Turns out, he can. Corin fixes the problem with the wires, checks they are securely fastened before putting the panel up again and fastening it as well. When Davarax is not back by the time this is done, Corin simply moves on to the next panel.

Removing the bolts, he lowers the panel to the floor and Corin eyes the now revealed wires with a critical gaze. Yeah, there is rust and muck on them as well, so they definitely need changing too. He gets to it, eager to show Davarax that he can manage on his own.

He has just managed to loosen the wire at one end when Corin somehow manages to drop his wrench into the mess of wires below where he’s working. It must either tear something loose or connect something that shouldn’t be connected because only half a second after the wrench falls, there is a fierce crackling of electricity, sharp glimpses of light, and just as Corin makes a panicked grab for the wrench; flames jumps into existence and forces him to withdraw his hand with a pained cry.

Cradling his aching hand to his chest, Corin backs up to the opposite wall and stares with wide-eyed horror at what he has done.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa…” Davarax slides down the ladder, lands on his feet with a heavy thump before trotting over to where there now is a thin line of smoke emerging from the wall. He grabs a small bottle of something that is hanging on the wall and he sprays the content on the fire that is quickly extinguished.

Tossing the bottle away, Davarax turns to look at Corin.

“I’m sorry!” Corin blurts out before Davarax can say anything. “I didn’t mean to-It was an accident and, and I’m sorry!” He heaves for air, struggling against tears. “I’m sorry!”

Davarax merely shakes his head and grabs Corin’s wrist to pull his hand out to inspect it. “Did you get burned?”

Corin yanks his hand free, cradling it protectively once more, backing away from him. He can’t even look at Davarax and has to stare at the floor. “Please, I’m sorry.” Why did Corin have to mess up everything? Davarax had been so nice to him and now Corin has angered him. He’d set fire to his ship! Davarax had to be furious. Everything is ruined because Corin can’t hold on to a kriffing wrench! Stupid, stupid, stupid! “I’m sorry!”

“Corin…” Davarax takes a step after him but stops when that makes Corin back up again.

“I’m sorry!” Corin shouts, really on the verge of crying now.

“Corin, it’s okay.” Davarax says.

Knowing how this will not only make the man angry with him, but also ruin his mother’s happiness as Davarax is bound to turns his bad mood her way as well, just like his father always did, Corin almost buckles under the weight of the guilt. “Please…” He whispers, agonized. “I didn’t mean to…”

“I know you didn’t mean to, Corin. I know it was an accident. Hey, come on, look at me.” Davarax’ voice is gentle. “Don’t worry. It was an accident.”

Corin dares to steal a peek up at Davarax and is surprised to see no trace of anger on his face. If anything, there is concern and… sadness? It gives Corin hope that maybe he can take the brunt of the anger and spare the others. “I’m still sorry. I’m sorry I set your ship on fire.”

Davarax nods and gestures towards one of the fold-down seats. “Could you just… take a seat? Let me look at that hand of yours? Please?”

Corin shuffles over and sits down, like a doomed man going to his execution. It’s difficult to breathe. If feels like someone is sitting on his chest.

Davarax crouches down in front of him and eases Corin’s hand into his to examine it. He hums at the sight of it. “No burns, that’s good. But you got awfully close.”

Corin stares at the floor and shrugs. Maybe if he’d been burned then that would have been punishment enough and Davarax would be pleased?

Sighing, Davarax pulls out a thin strip of a bandage from his belt and begins to wrap Corin’s hand. “Corin, listen to me. I need you to really listen to me. Okay?”

Corin glances up at him and when their eyes meet, he gives a faint nod. He’s willing to do whatever it takes to make up for what he did.

“I will never, and I do mean never, be angry with you over an accident.” Davarax fastens the bandage and gives his wrist a light pat. “You hear me? All I care about is that you’re okay.”

That… does not make sense to Corin. But he’s kind of afraid to anger Davarax further by asking what he means. So he merely nods and hopes that is good enough.

It clearly isn’t, but this time Davarax is the one to look down at the floor. “Was… Was your dad like that? Angry over things that wasn’t your fault?”

“It was my fault.” Corin whispers. It always was. Otherwise his father wouldn’t have been that angry with him, right? And his parents wouldn’t have been arguing so much if not for him.

Davarax shakes his head and sighs, still looking down. “I don’t think it was, Corin. Not then. Not now.” He pats Corin’s wrist again. “I don’t mean to speak ill of your dad, Corin, but he was a complicated man and he made mistakes too. Getting angry with you was a big mistake.” He finally looks back up to meet Corin’s eyes again. “You don’t have to be afraid of me, Corin. I promise.”

Tentative hope flutters in Corin’s chest as he hears how sincere that promise is. And Davarax really isn’t angry with him. He’s not. The relief makes Corin a little dizzy as well as giddy with joy.

