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galactic-potterhead · 2 years

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𝐍𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐠𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 ⋮ 𝐀𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ⋮ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 ┄ Din Djarin x Female Original Character, Han Solo x Female Original Reader (platonic) ⋮ 𝐅𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐎𝐌 ┄ Star Wars

02 || Nightmares of Corellia

Note || I listened to ‘Head Above Water’ by Avril Lavigne and ‘See You Again’ by Wiz Khalifa and Charlie Puth while writing this so prepare for some sad moments. I’m so sorry. I plan on making a book involving Naia and the original trilogy so there aren’t too many flashbacks. If there are some mistakes, please let me know and I will happily fix them!

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲:

Naia and The Mandalorian make camp as nightfall approaches, but when she closes her eyes and actually gets some sleep for once. Though the peace she feels is short-lived and all crushed by the nightmares induced from her past, all while under the observant eye of her Mandalorian captor. –The Chapter begins in The Mandalorian’s POV–

𝐂𝐖: This chapter will contain various scenes of graphic violence, mature content, and possibly traumatic details. Blood, Gruesome injury, Murder {mention}, Trust issues, Youngling Naia, Order 66 {mention}, Emotional trauma, Torture, electrocution, Peril, Action, Violence, Language, PTSD {kinda?}, Anxiety. [LMK If I missed any!]

Word count: 2.2k

<- Previous Chapter || Next Chapter ->

The Mandalorian had just put the peculiar green child back into his pram, after having climbed out twice. In some weird way, he found it a little cute. Not that he’d ever admit that aloud, nor would he allow himself to become attached. It was a quarry, and so was she.

He sighed coarsely before glancing back over at the hotheaded woman. She was exceptionally bewitching with her Lapis blue eyes that shifted to a nordic blue in the sun, and her natural rosy downturned lips. There was no denying her beauty, he’d be fooling himself if he even tried to tell himself that she wasn’t.

The sound of her body shifting made his attention return back to reality and end his intense gaze, though he kept glancing over every other minute. She had turned over on her side and was now facing him, a disturbed frown curling on her lips. It made him curious about what she had been dreaming about; truthfully, there was a lot about her that made him curious. Like how she earned such a high bounty over her head.

Her words left an imprint in his brain. ‘It's hard to blame my parents for ever having me when they're both stardust.’ Did that mean they were both dead? They must be. He had never heard someone make a jest about their dead parents, but he wasn’t about to criticise her sardonic humour. There were more odd beings in this galaxy she’d be at the bottom of his list of experiences.

A soft sigh left her lips as her brows twitched. He could deduce from personal knowledge, that she was having a nightmare but he refused to bother her.

Dreaming never came easily for Naia. In fact, nightmares often became normal occurrences for her ever since the fall of the Republic. At first, it was terrible visions during her meditation sessions with Master Kenobi, but he always told her not to focus on the future, especially when it is always changing.

And then the supreme Chancellor had been abducted, that’s when the nightmares officially began. It confused her because the pictures she saw in her nightmares were usually about the supreme Chancellor, and she had never officially met the man.

After falling comfortable, it didn’t take long for her unconsciousness to overwhelm her consciousness and the nightmares began.

Naia could still hear the screams of her clan reverberating in her eardrums. It was haunting, but the frenzied beat of her heart nearly drowned the pain out. She felt confused, frustrated, and petrified.

How could the clones, men that fought alongside the Jedi, turn against them as easy as it was to blink?

Why couldn’t she help the lone Padawans who attempted to protect her and her fellow Younglings? And what was Naia supposed to do now? She had no one. She didn’t know who her parents were and even if that knowledge had been in her brain, how could she get to them?

It had been hard enough to hitch a ride on a smuggler’s freighter, she couldn’t imagine even trying to get back to her homeworld, Scarif.

Naia sniffled before crouching down behind a few crates in the dark and dreary alleyway. She needed to check to see if there had been any messages from the Jedi Temple, though deep down, she knew it was improbable.

When she activated the datapad connected to the Jedi’s holonet, a message had been posted not long after she landed. A quiet gasp slipped through her lips, scratching her withering throat due to the perpetual weeping on the freighter.

Master Kenobi’s blue holo appears, looking just as devastated. “I regret to report that both our Jedi Order and the Republic have fallen, with the dark shadow of the Empire rising to take their place. This message is a warning and a reminder for any surviving Jedi. Trust in the Force. Do not return to the Temple.”

Tears stung her eyes as she pursed her lips tightly, in order to prevent herself from crying anymore. It was obvious that her chin had been trembling, her whole body was shaking. The pain sat heavily on her chest. It was a surprise that she could muster any more tears. After a few seconds, his figure disappeared and she swiftly stuffed her datapad into her satchel before bringing her hands up to wipe the tears from her slightly grimy cheeks, ignoring the prickling pain her salty torment brought to the scrapes on her palms.

Corellia had clouds of brown braze, almost like Coruscant but instead of it being limited to the lower levels and the outskirts of the top, the braze from factories had been all over the planet. (At least that's what she could see from the viewport.)

The lightpoles on the impoverished streets began to glow and she could only assume that it meant nightfall was soon to loom over.

And when nightfall came, that meant she’d be robbed of the only light in her newfound life.

Lights flashed along the barriers, gathering the attention of the troopers sitting on gate turrets, their barrels swivelling to seek out any threat. Naia looked between Qi’ra and Han frantically, not knowing what to do. She was only thirteen and usually looked to Han for guidance, though he was the same age.

The grate had shut and separated her and Qi’ra from Han, it hurt her that he’d have to leave them behind but she knew that he had to. Naia didn’t want Han to be caught as well.

Strong arms grabbed her and Qi’ra but Naia never went without a fight, so she began to squirm as tears rushed to her eyes. Han banged against the transparisteel hysterically, with no avail of getting through to help either of them.

“Han, go now! I will look after Spira!” Qi’ra hysterically cried out, just as upset as Naia was.

Han looked from his first love to Naia, and she nodded furiously while trying to hold back her own tears. ‘Go’ was mouthed from her lips and he slowly backed up, reluctant to leave them but the look she sent him made him nod.

“I’ll come back!” He shouted and it broke her heart so much, that she gave up her struggle and allowed her captor to hold her tightly. “I will!” He promised again before running out of sight.

Her sobs choked in her throat as she tried to hold them back, but the pain on the inside of her thigh burned like electricity zapping through her every nerve. The trickle of blood didn’t soothe her mind either.

“Get off me, tailhead!” She wailed while kicking and twisting her body in an attempt to loosen their grip. Though it was a deadweight attempt.

The rusty blade left a nauseous ache in her head, just as much as the thought of them burying it into her thigh. Their snickers burned into her memory like a branding iron, the anger and pain only poured dirty into the deep wound.

Do not give up, young one. You have the ability to get away. Trust in the force.

The small voice in her mind was the only thing that gave her confidence and the hope that ignited it.

With one last cry, she brought her foot up and slammed it into the first assailant's chest and kicked him away with all her strength. And as he cried out, she grasped onto the wrists holding her back, and she managed to pull him over her shoulders.

When his back hit the ground, she ran. And she ran with all the might in the galaxy, a small limp hindering her movements but not enough to sabotage her escape.

“Just tell me where your, scumrat of a brother is, and I will happily let you go.” The feminine voice was hoarse and ugly, Naia hated it with a passion but remained calm as could be.

Naia, fifteen years old, sat in a worn-down chair with cuffs binding her wrists to the arms of the wood. Sweat trailed down every sector of her body from torture, and her hair was matted in knots caused by the rough hair pulling.

She smiled tiredly but also defiantly before tilting her head at the ugly Zabrak with pasty white skin. “I.don’t.know.” Naia croaked out as best as she could with a parched throat.

The Zabrak holding the electrostaff growled before jabbing the crackling electricity into her ribs angrily. Naia’s lips trembled as she tried to hide the evidence of pain because she didn’t want to give that satisfaction. But after more seconds passed with no end in sight, she screamed. It came out as a high-pitch shriek, but it was as if she couldn’t hear it herself.

Her body convulsed as it came to an end. She could feel her heart against her chest as it yelled at her for being so defenceless, nearly drowned out by the pounding of her head.

“How about we add another scar, so you can remember me.” They purred before retrieving a vibroblade from her waist, twirling it with an evil smile on their lips.

The blade came down to the top of her spine and her breath crushed to a stop. Their soft hum echoed in her ears as the blade carved into her skin furiously. She couldn’t even scream. Instead, Naia sobbed. She sobbed harder than she ever had.

“If I can’t get Han, I will make sure he knows he pissed off the wrong person!” They shrieked, though coming to an end of their writing.

Naia felt the familiar burn on her spine and allowed a tear to slip down her burning cheek, too tired to continue fighting.

She closed her eyes and allowed her head to sink onto her chest. Footsteps becoming more distant, “leave her. Han will get the message. He’ll be here to collect his precious sister. We’ve got business elsewhere.”

A heavy hand on her shoulder jolted her awake, instantly bringing her hands up to defend herself. But her eyes met the visor of the Mandalorian, standing over her menacingly.

“Do you always loom over unsuspecting women when they are sleeping?” She drawls sarcastically, not feeling the desire to admit that he had shaken the bolts out of her.

“Didn’t scare you, did I?” His modulated voice quipped patronizingly.

She scoffed before sitting up for a moment. “What was the reason for waking me up?” Her question led him from whatever he was thinking before.

“You were crying in your sleep. It was distracting.” He said in a vacant tone.

“Then let me cry in my sleep? I don’t care.” She snapped slightly before leaning back again.

The nightmares had caused her heart to beat rapidly, it almost hurt with the pressure it put on her chest. She closed her eyes and pressed a shaking hand onto the earth’s sand, taking calming breaths to try and connect with the force that surrounded her. Though it was hard to accept the sensation of the granulated surface, she absolutely despised sand. It was one of her hidden phobias.

“Aren’t you going to sleep?” She finally asked, after moments of silence but did not open her eyes to give him the light of day.

When he didn’t respond right away, she opens her tired eyes and glanced over curiously. The feeling of his hard stare on her almost made a small blush touch her cheeks, but she remained as stoic as he had.

“And have you slit my throat in my sleep? Yeah, right.” He replied sarcastically before turning back to his removed chest plate.

She could see that he was trying to fix it, but in her opinion, he was better off getting it replaced. Not like she’d ever suggested it. He was probably gonna earn enough from turning her in, that he could simply do just that.

“Go back to sleep. I’ll wake you up at dawn.” He muttered and as much as she wanted to snap back; a small yawn crawled out from her throat.

“Fine. . .” She slurred quietly before lowering her head onto her chest to get a little more rest.

The Mandalorian remained quiet until she was too far into unconsciousness to even notice if he had spoken or not.

|| Taglist ||

@alwayssnivellus

Next Chapter. . . Those Menacing Jawas ->

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dindjarindiaries · 6 months

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NEW STAR WARS GALAXY MAP JUST DROPPED AND IT HAS:

Aq Vetina (DIN’S HOMEWORLD!!!)

Sorgan

Morak

Corvus

Alzoc III

Maldo Kreis

Adelphi

Arvala-7

THE MANDALORIAN FANS WON TODAY!

(via hearthomesinnoh)

#AQ VETINA. GUYS #IM SHAKING #THIS IS MAJOR #din djarin #the mandalorian #star wars

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gffa · 3 months

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So according to the timeline thing Yoda was 100 when he started teaching padawans? Isn’t Grogu 50 in The Mandolorian? Does that mean Yoda was still practically a baby when he started teaching??

It's an interesting question! I've been going on the assumption that Yoda and Grogu's species don't progress in a 1:1 relationship with human-like species' progress--that, once they reach 75 or 80, they experience a major jump in cognitive abilities, as compared to the same arc a human-like person would experience. But it could also be that Grogu is way behind where he would have been with the Jedi, given that he's been deeply traumatized by both witnessing the Jedi genocide and whatever happened to land him on Arvala-7, and there was no one to really communicate with him until Ahsoka met him in season 2. Or it could be that Yoda, much like the rest of his disaster lineage, was a prodigy for his species and was basically a baby when he started training other Jedi and I hope he was like 120 when he joined the Council and there was at least one other Wookiee or Besalisk (who live 400+ years) who basically said, "Yoda is joining the Council?? But he's a BABY!" because that would be hilarous.

