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chaotic-iguana · 9 months

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hello, friend <3 I’m sorry if this is weird but recently I’ve been feeling like there is not a lot of gender neutral readers out there. I was wondering if you could write something where Din is trying to see why the reader is feeling down one day and they have this little heart to heart between them. I don’t like telling people what to do but I love reading your work! Thank youuuu <3

Bodyguard

Summary: Reader hasn’t been feeling too great lately, and they’re surprised when Mando asks about it.

Wordcount: 1.6k

Pairing: Din Djarin x gn! reader

Warnings: just a lot of fluff

hello! not weird at all; im non binary myself and go by she/they and i feel the same!! this is such a cute prompt i love it hehe (and don’t worry, im a sucker for requests pls keep sending). thank you anon , i hope you like it

masterlist.

Today just wasn’t going well. The baby seemed to be in a particularly devious mood, pushing things off shelves and flinging his toys all over the ship. You had scrambled to fix things; put others back in their places, but he’d just do it again.

You loved him; he’d burrowed into your heart in the past six months you’d gained employment on the Crest with its peculiar passengers. A Mandalorian and a green ‘baby’ who was somehow thirty years older than you. You liked both of them, assuming a pseudo-maternal role with the child as its sitter, while you had a fairly amicable relationship with his dad. A little standoffish and took some getting used to, but overall he hadn’t been hostile or aggressive towards you so far, no matter how rough he was with his bounties. In fact, you had almost taken a liking to your quiet, straight-forward companion. He paid you generously, and even if he wasn’t the most friendly employer you’d had, he tried his best to go above and beyond to ensure you were comfortable on his ship. He’d seen you shivering in your cot one night on his way to the fresher, and at the next stop a pile of plush, fluffy blankets rested on your bed. When you tried to pay him back, he just feigned innocence.

Biting back a curse and jumping back, you groaned as the bowl of broth in your hand slipped and got everywhere, from your clothes and hair to the floor all over the cockpit. Muttering, you’d taken a quick shower and changed your clothes - but when you checked the pantry it turned out that the broth was the last ration you had.

Mando had been on his bounty hunt for over three weeks now, and while you were used to him being gone for long, you weren’t particularly inclined towards going on a supply run alone on a planet he’d warned you of saying it wasn’t known for its safety. And while you were more than capable of taking care of yourself, you just couldn’t put the child in that kind of danger. Reaching into your bag, you pulled out a fistful of dried berries you’d picked up at the last stop. Atleast the child was fed.

But it seemed that he was missing his father, because midway through flipping a chair like a rag doll, he burst into blubbering, inconsolable tears. Even after cradling him for three hours, shushing and cooing to him softly, his sobs weren’t dying down; just getting worse. You had bought him a toy a while back, but it was forgotten underneath your cot, so you bought it out as a last hope to calm him - and thankfully he was so enamored by the mirrors stitched into the side that he forgot his desperation for Mando for a while - before the crying started again.

You rocked him until he cried himself to sleep, tears of your own building in your eyes at the helplessness you felt. Just before you were about to curl up in your cot, you heard the ramp being lowered and the pleads of a bounty cut short by the hissing of the Crest’s carbonite chamber. A feeling of warmth passed through you at the fact that he was finally back before sleep took you.

Hours later, you woke in a cold sweat, panting. Your palms were clammy, your tunic clung to your skin, and your cot felt too stuffy to lie back in. Running a hand through your hair in frustration, you stepped out and began fumbling in the dark to climb your way up to the cockpit, nearly tripping over a toy on your way to the pilot’s chair.

“What are you doing?” A modulated voice gruffly interrupts your thoughts, making you gasp and turn in your seat. Pressing a hand to your chest and willing your heartbeat to just calm down you’re safe it’s just Mando, you squint your eyes against the shadows of the room to spot a single familiarly glinting flash of beskar.

“Nothing, just couldn’t sleep very well. How was the hunt?” You speak softly, mindful of the baby who tended to be an extremely light sleeper. The thumping of footsteps sounded from in front of you, getting closer.

“What’s wrong?” He’s close enough for you to be able to make out the ‘T’ of his visor now, and you look at it as you shook your head, mumbling a soft ‘nothing’ followed by an excuse that sounded hollow even to you. “Are you not happy here?” His tone seemed softer, more hesitant somehow, even despite the helmet he wore.

You shook your head again, more vigorously this time. “I don’t actually know what’s wrong. Yesterday was…” you trailed off, sighing softly before continuing. “ I just keep thinking that the Guild is going to catch up with me - even though I know you helped clear my bounty. It feels like the weight on my chest is still there, like I’m living on borrowed time and any minute now, someone’s going to take their favor back and just end it. End me. And it keeps me awake on the worse days, even though I know how stupid it is. It’s not about being here. I love the child, and the Crest - it’s the first home I’ve had since that fucker put a bounty on my head - and I’m happy here, I am. I just-I don’t know. Sorry. This probably isn’t what you wanted to-“

“I asked. I wanted the truth. You were on the run for a very long time when I found you. Don’t be hard on yourself for struggling to settle in.” He came even closer, his right hand twitching as if he was fighting the itch to move it. After a beat of silence, he brought it up to your shoulder awkwardly with the stiffness of a man who clearly hasn’t done this before. You gaped at him, puzzled. Never before had this many words come out of his mouth in one go. A deep inhale crackles through the helmet, before he starts again, impossibly gentler this time. His words come out in a rush at first, as if he were having trouble with maintaining speech for this long.

“You know I’d never let anything happen to you, right? You pulled a blaster on a guy in the middle of a market when I couldn’t see the knife in his hand as he charged at me from behind. The protection goes both ways. We’re a crew now, we take care of each other. No one’s taking you out without having to get through me first, okay?” Your eyes widened as they searched his helmet as if one would a face, waiting for any movement at all. Did he mean it? But the helmet remained impassive, as helmets generally do, staring back at you unmovingly.

You gulped, dipping your chin while maintaining eye contact with the visor. “Thanks, Mando.” Another beat of silence, and then a grin made its way onto your face. “So you’re saying I have a big, scary Mandalorian bodyguard now?” You want to wince, crawl away from the words that just slipped out of your mouth. You just teased a Mando- one who also doubled up as one of the best hunters in the Guild. The Guild which tried to kill you countless times in six years. He was also double your size and could likely snap you in half if he tried. And you just… made fun of him after he was nice to you. Either I’m going to die in the next few minutes or he’s gonna throw me out in space or something. He’s been nice so far, but I’ve also been super professional. Fucking bodyguard? Really? He was trying to help you, idiot.

To your neverending surprise, neither of those scenarios played out. He just went silent for a second before a laugh choked out from the modulator, shocking you with how warm it sounded. And the butterflies that fluttered low in your stomach at the sound of his amusement. Shaking his helmet, he lifted his hand off your shoulder - making you instantly miss its warmth, even with the glove - and chuckled again.

“A big, scary Mandalorian?” He tuts, cocking his helmet. “Didn’t seem too scared of me last month when you told me to shower before holding the kid.” Laughter echoing in his voice, he watched you scoff in mock offense.

“You were filthy, Mando. He could have gotten sick!” Okay, even I can hear the chiding in my tone now.“Sorry. For being bossy. ‘Course I can’t be, cause technically you’re my boss but-“

“You were right though. It’s good that you aren’t scared of me. Makes you better company.” You raised a brow at that, smirking even as your stomach began doing somersaults.

“Y’ think I’m good company, Mandalorian?” Your eyes started drooping as you spoke, the last word coming out slightly slurred. He heard the sheer glee dripping from your tone, tired as you sounded, making him huff and walk back towards the hatch.

“Maybe. Go to sleep. I’ll get your blankets.”

hello loves, as always - thank you for reading. comment your thoughts or find me on ao3. stay hydrated and have a great day! taglist: @imherefordeanandbones @theywhowriteandknowthings

#din djarin x you #din djarin x gender neutral! reader #din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin hurt/comfort #din djarin x gnreader #din djarin/reader #din djarin x gn! reader #din djarin/you #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x gn! reader #pedro pascal characters

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nerdieforpedro · 5 months

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The Brave, The Bold, The Dirty - Fanfics that I adore

Volume 2

Fanfics that I am currently reading or re-read because they’re that good!! 😊

This list is for those aged 18 and up, please respect the author's tags, warnings and notes as they are there for a reason.

Crawling Back to You Author: @prolix-yuy

(Dieter Bravo x female reader) There’s a secret that Hollywood has been keeping from us that explains so much. Found out I find horns sexy.

This Charming Man

Author: @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin

(Frankie Morales x OFC Camilla) No one said Frankie had to be good all the time. To be fair, he's had some major life events. He's unhinged but also sweet. He's got layers. Some of the layers are concerning. Make sure to check the warnings before reading. Dark fluff!

Dr. WeVibe; or How Dieter Bravo Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Remote Vibrator

Author: @imalrightllama (Dieter Bravo x female reader {established relationship}, Dieter Bravo x female reader x male soft Dom, Dieter Bravo x male soft Dom) This is smut. It has evolved into ultra smut and eventually reaches super ultra smut. There's also toy use. You have to read it to understand.

Opia Author: @artemiseamoon

(Ezra x black female reader) A woman's journey for a payday leads her to meet Ezra under less than ideal circumstances. The bond they form is life-long.

Kinktober 2023 Author: @palioom

Thirty one days of October - thirty one different fics each with their own theme to sink your eyeballs into. Make sure to double check warnings.

going slow Author: @ezrasbirdie

(Javier Peña x female reader) An issue that no one really speaks about but can make sexual intimacy extremely difficult. Thankfully, Javier Peña is a sweetheart and willing to take it at the reader's pace.

anytime Author: @undercoverpena

(Javier Peña x female reader) Reader and Javier have been friends for years. Seen each other through the best and worst of times. Javier's mind is rattled and there always seems to be one thing or person rather that settles him.

I like the way you Author: @undercoverpena

(Frankie Morales x female reader) Reader is friends with Frankie. An offhand remark leads a becoming friends with benefits. What could go wrong? Feelings? No one agreed to that.

When the west was wild Author: @boliv-jenta

(Silva x OFC) Nine part story about a woman living alone in the west. An injured strange changes her life, for better, for worse? Read and find out.

Be all and Endor Jyr’ika Author: @djarins-cyare

(Din Darin x OFC) An epic love story told over 40 chapters. Use the bathroom, get a blanket and get comfy, there's reading to be done.

Darkness Author: @ezrasbirdie

(Ezra x female reader) We all know Ezra has explored many ways, things and positions. One that he has not explored is our reader. He's a bit scuzzy, but a gentleman - mostly. You gotta invite him in, give him the ok.

Moonlit Serenades Author: @geminimoonbeamx

(Poe Dameron x plus size female reader) Poe needs some comfort after a tough mission that only the reader can provide.

Headshots Author: @secretelephanttattoo

(Marcus Pike x OFC Ella) Turns out reader's new job as a photographer for the FBI changes her path in life forever. The job was temporary but the relationship was for life.

The Gift Author: @mandoisapunk

(Javier Peña x female reader) Sweet Javier Peña fluff. Reader's gift to Javi is life changing. I'm not crying, you are!

An American in Paris Author: @absurdthirst

(Ezra x female reader) If you ever wondered what Ezra would be doing in the late 1940's after WWII. Our man went to Paris where he meets the reader. This pic had me at Ezra in Paris and then held on to me tight and tossed my feelings around like a rag doll.

To hold you tonight Author: @iamasaddie

(Marcus Pike x female reader) Dark! Marcus has a very dark spin in this one shot. He also has a love a statues that extends to the reader. Please read the warnings before reading.

Full of colors. Author: @trulybetty

(Tim Rockford x female reader) Tim’s working a difficult case, you’ve got work piled on the table. Quality time is needed. A walk-in shower is a treat.

Dry Run Author: @chronically-ghosted

(Javier Peña x female reader) Anyone who may have questioned if dancing with THE Javier Peña in a club was sexy or not - your answer is here.

Tired Author: @javierpena-inatacvest

(Javier Peña x female reader) It’s date night for you and your husband Javier Peña. Everything that could have gone wrong, has. You are stressed out. Date night was not what you’d planned at all.

Diosa Hermosa Author: @fhatbhabie

(Javier Peña x plus size female reader) Javier finds the reader to be the sexiest vision he could see in the museum.

Preciously Plump Author: @melodygatesauthor

(Santiago Garcia x plus size female reader) Our reader is a bit self-conscious, Santiago has her get over that quickly.

Dirty Secrets Author: @absurdthirst

(Dave York x female reader) Your husband Dave is suspicious about your change in behavior. He endeavors to find out the reason why.

#fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #oscar issac characters #plus size fanfiction #Pedro pascal characters x plus size charcters #Oscar Issac characters x plus size #javier pena #Dave york #santiago garcia #marcus pike #dieter bravo #pedro pascal fanfiction #tim rockford #din djarin #silva strange way of life #frankie catfish morales #Nerdie’s recs

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foggysirens · 2 years

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watching din djarin constantly getting thrown around like a rag doll is so funny cause like yeah- he’s our main man, our badass bounty hunter with some of the best fighting prowess you’ll see, but he’s also the human embodiment of the question mark and does not think things through half the time- the man is smart but he’s absolutely winging it and putting himself in situations where, yeah, he’s gonna get sent flying across the room and i love that for him

#mj.chatter #din djarin #star wars #the mandalorian

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justagalwhowrites · 10 months

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Beskar Doll - Ch. 14: Learning

You're still alive, the Mandalorian didn't leave you behind and you've got a lot to catch up on. A continuation of Beskar Doll Ch. 1-13 found on Tumblr here.

Pairing: The Mandalorian/Din Djarin x Female Reader

Warnings: Graphic depictions of violence. No use of Y/N. Minors DNI 18+ only

Length: 3.7k

All you really knew was that you’d done this before. Or something like it, anyway. The haze of pain that you couldn’t see through, hands holding you down as your body was put back together, voices that were close but too far away to understand. It was familiar but a relief when everything faded completely.

It was almost surprising when you woke up, gasping for breath and sitting bolt upright in a small and dim but familiar room - Din’s quarters. It took a moment to calm your heart down. You were alive. That was… well, maybe not exactly a pleasant surprise but a surprise. You had a sense of your lower body but it was different than before. You looked down to your blanket covered feet, focusing. It took a disconcerting amount of concentration, but you moved one foot, and then the other. Well, your spine was back in one piece, then.

There was a happy coo at your side, making you jump. The kid’s little green head peered up at you from the edge of the bed, his ears high.

“Hi there,” you smiled softly at him. His little mouth curved up.

You realized then that he was standing on the Mandalorian’s lap. Din was on the floor beside his bed, his helmeted head leaned back and resting on the wall. You frowned. That made almost no sense.

The child worked to pull himself up on the bed, grunting a little. You smiled, reaching over and picking him up, pulling him onto your lap.

“Are you bored and looking for the only person awake?” You said quietly. He just blinked, reaching a little clawed hand forward, grasping a strand of hair. You smiled. “Yeah, probably don’t see a lot of that with this guy, do you?”