“And you can always talk to me, you know? Tell me things. Ask me questions.” Davarax says.

Back on Seswenna, Corin learned the hard way to never ask his father any questions, but seeing how not even setting the ship on fire had caused Davarax to become angry, Corin does not hesitate to make a grab for the wealth of knowledge Davarax is offering him. There is one thing...

“Can you show me how to shave?” Corin blurts out in an eager rush. Ever since Paz started shaving, he has ‘complained’ every morning about the hassle of it. Corin suspects Paz only has about six strands on his chin and does it to rub in the fact that none of them have reached that stage yet. But, it would be cool to know how to, for when the day comes. He’s fairly sure not even Din knows how to shave.

Davarax bursts into a brief laugh at his question, but it doesn’t hurt as there is no trace of malice or mockery in it. He reaches out to pat Corin’s shoulder. “Absolutely. First thing tomorrow.”

Fire all forgotten, Corin grins and sits up a little straighter.

“Now, do you want to wait here while I do the rest of the repairs, or do you feel like going back to work? Your choice, Corin. Either option is fine.”

“I think I would like to go back to work. If that is okay…?” Corin says. “I promise I won’t drop the wrench again.”

“You got this, no problem.” Davarax reassures him. “And if you need a little help, I’ll be right here.”

Dulsissia is on her way back to the room where Paz sits half-asleep over the dismantled blasters, oiling each part meticulously and bored out of his mind, when she sees Davarax and her sweet boy returning from the ship.

There is an instant stab of worry as she sees the bandage of Corin’s hand, but that is quickly drowned out by relief and raw happiness as she sees her son march next to Davarax with a confidence she’s never seen before. He’s doing something close to a swagger! And he’s chattering away like he usually only does with Din.

It’s hard to believe it is the same boy who had looked at her with anxious eyes before following Davarax to do the repairs on the ship. Her son looks proud. He looks confident and happy and shining in the spotlight of Davarax’ attention.

That man had made her baby walk tall and she had thought she couldn’t love him any fiercer?

Wiping away a tear, Dulsissia heads to the room where Paz is currently lamenting his fate and decides to make this a memorable day for everyone. She hands the puzzled teenager some credits and tells him to bring Corin along, head into town, find the others and have fun. Dulsissia even grants them permission to try out the speeder-bike grounds as long as Paz promises to make sure nobody gets hurt. He nearly hurts himself eagerly nodding his promise.

The boys are out of the door and heading towards the town before Davarax is done washing his hands.

“Dulcy?” Davarax calls out, somewhat confused by seeing the dust in the boy’s wake, walking out of the refresher room while absently drying his hands on an old towel.

She grabs a hold of him when he walks by their room and yanks him inside, causing Davarax to drop the towel with a startled sound and stumble to regain his balance. The unexpectedness of it all makes it easy for her to push him lightly against the wall and crowd up against him with a smile. “I just sent the kids to find the others in town and gave them some credits to burn. We’re all alone, for once. You want to fool around?”

It’s not like her to be this direct and his face is a mix of surprise and fascination. “Uh, yes, please?”

Dulsissia takes a hold of his shoulders and jumps up to wrap her legs around his waist, which she knows will cause him to automatically reach out and take a hold of her hips to hold her up. He does. That frees her to lift one leg, get the bottom of her foot against the wall behind him and give it a firm push. Davarax makes another surprised sound as her act makes him stumble towards the bed with her. Oh, the sweet man... He has no idea what is about to hit him...

Later, while he’s lying on his back in bed, still trying to catch his breath with a slightly shell-shocked expression on his face, his body covered with nothing but sweat and a flimsy sheet, Davarax watches her as she gets up and puts on a robe.

“You have to be hungry after fixing the ship. I’ll get you something. You stay and rest and I’ll bring it here. I think we have more of those spicy noodles you like so much.” Dulsissia adjusts the robe and tightens the belt before heading for the door.

“Dulcy, wait…” Davarax eases himself up his elbows, looking hilariously dishevelled with his dark hair poking up at every angle. “What… what did I do? What did I do to be blessed with this?”

Dulsissia glances back at him with a grin before she merely slips out the door.

“Dulcy, tell me.” Davarax whines, but when there is no answer, she hears him flop back down and start mumbling to himself; “I gotta know so I can do it again. And again. And again.”

But Dulsissia knows she doesn’t have to tell him, because he will do it again and again anyway. Being an amazing father is in his nature and he will continue to bring out the best in those children without being motivated by anything but love.

Which is why they all, her included, love him.

#the mandalorian his son and the storm trooper #What If #Dulsissia Motti #Davarax #Teenage Corin #Fearsome Four #Mandorin AU #Macero's A+ parenting

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