#lumi.txt #star wars #yoda #meta

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thefrogdalorian · 18 days

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The Bake Sale

Husband!Din Djarin x GN!Reader

Summary: When Grogu brings news of an upcoming Bake Sale hosted by the little school he attends between missions with the New Republic on Nevarro, his father enthusiastically throws himself into baking the the sweetest treats to impress his classmates. Din's devotion to the task makes you feel like there is a third person in your marriage as he constantly asks for your opinions on recipe combinations. Still, you are nevertheless charmed by his determination. Ultimately, while the fruits of his labour are delicious, you soon discover that Din Djarin's love is the sweetest treat of them all…

Word Count: 3.8k ✯ Rating: General ✯ Content Warnings: One suggestive line, but apart from that, fluff (and cakes) so sweet they might rot your teeth! ✯ Author's Note: Took me like a month, but I finally got around to finishing this fluffy little baking oneshot inspired by a conversation I had with the lovely @suresnips about Din being a chaotic but enthusiastic baker! This one is also dedicated to you, Senna. Thank you for all of your help on TBOBW, much appreciated! Anyway it was a DELIGHT to imagine Din doing something so sweet and soft, now that he finally has his own home. I would love to explore more of this in the future! I really hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it!

✯ My Masterlist ✯ Read on AO3 ✯

Din Djarin is a man who throws himself into any task with every atom of his being. Your riduur’s determination is never more apparent than when said task is for the benefit of someone he loves.

You have been privileged enough to observe Din’s love language firsthand and experienced how his love is all-encompassing, absolute and unconditional without suffocating. You know that if Din truly cares about someone, he will stop at nothing, no matter how tall the task, to improve their lives and ensure their happiness, even if the task demands everything of him for only a fractional improvement in their lives in return.

That fact is particularly evident when it comes to his son.

Since their first meeting on Arvala-7, Din has been wrapped around each of Grogu’s tiny green talons. The hulking Mandalorian would do anything to ensure his boy’s contentment.

Lately, that pursuit of Grogu’s happiness involves an activity utterly alien to Din—baking.

Training his son in the ways of being a Mandalorian is important to Din. A task he has thrown himself into with the absolute devotion it requires.

However, it is also important to Din that Grogu mixes with other children and learns how others view the galaxy. Din has told you on numerous occasions that he wants Grogu to be the best Mandalorian possible.

Yet, even more than being a great warrior, it is more important to Din that he brings his son up to have a well-rounded perspective.

After all, Din would never want Grogu to swear the Creed when he is old enough because it was the only path his father ever showed him. Din is determined to ensure that Grogu wants to be Mandalorian.

Din is also in the unique position of raising a child who is actually older than him. As such, Din is not blind to the fact that Grogu’s lifespan will be far longer than his. There will come a time when Grogu has to fend for himself. Din wants to ensure that his boy is well prepared for that eventuality. He wants to ensure Grogu is well prepared for the multitude of fates and destinies which possibly await him throughout the galaxy.

That is precisely why Din insists on sending Grogu to the local school on Nevarro whenever there is a gap between their missions with the New Republic. It allows Grogu to be around other children, while also granting you and Din the opportunity to spend some precious time alone together.

For the few hours that Grogu spends at school each day, you and Din enjoy time together without a mischievous toddler running around and causing mischief.

However, as soon as Grogu returns from school, Din’s attention is fully turned towards his boy. You love watching Din as he dutifully helps Grogu with whatever projects or homework he brings home from the small school which Grogu attends whenever there is a gap in the steady stream of jobs that flow in from the New Republic.

You are eager to see how Din is progressing with the task you left him in the middle of when you departed the small cabin you share near the lava flats to pick Grogu up from the repurposed Cantina in the centre of town.

Din had been busy weighing out the ingredients to make Uj’alayi or Uj cakes, a Mandalorian delicacy that Grogu will take for his school’s Bake Sale. You are eager to see his progress when you arrive home.

Nothing could have prepared you for the sight that greets you in the cabin’s small kitchen when you return home, however.

You and Grogu can barely stifle your giggles as you notice how the shine of Din’s gleaming beskar armour has been dulled drastically by the flour that, somehow, Din has managed to cake himself in from head to toe.

“Oh, hi there, you two!” Din exclaims, slightly flustered at your presence, “Wasn’t expecting to see you back so soon!”

“Patu!” Grogu chirps from your arms and nods towards the chronometer on the wall above the stove.

You smirk at the child’s sassiness, a trait he has learned well from his father.

“Sorry, pal, I must have lost track of time,” Din apologetically shrugs.

It is not the first time that Din has unintentionally let time get away from him. Baking the perfect Uj cake for Grogu’s upcoming Bake Sale has consumed Din’s every waking thought for the past few days. You and the little boy who brought home the assignment have served as Din’s tasters, checking each combination of ingredients until he settles on one that he is happy with.

A few hours later, after dinner, it is a role you find yourself fulfilling once again.

Usually, you and Din would spend quality time with Grogu, either inside or outside the cabin; mainly in an attempt to wear him out so he settles in his bunk without much fuss.

Tonight, however, as evening descends across Nevarro, you are alone with the tiniest member of Clan Mudhorn. Din has once again excused himself to the kitchen, mumbling something about how he needs to get the combination of nuts and dried fruits just right so that the sticky batter is not overwhelmed and weighed down by the fillings.

You would never have considered Din to be a baker when you first met him. You would certainly never have imagined he would throw himself into the pastime with as much enthusiasm as he has.

Grogu’s task has seemingly reawakened the passion for baking that had lay dormant for some time. He told you it reminded him of his childhood, and you had learned that food played an integral role in Mandalorian culture.

Despite his imposing demeanour, you have been privileged to see Din’s softer side evident beneath his armour. As you grew closer to him, you learned that he not only enjoyed baking and cooking but also tended to the assortment of plants he was cultivating in the fertile volcanic Nevarrian soil on his tract of land.

Your husband is a man of multitudes, and Din continues to surprise you each day.

As he does, once again, when he stands in the cabin's doorway and softly calls your name. His familiar deep voice travels through the warm Nevarrian evening towards the spot by the pond where you have crouched next to Grogu, who is enjoying his favourite pastime, levitating frogs.

“I’ll be right back, pal. I think your father wants me to be a test subject for his latest creation,” you say as you playfully roll your eyes at Grogu, who responds with a giggle.

You cannot help but smile as you return to the cabin, amused by Din’s determination to create the perfect Uj cake. Despite how endearing it is, you cannot help but be somewhat relieved the Bake Sale is tomorrow. If only because you fear the toll it is taking on your husband’s sanity. And his bank balance.

Even though he is one of the New Republic’s most valuable employees with the wage to match, you fear you may have to take on debt to keep up with Din’s supply of ingredients.

You hold your breath as you enter the cabin, mentally preparing yourself for the sight you that will greet you after Din’s latest attempt at baking.

Fortunately, the kitchen is mostly clean.

The same cannot be said of the man who occupies it.

Din’s mouth is smeared with batter from his creations. His dark hair, which curls slightly at the ends, is stood up in every direction as though he has been furiously running his hands through his hair in an attempt to calm himself down. Your gaze travels down his body. You notice that he has changed into comfortable cotton clothes. It is an outfit you know is supposed to be cream-coloured, but in reality, Din's garments are stained with various shades of brown from the Uj cake batter.

You cannot stop and gawp at him any longer as Din motions for you to come closer to him. A giggle escapes from somewhere in your chest. You are so endeared by his determination to perfect the recipe.

“Try this, cyar’ika,” Din rasps as he holds the wooden spoon covered in a dark, lumpy batter towards your lips.

Din watches as you lick the batter from the spoon he is holding. You savour the sweet flavours as they dance across your tongue, forming your opinions with a thoughtful expression. When you look at Din again, you see his eyes momentarily darkened with an emotion you might even consider lust. It marks the first time he has allowed himself to think of anything except crafting the perfect Uj’alayi for the past few days.

Before the moment can continue, Grogu chirps from behind the two of you. In response, you and Din hurriedly jump apart as though you have been caught in a compromising position rather than the entirely innocent gesture of tasting the batter.

The child whines unimpressed at the sight of his buirs dedicating more attention to the Uj cakes than towards him. To keep him happy, you scoop Grogu up into your arms and take him to the fresher for a bath before you put him down to sleep.

✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯

With Grogu finally tucked up between a mountain of plushies, you wander through the narrow hallway of the cabin in the direction of the kitchen. Unsurprisingly, Din is still hunched over the countertop, working on the Uj’alayi.

“Din, it’s getting late,” you sigh, gesturing towards the chronometer, much like Grogu had hours before.

“Just one more batch!” Din pleads, turning towards you with a frenzied look across his features.

You shake your head and let out an exasperated sigh, simultaneously amused and concerned by his antics. Din throws himself into everything with nothing less than one hundred per cent devotion, so you know better than to fight him on this matter.

Slipping beneath the blankets on your own is a lonely, miserable experience. You are used to it when Din is away, of course. But it is a strange sensation to know he is here in the cabin, and yet he is unable to be here with you.

Too devoted to baking to cuddle you.

You sigh forlornly at the emptiness next to you, a stark reminder of Din’s absence. Hoping that sleep, instead, will cocoon you in its warm embrace…

✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯

The other half of the bunk is still empty and ice cold to the touch when your eyelids flutter open sometime later. When you reach out to feel for him, the frigidity of the bunk beneath your fingertips makes it obvious that Din has not joined you. His absence is confirmed when your eyes finally focus and recognise the light streaming in from the hallway outside.

Din is still up in the kitchen. You groan, far too comfortable and warm to truly want to leave. Still, the buckethead’s well-being is somehow more important than your own.

You pad down the hallway towards the kitchen, groggily rubbing your eyes as you go. As expected, Din is still furiously mixing the batter.

“Din, have you seen the time?” you ask exasperatedly. Despite the late hour, Din is determined to perfect the recipe ahead of the Bake Sale.

“I have to get it perfect,” he mutters, shaking his head in exasperation as he looms over the mixing bowl.

“Darling, you look exhausted,” you whisper against Din’s neck as you wrap your hands around his waist, looking concernedly at the dark bags underneath his eyes as you pepper kisses along his neck.

It might be a shameless attempt to seduce him. At least it would get him into your bunk. Still, Din is too hyper-focused on baking to acknowledge your advances.

“I’m fine,” he huffs, continuing to mix the batter, “Go back to sleep.”

You shake your head and retreat, knowing when you are not wanted. You know that Din will make it up to you and apologise once the Bake Sale is over. Although if he offers to bake you something to make up for his behaviour over the past few days, you may resort to using one of his weapons against him…

You drift off for the second time, fantasising about which blaster from his armoury you would turn your hand to first…

✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯

When the alarm sounds next to your bed the next morning you thrust a clumsy hand towards the buttons to turn it off. You immediately notice that you are, once again, alone.

Din is nowhere to be seen.

It is a miracle that he hasn’t burned the cabin down.

Before waking Grogu up, you decide to see what kind of condition his silly buir is in. The rage that burns in your belly is extinguished the second you make it to the kitchen and lay eyes upon the adorable sight before you.

The golden light streaming in through the windows illuminates the entire room, where Din is slumped over the kitchen table, surrounded by plates piled high with Uj cakes. You shake your head and smile at him, not wanting to wake him just yet.

You busy yourself by getting Grogu up and ready for school, which is easier said than done, considering how lazy the child can be at times.

When you return to the kitchen, you place a soft kiss on Din’s forehead. He stirs slightly, warm brown eyes flecked with honey in the sunlight and as thick with sleep as Uj’alayi batter.

“Come on, sleepyhead,” you grin when Din finally focuses on you, “We need to leave for the Bake Sale in a few minutes.”