He looked into your eyes and you felt it then - the foreign emotion on the edge of your consciousness. Almost like smoke - not something you could hold but could sense all the same. He was concerned and curious. You stroked his little arm with your thumb, trying to remember just what had happened on Garqi.

You’d seen the Mandalorian and his other “failed quarry” and were about to join them when the knife sank into your back. It was the oddest sensation, the pain almost blinding for a moment before vanishing - alongside all the feeling in your waist and legs - in an instant. You crumbled and Kann all but dove on top of you. His face looked terrible and you’d had a fleeting moment of pride. There were almost feral looking nail marks around his empty eye socket, the place where you’d bitten off his ear still ragged. But it ended when he punched you, hard, across the face. He emptied all of his hatred for you into it, all the years he’d wanted you to bend to his will, all the times you’d refused to fuck him, the resentment of it. You told your body to move, to fight back, but only your arms would listen. It was like someone had ripped away everything from about halfway down your ribs and below. You could see evidence of your stomach and hips and legs existing but couldn’t feel them there. Your body was one of the only things you’d ever been able to count on and it was gone.

You hadn’t been able to shove Kann off you when a blur of silver slammed into him, sending the both of them sprawling meters away. There was a concerned squeak at your side, and you turned to see the kid, his black eyes wide. When they met yours, his terror almost matched your own. You picked him up and wrapped him in your arms, holding his face to your chest, hoping it would protect him before you twisted the part of your body you could move to see the Mandalorian. He was on top of your husband, Kann’s legs flailing uselessly on the ground as Din just kept hitting him and hitting him. He was screaming, the sound was oddly cracked by the modulator.

“Mando!” You yelled, reaching for him uselessly, keeping the baby’s body tight to yours with one arm while stretching out with the other. You doubted he could hear you. “Mando, stop!”

You looked around, hoping someone would keep him from murdering a man in the street and keep him out of trouble. There was a second of relief when you saw men working their way through the crowd until you recognized the first one. He was a head taller than everyone around him and you’d met him before, on one of the rare occasions Kann had brought you with him to trade. He was a friend of his.

You looked around, frantic, to see if there was a rock or something you could throw but there was nothing except dirt and a blaster that was too far away to reach. You released the baby and started trying to pull your broken body toward it, stretching and reaching as you kept screaming for the Mandalorian to listen to you.

You’d only made it about a foot of the ten or so you’d need to drag yourself when the blaster sprang into your outstretched hand. You froze for a moment and caught the bit of green out of the corner of your eye. The child was standing against your stomach, his little hand outstretched, faced scrunched in concentration. He looked to the blaster in your hand and then to you, his ears tipping down. His dark eyes met yours, his fear tinged in satisfaction and pride. You didn’t have time to figure out how he’d gotten the blaster to your hand. You grabbed him and pulled him against you again and screamed “Din!” Before shooting Kann’s friend as he broke through the crowd.

It seemed to snap the Mandalorian out of whatever trance he’d been in. He stopped screaming and straightened, still on top of Kann who’d gone still. He looked back to you for a moment. It was hard, holding onto the blaster, holding yourself up without the help of your core muscles. You were exhausted from it, but there were still men coming for him, you could see the shuffling of the crowd. He turned away from you, seeing them too, quickly shooting them before hitting Kann yet again.

You couldn’t seem to keep going then, your blaster arm giving out. Your grip on the kid loosened, too, but you still held him.

“It’s OK little one,” you said quietly, even though you knew that, for you, it wasn’t OK. This felt different from every other injury you’d ever had, even when you’d been hacked at by the general on Naboo. It was like you could feel your body shutting down. “You’ll be fine and he’ll be fine, it’s OK.”

He cooed at you, putting a small hand to your chest, as Din stood up. He paused a moment, standing over your husband’s still body, fist still clenched, panting for breath before turning and stalking over to you, scanning the crowd as though he was daring someone to stop him. You watched him and let yourself enjoy it for a moment. If you were dying anyway, no point in pretending like you didn’t want him. You’d like to feel him again. You tried to focus on the good as his bloodied armor glistened in the sun. The time on the ship with Layari, playing chess and drinking whiskey, the night in Bisneth. It had hardly been any time at all but you clung to it as he came for you. It was hard to keep your eyes open then, staying alive was taking more energy than you had to expend. It wasn’t going to be long and he should leave you where you were, it would at least explain something away. Maybe keep him out of trouble - a Mandalorian wearing all beskar beating someone to death was bound to leave an impression. With your body there, too, it would hopefully give the New Republic some context. Enough to maybe keep him off wanted lists, anyway.

A small hand found your face, the baby making a concerned sound. You gave him a little squeeze. He was a sweet thing. You hoped he didn’t understand what was happening and that he was small enough that he’d forget it quickly. He took his hand back just before another, much larger, one cupped the cheek that Kann hadn’t struck. You wanted to open your eyes to look at him but that seemed too hard. You had to fight to even press into his touch.

“I’ve got you, Cyare,” he said. His voice was soft. There was that word again, the one that you’d asked him about on Bakura. He carefully pulled the baby from your limp grasp and, for a second, you thought he was doing what you’d wanted him to: leave you behind. But he slipped an arm below your back and lifted you into him. Your head drifted to his beskar covered chest as you tried to gauge where the rest of your body was without being able to feel it there. “You’ll be OK. I’ve got you.”

Things got fuzzy there. You thought it had been his hands holding you down at one point, but you couldn’t be sure. You weren’t even sure how long you’d been unconscious.

The baby wound your hair around his fingers and you smiled at how enthralled by it he seemed.

“What’s your name, anyway?” You asked him quietly, still smiling.

“Not sure,” Din said from beside you, making you jump. The baby’s grip on your hair tightened in surprise.

“Fucking maker,” you swore, looking over to him. He’d barely shifted, his helmet no longer leaning back against the wall and instead turned toward you. “How long have you been awake?”

“Only a minute,” he said. “How are you feeling?”

“I can feel at all,” you replied. “So better than I was. I suppose I have you to thank for that. Bacta?”

“Bacta wasn’t going to do it,” he said. “You needed a medic, they had to reconstruct part of your spine, needed some cybernetics…”

You nodded slowly, looking back to the child on your lap.

“How long was I out?” You asked.

“We left Garqi almost six days ago,” he replied. “You were awake for a bit with the medic after that, not sure what you remember of it.”

“Not much,” you said, still watching the baby, who had sat down on your lap, facing you. He’d moved on to tugging at the front of your shirt, which you didn’t recognize. He twisted the fabric around his fingers, frowning, like he was trying to understand the difference between the cloth and your hair.

“Probably good,” he replied. “You were in a lot of pain.”

You looked down to your feet and tried moving them again. It took a little less focus this time, but still more effort than you were used to.

“The medic said we should get you up and walking when you woke up,” Din said. You scrunched your nose. That sounded miserable. “I can help.”

“No,” you said quickly. “I can do it on my own.”

You looked down at the baby again. He was still fascinated by your shirt. You carefully disentangled his fingers and he looked up at you, his ears down. A pang of confusion.

“You can play with that later,” you assured him, scooping him up and giving him a quick hug. “But my lap apparently has to move which means you’re getting passed off.”

The Mandalorian got up and you handed the baby to him before carefully, slowly, twisting your body around until your feet were on the floor. You were in unfamiliar pants, too. They were far too large, easily 6 inches too long and cinched at the waist so they wouldn’t fall off your body. You leaned forward to roll them up but there was an odd pulling in your back, making you wince.

“Wait,” Mando said, kneeling and setting the baby down next to your feet. He cuffed the pants around your ankles.

“Thanks,” you said. “Now if I trip, it’s all on me.”

He picked the kid back up and stood next to the bed, watching you. You took a deep breath and braced yourself, stomach tight. You could feel his eyes on you.

“Can you… I don’t know, look somewhere else?” You asked.

“Why?” You could practically hear the frown in his voice.

“Because when I fall on my ass I don’t need witnesses,” you said dryly. “But if it’ll make the kid laugh, he can stay.”

Mando gave a short laugh but went and stood outside the door.

“Here,” he said, back to the door. “This way I can still hear if you hit your head.”

“Yeah yeah,” you muttered, bracing yourself again. You silently counted to three and pushed off the bed, almost immediately falling into the wall.

“You OK?” The Mandalorian almost sounded amused. You narrowed your eyes.

“Fine,” you grimaced. “Just relearning how to walk, you try it.”

“You’re doing great, Doll,” he said. “You’re still upright.”

“Such a dick,” you muttered. Your legs were still shaky, so you waited a moment longer before pushing yourself off from the wall, leaving your fingers against it to help you stay balanced.

You were already more secure than you were last time but you’d hardly be winning any races anytime too soon. You took a shaky step, suddenly aware of the fact that you really needed to use the fresher.

“OK I’m going to try and leave the room,” you said. “Do me a favor and try to keep the mockery to a minimum.”

The baby cooed.

“Thanks for the support, kiddo,” you sighed before taking another step forward.

You were frustrated. Your body had always been your most reliable tool. You knew it well, knew how to move it to be strong or nimble, to seduce or fade away. This kind of instability was totally foreign and while you hadn’t felt terribly strong in a long time, it was disturbing to feel this weak.

You stumbled a bit when you lost your handhold as you moved out of Din’s quarters and into the hold. You felt his eyes on you and you glared at him.

“I didn’t say a word,” he said. “You’re doing very well.”

“You’re infuriating.”

There was a low, quiet sound from the modulator, one you guessed the Mandalorian hadn’t expected it to register. Of course he found this funny. Jerk.

You made it to the fresher and propped yourself up agains the door with one hand before giving a small bow with a flourish with the other. The baby giggled. You closed the door, leaning against it.

There was still a small mirror in the fresher and you were able to get a good look at your face. The medic must have gone after that, too. Not only was there no sign of the blow Kann had landed before Mando tackled him, there was no indication of your previous beating, either. Everything was healed.

When you finished, he was still hovering outside the door.

“You should take it easy,” he said. The kid was tucked against his side. “Eat something.”

You considered arguing for a moment but you were suddenly aware that you were starving. It was like your body needed reminding of all its parts and functions. Maybe it did, maybe the cybernetics needed some kind of programming that you didn’t know about. But you hadn’t eaten since the day before you saw Din again for the first time, and your body had apparently been trying to heal since then. Food was required.

You slowly made your way to the galley, taking a few steps without the aid of the wall for balance. Din stayed close until you were seated again. He got out a ration and water, putting both in front of you before sitting at the small table across from you, setting the child on top of it. You opened the ration and took a bite, bigger than what was appropriate but it was hard for you to care. It was the best ration you’d ever had and you weren’t even sure what kind it was.

“So,” you said after you swallowed, nodding at the kid. “You’ve been busy.”

Din shrugged.

“He was a quarry,” he said. “But… I couldn’t leave him with them.”

“Who’s them?” You frowned, taking another bite of the ration. He paused.

“Imps,” he said eventually. Your eyes went wide.

“What do Imps want with a kid?” You looked at the little thing, standing on the table, eyeing your food. “Wait, I thought you didn’t take Imperial work?”

“I don’t,” he replied. “It was an underground job, didn’t know it was Imps until I went to the meeting. I only stayed… Well, there wasn’t a puck, all I had was an age and a location.”

“And you went after a kid.”

“I didn’t know he was a kid,” he said. You raised your eyebrows. “How old do you think he is?”

“Hazard a guess?” You shrugged, looking at his uncertain steps and wide eyes. “Not more than two.”

“He’s in his 50s.” Your eyes went wide. Din just nodded. “I’m not sure what his lifespan is but it must be hundreds of years. I didn’t know the species, I assumed I was looking for an adult, that the imps were just after someone of interest.”

“And what is their interest?”

“Research,” Din said, looking at the child. “There’s… he can…”

“I saw it,” you cut him off, saving him from his fumbling explanation. His head shot up to look at you. “On Garqi. I was screaming for you, I couldn’t get your attention and Kann’s friends… I was trying to get to the blaster but I could only drag myself and I wasn’t getting far. It just… flew into my hand. He was standing there, reaching his arm out and it just came to me.”

Din looked back to the boy, who just looked back at him, making a happy sound.

“I was told he’s a Jedi,” he said. “A sorcerer.”

“My mother knew Jedi,” you said after a moment. Din looked back to you again. “Back, before the Empire. Her mistress, Padme Amidala, worked with two of them closely. My mother liked them, said they were kind. And Amidala liked them, too. Seemed more assured when they were around but I guess sorcerers are good friends to have…”

“Were they like him?” Din nodded to the boy.

“In skills?” You shrugged. “From what she told me, I think so. She made it sound like they could do anything, though. They’d throw an enemy off a cliff or grab a data pad from across the room with the same power. And they had sabers that deflected blaster bolts. But, of course, they were trained. There was a temple on Coruscant before the Empire wiped them all out…. But they were human. Or I think they were, at least. She said they were handsome so I doubt they looked much like him. No offense, little one.”

The kid cooed and you assumed you were forgiven.

“I need to bring him to his people,” he said, watching him.

“Which people?” You asked. “Others of his species or other Jedi? Because one is a race that I don’t believe either of us has ever encountered before, the other is a group of extinct warriors who were wiped out by the Empire.”

“Never said it would be easy,” he shrugged. “But the Mandalorians were wiped out by the Empire too and I’m still here.”

You nodded slowly and sighed. The kid was lucky, at least. If anyone could find a lost people, it’d be Mando. You looked around, noticing how quiet it was for the first time.

“Where are we?” You frowned, wondering where the tell-tale signs of engine noise was.

“Wild space,” he replied. “An uncharted world I stumbled upon a few years back when the Crest needed repair. It’s uninhabited, seemed like a good place to lie low for a bit.”

You nodded.

“Not a bad plan,” you said. “I’m sure he’s got plenty interested in him and, from what I remember of getting off Garqi, we didn’t exactly keep things quiet.”

You were both silent for a moment. It was strange, being in the same room as him again. You’d thought about him far more than you wanted to admit you since the day he’d left you on Dantooine. There wasn’t a day you hadn’t wondered where he was or remembered something he’d said or the way he’d touched you. You’d spent far more time apart than you had together but being near him felt right. And you’d need to be prepared for when he left you again.

“So,” you sat up a little straighter, wincing a bit at the feeling in your back. “Between the medic and the fuel, I imagine my bill is pretty high.”

“Doll,” he sighed, but you cut him off.

“I’m not going to be indebted to you,” you said. “Give me a number and what work you need for me to make it up to you.”

“You saved my life, rescued a foundling and helped complete a job,” he replied.

“Well you’ve saved me a few times over,” you said. “I’m not owing you, Mando.”

He was quiet, considering.

“We can discuss it when I pick up another job,” he said. “You can’t work until you’re healed.”

You glowered at him, even though you knew he was right. You’d be nothing but a hindrance in a fight right now and not being able to walk more than a few steps would set you back with info gathering.

“Fine,” you agreed. “But I mean it.”