While Din dashes to the fresher and hurriedly pulls his beskar’gam on, you carefully pack up the Uj cakes. Grogu watches you, doing his best impression of a Porg as he looks up at you with pleading eyes, desperate for a taste of the sweet snack.

“You can have one later, Grogu,” you tell him, tone firm.

You ignore Grogu’s whines as Din reappears, fully armoured and ready for the Bake Sale. Enthusiastic, despite how little he has slept.

✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯

The enthusiasm gives way to darker emotions when you and Din finally make it to the town centre of Nevarro.

As you begin setting up your stall, it appears that the other parents at Grogu’s school have not taken the assignment as seriously as your household. Most of them, it transpires, have used self-rising mixtures to hastily contribute to the Bake Sale. A fact that disappoints you as you watch them setting up their respective stalls, ready for the children to take over shortly.

Only Din had taken the task seriously, a fact that fills you with pride rather than embarrassment. How lucky are you to have someone as dedicated and driven as your riduur?

Despite how much more impressive your wares are than other stalls, the flow of customers is slow at first. Not helped by the fact that every unfortunate soul who comes to examine the Uj’alayi gets a lecture on their origins from an overly enthusiastic, sleep-deprived Mandalorian.

When Grogu and his classmates appear to take over from their parents, you and Din make yourselves scarce. It is their Bake Sale, after all.

You are intent on enjoying the rest of the fair; by exploring the stalls, sampling the food and playing traditional games which have been set up by the children.

You begin wandering through the fair, appreciating the effort that has gone into each stall. The children deserve a better school building and you have no doubt the fair will raise enough money to move them out of the former cantina.

But, when you do not feel the presence of your riduur at your side, you halt in your tracks and look around for him as panic sets in.

Being the only Mandalorian on Nevarro, Din is not difficult to spot. You discover him pacing up and down, arms behind his back and helmet tilted in the direction of the stall. Although you cannot see his face, you are fairly certain that anxiety lingers behind the blackness of his T-visor.

“Din, why don’t we go and enjoy some of the other stalls?” you plead, hoping that Din will relax and enjoy what should have been a fun event.

Din shakes his head, “Can’t,” he murmurs.

“Standing and watching them is not going to make them sell any quicker,” you huff, growing increasingly exasperated by his antics.

“You go on, I’ll catch up to you,” Din murmurs as he waves you away absentmindedly.

“Please, Din,” you beg, reaching out to take his gloved hand in yours, forcing him to look at you, “You’ve been so preoccupied with those kriffing Uj’alayi, it’s like you’ve been having an affair! Now that they’re finally out of your hands, can’t we please spend some time together?” you plead, hating how desperate you sound.

Din stands there motionless for a few seconds. Your breath catches in your throat as you notice him clenching and unclenching his fists at his sides, a mannerism of his that you have come to understand is a sign of anxiety. Your heart drops as you realise you have upset him.

“Of course, cyare,” Din finally breathes, clearly conciliatory and not annoyed as you had feared, “I'm sorry for neglecting you. Let's go."

Din follows you without hesitation.

You are ecstatic at finally having a chance to enjoy the delights of the fair. So much effort has been put into organising such an event by the people of Nevarro, and you are happy to support them.

The Mandalorian by your side seems less awed by the assortment of stalls, however. The various traditional games and food are tricky for Din to enjoy from behind his helmet.

There is one stall you suspect he may succeed at, however.

Your eyes lock onto a high striker, a familiar game synonymous with fairs. You stand back, watching a man cockily sidle up towards the stall. After exchanging credits, he picks up a heavy mallet and nods towards the woman who accompanies him. You think you sense him straining under the weight slightly. Especially when he draws it back to strike the base of a tower with a heavy mallet.

The puck rises pathetically, not even managing a third of the tower's height. Yet, if struck with enough force, the puck would strike a bell and the competitor wins a prize.

You do not doubt that Din could win.

“Din, why don’t you have a go?” you nod in the direction of the high striker.

Din looks towards the stall, as the man who just attempted it murmurs something about how they are rigged. You aren’t so sure, convinced that your hulking Mandalorian could win you a prize.

“Sure,” Din shrugs, clearly not fazed by such a challenge.

Unlike the cockiness of the previous contender, Din approaches the stall with his usual calm, understated confidence. You enjoy watching him swagger towards the man, getting a kick out of the fact he is all yours.

After exchanging credits, Din picks up the mallet without a hint of strain, nodding towards you as he raises it above his head. Sure enough, when he brings it back down in one smooth movement and strikes the base of the tower, the puck seamlessly rises to the top and strikes the bell. Announcing Din’s victory to the entire fair with a ding, to which he receives a smattering of applause.

“Congratulations!” the stall owner chirps, “Which prize would you like?”

The man gestures towards a collection of brightly coloured plushies in various shapes and sizes. Your eyes roam across them, stunned by the collection.

“I want that one,” Din nods without hesitation, pointing towards a bright green frog plushie.

You smile, knowing precisely who that is for. Grogu can barely sleep in his cot as it is, but you have no doubt he will find room. Especially for a frog.

Yet, Din is unable to bask in the glory of his victory for much longer. A familiar booming voice behind you soon causes both of you to turn around.

“Mando!” High Magistrate Greef Karga exclaims, “I hear your Uj’alayi went down a treat. Perhaps if your job with the New Republic does not work out, a future as a baker lies ahead of you,” the kindly old man chuckles as he brings a hand to clasp Din’s vambrace in greeting.

“Seriously?!” Din questions, clearly taken aback by the apparent success of his Uj’alayi.

“All sold out! Before I even got a chance, can you believe that?” Greef smirks, “Perhaps you’ll have to bake me some?”

You cannot help the way your entire body tenses up at the thought of your kitchen once again being overtaken by Din baking. Still, as Greef disappears into the crowd, those thoughts are far from your mind as Din laces his fingers with yours.

Now he has confirmation that the Uj’alayi were a hit, perhaps your husband will finally return to you.

As you stroll through the remainder of the stalls together, the sweet treats that Din had been so preoccupied with are far from your mind. The sweetest thing is being in his presence, proudly strolling around the Bake Sale and being unable to stop the feeling of pride that spreads through your chest at the knowledge this man is yours.

No matter how many passersby stare at him admiringly, Din Djarin’s heart belongs only to you.

✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯

Later that evening, the two of you are standing in your kitchen back at your cabin long after the sun has set. Din is clearly in a pensive mood as you work together, drying the last of the plates which you used for the Bake Sale.

“Cyare, I’m sorry for being so focused on making the Uj Cakes that you felt neglected,“ Din offers apologetically.

“It’s okay, Din,” you smile, “Thank you for apologising.”

“I was thinking,” Din pauses, raising a single eyebrow cheekily at you, “That I could bake you a cake to make up for it.”

“Din Djarin, you better sleep with one eye open tonight or so help me Maker, I will help myself to your arsenal!”

“I’d like to see you try,” Din smirks smugly, as he snakes his arms around your waist and brings his lips to yours.

The sound of your laughter carries throughout the cabin, all the way to Grogu in his room. Cuddled up to his new froggy friend, with his little belly full of Uj cakes, he is blissfully unaware of the strain his school’s Bake Sale placed upon his parents’ marriage.

Follow @thefrogdalorianfics for updates on my latest fics!

#din djarin fic #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #the mandalorian x reader #mando x reader #mando x you #the mandalorian fanfiction #din djarin fluff #pedro pascal characters #my fics #more din fluff im on a roll this week

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happy-beeeps · 5 months

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Dincember Day 1 & 2: Snow and Fire

Summary: Grogu has never seen snow before, so Din tries his best to help the little guy get over his fear.

Warnings: none! Fluff!

Pairing: din x reader

WC: 1.3k

You’re bundled up in the warmest clothes you have in your trunk, a heavy fleece lined pair of leggings and a thick sweater of Din’s he picked up years ago on Alderaan and a heavy jacket, trying to find something warm to wrap Grogu in. Currently, you’ve got his little brown sack pulled tightly over his tiny frame, and you've attempted to insulate him by stuffing clean socks inside the coat, hoping to conserve any extra body heat. “Just bare with me bug,” you murmur, wrapping a woolen scarf around his ears. Finally, you take a step back to admire your handiwork.

Grogu is standing completely still, arms out to the side like one of the figures you’d seen standing in farmland. He doesn’t move towards you, bundled up so tight you aren’t sure it’s even possible. Still, he’s unbearably cute.

You move to scoop up the bundle of Grogu in front of you, and he coos at your touch, moving to squish his hands up in the direction of your face. “Your dad said he had a surprise for us, you wanna go check it out?”

Grogu attempts to move his head in a motion you can only interpret as “of course! There’s nothing I’d rather do!” so you move forward towards the ramp of the crest, lowering it slowly open before stepping outside.

You’re met with, as expected, a gust of cold wind and a flurry of snow, kissing your cheeks and making your stomach flip excitedly. You haven’t been on a system with snow in ages, and you suddenly feel like a schoolgirl again, racing forward to jump into the soft powder. The light outside looks equally soft, the setting suns casting a soft, pastel glow over the landscape. You can’t remember the name of the system you’re on, someplace inconsequential with a small town and even smaller fishing industry, but the scenery is beautiful. Large, blue glaciers jut out from the landing, looking as if they’ve been pushed out of the ground by some giant. Snow coats the ground with a thick blanket, and as you step into it you guess it’s at least five inches deep, enough to threaten to reach Grogu’s midriff if you set him down.

The thought brings you back to reality, and you look down to see your small bundle wrapping himself into you, timidly looking at the landscape around and the snow on the ground. “Do you want to play?”

At your words, he moves even closer inwards, pressing against you further. Suddenly, it dawns on you. Is he scared? Has Grogu even seen snow before? Before you can attempt to find an answer, there’s a glint in the distance that catches your eye. Din walks towards you, sparkling like an icicle against the setting sun, and your heart flutters the tiniest bit as you watch his pace quicken slightly when he spots the two of you.

“Aliit,” he murmurs as he gets closer, wrapping an arm around you as he brings his forehead to yours, and placing a hand on Grogu. “You bundled this one up good.” He says, inspecting Grogu, who is softly cooing into his father’s touch.

“I think I immobilized him,” you chuckle, and from the subtle shift in his body language you can tell he’s rolling his eyes at you beneath the helmet. “Din, has he ever seen snow before?”

He thinks this over for a moment as he picks the baby up from your arms, settling him against his chest. Again, Grogu clings to him, eyes wide at the snow beneath his father’s feet. “Don’t know, don’t think it snows much in Coruscant. Hard to say where he’s been before I found him, but it’s not like it snows on Arvala-7.”

This much you know for sure. The three of you walk a bit further to a small clearing a few minutes from the crest. Not far enough to be dangerous, but just far enough that you can forget you’re here on business. Din has, as expected, surprised you, setting up a small but roaring bonfire and a blanket on a patch of snow he’s excavated. There’s a pot of something brewing over the fire, and three sticks of meat roasting on the side.

“S’not much, but I know it’s been awhile since you’d seen snow.”

It has been awhile. Honestly, it’s been longer than you can remember. You’d had to leave your home system, a smaller system good for nothing but ski hills and lumber, when you were young, and it seemed every place you bounced to was hotter (and dustier) than the next.

“Here, I’ll set him down.” He places Grogu on the blanket, towards the edge, and the baby tentatively looks between you two. He moves his arm first in the direction of his dad, then you, and finally, the snow. “Kriff, he’s really packed in there.”

As if in response, Grogu makes a half-hearted attempt to move towards the offending white powder, and nearly falls flat on his face, barely being caught by you in time. “He’s tiny! He could freeze!”

Din’s low chuckle comes through his modulator in a way that makes your head spin. “Your mom is trying to suffocate you.”

“Am not,” you scoff, moving to kneel in the snow and placing him down softly. “Go on bug, it’s soft, see?”

Grogu moves, tentatively, and touches the snow. Feeling it’s chill he quickly pulls back a hand and then, slowly, reaches back to pat it. Once he’s successfully deemed it not a threat, he makes a flop to the ground and sits square in it, the flurries coming close to his face as he gleefully coos and pats his arms all around him.

Din kneels beside him, grabbing a handful of the soft snow and rolling it between his palms, shaping it carefully. He’s so gentle with it, so slow with his movements as he carefully shapes the ball to sit in front of his son.

“Did you ever make a snowman?” You ask, watching as he shows Grogu how to push the ball along the snow.

He shakes his head subtly, “No. We never got snow on Concordia. It’s not like there’s really time for a bounty hunter to make one when I’ve been anywhere else.”

“Let me show you,” you sit down beside them, ignoring the way the cold sends a chill down your spine as the snow seeps through your layers. You don’t even feel it from how warm your heart is at the sight. “Let's make a smaller one,” you say, partially to Din and partially to Grogu, as you roll a second, slightly smaller ball and place it atop Din’s.

Grogu coos, and flaps his arms, and you help him as best you can to roll a third, even tinier ball to set a top the two. “Look bug, we made a little guy!”

He beams, his tooth glinting in the nearly gone sun, and flaps his arms excitedly. You and Din move to go sit closer to the fire while he continues to squish around towards the end of the blanket.

He gets up and removes the kettle from the fire, removes two small cups from his pack and pours the contents in each. “Stopped in a small shop while I was looking for the quarry, the shopkeeper said this was a local specialty.”

It smells heavenly, spiced and chocolate and sweet. It’s thick, coating your tongue with the delightful taste and clinging to the roof of your mouth. “Oh yeah, I could get used to this.”

You can tell he’s smiling beneath his helmet as he wraps an arm around you, pulling him flush to his side. Snow is softly beginning to fall, and Grogu is still playing, the moment so perfect in its silence. So perfect in fact, you barely catch the whisper that nearly escapes Din’s modulator.

“Yeah, me too.”

#dincember 2023 #star wars #the mandalorian #din djarin #din djarin x reader #din x reader #din djarin imagine #mandalorian imagines #mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #mandalorian x reader

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autumnwoodsdreamer · 1 year

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What if Grogu had a time with Kelleran that echoed his time with Din?

What if they had adventures on the run?

What if Kelleran kept training him (because, apparently, that’s his thing—he led padawans through their trials)?

What if Grogu came to see Kelleran as a father figure and loved him dearly?

What if Kelleran was badly injured and Grogu tried to heal him but couldn’t and Kelleran died and that’s the point Grogu’s memories go dark because then he fell into unkind hands and that’s the way his life just went—out of his control, at the mercy of pirates, traded like a prize over and over again—until ultimately ending up in that encampment on Arvala-7?

What if one of the reasons why Grogu is so quiet and keeps to himself in the earlier chapters is because he doesn’t want to get attached to Din and risk another painful loss?

What if Din getting hurt in chapter 8 brought it all to the surface for Grogu?

#sorry sorry sorry #kelleran beq #grogu djarin #din djarin #the mandalorian #the mandalorian season 3 #the mandalorian spoilers

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oonajaeadira · 3 months

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FLUFFBRUARY 5: rescue | inertia | lullaby (Din Djarin)

ADIRA'S SELF-IMPOSED FLUFFBRUARY RULES:

Six sentences.

Must be fluffy.

All 29 ficlets must feature a different Pedro.

All three words must be used (Fluffbruary prompt list here).

Use the words in order.

I reserve the right to break rules and/or cheat.

This evening Din closes the gap, allowing Grogu's little hand to find the tear in the arm of his flightsuit, sighs behind the helmet as the kid does what he can to ease and heal the wound he gained on the most recent job.

The Mandalorian is still learning so much about the little guy...and himself.

How little he'd known that day on Arvala-7, before the rescue, before the search for the Jedi, before losing and regaining and adopting his son, not understanding how far a touch could go toward healing, even without the Force behind it.

Looking back now, he can see how the path was always going to lead here, how the inertia of...of love...can so easily leave you with little choice but to force you to follow where its luring song leads...

As this thought passes through, Din's brought back to the moment by a different song, by the still-incoherent babbling of the kid, but this time unending and mewling, as if the little one is lecturing his guardian on staying safe and not getting hurt next time.

"Hey, buddy, it's okay, it's just a scratch, I've had worse..." but Grogu continues, his big eyes half-closing, and Din gives a chuckle, playing along, laying down on the little bed in their home on Navarro as he realizes that the womp rat's warbling is his attempt at a lullaby--wandering and tuneless, but gentle and oddly touching, a melody of love without force.

___

@fluffbruary

FLUFFBRUARY MASTERLIST

#fluffburary #six sentence ficlet #the mandalorian fanfic #din djarin

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drawingdroid · 5 months

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The Unknown Regions IV

A Din Djarin x Fem Plus Size Reader Fic

Summary: You, a soft astrophysicist, meet the hardened Mandalorian in less-than-ideal circumstances. Your abilities will lead to you crossing the galaxy together in search of his green son.

Read Chapter 1 | Read Chapter 2 | Read Chapter 3

This chapter is rated +18! Minors do not interact!

Warnings: Expect conversations about weight, body dysmorphia and internalised fatphobia that may be triggering, so read at your own discretion; reader is AFAB and user she/her pronouns; no use of y/n; smut; the bucket stays on; naked female clothed male; hurt and comfort; Sad Din :(

Word count: 3,745

A/N: Din and you have a misunderstanding and actually talk openly about it like ADULTS! I love fiction!!! Finally, smut is here dear readers, I hope you enjoy it. I've struggled like crazy to write this chapter bc smut felt forced and I wanted a smoooth transition. I am not super happy with the result, but hey, I need to know when to let go. I've been thinking this would be interesting from Din's pov too, lemme know what you think. And yes, I know I don't respond to any comments I love reading them but anxiety kills me when I hit reply! I'm so sorry!!!

🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐

You were so focused on your calculations that you didn't notice Din observing you. Leaning against the doorframe casually, the bounty hunter had his gaze fixated on you. He was stealthy for such a big man, so when his gloved hand gently touched your shoulder your heart skipped a beat.

“¡Mando!” You jumped from your seat. He immediately retrieved his touch as if he had been burnt.

“Sorry I…I didn't want to startle you.”

He looked so uncomfortable right now you felt bad for him. Well, had seemed uncomfortable around you for the two weeks you had been travelling together, so that wasn’t new. You were sure your presence around the ship had prevented him from relaxing at all. It was normal, its size had you clashing with each other all the time and it didn’t provide any privacy. And the Razor Crest, you have learnt, was also his home. Well, his and Grogu's.

He told you about the little one a night he was being especially silent. The moon you had stopped at looked inhabited and arid. He commented it was similar to Arvala-7, the planet where he found the child. After that, you listened while he spoke about how he met his son. His beautiful voice was full of pain and you ended up offering your hand for relief and support. He was hesitant but ended up accepting your warm touch.

Since then, casual physical contact had been a constant between you. With the days passing, you grew bolder with it, no longer squishing yourself to prevent your bodies from touching in the tight space of the Crest, and more like rubbing your plush body against his armour. A friendly hand on his shoulder, his on the small of your back. Therere were brief moments that made your heart flutter at the contact.

The truth was that living together had only made your initial attraction to him grow: observing such a mighty warrior performing the little tasks of day-to-day life was somewhat endearing. The things you could learn about someone just by looking at them at their little routines were incredible. You realized he was a methodical, goal-oriented man, and although he looked serious he did things like speaking with his ship when you wouldn't notice. He was also very caring, not only about Grogu but also his covert, the name he used to refer to the other Mandalorians he lived among. And he had the highest respect for his culture and his creed, something you really admired about him. Every day, you hoped he admired you back, too.

“Don’t worry about it, I tend to become so self-absorbed when I work I forget my surroundings.” You fidgeted nervously with your hair, feeling the burn of his gaze, until his visor shifted to the nav system. “Oh, I calculated the coordinates for the final jump and double-checked them. It’ll take around 30 standard hours to arrive there.”

Since you were travelling towards uncharted space, you couldn’t just jump to the planet, even though you knew the coordinates it was reckless without knowing the obstacles you could possibly meet, so it was more sensible to do it on shorter jumps.

“Let me check.” Mando leaned towards the console, supporting himself in his strong arms. You hoped your gasp at his sudden closeness wasn’t too audible.

“Are you doubting my calculations?” You meant to sound sassy but your voice came shaky. He was too close, hovering over you while checking the route. If your body wasn’t covered due to the cold of outer space, he could have noticed the goosebumps his proximity provoked.

“You can't drive a ship.” He deadpanned. You didn't feel bad about his affirmation, it was a fact. You had never had the opportunity to learn.

“I know my numbers, Mando.” You retorted, confident in your ability. He stared at you while you tried to remain unbothered. The truth was that the banter and his physical closeness had you a little flushed. His gaze finally left you to resume checking the panel and you rolled your eyes, although you understood his doubts. After all, his child and his ship were at stake

“This is flawless.” He admitted after a while, turning his helmet to you again.”Good job.” You opened your eyes widely at the praise and observed his muscular frame towering over you. His beskar looked beautiful, reflecting the starry space. He looked beautiful.

“I’m happy to help in any way I can.” You responded in a small voice, swallowing hard.

Neither of you moved for a while and you sighed involuntarily. With how close you were, you could just lean on him as you had been longing to do. To be embraced by his big arms. He sighed, his visor not leaving your frame. You wondered if he felt the pull too. He had to. The magnetic field was just too strong.

“Mando…” He shifted his position, coming even closer to you. You could observe your doe-eyed reflection in his Beskar helmet. He raised his gloved hand and reached for your round shoulder again. This time his touch was gentler than ever and his orange thumb caressed your clothed skin. Mouth dry, you wondered what would his next step be.

“I need…my seat to make the jump.”

The spell broke. Your brain was not computing. You swore you could die right there from the embarrassment. Of course, you were sitting on the pilot's chair. He only wanted your fat ass to move. And you thought you were having a moment. What an idiot, fantasizing about embracing him or whatever, when he only wanted to resume the trip to get to his son as soon as possible.

Clumsily, you stood up, your face hot with embarrassment. Inevitably, your bodies rubbed in the tiny space. You were a big woman, he was practically on you and the cockpit wasn’t precisely ample.

“Of course.”

The feeling was all-consuming and you rushed towards the sliding door, abandoning the cockpit in a heartbeat. You couldn’t see how a very confused Mando observed you leaving, asking himself how he had offended you.

Tears of embarrassment stained your cheeks when you managed to curl inside the bunk. Mando had been so kind to let you sleep there, and you had been loving it. The first night you couldn't help yourself and used your fingers to make you cum three times. His masculine fragrance was everywhere. It was like being embraced by him and your imagination was an overactive one.

But now, having his scent kriffing everywhere wasn’t helping to deflect the feeling of rejection that had taken you. Why were you being like this? Of course, it wasn’t the first time you were turned down. Or the tenth. By now, you should be used to it. But nevertheless, it hurt a lot.

All your life, you were always the clever, bright friend. The daughter who didn’t cause trouble. The gentle and caring one. But you were never called beautiful. Even by your romantic partners. They may say things about how they loved your “fat ass” or “big tits” but this didn’t make you feel pretty but just objectified, and especially, not truly seen as a sentient being. The worst of your male companions even complained about your size and how they weren’t able to manhandle you as they would have done with a smaller woman. You knew this was rooted in their deepest insecurities and how being perceived as smaller than their partner affected their self-esteem... But what about yours?

The truth was that Mando’s gesture (or lack of it) hadn’t been so hurtful, but the stream of memories it triggered, and now you found yourself sobbing under his sheets. When you felt the familiar blow of entering hyperspace, you only hoped that he remained in the cockpit and let you hide for the rest of the trip. But he didn’t.

First, you heard the familiar footsteps coming down from the ladder. He cleared his throat and then knocked softly at the bunk's door. Your blood froze.

“Hey I'm…I'm sorry.” You could clearly hear these weren't words he said often or lightly. A knot formed in your stomach but the tears stopped.