He sighed.

“I know.”

#mandalorian fanfic #fanfic #din djarin #enemies to friends to lovers #the mandalorian #slow burn #the mandalorian x f!reader #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x female reader

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whatsnewalycat · 10 months

Text

Passenger / Chapter 4

Pairing: Trucker!Din Djarin AU x OFC Charlie Wanderlust

Chapter Four: Wyoming (Part One)

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Chapter Summary: Charlie and Din have a bad morning.

Rating: Explicit (18+ only)

Word Count: 4.9k+

Content / Warnings: heavy angst, suicidal thoughts, homicidal thoughts, half-hearted suicide attempt, half-hearted homicide attempt, gun, fennec shand, boba fett, yearning, do u feel the slow burn now mr krabs

Notes: Hey, hi. Please be mindful of the trigger warnings on this one. It's a little (a lot) angst-heavy at the top, but it gets lighter. Big thanks to @frannyzooey for proofreading this!! Let me know what y'all think :) letsnottalkabouthowturnedoniambydincallingherbluff

Consciousness finds you like a crack in a dam.

A trickle at first, when you register the slow, steady rhythm of the dog’s snores lifting and lowering your arm. You feel the flannel innards of your sleeping bag clinging to your sweat-drenched legs. Your ears tune into the low, constant hum of the old Peterbilt’s engine, and you blink open your eyes to see the subtle light of dawn creeping in through the windows.

Then, as you realize you’re still alive, still being held captive in this fucking truck… whoosh.

Blood rushes through your body, hot and furious, sending you upright in an instant. You find the man propped up against the passenger’s side door like a rag doll, staring at you with dull, vacant eyes. It takes him a moment to process the fact that you’re awake, then all at once, his eyes go wide and he sits up straight. Both of you freeze.

That’s when you see it. The darkened bags under his eyes. The exhaustion slumping his broad shoulders.

The gun in his hand.

Fire floods your veins and you growl, “You fucking coward.”

His eyelids flutter when the insult hits him. A nod rocks his head back slightly.

“All you had to do was pull the trigger,” you seethe, emotion cracking your voice, “How fucking hard is that?”

His jaw clenches. Head tilts to one side. Eyes flit around the cab before settling back on yours, “Do you want to see?”

You blink at him, “See what?”

The man pulls himself to his feet and shimmies between the front seats, holding the gun’s grip out to you.

You drop your gaze to your lap and grit your teeth, “Fuck you.”

He crouches beside the bed and nudges your shaking hands with the weapon, “Take it. I want you to see.”

“I fucking hate you.”

“I know,” he mutters, grabbing your left hand, your dominant hand, pressing the heavy grip into your palm, “Come on, show me how you hold a gun.”

You swallow the thickness in your throat and correct your hold to proper form. He nods in approval and searches your face, then points to his forehead, “Right here.”

No.

You shake your head. Tears distort your vision, blurring his face into an abstract mess. The gun is solid and cool in your sweaty palms. You can’t bring yourself to move it.

So he does it for you.

His hand wraps around yours and guides the aim to his forehead. A sob wracks your body and you shake your head again and again, begging him in a soggy whisper, “No no no—”

He ignores your protest, talking over the cries sounding from your throat, “If you kill me, you can leave. Take whatever you need. Flee to Canada. That was a smart plan,” he searches your face and gives a small shrug, adding, “Please take care of the dog, though.”

He’s right. You know he’s right.

Tears streaming down your cheeks, you hold the muzzle steady between his dark, unblinking eyes. Your thumb pulls back the safety with a metallic crackle. He doesn’t even flinch.

“How hard is it, Charlie?” he asks, his voice a low, daring trickle, “Hmm? How fucking hard is it to pull the trigger?”

“Fuck you,” you tell him in a pathetic sob, “You’re a piece of shit—”

“Then do something about it.”

Red blinds you. It burns you from the inside out, pulsing and furious. You flirt with the trigger, lightly stroking the hard curve of it, imagining all the potential futures branching out from this moment.

A future where you kill him, take his dog and your meager belongings, and head for Canada. Another where you give him back his gun, he delivers you to Portland, and you die in a cage.

Another option becomes clear to you. One that could make this nightmare end in an instant. Where you get just what you wanted.

The numbness of resignation dulls your senses, even as your heartbeat speeds to that of a hummingbird’s. You pull the aim away from his head and point it at your own, thinking: How much pressure would it take? Would it hurt?

His features quickly shift to panic. He holds a hand up and says, “Hey, no—”

Thinking: How hard is it, Charlie? How fucking hard is it to pull the trigger?

“Give me the gun, Charlie.”

A damp, painful knot tangles your throat. You try to swallow it down, but a sob bursts through anyway, and you hear yourself choke out, “I don’t want to die.”

“Hey, look at me,” he instructs.

You can’t. You can’t focus on anything but the barrel buried in your hair and the allure of the trigger. He touches your chin and coos, “Eyes right here, kid.”

Your gaze flicks to his.

He carefully wraps one hand around your wrist while the other tilts the barrel up and flips the safety back into place, “There we go.”

Your hand goes slack and he takes the gun away, hiding it somewhere as you collapse into yourself. When he returns, the mattress shifts under his weight. The heat of his palm presses into your back, smoothing up and down the length of your spine. It coaxes another bout of crying from deep within your chest.

For weeks, this dense, dark matter has been collecting inside you the way dust does on framed family photos. And this pitiful blubbering is just an involuntary purge. A seasonal deep clean.

You expect him to tell you to stop, or to leave, but he doesn’t. He just sits there and rubs your back. You’re not sure if he’s being supportive and patient or if he doesn’t know what else to do, but the effect is all the same. It soothes you.

Eventually, you sit up and wipe your eyes on the sleeves of your shirt, then dare to look at him.

He holds your gaze. You realize this is the first time you’ve seen him without his face covered by sunglasses or a hat or darkness. And he is… remarkable.

His deep brown eyes drop to your mouth for a fleeting moment, capsizing your stomach. Heat pulses to your face and you look away, whispering, “You don’t have to do this. You can let me go.”

He says nothing, just stands and starts disarming the cabin.

Neither of you have spoken a word.

Which is typical on your captor’s part. You’re pretty sure if you never tried to say anything to him, he wouldn’t speak at all.

But there’s something different about his silence now. It seems weighted and intentional. Like he’s actively trying not to break it.

His movements are clipped. Heavy with hard edges. When it came time for your morning bathroom break, he tossed the handcuffs next to you on the bed and waited for you to restrain yourself on the grab bar, crossing his arms and staring at you, as if that was enough explanation.

And, you suppose, it was.

After he returned from letting the dog out, he emptied your latrine, grabbed a black canvas toiletry bag and towel from the overhead compartment, and left again. The morning’s events sucked all life from you, leaving you hollowed-out and zombie-like.

You were nodding off when he returned, his dark curls dripping wet beneath his black baseball cap. The clean scent of his damp skin wafted back into the sleeper cab. Days worth of grime made your skin crawl. If you held any kind of fight in you, you would have asked to take a shower, but you found it pointless.

Why perform maintenance on a sinking ship?

Even so, after the man freed you from the handcuffs and started to prepare the rig for departure, you got ready for the day the best you could.

While he plugged in coordinates and did whatever the fuck on his dashboard tablet, you crouched down behind the driver’s seat and changed into your cleanest clothes, resigning to the fact that they will likely be the clothing your body dons when it’s discovered in some Portland alleyway within the week. You twisted your greasy hair into two long braids, then pulled out your guitar and strummed a few of your favorite songs. Songs filled with hope and freedom and adoration for this beautiful world.

But, for the first time since you left home all those years ago, they rang hollow and false. You stowed the guitar away in the overhead compartment, then strapped yourself into the passenger’s seat upfront and opened your notebook with the intention of drafting goodbye letters to your grandma and brother.

An hour later, the white space sectioned off by cornflower blue lines remains empty.

You could blame the weight of existentialism crushing your rib cage like an aluminum can, but in all honesty, the scenery keeps distracting you.

Waves of evergreen trees roll by your window as far as you can see. Every so often, a hill stretches up towards the sagging gray clouds so abruptly, it exposes the pale, stony earth beneath, cliff sides torn into the forest like ripped clothing or stretch marks. A few towns crop up here and there, tiny symbionts feeding off the lifeblood of I-80, none of them much more than a gas station, a church, and a bar.

It brings you a sense of oneness. Peace. Gratitude.

In the grand scheme of things, you don’t matter. Not to the mountains and the trees and the streams. They existed for years before you and will still for years after you. Just a speck.

But that speck was so good to me.

Regret fills you suddenly. You think about all the people you’ve met, all the things you’ve seen, all the places you’ve been. And you realize none of them will miss you.

You swear you hear your sternum crack when you realize this.

But then you hear the dashboard chime.

Both you and your captor frown at the source. He shakes his head like he doesn’t understand, but starts searching for an exit. By the time one comes along, all you can smell is burning plastic.

The man pulls over on the side of a county road, then kills the engine. When he pulls back the hood, white-blue smoke billows from the Peterbilt’s innards into the gloomy sky.

You look over at the dog, whose flat snout steams up the driver’s side window, and snort, “That doesn’t look good.”

The dog whines and scampers onto your lap, pulling his front paws up onto the dashboard. He glances between you and his caretaker, ears perked up with curiosity. Through the windshield, the two of you watch him shake his head at the machinery. He leans forward into the engine bay and touches something, then jerks back like it bit him. Tugging his gloves off, he stares down at the smoking mess, then pulls a cell phone from his pocket and makes a call.

“Din Djarin,” the velvety feminine voice answers, “How can I help you?”

“Shand,” he greets, squinting up at the glowing gray sky, “I broke down off 1-80 in Wyoming. Need someone to come take this trailer to make the deadline.”

“Drop off?”

“Provo, Utah.”

“Send me your location and the work order, I’ll get someone out there.”

“Will do, thank you.”

After hanging up, Din pings his location and sends her electronic copies of paperwork detailing the job.

He glances through the windshield every once in a while, and can see you and the dog peering over the dashboard from the passenger’s seat. The anxious creases haunting your features throughout the morning have softened. You look amused, in fact.

Looming financial devastation be damned, relief loosens his knotted shoulders just a little. He corrects himself, pushing his shoulders back, staring into the messy engine compartment.

Shit.

This is… not ideal.

Din started to get an inkling of this unfortunate bout of sympathy while waiting for you to fall asleep last night.

Actually, that’s not true.

It happened before that. The second he heard your request for a mercy killing, it started twisting in guts.

By the time he finally heard your breathing alter into that of a dreamlike state, the inhales and exhales becoming deeper and less predictable, he doubted his ability to grant your wish. He tried anyway. Stood above you, aiming straight at your temple. Just one small movement to assure him the collection of your bounty. To achieve financial stability for at least a year. To unburden himself from your presence.

A minute passed.

And another.

And a few more.

Twenty minutes went by in total with your life in his sight, then he resigned to the passenger’s seat while he tried to sort this all out in his head.

If you had just tried to escape, or tried to attack him, he could have pulled the trigger and excused his guilty conscience away. But no. He let you pull back the curtain. Something he could have stopped if he really wanted to do so.

He didn’t, though, did he?

As much as he hates to admit it, even to himself, he wanted to hear your story. It was unprofessional. He should know better. All it did was surface more questions. Make you more human.

Rookie mistake.

He is a killer. Reborn out of blood and forged into this rigid shape. He should know better than to view his target as a person with hopes and dreams and a future. But no matter what lies he tried to tell himself about self-preservation or duty or mercy, he could not fucking do it.

Which, now that he thinks about it, is much worse than “not ideal.”

No. It is downright “bad news.”

He calls the only diesel mechanic listed within a 50-mile radius to arrange for a tow and repair. He tells the gruff man on the other end of the line he’ll “need a new radiator,” then, “yes, I am sure.” The thing had been held together by glue and hope for 20,000 miles. It was inevitable. Din was just praying it would wait until after he received your bounty to fall apart.

But, as is sometimes the case, fate had different plans in store.

Fennec Shand called while he was on the phone with the mechanic. He calls her back, skipping formalities completely when she picks up by asking, “Did you find anyone?”

She doesn’t seem to mind, jumping into the conversation with, “You’re in luck. Boba Fett just finished a job in Laramie and can be there in an hour.”

Din nods, “Ok. A tow is on the way, taking us to a nearby town. I might be out of commission for a few days—”

“Us?”

His lips part, gaze flashing to the windshield as he stammers, “Me and the, uhh, the dog.”

“Hmm,” Fennec hums, “Yeah, thanks for that, by the way. I got a real earful from the owners.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry to me, it’s coming out of your pay,” she snorts.

He props a hand on his hip and glances around, “Do you know what his name is?”

“The dog?”

“Right.”

“I’ll see if I have anything in my notes, mind if I put you on hold?”

“Sure.”

Some time goes by with silence from the other end of the line. Din steps away from the engine bay and paces the gravel shoulder in front of the rig.

Eventually, she comes back with a simple, “Grogu.”

“What?”

“G-R-O-G-U,” Fennec spells it out, then enunciates, ”Grow-goo, that’s the dog’s name.”

“Oh, I see,” he smiles at the ground, then nods, “Thank you.”

“Need anything else?”

“That should do it.”

As he returns to the cab of the truck, Din repeats the name under his breath, “Grogu.”

He pulls the driver’s side door open. A robust and rhythmic strumming invades his ears. Sort of upbeat. It cuts abruptly when he closes the door and sits down.

“What’s the news, big guy?” you smirk, draping one arm over the graffitied face of your guitar, “Do I live to see another day?”

He glances into the sleeper cab at the dog, who’s napping, then back to you, “The radiator is toast. A tow is on its way from Yellow Seed. Guy on the phone said there’s a motel across the street from the shop. We can stay there until it gets fixed.”

“How long’ll that take, do you think?”

“Not sure,” he admits, “He said he might have to order parts, so it could be a day or two before he can start. We’ll know more then.”

You nod as you absorb this information, teeth struggling to clamp down your curving lips. Then, as if you cannot possibly contain it any longer, the smile explodes across your face. He notices, for the first time, that you have this little gap between your front teeth. Like he could slot a dime between them in a perfect fit.

He also notices his chest tighten and his breathing alter.

Bad, bad news.

“It’ll be in your best interest to behave when we’re around others,” he says while turning his attention to his mounted tablet and pulling up the email app.

“Or what, you’ll kill me?” you snort, dropping your gaze to the guitar in your lap.

“I’m sending the coordinates of the motel to the guild. If anything happens—if I end up in jail, or if you run—the next person who finds you might not be as accommodating as I am.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t call the cops. Rule number four,” you raise an eyebrow and pluck a melody into the strings of your guitar, “Fuck the police.”

He rolls his eyes, “Still—”

“Yeah yeah yeah,” you pause your plucking to wave him off, “I’ll be a good girl for you, is that what you wanna hear?”

A wave of arousal flips his stomach and sends his heart racing.