“It 's okay.” You responded with a raspy voice from the crying.

“No, I shouldn't have doubted your route. You're the professional.”

You couldn't decide between bursting into laughter or crying again. He was clueless, wasn't he? Maybe you could just roll with that and hide your true feelings. It was a good opportunity and it’ll save you from an uncomfortable moment. But you weren't the kind of person to do that.

“Mando, do you really think I'm mad because of that?” A pensive hum was his only response.

The bunk's door opened and a very confused warrior appeared right in front of you. Your eyes were red but your smile was bright. You felt your heart hammering inside your chest. He looked so helpless, all his self-assurance gone because of your tears. You sighed, gathering the courage to speak.

“In the cockpit, there was a moment when you were very close to me...” Mando immediately stiffened.

“I'm so sorry if I made you uncomfortable because of that. I thought…” His voice was strained through the modulator. You shook your head.

“I'm the one who misunderstood the situation, Mando.” You stared at him but it was clear his metal head wasn't computing. “ You were almost all over me. I thought something was going to happen. Between us.” You had to clarify.

The gears inside the helmet started turning and finally, you could see those broad shoulders relax a bit.

“You expected…you wanted something to happen between us?” He asked using your own words. You bit your lip unsure, but you were already too far gone to stop this.

“Yes Mando, I really like you and what happened in the cockpit made me feel rejected. That's why I was mad.” This time you tried to explain yourself clearly as you didn't want more misunderstandings, even though your skin felt like molten lava. Mando remained silent for a while, shifting his weight and finally took a step towards the bunk, putting a hand against the frame of the door.

“Why would I reject you?”

“What?” It wasn't possible you had heard that right.

“You've understood me perfectly.” His voice turned darker and commanding. You swallowed at the sudden change of demeanour.

“I don't know. Many have rejected me before. It made sense.” You felt vulnerable and hugged your knees trying to appear smaller unconsciously. Opening up about your fear of rejection wasn't in your plans today. “Where I come from, being overweight is frowned upon.” You added in a small voice, ashamed of your feelings.

“Di’kute!” He grunted the foreign word, audibly angry. To your surprise, he sat next to you inside the cot and grabbed your hand. “You're a gorgeous woman, mesh’la. They were bantha fodder if they couldn't appreciate you.”

It may have been your already sensitive state, but tears came again to you. His faceless stare burnt you, as well as his body heat inside the tiny space. But he continued with the praise without letting go of your hand.

“Where I come from fat is a good signal. It means health, and strength. Extra padding in battle.” You giggled but he was serious. “It's synonymous with peace and not living off ration bars. It means giving birth to healthy younglings.” He added the last point in a raspier voice and you stopped breathing thinking about the meaning behind those words.

“Mando…”

“Come here mesh’la.” You didn't recognise the last word but obeyed and the next moment you were in his lap. “Can I touch you?” His voice sounded kinder this time, less commanding. Your heart was going to explode.

“Please.”

And then his hands were all over you. Tracing the outline of your curves, grabbing the supple flesh of your tights, grazing over your generous bust. The touch was so intoxicating, passionate but slow, as if he wanted desperately to memorize your shape.

“Your body is precious, I'll put a hole between the eyes of whoever made you feel the opposite.” You had never felt aroused by violence, but Mando's voice whispering that in your ear made things to you. It felt so hot inside the bunk by then you felt the necessity to get rid of your clothing. Nevertheless, in spite of Mando's praise, you doubted when you grabbed the hem of your tunic. He sensed your hesitancy. “Are you gonna show me that beautiful armour padding?”

You giggled, amused by how playful he became in bed, and finally removed the piece of clothing. His sharp breath was everything you needed to hear.

“Like what you see Mando?” You teased, discarding the tunic and feeling a bit more confident because of his reaction. While he was a victim of a momentary paralysis, you took your chance to caress his biceps where any armour protected his skin. He was as hard as Beskar there and you thought this warrior could be the first to actually manhandle you. That thought only contributed to the heat growing in your centre dangerously.

“Dank Farrik I don’t think I’ll be able to keep my hands off you after this.” His voice sounded pained behind the vocoder while he appreciated your soft body.

“Then don’t.” You coed, and then guided his hands to your breasts that were spilling from your bra dangerously. Mando exhaled loudly as if all the tension he had been holding the last weeks was released. His gloved thumbs found your nipples fast, the stiff material feeling so good against your sensitive peaks. “Don’t be afraid, you can be rougher with them.”

Mando actually moaned at your honeyed words and you couldn’t name a more heavenly sound. He explored your tits with devotion, giving them all the attention in the world until your nipples couldn’t be harder and your breathing more agitated. But then, after some time hovering over his legs, yours started to feel numb from sustaining the position so you had to move a bit to feel your muscles again.

“Sorry, my legs went numb.” You excused yourself, but in a heartbeat, his hands shifted to your plush hips and you got the hint.

“Sit.”

“I’ll crush you.” Looking away, your previous self-confidence cracked a bit after his petition. You were too heavy, he will be uncomfortable and then…

“I carry bounties three times my weight for a living.” With the cocky affirmation, he interrupted your racing thoughts before spiralling. “I’ll be okay.”

You haven’t seen him in action yet, but the image of the Mandalorian manoeuvring a bounty out of pure strength made you shiver, yielding to his command. But you wouldn’t drown without dragging him with you.

“Stars woman!” He grunted when your clothed cunt made contact with his bulge. Not satisfied enough with that, you rolled your hips a couple of times to torture him further. Your plan backfired, as it provoked both of you to moan in unison.

“You wanted me…to sit.” You sassed between laboured breaths. Mando growled in response, but his hands travelled to your behind until they were grabbing a handful of your round ass.

“Do you know where else I’d want you to sit?” His voice was raspier than ever, the desire on it crystal clear to you. He really wanted you.

“Mando!” This playful side of him was unexpected but you were loving every moment of it. He took advantage of his leverage to move you impossibly closer to him, making you squirm when your sensitive nipples touched the colder beskar of his cuirass. Your hands snaked around his thick neck and you found yourself completely squished against your huge warrior. His erection felt so hot and hard between your legs that your cunt only grew wetter and wetter, making you wonder if he could notice. Then he started to move and soon you were moaning in the crook of his neck, grinding like a loth-cat in heat.

“Please mesh’la, let me make you feel as good as you deserve.” All the cockiness of his tone was done when he asked you with the most laboured breathing. His hands started caressing your spine and back rolls and you were a puddle in his strong arms.

“Let me…let me get up to remove my pants.” He indeed let you, but his hands didn´t, and while you stood to remove the last of your clothes, he continued exploring your body completely mesmerized. “Mando, I can’t undress if you don’t put your hands away!” You giggled standing on the threshold of the bunk waiting for him to realize. His helmet turned up to look at you then as if he was weighing his possibilities.

“Allow me to undress you, please.” The tone of his plead made you shiver and your cunt walls spasm. Your noded suddenly shy and the next moment he was on his knees unfastening your boots. Maker, what a sight.

When he finished with your footwear, he removed your shocks and started caressing your ankles, going up your calves painfully slowly until he finally reached the waistband of your pants. By then, you were shivering out of pure anticipation. But he still took the time to discard first your pants leaving you in your soaked underwear. He stopped and removed his hands for you to your surprise. Maybe he was having second thoughts? Maybe he didn’t like what he saw?

Your thoughts didn’t spiral for long, as Mando started removing his gloves still kneeling at your feet. Your eyes went wide: it was the first time you saw any of his skin. Gloves finally apart, you could appreciate it was a beautiful hue of gold before his thumbs were hooked in your panties. Without seeing his expression, you could feel the reverence in every touch Of his. It was like you were something holy and he was praying at your shrine. Then it hit you: this wasn’t just a fuck for both of you. This will change things.

“You’re drenched mesh’la.” The last piece of clothing was finally removed and his curious hands didn’t take long to open the folds of your glistening cunt. You looked away a bit embarrassed but he assured you. “You’re so beautiful and soft I can't help myself but...”

Then he did the most surprising thing. With his fingers covered with your slick, he went to the inferior part of his helmet and made disappear. He yas kriffing tasting you.

“Dank Farrik and you taste heavenly too.” Things became fast in a moment. He suddenly stood up in all his imposing height, totally covered in contrast with your nakedness, grabbed your but and in a heartbeat was lifting you from the floor. You squirmed in surprise, your legs rapidly snaking around his tapered waist, feeling all the whole glory of his erection against your pussy. He then turned in his heels and laid you in his bed delicately. But you weren’t playing tame anymore.

“Mando, I need you please.” Your plea was accompanied by a roll of your hips against the bulge on his pants, and you moaned at the sensation of the harsh fabric against the sensitive skin there. Mando grunted at the contact and obeyed you, removing his crossbody ammo belt. You continued the grinding while he battled with the straps of his hip belt, pleasuring yourself against his hard cock, until the leather piece full of pouches hit the ground with a loud thud.

Finally, his hot hands were all over you again and he leaned over your body. But then, he froze in place. You looked at him quizzically when you heard something metallic rolling on the floor. Maybe something important? Maker, you knew he kept bombs on the belt…

“Wait,” he said, leaving you naked in the bunk where you experienced the worst ten seconds of your life thinking you were going to be blown away before having sex with the Mandalorian. But his absence was brief, and he returned with a spherical object between his golden fingers. Something you didn’t recognize at all.

“Is it a bomb?” You asked clueless. He chucked but there was something off about it.

“It’s from a lever in the cockpit.” You sighed in relief knowing your life or his weren’t in danger. Noticing how he wouldn’t stop looking at the metal ball, you knew he wasn’t okay. Finding your tuning between the mess of sheets and blankets, you put it on and sat on the edge of the cot. You didn’t feel annoyed because the intimate moment was interrupted: it was clear something was disturbing him.

“Hey, Mando, look at me.” You asked, holding his bare wrists most delicately. He flinched at the contact and you noticed his pulse was derailed. Then he looked at you like he had just noticed you were there and started apologising.

“I’m so sorry I…” It looked like he didn’t even know how to start explaining himself. You’ll say he sounded even embarrassed.

“It’s okay, I’m not upset. We don’t have to continue if you don’t feel like it.” His shoulders slumped and his gaze fixated again on the ball. And then you noticed, by the light shivering of his torso. He was crying. Your heart broke in a thousand pieces. “Come here, baby.” You cooed, opening your arms to the Mandalorian, hoping you could offer some relief to whatever he was experiencing.

To your surprise, he fell to his knees again and then sank his helmet into your lap. His shoulders were convulsing more visibly now and your chest hurt for him. You started caressing the back of his neck, hoping it felt soothing for him, and remained like that for a while.

“I’ve got you baby.”

You didn’t know how much time it passed with Mando sobbing against your tunic and you doing your best to make him feel better, but after a while, it looked like he was calmer.

“I already lost him once.” His voice was coarse from crying, and even though the lack of context you knew immediately he was referring to Grogu.

“We’ll find him and take him home, Mando.” You responded softly, feeling something warm spread inside you and not stopping for a second your caresses.

“Din.” He finally unburied his head from your lap and looked at you. “My name is Din Djarin.”

#din djarin #din djarin x you #din djarin x reader #the mandalorian #grogu #din grogu #the mandalorian x you #din djarin smut #the mandalorian smut #the mandalorian fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal fandom #din djarin x female reader #din djarin x fem!reader #droidwrites

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galactic-potterhead · 2 years

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01 || The Mandalorian

Note || I am so nervous! Though very happy to post this! I hope you all enjoy reading this as much as I did writing it. At first, I felt like writing the first chapter a bit differently but this made the most sense to me and I already had the first thousand words that I fell in love with so I'm sorry if this is cliché. If there are some mistakes, please let me know and I will happily fix them!

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲:

Naia had been captured and held captive by Nikto bandits on a mysterious planet. She reminiscences the past and feels ashamed for allowing this to happen. Then she meets him.

𝐂𝐖: This chapter will contain various scenes of graphic violence, mature content, and possibly traumatic details. Character deaths, terrorism, family trauma. Blood, gruesome injury, murder, torture, famine, trust issues, angsty Naia interactions, slight flirting, abduction {technically speaking}.

Word count: 2.8k

<- Previous Chapter || Next Chapter ->

. . .9 ABY

Somewhere In The Outerrim Territories

The cold breeze came as a surprise to her. There were not many days that she experienced the skies downpour a series if sobs that bless the planet’s surfaces, the desert planet had been dry for weeks. Naia wouldn’t have known how long her captors had kept her locked away in the very bunker she had tried to slink inside through the shadows, but the aching sensation in her stomach told her that it was long enough for the famine to take over her mind. What she wouldn’t do for a Meiloorun, or even Blue-milk waffles.

She sighed and curled her knees into her chest as best she could with the steel chains restricting her movements. The blasted binders had practically sucked the energy from her body, making it impossible to even try to shift into a different position.

The was a dark feeling that washed through her chest like the waves of Kamino; If she didn’t come up with a plan to escape, the lust she held for food would fade, her organs would slowly shut down and she’d starve to death.

It was barely noon, she could convey that by the positioning of the sun that still glared down on their surfaces.

Her eyes tore from the outside world and shifted to peer up at the binds that held her wrists securely, outstretching her arms uncomfortably. She had gotten used to the soreness that came with being cuffed up like an animal.

“Subparagraph 16 of the Bondsman Guild protocol waiver compels you to immediately produce said assets.” The sound of a droid drew her attention from her binders, and to the droid standing in the centre of the compound.

It had been a little while since a bounty hunter had come in an attempt to seize her, and for a moment she thought that the client desperate for her company had given up. The bounty droid proved to wrong her hopes.

When her captors glanced at each other, she knew there would be a fight. They underestimated a droid and it would be a weakness that leads to their downfall.

And sure enough, the gunfire begins. The Nikto mercenaries shout in their native tongue, most likely instructions on their defence plan but she couldn’t understand it. Nor did she want to.

As one Nikto stepped into her reach, she kicked up off the floor and wrapped her legs around his waist tightly. Determination and the will to survive pulsing through her veins.

He cried something out but she disregarded it and bit down on his shoulder, pushing the disgusting taste aside. He howled out in pain and she leant close to his ear, “you will release me from these restraints and leave me your blaster.”

Her voice purred with a strong will in the force. Though she couldn’t use it to unlock her binds, this was the only other option she had left and she had to hope it’d work.

He stilled for a moment, and her heart picked up in beats. “You will take your blaster and shoot my chains to free me.” She hissed again, squeezing his waist between the grasp of her thighs and digging her heels into his hip bones.

He says something in his tongue before pulling himself free, she stared at him hard as another Nikto ran in and began closing the blastdoors. Her mind began to race and the hope in her heart seemed to diminish slightly, but then he raised his blaster and shot her free.

The other Nikto shouted at him, but She swung her leg up and kicked the blaster from his hands before throwing her fist into his gut hard. He grunted and attempted to hit back but she flung her elbow at her face, knocking him unconscious with a single hit.

The last Nikto remaining started shooting at her, but she dodged each blast by nonchalantly twisting and turning her body. Though she shouldn't, the fear that coursed through his blood made adrenaline flood through her. The sound of the large weapon shooting at the durasteel door from the outside was seemingly the last worry on her mind, and she kept advancing toward the mercenary like a woman on a mission.

Her aching fist swiftly whacked his blaster away as the door fell forward, but she kept her eyes on the defenceless Nikto. A small smirk of satisfaction painting her lips.

As she dragged a captivating finger down his temple to his jaw, her other hand secretly reached for the vibroblade on his belt. Her head tilted to the side with a coy smile, before her bladed head swiftly rose up and buried into his neck without remorse.

He gargled on the blood rushing to his throat but she merely dug it further until finally, she felt bone. At that, she removes it and allowed his body to crumple to the ground with a loud thud.

The evening breeze tickled her bare skin, as she hardly had any clothes left. The Nikto’s had stripped her down into her blacks, which were tight on her body. And the sudden movement behind her led her to spin around, sending the knife flying at the hostile target.

She watched the blade strike through the IG droid’s head without difficulty, and the bounty droid falls to the ground in ruins. A blast goes off and she jerks her body to the side, barely escaping the bolt as it skimmed over the skin on her arm. She hissed in pain as her forearm scorched in a burning sting.

“Another aggressive Mandalorian, just want I needed.” She seethed through her clenched teeth, glancing down at the wound gracing her arm. Not particularly feeling hatred toward him, but she was wary and in pain.

“Who are you?” His modulated voice asks, unsure of whether he could trust her.

She rolled her aching shoulders and glanced over at him. “You should know. I doubt you accepted this job without knowing whom you will be hunting…” She spat before her eyes dragged over to the containment to which her mission led her.

Without any other glance to the Mandalorian, she moves over to the capsule and inhaled deeply. The force was strong around the object.

She pressed on the panel and it immediately opened, revealing the tiny green creature that brought a bright smile to her lips.

His head lifted and met her warm gaze. “Hello there, little one.” She cooed softly and crouched down to his height. His ears flicked and an adorable coo fell from his lips, she suppressed the giggle that bubbled in her throat before her smile fell as she remembered the situation.

She turned to look at the observing hunter. “I don't feel like fighting another one of you, so I'll cooperate.”

Her words may have sounded conceited but she refused to allow this child to be captured by whatever Imperial warlords remained.

“But I do request that you keep me out of cuffs.” She added while standing to her 5’5 height. “I don’t trust anyone to keep me safe. I do that perfectly well on my own.”

He tilted his head at her, almost patronisingly. “That’s why you’re here?”

His question boiled her blood, but she inhales sharply and narrowed her eyes. She crossed her arms frowning. ”How I ended up here is none of your business, bucket-head.”

He shook his head but didn’t respond. And seconds later, he pulled a pair of durasteel binders from his waist. She huffed and caught them in one hand as he tossed them in her direction, “bind yourself.” He muttered before moving closer to the child in the pram.

Her body tensed and she furrowed her brows, watching his movements intensely. “'If you hurt him and I will show you how threatening I can be, even with cuffs.” She growled, clasping the metal enclosures around her wrists.

“I'm sure,” he drawled out and her brows shot up, amused that he underestimated her without even knowing her capabilities.

“Your arrogance is your weakness.” She hummed and followed closely behind him.

“Your overconfidence is yours.” He quipped back, clear amusement laced between his words and she couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Overconfidence…” she muttered amusedly.

He didn’t know overconfidence if it whacked him over his laserbrain head with a blaster.

The sun grew lower and her legs ached from the mileage that they covered. She still felt a twinging pain in her arm, but it was less excruciating than before. The child was peering around curiously, and it almost made her smile. But her exhaustion made it hard to find the energy to do so. The Mandalorian didn't make any attempt to speak to her and though she was originally pleased with that, it felt like her brain was melting. It had been so long since she's had someone to talk to, that she was beginning to miss the sound of her own voice. (Despite how narcissistic that may sound.)

There was a heaviness in the air as they tracked through the lower sections of the canyon, it almost made her want to beg the hunter to start digging her own grave where they stood. All the possibilities of whom were desperate for force-sensitive beings made her stomach twist with anxiety; she felt safe on Chandrila. It was her home after being on Corellia and just the open space, she felt sad about the fact that there would never be a day that she wouldn't have to hide and protect herself from those who wanted to take advantage of her.

But when she had been given the mission to save this child from ex-Imperials, there was no hesitation on her end. Though her brother tried to convince her that there was always someone else who could do the job. No, this was personal for her and he ended up respecting that after the long talks over the rotations of her preparation. Ever since the fall of the Jedi, she had been running and hiding but there was nothing she wouldn't do to help any surviving Jedi.

After a while in the sweltering weather, sweat began to form small beads on her pale skin. The act of perspiration made her cringe. The thought of the stickiness that would be a result of it made a whine conjure from her stomach. "Why does this planet feel like it's on a thermapad?" She grumbled bitterly before a sharp tingle shoots through her spine. Danger.

She frowned and looked up at the ridges of the canyon for the lingering enemies, her feet frozen on the ground. She felt the Mandalorian’s eyes shift onto her but it goes unacknowledged. “What is it?” He asked, but his question also receives zero response.

Her senses grew heavy before she abruptly threw herself forward and shoved the floating pram away. A hunter falling from above, landed just inches away from her fallen body and that evidently answered the Mandalorian's question as to why she had been acting odd.

The hunter’s axe came flying down but she rolled over on her side and allowed her legs to swipe at his ankles, making him fall onto his back hard. He grunts and attempted to sit up, but she quickly crawled over and smashed her knee into the side of his face which sends him into unconsciousness.

“On your left!” Mando hissed at her sternly, so she rounded on the enemy and threw her head into their abdomen, pushing away the dull ache that it brought to her head.

They shout in surprise, falling full force onto their back before receiving a mouthful of plasma from Mando’s weapon. Both were heavily breathing, but she couldn’t help but notice that he took down 3 hunters on his own and she only took one; two if you count the one they finished off together. (Which she wouldn't)

“Now I’m curious to how much your reward is for me and the youngling.” She huffed out while trying to wrap her burning wrists.

“Not enough.” He grumbled in return, before gesturing for her to follow him.

She shook her head chuckling bitterly. “Ori'buyce, kih'kovid.” His body spun around at the sound of her use of Mando’a. – All helmet, no head.

“What did you say?” His tone was cold and she raised a singular brow, unimpressed by his attempt to intimidate her. "Where did you learn that?” He snarled, which made her confused as to why he had been so angry about it.

“I've met many different types of life forms all over the galaxy. Mandalorians are not an exception.” She says before walking ahead of him, wanting to get out of the ravine that gave enemies the high ground.

When they didn’t speak for the remainder of their walk, she felt relieved that he hadn’t tried to fight her about what she said before. In fact, she didn't trust him at all. Mandalorians could be as slippery as a greased dug, and she was not going to be deceived by another. After a small breath, she slowly began to enjoy the quiet because it gave her time to think about her family. It felt like an eternity since she’s seen them.

“Nini! You said you’d tell me about the adventures that you’ve been on when you were a Padawan.” Ben whined from underneath his blanket.

Naia, who had just tucked her nephew to bed, froze. Her heart ached at the memories that flooded back in seconds. She sighed and smoothed out his untidy hair gently, placing a soft kiss on her forehead.

“Ben, I don’t have many memories. I was far too young. And the memories I do have…well, they’re not happy or fun.” She murmured softly and he frowned.

“Because of the Order that killed all the Jedi?” His question made her mind spin.

"Hey—" The Mandalorian’s voice snapped her out of the daze she had been transported in, and her head peered up slightly confused by his intrusion.

“We’re taking camp here for the night.” He informed her and that made her shoulders sink. Though she couldn't tell if it was in disappointment or relief. "If you try to escape, Just know that the client will accept you dead or alive.” He added roughly, to which she rolled her eyes.

“The day I'm killed will be the day that a bounty will be put on you.” She claimed jabbing her finger into his chest plate, before moving over to the log and plopping down to lean against it.

“Who put a bounty on me anyway?” She asked, shifting around to get comfortable. She had a few hunches but wanted to be sure about who she will be dealing with.

“Didn’t ask. It’s against the Guild code.” He muttered and it drove her mad.

She rolled her eyes again and leaned her head back slightly, closing her eyes to ease the burning they caused from being open. “Yes well, I used to go by a code too. Then it was taken from me.” She announced tiredly. “Codes are only created to control its followers. It takes away the feelings of freedom.” She added bitterly.

There is silence for a few moments. She could feel the curiosity that ran through his blood. He wanted to ask questions but was hesitant to appear attentive.

His demeanour seemed to change, though she couldn’t put her finger on what he had been feeling. So after another minute, she peeked over at him with one eye and studied the way he sat tensely. His wound was clear as day and looked painful, much like hers.

“I could help with that if you want.” She suggested gesturing to his arm, but he turned his head away from her and grunts in reply.