His mouth gapes open and his throat croaks before a wide, pleased smile creeps across your face, “Oh, I got you a little flustered with that one, didn’t I, uhh—hey, what’s your name anyways?”

He shakes his head without answering your question, furrowing his brow at the tablet while typing out the email to Karga. Trying to ignore the heat coiling in the middle of him. Trying to think about anything other than “I’ll be a good girl for you, is that what you wanna hear?”

With a little huff of annoyance, you go back to playing your guitar.

When the tow truck arrives, your captor sets up some little orange traffic cones in a curve along the left side of the rig.

Out of the tow comes a bearded mechanic, outfitted in a navy blue jumpsuit with a name patch that reads Paul. He approaches your captor and shakes his hand. They exchange a few words before Paul moves on to inspect the engine compartment, squinting into the exposed guts of the truck.

Another semi-truck pulls over ahead of the tow only a minute or two later. It’s an odd green-ish gray color with rusty red accents. Your captor goes to greet the other truck driver, a bald, barrel-chested man. They exchange a polite nod and stand side-by-side behind the mechanic, arms crossed as they talk. The bald trucker seems to be more talkative, his lips moving intermittently, while your captor’s stay mostly resigned to a firm frown.

A pang of loneliness shoots through your heart. You realize you’re just staring at them, aching to socialize. The sparse, one-sided conversations you’ve had in the past few days have left much to be desired. No offense to your road companions.

Well, maybe a little offense when it comes to your human road companion.

You set the pup down in the driver’s seat and go to open the door, using rule #10 as your rationalization: Be a stand up tramp.

It’s only polite, after all, to go introduce yourself and be friendly. And, yeah, maybe you desperately want to chit-chat a little, too. So what?

The second the passenger’s door cracks open, your captor is there, blocking your exit.

“Get back in the truck.”

“I wanna say hi.”

“You don’t need to do that.”

You roll your eyes and push on the door. He grabs it and pushes back. The only thing stopping him from slamming it shut are your legs dangling out the bottom.

“Oh my god, seriously?” You blink at him and gesture to the vast, desolated hills outside the rig, “What am I gonna do, big guy, run away? I already told you, I won’t spill your beans, I swear.”

He stays frozen in place, holding the door a quarter of the way open, jaw clenched, broad shoulders squared, like he thinks he can intimidate you. Although you can’t see his eyes through his mirrored sunglasses, you can feel them burning into yours.

So you stare him down. Give him your best “do not fuck with me” face. The space between your bodies becomes so thick and ripe with challenge, you wonder what ever happened when that unstoppable force met the immovable object.

From the driver’s seat, the dog starts to whine in discomfort. This tiny noise pulls the lens back just enough for your brain to formulate a sentence you think could break him.

“You can stare at me all you want, brown eyes, I’m not gonna kiss you.”

His lips part and his head jerks back, “I—I’m—what? No—”

Victory.

A smile spreads across your face.

“I promise I’ll behave,” you tell him, holding your hand out to him, pinkie finger erect, “Pinky promise.”

He looks towards the mechanic, then his trucker comrade, jaw working from side-to-side, weight shifting to one hip. So close to giving in.

“Please, I’m so bored.”

When he turns back to you, he studies you for a moment, then sighs and releases the door.

“You gotta do the thing or it doesn’t count,” you insist, holding your pinky out to him.

“I’m not doing that.”

“Figures,” you scoff. He ignores the retort, stepping aside so you can climb down.

You start around the truck’s unhinged jaw of a hood, waving to the bald trucker when he comes into view, “Hey there!”

“Ahh,” he grins, revealing a set of big, porcelain white teeth, and glances between you and the man hovering over your shoulder, “What’ve we here?”

His accent is interesting. Probably a Kiwi.

You return his bright smile with your own and extend your hand, “I’m Charlie.”

“Boba. Pleasure to meet you,” he nods, giving you a firm and brief handshake, then looks to your captor, “You’re collecting all kinds of stowaways, aren’t you?”

“It’s temporary,” he responds mildly.

Boba’s eyes seem to sparkle at this as he steps back and tucks a hand under each armpit, giving you a wink, “That’s what they all say.”

You laugh and shake your head, jerking a thumb over your shoulder, “Trust me, he can’t wait to get rid of me.”

The mechanic’s head pops out from the inner workings of the truck when he hears your laughter, and you wave to him, “Hi there!”

“Howdy howdy,” he nods in greeting as he approaches, wiping his hands on his jumper.

“I’m Charlie,” you smile and point to his name tag, “Paul, I’m guessing?”

“Yes ma’am, that’s me,” he props his hands up on his hips, jerking his head towards the truck, “Y’all got any more in there, or is it just the two of you?”

“We got a dog. Other than that, just the two of us. We gonna be able to fit in the tow?”

Paul frowns and shrugs, “Might be tight, but I think we can squeeze everyone in.”

You nod, then step around the upright hood, “What’s it lookin’ like?”

“Lookin’ like your, uhh,” he pauses here, glancing between you and your captor, probably trying to assess what the relation between you is, finally settling on, “Din here was right. Radiator’s busted wide open. She’ll need a total replacement.”

Din.

That has to be his name.

Another victorious smile spreads across your face. And to think, just a few hours ago, you were longing for death. Things are looking up.

You clear your throat and attempt to stifle your obvious excitement, “What’s that run?”

Din sighs from behind you, and you hear Boba chuckle to him, “Just temporary, eh?”

“Top of my head, I’d say about three grand. Don’t hold me to that, though. I’ll know more when I can call around for parts and take a better look.”

“Right on,” you cross your arms and glance over your shoulder at Din, whose mouth is flattened into an unamused line, then back to Paul, “Anyway, sorry for interrupting, I’ll get out of your hair. Just wanted to introduce myself.”

“Hey, ain’t no problem,” Paul smiles, hiking a thumb towards the tow, “If you and the dog wanna hop into the truck, we should be able to get this bad boy all hooked up in a few minutes.”

“Sounds like a plan. Thank you, Paul!”

Paul returns his attention to the truck, heaving the tarnished chrome hood shut. You turn to Boba, squinting into the sun, and give him another courteous wave, “Hey, it was really nice meeting you, Boba. Good luck in your travels!”

“Same to you, Miss Charlie,” he nods, his smile stretching wide as he looks between you and Din, “You keep him out of trouble, now.”

“This guy? Trouble? No way,” you snort as you turn and walk around Din, shooting him a smirk on your way back to the passenger’s side.

He follows hot on your trail, practically hissing, “Are you satisfied?”

“I sure am,” you grin back at him as you pull the door open, “Hey, do you want me to let the dog go do his business before we take off?”

He halts, holding the door open, staring up at you. You raise your eyebrows in question.

“Sure—Uhh, yes,” he shakes his head, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome… Din,” you beam, and your glee only grows when a disgruntled sigh heaves his chest.

To your credit, you did not tip off the tow truck driver on the ride to Yellow Seed, just as you promised.

You did, however, charm him. Which is almost as much of a problem as him suspecting the truth.

Din sat between you and Paul, hoping it would act as a deterrent for conversation, but neither of you let that get in the way. You just talked around him. The situation took him by surprise, though. He found himself being more perplexed than he was irritated by the back-and-forth.

It was almost effortless, the way you seemed to control the conversation, keeping the topic centered around Paul and Yellow Seed. This left little space for him to attempt small talk by asking about who you and Din are, and the circumstances surrounding your travel.

People love talking about themselves. You clearly know this and use it to your advantage. It solidifies something Din has been realizing the past few days: You are very clever. Cunning, even.

When a sign goes by, marking Yellow Seed’s city limits, you read the population out loud, “One-thousand, nine hundred, and eighty-six. Dang, that is a small town.”

You hug Grogu to your chest as you lean forward and look at Paul, “Din said there’s a motel here, is that right?”

“Yep,” he nods, “Right across the road from the shop. If you want, I can show y’all around town after unloading the truck.”

“No,” Din says.

You smack him in the shoulder and chuckle, “We can walk. It’ll give us a chance to stretch our legs. Thank you so much for offering, though.”

“No problem,” Paul squints, flipping on his turn signal, “Here we are.”

The big wooden sign out front is barely legible, its paint chipped and faded by at least a decade of neglect. Beyond it, a big gravel lot crowded with cars and trucks and rigs in different states of disarray. Some have weeds growing up into the wheel wells like the vehicles haven’t been moved in weeks.

The garage itself is a simple, box-like structure with aluminum siding. Three two-story garage doors take up most of the road-facing side of the building.

Paul puts the tow in park and kills the engine, then swings the driver’s door open to climb down. You don’t move, and instead, regard Din with a smug smile while scratching Grogu between the ears, “How’d I do?”

He gives you a nod, “Good,” and after a beat adds, “Thank you.”

Your smile stretches and warms. It curls around inside him, beckoning a gentle, hungry hope that feels intrusive in his body. Inwardly, he chides himself.

Such soft things are not made for him. They are a luxury he cannot afford and does not deserve.

You pass him the dog and crack the passenger’s door open, then turn to him, “Ready?”

The ambiguity with which he interprets this question makes his mind whir. Is he ready for the next leg of this journey, and the uncertainty it brings? Can he rebuild the carefully constructed walls you’ve been dismantling? Or is it a fruitless endeavor? Is he ready to face you without the distraction of the open highway stretching out in front of him?

Not at all.

But he nods, “Ready,” and follows you into the crisp October air, letting his feet touch down in Yellow Seed.

#pedro pascal characters #din djarin #din djarin fic #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin x ofc #din djarin x you #the mandalorian fanfic #the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian fic #the mandalorian #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal character #pedro pascal character fanfic #pedro pascal #passenger #god please let this be the last tag

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janghoefett · 1 year

Text

A little snapshot into giving Din Djarin head. 18+ only below the cut, f!reader.

———————

He’s slumped against the pilot’s chair like a limp rag doll, hips sitting forward with spread legs at the very edge of the seat. Gloved hands grip the armrests in an iron grip as his head falls slack against his shoulder until, with a strangled groan, he lets it fall to the other side with a relieved sigh.

The Mandalorian would have appeared to be in distress if it weren’t for the woman kneeling between his legs. She is half-naked, covered only by pretty, lacy bits of lingerie, while the Mandalorian sits armored from head to toe apart from his swollen cock, which sits heavy in her hand.

Din Djarin doesn’t speak in a moment like this — he knows his mind is too far gone from his body, that his pleasure will make him say something regrettable or foolish. He wants to praise her, to tell her how beautiful she looks right now, to tell her he would die for her, to tell her he would leave everything behind if she asked it of him… and just as his lips part to speak, her swollen lips sink down to the base of his cock in triumph.

“Fuck!” he grunts instead, through gritted teeth.

She pulls off of him with a tear beading at the corner of her eye, breathing deeply with parted lips, and still, he’s silent. His gloved hand reaches for her soft, heated face, and his thumb runs reassuringly across her cheek before wicking the tear away. She smiles up at the masked man, just softly, just for a moment, before nestling her lips around the head of his cock once more.

This time his hand finds its way to the back of her head. Her jaw aches and the back of her mouth had already bruised, but still, she feels his gentle fingertips moving in soft circles against her scalp and she continues. She peers up at him through her lashes, into the expressionless t-shaped visor where she is met only with her own reflection. This was wrong, of course — everything about being with this bounty hunter who never showed his face was simply wrong — but with every touch she had felt his kind nature and his affection for her, and she leans into her desire without hesitation.

“Din,” she whispers.

That’s all she had said as she came up off him; just his name. His name.

The Mandalorian sits up, leaning forward to lessen the gap between them. Her breath hitches in anticipation and she closes her eyes when his fingers reach under the rim of his helmet, and as she keeps them shut, the Mandalorian reveals his face to press a kiss firmly to her lips. He lingers there, never using his tongue or deepening the kiss, but through it she feels his sweetness and his sincerity, and together their hearts thump loudly within their chests.

She opens her eyes when she feels him lean back in the seat, and she falls back into her rhythm of bobbing her head on his length. Outside of this metal ship, the Mandalorian would be guarded, guarding her, guarding himself, and his freedom, but within these cold walls he’s exposed to her like a nerve. He gives himself to her gladly, and she gives herself in return, each of them so blindly unaware and insecure of it all. They’d continue like this, content to make love in the evening and hide that love when the suns rose, but maybe it was all enough for now. Maybe they already knew it was love without needing to say a word.

#the Mandalorian x reader #din djarin x reader #the Mandalorian fan fiction #din djarin fan fiction

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keldabekush · 2 years

Note

hello bestie, could you please tell me a bit more on the Din and Nuhur wip? I miss them very much, thank you <3

DIN AND NUHUR ! I love you so much i miss Din and his loud husband . I miss Nuhur i abandoned them i feel bad ahaha. here's a snip from some slightly suggestive pre-relationship flirting 👀. They hang out on the razor crest a lot, and Nuhur knows Din's last name but not his first name yet. this is pre-grogu so din doesnt have his beskar. not relevant here but just for info. here you go;

"Could you just-"

Din glances up from his needle and thread to where Nuhur is lying, face down on the durasteel as they have been since they secured the bounty in carbonite. He had offered them a bedroll to lay on, but only received a groan in reply, so had left them to it.

"-do something not in silence?"

He blinks behind his visor. He's not sure how he could make stitching a torn flak vest a noisier task, let alone why he would want to, and he lets his lack of answer prod them to elaborate.

Nuhur raises one hand to wave dismissively with, limp and pathetic.

"Rattle around a bit, tap your foot, I don't know. Make tea, thats nice ambient noise"

They let their arm drop back to the floor with a clatter of armour and continue to look utterly miserable, like a discarded doll.

Din is completely fascinated by the absurdity of it all.

"You want me to just….make tea. For the sound of it."

"Yes."

"Instead of this actually useful thing I'm doing."

"Yes."

He can't help the slightly mischievous tone that slips in when he asks

"What if i don't want tea?"

And can do even less to stop the smile that creeps across his face as Nuhur's whole body seems impossibly to sag further into the ground.

"I'll drink the kriffing tea, Djarin, just make it not silent."

He snorts and ties off the last stitch, setting the flak vest on the bench beside him with the needle carefully tucked beside the mended tear, where he wouldn't forget.

He stands up, stretches and then steps carefully over his blaster, layed out by his feet for future cleaning. He makes his way to Nuhur's prone sprawl, taking care to make his footsteps heavier than usual to telegraph clearly where he is.

"Alright."

And then he sinks down to straddle them, settling his weight against the back of their thighs. They jolt with surprise, but don’t do more than turn their head sideways in an effort to see what he's doing.

Din studies them, notices the aborted twitch in their shoulders, probably supressing the instinct to buck him off.

“I could do some work on this,” he says, low and even, brushing the ragged half-cape out of his way so he can tap the long, deep scratch in Nuhur’s durasteel backplate. Nuhur doesn’t shiver underneath him, but they do take two shallow breaths before they hum, contemplative.

“Yeah.” they agree after a moment. They wriggle, and Din tenses his thighs to trap them in place.

Now, Nuhur shivers.