Her eyes narrowed and a scoff pulled from her throat. “Fine, suffer.” She uttered before closing her eyes again.

“Clear your mind, Little dream. Anger is a path to the dark side.”

She recoiled at the sudden touch of a gloved hand, and her eyes snapped open in a momentary lapse of fear. But upon seeing that it was only the Mandalorian, she relaxed slightly and inhaled through her nose from the sting.

“Sorry,” he muttered under his breath but she just stares at the motion of his hands. He was tending to her arm.

“There’s no need for that. I'm sure your client won't mind if I have a graze. They're still receiving what they want.” She mumbled before turning her body to face away from him, rejecting his attempt to help and to hide the small flush on her cheeks. It was hard to distinguish whether it was from the embarrassment she felt of being in this mess in the first place, or the warmth that his simple gesture brought to her racing heart.

“It’s not like I have a choice. You should be blaming whatever it is you did to end up in this mess.” He snarked back but she chortled sourly.

“It's hard to blame my parents for ever having me when they're both stardust.” She muttered coldly before glancing over her shoulder at his observant stare.

He didn’t say anything after that. And she couldn’t tell if it was whether he was confused or just uninterested in what she said. But it didn’t bother her, the silence is what she wanted to indulge in.

|| Taglist ||

@alwayssnivellus

Next Chapter. . . Nightmares of Corellia ->

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dindjarindiaries · 7 months

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#lots of great options here i gotta think about this…#din djarin #the mandalorian #polls

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tropes-and-tales · 9 days

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Shadow and Light: Chapter One

The Mandalorian/Din Djarin x F!Reader

WC: 2258

Other Pieces: This is part of a larger miniseries that can be found here.

CW: Slow-burn; plot-building.

The Mandalorian knew every square inch of the Razor Crest. The old gunship wasn’t the fastest, but she was sturdy, and the Mandalorian was aware of every creak and groan it made. He knew that one warning light – the one for leaking coolant – was faulty. He knew the one landing ski took a second longer to engage than the other.

He knew that the door between the cockpit and the rest of the ship made a rusty little squeal on its track before it opened. He had meant to oil it but kept forgetting, and it was the only thing that gave you away now.

He had just set the course for Arvala-7 and was swiveled in his pilot’s chair to rest a bit before landing. There was no sound in the rest of the ship that he wasn’t familiar with, but when the door made that little squeal….well, he wasn’t the one who had set it off. Someone was on the other side.

When the door finally slid open to reveal you, that annoying kid from Nevarro, the Mandalorian was ready for you. You were wrapped in that same dun-colored cloak, everything hidden but your eyes, but he wasn’t focused on that. He was focused on the bo-rifle in your hands, the end sparking and crackling with a blue electric current.

It happened so fast: your eyes widened a fraction to see the Mandalorian charging at you in such tight quarters, and he kicked the weapon from your hands so that it turned off and clattered uselessly to the floor. Then, like in Nevarro, he grabbed your wrist and twisted it behind you until you were pressed against the wall of the ship, and though he wasn’t exactly gentle before, he was less so now.

The same question as before though. “Who sent you?” he asked, his voice tight with anger even through the modulator in his helmet. You shook your head, replied “no one,” and the Mandalorian responded by clamping both of your hands in magnetic cuffs behind your back. He spun you around and scanned you.

Gods, you were loaded with weapons. Other than the bo-rifle that lay on the floor of his cockpit, through the scanner in his visor, he counted at least five other weapons: two blasters holstered low on each hip, two knives tucked away in each boot, and a mean-looking knife, toothed and serrated for maximum damage sheathed on your belt.

He sighed and started searching you more thoroughly. He removed your cloak first, and it revealed that you weren’t a kid after all – even in the dusty black pants and grey shirt and vest, the Mandalorian could make out your curves. Your hair was braided and pinned up, but a few strands had worked themselves loose, framing your face.

The Mandalorian pushed aside all the questions of who you were and why you were on his ship, and he focused on the more pressing question: why weren’t you talking now? Most people – bounties, enemy combatants – pleaded for their lives when he had them dead to rights. Babbled out promises of riches, begged for mercy, tried to explain their convoluted reasons….you only gazed at him as he removed each weapon from you. Silent. Completely calm too. He didn’t sense any trembling or increased heart rate.

In fact, when he reached down to pull the knives out of your boots, you shifted your weight and twisted each leg a little to make it easier for him.

When he was done and your weapons were in a neat pile on one of the co-pilot’s seats, he pushed you into the other seat and towered over you.

“Who are you?” he asked. “And what are you doing on my ship?”

When you hesitated a moment to long in answering him, he added, “I can always shoot you out an airlock if you don’t feel like talking.”

“I wanted to go to Arvala-7 with you for this job,” you replied simply.

“Why? You’re not in the Guild.”

You shook your head at this, and the Mandalorian took a guess. “But you want to join the Guild? You need reputation credits.”

“Y-yes. I, uh, overheard the Guild Master at the cantina talking about this job. I thought if I helped with this one, single job, it’d be enough to get me in.”

The Mandalorian huffed at this. “I told you no on Nevarro. I work alone.”

“I can help.”

He looked you over pointedly, from the top of your head all the way down to your feet. Without the cloak covering you, he would admit that maybe you weren’t a complete novice. Your arms and legs were toned from work, and you had been armed to the teeth. And the bo-rifle was a sophisticated weapon from a race of elite warriors, though he wasn’t sure if you were any good with it.

You took his silence as an opportunity to continue. “I know I don’t look like much, but I can help. I can fight, and I’m a good shot from a distance. I’m very good at blending in and sneaking around.” You mouth twisted into a half-smile. “If you maintained your ship properly, I would have had you. That cockpit door shouldn’t squeak like that.”

“You want to partner up, but you were going to electrocute me first,” he replied sarcastically.

“I wasn’t. That was just to…encourage you to listen to me.” He fixed you with a glare, which you couldn’t see, but most people found a silent Mandalorian just as intimidating. You just kept talking.

“I won’t take up any space or get in your way, and I listen to whatever you say. And I’m good with ships. I know that this is a pre-Empire gunship. I could tear it down and rebuild it for you, and it’d run as good as new. Better, even.”

“I don’t need the Razor Crest torn down and rebuilt.”

You nodded, and for the first time, you looked a little uncertain. He could see you swallow hard. “Sure, but if it breaks down, I can fix it. And I don’t need any cut of the credits. I just want the, uh, reputation credits.”

He only stared at you, and you squirmed a little under the force of the glare through his visor.

Finally, you added, “I know that they kept sending people to Arvala-7. Stormtroopers, at first, then mercenaries and bounty hunters. None of them ever come back. Whatever that asset is, it’s dangerous.”

“So I’d be facing danger in front of me, and have you behind me with a rifle pointed at my back?”

You shook your head. “No, not at all. Like I said, I’d do whatever you say. I could be a lookout, or cover you with my rifle. I promise I’m a good shot. And if I have to, I can fight.”

The Mandalorian considered your offer. He had worked alone since his falling out with the crew of mercenaries he used to run with, and it was better that way. No personal ties, no entanglements. Nothing but him and his Mandalorian Creed.

He’d never concede that it was lonely. He’d never admit that sometimes he let his retrieved bounties stay out of carbonite for the part of the return trip just to hear another’s voice, even if it was pleading for its life.

More immediately, he admitted that you had a point. This job felt wrong from the start – off the books, an immense payoff, no chain code – so your intel about it being dangerous felt accurate. He tilted his head and studied you a little closer as you gazed back at him. Maybe you were all the things you claimed to be. A good shot, a good fighter, a good mechanic. You certainly were good at blending in, as he’d found out twice now.

Maybe a partner would be okay. Just for one job, enough to get you those reputation credits, then dump you off on Nevarro and never see you again.

“What’s your name?” he asked, and the expression on your face was indiscernible.

“Lyra San,” you muttered, and he huffed in irritation.

“Your real name,” he demanded. “Lira San is a legend. Make believe.”

You sighed, and a blush broke out across your cheeks. You looked away from him as you answered. “I don’t know my name,” you said. “My real one, anyway. I was named for their legendary homeworld when the Lasats found me. I was a child when the spacecraft I was on crashed on Lasan. I was…am…an orphan. A foundling. But they raised me.”

The Mandalorian would never concede that it was your admission of being a foundling that made him decide not to shoot you out of an airlock after all. Deep down, though, past the armor and the Way and his own hurt and trauma – he already felt a connection to you.

*****

It was partially luck that saved you – this Mandalorian seemed a bit more willing to listen before acting. You knew there were others of that sect that would have happily put a hole in your head before letting you get a single word out.

You’d been on Nevarro long enough to learn of the covert there, and you were sympathetic to the Mandalorians. Your own adopted people, the Lasats, had suffered the same under the Empire. You understood why only one Mandalorian was ever out at one time, but you didn’t know why it worked – even in their anonymous armor, you were able to tell one from another. One was heavier, one was shorter. One walked with a clomping gait, another walked with steps light as air. Maybe people were too wrapped up in their own lives to notice that an entire group of people lived underneath them.

If the job had gone to any other member of that covert, you would have come up with another strategy. But you’d observed this particular Mandalorian to get a sense of him. Some might call it intuition or second sight. Your foster mother called it a gift from Ashla, the personification of good in the universe. Either way, you were good at reading people, and this Mandalorian seemed…different from the rest. He had the same dark thread that all warrior species did, but there was a bit of light too.

It all ended up fine. A little humiliating, being disarmed so quickly and then receiving a thorough pat-down as he took all your guns and knives from you (though he missed a few, you thought with an inward smirk). Humiliating too to have him retrieve your pack and then go through it in front of you – your extra clothes, your small toolkit, your store of extra rations and medicines. Your small bound leather book that you filled page by page with your observations from your travels. The Mandalorian rifled through those pages, and your blush deepened that he might be reading your innermost thoughts. He didn’t comment on them, though.

Then he laid down the rules.

“You tend to your own needs,” he said. “I won’t spend a credit to feed or clothe you.”

“That’s fair.”

“You do exactly what I say without complaint or question.”

You paused. “Also fair.”

“We retrieve the asset and return to Nevarro. I get paid, you get the credits, and we go our separate ways.”

“Obviously.” You flexed your hands, still cuffed. “Can I get these off?”

He tilted his head at you, then gave a single nod and removed them.

“Thanks,” you said. You clenched your hands into fists, released them, shook the feeling back into your numb fingers. “Can I get my weapons back?”

“You get those back when I can trust you.”

That made you laugh, and he tilted his head at you again. “Aren’t Mandalorians famously distrustful?”

“Then you’ll get your weapons back on Nevarro.”

“What if we run into trouble on Arvala-7?”

He didn’t answer. He just turned and sat in the pilot’s chair, and a moment later, you sat in the co-pilot’s seat. No matter how much you traveled, you never got tired of the sight of space – the stars streaking past you, the distant nebulas of stellar explosions. It made your heart ache in the best way to think of the vastness of the universe, all the different planets and people, all the things to explore. You leaned back and rested your head against the seat, and you felt the past few tense hours grow heavy on you. You tucked your legs up – he hadn’t returned your cloak to you either – and let sleep start to draw you in.

“The guild master calls you ‘Mando,’” you said tiredly. “Is it okay for me to call you that too?”

The Mandalorian turned a little in his seat then gave you a nod. You nodded back and started to reply but was overtaken by a giant yawn.

“Don’t worry about the weapons,” you told him. Your voice was thick with sleep, and you could barely hold your eyes open any longer. “If I can’t fight, I can just disarm the enemy with my charming personality.”

You didn’t hear his response because you drifted off, and besides, it sounded different through the modulator of his helmet…but the Mandalorian laughed.

You also didn’t see him turn in his seat to watch you sleep, and you wouldn’t realize until morning that he shook out your cloak and settled it over your sleeping form so that you wouldn’t get cold before he retired to his own quarters.