“Yeah,” they repeat, “i can work with that.”

#din djarin x oc #oc nuhur #kushwrites #fic #wip ask game #thank u terra i miss them so much

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whirlybirbs · 2 years

Note

❛ this is a good look for you. ❜ + din !

[ blurb ] —— din djarin / gn!reader ; sarlacc spit

a/n: i need to be better about showing everyone little pieces and not pouring out an entire 3k fic each time i get a request — anyways, exactly what it says on the tin :-)

pairing: din djarin / gn!reader, set mid-season 1 of tbobf

You're laughing.

He's covered in Sarlacc spit, and you're laughing.

Not even the sweet, chaste little snicker you usually muster up at something funny — no, this is a full blown howl. Tears, even, gather in the corners of your eyes as you split your sides in the sand.

The thick material of your mechanic gloves claps deeply as you double over, rooting your hands to your knees as you bark out a genre of laughter that's enough to get Fennec going.. of all people.

Boba — beneath his helmet — starts not long after.

This sort of laugh is one Din hasn't heard out of you since that time the kid tried to eat the gearshift back on the Razor Crest. Damn womp rat tried to down in one whole bite. Din knocked over half the cargo in the main hold diving for him.

"Really?" he says, voice tight with manufactured annoyance — it doesn't land, though. It only seems to act as a further catalyst to not only your laughter, but to Boba and Fennec's as well.

Din raises both arms. His cape, slick with mucus-like spit, clings to him. When he drops his arms, it makes a wet slop sound.

Someone raised concerns about a baby Sarlacc having been unearthed somewhere along the trade line between Mos Eisley and Mos Espa. Boba, ever the kind Daimyo, agreed to handle it. Din, with his persuasive sense of heroics, agreed to help.

Sure, when Din had been snatched by the waist and flung around like a rag-doll by the small, two foot wide Sarlacc, you'd been the first to swing your rifle from your back and take aim. But, the truth was that this Sarlacc was a youngling — barely a decade old — and seemed more intent on playing with its food. Hell, when Din was sucked in waist deep and prodded with it's still blunt baby incisors, you still worried.

Except, Din was simply shouting 'Please, cut it out' and 'That hurts, stop it' the entire time, like a man minorly inconvenienced by the creature that had in fact swallowed a local villager's dog whole just a day prior.

In the end, Din handled it — one boot lost to the snapping beak that was only interested enough to get a taste. He hauled himself out of the little pit in the sand after successfully setting not only the Sarlacc on fire, but himself.

So, here he is. Down a boot, covered in spit, and singed.

"Th-This," you bark, "This is a really good look for you—"

"You're being childish."

Even Din can't hide the smile in his words.

"No, no, really, really, I mean it, Din," you can hardly get the sentence out, your breathless laughs punctuated by the wave of your hand, "Seriously, you handled that phenomenally—"

Din's own laugh surprises him.

But, then it rolls on like a thunder storm.

And so, the four of you stand in the dunes, laughing.

He's covered in Sarlacc spit, and you're all laughing.

#din djarin x reader #din djarin imagine #din djarin/reader #din djarin x gn!reader #din djarin x you #mandalorian #the book of boba fett #mandalorian imagine #star wars imagine #mando x you #mando x reader #mandalorian x reader #birbs blurbs #new format for smaller post

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131-vr · 1 year

Text

The boy was hungry ok.

What a great idea let's make this guy king with no experience being a leader and who always finds a way to smash his head into something

#bo katan #bo katan kryze #kryze #mando #Mandalorian #the mandalorian #the mandalorian s3 #king din djarin #mandalore #rag doll din djarin #din #din djarin #drawing #din and grogu #grogu fanart #grogu and din #the mandadlorian #darksaber #bo katan has a lot of work

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dindjarinbae · 3 years

Text

Commander Brown Eyes (Din Djarin x reader)

hi i know this wasn’t requested, but it was something i had been writing since like friday or satuday so... i have like 12 requests to get to, and i am hoping to get those all done within the next two weeks, so bear with me please!! anyways, soft din, that’s it. send tweet.

WARNINGS: none

WORD COUNT: 3979

“Y/n. I want you to come, too. You won’t show up on anything at all. You have no record.” Your boyfriend, Din Djarin, pointed out while you, Fennec, Cara, Mayfeld, Boba Fett, and Din, all stood trying to figure out who was going to accompany Mayfeld into the mining facility.

You blinked and looked up at Din, shaking your head a few times, “I- I couldn’t possibly go, what on earth do you need me for?” You asked, getting a bit nervous. He usually adamantly refused to let you go on missions or anything of the sort in fear that you might get hurt, so why now? You looked at him quizzically and begged for an answer with your eyes.

You got an answer, just not from Din.

“Because you’re pretty. There ain’t a single general in there that would even think to find us suspicious because they’ll be looking at you.” Mayfeld interjected and looked at Din, “That’s the idea, right Mando?” He asked and raised his eyebrows.

Din shuffled his feet around for a second and then nodded, “I had a better way of saying it, but that works, too.” He mumbled and you could just sense that his eyes were on you. You blinked a few times and then looked at Cara and Fennec to see if they were going to protest but Fennec was nodding and Cara seemed to think this was a good idea.

“But I’m going with you two, as well. I don’t like her going in alone with you.” He spoke firmly towards Mayfeld, and Mayfeld started ranting about how that wasn’t smart because the beskar armor would be too suspicious.

You tuned them out while they bickered amongst themselves and you turned to Boba, who you decided that you liked very much and you frowned a bit. You saw his shoulders shake in a small chuckle and he shook his head, “Don’t look at me like that, this wasn’t my idea.” He stated and folded his arms across his chest. You huffed and then dramatically sighed, getting reluctantly dragged into the mission.

——

By the time the three of you had arrived into the base after a relentless attack from pirates, the entire base had gathered there to cheer you on. Din climbed out of the cab and held his arms out for you, and you climbed into his outstretched arms and he gently lifted you down, holding you underneath your armpits like you weighed nothing more than a rag doll. He held you for just a bit longer than normal, and you assumed he was just nervous to have you in the base with him and Mayfeld. Carefully, he set you on your feet and you looked up at him, chuckling quietly, not getting used at all to the stormtrooper outfit he had to throw on.

“Don’t you dare say anything about it.” He mumbled and gave your ass a well concealed, playful smack.

You giggled and grinned up at him cheekily, “I didn’t say anything! I just thought it!” You protested, and he would’ve grabbed you and whacked you on the ass again, but Mayfeld came around the front of the vehicle and he cleared his throat at the two of you.

The playful side of Din melted away instantly and he walked up to join Mayfeld, and you trailed behind the two of them, nodding kindly at the stormtroopers that waved at you as you passed through the crowd. You looked around the crowded base and desperately wanted to grab onto Din’s arm, but all the eyes in the room suggested that you not do that. You stayed back behind them and tried to make yourself as small as possible as the two of them rendezvoused in front of the mess hall and you moved up closer to them until you you’re beside Din, your hip brushing his thigh. He glanced down at you, and more than anything in that moment, he wanted to wrap his arm around your waist and keep you in a protective grip.

Mayfeld wandered off casually a few steps to check for a terminal, and he came back seconds later to report.

“There it is.” He spoke lowly, and Din gave him a small nod.

“Good luck.” He said gruffly and you moved backwards behind him just a bit. But he caught your arm gently and pulled you out, “You need to go with him.” He stated and pushed you towards Mayfeld very carefully.

You swallowed thickly and nodded, meeting Mayfeld’s eyes. He nodded towards the terminal and you looked over your shoulder at Din who nodded at you once, telling you to go. You scuttled off behind Mayfeld and followed him closely until he stopped in the threshold of the mess hall. His stance changed and he visibly tensed before turning around and walking right back the way he came, catching your arm in the process, pulling you back to Din.

When the two of you reached Din again, you wiggled your arm away from Mayfeld and you grabbed onto Din’s arm, not caring who saw at this point. Your heart was racing and you had a bad, bad feeling about this all.

“I can’t go in there.” Mayfeld stated, a tremor in his voice.

“Why not?” Din asked sharply, and you tightened your grip on his arm. He allowed you to cling to his arm and he kept his gaze fixed entirely on Mayfeld.

“That’s Valin Hess.” Mayfeld answered and you scooter a bit closer to Din.

He yanked his arm from your grip and you almost protested, but in an act of (maybe thirty minutes worth) touch deprivation, he wrapped the same arm around your waist and he pulled you against his side, the cool metal of the stormtrooper armor pressing coldly against you.

“Who?” He asked, and tightened his arm around you.

“Valin Hess. I used to serve under him.” Mayfeld practically wheezed, and you could hear the panic in his voice. You felt bad for Mayfeld, with his face turning a ghostly white and the anxiety in his tone. You reached out to rub his shoulder once reassuringly and then sunk back into Mando, looking down at your feet.

“Will he recognize you?” Din asked, moving closer to Mayfeld.

“I don’t know. I was just a field operative, but I’m not taking the chance. It’s over.” Mayfeld whispered and you shook your head quickly, looking up at him.

“No no no, you have t-“ you protested, but Din promptly cut you off.

Mayfeld moved to leave, but Din grabbed his arm, “Let’s just do this quick and we can get out of here.” He said sternly and you frowned, looking up at Mayfeld with a panicked expression. He couldn’t back out. He couldn’t. If he did, you would never see your little green baby ever again, and that brought hot, stinging tears to your eyes.

“I can’t do it, okay? We have to abort. I’m sorry.” Mayfeld snapped and he tried to walk away again.

As he did last time, Din caught his arm and tugged him back, “No, I cant. If we don’t get those coordinates, then me and her,” he said, and motioned towards you with the chin of the helmet he wore, “... will lose the kid forever. Give me the data stick.” Din said and Mayfeld looked a bit perplexed.

“It’s not gonna work.” He protested and fell silent for a second.

You looked up at Din and then back at Mayfeld and you could see the frown etching itself onto Mayfeld’s face, “In order to access the network, the terminal has to scan your face. And unless you’re gonna send her in there-'' he said and motioned towards you.

Din shook his head and held you tighter, and Mayfeld simply nodded, “I figured. Let’s go.” He snapped.

“Give it to me.” Din said again, sharper this time. Mayfeld held it out and Din snatched it from his hand and he tugged you forward a bit before letting his arm fall from your waist. He nodded for you to follow him and you shook your head, feeling nothing but terror as you looked at Valin Hess inside the mess hall. Din sighed as he watched you stand next to Mayfeld and he tipped his head to the side a bit, and something told you he was pleading to you with his eyes.

You reluctantly nodded and followed in behind him, standing casually a couple tables away while he parked himself in front of the terminal. You felt Valin’s dark stare on yourself and then watched it move to Din and it stayed there while he attempted to use the terminal. Everything seemed to be going smoothly until the terminal chirped out that there was a problem and there was an incomplete facial scan.

Everything then moved in slow motion as you watched Din grab the helmet he wore, and he lifted it over his head, revealing the hair that you’d felt before, but had never seen. A gasp got stuck in your throat. Of course it would be brown. Of course Din Djarin would have the prettiest brown curls that you’d ever laid your eyes on, and you wanted nothing more in that moment then to go to him and run your fingers through the soft, pretty curls that fell to the nape of his neck.

The computer quit its’ bitching and you watched him put the data stick in the terminal. You wanted desperately for him to turn around, and you could tell by his body language that he was absolutely terrified. He had worn that helmet his entire life to hide his face from the world, and now his face was out in the open for everyone, including his girlfriend to see. You couldn’t imagine what that felt like.

“Trooper!”

A deep voice pulled you from your reverie, and you looked over at it’s source. Valin Hess.

He rose from his seat and walked towards Din, and you felt bile rise in your throat as you moved just a step forward to be closer to him.

“Hey, trooper.” Valin snapped once again, and Din quickly pulled the data stick from the terminal before he turned towards Hess.

“Pay attention when a superior addresses you.” Valin drawled and you went another step closer, biting your lip as he spoke again, “What’s your designation?” He asked, and his voice gave you shivers as you watched Din’s body language show exactly what you’d expected: terror.

“Transport crew.” He nearly whispered, and your heart broke as you heard his voice crack on the last syllable.

There was only a second of silence before Hess spoke again, “What?” He asked, turning his body ever so slightly.

“My designation is transport copilot.” Din answered again, and you prayed that this was the answer Valin Hess was looking for.

From where you stood, you could see only a side profile of your Mandalorian. A strong nose, high cheekbones, a bit of a mustache, and a light coating of facial hair. Nothing you didn’t already know he had, because you’d felt it many times without the lights on or with your eyes covered, but this was the first time you had a real picture to put with the features your gentle fingertips would trace whenever he let you do so.

“No son,” Valin said, a bit annoyed now, “What’s your TK number?” He asked and you turned your head towards Mayfeld.

You caught his eye and sent him a pleading look, begging for him to come in and help out. Your lip wobbled and Mayfeld sighed before moving in towards you.

“My TK number is...” Din began, but before he could continue, Mayfeld had already grabbed your arm and walked the both of you over towards Valin and Din.

“This is my Commanding Officer, TK five nine three, sir.” Mayfeld interjected and dropped your arm, leaving you to subtly scoot yourself towards Din.

That is exactly what you did. You scurried to his side and it took all of your will not to latch onto his arm as you so often did when you wanted to be close to him.

“I’m imperial combat assault transport, Lieutenant TK one-eleven, sir.” Mayfeld finished and you glanced up at Din.

He stole a glance down at you as well, and you felt your eyes water just a bit. He was truly the most beautiful man you had ever laid your eyes on, with his full bottom lip and the sharp curve of his jawline with the thin stubble that grew over his skin, but what really made your heart melt, was his eyes. His big, pretty, entrancing brown eyes, framed with his full eyebrows and a set of short, dark lashes. You wanted so badly to touch his face, and you could see the nervousness in his expression as he stared at you.

“And this is his... human hearing aid of sorts,” he said and pointed towards you, “I’m afraid you’ll have to speak up to him a little bit, since his vessel lost pressure in Taanab.” Mayfeld explained.

Valin gave a slight nod before leaning in towards Din, and you put a gentle, reassuring hand on Din’s shoulder, “What’s your name officer?” Valin asked loudly, and borderline condescendingly.

Din was silent and looked around and Hess raised his eyebrows as if to reiterate his question before Mayfeld stepped in again.

“We just call him Brown Eyes. Isn’t that right, Officer?” Mayfeld asked, and Din gave a nod.

“And her?” Valin asked again, pointing at you, his eyes traveling up and down your body, and you felt like hiding behind Din.

You had to think quickly, so you thought quickly of your favorite flower and you looked up at Valin with a small smile that probably looked more like a grimace, “I just go by Lavender, sir. Apparently a head injury left me without a memory of my name.” You said, laughing casually.

Valin tore his gaze away from you after a skeevy smirk in your direction and Mayfeld spoke up again, “Come on, you two. Let’s go fill out those TPS reports, so we can go recharge the power coils.” Mayfeld said and put a hand on Din’s back while Din put a hand on yours and the three of you began to walk away.