#din djarin #din djarin x you #din djarin imagine #din djarin x reader #the mandalorian #the mandalorian imagine #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #tropes and tales

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burnwater13 · 4 months

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Grogu with his ears being buffeted by the wind as he rides on a speeder bike in saddle bag. From the DataWorks calendar. Image from The Mandalorian, Season 2, Episode 1, The Marshal.

Grogu never got tired of going fast. Never. It was great feeling the air rushing past along with the scenery. It didn’t matter to him if the scenery was the desert, a planet that was a city, or the stars themselves. It was exciting and fun and safe. At least for him.

His friend Ian had once told him that problem was never how fast you going. It was all about how quickly you stopped. Grogu giggled thinking about that. He and the Mandalorian had made some sudden stops. On Arvala-7. On Tatooine. Nevarro. The list went on, but Grogu didn’t really care about that.

He and his dad only had a few things in common. Their beskar armor. Their brown eyes. And their love of going fast. Din Djarin didn’t giggle as much as he did when they were zipping around on a speeder bike. But Grogu had excellent hearing and he knew that his dad giggled some of those times they were flying around at top speed.

Sure. The Mandalorian tried to hide it. Tried to keep it soft. He didn’t want anyone to know that when he was going so fast that he thought he was a kid again. Just a kid having fun. Going as fast as he could. Just because it was fun.

Grogu wondered how much fun the Mandalorian had ever had in his life. Grogu had a lot of fun at the Jedi Temple, despite the serious nature of studying the Force, understanding balance, learning Gal Basic, all that stuff. He’d had that fun even without Ian helping him. He was just a happy go lucky youngling back then. Other than going really fast, Grogu didn’t really know of anything else that the Mandalorian considered fun.

When Grogu had suggested that polishing his armor must be a lot of fun, considering that Din Djarin did it all the time, along with cleaning it, he was surprised when the Mandalorian shook his head.

“As a Mandalorian you are trained to properly maintain all of your tools and equipment. The armor keeps me alive. I need to treat it with respect, as do you. Next time, use your markers on something else. These walls are kind of boring.”

The Mandalorian hadn’t actually said that last part, but Grogu felt it was implied.

What wasn’t implied was that the things his dad spent so much time on were not things he found fun. It was just a fact. Plain. Boring. Constant. Fact. Grogu thought that was terrible. Din Djarin needed more fun in his life and Grogu was determined to figure what else the human enjoyed.

At first he asked his dad straight out what he thought was fun. It was like the Mandalorian didn’t even understand the concept of fun. He couldn’t even list one thing that he did just for the fun it. Not even the flying fast thing. That was to get away from bad guys, or inconveniently placed New Republic scouts and rangers. Uff.

Then Grogu began to quiz his dad.

Was cooking fun? Nope. Fuel for his body, plus you didn’t cook rations. You heated them up. Not the same.

Was maintenance fun? Nope. Another necessary aspect of Mandalorian training.

Was sleeping fun? Din Djarin just shook his head and asked Grogu if he’d cleaned his armor yet that day. Uff. Grogu was hoping to get his dad to tell him about his dreams. Maybe his dad would realize that he dreamed about fun stuff, even if he didn’t do that fun stuff.

After that lecture (maybe his dad found those fun because he sure did deliver a lot of them, but Grogu didn’t want to encourage that), Grogu decided that he would have to observe his dad more closely and listen for the slightest changes in his voice.

After three days of dedicated observation, including when his dad was sleeping, Grogu had been able to determine a couple of things that other people might consider fun that his dad willingly participated in. The speed thing was real, as Grogu had known it was, no matter what his dad said about staying safe. Playing catch with Grogu was something that the Mandalorian found fun and that surprised Grogu a little bit. His dad didn’t usually like him using the Force too much. Mandalorians had to learn to do things by hand, blah, blah, blah. And the big softy seemed to like to watch Grogu when he was sleeping. Like he was counting each breath and just smiling to himself that he managed to get through another day of parenting and that seemed to make him very happy.

Grogu understood the happiness part but didn’t actually think it was fun, until he realized how his dad pretended that he wasn’t watching him when he was asleep. The Mandalorian tried all sorts of head fakes, sneezing, reading, literally falling on the ground, to make it seem like he was there on other business or just happened to notice Grogu while he was doing all those other things. But Grogu knew that his dad was grinning the whole time.

How? His beard made a subtle, scratchy sound when Din’s face moved. The sound of the grin was different than the sound of a smile or a frown and they had all been catalogued and cross indexed so Grogu would be able to continue his data collection and analysis. Apparently, the thing Din Djarin found the most fun was spending time with his son and that was definitely the Way.

#calendar prompt a day #the mandalorian #grogu #din djarin #Let's Have Fun

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thefrogdalorian · 3 months

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You Are Eternal

✯ Read on AO3 ✯ Word Count: 1423 Rating: Teen Summary: When devastating news that High Magistrate Karga has become one with the Force reaches Din in his cabin on Nevarro, he reflects on the complicated nature of their relationship. Din pays his own tribute to the man who witnessed firsthand his shift from bounty hunter to father. Content Warnings: Major character death. Grief, mourning... I wrote this to try and cope a little with the awful news and it's just.... really sad. Author's Note: I just had to get this out of me tonight. It was my way of coping I guess. I hope Greef lives on somehow in the show, I really do. But I think he was Din's first real friend and their arcs are so similar, it's so sad to think he won't be there anymore. Thank you for reading. RIP Carl, Mando will never be the same without you 💔

Din Djarin was, unfortunately, all-too accustomed to loss. The feeling of grief was not alien to him. Ever since that terrible day on Aq Vetina, when he had lost everything and everyone that he had ever loved, the fear of losing others seemed to loom large over his life, a constant uneasiness that had long clouded his interactions with others. That was, until he had been sent to Arvala-7 and encountered The Child, who he would eventually adopt as his own. It was a chain of events that would not have been possible were it not for the very man whose loss had struck him harder than any blow he had sustained in the profession that had once united them.

Despite how many times Din had undergone the mourning process throughout his life, he found that the news of one of his oldest acquaintances’ passing had hit him particularly hard. The rapping at the door, well after the sun had set on another bright and sunny Nevarrian day, took Din by surprise. But nothing could have prepared him for the message that had promptly been relayed to him. News that had been delivered by a copper-plated droid, of all things.

When he opened the door to his cabin on Nevaro, the last thing Din expected to hear was news that the High Magistrate had become one with the Force.

In those first few horrible moments after hearing such devastating news, Din found that the sensation resembled a punch to the area just underneath the shiny beskar plate that protected most of his chest and abdomen. Although Din was an extremely skilled fighter, he had occasionally been delivered such agonising blows in that incredibly vulnerable place. Now, Din was reminded of such agony as he processed the news.

Din’s relationship to Greef Karga had undoubtedly been complicated and at times, volatile. A former adversary, to an acquaintance, to possibly something even more… like a friend. Din Djarin did not typically have friends. But as he sat there in his cabin, processing the news after dismissing the droid and removing his helmet, he began to wonder whether, perhaps, he had had one… without even truly realising it.

A friend that had passed to the afterlife, before Din had the opportunity to comprehend how much Greef had truly meant to him.

Of course, there had been Paz. But Din was bound to Paz by Creed, as a fellow Mandalorian. There were no inherent bonds such as that with Greef. Instead, the former leader of the Bounty Hunters’ Guild on Nevarro had become increasingly close to Din. Greef had gradually become a trustworthy presence in an often cruel and treacherous galaxy.

Perhaps it was the shared trauma of the siege in the cantina, when Din and Greef had barely escaped with their lives, which had been the catalyst for their increasing closeness. Until then, Din had wondered whether he could fully trust the older man. After that, though, there was no doubt. Greef Karga was, at the very least, an ally.

All Din knew with any degree of certainty was that as soon as the Razor Crest needed repairs, when Din and Frog Lady had barely escaped with their lives on the frozen planet of Maldo Kreis, it was the coordinates for Nevarro that he had punched in. After being rendered an apostate for removing his helmet and violating the Creed, it was once again Nevarro that Din had journeyed to in order to secure a droid for his expedition to the Mines of Mandalore. On that very visit, when Grogu had been in danger thanks to the rogue IG unit, Din had not hesitated to thrust his son into the arms of Greef Karga, knowing that he would protect the little boy.

Back then, Din could never have foreseen himself settling on Nevarro. He had been so consumed with his quest for redemption that he had promptly rejected Greef’s offer for a tract of land by the lava flats. Yet after retaking Mandalore and adopting Grogu, the land had suddenly become an extremely attractive proposal. The little parcel of land had become the perfect place for Clan Mudhorn to rest between jobs for the New Republic. Din was eternally grateful for Greef’s offer.

It was true that Greef had done much for Din during the time that they had known each other, but it was equally true that when Nevarro had been under threat from the pirates headed by Gorian Shard, Din had not hesitated to raise a band of Mandalorians to follow him. There were few people in the galaxy that Din would have gone to such lengths for, but Greef Karga was undoubtedly one of them.

Not to mention the repurposed IG unit that Greef had given to Din, for Grogu to operate, despite Din's reservations. Although it had initially annoyed Din (and the stall holders of Nevarro) as it had given Grogu a way to verbalise his insolence and feed his insatiable appetite, it had been an invaluable aid during the retaking of Mandalore. An aid that would not have been there were it not for Greef. Both Din and Greef owed an enormous debt to each other.

The realisation of what a key figure Greef had been in Din Djarin’s recent history almost sent him tumbling to his knees. That Greef was the man who had perhaps witnessed more closely than any other the shift in Din from a lonely, selfish, bounty hunter with a strict adherence to the Creed, to a man who would do anything to ensure the safety of The Child, even if it meant violating the Way. That Greef was gone.

For a second, Din wanted to run from the cabin, screaming and sobbing, pleading that this could not possibly be true. That Greef would never realise how much he truly meant to Din. But he quickly came to his senses and soon sought solace elsewhere.

Din crept down the hall towards his son’s room, ensuring that in spite of his emotional state, he was as quiet as possible so Grogu was not awakened. He just wanted to be close to him, to feel his presence nearby, a comforting closeness to the special little boy who had changed everything for him. Din was relieved that Grogu was sleeping soundly, his shallow, even breaths continued even as his distraught father stood in the doorway.

Din feared how much the news would devastate the little boy who was currently sleeping soundly in his crib. Despite how much Din ached to hold him close as comfort for himself, he didn’t have the heart to wake Grogu. Although Din supposed, given the way that Grogu seemed to understand the galaxy around him, that perhaps somehow his son had already sensed the enormous loss of such a monumental presence. A loss that would surely leave a void incapable of being filled in all of their lives. Every sunset on Nevarro, a sight that had once left Din awestruck with its beauty and the vibrance of its colours, would surely seem a little darker from now on.

Din turned his back and left Grogu's room then, fearing that if he stood there for much longer, the tears that had begun to silently creep down his cheeks would develop into a more audible indication of his grief that would wake Grogu. Plus, Din had remembered a certain cupboard in the kitchen, the contents of which would provide a fitting tribute to the High Magistrate.

He had hoped that one day, he might invite Greef to the cabin for the advised smaller gathering to share this luxurious libation with him. Perhaps even face-to-face, without his helmet, such was the increasing number of ways that Din had discovered there were to walk; ways to be Mandalorian.

That would never happen now, Din realised with a pang of sadness as he stepped out onto the porch and into the moonless Nevarrian night. He placed two glasses onto the table by the bench and slowly poured the amber liquid.

Then Din sat back on the bench, and raised a glass of the Coruscant wine to the stars, in a toast to his old friend. He spoke the sacred words of the ancient language of their people, a daily remembrance that he would now carry out for the man who, despite everything, had become his friend.

“Ni su'cuyi, gar kyr'adyc, ni partayli, gar darasuum. Greef Karga.”

(I’m still alive, but you are dead. I remember you, so you are eternal.)

#my fics #din djarin #greef karga #the mandalorian #din djarin fanfic #din djarin fanfiction #the mandalorian fanfiction #i really had to get this out of me ugh love when writing makes you cry onto your keyboard!!!!

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