“You’re not dismissed.” Hess drawled and the three of you froze. You looked up at Din fearfully and he glanced down at you with the same amount of fear in his eyes, but for different reasons. You were afraid of the Imperial General speaking to you, and he was afraid of the world that could now see him without a helmet.

When the two men turned around, Din smoothly swept you behind his back protectively and you couldn’t help but stare up at his hair again.

“You the tank troopers that delivered the shipment of rhydonium?” Valin asked and you took a step closer to Din, even if it was just his back.

Both of the boys answered with a simple ‘yes, sir’ and you bit down on your lip, hanging your head as you stood behind Din. Valin Hess turned around to look at the two of them and spoke, “Well you two managed to be the only transport today to deliver their shipment,” he then glanced at you, “Why’s she hiding?” He asked and bent his head to the side to peer around Din’s shoulder, “Why are you hiding, little girl?”

“She’s not big on people, Sir.” Mayfeld interjected and Valin chuckled.

He clapped both Mayfeld and Din on the shoulder, “Come with me, hm? Let’s get a drink, Brown Eyes.” He said patronizingly and you finally gave into the need to clutch Din’s arm. He looked down at you, along with Mayfeld and Mayfeld sent a look to Din, saying something like ‘bad idea to bring her’, and Din just nodded knowingly.

The three of you all went to a table and you took the seat closest to Din, clandestinely placing your hand against his thigh, and he laid his down on top of yours reassuringly. You glanced up at him and bit your lip, and he gave you a very small nod. Valin was out of the room getting a bottle of whatever he decided on, and you took this time to lean your forehead against the side of Din’s face.

“I love you, you know. I’m very, very proud of you.” You whispered and turned your hand over so that you could lace your fingers with his. He nodded and laid his forehead against yours for a second while you looked into his deep, brown eyes. You smiled softly and pecked his lips a few times, “You do have beautiful eyes you know, Din Djarin.” You whispered so quietly that you were practically mouthing it.

He rolled his eyes and you could feel his hand trembling in yours, “I find yours much prettier.” He whispered back and you bumped your nose against his before pulling away so that you two weren’t touching when Hess came back.

He finally did come back and sat down at the table, setting down three glasses and he nodded at you, “Figured she was a little young for a drink.” He chuckled and reached out to tap your chin a few times. You felt Din’s hand tighten around yours in anger, reacting to the way Valin had just touched you. He opened the bottle up and grinned a bit, “What shall we toast to, boys? I can blather on about “to health” or “to success” but,” he seemed to be amused by himself as he paused dramatically to pour a drink for Din and Mayfeld, “.. I’d like to do something a little less rote.” He finished and closed the bottle, pointing at Din with it, “Where you from, Brown Eyes?” He asked and you felt Din stiffen.

He opened his mouth to speak when Mayfeld, once again, interjected, saving the day, “How about a toast to Operation Cinder?” Mayfeld asked and you leaned your head down a bit.

You closed your eyes and held onto Din’s hand tightly while Mayfeld went on to speak back and forth to Valin, but at this point, their voices were muffled and far away as you tried to calm down and think of a way out of this situation. You tapped the side of your Mandalorian’s hand and he tapped yours in return, the both of you growing tenser and tenser while Mayfeld’s tone grew more intense and Valin got more defensive. You sucked in a staggering breath and Din squeezed your hand tightly to remind you not to make any noise. You scooted closer to him and he placed your intertwined hands on your thigh.

“...but what they really want.. is order. And when they realize that, they’re gonna welcome us back with open arms.” Valin spoke and picked up his glass. You watched Mayfeld’s hand twitch towards his blaster and you squeezed Din’s in a warning. Valin raised his glass and smiled wickedly, “To the Empire.” He toasted and you squeezed your eyes shut.

Mayfeld whipped out his blaster and shot Valin dead, and you let out a yelp, practically throwing yourself onto Din’s lap. The two men looked at each other and then at a trooper behind them before Mayfeld also shot them as well. He shot the other remaining officers in the room and Din sprang to his feet. He grabbed your wrist and pulled you up as well, yanking you back so that you were behind him as he shot at an officer.

Mayfeld grabbed the helmet Din once wore and passed it to him, “You did what you had to do. I never saw your face.” He said and Din gratefully took the helmet before turning to you. You looked up at him with soft eyes and leaned up to kiss the tip of his nose before you pulled away, trying to memorize his face before he turned away and slipped the helmet back on.

You felt your heart sink as you realized that was probably the only time he’d have the helmet off in front of you, and then the shooting began. You were backed up against the wall by Din and he nodded at Mayfeld who jumped up onto a window ledge and yanked you up with him. You watched while Din jumped up as well and Mayfeld kicked out a panel on the window before he slipped underneath it.

“Take her!” Din yelled at Mayfeld, and Mayfeld reached in and grabbed you, and you shrieked when you saw the drop below. You looked at him for a moment and he nodded before Din made his way out onto the ledge and Din pointed at a ladder.

“Y/n. Go. Climb that now and Boba will come and get you when you’re on top. Now!” Din commanded and while he and Mayfeld shot troopers, you ran along the ledge to the ladder. You climbed it to the top of the building and watched Boba circle down in his ship to get you. The door opened and you climbed inside, running up the ramp and into the ship. You climbed your way up into the cockpit as he moved the ship to avoid getting shot at and the two of you made eye contact.

Boba smiled at you and he pointed up at your face, “Your cheeks are flushed like you’ve just been kissed for the first time.” He teased and you blushed, “Yeah, there was a first in there. But it wasn’t me getting kissed.” You mumbled and gave Boba a look. He analyzed your face for a second and then he nodded. Perhaps he knew, perhaps he didn’t. But if he did, he didn’t say anything, and if he didn’t, he didn’t ask.

Boba circled the ship back to the rooftop and he hovered with the door open just a few feet away from the edge of the roof. You patted Boba’s arm once before climbing back down to the entrance where Din and Mayfeld had just jumped in. As they flew away, Mayfeld nudged Din, “Hand me that cycler rifle.” He commanded.

Din passed him the rifle and then glanced over his shoulder at you. You jumped back a bit at the sound of an explosion and you looked down to see that Mayfeld had shot up the tanks of rhydonium, causing the entire base to blow. Him and Din watched it blow for a moment before Mayfeld walked back inside the ship, with a simple: “We all need to sleep at night.” Before he walked off.

Din looked down at you as Mayfeld went to find a place to sit and he took your hand, “Come with me to put my armor back on.” He whispered and you nodded as he gathered the bag of his armor up and guided you to the small sleeping space that was on the far end of the ship. He closed the door behind you two and then turned to you in the cramped space and he took the helmet off again. Gently, he grabbed your chin between his pointer finger and thumb, his eyes meeting yours.

“I love you, y/n y/l/n.” Din breathed before leaning down to connect your lips. He kissed you softer than he ever had before, and you attributed it to the timidness that came with the vulnerability of a visible face, but you didn’t mind, kissing him back with the same careful gentility. After a moment, he pulled away and you smiled up at him.

“Hey, I love you too, Brown Eyes.” You teased and winked up at him.

That earned you another, much more passionate kiss.

#din djarin x reader #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian #din djarin #baby yoda #mando x reader #the mandalorian imagine #din djarin imagine #mando imagine #mando x y/n #din djarin x y/n #the mandalorian x you #fanfiction #star wars #the mandalorian fic #din djarin fic

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foggysirens · 1 year

Text

I posted 3,690 times in 2022

That's 3,690 more posts than 2021!

307 posts created (8%)

3,383 posts reblogged (92%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@surfing-on-a-soundwave

@rocktheholygrail

@skywalker-swift

@sadiebwrites

@transmascskywalker

I tagged 2,247 of my posts in 2022

Only 39% of my posts had no tags

#star wars - 1,369 posts

#art - 727 posts

#luke skywalker - 588 posts

#edits - 498 posts

#q - 390 posts

#din djarin - 382 posts

#dinluke - 265 posts

#mj.chatter - 261 posts

#the mandalorian - 229 posts

#obi wan kenobi - 181 posts

Longest Tag: 139 characters

#i was always taught that it’s better to buy one good thing that might cost you a bit more than something you’ll end up having to buy six of

My Top Posts in 2022:

obi-wan hiding leia under his coat in kenobi just makes me think that luke and leia would have definitely tried to pull off the ‘two kids in a trench coat’ thing if they had been allowed to stay together as kids

400 notes - Posted June 9, 2022

okay i just woke up but im still reeling from kenobi and all i can think about is bail organa and owen lars.

both of them having agreed to raise these children that mean so much to the galaxy. for bail, raising the daughter of one of his closest friends. owen, the son the brother he hardly knew, but knew was dangerous. both of them raising these children with such a fierce protectiveness.

owen, how when we see him with luke, the second that he’s not where he was supposed to be, owen is off shouting his name. how owen goes and tells obi wan to leave luke alone, leave him out of the jedi business because he’s seen what it can bring, can see luke is already too much like anakin. how then he literally stares down revas lightsaber, not speaking a word of his nephew. like not for a second there i thought owen would break.

bail, so overwhelmingly proud of leia already, of her free spirit. of how she can already stand up to those who treat others (and her) poorly. how he never tells her to change, only pinky swear to apologize after. how we won’t take no as an answer when it comes to getting her back. how in perfect contrast to owen who wants to keep obi from luke as much as possible, bail wastes no time travelling all the way to tatooine to make him help save her.

seeing them be character foils for each other while at the same time we get to see how similar luke and leia are and how they both handle raising them differently but with the same dedication and love is fucking beautiful.

633 notes - Posted May 27, 2022

665 notes - Posted August 16, 2022

i love to think that sometimes luke will just casually drop the wildest, most unhinged pieces of lore about his upbringing on tatooine around the others and they'll all just look at him in slight fear like,

'oh yeah! that reminds me of when the kids from my school would all go jump into the womp-rat pit!'

and everyone is just like 'the fucking what pit?'

'the womp-rat pit! all the kids would go out to this outcrop in the dunes where there's this pit full of angry womp-rats and try to push each other in!'

or he'd go off about how pod-racing is fun, but pod-racing at night was even better cause it makes it harder to actually pilot- and oh that one time he even flipped but it was okay cause landing in the sand is mostly soft- and din would just be looking at him like 'how are you still living?'

764 notes - Posted June 30, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

i think what made the last episode of kenobi, and the kenobi show as a whole, so special is because it really just reminded us that the heart of star wars is love.

we see it full force with beru and owen. both willing to do anything to protect luke. put their lives on the line for him. we see it in beru immediately jumping into action. we see it in owen's claiming of luke as his own. his son. their son. in the looks on their faces when they see luke again, the utter fear that he may be gone. because while obi-wan could most likely feel him in the force, for one gut wrenching moment owen and beru thought their boy was gone.

we see it in breha and bail. their odd, funny little girl finally home and you can just feel their joy. their pride when leia is unapologetically herself. and how when obi-wan talks to leia about her birth parents, she instead looks to them. those who have raised her with a fierce love and kindness. how when she looks to them, they look back with so much love.

we see it in obi-wan and anakin. obi-wan apologizing to anakin, and we have to wonder how long those words have been building inside him? and then the tragic acceptance that there is no longer that person there to love. that his ten years of grief, maybe longer, was over something that was not his fault, that he could have never succeeded in preventing. but at the same time, we know that obi-wan still holds his love for anakin. it's just that darth vader isn't him.

and don't even get me started on obi-wan and his love for luke and leia. how leia was the one to pull him from his isolation. become the man he was again. how watching over luke is his motivation to stay that way. how thinking about them literally is what gives him the strength to pull himself up from the ground. honestly obi-wan and the twins deserve their own post.

star wars has always been a story about love. it can, after all, ignite the stars. and the kenobi finale has captured that fully, making it feel like the most truly star wars show in ages.

2,098 notes - Posted June 22, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#okay but my top posts are truly all fucking bangers i still stand by every one of them #but looking at my top tags all im seeing is a callout for being mentally ill #my 2022 tumblr year in review

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lunasblipsandblurbs · 3 years

Note

Hi!! Super nervous to ask (I've never submittedan ask before), but could you possibly do something about how the boys would react to the reader taking control in the middle of fun times?? Maybe for Din, Max P., and Marcus M.?? Please and thank you!! Also, you're amazing!! ...k, bye!!

Omg don't be nervous bby I'm honored you decided to send something to me 💜🥺

Gender Neutral

18+

Marcus Moreno

While Marcus does consider himself a switch, between the two of you this far in your relationship, he's always been top. It was just the first role you two slipped into, he always made the first move and you always melted into his rhythm but...maybe you want to he the one seeing Marcus wither and whine beneath you. So when you hook your leg over Marcus, shifting weights to get him to roll beneath you he gives you a very surprised smile. He's definitely into this and definitely okay with you taking control, he already has to lead his team on a regular basis just let him lay back and relax.

Din Djarin

Oh yes please, please someone take control for this poor polite warrior? It's gonna take a while for Din to trust you enough to be the one in control, I mean like years like y'all are married now years, that level of trust. But when you do finally firmly (not rough or aggressively) guide him to sit on the bed first instead of you he began to put together what you want to do and he all but yanks you to straddle his lap. He's definitely ready for you to be in charge tonight. Just tell him where you want him and he will let you do whatever you want.

Max Phillips

Okay here's the thing he's gonna let you think you're in charge and the majority of the time you are! It's just don't expect to finish off that way. He let's you 'take charge' in the disguise of he's feeling lazy at first, "ride me baby 🥺" and it's always those damn puppy dog eyes he has down to a science that gets you into thinking you're in charge. Unfortunately mid way through when your beginning to feel a bit tired you are unintentionally edging Max and he has no.patience.for.that. he's eventually gonna get snippy from sexual frustration and end up planting his feet against the bed, hoisting you up with his super strength and fucking into you until you're limp like a rag doll. Yeah, you really thought you could finish strong but Max got too impatient.

#luna talks #marcus moreno smut #marcus moreno x reader #max phillips smut #max phillips x reader #din djarin smut #din djarin x reader #mandalorian x reader #tw mature #mature writing

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reluctant-mandalore · 3 years

Text

🎃Mandoctober🎃Day 15: Jetpack

In all your time of traveling with the Mandalorian, you’ve never actually seen him use his jetpack. After some pestering, he decides to show you him using the device and it doesn’t turn out how either of you expected it to.

Warnings: fluff, a dash of angst, mild injury? (nothing really mentioned but its implied), not beta read

Pairing: Din Djarin x gn!Reader (meant to be romantic, but could be read as close friends)

Word count: 1,389

a/n: so this originally started out as a wip in my folders called ‘din go woosh’ and I never thought I’d ever post it. But here we are! I thought it fit this Mandoctober theme quite well, so I hope you enjoy!

After seeing many of the other Mandalorians at the convert using their own jetpacks, Din Djarin began to desperately crave having his own. He thought they looked useful, and admittedly thought they seemed to be fun. That’s why he was ecstatic to finally have one in his possession when the time had come.

When he got his own jetpack, he had found himself finding almost any excuse to use it. Needed to go to the market? Jetpack. Have to climb a mountain? Jetpack. The kid wanted to have some fun? Jetpack. The answer to any of the problems he faced would dwindle down to a solution somehow using his new jetpack. His craze for the Jetpack did eventually die down though, and by the time he had met you, he only seemed to use it when he felt that it was necessary.

The one day after putting the child down for a nap, you watched as the Mandalorian rummaged around in a crate located down in the hull. The blinding light reflecting off of the jetpack secured on his back caught your eye, and you had found yourself staring at the device. In your short time with him, you had always seen him wearing the jetpack, but you hadn’t actually seen him use it even once. When asked, he insisted that he did so quite frequently, but at this point you found yourself doubting his claim.

“I’ve never seen you use it.” you had said out of the blue, poking the side of the device with an eyebrow raised, “Does it even work?”

“Of course!” He scuffed while pulling away from the crate, crossing his arms as he stared at you with his famous glare, “Why wouldn’t it work?”

A hum had left you at his reply, not being too overly worried with the glare he was throwing your way, as you were used to it by now after all the time you had spent with him. It still wouldn’t stop you from circling around him with a teasing smile plastered to your cheeks, “Show me then.”

Din had stared at you for a moment, his eyes narrowing in surprise from your sudden challenge. He had then squared his shoulders, closing the distance between the two of you so that he was only a hair away. The sudden closeness had caused your heart to thud louder, and made a small ripple of heat wash over your skin. You weren’t prepared for him to get so close to you so quickly, and it left you feeling a bit uneasy as you locked your gaze with his.

“Let’s go outside.”

A cheeky grin had spread wide on your face from his words, and the sight of it made the man before you huff again. He turned, and you followed him down the ramp to the outdoors, a cheery tune leaving you with each step taken.

Excitement filled you from the thought of finally being able to see him using the jetpack first hand and you watched him set up impatiently. He had done a small stretch of his back muscles, allowing for his shoulders to loosen as he prepared himself for take off. The need to impress you, even just a little bit, nibbling at his mind as he did.

Finally the moment came, and he glanced towards you as he pressed the button that would send him flying into the sky. Only this time when he had pressed it, absolutely nothing had occurred. The Mandalorian’s feet had remained firmly on the ground—the device on his back letting out a small puff of smoke—before seemingly dying on the spot.

A long awkward pause had followed, no words said between the two of you, as your gazes slowly locked with each other. The Mandalorian cleared his throat, before pulling the device off his back to give it a look over. His annoyance with the whole occurrence was clear as he went to see what was wrong and work on trying to fix the jetpack.

“I used it just the other day,” He said while fiddling with the jetpack awkwardly, an irritated sigh leaving him. “I don’t understand why it’s not working.”

Leaning over to look at the malfunctioning jetpack, your brows furrowed at watching his steadily increasing frustrations with it, “Are you sure you know how to use it properly?”

“Of course I do!”

“Really? Doesn’t look that way.” You had grinned, teasing him in an attempt to hopefully ease some of his frustration, but the glare he threw over his shoulder at you quickly made the smile fall from your face.

A loud click had sounded from the device, making the Mandalorian perk up at the sound of it, “Hey I think I got it-”

As if on queue, Din was thrown back by the jetpack into the side of the Razor Crest. The sound of him hitting the ship making a loud clang due to his beskar colliding with the metal side. His body had slid down the surface, frozen with shock due to the sudden impact he had just experienced with the ship.

The sight was the most terrifying thing you had seen in a long time—not expecting to bear witness to one of the fiercest warriors in the Galaxy flung like a rag doll. Dread had instantly pooled in your chest, with your heart instantly shattering at the sight of your companion now slumped against the ship.

“Din!” You had practically screamed, panic flowing through you while running over to his side. “Are you ok?”

He had coughed and nodded, sitting up properly with your help supporting him, “Y-Yeah… I’m fine.”

“Can you stand?”

His only reply this time was a nod, the embarrassment he felt keeping him from speaking again, an unseen blush settling on his skin. He let out a groan when you helped pull him up, allowing for his weight to be supported by your own tense grip. He had stumbled slightly into you as he got to his feet, and in return you had steadied him with your body, letting him lean against you as he grabbed his bearing again.

After he had managed to ground himself, you had hugged him tightly, your voice wavering as you spoke, “I’m so glad you’re ok.”

Mando had stiffened at the hug before relaxing and returning your embrace. He held you for a long moment, your body shaking in his arms from your nerves still going into overdrive because of the whole experience. Tears had even begun to form at the corners of your eyes, and one of his hands came to brush the salty drops from your cheeks as they fell.

“I’m fine, I’ve suffered through worse.” He said again, trying to lighten the mood as he rubbed soothing circled onto you back. This gesture from him had only made you nuzzle closer into the crook of his neck though, sniffles leaving you as he continued to try and comfort you. “I’m sorry for scaring you like that.”

Pulling back you looked up at him and smiled softly, “Din you don’t need to apologize, I was just surprised and worried, that’s all.”

The Mandalorian had hummed again at your reply, giving you another rub along your back, as you finally began to feel more calmed from your shock. His gaze had briefly gone from yours, to looking down at the smoking pack laying near both your feet. Seeing the Jetpack in its current state made him sigh, and he pulled back from you to pick it up while muttering bitterly to himself.

“You know... I think your jetpack may need to be fixed.” You said, a teasing smile once again finding itself onto your features.

“You think?” He chuckled at your words, motioning his head towards the ramp leading back into the ship. “Come on, let’s head back in. I think we’ve had enough of the jetpack for today.”

The two of you had headed back inside the Razor Crest after his words. The Mandalorian and you bickering amongst each other about how to fix the jetpack the whole way back—smiles both high on your cheeks. Although the two of you didn’t know exactly why the device wasn’t working, it was safe to say that you wouldn’t be seeing the Mandalorian using his jetpack anytime soon.

---

Tags:

@a-seeker-of-imagination @starrywatermelon @remmyswritings @ah-callie @karnita-mexicana @readsalot73

#the mandalorian #mandoctober #din djarin x reader #din djarin #the mandalorian x reader #gender neutral reader #could be romantic or platonic #din x reader #din #mando #mando x reader #fluff #dash of angst #star wars fanfic #the mandalorian fanfic #not beta read

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vercopaanir · 4 years

Text

Chapter 28: Blood Running Cold

Masterlist

Pairing: The Mandalorian x Blind!(Fem)Reader

Summary: The bounty boards the Razor Crest while Din is hurt and the child is incapacitated.

Words: 5.1k

Rating/Warnings: T, for mentions of violence.

Notes: Whew, it’s been a spell! Thank you all so, so much for tagging me in things, sending sweet messages, and reblogging me in stuff! It’s been so nice to check back in every now and then and know I haven’t been forgotten while my body betrays me. This chapter has been written for a while, but I could not get myself together to actually edit it. I hope it still delivers and that you all enjoy reading. Special shout-out to mandhoelorian for guessing who/what Din’s special bounty is. Read more to find out!

AO3

There is nothing quite like hunger. When you were abandoned as a young child, eating unripened berries, questionable plants, and bugs with too many spindly legs to survive, you remember the pain in your belly, the cramps that seemed to strangle you so tightly they would lift you off your feet. Hunger, like any pain, is a constant throb, a dull ache, something that sinks its hooks into the mind and slows time until it suffocates.

You should eat, you know. You have not put food in your mouth in nearly two days, but the very idea of anything that isn’t a prayer passing your lips makes you feel sick enough to struggle just to keep water down. Your fingers begin to shake as you mend shirts, closing up holes and tears like wounds.

The child is still unconscious, unmoving like a stone, with a clammy perspiration on his wrinkled brow that soaks his blanket in the silently floating pram. You check on him until the inside of your shoes wear against the delicate skin of your ankles from walking back and forth. You have not been without him before, not since your freedom was bought, and the black hole of silence that fills the metal void of the Razor Crest makes your nerves feel raw and exposed.

Din is still unconscious and unmoving, too. You had been able to wrestle him to his feet, buckling beneath the near-dead weight of him before bullying him onto the medical cot. You remove all the beskar beforehand, of course, and still he is heavy enough to cause you to pull a muscle when you try lifting him. You strip him of his torn, burned clothing and bring down the blankets from the bed in the captain’s quarters, knowing to sweat a fever will help. You can’t be sure what the fever is from, though, be it his healed burns or having stayed in the elements for so long. He’d been conscious long enough for his eyes to blink open, his brow dripping sweat into his gaze before pressing his sticky forehead to your own in relief.

Then, he passed out again.

In the afternoon, when the sun is at its peak, you risk opening the hull and collecting snow in the beskar chest plate like an oversized bowl, packing it tightly in clean cloths and keeping it on Din’s back and a cold wet rag on his forehead when his fever waxes and wanes.

Even when he is at his most alert, his most talkative, he is a quiet man by nature, but his presence fills the emptiness with familiarity that you now miss. This silence that the child and his father leave behind in their sickness is like a well with no bottom, cold and deep and dark, and you do your damndest to distract yourself.

You try to clean a little, though it doesn’t hold your interest, still allowing your mind to wander back to those breathless moments when you were alone in the world without him. You wake from half sleep throughout the night, head throbbing and mad with grief that he might still be gone. But, you curl against the wall, tucked across from the small medical bay where he lay asleep, his back rising and falling with steadier breaths each time you look upon him.

It is not so much his dedication and loyalty to you, but the companionship you two have fostered over these long weeks. You had never had such a person to fill your day with, to listen to you and respect you. It occurs to you, looking down at the half mended shirt now splotched with your tears, that Din Djarin is your dearest friend. The quiet revelation leaves you hiccupping with loneliness, and you put away the needlework in frustration.

The burn salve takes away the last sting of heat and redness upon his back, and when you trace your hand over the lovely slope and dip of his shoulder, all you feel is cool, smooth skin. You cup both Din and the child’s face while they sleep, holding a cup to their cracked lips to slip water down their throat. It is met with no resistance, and you worry even more when they will wake up.

Using melted snow for water becomes a welcome distraction. You find it’s easier to melt and boil for clean water than wasting the reserves on the Crest, though you slip a few times, falling hard on the metal exit ramp from the slickness of your boots. Face flushed, you’re thankful no one is around to see, scowling at your own lack of balance and clumsiness.

Day turns into night, and with it comes that awful, echoing wind that beats against the outside of the ship. You turn the engines on enough to recycle the warm air that chases the chill away, working to clean and organize the crates twice over until you’re damp with sweat and aching in your arms and legs. It is hard, fumbling with things in the dark with such poor sight, but you dedicate yourself to it. Creating distractions is more difficult than the chores you come up with, but it tires you out enough that your eyelids grow heavy. You take a turn around the cockpit, turning everything off now that the ship is warm enough to last through the night, and you close the doors.

It is easier for you to navigate your surroundings if things are kept a certain way. Doors closed, cabinets shut, things put away in their place. You are lucky that Din is naturally an organized and overall neat individual, and you’ve found he prefers his own things-weapons, food, clothes-kept tidy and stored. You imagine you’d be at your wit’s end if you had to keep bumping or tripping into things, and for a moment, as you stare down at the sleeping man in question, you wonder if he’s always been that way. Was he a particular little boy who grew into a particular man?

Or did he become one? For the child? For you?

The pram is just beside you, and you find yourself smiling, grimacing over the notion that you are the one sleeping nearest the door now. You are sleeping on the floor, beside the medical cot, but you are still the one nearest any possible danger.

You wonder what Din would think about that if he was awake. You hope he would be proud.

Sleep comes easily, but rest remains elusive. You feel as if you sense everything around you as you doze, never fully slipping into the dark deep of dreams. Perhaps that is just as well, you will think later, when an eerie sound of metal scraping metal drags you back to consciousness. For a moment, you think it is the child, awake and dragging around some tool or getting into playful mischief once more, but as you listen, you realize the sound is coming from outside the hull.

A tinny, high pitched shriek of steel on steel, as if the very ice is sinking its teeth into the ship, and you fumble to sit up in the bulky tent of your cloak, blinking blindly in the near darkness.

It stops suddenly, and you look towards the door before a terrible crash nearly shakes the hatch off its hinges. It rattles the very teeth in your head, and you struggle to suddenly stand, your heart thundering against your breast in terror. Another heavy crash, a heavy, metallic ramming that you feel in your chest and hurts. Something is being thrown against the hatch, and this time, they will get in.

The first thing that comes to mind is how your father had picked you up from playing with a worn, threadbare cloth doll when your family home had been stormed, and it is in your genetics, you think, to put your hands on Din’s shoulders as he lay sleeping. His eyes flutter, delicately long lashes kissing his cheeks. There are not many places to hide on the Razor Crest, built efficiently and with military power in mind. There is suddenly too much open space and not enough-

Crawl space.

You drop to your knees and feel along the corrugated metal flooring until your fingertips come into contact with the latch set flush into the floor. Din had once told you to mind your step in the hull, and often would call that he was working on panels and wires hidden beneath so you would not trip and fall in. You wrestle the latch open, sliding and pushing it up to open the small covering. You can feel with your arm it’s barely big enough for one person, and you make up your mind without a second thought, turning back to the sleeping warrior and throwing one of his arms over your shoulder.

His entire body is burning with fever again, and your knees buckle halfway across the floor beneath his weight. He wears no armor, but he’s still nearly too much for your spasming muscles to bear. You hold onto his shoulders, then his arms, bullying him into the crawl space until his legs fold beside him. Then, you let him drop softly against the metal wall. Every move you make is clumsy, rushed with panic and shaking with uncertainty from being unable to see.

You lift the baby out of his pram next, swaddled in his blue cotton blanket, and as an afterthought, you grab the beskar helmet that lays inside the medical cot. You affix the child until he is nestled in Din’s lap, folding yourself in half to reach beneath the floor so that you can let the helmet fit and slip over his head. If you are discovered, you think, his face will be protected, at least.

There is a sudden, shuddering movement that seems to rock the entire ship, and you catch yourself before shutting the crawl space again. It’s followed by a loud whirring sound, like an electric tool being dug into the side of the hull. With man and child stowed beneath your feet like cargo, you struggle to stand, planting your feet firmly over your racing heart. You can’t hide in the cockpit, the fresher, or the medical bay closure-it all seems too obvious.

There is a sickening shriek of the sound of metal bending, and your eyes settle on that darkened part of the ship Din had told you to never go near. Taking a quick breath, you grab the amban rifle and your staff, securing the latter to your side and the former over your shoulder, and you march into the darkened corner.

It only takes you three slippery steps to reach the carbonite freezer, the durasteel plated frame for the next bounty hanging like a cold slab for a dead body. You’re just the right size to slip behind it, the metal painfully pressing against every soft curve you have.

Just as you yank the rifle to your side, the hatch of the Razor Crest is wrenched open, falling open with a deafening thud.

You lift your free hand and cover your mouth, sweat pooling from your brow and dripping into your eyes as you try and catch your breath silently. Heavy boots hit the hull’s flooring, and you close your eyes tightly.

The pacing pauses, and you can hear noisy breathing through a helmet. There is a series of clicks, perhaps on a handheld device of some kind, or even on a weapon. You can’t be sure, but you focus on picturing the sounds in your head rather than your encroaching panic.

The heavy footfalls resume, moving away from the freezer. A slam shakes the entire ship, and you think whoever it is has opened the fresher. A few more footsteps precede another rattling crash, which you know is the medical cot being shoved back into the bay.

Whoever the intruder is, he is searching for something.

You can hear his lumbering footfalls climbing the ladder, and you’re tempted to move. The sudden blast of icy air from outside hits the paneling of the carbonite freezer, and you feel it in your bones. Frost crackles and splinters, beginning to coat the metal of the inside of the ship.

Loud noises from the upper deck make you jump, cabinets being flung open, objects being thrown, walls being shaken. The ship itself is safe from being taken, the main controls linked to Din’s vambraces, and the rest of his armor is safely stowed in one of the crates beneath medical supplies.

You hear it when the intruder’s boots slam into the ground as he slides back down the ladder. He must be a well built warrior, or perhaps his armor is just heavy. His pace quickens with frustration as he walks the length of the hull, shoving aside boxes and supplies with an angry urgency.

It’s when you can hear the pacing nearly directly across from the freezer that you can’t contain your need to know any longer. You press your head to the side, listening to the rousing sounds of crates being broken open and supplies being thrown around the hull. You peer between the gap of the steel plate and the inside of the freezer.

Even blind, you know the blinding white armor of a stormtrooper when you see one.

Though, this is a different set of armor, slashed with deep crimson along the joints and helmet, and the weapon he carries is nothing like you’ve ever seen before. It’s nearly as long as Venka is tall, wide of barrel and heavy with artillery. It connects to an odd, black pack on the soldier’s back, but you can’t make out any details. You slip your head back behind the metal plate, heart racing when you hear the trooper’s boot connect with the side of one of the crates, cracking it in fury.

He snarls curses that have you red to the tips of your hair, and you listen with slow encroaching joy as he storms towards the hatch.

You drop your head forward against the steel plate in thankfulness, but the hinge holding it to the ceiling gives a quiet creak.

Immediately, the stormtrooper stops walking.

Blood running cold and your fingers gripping the body of the rifle, you move as slowly as you’re able, breathing silently through your nose as you gently lean your head backward. Bootsteps draw nearer, a slow, cautious tempo, and you hear the unmistakable click of a firearm being drawn from a holster. You take a deep breath and brace against the back of the carbonite freezer.

For a moment, silence stretches out, save for the soft breathing through the modulated helmet, and you are just about to relax when a creaking, splintering shadow appears in your periphery. Like creeping spider's legs, long, black gloved fingers begin to wrap around the edges of the carbonite plate that shields you from view, and you know now he has found you.

With a terrible wrench, the stormtrooper yanks the plating away, and...nothing.

The plate is secured firmly above and below, making it impossible to remove without a specialized tool or vambrace. You were only just slim enough to slide between, and the realization breaks over your blinding panic as the soldier continues to shake and yank on the plate uselessly. He slams his fist against it, the metallic reverberation making your ears ring before storming off.

This time, you wait until his footsteps retreat, past the metal ramp, and then you wait just a short while longer. You wait so long that the cold from the open hatch begins to make your teeth chatter, but you don't move a moment too soon.

The blast of icy wind pouring into the ship nearly takes you out at the knees when you push yourself out of your hiding spot, and you run to the control panel, feeling with your hand for the switch and the buttons you know releases the hatch back up into the ship. Sparks hiss from the top of the panel, and you flinch back, sucking in a breath when the ramp shudders before falling back into the snow. Whatever the stormtrooper had done to the door, it compromised the panel, and you are certainly no engineer.

It’s the night that won’t end, you think miserably, dropping your forehead against the cool metal wall.

A light scraping makes your temples prick with aggravation before you realize it’s coming from beneath the floor. Whirling about and dropping to your knees, you slide your hands along the corrugated metal until your fingers find the latch. When you draw it up, it’s too dark for you to see, but you can hear Din rumbling and sliding in the narrow crawl space, attempting to stand up.

His voice sounds about as smooth as a rusted used engine part. “Why am...I in the floor?”

The wobbly smile that pulls at your lips holds back a near hysterical bubble of laughter, and you sniffle, wiping your eyes with the tips of your fingered gloves. “It’s a long story,” you say, voice choked and hoarse. You give him your hand, and the two of you work awkwardly to pull him up out of the hole.

The baby is snuggled against his chest, still swaddled and sleeping, though his coloring is significantly better, you think. You silently lift the child from Din’s arms, letting him turn his helmet this way and that as he takes in the disarray of the hull. His hand rubs the back of his neck before he stops, and you think he must remember his injuries because he pulls his hand back to look at it as if he expects to see blood.

“What happened, Cyare?”

By the time you recount the whole of it, Din has managed to fix the compromised panel to get the hatch to close securely, cutting off the arctic winds bellowing into the ship. You tell him of the burns, his injured state, his fever (which he assures you has broken beneath his helmet), the child healing him, and the stormtrooper who overturned the entire ship.

It didn’t seem like such a mess when you first looked around with your mottled sight, but now you can see crates overturned, supplies and food strewn about. The refresher is nearly torn apart, and upstairs the captain’s quarters is a disaster. All you want is to crawl into bed and sleep without thinking of a time to be up, but you can’t leave this all to Din.

After tucking the baby into his pram, forcing the worry down and away, you prioritize your thoughts, kneeling amidst the medical supplies and frowning in concentration. You’re in the middle of rolling up some gauze, listening to Din shuffle and tinker and try to hide his soreness. You can’t banish the memory of the stormtrooper’s glove, and you turn your face toward where he stands.

“Who are they?”

Din pauses from where he’s trying to reassemble the shower shelf, his helmet tilting toward you and catching the light. You shift to rest back on your heels, dropping the gauze in the crate and gently feeling for the other supplies strewn about. You scoop up several medkits, pulling yourself up by the side of the crate.

“The bounty. It was your bounty, who came aboard, wasn’t it? The stormtrooper?”

He turns back to his task, rehanging the shelf and collecting the few bars of soap and bottles the two of you keep in the shower. When it’s functional and put together once again, he shuts the door and walks carefully over to you, crouching down on the balls of his sock-clad feet.

“Yes.”

You focus on affixing the lid onto the crate, and the two of you are silent for a while, working side by side in companionable and shared space. When the hull is free of mess, you feel yourself sway on your feet.

Din captures your elbow in a gentle cup of his hand, and you can hear the concern bleeding into his voice when he asks, “When was the last time you slept?”

“I don’t remember,” you puff out a laugh, though there’s no humor in it. You allow him to lead you to the ladder, and climbing up to the second deck feels like an effort fit for the Maker. Din rearranges the overturned mattress and sheets, and when he leaves to adjust the heating system, you check on the sleeping infant again. Rather than dozing like a stone, he turns his tiny face toward your fingers in sleep when you stroke his ear, and your heart feels lighter at the response.

A warm blast of air comes through the vents above, but it is nothing compared to being wrapped up in the arms of the Mandalorian who comes to stand behind you.

“You’ve been so brave,” he whispers against your ear, his naked face pressing into your hair. You shiver, leaning back against him with nearly all your weight. “I’m so sorry I didn’t protect you, Cyare.”

For a moment that hangs suspended in the cold darkness of the ship, you close your eyes and let every shadow and shape melt away. The secure, warm feeling of his arms, the rhythmic breathing of his chest against your back, the gentle scrape of facial hair against the side of your neck where he buries his face all merge into a kaleidoscope of sensations that make you dizzy. You want to tell him that he shouldn’t apologize for anything. You want to weep that he was right, that this is too much for you, too much responsibility to bear watching him leave and knowing he might not come back.

But you’re too tired for that conversation. In fact, you’re too tired to even express how tired you are, because the next thing you know, you’re waking up in bed, tucked up to your chin with blankets. Your limbs are stiff and sore, your throat and mouth dry as a bone. You can’t tell the time, nor can you decipher how long you’ve been asleep. All you know is that you feel like you’ve slept a millennium, and you’re in bed alone.

When you sit up, your orientation tilts, and you nearly fall forward, sucking in a breath and bracing yourself on the edge of the mattress. You use your hand to touch your stomach, feeling the soft fabric of your sleeping shift, and you wiggle your toes inside thicker woolen socks that are several sizes too big for you. You don’t even remember falling asleep, let alone being dressed for bed, but you know who will.

He’s piloting, fully encased within the cold beskar armor, which you see from the polished gleam that the silver glare of hyperspace reflects. He looks even better than he did before being injured, you think, peeking around the open doors of the cockpit. One ankle of his boot is tossed carelessly over his knee, his arms holding the sleeping child in his lap. His hands are covered in gloves, new ones that share identical orange leather fingers. It’s almost as if he hadn’t been scorched from nearly head to toe, and you blink, standing dumbly in the threshold, feeling out of place and more dreaming than waking.

When he turns his helmet towards you, the chair creaks from the base, and it makes you flinch, reminds you of the stiffness in your limbs. You sit in the copilot seat, perched on the very edge in case of something else terrible happening, but the longer Din seems to gaze at you, the more you come to hear the little one’s soft snores, strong and rhythmic. Your shoulders drop, and you sit back against the leather seat.

“You were talking in your sleep.”

You blink at that, tilting your head curiously at the shadow of your lover, drawing your legs up to curl beside you. Still half drowsy with dreams you don’t remember, you lean your temple against the cold metal siding of the wall and sigh. “Anything interesting?”

“My name.” He pauses, looking down at the child. “Venka, and Corde.”

You wonder, if the child had a name, if you would have said his, too.

“Who was it, Din?” you whisper, slowly wringing your hands together in your lap. Now that you are in hyperspace, you know you are safe, you can be whole. His wounds are, after all, more healed than before he was injured, even though there may be missing pieces of your solace of mind, now. “The bounty. He didn’t...he didn’t seem-”

“He was a member of an elite and specialized task force,” Din’s voice is rough, cold, and hoarse, and you wonder what he is imagining as he describes his bounty. A shiver runs along your back, the planes and curves he has touched, and you bite your lip. He draws one forefinger along the tiny wrinkles of the baby’s brow, more gentle and tender than you’ve ever seen. “A stormtrooper raised to burn whole clans and cities and villages to nothing.”

You think of the oddly shaped object he was carrying, the sloshing of liquid you now know was some kind of fuel for incineration, and you shudder at what could have happened to you and the child. What did happen to Din.

“That’s why you were so hurt,” you whisper, and he nods once.

“Surprised me,” he mutters, dropping his hand away from the baby to flex his fingers over the armrest of the pilot’s chair. “Damn armor blends into the snow.”

The two of you sit quietly, and you consider this new information with the foggy memory of the soldier who overturned the Crest. Still, something doesn’t make sense to you. Two slotted pieces that don’t quite match, that won’t fit, and you can’t sit still. “I don’t understand,” you finally heave a sigh, brow furrowing. “Why does...why does the Empire want one of their own?”

Din shrugs lightly beneath his gleaming pauldrons. “I don’t ask questions.”

Of course not.

You breathe noisily through your nose. Bracing your hands upon your legs, you sit forward, narrowing your eyes. “It’s important to understand what we’re doing if this is to release us from underneath their thumb, don’t you think?” you ask quietly, your patience a living, wriggling thing.

“What I’m doing,” Din corrects, looking away from you then. “You will stay far away from it. That was the deal.”

You’re on your feet then, fast and striking, and you shove the heel of your hand into the back of his chair so it swings his helmet towards you.

“That deal was broken when I almost lost you,” you whisper, your voice wobbling on the painful knot choking your throat. You force any threat of tears back, steeling every soft part of your body into an unshakable fortress. Din’s shoulders draw up in defense, but you drop your other hand to the side of his cloth covered neck, loving and warm. You cannot see his face, but you know he’s holding your gaze. “This isn’t just about you, or the child, Din. Your actions have more consequences than just losing your own life, now.”

His chest plate begins to rise and fall like a shining, silvery wave, churning in the midst of a storm, and you are ready for him to use his size, his presence to push back against you. You are surprised when he does not, when he lays one hand over the child asleep on his lap and presses the crown of his helmet back into the headrest, presenting.

“What do you want from me?” he rasps, harsh and angry. Perhaps the anger once would have made you timid, but you recognize his fear for what it is. You grab his hand that threatens to choke the life out of the armrest, leaning over him until you can press your brow to his helmet.

“Teach me to fight.” You hear him suck in air, holding his breath, and you lean firmer to ground him. “To defend myself, properly. To defend our children,” your voice catches on the last word, blinking against your blind, stinging eyes. You squeeze his fingers as tightly as you can, dragging air into your lungs as if drowning. “I don’t want to hide like that. Ever again.”

Din drops his head forward, almost pushing you away in his attempt to press the visor of his helmet against the softness of your belly. You drape your arms around his neck, rubbing against the newly healed expanse of his back. You feel his words more than hear them, the modulator muffled against the fabric of your gown. “I should have protected you better.”

Your hands are not gentle when you slide them beneath his chin, pulling his visor upward to look at you. “We have to do this together. It cannot be one-sided,” you murmur, feeling his hand resting on the slope of your waist. You slip your fingers beneath the lip of his helmet, feeling newly shaven skin on his cheek. “Who will protect you?”

He chuckles, dropping his visor again against your stomach, and you feel him sink against you this time when he sighs. You rest against him, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand while the other lays warm against the back of his shirt. The two of you enjoy the silence, companionable and soft until a little gurgle perks you up.

When Din sits back, the baby’s eyes blink open, bleary and heavy, and you drop to your knees with a soft coo, kissing his brow. Din’s hand caresses the back of your head as the two of you marvel over the waking baby on lap, an entire wave of gratefulness nearly drowning you both. The child holds out a shaking three fingered hand out until he can grasp the Mandalorian’s forefinger.

“You can’t do this alone,” you whisper again, your heart in your throat as you look upon your little one. “Not now. Not anymore.”

“I know,” Din whispers, and you think he must know the sacrifice of the child, the gift he has been given in being pulled back from that hollow darkness, because he sits a little taller now, tilting his visor toward you. “You’re right.”

Your hands take the baby when he passes him to you, and those familiar petal ears begin to lift in happiness, his mouth smacking hungrily as you shoulder him, standing on wobbly feet. Din turns from you to the controls, pulling his navigation up with the lazy knowledge of a pilot who has crossed thousands of parsecs.

“So you will teach me?” you ask, leaning against the side of the pilot’s chair. The child begins tugging at your collar for attention, but your sight is trained on the sharpened silver of the beskar.

“No.” His voice is brusque enough to drop your heart like a stone, but you feel blindsided with excitement when he glances up at you and says, “But I know someone who does. Ever been to Sorgan?”

Mando’a Translations:

Cyare - Beloved

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